A Rural Affair - By Catherine Alliott Page 0,52

to have a tiny light shining in some dark corner of my life?’

There didn’t seem to be much to say to that. Jennie got up to refill the kettle noisily and banged it down with a clatter on her hob. She turned and leaned on the Aga, folding her arms and staring determinedly out of the window, gimlet-eyed. Angie sat up. Cleared her throat.

‘Well, if you’re not going to – you know – take it any further,’ she said, ‘do you mind if I do?’

Jennie and I turned slowly to stare at her. ‘What, with Simon!’ spluttered Jennie.

‘Well, as you say, he is rather nice. Much nicer than I thought, and not at all slimy when he loosens up; and I am single, Jennie. And since Peggy’s so set on Pete, who, frankly, was only a joke, some twenty-something farrier –’

‘You just said he was smooth!’

‘And as you so rightly say, nothing wrong with that.’

‘I think that’s a bit rich, Angie!’ Jennie snorted. ‘You can’t just cruise in and nick my – my, you know –’

‘What?’ demanded Angie.

‘My book-club partner,’ she said primly. ‘Just because Peggy’s nicked yours!’

‘Book-club partner?’ scoffed Angie.

‘We agreed to swap notes,’ said Jennie stiffly. ‘When we’d finished the book.’

‘I bet you did.’

‘Now look,’ I said nervously, as my two friends glared at one another across the room, ‘this is all getting a bit out of hand, isn’t it? We’ve only had one meeting and we are supposed to be discussing literature here, not matchmaking. Shall we all calm down?’

Angie and Jennie looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ they both muttered sheepishly.

‘Totally pathetic,’ added Angie. ‘Talk about frustrated housewives. And anyway, the whole point was to get you back on track again.’ She looked at me. ‘Give you a bit of fun. What did you think of Luke?’

‘Nice,’ I said evenly. Patiently. ‘Easy to talk to.’

‘When she could get him away from Saintly Sue,’ remarked Jennie. ‘I noticed she was very quick to play hide the fifty p with him.’

I sighed. ‘I’m in no rush,’ I said, meaning it. ‘I’ve got the rest of my life, haven’t I?’

As I said it, the enormity of that simple statement, the freedom it conveyed and the joy, threatened to explode within me. I got to my feet as Archie wailed. The feverish rage of the last few days had left me as abruptly as it had arrived. That white-hot outrage at Phil’s betrayal had gone, and in its place a kind of calm acceptance together with an astonishing clarity prevailed. After a few minutes I said goodbye to my friends. Archie was getting cranky and needed his sleep, but, also, I wanted to savour that feeling on my own. Wanted to cradle my new-found freedom to myself as I cradled my son while he nodded off in my arms. How wonderful it was: I had the whole of my life to choose better, if at all. I shut Jennie’s front door softly behind me and walked down the path. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Sue had made a major play for Luke last night, but as the coin appeared from his trouser leg and as Sue, like a crouching tiger on the floor, had grabbed it with a shriek, I’d been happy to slip away. Been happy to go quietly. I certainly wasn’t going to fight for a man I hardly knew. And anyway, aside from our earlier conversation, he hadn’t exactly sought me out.

As I turned into my garden I wondered if it was true that everybody had a soulmate out there somewhere, or if most people just patched and made do? Met someone appropriate and in a fit of youthful enthusiasm turned a blind eye to any imperfections, thinking: perfect, you’ll do. Just after Phil and I got engaged I found a list in the breast pocket of his jacket which he’d left behind at my flat: pros and cons, with my name at the top. That should have been my moment. To call the whole thing off. Instead, I ran a fevered eye down and realized, with relief, that there were more pros than cons. One more. ‘Quite tidy’ had been the deal-clincher for Phil. Shaming. But don’t forget I’d been feeling very desperate at the time. Very much like a stale bun on a shelf.

Well, I wouldn’t be feeling that again, I determined as I went up my path and delved in my bag for my key, flushing with anger as I remembered. Wouldn’t be Making Do. I’d

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