She squared her shoulders. ‘This is an exclusive club, Poppy, not a free-for-all. We allowed Saintly Sue to join to show willing, and now Hope and Chad, but that’s our limit. We won’t get in anyone’s sitting room otherwise, for heaven’s sake.’
I nodded in agreement as I left with the children, but knew this was thin. Angie had a huge drawing room. And quite a few noses would be out of joint. Ours was a small village. Oh, to hell with them, I thought, as I let myself in. Jennie was right. We had to be just a little bit selfish occasionally. And the Americans would certainly inject some glamour.
As I went into the kitchen, the answering machine was flashing. I pressed it absently as I lowered Archie from my hip, watching him toddle off to his playpen, clamouring to get in. It was pretty much his favourite place these days. Wasn’t it supposed to be a prison? Would a child psychologist tell me he felt safe in there, or something heart-stopping? As I lifted him inside, a deep male voice politely asked me to make another appointment, whenever it suited. Nothing drastic, but something had cropped up and he wondered if I could pop in and talk about it. Sam, the solicitor.
Well, obviously it had been a while since a deep male voice had asked me to do anything, politely or otherwise, surrounded as I was by women and children. But had there been any need to ring back immediately? Before I’d even taken Clemmie’s coat off? I got through to Janice, who made me an appointment. When I got off the phone, I moved around the house feeling lighter, brighter somehow. More energized. I went to the window to smile out at the day. Yes, that’ll be the Americans, I thought. That’s what’s put a skip in my step. The irrational desire to play the message again – which I did, three times – was only to make sure I’d got it straight. About it being nothing drastic. And nothing to worry about. That was all. I turned up the radio as I passed and sang along with Westlife, then I swept Clemmie into my arms to twirl about the room with me. She threw her head back and laughed with delight.
13
On Monday night at choir practice I thought we were going to be lynched. Three people on the way to church told me it was outrageous they weren’t allowed to join, particularly since we’d allowed the Armitages; and once I’d achieved the church and was in the choir stalls, Sylvia told me she’d even moved her bridge evening.
‘We decided Wednesdays were much better,’ she told me firmly, turning round from the pew in front. ‘So I’ll read Angus’s book when he’s finished and see you there. We thought one copy between the two of us would be fine.’ Sylvia was notoriously tight.
‘No, Sylvia, I’m sorry,’ Jennie butted in beside me – Sylvia had pointedly addressed me, not her – ‘we’ve reached our limit. Otherwise the group is too large and people feel intimidated. They won’t pipe up.’
I doubt if Sylvia had ever felt intimidated in her life, particularly when it came to piping up. I also doubt whether anyone in the village had ever stood up to her. Her left eye began to twitch manically and she looked fit to burst her tubes. Happily Saintly Sue was tapping her lectern importantly, reminding us we’d be singing at the real thing soon so it had better be good, and Luke was flying through the door, so Sylvia didn’t have a chance to come to the boil. But I saw Angus, who’d been studying his brogues during this little exchange, glance up to give Jennie an admiring look. Whether he’d be allowed out to play with the rest of us now was, of course, debatable. I had a feeling he’d be in his carpet slippers, toying gloomily with his cauliflower cheese in front of Panorama. Sylvia wouldn’t want him mixing with the Americans if she wasn’t allowed to; although her curiosity might get the better of her. She might want him there as a spy, taking notes, so she could quiz him later.
As Luke bounded boyishly up the steps to the organ, blond hair flopping, he flashed me a grin and I smiled back. Smiled, though, not glowed. And as Angie and Jennie either side of me exchanged a delighted glance, like proud parents – one they clearly thought