Page 25 of A Clean Sweep
‘But they always seemed such a nice couple,’ said Nancy.
The couple in question were Janet and John Jones, known locally for being members of the local amateur dramatic society and holidaying every year in Tuscany.
John worked for the local council and Janet was a part-time librarian with a penchant for steamy bodice rippers.
She was one of the book club drop-outs, in fact, citing ‘too many other things to do’ as her reason for quitting.
‘Ha, she certainly did have other things to do!’ said Celeste, eyes glittering as she was reminded of Janet’s excuse for leaving. ‘Like having her own bodice ripped open by Stan Woolford on her days off!’
Susan was vaguely familiar with the name. A local handyman, he had once called at her house to put up a few shelves. She couldn’t remember much about him, only that his price was reasonable and the shelves hadn’t fallen down.
‘It all began when John hired him to put in a new shower. Apparently, the old one dribbled so badly they had to run around inside the cubicle just to get wet,’ Celeste continued.
‘ He finished that job two months ago but I see his van outside theirs at least twice a week. And I’m quite sure it’s not the plumbing he’s tinkering with. ’
Moving off to the kitchen to stick the kettle on, Susan felt sorry for Janet.
Listening to Celeste there didn’t appear to be a lot of concrete evidence of her alleged infidelity, just hearsay and supposition based on the presence of his van.
Which might be completely innocent, after all.
Perhaps they’d struck up a friendship and he popped in for a cuppa now and again?
Not that he’d ever popped in to hers after the shelves were fitted.
And – if they were having an affair – his van with ‘Stan – The Man Who Can’ proudly painted in bold blue letters was hardly the most discreet mode of transport.
Having taken orders for two cups of green tea, a decaf coffee and more wine for Nancy – making the most of her chauffeur for the evening – Susan returned to the living room.
She passed one of the green teas to Emily who thanked her profusely.
She even patted the sofa seat next to her, gesturing to Susan to sit down.
‘It’s been a lovely evening, Susan. And what a great idea, choosing food to match the theme of the book. No pressure on the rest of us, eh!’
Always vivacious and generous in her actions, there was something undefinably different about Emily that evening.
Susan couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
It was like … like she’d been lit up from the inside, a low-wattage bulb replaced by a Hollywood-style spotlight.
It was as if, on the surface, she was a willing participant in the light-hearted banter, whilst deep down something else was occupying her thoughts.
A good something, judging by the way she smiled at random moments.
Whatever was distracting her, it gave her a glow that no amount of make-up or restful nights’ sleep could achieve.
I wouldn’t mind some of that, thought Susan wistfully.
Her inner glow – if she’d ever really had one – had long been extinguished.
Tidying up after the ladies had departed, Susan wondered – not for the first time – if she should move away.
Pack in her job, sell the house and start somewhere new.
Maybe a place by the sea. Some of her happiest childhood memories were of trips to the seaside with her parents.
Donkey rides, building sandcastles or simply floating in the water and daydreaming for hours on end.
Perhaps a change of scenery would inspire her to change her whole life.
She could work in a shop or a café, take up a new hobby like painting or pottery.
Closing her eyes, she imagined herself sitting on a little wooden deck with a brush in her hand, adding details to a simple landscape of sand and surf.
She could try again to lose weight; perhaps it would be easier in a different environment?
Away from people who knew her or at least thought they did.
She could reinvent herself – no more sad, fat Susan – and become the person she had to believe existed somewhere inside.
She imagined herself running (or at least, jogging) along miles of shoreline with the wind in her hair and happiness in her heart.
OK, who was she trying to kid? Drastic life changes demanded courage which was something she lacked, along with willpower and a sense of self-worth.
Over the years – as her weight ballooned – her confidence had shrunk.
Other people could start afresh, take on whole new identities but Susan knew she was stuck in a rut too deep to escape.
Turning on the TV she flicked aimlessly through the channels.
Yet another programme about would-be dieters being put through their paces by an ex-military sadist; a soap opera – who knew which one?
– featuring a delightful incest storyline, and a more appealing comedy-drama about a famous writer’s upbringing on a Greek island.
Settling for this one she cut herself another slice of cake and poured a glass of wine.
Another hour or so and she’d head to bed.
Where sleep offered her a few hours’ respite from the mundanities of her existence.