Page 17 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Ginnie rang the following morning at seven, her voice full of terrible portent. I’d been fast asleep and had groped for my mobile on the bedside table in a fog of slumber and strange dreams about galloping horses, one ridden by a builder and another by a vicar in a billowing cassock.

‘She’s put them down,’ she said hoarsely.

I struggled to sit up. ‘What?’

‘Mum. She put the Fluz and Toto down, yesterday. Took them to the vet.’

I was stunned. ‘No.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’ I was horrified.

‘Said she didn’t want to be any trouble. A burden.’

‘Oh God.’ I felt my hand go to my forehead. This was dreadful. Terrible news.

‘But the foaling stable, the paddock…’

‘I know.’

‘Was it Clarissa?’

‘No. She’s shocked, too. Mum just did it of her own accord.’

I swallowed. Sat upright properly. ‘How is she?’

‘Over bright. Too perky. That huge, glistening smile hiding everything.’

I nodded. Knew it of old. When Dad had died she’d tried to hide her grief from us. Tried to pretend she was fine.

‘I’ll come, Ginnie.’

‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘That’s what I’m ringing to say. I’ll deal with this. And I’ve told Clarissa the same– insisted. The more it’s a pow-wow, the more we all keep gathering, the worse it gets. Makes it much more serious.’

‘Yes. You’re right.’ She was. ‘It’s a lot for you though, Gin.’

‘Lara’s being brilliant. And Hugo. Both are really upset– particularly Lara– but hiding it well. She and Lar are going to the river today with a picnic and… you know.’

The other five. I gulped. Took a deep breath. ‘Why does she always have to be so bloody marvellous?’

She knew I meant our mother, not her daughter. ‘Well, it’s that generation, isn’t it? Stiff upper lip. Kick on. And actually, I think the young can learn a bit. Tom’s got leave so he’ll be here soon, too. I messaged him.’

‘Tom will be brilliant. ‘

‘He will.’

My lovely, straightforward soldier nephew, who, to Ginnie’s horror, was doing so well in the Guards that his company commander had suggested he try for the SAS. But we didn’t talk about that.

‘OK. Keep me in the loop. And well done, Ginnie.’

‘Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.’

I lay down feeling wretched. Bloody Clarissa.

And Derek. I couldn’t help it, I blamed them.

Knew Mum had thought hard and made that decision because of them.

She wasn’t stupid and Derek’s furious whispering to Hugo and his foghorn voice floating through the window as they left would have influenced her.

But maybe it was the right decision, a little voice in my head said.

The Fluz was a problem. Suppose she went for the whole flock one day?

And Toto was very old, with cancerous growths.

No vet would put a healthy dog down, surely?

Except the Fluz was healthy. I felt sad.

She’d been naughty, but a character. So funny when she was younger.

Lara and Polly used to dress her up. Put funny hats on her.

A cigarette in her mouth. And if I felt sad, imagine how Mum…

I shook myself and got out of bed. Then I brushed my teeth and went downstairs.

When Polly came down later, I told her. She was horrified. ‘Those bastards!’

‘Now Poll, it’s not necessarily Clarissa and Derek’s fault, they–’

‘Of course it fucking is, they ground her down!’ She grabbed her coffee and went back upstairs, fuming.

I heard her not long after, slamming the door of her studio, Luke’s old room. Chiselling away, no doubt: always her refuge. Her escape from the world. I went to my computer, to my editing: my own escape from the world.

I was so lost in wondering how to get Giles the blacksmith from the Cotswolds to Portsmouth in two hours since– as Sue, my copy editor, had pointed out– it was a four-hour drive and in a beaten-up van probably five, I didn’t hear Luke appear as he sometimes did when he was working from home, preferring to get out of his house, to pastures new for the day.

So I was surprised, when I went into the kitchen for a coffee, to see him at the table, glued to his screen.

He gave a slight smile of acknowledgement but otherwise his eyes didn’t leave his work.

‘Before you ask, I’m claiming the fifth amendment.’ He carried on reading. I smiled.

‘I wasn’t going to ask, darling. Total immunity, I promise. I’m just pleased, that’s all. I thought I was the only one in this family– my sisters included– with an inkling of faith, and it’s a relief, frankly, to–’

‘Enough!’ he wailed.

I smiled. ‘Right. I’ll get you a coffee.’ I paused at the sink, kettle in hand. ‘Have you heard about…?’

‘Yes, Poll told me. Poor Granny.’ He started tapping behind me. I nodded. Filled the kettle and put it on. That would be all he’d say on the subject. I made us both a drink and went back to my keyboard in the other room.

We always had lunch together, however, whoever was in the house, so later, we gathered for an omelette, and a salad which Polly was making at the island.

By now we’d got used to workmen suddenly appearing to use the tap in the back garden, or to get some tools they’d stored out there, or materializing at the window as they went up a ladder, and this time, as Polly was dressing the salad and I was putting a pan on the hob, it was André, giving a soft knock on the already open kitchen door.

‘Oh, sorry, lunchtime.’ He withdrew. ‘I’ll come back.’

‘No, no,’ Polly said quickly. ‘It’s fine, André. Mum hasn’t started the omelettes yet, come in.’

I’d opened my mouth to say I’d be free in half an hour but saw my children exchange a clandestine smirk. In he came.

‘These are fine,’ he said, glancing at the cream tiles I’d chosen in his hands. ‘But just so you know, around the bath, I’ll have to cut them because they’re large, so the whole effect won’t be entirely uniform.’

‘Don’t worry, no problem,’ I said quickly. ‘Polly prefers to shower anyway,’ I told him. ‘It’s going to be her space, up there.’

‘Whereas you prefer a bath, don’t you, Mum?’ she said, less than innocently.

‘Really? So do I,’ said André.

‘ Really? ’ Polly beamed as Luke hid a smile. ‘André, why don’t you join us for lunch? I’ve made far too much salad.’

‘No, no,’ he said quickly as I smartly turned back to the cooker, cracking eggs so hurriedly into a hot pan that I missed and one went all over the hob, singeing and smoking.

‘I must get on.’ He disappeared.

When I knew he was out of earshot and had heard him mount two flights of stairs, I turned, furious.

‘ Stop it!’ I hissed. They burst into giggles.

‘I mean it,’ I said as I scraped the eggs furiously in the pan.

‘He is absolutely not my type. And anyway, since you are so intrusive– despite me not being allowed to ask any questions about your lives–’

‘You know all about mine,’ Polly interrupted.

‘– you might be interested to know that I’m going on Tinder.’ I brought the pan across to the table. Shovelled a third of the eggy mess on to each plate.

‘No!’ They were gripped. ‘Brilliant, Mum!’ Bullseye. Total distraction.

‘Or Hinge.’ I frowned as I sat down. ‘What is Hinge, exactly?’

Luke made a face. ‘You might be a tad old. Plus, it used to work on Facebook connections, I dunno now. And you’re not on Facebook.’

‘Grinder?’

He put his head in his hands. ‘What does it sound like?’

‘Oh.’ I blinked rapidly.

‘eHarmony.’ Polly waved a salad tong at me. ‘That’s the one for you. I’ll get you on it.’

‘Oh, OK,’ I said brightly, knowing I’d never use it, but they’d taken the bait. ‘And actually, Ginnie’s already signed me up for one.’

‘Stop it!’ They were gripped. Knives and forks went down.

‘Yes, it’s called Radio H-P.’

Polly groaned. ‘That’s not a dating site, Mum. It’s a posh Gumtree.’

I frowned. ‘Isn’t that where we got the ping pong table from?’

‘Yes, Gumtree, but this is different. It’s like– villas to rent in Barbados, or– how are you off for llamas? Do you need a pony boy?’

‘What’s that?’

‘A boy who brings a stag down from the hill slung across a horse when you’ve killed it on Mull.’

‘Oh yuk.’

‘Exactly. Red trouser brigade. Which you hate. Here.’ She got up and seized my phone from the counter on the side.

She sat down eagerly. ‘I’ll sort you out.

’ She forked omelette into her mouth with one hand and tapped away with the other, Luke, meanwhile, helping and advising.

I ate my lunch, smiling. My children thought they were so clever.

By the time I’d managed to get Giles to Portsmouth by changing his starting point to Petersfield in order to get him on a boat to the Isle of Wight, where Antonia, my heroine, was stranded, it was half past six and I went to have a word with my father.

The children had gone: Luke had disappeared back to Hackney, and Polly was out with Max.

The church, when I opened the side door, was dark and cold.

Lovely. Half an hour till closing time; the time I liked best.

I sat in my usual pew at the back and told him about Mum.

About the Fluz and Toto. He didn’t say much.

In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. But I listened.

In a very rare interview, Mother Theresa had been asked what she said to God when she prayed.

‘I listen,’ she’d replied. So I try not to blabber too much.

After a bit, I went to the side chapel, lit a candle for Mum, popped to the loo, then made for the door. I could get to Waitrose if I was quick, before the after-work rush, but as I was slipping away, Ralph loomed. He appeared out of the darkness, a bunch of keys in his hand.

‘Oh!’ He looked startled. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought it was empty. I was just about to check again and lock up.’

‘I would have gone by now, I usually have, but I needed a pee.’ Really, Annabel? Your opening gambit? Nerves. And it got worse as I tried to cover. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t usually use them here, but–’

‘No, no, it’s why we put them in. Frankly I’d have preferred to have the fresco restored, but the parish council insist parishioners’ needs come first.’

‘Pesky parishioners, eh? Who needs them?’

He laughed and I was pleased. Second time in one day I’d steered a conversation. Plus I’d made him laugh. I take my victories– tiny– where I can, these days.

‘Well, quite, I do, I suppose. Those pesky parishioners.’ He looked at me. ‘Some more than others.’

And then we had a moment. I was sure of it. Just like with André in the garden. He was looking down kindly into my eyes, his, greeny blue and heavily lashed, mine, hopefully not too eager.

‘Anyway, I must go,’ I said quickly, coming to. ‘I need to get to the shops.’

‘Yes, and I must away to some paperwork. See you on Sunday– I mean, if you…’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll be there.’

And that was it. Off I went. To the shops.

But my mouth was dry, my heart racing. Perhaps I was imagining it?

Both of those moments, in my menopausal state?

Both of these men were definitely attractive.

And I was… OK. Average. I was clearly deluded.

Or was I being disingenuous? The children– well, Polly– sweetly told me I was more than OK.

And Ginnie too– never Clarissa. In the past, David, obviously, but I was a bit short and my eyes drooped at the corners.

Plus I had those lines down the sides of my mouth now.

Dribble drains, Hebe and I called them. But…

I stopped outside Waitrose. Looked at my reflection in the glass window.

I’d lost a lot of weight recently. I’d put it on, loads, after David died: grief.

My friend Molly– the one who’d lost her faith– couldn’t eat a thing, but I’d pigged for England.

Recently, though, with Polly’s help, and a bit of exercise, I’d taken myself in hand.

Given up chocolate, cake, biscuits and bread.

Hence it had dropped off. And it became a bit compulsive.

I’d get on the scales and think– wow, another couple of pounds.

And I’d had my hair cut and highlighted so that I had begun to look a bit more like I used to.

A bit. And he was about my age, Ralph, I could tell.

André too, as we know. Although– wait: Ralph, if I recall, was older.

Bridget had told me, one of the panting parishioners.

‘He’s in his sixties– he doesn’t look it, does he?’

I’d smiled, not terribly interested back then.

Amused by her enthusiasm. Just a joke I shared with Polly.

The sexy vicar stirring things up at St Mark’s.

But now…? I stared into space… Oh, for God’s sake, Annabel!

I headed into the supermarket and seized a trolley.

No, of course not. But as I cruised those aisles, picking up some cream, the word Single loomed at me.

I put it down and replaced it with Double.

Gazed at the shelves. Why had she left him?

I wondered. The wife. For someone else? Or because she’d preferred being married to the man she thought she’d married, the prosperous insurance broker, not the vicar.

People did change– and sometimes not for the better.

I’d certainly become more of a worrier– I’d always had a degree of angst– whereas David hadn’t, which had helped.

He’d been able to put things in perspective, when I’d fussed about the children.

He wasn’t perfect, obviously. He’d had some quite firm views as a thrusting young advocate.

But he’d mellowed with age. That’s what I mean about people changing.

A lump came to my throat as I remembered.

Over time, and after seeing so many unfortunate people before him in court, so many wronged, ordinary folk, disadvantaged often, overlooked and marginalized, he’d become very liberal.

No, he was perfect. He was lovely. Had been, lovely.

I took a deep breath and went for the Single instead.

I’d never find anyone like David, never.

And I didn’t mind being on my own. I’d got used to it.

And as for the whole getting into bed bit…

Weirdly, though, I didn’t shudder and march on as I usually would; I wandered about, distracted.

Until I found myself in the fruit and veg.

There was a special offer, two for one. A pair of pendulous avocados.

I hastened away. Trotted, even. Because that was the problem.

Despite the weight loss, or perhaps because of it, everything– and I mean everything– had gone south.