Page 26 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Days passed. Weeks, in fact. I saw Ralph a couple more times.

We went to the cinema on one occasion, then out for dinner the next.

And I saw André, too. He and I drove to a country pub one Saturday, for lunch.

Then the following week, as I had done with Ralph, we went to a local restaurant together, for supper.

I knew I couldn’t possibly have dinner with either of them again without– well, taking things further.

I threw myself into my work and tried not to think about it.

Except I did. All the time. Which one did I like best?

Well, André was more fun, probably. We had a laugh and he was a bit more light-hearted.

Yet Ralph was terribly interesting, fascinating in fact, and if I’m honest, a bit more like David.

Clever. So… was André light-hearted or lightweight?

I’d also established that Ralph was some years older than me– eight– which I liked.

Whereas André was a few months younger, which I didn’t.

Neither had tried to kiss me or take things further, but Polly (who asked all the time– forget leaving me alone) said it was obviously because I gave off a vibe.

‘What sort of vibe?’

‘One that says– don’t. Which is fine,’ she assured me. ‘For the moment,’ she added sternly, before exiting, rather dramatically, stage left, to her studio.

One of the interesting things I learned from Ralph concerned Luke. Apparently, his evensong attendance was about a girl. She was in the choir.

‘Oh– that makes complete sense,’ I said over dinner.

‘According to Kate, who takes the choir– should I be gossiping about your son, incidentally, as a vicar?’

‘Yes, definitely,’ I told him eagerly.

‘They went out for a bit. Quite a while, actually, then he dropped her.’

I grimaced. ‘He’s got form for that. Name?’ Luke rarely brought them home, but might mention them– or I’d ask Polly.

‘Hannah.’

‘Oh yes, Polly said she was nice. And around for longer than most. Actually, Pol thought she might last longer; apparently he liked her.’

‘He did. So much so that when he dropped her– this is all from Kate, by the way– he regretted it and asked her out again. But she said no. Is still saying no, six months later.’

‘Oh…’ I breathed. ‘Good for her. So he goes to evensong in the hope…?’

‘Oh no, she’s left. Moved flat and sings in another choir, in Tooting. No, I think he just likes coming now. Got used to it, I suppose.’

‘Right. Gosh, there’s so much about my son I don’t know, and so very little I don’t know about Polly. Isn’t that strange?’

‘Not really. Boys– and men– don’t talk so much, on the whole. They don’t want to be vulnerable. They learn that early on. Especially if they’ve been educated at all-boys establishments. The moment you show emotional vulnerability, my goodness it’s pounced on.’

‘True,’ I said sadly. ‘And he went to St Paul’s.’ I picked at my tapas. ‘You do, though?’ I ventured. ‘Talk?’ I knew all about his marriage now, and he mine.

‘Up to a point. But we don’t have to know everything about one another, do we?’

‘No,’ I agreed firmly. Although David and I did. But never again. I, too, never wanted to be vulnerable. I was too old to bounce. I was looking for companionship now, not true love.

He walked me home. I’d been about to say ‘come in for a coffee’– a first. Then I hesitated. So he smiled, kissed my cheek and said goodnight. My vibe, clearly.

The following day I ran into Anthea outside the supermarket. Or she ran into me. I swear she saw me from inside and beetled out, abandoning her trolley. She certainly didn’t emerge with any Waitrose bags. What she did have was a furious look in her eye.

‘I saw Iris from the Centre the other day, and she said you haven’t been there for months.’ I was loading my shopping into the boot of my car. I felt myself redden. ‘And she said you never work with prostitutes anyway. Just drug addicts, mostly men. You lied to me.’

I turned. ‘Perhaps because I didn’t want to be quizzed about my personal life.’

‘Well, it was rude and horrid of you. And for your information, Ralph Hamilton has also been out with a friend of mine, Cynthia Tucker, who’s also single.

Flirted, saw her for a bit, then dropped her like a brick.

He did the same with another parishioner, that woman who runs the hospice shop.

Celine. So good luck with that.’ She turned and marched off.

I watched her departing back and felt a bit sick. Right. Well, thank you for that, Anthea. Really, thank you. I’d much rather know.

I drove home slowly, knowing I was a bit shaken, but that knowledge was power.

I certainly wasn’t going to be dropped. Instead, I’d be careful.

And with André too. I’d heard him the other day shouting upstairs at one of his men.

Nothing vile, just– you know. A bit too sharp.

‘Pull your fucking finger out, Dave!’ he’d said.

I hadn’t liked it. Mind you, Dave was lazy.

The moment André was out on a project elsewhere, I heard him chatting on his mobile, or saw him smoking in the garden.

But then I’d heard André use coarse language to Ivan, who was Polish and didn’t always understand.

Of course it was frustrating running a building team, but David ran a team too– of young lawyers, sure– but he would never speak like that. And cases could get very tense.

‘Stop,’ I whispered to myself, ‘comparing everyone to David. David’s dead.’ I said this occasionally, and the last two words a lot, to remind myself. I also said: ‘And he wasn’t perfect, either.’

Except he was. In my eyes. Yes, he could be a bit shy in public, a bit gauche, even.

I might have to rescue him. There was a joke amongst our friends that David was so polite you might find him talking all night to the lady who took the coats, so impossible did he find it to move on.

Gary was a case in point: a lovely old chap, an odd job man, who’d worked for Ted and Lorna at their house in the country, which Ted had sold when Lorna died.

If they had a party– which they often did, they were very gregarious– David would be on the outskirts, talking to Gary, who’d come to sort the marquee lighting out.

I smiled, remembering. Because you see I liked that.

His manners. His integrity. I even liked his irritating way of never walking across the golf course in Cornwall which led to the beach and said ‘Players Only’.

Everyone just ignored it and marched across.

But not the Appletons. We had to go the long way round, along the coast road, as the children complained bitterly, carrying windbreaks and picnic rugs.

‘God, Dad, everyone else does it!’ But David had a moral code, he lived by a firm set of rules.

I got out of the car and took the shopping inside.

He was the straightest man I’d ever met.

Like Dad. And Mum. I sighed, knowing this was not helping. Not one bit.

My mobile rang as I unpacked the shopping.

It was Ginnie, ringing me back. I’d been worried.

Mum hadn’t rung for a few days now, a week even.

Unheard of. When I’d tried Ginnie, I’d got a foreign ring tone– no reply, obviously, from Clarissa.

Ginnie was in Italy, she told me, and said she’d investigate the moment she was back.

She’d been worried too, she said, at the lack of contact, but thought it was because she was abroad.

Mum still thought ringing long distance was heinous.

Also, she told me, Tom had tested negative and gone back to his regiment, so why on earth couldn’t Mum come back to her?

‘I know, I thought that,’ I agreed slowly. ‘Except…’

‘Except we’re supposed to be sharing her, I know. And at some point she’ll have to have a spell at Clarissa’s, so since she’s there, she might as well stay there.’ Ginnie sounded worried, though. ‘The awful thing is, Annabel, I’m beginning to think you were right.’

‘About what?’

‘That this was a crazy idea.’

I was silent. I couldn’t say– I told you so, I loved her too much. And it was big of her to admit it. Instead I said: ‘But what can we do? Presumably you’ve done the roof and Clarissa certainly won’t give back her tractor…’

‘And you can hardly stop your loft extension.’

We went quiet again.

‘So we’ll have to make it work,’ she said finally. ‘Clarissa isn’t answering my calls, but I’m going to ring and ring until she does– stay tuned.’

Ginnie was punchier than me, so I knew she’d persevere, and sure enough, just as I’d sat down to work, she rang again.

‘OK, well I finally got hold of Mum and she sounded a bit sort of– breathless.’

‘I’ll go down,’ I said, rising to my feet.

‘No, because you’re the only one who works,’ she said firmly. ‘Which will make her panic.’

Panic. Again. Never my mother.

‘She’ll smell a rat. Worry even more. She thinks she’s being a burden if I go there, and I live round the corner and do bugger all.’

‘Nonsense. What about all that charity work?’ I said loyally, but my mind was on my mother.

‘Yes, but none of it’s crucial. Neither is Clarissa’s so-called work.

And I don’t count poncing around on diggers when Derek’s got an army of workers to do it.

Tell you what, let’s go together. A pincer movement.

Come to me first on Friday night and we’ll go on Saturday, as if it’s a jolly day out or something. A spur-of-the-moment surprise.’