Page 29 of The Lucky Winners

Friday

Merri

I open the gates, and while I’m waiting for Tilda’s cab to arrive, I stand in the living room, front door ajar, looking out. I try to force myself to look at the lake, telling myself it’s just water. It doesn’t have to signal everything that’s bad about the past.

I narrow my eyes, trying to focus on the cluster of trees about halfway down.

There’s a shape, and it’s too still, too solid to be wind or wildlife.

I stumble back from the window. It’s a man, I’m sure of it.

He’s standing just inside the treeline – half obscured by leaves and shadow, but he’s there.

Watching . Every instinct screams at me to move, but I can’t get my legs to work.

I hear the crunch of gravel as the cab pulls up outside the house. It spurs me into moving. I lock the front door and climb inside. I’m not going to put a dampener on our day by telling Tilda what I think I just saw.

The cab rolls smoothly down the hill into Windermere, past stone cottages with ivy-clad porches and overflowing hanging baskets. I lean back in the seat, letting the motion lull me.

When Dev got home from the pub yesterday afternoon, he looked stressed. I pushed myself up from the butter-soft leather of the chair to greet him.

‘Well, that was a waste of time.’ He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

I frown. ‘What was?’

‘Meeting Jack at the pub. Thought I’d go down, say hello to the locals, maybe get a feel for the place.’ He shakes his head, leaning back. ‘Big mistake. Felt like I’d walked into a bloody Western. You know, where the stranger steps inside and the piano stops playing?’

I give a little laugh. ‘Was it really that bad?’

‘Worse, Merri. Literally no one spoke to me. Even the landlord basically ignored me, apart from his one snide comment about the “glass palace”. Just stared, like I’d escaped from a zoo.

I think they were trying to work out if they should let me stay for a drink or throw me out.

A proper warm welcome. Not.’ He rubbed at his jaw.

‘I take back everything I’ve said about there not being a local agenda against us.

After that it feels like nobody wants us here. ’

I’m not sure what to say. It’s not like Dev to be this way. That’s usually my job.

‘Sarah told me Jack climbed over the gates to get to us on the terrace the other day. He lied about them being open.’ I swallow. ‘I hope we can trust him, Dev.’

He shrugs. ‘Cheeky of him, but so what? Only way he could get in when we were out back, I suppose. He opened up a bit about him and Sarah. He implied she might be having an affair.’

‘What?’

‘He didn’t really give a solid reason apart from her seeming a bit off with him and looking at her phone a lot. I think he’s just feeling low about himself.’

I’m shaken out of my reverie when Tilda snaps her compact mirror shut beside me in the cab, having checked her lipstick.

‘You’ll love this place,’ she says. ‘It’s where I go whenever I feel I need a break. A bit of TLC.’

I laugh. ‘I can definitely make use of that. Jack’s coming to fit the new front door today, so I’m leaving Dev to it.

Ooh, look, meant to show you this … Dev surprised me with it yesterday.

’ I hold up my hand and show her the stunning ring Dev gave me as a surprise gift.

He’d opened the small box as if it held something sacred, and inside was the most beautiful, wild-looking ring I’ve ever seen.

The hammered, oxidized silver is dark in places, almost stormy, and the shape is jagged, raw, like the outline of hills carved by wind and time.

‘It’s called a Catbells ring,’ Dev had said, his voice low. ‘Made by a local silversmith. It’s been hand-carved from wax then cast into silver. It’s meant to echo the view from Catbells and I thought you might like carrying a bit of that landscape with you. Wherever you go.’

I didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at it. It’s not pretty in a neat, dainty way – it’s rugged and real. Like something that’s survived a storm.

He slid it onto my finger and it fitted perfectly.

‘I love it,’ Tilda says. ‘It’s so beautiful. How lucky you are to have a husband who treats you. Do you deserve it, though?’

I look at her, shocked. But her blank expression dissolves and she bursts into laughter. ‘Just kidding! Your face!’

I grin. ‘You had me there. Sweet, though, isn’t it?’

‘Sweet and kind. You’ve got a good one there, Merri. It’s lovely you’re both so happy together.’

The salon is wedged between a chocolatier and an expensive homewares shop that sells alpaca throws and smells of linen and spring rain.

Inside, everything is soft: piped piano music that floats just above a whisper, the scent of aromatherapy oils lingering in the air.

Even the receptionist speaks in a lowered voice when she takes our names.

A woman in a white tunic leads us through to a room with muted lighting and plush recliners.

I slip between heated sheets for the massage and try not to think about the cost. Tilda insisted it was her treat, but I couldn’t let her do that.

It’s indulgent – so far from the life I had before.

I keep thinking what else we could use this money for – doing something useful.

But when the therapist starts to pummel my shoulders, the guilt softens, then fades away.

I float for the first time in weeks and realize it’s worth every penny.

The facial is all cool creams and gentle touches, the scents of rose and lavender. The therapist’s fingers smooth away tension I didn’t know I had around my jawline, my temples. By the time we’re done, my skin feels new and I’m half asleep, smiling at the feeling of bliss.

‘I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed,’ I tell Tilda, as we step back on to the high street.

She links her arm through mine. ‘Told you. I come here for a total reset.’

I find myself wishing Paige and I could’ve done something like this.

We used to talk about it – spa days, facials, the whole thing – but money was always too tight, and dreaming was as far as we got.

I think she’d laugh at how fancy this place is.

I think she’d be happy I finally got to come here, even without her.

Now that we’re feeling more settled, I can’t wait to call her and fill her in.

We head to a bistro with slate walls and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Inside, it’s all blond wood and matt-black finishes, the kind of place that uses a crispy sage-leaf garnish and lists its wines by vineyard.

I feel a bit underdressed. We’re shown to a corner table and I follow Tilda’s lead and order mushroom risotto with a large glass of white. More extravagance.

‘This is so good,’ I murmur after the first bite. Creamy, earthy, with some tangy cheese melted into the grains. ‘Dev would love the food here. Do you and Simon eat out much?’

Tilda nods, but she’s twirling her wine glass by the stem, eyes distant. ‘Usually, but … Simon’s been acting a bit strange just lately.’

I pause mid-forkful. ‘Strange how?’

‘Not exactly strange but … restless. He gets bored easily, always has. Is Dev the same?’

‘Not really,’ I say, not wanting to make her feel worse. ‘I mean, he’s always busying himself around and out of the house but I wouldn’t say he gets bored.’

‘Simon doesn’t say where he’s going.’

I lay down my fork. ‘That must be unsettling for you. Not to mention annoying.’

She pats her stomach, suddenly upbeat again. ‘I’ll have to hit the gym after scoffing all this.’

It’s clear that that part of our conversation is over.

We split the bill, and when I stand up, I can feel the soporific effect of the wine gently humming through me.

The door swings open just as we reach it, and two young women stride in, heels sharp on the wooden floor.

One wears a skirt that barely grazes her thighs, a slash of red lipstick and lashes.

I do a double-take – it’s Sarah, though she looks like she’s stepped out of a magazine shoot.

‘Hi, Sarah! You look fantastic!’ I say, as she passes. I think of what Jack told Dev. He’s probably unsettled seeing her dressed to the nines and out on the town without him.

‘Merri! Fancy seeing you here!’

Beside me, I feel Tilda freeze.

Sarah gives me a little wave, but is distracted when she sees Tilda. The two women don’t speak. Sarah’s friend laughs at something I don’t hear as we leave the bistro.

Outside, the air feels cooler, somehow sharper.

‘Do you know her?’ Tilda asks, as we walk.

‘That’s Sarah. Jack’s fiancée. She’s doing some decorating for us at Lakeview. She usually dresses down, no make-up, but she looks knockout when she’s out on the town.’

Tilda frowns. ‘A bit much for a place like this if you ask me.’

‘Well, she’s just finished university and starts her first teaching job in September. Maybe she’s letting her hair down a bit first.’

Tilda nods but doesn’t say anything. In the cab home, she stares out of the window, not speaking. Sunlight filters through leafy trees as we pass. When I glance at Tilda, shadows seem to play around her eyes.

And I find myself wondering exactly what it is about Sarah that’s troubling her.