A Rural Affair

mouth twitched. ‘I’m off to borrow Leila.’ And with that she sauntered across the road in the direction of Jennie’s house, velvet coat floating behind her.

Angie, however, wasn’t so thrilled when she banged on my door that evening. I’d been taking things at something of a canter, keen as I was to get the children bathed and into bed, thereby giving myself plenty of time to sink into my own bath and prepare for my date tonight. My date. My heart lurched and fingers fluttered as I cut up the soldiers for the boiled eggs, but not in the right way, I realized. Not in a pitter-patter nervous-excitement way, in more of a … well, plain nervous way, actually. But perhaps that was normal? After all, it was years since I’d been out with anyone and I had rather set the tone for this one by kissing Luke firmly on the lips and telling him I’d be happy to come to his place. Had rather shown my hand. Still. That didn’t necessarily mean tonight had to be anything other than a very pleasant meal, did it? Of course not. And Luke was a nice guy; there was no way he’d be expecting anything else, surely? I recalled Luke’s eyes, bright with possibility at what he’d perceived to be very much the green light from me, and promptly dropped Archie’s egg cup. As I picked up the shattered pieces of china I decided I needed to calm down. I also decided that I wouldn’t drink too much, but that I would, after all, shave my legs.

Which was why it was not terribly convenient when Angie banged on my door at about seven o’clock. So hard I jumped out of the bath and ran downstairs to answer it with wet hair and bleach cream on my upper lip.

‘Clearly you both think I’m a complete tart!’ she stormed, pushing past me in the doorway, not even commenting on my moustache, and making for the kitchen.

She opened the fridge door and seized a bottle of white wine although she’d patently had most of one already; her eyes were pink and glassy, always Angie’s giveaway. I hastened after her in my dressing gown, wiping off the bleach as I went, knowing instantly what she meant.

‘No, of course we don’t, Angie,’ I urged, thinking this really couldn’t be more inconvenient as she hunted down a couple of glasses in my cupboard and poured two hefty slugs of Chardonnay.

‘You obviously think that just because I had a teensy crush on Pete, I’m hopping into bed with all and sundry and getting knocked up in the process. Flinging pregnancy tests over my shoulder as I go!’

Oh, Lord. Furious. Livid, in fact. All my fault. ‘No one’s saying that, Angie. It’s just that for Frankie’s sake we thought –’

‘I mean, who did you think it was, hm?’ Her eyes blazed at me as she sank a good two inches of wine in one gulp. ‘Bonkers Bob, perhaps? Did you think I’d wrestled him out of his raincoat and got down to it in his revolting farmhouse? Or maybe his sidekick, Frank? Perhaps you thought I couldn’t resist the twirling moustache and had a burning desire to see him naked but for his dandruff?’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s just we had to discount anyone who’d been in Jennie’s house, that’s all. And who was young enough’ – I added toadily, hoping she didn’t know Peggy had also been accused – ‘to, you know, get pregnant.’

This mollified her slightly. She pulled out a chair at my table and slumped into it, looking alarmingly permanent. ‘Hm, well,’ she grunted, knocking back another hefty slug and refilling her glass. ‘Yes, of course I could still get pregnant, I’m not that ancient. But I’m not seeing anyone, you know.’

She looked more shattered than angry now. Her face soft and vulnerable beneath her make-up.

‘I know, I know,’ I said soothingly, sitting down beside her.

‘It’s not even as if I’m dating.’

‘Well, quite. Stupid of us.’

‘And anyway, I still love Tom.’

I didn’t say anything; sat very still. This was quite an admission. Usually she hated Tom. She seemed unaware of me, though. Stared into space.

‘You know he’s on his own again?’ she said at length, more to the wall than to me.

‘No, I didn’t know that. Since when?’

‘Since Tatiana went back to New Zealand. Wants to pursue her dangerous sports, apparently. As if nicking my husband wasn’t enough of one.’

‘So … is there hope?’

‘That’s exactly what I wondered,’ she said sadly, ‘when Clarissa told me. Said Daddy was on his own. I thought: perhaps there’s hope? And then I ran into Bella Stewart, who’d sat next to him at a dinner party last week, and in his cups he’d told her he’d been a stupid arse. So, silly tart that I am, d’you know what I did?’

‘What,’ I said, guessing.

‘I rang him. And left a message on his answering machine which I hadn’t thought out beforehand. A long,