‘It has,’ I assured them, taking the apple Archie had grabbed from the fruit rack and passing it to Yvonne to be weighed. ‘In fact,’ I told them, ‘I feel blooming marvellous. Better than I’ve felt for years.’
If the old dears looked a trifle surprised at this, it was only to be expected, I thought, as I went on up the hill with my children to nursery: they didn’t know the minutiae, the background. Not many young widows could go from catatonic inertia to full-blown euphoria in days, but this one could. Oh, yes.
Miss Hawkins, too, looked delighted to see the three of us looking so clean and sparkling, and for the first day in a long time, Clemmie skipped in with her friend Alice without hanging on to my leg, or Miss Hawkins’s, or both.
That evening, when Frankie arrived, I was almost waiting by the door, keen to be off.
‘God, look at you,’ she said, struggling with her enormous bag of books to the kitchen and dumping it down on the table. ‘You’ve got make-up on and everything. You look loads better.’
It occurred to me she didn’t. Her hair was greasy and lank and there were spots on her chin; misery around the eyes. I must talk to Jennie.
‘Yes, it’s extraordinary what undiluted fury can do for you,’ I assured her.
‘Oh, yeah, you found out he was a love rat, didn’t you? Who would have thought. Your Phil.’
‘Who indeed,’ I said grimly, seizing my handbag.
‘I mean, he looked so, you know …’ She bit her thumbnail.
‘Dull?’
‘Well, I was going to say harmless.’
‘Nerdy? Unattractive to women?’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘Except he’s dead, isn’t he? Perhaps we shouldn’t … you know.’ She shrugged.
‘No, perhaps we shouldn’t,’ I agreed, but somehow I knew it would be difficult. And it was heartening to know Frankie hadn’t thought much of him.
‘What was she like?’ she asked, following me to the door.
‘His mistress?’
‘Yeah. Jennie said she called round. Bloody cheek.’
‘Quite attractive, actually. Surprisingly pretty.’
‘And so are you. So he must have had something,’ she said meditatively.
‘I suppose he must,’ I said, turning to her at the door. ‘But it wasn’t enough, Frankie. Not to excuse that sort of treachery. I’m delighted he’s gone.’ I knew I’d thought it, but was surprised to hear myself say it.
Her kohl-blackened eyes widened. ‘Check
‘Right.’ I held her eyes a moment, remembering the biology teacher. ‘See you later, Frankie. Archie’s bottle is in the fridge.’
Someone else’s property, I reflected as I strode off to the church. Well, she was welcome to him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have burned his things? Should have taken them round to her house, dumped them on the doorstep, said: here, have him. Which perhaps I would have done if he hadn’t died. If I’d just found out. Yes, how would that little scenario have played out, I wondered as I pushed the gate into the walled churchyard and walked up the path, slippery with leaves, the wind in my hair. Obviously I’d have divorced him and he’d have gone to live with her, but then it would have been so much messier for the children. Alternate weekends, chunks of the holidays, like Angie; plus a stepmother … a
Jennie was late, having dropped Jamie at scouts, but I knew the rules now and made firmly for the back row, away from Molly, where I saved my friend a place. As it happened, that put me beside Angus Jardine, he of the silver hair and silken tongue. Angus was a pond-leaper, but protocol required him to turn to me with a look of concern and clear his throat.
‘How are you, my dear? I say, I saw the report of the inquest in the local paper today. Hadn’t realized his death had been caused by one of those wretched easyJet planes. Terrible thing to have happened. Terrible.’
‘Oh, no, not really,’ I assured him placidly, shimmying out of my coat. ‘Could have been a lot worse.’
‘Really?’ He looked astonished. Paused to consider. To frown. ‘In what way, exactly?’
‘Well, he was having an affair. Phil, I mean. If he’d lived, it would have been a great deal messier, sharing the children,
