Sure, maybe her mother was a little strange with her organic composting and worm farm and the papier mâché seed pod coffin she was making for her own funeral but only Clara had the right to say that. Now her mother was gone, so the betrayal of Giles and Judy was even more painful.
‘You used my dead mother in your lies?’ she had asked Judy. This was worse than the betrayal of cheating with her boyfriend. Judy knew what her mum had meant to her, and while her best friend didn’t know everything about her mum she knew more than most, even more than Giles.
Giles hadn’t said a word, and then Petey had taken on the role of Poirot.
‘So, you didn’t help Clara then, Judy? What did you do?’ Petey’s mouth had opened and shut like a fish gasping for water.
Clara had lost her temper then.
‘Oh, do catch up, Petey, she and Giles are having an affair, and eating my cottage pie, and lying to us both,’ she had yelled.
And she had seen Giles’s hand reach across the table to Judy’s, who had smiled at him in a sickening manner.
‘We’re in love,’ he had said to her as though she was missing out on something wonderful, and that was when she had thrown the breadstick from the table at him, knocking over the wine, knocking over the candle, which set fire to the whole evening. She left with her Tupperware and what little of her dignity was in the bottom of the container.
And now she had thrown her whole life into the bin including her job. She had cashed in her life savings and bought a cottage in some tiny village called Merryknowe, which consisted of a post office, some depressing-looking tearooms with a little bakery attached, and a pub and a few other ragtag shops. She had bought the cottage on a whim, fulfilling her retirement dream about fifty years early.
Clara had always dreamed of living a simple life. Jam-making, knitting, having a garden and pottering about while she was waiting for the bread to rise.
It was what she and Giles had talked about. They would look at photos online of houses for sale and discuss their plans, both working hard saving money for the dream.
Now she was the owner of a small thatched cottage, almost untouched except for a kitchen and bathroom that looked like they were last updated in the 1950s.
It had a sagging gate, but it also had garden beds and enough land for her to fulfil her vision of her own quiet life. Except it was supposed to be with Mother, and then she died. So, it was supposed to be with Giles. Where their grandchildren would come and visit them, and she would have taken up a craft and would finally learn how to bake and Giles would maybe chop wood and tie the tomatoes up on perfect tee-pee stakes.
‘Too many episodes of Escape to the Country while drinking wine,’ her work friends had told her after she shared the news that she was the new owner of Acorn Cottage.
Clara couldn’t disagree with the dig about either the wine or the TV show. She loved to change into her stretchy clothes, pour a glass of wine and watch the show, deciding which perfect cottage she and Giles would have chosen if they were on the show. It was a habit she had enjoyed with her mum before she died and then shared with Giles. Except they never bought a house on the show but the news from Piles and Judas, and the added information that Petey had moved out and Piles would stay there until Clara had left, stirred her into action to buy – especially after a bottle of plonk from the shop on the corner. She found the cottage online, emailed the agent matching the offer and it was accepted within an hour.
She didn’t ask to see it and she didn’t tell Piles about it either. She wanted to be away from him, Judas and everyone else who knew and looked at her like she was a complete idiot.
God, she was furious, she thought as she pulled the last of her underwear out of the drawer in the bedroom. She found the black lace teddy she had bought but never worn, the pink satin knickers with bows on the sides for easy removal, and the gorgeous coffee-coloured bra, which looked beautiful on, but she had been saving to wear. Saving for what? For who? She hadn’t even put them on for Giles.
Instead, she had worn the old knickers and bras, the ones that forwent style for comfort. Giles hadn’t looked at her anymore and she hadn’t tried to seduce him. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted him any more than he had wanted her.
She stood, holding the lingerie with the tags still on them, and then shoved them into her overstuffed handbag.
She was starting her new life as soon as she had packed everything she owned and would soon be driving to the village of Merryknowe.
The letter of resignation had been accepted by the bank and, after cashing in her investments and taking the money her mother had left her, she had enough to renovate the cottage and to keep her going for a while until she found what she wanted to do.
She was a good bank manager but she worried about some of the people whose loans were approved by Head Office. When she brought up the ethical problem she was told, ‘Don’t worry about.’ The powers that be said to her, ‘Let a different department look after it.’
But Clara had worried about the people who had taken the loans for things they couldn’t afford and then rang her office asking for help in repaying the money.
She hated the bank and she hated Piles and she hated
