With a sigh she reached for the little teapot and began to pour. People would get used to her, she supposed. They would have to. It would just take a little time.
Chapter Five
“No ifs, ands, or buts. You are coming. At least for one glass of wine.”
Judging from her mischievous smile and the way she was weaving slightly on Emily’s doorstep, Harriet Lang had already had one glass, or perhaps several. Her air was determined, her eyes bright, as she gave Emily the look of a woman who knew how to boss people around, even when a bit tipsy. “It’s your welcome to Wychwood,” she stated grandly.
“That’s very kind…” Emily said. She felt as if she’d said those words a million times already—because everyone was so kind. In the last three days, Olivia had made her a meal and left it on her doorstep with a bunch of bright daffodils; Alice and Henry had given her an enormous gift basket of local jams and chutneys and other delectable goodies; and now Harriet Lang, who used to live in number two, was inviting her out with a gaggle of other ex-residents for a drink, just as Alice had promised.
It looked like it was going to be hard to say no. Harriet must have been briefed, because she’d launched into her invitation with the attitude of someone who expected resistance and was prepared to counter it with every means possible. It was seven o’clock on a Friday night at the end of her first week of work, and Emily had anticipated a night of Netflix. She was already wearing her fluffy socks.
“I’m not dressed properly,” she said, giving a little, forced laugh. “I’ve already got into my pyjamas…”
“Then you can get out of them again,” Harriet said with the firm cheer of a school matron. “I’m happy to wait. Ellie has to drive in from Oxford anyway, and she’s only left half an hour ago. Really, it’s fine. And we’ll have such fun.”
Emily seriously doubted that. An evening of drinks with a bunch of strangers who were already all good friends with one another? Nightmare times two. Times a thousand. She knew Alice had been arranging for this to happen, but she’d still hoped it would take too much organisation to get this many women together. Apparently it didn’t.
“I’m not really a pub kind of person,” she tried, but Harriet really wasn’t having it.
“Nonsense. Everyone is a pub kind of person, at least once in a while.”
“I’m really not.” She had a visceral dread of going out with a bunch of chatty women who would ask her all sorts of questions and no doubt look at her askance for her quiet and invariably disappointing reserve.
“Well?” Harriet planted her hands on her hips, blocking the doorway as if she thought Emily might make a run for it. “You’d better get your skates on.” Her matronly manner softened a bit as she laid a hand on Emily’s arm. “Really, it’ll be fine. We don’t bite, I promise. At least not often.”
Which was so reassuring. Not. “I guess I’ll get changed,” Emily said weakly, and went upstairs. Her fingers were trembling as she slipped out of her comfy clothes and put on a pair of black cigarette trousers and a cowl-necked cashmere top in soft grey. She really didn’t want to do this. When was the last time she’d gone out of an evening? She couldn’t even remember.
She wasn’t a complete Billy No Mates, she told herself as she ran a brush through her hair. She had a few friends from her uni days, work-focused introverts like her. They’d mostly just studied together, occasionally grabbed a quick meal. She saw them once every six months or so, if that; once she’d started at Ellis Investments, right after graduation, she’d focused on her job—and her mother—and let that be enough.
Now she tried to tell herself the evening wouldn’t be so bad. If they were all friends, they’d chat to each other and she could fade into the background and be forgotten. Hopefully that was what would happen.
Back downstairs Harriet was wandering around the open-plan living area with obvious curiosity.
“You’re not much of one for clutter, are you?” she remarked cheerfully. “I wish I could say the same. But with three children and a dog, my house seems forever in a state of mess. This is pretty.” She nodded at a decorative glass bowl she’d picked up, putting it back on the coffee table with a clatter. “Shall we go?”
“Er, okay.” Emily reached for her coat, unable to keep from glancing back at the bowl. Harriet had replaced it so it was no longer in the centre of the table, which wasn’t a big deal—she knew that, of course—and yet…
It looked so wrong.
“Emily?” Harriet stood at the door, swathed in a pashmina, eyebrows raised.
“Coming.” Quickly Emily moved the bowl back into the centre of the coffee table, breathing a little sigh of relief at the inherent rightness of it. She straightened and glanced back at Harriet, who was, of course, looking at her oddly. Whatever. It was her bowl. Her table. Her house.
This evening was going to be awful.
“Let’s go,” Emily said as brightly as she could and walked out of the cottage.
Several cars had pulled into the courtyard by the time Emily locked up. She managed to hang back in the shadows as everyone greeted each other like long-lost relatives, with exclamations and hugs and smacking kisses on the cheek. Emily held her bag to her chest, managing a smile when people looked her way.
She’d been introduced to everyone and the names had washed over her in an impossible-to-remember tide—Alice and Olivia, of course, and then Harriet; there was also Ava and Ellie, and they were all talking about people she didn’t know—babies and children and husbands or boyfriends. Maybe dogs, as well, judging by some of
