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  Maggie suppressed her irritation at her mum’s habitual helplessness. Frowning at the thought of losing Sheila, she reached for the papers, bank statements, half-kept accounts and overdue invoices. It took only a brief look for her to get some idea of the situation.

  ‘Mum!’ she exclaimed, unable to keep the note of anger out of her voice. ‘How did you let it get like this?’ She thumbed through the back statements, seeing The Fleur’s account fall further and further into the red as each month went by. ‘This doesn’t just happen overnight. Was this why you went to the bank yesterday?’ she demanded, perhaps a little too brusquely. She saw the bright blue eyes fill perilously with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ her mum’s voice wobbled. ‘I didn’t want to bother you, I know you’ve got so much more to worry about right now. I don’t really know how it happened … I mean, you know, we’ve ticked along the same way here for years and years. A few of those new bars opened up in town and things changed, but we thought it’d be a fad and that people would be glad of a traditional pub to turn to when they’d had enough of loud music and those alcopop things. I suppose times change.’

  Maggie shook her head and wondered how her mum, such a crusading revolutionary in her youth, had become so stuck behind the times. For a brief moment she felt a surge of guilt; after all, if it wasn’t her for they’d still be picking coffee beans in Columbia not stuck in a business they had never known how to run – or needed to until now. She reached over the table for her mum’s hand, her annoyance washing away to leave only the underlying affection.

  ‘Look, I’ll need to spend some time with all this, this afternoon maybe, but at first glance this looks to me like it might be more than letting Sheila go. It might mean letting the pub go,’ Maggie said more abruptly than she’d intended to and squeezed her mum’s fingers. ‘But let me have a look, hey? Maybe there’s something here we’re not seeing. And anyway, you and Dad are near retirement age so maybe now’s the right time to chuck it. You’ve got your private pension scheme, haven’t you?’

  Marion avoided her daughter’s gaze. ‘Well, not exactly,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean “not exactly”?’ Maggie asked, feeling the irritation rise on its return ebb.

  ‘Well, it was very nice of you to set it up for us, Maggie, but it seemed like such a lot of money to pay in every month and, well, we’ve always preferred living in the moment.’

  Maggie took a deep breath and squeezed her mum’s hand just a tad more tightly than was comfortable before releasing it and drawing back.

  ‘So if the pub goes to the bank and …’ she gestured at the pile of papers … ‘all these other people you owe, you and Dad will have nothing. Nothing at all,’ she stated baldly, wondering if her mum was awake to the reality of the situation.

  ‘Yes, it looks that way, but I’ve often said what do we need material wealth for anyway, and—’

  Maggie suddenly lost it, standing so quickly that her stool shot backwards, leaving her mother open-mouthed.

  ‘Mum! When you are fifty-nine and your husband is sixty-two you need it, trust me. You need heating and light and what if one of you got ill and you needed health care? I mean, look at me – I’m out of a job, and Jim’s never had one. It’s not as if we can look after you!’

  Maggie stopped, realising how callous she sounded, and rubbed her fingers across her temples.

  ‘Of course we’d try and help, but what I meant was that neither one of us is in a good position right now.’ She noticed that her mum’s face had blanched and that her hands were tightly clenched. Crouching down beside her, she put her arm around her mother’s waist. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, it’s just that I sometimes wish you and Dad had a bit more foresight. A few chants and lighting a couple of joss sticks won’t fix this. Why isn’t Dad looking at this, anyway? He usually does the paperwork,’ Maggie glanced at the chaotic pile. ‘After a fashion, anyhow.’

  ‘I wanted to give him a break from all the worry,’ Marion said. ‘He’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. The doctors told him his blood pressure is sky-high and he really needs to take some of the stress out of his life …’

  For a moment Maggie thought Marion was going to add some other calamity to the list, but as she looked at her daughter she seemed to change her mind.

  ‘And so have you. I’m sorry, darling, to do this to you.’ Marion bent over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. ‘But if you could have a look it would make me feel so much better. At least you know what you’re looking at.’

  Maggie stood up and collected her bag from under the table.

  ‘Of course I will, Mum,’ she said. ‘Like you say, this is something I know a bit about, and it’ll, you know, take my mind off things.’ Maggie knew it wouldn’t, but she also knew that saying it would make her mum feel a bit better about asking for help. ‘When did the bank want to hear back from you?’ she asked.

  ‘A week next Friday.’ Marion sighed. ‘Apparently that really is our deadline.’

  Maggie considered this for a moment. Almost two weeks. It would mean she’d have to put her plan to get Christian back on hold. Unless … the small beginnings of an idea formed in her head. Unless she made trying to save the pub and her parents part of the plan. Well, either way she’d have to have something sorted out by next Friday. But she could still manage one day clear to put phase one of the Christian plan into operation.

  ‘Try not to worry, mum,’ she said. ‘Put that lot in my room and I’ll go through it this afternoon, OK?’

  As Maggie walked out from the cool, beamed interior of the pub into the blazing heat of the morning, she considered that a lick of paint wouldn’t do any harm for starters.

  ‘Good morning, The Sharp End?’ Sarah had just picked up the phone as Maggie walked in and was leaning on the reception counter. Saturday was Sarah’s busiest day and the salon was packed, the DFS sofa for three crammed with four anxious-looking young women no doubt worrying about what delight their Saturday night might hold if only they could get their hair straight enough.

  ‘Sorry, madam, we’re fully booked today. The next appointment I have is Monday morning at eleven?’ Sarah caught Maggie’s eye and, pulling her mouth down, nodded at the corner where Becca sat on one of the stylists’ swivel stools spinning first clockwise then anticlockwise, her face a perfect blank of boredom.

  ‘Did you still want that manicure?’ Sarah said as she hung up. ‘Only we’re chocka right now, and I’m not sure how long you’ll have to wait.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘No worries. I thought maybe red was a bit over the top for me anyhow. What’s the deal with Becca?’

  Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘She’s pissed off because Sam’s with his dad today and they’re going to some miniature village somewhere. She hates me because she’s never met her dad let alone gone on field trips with him. She hates her dad but as he’s not available I get it in the neck for that too. And she hates her best mate Leanne for reasons that are “too personal” to discuss with her mother. Consequently she has nothing to do and no one to do it with and has decided to inflict her misery on the salon. I wouldn’t mind, but Marcus offered to take her too – but apparently that would be “too sad”.’ Sarah looked at her daughter. ‘I feel bad about it, Mags. I’d love to take her out, but what can I do? It’s Saturday and I can’t just jump ship. It’s all this that keeps her in her trainers.’

  Maggie tried to catch her god-daughter’s eye but to no avail.

  ‘I’m crap at being a mum,’ Sarah sighed.

  ‘You’re brilliant at being a mum. She’s just brilliant at being a teenager, and the two things never go together, as we both know,’ Maggie reassured her. ‘So, what about the bloke you snogged last night – seeing him again?’

  Sarah shook her head vigorously and made a sour face.

  ‘Bleugh. What about you? When you called this morning you mentioned talking to some man? Hey – hey?’ Sarah waggled her brows. ‘Things looking up already?’

  M
aggie smiled and thought briefly of Pete.

  ‘No, it wasn’t like that, and anyway he’s engaged,’ she said.

  ‘Ohhhh. But still?’ Sarah was relentlessly hopeful.

  ‘Engaged and in love, like, big-time,’ Maggie told her flatly.

  ‘Well what’s the point of him then?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘The point is he inspired me not to give up with Christian …’ Sarah opened her mouth immediately but Maggie held up the palm of her hand. ‘No, listen. He made me realise I have to give it a go because I still love him more than anything or anyone in my life. I have to try, and if I fail, well, then I fail, and …’ Maggie reflected on the possibility for a second … ‘I will die. But, I have to try, OK?’

  Sarah regarded her coolly, and finally, perhaps more because of her waiting client’s furiously tapping foot than because she really agreed, she said. ‘OK. You are certifiably mad, but OK.’ Sarah smiled at the waiting client. ‘Two ticks, love,’ she called. ‘Luce, can you get Miss Bingham washed, please? Anything else?’ she asked, hoping Maggie would take the hint.

  ‘Well, to complete phase one I need you to come with me into London tomorrow to see Louise.’ Sarah looked blank. ‘His other woman!’ Maggie prompted.

  ‘Are you insane?’ Sarah blinked at her, stunned. ‘What on earth do you think seeing her is going to achieve? It will just make you look like a stalker and drive Christian even further away, if it’s possible to get further away than another woman’s bed!’

  Maggie shook her head, desperate to make Sarah see.

  ‘No, listen. It’s not stalking. I don’t mean actually talk to her. I mean just go to the Fresh Talent 2 branch and get a look at her.’ Maggie thought it sounded perfectly reasonable.

  ‘That is stalking!’ Sarah exclaimed just as the conversation in the salon lulled momentarily. ‘That is stalking,’ she repeated, lowering her voice a little. ‘And I am having nothing to do with it! In any case, it’s my one day with Becca and Sam and I promised to take them to the flicks. Becca even wants to go! Do you know what a rare event that is in this household?’

  Maggie picked up Sarah’s biro and tapped it urgently against the counter.

  ‘But don’t you see? I need to see her, to see what she’s like, to see how she’s different from me. Once I see what it was that Christian was looking for, I can change myself into that ….’

  ‘And what if she’s J-Lo and Gwyneth Paltrow all rolled into one?’ Sarah said, thinking, even as she said it, that actually maybe that was exactly what Maggie needed to see. ‘What if,’ she added, verbalising her thoughts, ‘you saw them together all lovey-dovey? What then, huh?’ Sarah crossed her arms and waited.

  ‘Well, I won’t.’ Maggie was adamant. ‘Tomorrow’s the Summer Organic Food Fair in Great Rissington. Christian never misses a chance to lord it around there and do a bit of wheeling and dealing. He loves it.’

  ‘What if he’s taken this Louise with him?’ Sarah added. ‘And you’ve been on a wild goose chase?’

  ‘He won’t. Fresh Talent 2 was supposed to have opened last week. They’re at least two weeks behind, so even if he does … like her … he won’t let her nose off the grindstone until it’s open. This is Christian we’re talking about: his business comes before anyone or anything. That’s why he’s so successful.’

  Sarah rolled her eyes again. ‘Are you listening to your own description of the man you can’t live without?’ she said, but Maggie ignored her.

  ‘Please, Sarah, I need you to come with me. Just in case … you know, I go all hysterical again. Please? It’ll only take an hour. You’ll be back for the cinema …’

  ‘Or we could all go.’ Becca had joined them at the counter, her face suddenly bright and alert. Sarah looked from girl to woman to girl and back again, giving Maggie her best I’ll-never-forgive-you-for-this stare.

  ‘I’m not taking my children stalking. The end. OK?’

  Becca tossed her hair and tutted loudly. ‘Oh go on, Mum! Aunty Mags really needs us and we’d be good cover, wouldn’t we, Aunty M? They’d never expect you to be stalking with a couple of kids in tow!’

  Maggie started to agree but closed her mouth abruptly at Sarah’s expression.

  ‘Please, Mum, you’ve been promising to take me to Oxford Street for weeks! I’ll be back at school soon and I’ll look like a total loser in these rags.’ Becca fingered her two-week-old top miserably. ‘We could drop by the office and stalk this Louise on the way.’

  Sarah opened and closed her mouth, taking a moment to gather her breath.

  ‘Even if I could take you, your brother would hate all that shopping and I’m fairly sure he’s not into stalking, unlike you, young lady.’

  Becca’s lower lip trembled perilously. ‘Well he always gets what he wants, doesn’t he.’ She didn’t say ‘including a father’, but Sarah felt the implication keenly, even if only in her imagination.

  ‘Or,’ Maggie said tentatively, ‘after we’ve, you know, had a quick peep at Louise and hit the shops we could take him to the London Transport Museum. He’d love that.’ Sarah’s face was implacable. ‘I’ll pay,’ Maggie added, winking at Becca.

  ‘Oh pleeeeeeeeeeeease, Mum. I never do anything exciting.’

  Sarah looked from her friend to her daughter and then to the client sitting in front of a mirror with a towel wrapped round her head and a furious look on her face.

  ‘I hate you both,’ she said, clearly meaning exactly the opposite. Maggie and Becca exchanged triumphant grins. ‘All right. We’ll all go as moral support, but neither I nor my children are taking part in any actual lurking, stalking or looking, OK?’

  ‘Oh but …’ Becca started.

  Sarah turned on her most thunderous scowl.

  ‘No buts. That’s the deal. And then we’ll go and do the shops and the museum. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘Take it,’ Maggie and Becca said together. Sarah cast them one last look before kissing her daughter on the cheek and heading towards her client.

  ‘Shall I buy you a McDonald’s?’ Maggie asked Becca.

  ‘Ugh, no, I don’t want to get fat like Mum! You can buy me a salad and a smoothie though, if you like?’ She was sweetly hopeful.

  Maggie grinned and nodded towards the door. ‘Come on, Becs. I know the high street’s got nothing on the West End, but we might find something decent if we look really hard.’

  As they were leaving, Maggie caught Sarah’s eye and the look between them was one of simple thanks, flowing both ways.

  Chapter Ten

  Pete tucked his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Just past the orange fringed lampshade a medium-sized spider was industriously creating a web, seemingly dipping and gliding through thin air with balletic grace. He glanced at his watch; it was almost twelve. The rest of his luggage had arrived just after eight that morning, and after signing for it and giving his telescope a cursory checking over, he’d got straight back into bed, pulled the less than fragrant duvet over his head and been lulled back to sleep by the sound of Angie singing in the bath.

  It occurred to him now that in actual fact he was feeling much less depressed than he had expected to; not as homesick. Maybe it was because he’d been here for less than a day. Or, more likely, it was because usually when Stella had gone, he was left behind glued in place by his own gravity, just waiting for her to orbit over him again. This time was different, because not only did he know exactly how long she had gone for, but he knew that she was coming back, and somehow that freed him and let him loose for some exploration of his own. He hadn’t been sad to say goodbye to Dougie the Digger – the ten long years of high regular wages had given him plenty to fall back on, and here he was, for the first time ever, on the brink of something exciting. Or terrifying. Or both.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Pete said to the spider.

  Mike, his old lecturer and part-time mentor, had originally called him about the job nearly three weeks before Stella had left, and first Pete had turned him down flat.
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  ‘Are you sure?’ Mike had persisted; over the years he’d found various opportunities for Pete, but so far he’d never taken any. ‘I know you have … ties up in Leeds, and I know you’d be giving up something steady for something short term, but I really think this could lead to something.’

  He’d asked Pete to cover maternity leave for one of the lecturers on the University of Hertfordshire’s model-making course. It was a great course, the best in the country, maybe the best in the world, and even if it was just a summer school coaching foundation students who hadn’t made it to degree level the first time round, Pete knew it would look good on his so far rather predictable CV.

  ‘And what’s more,’ Mike had told him, ‘there’s this film going into production at Magic Shop in August. All the CGI and FX are being finished there. It’s a big deal, huge budget. I know the guy that runs Magic Shop. He was asking if I could recommend anyone for the team, so I recommended you. I remember how you talked about this with so much passion. I know you want it – don’t pass this up because of …’ Mike had paused and Stella’s name had hung in the air for a second … ‘for a kid’s TV show,’ Mike had said finally. Pete had promised to think about it, certain that while things were so good with him and Stella he wouldn’t dare change a thing in case he upset their precariously balanced relationship. But then he proposed and she went to Australia, and you couldn’t really upset things more than that. He’d called Mike on the way back from the airport before he had time to change his mind.

  ‘Am I too late?’ were his opening words.

  ‘Christ, no,’ Mike had laughed. ‘I’m covering Sal’s session myself, it’s a bloody nightmare. This lot have the brains and talent of a single cell organism between them. It drains you of the will to live,’ he’d said with feeling, and then added as an afterthought, ‘not that it’s not great fun.’

  Pete had felt anxious, but was determined not to back out; one of the things Stella had said to him before she’d gone was that maybe he was too steady, too secure; maybe she needed a bit more excitement in a relationship to feel really happy. He knew that coaching a few failed students for a couple of weeks wasn’t going to cut the mustard, but at least it was a start.