Pastures New. Julia Williams
were several empty ones. So different from Barnet, where she would have been driving around fruitlessly for hours before finding a spot miles away from home. That had to be a good omen.
She took a deep breath and stared at herself in the rear-view mirror. She teased out her fair curls so they didn’t look quite so tangled, and put on a bit of lippy – bright red to boost her confidence. She rarely wore makeup – Jamie had always said her light natural complexion didn’t need any, and now she didn’t see the point. But lippy was good. Lippy was part of the mask she needed to face each day. The mask she needed right now to persuade Josh of the wisdom of this move. It didn’t help that she was so racked with guilt about it, that she wasn’t one hundred per cent convinced herself.
‘Right, Josh,’ she smiled brightly at her five-year-old son, who was sucking his thumb and looking out of the window. ‘We’re here. And we’re going to look at some new houses for us. Isn’t that fun?’
‘Is Granny coming too?’ asked Josh.
‘No, sweetheart,’ said Amy. ‘You remember, I told you. Granny’s staying in her house, and we’re going to have a new house. Won’t that be nice?’
‘Oh,’ said Josh, his face puckering a little. ‘But we won’t see Granny very much, will we?’
‘No, but she can come and visit any time she likes,’ said Amy, more brightly than she felt. Damn. She thought she’d squared that with him. But then, he was very close to Mary, it was only natural he would feel the loss of her.
And she of him. Amy’s stomach went into spasm as she recalled the conversation she’d had with her mother-in-law a few weeks earlier.
‘So you’re serious about this move then?’
As Amy was in the middle of packing up a pile of books at the time, it was hard to resist a sarcastic remark, but she bit her lip and said, ‘Yes, Mary, I am.’
‘What about Josh?’ Mary had sniffed. ‘He’s not going to know anyone in the country.’
‘Children are very adaptable,’ Amy had snapped back. Mary had touched a nerve, as it was what Amy herself had agonised about over and over again.
‘That may be so,’ Mary had replied flatly, ‘but it’s such a long way.’
‘I know,’ Amy had said. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘But that’s not going to stop you, is it?’ The comment had been barbed, and hit home as it was intended to. Amy had flinched, but held firm.
‘No, Mary, it’s not,’ she’d replied, wishing beyond all measure that there was an easy way of doing this, an easy way of creating some distance from her memories.
Sighing, she got Josh out of the car, and peered down at the map the estate agents had given her. According to it, their office should be on the corner.
‘Come on, Josh,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘it’s this way.’
They were just coming up to a little cartway when Josh let go of Amy’s hand.
‘Hey, cool!’ he said, running towards the toy shop on the other side to look at the Spiderman poster in the window.
‘Josh! Come back!’ shouted Amy.
At that moment a motorbike came roaring up the cartway.
‘Josh!’ screamed Amy.
The motorbike braked and swerved, the rider just about avoiding Josh and retaining control.
‘Josh, are you okay?’ Amy ran to her son and took him in her arms, trembling violently. ‘You never, ever run off like that again, do you hear?’
Josh burst into tears – whether because of the telling-off or the fright he had had, Amy wasn’t sure. But he was all right. She took a deep breath. That was all that mattered.
‘Just what the hell did you think you were doing?’ she screamed at the rider, fear turning to fury.
‘I could say the same thing about you,’ spat out the rider, taking off his helmet to reveal dark hair, brown eyes and a strong, chiselled face, which would have been stern if it were not lightened by a ready smile. ‘Your son ran across the road.’
‘You were going too fast.’ Amy’s tone was accusing.
‘I was doing less than twenty,’ replied the rider. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stop.’
They glared at each other.
‘Is your son okay?’ The rider glanced at Josh, who was squirming out of Amy’s grasp.
‘No thanks to you,’ snapped Amy.
‘I’m sorry to have given you a fright,’ said the rider. ‘And I’m glad your son is all right, really I am. But you shouldn’t let him run off like that.’
Amy couldn’t speak. This stranger was right. Her moment of inattention had nearly got her son killed. She nodded mutely. Tears pricked her eyes. What if the bike had been going faster? She would have lost Josh as well as Jamie.
As if sensing her change of mood, the rider gently said, ‘Look, no harm done, eh?’ He squatted down next to Josh, and added, ‘Hey, tiger, you make sure you hold your mum’s hand really tight when you cross the road next time. You promise?’
‘I promise,’ mumbled Josh.
The rider got up, climbed back on his bike, and roared off up the road.
‘Who was that man, Mummy?’ Josh asked.
‘No one,’ said Amy, as she watched the departing bike, wondering why a stranger’s moment of kindness had made her feel so lonely. ‘Come on,’ she said, rallying herself. ‘Let’s go and find our new home.’
‘And this is the garden …’ The estate agent motioned Amy towards the rickety wooden door leading from the kitchen. Josh, who had been trailing behind them, immediately perked up and pushed his way forwards. Amy took a deep breath. It was still going to be a tough call selling Josh this move, and so far he had been deeply unimpressed, but a garden might just swing it. The shared patch of earth that passed for a garden in their two-bedroom flat in Barnet didn’t amount to much, and Josh was desperate to have somewhere to kick a ball.
‘It’s stuck,’ Josh said, disappointed. The door seemed to have swollen from the recent rain and was rather stiff.
‘Here, let me.’ The estate agent, whom Amy had silently christened Smarmy Simon, had a go. He really had to tug it, but eventually, with a rather worrying rattle, the door opened and they all trooped outside.
Amy knew she should be concerned about details like that. Jamie would have been making a list by now of all the things that were wrong with the place. But she couldn’t – not with the tingling feeling of excitement that had been growing inside her as Smarmy Simon showed her round. It was a long time since she had felt that mixture of hope and anticipation.
The house was perfect. It could have been made for her and Josh. A Victorian terrace, full of character as requested. Three bedrooms, so more than enough room for the pair of them. The downstairs wasn’t huge, and the bathroom was inconveniently next door to the kitchen, as was the case in all these old terraces, but it didn’t matter. There were marble fireplaces, and real wood floors. The kitchen was oak throughout. It was quaint. Even the little archway that joined the house onto its neighbour was attractive. Like the rest of the house, it had charm. It was the house she and Jamie had always dreamed of.
Don’t go there, she admonished herself, reciting the mantra that she had long since perfected to retain her sanity as she emerged into the sunlit garden. It was a bit overgrown, but someone had evidently tended it well in the past. Amy spotted lobelia tumbling out of a couple of cracked earthenware pots, and down one side of a whitewashed wall the honeysuckle was going