Finding Grace(17)

‘Good morning, Mrs Charterhouse,’ my husband said calmly, before nodding to the wiry man hovering uneasily some way behind her.

I’d seen this rather brusque woman a few times out and about. She’d always been quite pleasant and nodded over in acknowledgement of me, as if we were somehow acquaintances. But today, her belligerent focus was firmly pinned on Blake.

‘Do you ever stop to think about the people behind your vicious little protests? Isn’t it far more charitable to give folks a fighting chance?’ She placed weather-worn hands on the edge of our table and looked at me, before turning back to Blake. ‘You’ve got yourself a nice comfortable life, I’m sure. Wife who doesn’t need to work, two spoilt children enjoying all the privileges you so virulently disapprove of in others. Why interfere with our livelihoods?’

I tried to swallow down the lump that had appeared in my throat. She sounded as if she actually knew stuff about us. About our family.

Oscar squawked and shook his rattle as she turned to glower down at him.

Blake sat up a little straighter, his brow furrowing. ‘I don’t appreciate your manner, Mrs Charterhouse, but I’m happy to discuss the rejection of your plans if you’d like to make an appointment with—’

‘I don’t want a fucking appointment, thank you very much.’ She lifted a hand and slapped it back down on the table, and I jumped a little in my seat. Oscar’s head jerked up, startled. ‘I want to hear what you’ve got to say about the campaign you started against us. Right now. In front of these good people.’

The colour had heightened in her face as quickly as it drained from Blake’s, but his voice was firm and calm.

‘I’ll thank you to watch your language in front of my son.’

He glanced at me, gave me a tiny reassuring nod to signal he had everything under control. But I didn’t feel convinced, and neither did the customers sitting at the tables around us, judging by the number of open mouths on display. I dug my nails into my palms in an effort to stop my hands shaking.

The woman’s scowl deepened and she showed no sign of backing off.

Blake cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Charterhouse. As you can see, I’m enjoying brunch with my wife and son and I’m not at liberty to discuss this issue with you right now. I can assure you that—’

‘It was a vendetta, that’s what it was.’ She turned to the other patrons of the café, seemingly in an attempt to get them onside. ‘Thirty-five years we’ve lived on Bridgford Road. Thirty-five years! A few purpose-built dog runs is all we wanted. To set up a little boarding kennel to supplement Harold’s pension.’

She jabbed a thumb at the mute man behind her, who looked as if he was willing the floor to swallow him up, then addressed the customers again.

‘Is it too really too much to ask… to make a modest living from one’s own land?’

A murmur rose from the other tables. I couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or not. I now recalled Blake referring to the Charterhouses’ planning application a few weeks ago. He’d spoken to a stream of concerned residents who’d approached him for help, unhappy at the couple’s boarding kennel proposal for their back garden.

Blake sighed. ‘It was your own neighbours who objected to the planning permission, as well you know, Mrs Charterhouse. I didn’t—’

She raised her voice above his.

‘It was you who whipped them up into a frenzy. Frightening them with tales of hounds barking through the night, and the non-existent wildlife being affected, all because of your ridiculous obsession with the environment. Anything that’ll enhance your reputation you’ll happily jump on board, no matter what the cost to others. That’s about the size of it, isn’t it?’

Oscar mewed, his eyes wide as he looked from his father to the angry woman. He was getting upset.

We were saved by a young waitress approaching, twisting a tea towel in her hands.

‘Can you keep your voice down, please?’ Her eyes darted around the room. ‘Sorry. People are trying to eat, and—’

‘Don’t worry, we’re going.’ The woman pushed her face closer to Blake’s. He didn’t flinch, but I saw him clench his back teeth in an effort to keep his expression impassive. ‘You know, your life might not be quite as perfect as you think it is. Ever considered that?’ She chuckled. ‘You act as if you’re the golden boy around here, but there are plenty of us can see right through the facade. You’re treading on a lot of people’s toes on your way to Westminster, and making a lot of enemies.’

She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned closer still, so only we two could hear her words.

‘Watch your back, Councillor Sullivan. That’s my advice.’

As she turned to leave, she swept her hand over towards me and knocked Blake’s tomato juice into my lap. A collective gasp rose from the other customers as she strode out of the café, her husband scuttling after her.

I cried out and jumped up, my clothes wringing wet. Blake sprang into action, grabbing our napkins to dab at the spill.

‘Are you OK, Lucie? What a cow. I can’t believe she did that…’

Concerned people began milling round, offering more napkins. Unknown hands pressed towards me, touched my clothes. I could hear soft voices comforting my son. Oscar began to cry, and Blake plucked him out of the high chair.