The Couple at No. 9(32)

As she treads over the gravelled driveway with Snowy, she notices a large van parked up. A young, well-dressed woman in a purple suit and dark hair that doesn’t move in the breeze is talking to camera on the pavement.

‘This might look like just another idyllic Cotswold cottage,’ she is saying, into a microphone, in a sepulchral tone. ‘But looks are deceiving. Two bodies have been found here at Skelton Place.’ She turns to indicate the cottage and Lorna freezes, not sure whether to keep walking or stay still. The journalist’s face lights up when she sees her. ‘And here is one of the owners now.’ She moves towards Lorna. ‘It must have been a shock to discover the bodies,’ she says, thrusting the microphone into Lorna’s face.

Lorna bristles. ‘This isn’t my house.’

‘Oh.’ The reporter looks thrown and then professionalism kicks in. ‘I gather you’re not Saffron Cutler?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘I understand this cottage used to belong to Saffron’s grandmother. Is that correct?’

‘No comment,’ says Lorna. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me –’

‘Cut!’ shouts the cameraman. He’s standing in the road and an irate driver beeps for him to move. He strides to the pavement but doesn’t apologize or acknowledge the driver.

The reporter looks daggers at him before fastening her gaze back on Lorna. ‘It would be great if we could interview you for our news segment. Heleana Phillips, pleased to meet you.’ She extends a hand but Lorna doesn’t take it.

‘There’s no story here,’ snaps Lorna. ‘We know nothing about the bodies. It happened years before my daughter lived here.’

Heleana pushes a lock of her sleek hair behind her ear. ‘Well,’ she says, in a soothing voice that Lorna suspects is put on to cajole, ‘I think this is a very interesting story. It’s not every day that two bodies are discovered, now, is it? Are you sure there aren’t any more?’

‘Quite sure,’ says Lorna, gently pulling Snowy to his feet and moving away. She notices a few of the elderly ladies who live across the road have clustered together on the pavement and are watching the scene with disapproving expressions, arms folded across their chests. Lorna understands that this Heleana and the other reporters are just doing their job – she’s used to it, after all, once living with Euan – but she wishes they’d bugger off. Particularly for Saffy’s sake: she notices how her daughter hides away when they’re outside, like a prisoner in her own home.

Lorna stalks off down the hill in her unsuitable shoes, ignoring Heleana’s calls. Her heart is beating fast but she doesn’t slow until she reaches the Stag and Pheasant at the bottom of the slope. Then she stops to catch her breath before continuing through the village square. It opens up like a scene from a pop-up children’s book, and as she passes the market cross and the quaint little church, she is besieged by that diaphanous memory again. It floats frustratingly out of reach. The market cross is so familiar to her that she finds herself heading there. She sits on one of the cold steps, surveying the rest of the square. And it hits her. A memory, struggling to solidify in her mind. She remembers walking through this square, flanked by two women, each holding one of her hands. Her mother … and someone else. Someone faceless. The woman in the photograph, perhaps? It’s more of a feeling than a memory and it instantly makes her feel melancholy, a bit like grief.

What is it about this place? she wonders, getting to her feet. When she’s here she feels enveloped in a sadness she can’t explain, as if a cold mist has descended over her, covering her like a veil.

This won’t do, she thinks. She needs to snap out of it. To remember why she’s here. She mentally ticks off all the things she wants to buy: ingredients to make a traditional Spanish paella for Saffy and Tom tonight. She heads over the little bridge to the shop at the end of a row, tying Snowy to a post. She’s getting used to him now. She’d even go as far as saying she feels some affection for him.

The corner shop doesn’t have all the ingredients she needs, so she has to improvise. As she walks around the narrow aisles, she notices a few stares from other customers. She ignores it. She’s used to being stared at. She pays and then, with Snowy, ambles to the little café on the corner, the Beggars Bowl.

The café allows dogs so she takes Snowy inside. It’s cramped, with just enough room for two round tables towards the back. There is an elderly man with a shock of white hair in front of her talking to the young guy who’s serving behind the counter, and she just catches the tail end of his conversation.

‘… such a quiet place but now there’s journalists everywhere and coppers – one came to my door last night asking questions. It was dinner time. Who comes knocking at dinner time? I ask you! This is what happens when youngsters come in and over-develop their houses …’ He falters when he notices Lorna. He raises his white, craggy eyebrows at her, but doesn’t continue his tirade. Lorna’s tempted to tell him not to stop on her account but she doesn’t want to make things worse for Saffy. She’s the one who’s got to live with these villagers after all.

The man takes his cup from the guy behind the counter, nods at her without smiling and leaves the café.

‘What can I get you?’ asks the young guy. If he knows who she is he doesn’t let on and she’s grateful. She orders a latte and makes small-talk while he’s preparing it. She learns that his name is Seth, he grew up in the village, his aunt used to own the café and that he’s off to do a degree in engineering at Nottingham in October. She’s smiling to herself as she leaves with her precious latte. He’s the first friendly person in the village she’s encountered since she arrived.