Page 6 of Old Girls Behaving Badly

Dorothy laid her hand gently on Gina’s arm and offered her a sad sort of smile.

‘You feel untethered,’ she said. ‘I know exactly how that feels.’

When Dorothy had locked up and they’d walked back down the steps, she took Gina round to see the boat.

‘It belonged to my late husband, Philip,’ Dorothy said.

‘I honestly know nothing about boats, but I can see she’s a beauty,’ Gina said. ‘I love that chalky blue colour.’

‘We used to go out quite a lot, but not any more. Honestly, she’s become just an expensive place to sit and have a coffee. It’s really rather sad.’

Lavinia’s coffee was always strong and Dorothy took the sugar bowl and gave it to Gina with a sidelong glance and a conspiratorial smile.

‘Do you have any questions about the job?’ Lavinia asked.

Dorothy watched as Gina racked her brain to think of one. She liked this woman who seemed interested in art with a history of expertise under her belt, and an audacious plan started to form in Dorothy’s head. She wondered if Gina was up to the task, but she could hardly ask her with Lavinia here, and besides, she didn’t want to scare her off just yet by telling her what that task was. She wondered how biddable Gina was, how persuadable. She certainly wasn’t young, but Dorothy had noticed that she seemed like a quiet and compliant type. Then she silently chided herself for her thoughts.

‘How about we just work it out as we go along,’ she interrupted before Gina could come up with a legitimate question that Dorothy probably wouldn’t have an answer for.

‘We do have five other candidates, Dot,’ Lavinia said.

‘Cancel them. I think Gina is perfect, if you’d like the position, that is?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ Gina said, although Dorothy couldn’t tell from her expression if this were true.

‘Well, I very much look forward to seeing you in Norfolk then,’ Dorothy said, and despite herself she beamed at Gina.

4

GINA

I folded myself into the back seat of the taxi outside Norwich station, my sunglasses pulled down low over my eyes, my enormous suitcase squeezed into the boot. Chris had borrowed my car while his was stuck in the garage having extensive bodywork repairs after a collision with a tractor, but I was happy to get the train. It was quite a trek to Norfolk, after all.

‘Not travelling light then,’ the driver had said. ‘Got the kitchen sink in there?’

He’d laughed, but I just offered him a tight smile.

We headed north out of the city, the air con making me feel chilly on what was really a fairly hot day. I looked out across the flat fields, an endless sea of golden grasses flashing past, parched from the recent drought – the Met Office had been absolutely right with their prediction.

My journey had only started three hours ago, but still I was beginning to feel weary. It wasn’t the train journey, it was the month leading up to it.

‘Are you here for the wedding then?’ the driver asked, keen to engage me in conversation. His eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror, his penetrating gaze taking me in as I tried to keep my own eyes open. ‘I hear it’s to be quite the do.’

I rallied and sat further up in my seat. I was being rude, I knew, but my heart wasn’t really in small talk at that moment. My mind was engaged with thoughts of all the potential buyers trailing through my house, opening my cupboard doors and passing judgement on my decor, sizing up my garden that they had no intention of maintaining. Douglas’s plan for an open-house week had been embraced by the agents who had lots of viewings lined up. At least he’d let me pick which week and when Dorothy had told me I had the position it had all fallen into place. I couldn’t bear the thought of camping out in my own house, trying to keep it show-home ready and couldn’t possibly afford to stay in a hotel.

The house no longer really felt like mine anyway and I was beginning to feel hopeful that this week with Dorothy could possibly turn into more. The advert had said there was potential for a permanent position after the wedding. In fact, since meeting her and seeing how uncomplicated she was, how nice and unassuming, how lovely her home was, I had a lot of my hopes pinned on this working out.

Douglas had been round to collect the rest of his things, and I had psyched myself up for the meeting. I’d had the word divorce rolling around my head all that morning, waiting for it to land into the middle of our conversation and was going to make Douglas explain his position. But he’d been full of his trip and merrily showing me photos on his phone like we were old friends, rather than a couple with a collapsed marriage. Not a man talking to the woman he considered unexciting and beige. I’d dutifully looked, but really I was quickly scanning the faces of those in shot to see if there were any women, colourful and exciting women. In the end I’d lost the nerve to say very much at all and he left rather like an acquaintance would, with an I’ll be in touch.

I took a short breath now, and answered the taxi driver anyway. I was going to have to pull something out of the bag of conversation if I was to survive the week.

‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘To be honest, I’m more… staff.’

‘Oh, right,’ he said, watching me for a little longer until he assumed he wasn’t going to get anything further and returned his eyes to the road.

‘Are you a friend of the family then?’ I asked him.

‘No,’ he snorted. ‘I don’t move in those circles.’