Chapter 21
Alice paused on the corner of her road that evening, strangely reluctant to head home just yet. The emotional ripples from the morning’s protest had stayed with her all day. And with her patients, come to that; there hadn’t been a single person to walk through her consulting-room door who hadn’t offered their support in some way and, as the number of photos and videos online began to gain momentum, it had been all anyone could talk about.
It went without saying that the picture of Taffy and Dan carrying poor Emily Arden had been the one to get the most retweets and shares, but then what’s not to like about two dishy doctors being chivalrous in the extreme? Even Tilly had managed to comment on that one, from another time zone . . .
Alice had never lived anywhere like this before; where your business was everybody’s business, or so it seemed.
She couldn’t quite work out how she felt about that either. Seeing everyone rally together behind Jemima and Emily and the rest of the newly anointed Preggie Protesters had been quite the eye-opener. People here cared. Perhaps it was the Cotswold equivalent of the South American communities that Tilly was always extolling?
Alice paused outside The Boutique On The Square, more out of habit than intent, squinting hopefully through the darkened windows and wondering whether a cathartic half-hour trying on designer jeans might be just the salve she was looking for. She felt disoriented and not a little claustrophobic.
Laughter and conversation caught her attention as Rupert the vet and his wife spilled out of The Deli, their paper sack of takeout food wafting its delicious aroma towards Alice as they passed. They waved, Jemima calling out her thanks for Alice’s earlier support.
Drawn to the idea of company, without company, she pushed open the door to The Deli and let her eyes travel along the shelves of delicacies. Maybe a little deli-picking would deal with the almost overwhelming urge to buy something, anything really. Hattie waved a friendly hello from behind the counter, where she ladled out casserole for Marion Waverly, with precise instructions for how best to reheat it later. Watching Marion hand over a crisp ten-pound note caused Alice a flicker of guilt. She tried not to think about the effect customers like herself had on a small business’s cash flow. But then, she justified, they had offered her the option to run a pay-day tab . . .
‘Alice!’ said Hattie, as Marion left with a wave and Alice studied a jar of puttanesca sauce. ‘I know it’s out of hours, and I hope you don’t mind, but can I ask you about teething? My twins are getting their molars through and seem to do nothing but grizzle. They’re driving me nuts, to be honest.’
Alice put down the jar and saw that Hattie wasn’t kidding; she looked tired, drawn and thoroughly pissed off at the thought of another sleepless night. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, feeling oddly touched that Hattie would ask her, child-free and off-duty. It almost felt as though they were becoming, well, friends. ‘If you’ve tried the gel and it doesn’t do the trick, there’s some little sachets of homeopathic powder that work wonders—’ Alice looked around The Deli for a moment and dropped her voice. ‘Although to be fair, I grew up in Scotland, where everyone just rubbed a drop of whisky on their gums. Works a treat, with the added bonus that they sleep like a dream. But you did NOT hear that from me.’
Hattie laughed, instantly looking five years younger. ‘And now you come to mention it, I think my teeth are a little sore as well.’
The bell above the door chimed and they both looked up to see Grace, who had abandoned all pretence at her usual calm composure and was looking flustered and decidedly pink. ‘I give up,’ she announced to Hattie. ‘I’ve got nothing to wear and I’ve just heard that the High Commissioner is on the bloody guest list!’
‘Crikey,’ said Hattie with feeling. She turned to Alice, sweetly bringing her up to speed on whatever drama was unfolding. ‘Grace is going on a date with a hunky pilot, but it’s black-tie and she’s wigging out.’
‘It’s not a date!’ Grace protested, snaffling one of the individual biscotti from the counter, without bothering with the accompanying espresso. ‘Is it, Alice? Tell her.’
Hattie grinned. ‘Yes, do let’s get Alice’s take on this. She can be the tie-breaker. So, gorgeous Chris Virtue called earlier on to invite Grace to be his plus-one at the Regional Air Ambulance Dinner. He says,’ she couldn’t help but smile, ‘that it’s to give Grace a chance to meet the movers and shakers and see behind the scenes. But you’ll note that he hasn’t extended the same invitation to Dan. Presumably, because he doesn’t look so fetching in a silk evening dress as our Gracie—’
‘Oh you do talk rot,’ cut in Grace.
‘Although Dan has got lovely legs,’ Alice mused deliberately, loving their easy banter.
‘It’s not a date, because it’s a work do,’ Grace said firmly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t look nice.’
‘I think he likes you,’ said Hattie in a singsong voice designed to torment.
‘But does he have to like me in “cocktail attire”?’ Grace said peevishly. ‘I think Alice here should go instead. I’ve been trying to introduce them for ages. He’s really very lovely and you’ve no shortage of fancy frocks.’
‘Ooh,’ said Hattie, instantly intrigued, ‘waste not want not—’
Alice was distracted for a moment, uncomfortable in the extreme at the very suggestion, and hardly heard the words around her, until Hattie repeated her name.
‘Earth to Alice, come in, Alice? I was just saying to Grace how fabulous you always look. Come on – what’s your secret? Maybe you could give her some pointers to get an outfit together?’
Alice nodded, caught on the hop; whilst fashion and designers were her passion, it was more of a private, almost secret obsession, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing. She looked at the two expectant faces before her – open and affable, and asking her advice. Tilly’s voice echoed in her mind.
‘Sure,’ she said slowly, realising this let her off the hook of stepping into the breach. ‘What have you already got? Maybe we can accessorise something to make it more fancy?’
Grace and Hattie both laughed. ‘You’ll have your work cut out then,’ confessed Grace with a shrug, indicating the simple powder-blue sundress she was currently wearing. ‘This is my smart dress, or was my smart dress when I had occasion to wear it. Now I just get on and enjoy it. No point saving things for best, is there really?’
Alice suppressed a small wave of bewilderment. It was almost as though they were talking a foreign language. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘Maybe we need to take you shopping.’
Grace and Hattie looked guiltily at one another.
‘The thing is,’ Grace said, ‘the dinner’s tomorrow night.’
‘Oh,’ breathed Alice, wondering why Grace wasn’t actually panicking more. It hardly occurred to her that, for Grace at least, the dress she would wear was probably the least of her concerns.
Stepping back out into the Market Place, without so much as a bag of fancy pasta in her hand, Alice drew in a steadying breath. If she took even a moment to outline the anxiety she was feeling, Grace would no doubt think her crazy.
She couldn’t even put a finger on when this bizarre obsession with keeping things just for herself had begun; it was hardly as though she could blame a sister for borrowing and trashing her clothes, or indeed a shortage of replacements should something be damaged whilst ‘on loan’. No, she decided, it was just one more step in the direction of being an official nutjob – or whatever the technical term actually was for someone who bought more clothes than they could ever reasonably wear in a lifetime? Of course, she’d watched the programmes on television about hoarders, and she’d been comfortably smug that she would never let her own home get into such a state of disarray. No indeed, because Alice’s collections of books and clothes were all catalogued and cared for – no unsightly heaps for her – just a spare bedroom filled with hanging rails and indexed storage boxes stacked neatly in every available space.
The very idea of lending Grace something to wear was one thing; inviting her into her own personal space was even harder. She felt a sweaty, clammy wave of discomfort prickle over her chest, even as Grace chatted easily beside her. How on earth had a longing for something special for supper ended up like this? She couldn’t even really recall how the conversation had morphed into her making the invitation.
‘You are very sweet to offer, you know, Alice,’ Grace said after a moment, perhaps picking up on Alice’s uneasiness, ‘but if you’ve got other plans for this evening, you only have to say.’
Alice thought for a second. Well, she did have plans. There was Neil from Norfolk to chat to online, a sale on and a new instalment of her latest Netflix box set – yet somehow all of those things felt a little hollow now, compared to the laughter and bonhomie in The Deli.
‘Nothing that can’t keep,’ Alice said quietly, determined to push herself out of self-imposed exile. There was no need to point out to herself that she could equally well do all of those things in the wee small hours, when Coco nudged her awake to check her blood sugar as it plummeted.
Besides, she was almost intrigued to see Grace in such a tizz. It was so out of character that Alice wondered if it was Pilot Chris – as Hattie had anointed him, as though he came straight out of a children’s cartoon – who had got Grace’s pulse racing. Maybe he really was just that wonderful? Which would be a shame really, thought Alice, as she’d harboured a secret hope that Dan and Grace would one day look up and actually notice each other.
‘Your aunt said you’d picked up an interest in interior design,’ Grace said, as they turned into Alice’s road. ‘Spotting fabulous bargains at the Antiques Market and restoring them?’
Alice shook her head. ‘Sadly my aunty Pru has a big mouth and a severe case of wishful thinking. She keeps threatening to drag me to Ikea to get organised.’
Grace shuddered, earning herself immediate Brownie points from Alice. ‘What fresh hell would that be? And who wants to live in the same identikit house as everybody else anyway?’
‘Quite,’ said Alice, secretly surprised by Grace’s vehemence on the topic.
‘And is she still calling it Eekoo? I do love your aunt and her malapropisms; she told me she was after joining some flamingo classes when I saw her last week.’ Grace smiled. ‘She only wants the best for you, Alice – probably just wants you to settle in, put down a few roots so you’re less of a flight risk,’ she said, adopting Dan’s spot-on phrase.
She made a valid point, thought Alice, but Grace continued.
‘It can take a while to settle anywhere new. And you do spend so much time at work, and with your gorgeous Jamie . . . I guess Pru just wants you to feel at home here.’
Alice nodded, overcome by the entirely unfamiliar, but increasingly nagging, urge to share. ‘You do know he’s not really my Jamie.’
‘Oh,’ said Grace, her voice laced with understanding. She stopped walking for a moment. ‘You could just tell him, you know,’ she said gently.
Alice shook her head. ‘Too messy.’
Grace opened her mouth as though to say something and then stopped, satisfying herself with a supportive look.
‘Maybe there are easier ways to appease your aunt,’ she offered. ‘Buy a bookcase, maybe? I mean, how many books could you possibly have that it’s causing her such concern?’
Alice pushed open the door to her cottage, where the catalogued boxes were stacked neatly against one whole wall. ‘Eight hundred and ninety-three,’ she replied simply, ushering Grace inside and wondering whether her surprised expression boded well for what she was about to see upstairs.
‘Cool,’ said Grace after a beat. ‘Well at least I know where to come when I need reading advice.’
Alice was grateful that she hadn’t immediately said what most people did: either they expressed disbelief that anyone could need, or indeed read, so many; or they made jokes about using her as their local lending library. Alice breathed out slowly, trying not to relive how pissed off she’d felt at having her beloved Jilly Coopers returned with corners folded down and coffee rings on the cover. In Alice’s world, her books were treasures to be enjoyed again and again as new, not merely coasters for the nearest hot beverage.
‘So,’ she said, as the front door swung to behind them and she perched on the back of the sofa, ‘what look are you going for? Professional interest or super-sexy?’
Grace blushed. ‘Somewhere in between? I mean, it would be lovely to feel a bit swish, wouldn’t it?’
‘And this Chris? Is he just lovely?’ Alice felt she needed to ask. If she was going to give up on her ideas about Dan and Grace, then she felt an odd responsibility to vet this potential suitor. It was madness really, and certainly none of her business, but she couldn’t help notice that Grace seemed relieved to have someone discreet to talk things through with. Grace held up her iPhone, tapping on the Safari icon, and an image quickly filled the screen.
‘Crikey,’ said Alice, a little taken aback at the image of a smiling man in his flight suit.
‘Quite,’ said Grace. ‘So you can see why this isn’t a date. What would someone who looks like that see in someone who looks like me? Are you quite sure you won’t go?’
It was her endearing insecurity that made the decision easier for Alice in the end. Chris Virtue was one of the good guys – he could be flying in the private sector and earning a bundle, but he’d chosen the Air Ambulance. And what’s more, he’d obviously looked at Grace, with her yoga-toned body, but endearing lack of guile, and decided she was worthy of his attentions.
Alice paused at the top of the stairs, wondering how to make her request. In the end, she opted for transparency, ignoring the clammy swell of apprehension at letting anyone into her world. She couldn’t help thinking Tilly would be proud. ‘Grace,’ she said, ‘can we agree not to talk about this with anyone? It’s just, well . . .’
She pushed open the door to her spare room, to the rails and rails of dresses and jackets and blouses, to the hooks bearing necklaces and bracelets and scarves. She shrugged, the ache of vulnerability making it hard to speak. Quite why she’d decided that tonight was the night to bare her soul she couldn’t say. Was it Jamie’s total belief in her and the confidence that conveyed, or Hattie’s proffered hand of friendship, or perhaps simply that she’d reached the point where the secrecy was wearing her down?
‘Bloody hell,’ said Grace, turning her wide grey eyes on Alice in surprise. ‘No wonder you always look so stunning. I had no idea you were a fashionista.’
Right then, in that moment, Alice would so easily have hugged her: fashionista sounded so much healthier than compulsive shopper.
She stepped forward and pulled a cobalt blue halter-necked dress from the rail nearest her. ‘I thought this would frame your shoulders perfectly,’ she said, as though it were the most normal situation in the world.
Grace leaned forward and gave Alice the lightest of kisses on her cheek, herself a little emotional. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ she said with feeling. The honour of this vulnerability was not lost on her. ‘It looks beautiful.’
Alice managed a smile. ‘Oh, we’ve barely started yet.’ She watched Grace’s eyes flit around the room from rail to rail; it was about time she started having fun with her trophies, rather than sequestering them away in shame. Perhaps helping Grace might prove to be the first step on the path to helping herself, she thought, as she pulled out another two dresses and laid them in Grace’s arms. ‘What are you waiting for? Let’s see how they look!’
She pulled out her iPhone from her pocket and hit play on her summer playlist and as the sultry tones of Tracy Chapman rang out in her cottage, Grace slipped off her sandals with a grin.
‘I’m not doing this on my own,’ she said. ‘Get that gorgeous green tunic on you, madam, and let’s see how you look.’