Ella couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this. There had to be better things to do than wandering along a muddy footpath, slipping and sliding all over the place at half past nine on a Saturday morning. At home she would be at the Hackney Grind, eating delicious eggs Benedict, sipping a flat white and scanning the arts pages of Time Out, with Patrick debating which exhibition they should see. She hunched deeper into the North Face coat she’d pinched from Magda’s coat rack. She was turning into the woman style had forgotten.
‘Woo hoo!’
Ella spun round to see Bets charging along the path towards her, two branches brimming with white hawthorn blossom held up to her head like antennae. Dex and Tess raced around her, almost tripping her up with wanting to join in the fun but she just laughed at them.
‘What do you think?’ Bets waggled the foliage comically. She looked totally ridiculous, rather like an overgrown ant, but clearly she didn’t care. Her giddy uninhibited silliness stopped Ella in her tracks and, unable to help herself, she burst out laughing.
‘You’re mad.’ She giggled as Bets continued to wave the branches about. ‘But they’ll fill the arrangement up. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Let’s see what else me and my trusty hacksaw can carve up for your delectation today.’ Bets did another energetic twirl, leaving a flurry of petals in her wake.
They’d amassed quite a bit already on the short walk this morning. Both dogs seemed utterly perplexed by the women’s sudden interest in the hedgerows.
‘Lots of this would be good.’ Ella pointed to some white flowers.
‘Common mouse-ear,’ said Bets. ‘It’s a weed, I think, but I always think it’s so pretty. I wouldn’t mind it in my garden. I wonder what makes it a weed. Maybe because it grows like one. There’s loads of it.’
Weed or not, she agreed with Bets. The delicate white flowers hidden among the green stems were rather lovely. Her eye was caught by another shrub, glossy leaves just about to unfurl like emerald-backed beetles. Above her head the branches of a sycamore spread, like arms extended to embrace the sky. Her eyes traced the limbs, their arterial divide reminiscent of biological sketches of veins and blood vessels. Funny how these things in nature seemed so interlinked. She’d not noticed it before.
They continued walking and passed under an overhanging bough, bushy with plump catkins. Ella reached up and touched them. ‘Some of these would be good.’ They were reminiscent of the lambs’ tails in the field they passed earlier. To her amazement, the tiny white creatures had actually gambolled, just like they did in cartoons. They were quite cute although the parent sheep looked like grubby old tramps with their shaggy coats encrusted with mud and other unmentionable stuff.
‘So do you know what you’re doing? Or is it a question of get enough stuff and pray?’ asked Bets. ‘Is it going to be like the darts night? You have a hidden talent you didn’t tell me about and you’ve been doing that Japanese ikebana for donkey’s years?’
‘I’ve never heard of that.’ Ella looked quizzically at the other girl who pulled a mournful face.
‘Audrey. Women’s Institute. I get roped in to do all sorts of things, especially when numbers are low.’
‘Ever heard of saying no?’
Bets raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the pile of flowers in their arms.
‘I didn’t feel I could,’ Ella said defensively. ‘Not after I met the vicar.’
‘With Audrey, you definitely can’t, she’s a force of nature. It’s easier to roll over and say yes.’
It was Ella’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
‘I’m not as bad as her,’ protested Bets. ‘You enjoyed the darts in the end. And the church flowers are down to Magda, not me. Anyway, if it turns out badly, just think they’ll never ask you again.’
‘Again? I thought this was a one off.’
Bets gave her a pitying look, shaking her head. ‘You’ve got so much to learn about village life.’
Finally, satisfied with the haul of greenery, Ella suggested they head for home.
They walked along the path, the dogs making sudden appearances bursting out of the undergrowth, circling each other – and then one would dive off the track, the other dog bouncing along in its wake.
‘They’re having a great time,’ said Bets patting Dex as he bounded past, did a quick about turn and went back the other way, Tess doggedly following in his footsteps. ‘Two dogs are definitely better than one. When Jack and I get married and he takes over the practice we’ll have two.’
Ella didn’t know much about Jack, apart from that he and Bets were childhood sweethearts and he was away at Bristol University studying to be a vet like his older brother.
‘What about Devon?’
‘Devon’s had his own practices for the last few years. He’s only back at the moment because Geoffrey, their dad, hasn’t been well. And he split up from his girlfriend, Marina.’ From the petulant way Bets emphasised the consonants, Ella guessed that the ex-girlfriend wasn’t persona grata.
‘You don’t like her?’
‘Can’t stand her.’ The words burst out, then Bets paused, her face telegraphing confusion as if disturbed by her own uncharacteristic venom. ‘Sorry, that’s not fair. I don’t really know her that well. She’s not exactly one for family gatherings. Since Devon met her, he’s kind of separated himself from us.’ Bets rammed her hands into her pockets, her pace picking up as if matching her frustration. Ella couldn’t imagine any of her friends being this irate on her behalf.
‘Bloody Marina’s always been too busy to come with him. Filming here. Interviews there. I’m probably biased. She’s got this fabulous, exciting career. I see how much it hurts his parents and pisses Jack off. If she’d made Devon truly happy, maybe none of us would have minded, but he hasn’t seemed very happy for years. Not that he ever said anything. Far too much of a gentleman.’
‘What does she do?’ Ella was intrigued. Devon seemed an unlikely boyfriend for an actress or a model.
‘She’s a celebrity vet. On the telly. Every morning. An absolute cheesefest. Making Pets Well with Marina.’ Bets put her fingers in her mouth and mimed gagging.
A devil of mischief popped into Ella’s head. ‘What? Treating celebrity bitches?’ She thought she might have caught the show once.
Bets let out a shout of laughter and held her hand up for Ella for a high five.
‘Bloody brilliant!’
As they neared Magda’s cottage, which Ella now thought of as home, both dogs slowed their pace, panting.
‘Let’s have a cup of tea before we go to the church.’
With the dogs lapping thirstily, Bets explored the kitchen.
‘I love the colour scheme in here,’ she said, looking round, ‘it’s gorgeous.’
Ella smiled. ‘Magda wanted colours that would distract from the cobwebs. We spent a fortune on paint samples to get them right.’
‘You did it?’
‘I helped. Magda knew she wanted French Provincial and Cath Kidston. We just went from there.’
‘It’s lovely. You’ve got a good eye – but then you are an artist.’
Bets stood next to one of the duck-egg-blue walls and stroked the soft matt paint. ‘I stand in Homebase, look at the colours on the tins. Then I think “that’s the one”, buy ten litres and then when you start putting it on the walls it looks like cat-sick.’
‘No, you can’t do that. You need to get samples. Try them out on the wall. Light. Textures. They can affect the colour.’
‘I realise that now, when I’ve got enough sodding paint to cover the whole bloody flat five times over and I’ve done two walls and it looks hideous.’
‘I have to say I’m not familiar with cat-sick. What sort of shade would that be?’ Ella teased.
‘Believe me, you don’t want to know. Bilious, mauve-cum-beige-cum-puce. Not nice. The tin said Mushroom.’ She pulled a morose face as Ella burst out laughing.
‘Sounds hideous.’
‘It is. Bloody tin lied. And at the moment I can’t afford to buy more. And it looks so dark. I feel like I’m living in a cave with a mood lamp set permanently on angry.’
‘There’s still loads of this left.’ Ella pointed at the pale blue kitchen wall. ‘I’m sure Magda wouldn’t mind you having it. I could give you a hand if you liked.’
‘That would be awesome. Let me know when you’re free.’ Bets’ eyes widened. ‘Oops, you’re free a lot at the moment. So what’s the story?’ asked Bets, suddenly turning her way. ‘Sorry I’m nosy. No filter, remember. If you’ve got some terminal illness, you don’t have to tell me.’
‘Not a lot to tell. And nothing special. My boyfriend, Patrick, and I . . . we’ve just sort of split up at the moment.’
‘Sort of?’
Instead she shrugged and fell back on her usual explanation. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Pants, that’s horrid. Are you OK? Was he a bastard? Or do you still love him?’
Delaying her answer, Ella took a long look at the unshaded grey expanse of sky.
He certainly wasn’t a bastard. But he’d damaged something which couldn’t be repaired.
Ella gave her a non-committal shrug.
‘So how long have you been together? And when did you break up?’
‘We haven’t broken up.’ Ella’s words sound terse and defensive. They hadn’t broken up. Not officially. They were officially taking some time apart.
‘I met Patrick straight out of Art College. He’s a bit older than me. I met him at the end of year show which was a big deal. He loved my work. He’d just opened a gallery and he wanted to show my pictures.’ Ella flinched, remembering the golden promise of those early days, both of them poised for take-off, the world theirs for the taking.
‘Wow, you must be really good.’
Ella shrugged, kicking at a sod of mud on the kitchen floor. ‘I was OK. The first show went well.’ It had been a sell-out. She’d been critically acclaimed. Patrick had fallen in love with her. ‘After that I lost my mojo and had to get a proper job.’
‘But you do those brilliant books. The illustrations are gorgeous.’
Ella blushed. ‘Thank you. The books are just a bit of a sideline. Not exactly what I had in mind when I was going to be an artist.’
‘No way, Jose! They’re so clever.’
‘Clever?’ Ella stared at Bets. ‘No one’s ever said that to me.’
‘Well, you’ve been talking to the wrong people, then. The expressions you manage to convey on their faces. I love them. This is a bit cheeky but I was wondering if you might donate a picture for the silent auction at the Spring Fayre. For the new roof for the village hall.’ She twisted her hands nervously. ‘I mean it’s a big ask because I know you could sell something instead of giving it to us. You can say no.’ Bets screwed up her face. ‘I’m sorry. I always do this. Devon’s always telling me I’m too impetuous. I just thought of it.’
Ella was amused by Bets’ sudden discomfort. ‘Bets, it’s fine. Of course you can have one.’ She smiled. It was quite flattering. ‘I’ve got enough of the bloody things, although they’re all in storage. It’s not going to raise much, though.’
Bets snorted, ‘Yeah, right.’
Ella shrugged. ‘They’re just drawings. Not even technically that good, if I’m honest.’
‘Blimey, I dread to think how much they’d go for if they were,’ Bets bookmarked quotes with her fingers, ‘“technically good”.’
‘They’re just not what I thought I’d be doing.’
‘So what were your real pictures like?’
‘Not like Cuthbert, that’s for sure. I did urban abstracts. The city in decay.’ Ella gave a half-laugh. ‘Gloomy. Miserable. Angsty. Ironic really. I come from a nice middle class family. I think Patrick would have preferred it if I’d come from a migrant family living in a grim northern town.’
As she gazed across to the field out of the window, thinking back to some of those early abstracts, the elusive tail of a thought darted through her mind.
‘Earth to Ella. Are you listening?’ asked Bets nudging her.
‘I don’t suppose you know where I might get some barbed wire?’ asked Ella. ‘I’ve had an idea. I need to get some tulips from Magda’s garden too.’