Mrs Monroe’s old stone cottage was picture-book pretty in the morning sun as Allie opened the garden gate and walked up the path. Ivy climbed the front of the cottage and primrose yellow roses grew around the front door. The shutters around the windows had recently been painted forget-me-not blue to match the small garden bench. The bushes in the garden had been pruned to perfection and Mrs Monroe could still have been there, alive and well. The wiry old woman had kept her path clear of weeds and washed it down at least three times a week and it showed.

Allie found it hard to accept that she was gone. Death was strange like that, taking people away, people who seemed to have plenty of time left ahead of them.

Just like Roger.

She pushed the thought away as she always did, refusing to allow it to cloud her day.

She used the heavy brass knocker and while she waited, she hoped that she looked okay. She didn’t usually dress up on Sundays, unless attending church for a special service like a wedding or Christening, but today she felt particularly underdressed. She’d slung on jeans and an old Guns N’ Roses t-shirt with trainers that had seen a few painting sprees. She’d pulled her hair into a bun and the only makeup she’d bothered with was a flick of powder just to take the shine off her nose.

But she wasn’t here to look glamorous; she was here to help Chris sort through his mother’s things.

The door opened and there he was. He looked at her, then at himself and laughed.

“Twins!” he was wearing a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt with jeans too, but his feet were bare.

“How long have you had that t-shirt?” Allie asked as he stepped back to let her in.

“Probably the same length of time as you. I bet we even bought them at the same concert.”

“The old Wembley stadium.”

“When we all went on a minibus.”

“Wow! That was such a long time ago.”

“What would you have been? About sixteen?”

Allie nodded. “Time flies, right?”

“Sure does.”

A memory of the hot, sticky summer day returned with a jolt. Allie had been so young, high on life and full of youthful anticipation. Her relationship with Roger had still been new and exciting in the way that only unconsummated teenage love can be. She’d been flattered that handsome, older Roger, already at university, had been interested in her when he could have chosen a girl of his own age. She’d also been so very naïve.

“Anyway, where do you want to start today?”

His face fell.

“What is it?”

“You are not going to believe how bad it is here.”

“I don’t believe it. Your mother was a stickler for cleanliness.”

“Nope.”

“Nope?” Allie couldn’t contain her shock.

“Outside maybe, and in the rooms people would see if they came here, but the front room and upstairs are bloody awful.”

“Messy?”

He shook his head.

“Dirty?”

He sighed. “Try both and then some. It appears that my mother was a… hoarder.”

“She wasn’t!” Allie swallowed back laughter. She didn’t want to hurt Chris by seeming to mock his mother but she was so surprised. Mrs Monroe hadn’t seemed the type of woman to hoard things. Then again, perhaps people never did. No one ever really knew what was behind closed doors, did they?

“I’ll grab some black bags and cardboard boxes that I got from the supermarket and we can sort the rubbish from things that can go to charity.”

“Right.”

“Go and take a look if you like.” He gestured at the front room.

Allie nodded then pushed the door. It creaked open on its hinges and she was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of damp and something rotting. She covered her nose for a moment and swallowed hard. This was evidently not going to be as straightforward as she had first thought, and she was glad that she was here to help Chris. It wouldn’t be something she’d want him to have to do alone.

Allie stood on the bare wooden boards and stared at the piles of books, papers, cards, blankets, and plastic bags that were stuffed with bottles and cans. The junk dominated the front room of Mrs Monroe’s house. The sun shone through the front window, illuminating the dust motes that floated through the air, and the smell in there was so strong, sweet and cloying, that it was making her feel queasy.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Chris had joined her and he dropped a roll of black plastic bags and two boxes on the floor in front of him. “I think there could be a field-mouse or a dead rat in here somewhere.”

She nodded. “Mind if I open the window?”

“Be my guest.”

She pushed the window open as far as it would go and took a few gulps of fresh air before turning back to Chris.

“I’m just… stunned.”

“Me too. I mean, how didn’t I notice how bad things had become?”

Her heart squeezed at the confusion on his face.

“How are you doing?”

“Up and down. I keep expecting her to walk in and offer me a cup of tea.”

“That will happen for a while.”

“You know, Allie, I’ve been so busy building my career and travelling from one place to another, immersing myself in my books, that I was oblivious to the fact that my mother was living like this. I’m just so annoyed with myself.”

“You weren’t to know so don’t blame yourself. ”

“It’s hard not to. Look at this mess… and upstairs is just as bad. Mum used to be so meticulous about everything, even OCD. At one point, this front room was her pride and joy and only ever used for best.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “If I’m honest, when I did come back, I’d take her out for dinner then bring her home and rush off again, back to my London apartment, or to catch the next flight. I hadn’t been in here for ages. Or upstairs. I just wonder how long this had been going on.”

“What are the other rooms like?”

“Not so bad. It’s like she stuffed it all in here and the spare bedroom. My old room is pretty much the same as when I was living here. A bit like the room of a teenage boy.” He gave a wry laugh. “Although her room isn’t great. You should see under the bed and in her wardrobe.”

“In all honesty, I never noticed anything different about her. She was always well turned out when she came to the café and when I saw her around the village.”

“That’s good to know. At least she held it together in that way. But knowing that she was saving all this stuff at home makes me sad. She must have been lonely.”

Allie chewed her bottom lip as she listened to him. She knew what he meant, because it was sad. Mrs Monroe had seemed outwardly fine, yet she’d been dealing with all this. What on earth had she been saving it for? And Judith Burnley hadn’t said anything about it, so evidently hadn’t been as good a friend to Chris’s mother as she’d made out at the wake.

“Still,” Chris said, “no point standing here staring at it. Let’s get stuck in. If you want to that is. It stinks in here and I wouldn’t blame you if you want to leave.”

“Of course I’m not going to leave. I’m happy to help.”

They took a bag each then got to work.

Two hours later, Chris stood up and arched his back. “I don’t know about you but I’m parched. Fancy a cuppa?”

“I’ll make it.”

“Thanks. I’ll take all this out to the back garden and pile it up. I think I’m going to need to hire a skip.”

Allie went through to the rear of the cottage and froze in the kitchen doorway. Beautiful solid oak units lined the walls on both sides, and under the window, which was adorned with a rectangular wooden box full of fresh growing herbs, was an apron-front sink with a vintage style rose-gold tap. Of course, she’d been in Mrs Monroe’s house a few times when she was younger, but only in the hallway to wait for Chris, as his mother had once explained that she didn’t like other people’s children traipsing through her home.

Allie located the kettle then filled it and switched it on. She found mugs in the cupboard under the kettle – behind the bone-china cups and saucers that were evidently Mrs Monroe’s preference – and tea bags in the cupboard above. As she waited for the water to boil, she gazed around. The units were good quality and built to last. The grey slate floor tiles were pretty with their uneven hues of orange and blue. The curtains on the window above the sink and the one to the left of the room, that overlooked the garage, were pale blue with tiny white daisies embroidered on them. It was clear that Mrs Monroe had loved her kitchen and kept it immaculate. Unlike other rooms in the house.

She poured water over the tea bags then went to the freestanding silver fridge. There was a fresh container of milk in there, a tub of spreadable butter and a bag of mixed salad leaves but nothing else. She wondered what Chris had eaten for breakfast.

When the tea was ready, she took it through to the front room.

“Just what I need.” Chris smiled as he accepted the steaming mug.

“You don’t take sugar, do you? I didn’t see any in the kitchen.”

“No, thanks. Sweet enough already.” He winked.

“Chris, did you have anything to eat this morning?”

He nodded. “I had a piece of toast and an apple.”

“Aren’t you hungry? It’s gone eleven and you’re quite a big guy.” Her cheeks coloured as she realised how that sounded. “Oh. I didn’t mean big as in fat. I meant big as in muscular and…” He was grinning at her now and her blush deepened.

“Nothing like a compliment or two to make a man feel good about himself.”

“I am such an idiot.”

“No you’re not. You are as sweet as always. It was one of things I lo… liked so much about you.”

Allie swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Look, we’ve done quite a bit now, so why don’t we head over to the café and I can make us some pancakes.”

Chris frowned. “Pancakes, eh?”

“With maple syrup.”

“And chocolate spread?”

“If you like.”

“Now you’re talking. Not that I need distracting from this mess but I certainly can be persuaded to leave it for an hour if pancakes are involved. As you said, I have all these muscles and they need feeding.” He flexed his left arm and laughed. “Well, not exactly up to bodybuilder standard, but I’m working on them. I mean, I work out when I can as it would be a shame to waste having access to all those hotel gyms.”

Allie drained her tea then reached for his mug. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and we can head over there.”

As she left the room, she hugged herself inwardly. Chris might not have muscles the size of a bodybuilder but he certainly had a very toned physique indeed, and Allie had to admit that she wouldn’t have minded watching him work out.

Or helping him work out.

Or working out with him.

Or… she wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

Allie ladled batter from the mixing bowl then carefully poured it into the frying pan. As the surface bubbled, she got two plates out of the cupboard then located the thicker maple syrup that she preferred. Chris had asked her what she wanted him to do to help, so she’d asked him to make some drinks.

When the pancake was browned on one side, Allie flipped it. She continued the process until all the batter had been used and each plate was heaped with thick fluffy pancakes, then she poured maple syrup over each pile.

She went through to the café and found Chris sitting on the leather sofa reading a magazine that he must have found on one of the bookshelves. On the table were two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, their surfaces were brimming with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

“Very nice! You know how to use the machine then?”

“I’ve watched enough times in enough cafés to master it, yes.”

“The hot chocolates look delicious.”

“And so do those pancakes.”

Allie handed him a plate and watched as he lifted a heaped fork to his mouth. As he chewed, he widened his eyes and moaned.

“Sooooo good, Allie.”

“Thank you. And so easy to make.”

“You’d make someone a good wife…” He winced. “What a stupid thing to say. God, I’m so sorry.”

Allie shook her head.

“Don’t be. I was a good wife, I tried really hard to be what Roger wanted.”

She pushed a piece of pancake around her plate.

“What do you mean?” He put his fork down and covered her hand with his.

“Oh nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Allie. I know you, remember. We were best friends for a long time. You seemed happy with Roger though, and I assumed it would always be that way for you guys.”

Allie sipped her hot chocolate, enjoying the silky feel of the sweet drink in her mouth. It was comforting, like a hug in a mug.

“It was good between us for a while. Even after we had the two children, it was still okay. We enjoyed a lot of things together but I don’t know… somewhere along the way, something changed. He…” Was she really going to tell someone the truth? If it was going to be anyone, she guessed it should be Chris. “Roger liked things done a certain way. I think it might have had something to do with losing his parents when he did. He had no control over that and it emerged in other ways. The house had to be spotless, the garden had to be tidy, the children had to be well behaved and I had to be… perfect. He had a gardener in twice a week, so the roses were gorgeous and the lawn was up to bowling-green standard, and I did my best to keep the house the way he liked it. But I wasn’t perfect and neither were the children. He never let on to them how he felt about their so called imperfections, but he never failed to tell me.” She smiled to try to lighten the impact of what she’d just confessed. “I don’t know. Maybe my bum was too big or my roots were showing or perhaps he just found that he didn’t really love me.” The old humiliation swept through her.

“Well that’s crazy. I can’t understand how he wouldn’t have loved you. You’re amazing and as for your bottom… well, let’s just say I’ve sneaked a peek and it’s looking good.”

“You’re very kind. But things did change between us and Roger drifted away from me. Or rather, we drifted apart.” The full truth was on the tip of her tongue – the details about Roger’s final day – and she was about to tell him when he spoke again.

“Some men find it hard with kids around, even their own kids. And with Roger being an only child, like you and me, perhaps he struggled with having more people in his space. Although I often thought that was why the three of us gelled, you know? We three were a bit lonely growing up and there was a kind of affinity between us. But I don’t know. Perhaps he felt a bit left out because you were wrapped up in the children? I’m not excusing him. If that was the case, as an adult, he should have tried harder. Not that I should be judging anyone.” He gave her a shy smile. “After all, I’ve shied away from commitment all these years. Never settled down, never moved in with anyone–”

“What? Never?” Allie was surprised by the hope that fluttered in her belly.

“Never.”

“But why?”

Chris shrugged.

“After I left, I never found anyone who made me want to get married or procreate. I’m not saying I’ve lived like a monk, because that would be a lie, but I’ve kept away from commitment like it was a disease.” He shook his head then started tucking into his pancakes.

“So you’re not seeing anyone at the moment?”

He swallowed before replying.

“Haven’t even dated for about six months.”

“Oh.” Allie raised her mug and hid her smile behind it. Not that it should matter, of course, whether Chris was dating or not, but she found that she was delighted that he was single. And that he thought her bum looked okay.

All the more reason to relax and enjoy her pancakes. Then she’d go back to Mrs Monroe’s house and help Chris to carry on sorting through everything. Now that there was no other woman to worry about, she felt even better than she had done before.