The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [58]
Tiggy thinks: I wish Trescairn was my house. Mine and Tom's.
The thought triggers a memory. One evening, driving through the lanes from Blisland, she pulled the van close in against the hedge and stopped so as to allow a rider on a nervous horse to approach and pass. As she sat waiting, she glanced across the escallonia hedge into the cottage garden beyond. It was a pretty garden, somewhat overgrown and neglected, though it was clear that attempts were being made to tidy it up. Bedding plants, still in their pots, stood in a row beneath the open window beside a newly dug bed, and on the small patch of worn grass a young man was busy at work, rubbing down an old pine table. The front door was open to a cosy, cluttered interior and, as Tiggy watched, a girl appeared carrying two mugs. The young man straightened up, smiling with relief and pleasure at the interruption. He took his mug and, having kissed the girl with great tenderness, they both turned to look with tremendous pride at the table. As they leaned together in the doorway, Tiggy saw that the girl was expecting a child.
She was gripped with an agonizing sense of loss: she and Tom would never share such a happy, loving moment; never build a home together for their child. The pain was so intense that, even though the horse and its rider had passed, she was unable to put the van in gear and drive on; only when she saw that the young couple had become aware of the stationary vehicle and were staring curiously did she pull herself together and drive away.
Now, remembering, she finishes her tea and wonders if she should have a biscuit: anything to distract from the memory. Another memory rises in her mind's eye: a picture of them all sitting round the table in the middle of the night and Julia missing Pete and saying: ‘Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could be four years old again and have all our problems solved by the prospect of a chocolate biscuit?’
For no particular reason, Tiggy thinks about Angela and what Aunt Em said.
‘I'm afraid of her,’ Julia admitted – and Aunt Em said, ‘With good cause.’
Tiggy's stomach tenses with anxiety and she stares at the notice board for courage.
‘I love my Mrs B.’ ‘I love you too.’
She recalls the expression on Pete's face when he gave Julia the bottle of scent, and other gestures she's witnessed since, and shakes her head: it is impossible that Pete should be unfaithful to Julia with Angela. To begin with, the two girls are so unalike. Angela is thin as a pin, always chic, with sleek black hair and eyes so dark brown they are almost black. Julia is too rushed to be smart; her thick fair hair thrust behind her ears, one of Pete's old shirts tucked into her jeans, which are always a bit tight because of finishing up the children's breakfast toast and teatime treats. There is a generous warmth about Julia that is completely missing from Angela's character.
Yet, Tiggy reminds herself, Pete fancied Angela once: they had a fling.
She is distracted from these thoughts by a subtle change: it is no longer dark and the lamp's light glows less cheerfully as the early-morning light filters in at the curtains’ edge. The Turk uncurls herself and stretches, stiff-legged, and goes to the door, followed by Bella, whose tail wags hopefully. Tiggy gets up and lets them out into the porch. She opens the back door and stands quite still, listening in delight. Flights of larks are ascending, their