Chapter 9

9

Although none of the women are true Londoners, over three decades the bustle and noise has seeped into their bones, and they are immune to it. To Lena, even her Manchester suburb feels subdued in comparison when she visits home. But not like this. The wildness of the empty landscape seems to catch in her throat. They fall silent as all around them are purplish hills, swooping down into valleys where rivers meander and fields are dotted by sheep. In the distance, a sliver of water gleams in the fading light. Further away still, craggy outlines of mountains are dusted with snow.

‘Just look at this,’ Lena breathes finally.

‘I know. It’s incredible,’ Shelley exclaims, face close to the window. ‘Can we stop and take photos?’

‘I think we should press on,’ Pearl replies. A confident driver back home, she is unfazed by driver aggression as she zips to jobs with her make-up kit stashed on her ageing Mini’s backseat. There is no driver aggression here. Just the sudden squawk of a bird – a crow maybe, or a hawk? They have no idea. The only birds they notice in London are pigeons. But mostly, there is just silence as Pearl drives with the intense concentration of sitting her test. They have left the main road for a single-track lane with passing places. It twists and turns, weaving its way through thick dark forests. Dusk has fallen rapidly and by four-thirty it is properly dark, the moon a low hanging bauble in the inky sky.

They pass through a village of huddled stone cottages, crammed right at the roadside, lights glowing invitingly inside. There’s a rickety-looking wooden village hall, all in darkness, and a red phone box. A tiny village shop looks as if it has already shut for the day. There’s not a soul to be seen.

Now Michael’s directions lead them onto a bumpy unmade road where they climb sharply upwards. To their left is what appears to be a sheer drop, with no fence or barrier. Just a steep wooded hillside and the loch far below, shimmering in the moonlight. ‘We must be pretty close,’ Pearl announces, relieved as the road levels out, cutting across what appears to be bumpy heather-covered ground. She picks up speed, but then slows abruptly. Being able to navigate the North Circular has not prepared Pearl for sheep blocking the road.

At a halt now, she looks round at her friends. ‘What are we meant to do?’

‘Let’s just wait,’ Lena suggests. Three plump sheep watch them with interest, showing no sign of moving on.

‘Shall we… shoo them away?’ Shelley suggests, although she doesn’t fancy confronting them herself. She’s hoping Pearl or Lena will do it.

‘They’ll move soon,’ Lena says with authority. But they don’t move, and no other traffic comes. ‘Beep the horn,’ she commands, but Pearl won’t do that.

‘It might scare them.’

‘No, it’ll just make them move!’ Lena remembers how Pearl and Dean’s enormous tabby cat, Albie, had reigned over their home, appropriating a velvet armchair as his throne. Pearl would refuse to move him, even when a human wanted to sit there.

Shelley lowers the back window and juts out her head, gasping as the bitingly cold air hits her face. ‘Move along please!’ she calls out. No one does anything she asks at home, so why is she expecting a better result here? ‘Pearl, you’re the country person,’ she announces. ‘Jump out and move them.’

Pearl splutters. ‘We had guinea pigs, Shell. You think I grew up on a farm?’

‘Rev the engine then,’ Shelley urges her. So Pearl revs and Shelley shouts some more from the window and Lena tries to google ‘What to do with sheep on the road’ – but there’s no signal. Then headlights appear in the distance, growing brighter as the vehicle approaches. It’s a jeep, they can see now. It stops and a man climbs out and suddenly the sheep scatter, tumbling away into the darkness.

The man seems to regard their car with suspicion, as if they have contravened some country code. He comes around to the driver’s side and Pearl lowers the window. ‘Hi!’ She affects polite brightness as if she has pulled into a drive-thru Costa.

‘You all right there?’ The man tips his head and frowns.

‘Er, yes,’ she starts. ‘We’re just looking for Shore Cottage…’

‘Michael’s place?’

He has a neat dark beard and a thick woollen hat pulled low. With a nod, he indicates to the right. ‘You’re right at it.’ Obviously, his tone says.

‘Oh,’ Pearl exclaims, registering the narrow track now, and a small wooden sign, low to the ground and barely visible – let alone legible – in the dark. ‘Thank you so much,’ she gushes. With a shrug he saunters back to his jeep and waits for Pearl to turn into the track.

‘We didn’t need to pass the sheep.’ Shelley grins.

‘D’you think we seemed like locals?’ Pearl chuckles, her shoulders unclenching as the bumpy track curves around to a parking area surrounded by what seems like an extensive garden. And there it is: a sizeable pale blue cottage perched a little way above the water, illuminated by a single outside light above the front door. Shore Cottage isn’t on a coastal shore, but on that of the loch. And now the door opens and a black and white collie bounds out. Then Michael appears; a tall and fit-looking late-forties man with broad shoulders and tousled wavy hair.

‘Hi, Michael!’ Pearl climbs out and he beams at her, and they hug.

‘Great to see you, Pearl. Journey okay?’

‘Yes, easy,’ she says breezily. She pulls back, filled with warmth at seeing him again after so long. Pearl’s village childhood was so uneventful, dominated by church fetes and her mother’s talk of the bowling club, that visits from Michael’s family always felt like a treat. Her mother would launch into vol au vent production on an industrial scale, and as the adults settled with gin and tonics, she was always happy to take Michael out to play.

Introductions follow as Lena and Shelley climb out of the car. Although friendly, he seems to switch into a more businesslike mode, as if greeting regular B a favoured magazine term back in the day.

‘Your place is beautiful,’ Lena announces.

‘And I love that curtain!’ Pearl indicates the glittering beads, red and orange and gold, like a sunset.

‘Oh, that?’ Michael shrugs. ‘Rona wanted it, but then she decided it really belongs here. We bought it in India,’ he adds.

‘It’s all so homely,’ Shelley enthuses. ‘I bet your guests love it.’

‘They seem to,’ Michael says lightly. ‘I just want people to kick back and feel at home here. They’re mostly walkers and outdoorsy types and they don’t expect luxury. Let me show you your room,’ he adds.

As Michael leads them out of the kitchen and along a short corridor, Pearl senses relief settling in her chest. She hadn’t known for sure how it would be to arrive here en masse. The adult Michael is a little shy, she surmises. Or perhaps over the years he has developed a way of dealing with guests when they arrive. Welcoming, yes – but in the manner of a professional host. That’s fine, she decides. They’ll respect his space and take care not to create extra work for him.

Michael stops, looking apologetic as he shows the three women into a spacious room with a double and a single fold-out bed. ‘I’m sorry the three of you are all crammed in here together,’ he says. ‘It’s not what I’d planned. But I had a last-minute booking and they wanted the family room. I could let you have the bigger room tonight, and then move you into here when they arrive tomorrow?—’

‘All that extra work?’ Pearl exclaims. ‘This is fine, Michael. Honestly, there’s plenty of space for us…’

‘Two of you don’t mind sharing a double?’

‘Of course not,’ Lena says firmly.

‘We’ve had holidays when all three of us have crammed into a bed together,’ Shelley adds. ‘And this is beautiful .’ She looks around the simply furnished room, taking in the whitewashed bare stone walls, the soft mohair blankets and sheepskin throws.

‘Well, if you’re sure. It’s a couple with just the one child,’ he adds. ‘So it shouldn’t be too rowdy…’

‘It’ll be lovely to have people around,’ Pearl says. ‘We’re just grateful to be here, like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘Great.’ Michael pushes his hands into his jeans pockets, seeming relieved. ‘So they’re arriving tomorrow afternoon. There’ll be another guest too, in the smallest room. All staying Saturday and Sunday night…’

‘So there’ll be a houseful.’ Lena turns to him with a smile.

‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘But I always kick them out straight after breakfast and they’re not allowed back in until five.’

‘Really?’ Shelley blinks in surprise, and he chuckles.

‘No, not really. That was the old-fashioned way of doing things…’

‘You’d be slung out all day, whatever the weather,’ Lena agrees. ‘I remember that. We stayed at a place in Skegness when I was a kid. We’d all be shivering on the beach, desperate to be let back in.’

‘Things are a bit more modern now,’ Michael explains. ‘Guests are welcome to come and go as they want, and there’s always a fire on in the lounge. Plenty of books and films and games in there if the weather’s bad. Which, to be honest, isn’t unusual up here. Anyway,’ he adds quickly, ‘would you like some time to settle in?’

‘That’d be great,’ Pearl says, turning to her friends as he leaves. ‘This place,’ she murmurs. ‘I can hardly believe it.’ She rushes to the window and stares out into the moonlit night. The sky is scattered with stars and the loch gleams like silk. ‘Come and see this,’ she says, and her friends cluster around her as they all gaze out.

She turns to Lena, whose eyes are large and bright with excitement. But Shelley, she notices, looks a little tense. ‘You okay, Shell?’ she asks.

Shelley nods. ‘I’m fine.’ Then, after a pause: ‘I just… hope everything will be okay, y’know?’

Pearl frowns in concern. ‘What, here?’

‘No, at home.’ Shelley glances distractedly around the room. ‘I know what Joel’s like. He’ll be holed up in his studio the whole time I’m away. Living on beer and cereal, I’d imagine. I just hope he remembers he has kids.’

‘’Course he will,’ Lena says firmly. She winds an arm around her friend’s shoulders and pulls her close. ‘He’s perfectly capable when he wants to be. And really, what can go wrong in four days?’