White Lies and Wishes by Cathy Bramley

Author:Cathy Bramley [Bramley, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780552171557
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2017-01-25T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 18

House check complete, Jo stepped from the cool of Abi’s hall to the warmth of the pavement. Abi seemed to have fallen on her feet with her Monday to Friday tenant. A businessman, apparently, who disappeared somewhere up the motorway at weekends. Shame. She would have quite liked to have met him; he’d left Abi’s house and garden looking immaculate so was house-trained and obviously not averse to a bit of gardening either. Probably married. She locked the front door, inhaled the lavender scent from two terracotta pots flanking the step and pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes.

She turned to face her car and pressed a hand to her shoulder. The early June sun was already turning her pale skin pink. She was urgently in need of a bit of colour. It would have to be a spray tan, though; there was no chance of a holiday at the moment. She was working longer hours than ever and getting more desperate for a solution to the company’s cash flow problem.

Keys in hand, she contemplated her next move. It was too nice to go to the gym, she couldn’t bear the thought of spending another Saturday in the office and her parents’ house was a no-go zone since her dad’s visit to Gold’s. She wasn’t going there until he apologized. Her poor mum was at her wits’ end with the two of them.

Maybe Sarah would be at home? She shoved the keys back in her bag and headed towards Rose Cottage in search of a cold drink and a chat.

She lifted her hand to knock on Sarah’s door but a voice halted her.

‘No one in.’

Jo looked into the next-door neighbour’s garden. An ancient mongrel, with more bald patches than fur, sat panting on the path. Jo raised her eyebrows and the dog cocked its head to one side.

‘You’ve just missed ’em, duck.’

An old man stood in the open doorway of the cottage next door. His brown cardigan with leather buttons reminded her of one her granddad used to wear. It also made her feel distinctly underdressed in her T-shirt and denim shorts.

Jo walked back to her car, wishing it had converted into a convertible in her absence. Today was a day for whizzing along country lanes, wind in your hair, feel-good music blaring out and drinking Pimm’s in the garden of a quaint little pub. She felt restless and in need of company.

She would try Carrie’s house next and maybe even meet that mysterious husband. Jo jumped in the car and set off for Fern House, keeping her fingers crossed that the Radleys were both in.

A couple of minutes later, she waited in the shade in front of Carrie’s house. The sudden change of temperature brought her out in goosebumps and she rubbed the top of her arms. The scuff of footsteps approaching across the tiled floor sounded male. Good; it must be Alex.

From the little things Carrie had said about him, Jo imagined a surly, pompous old fart who liked his woman to be in an apron at all times.

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