Once Letitia has gone home, I nurse my empty teacup for so long the china goes cold against my palms. I can’t stop thinking about the receipt on Ethan’s hall table, the wet toothbrush in his bathroom. I know I’m inclined to jump to the conclusion that a man is unfaithful – it’s quite reasonable in the circumstances, so I don’t blame myself for it. But I need to know if it’s clouding my judgement.

I reach for my phone and dial Betsy’s number.

‘Hello, love!’ she says. ‘How’s your handsome actor?’ She pronounces it ac-tor, which makes it sound even fancier.

I smile. ‘He’s as dashing as ever. May I ask your advice about something, Betsy?’

‘Of course.’

‘Leena’s boyfriend, Ethan. You must have met him when he’s been up to visit?’

‘On the rare occasions, yes,’ Betsy says.

‘Has he not been up at the weekends?’

‘One or two. I think Jackson scared him off.’

I blink, surprised. ‘Jackson? Jackson Greenwood?’

‘He didn’t take much of a shine to your Ethan.’

‘I always knew Jackson was a good judge of character,’ I say darkly.

‘Ooh, Ethan’s not in your good books, then?’ Betsy asks.

I tell her about my findings from my trip to Ethan’s flat. Betsy inhales through her teeth. It’s the same noise she makes when she’s negotiating for something at the market in Knargill.

‘It could be nothing,’ she says. ‘Not every man is like Wade.’

‘Quite a lot of them are, though.’

‘Mmm, well,’ Betsy says.

I’m so close to asking her about Cliff, but she’s started up again before I get the chance. This is how it always goes.

‘I must say,’ Betsy says, ‘before I knew your Leena had a man, I would’ve said she had her eye on Jackson.’

How very interesting. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘She’s spent half her time here squabbling with him, the other half twiddling her hair when he’s anywhere in sight. At the last May Day Committee meeting she barely took her eyes off him. Ooh, and speaking of May Day – she’s got a sponsor, you know.’

This is just about the only thing Betsy could have said to distract me from talk of Leena making eyes at Jackson. ‘A sponsor for May Day?’

‘Some big law firm. Very fancy. They’re paying for almost everything, and she’s come up with all these fundraising activities, bake-sale stands and treasure hunts and raffles.’

I beam. ‘She’s brilliant, isn’t she?’

‘Well,’ Betsy says, ‘she certainly gets things done, I’ll give you that.’

25

Leena

For the first time, when I pick Nicola up and ask her where we’re going, she says:

‘Shall we go to your house?’

I’m absurdly flattered. Nicola is one of those people whose friendship you have to win the hard way – I feel I have been Chosen.

When we get to Clearwater Cottage, Arnold is weeding the front garden.

‘I said I’d do that!’ I tell him as I help Nicola out of the car.

‘Well, you didn’t,’ he points out, waving a dandelion at me. ‘Hello, Nicola, all right?’

I unlock the door and usher them both in. ‘Tea?’

It’s only when I’m waiting for the tea to brew in the pot that it occurs to me how odd it is that I don’t find this situation strange. People are often telling me how ‘mature’ I am for twenty-nine (Watching your sister die will do that to you, I always want to snap back). But I’ve actually never been friends with anybody over the age of thirty before. And now I don’t even bat an eye when Arnold pops around unannounced – in fact, I look forward to it – and I’m totally delighted that Nicola has decided she likes me enough to spend the afternoon with me. It’s nice. I like how they change my perspectives, how widely our lives all vary. I’ll miss this, when I go – I’ll miss them.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s Betsy.

She looks a little crumpled. ‘Hello, Leena,’ she says stiffly.

‘Betsy! Hi! Come in! We’re just having tea,’ I say. ‘Let me get you a cup! Can I take your coat?’

I take her coat and hang it up, mind whirring. Betsy’s not dropped around since that terrible first tea when I said all the wrong things. What’s prompted this?

‘I won’t stay,’ Betsy says. ‘I’m just here for the spare key. Eileen keeps one somewhere.’

‘Oh, sure!’ I say, looking around, as though the key might be lying out on the dining-room table. ‘Did you lock yourself out?’

‘Yes,’ she says.

I try to hold her gaze, but it skits aside. She’s definitely lying.

Arnold looks back and forth between us for a moment, then gets to his feet. ‘Nicola, I must show you the hydrangea at the bottom of Eileen’s garden,’ he says.

‘The what?’ Nicola says. ‘I don’t …’

But he’s already helping her up.

‘Oh, all right,’ she grumbles.

I mouth Thank you at Arnold, and he gives me a small smile. Once we’re alone, I turn back to Betsy, who is opening and closing drawers in the dresser.

‘Can’t Cliff let you in?’ I ask her gently.

Betsy doesn’t turn around. There is a long silence.

‘It was Cliff who locked me out.’

I breathe in. ‘Well, that’s pretty awful of him,’ I say, as neutrally as I can manage. ‘Would you like to stay here for tonight?’

She looks around then. ‘Stay here?’

‘Yeah. You can have my grandma’s room.’

‘Oh, I …’ She looks a little lost for a moment. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘That’s very kind. But I’d rather just find the key.’

‘All right,’ I say, as Arnold and Nicola make their way up the garden again. ‘We’ll track it down, between the four of us.’

I find all sorts of things, digging around for that key. My old school satchel (how did that end up here?); a photo of my mum when she was pregnant with me, looking movie-star gorgeous; and a recipe for mud pie in Carla’s handwriting, which makes my eyes prick with tears. Carla seems to turn up all the time here in Hamleigh. She may not have lived in this village for long, but she’s part of the fabric of the place. Maybe that’s why I’ve finally been able to move forward a little while I’m here – or rather, to stop moving forward. Moving forward is my forte; it’s standing still I’m not so good at.

I fold the recipe carefully and place it back where I found it. Maybe someday when I find a treasure like this, it won’t make me tear up, it’ll make me smile.

In the end, Nicola finds the key. It is carefully labelled in Grandma’s spidery writing – Betsy’s spare – and lodged in the back of a drawer in her hall table, along with a whole collection of keys for houses we’ve all long since left: Carla’s flat in Bethnal Green, our old place in Leeds, and, much to my irritation, a bike-lock key I thought I lost approximately ten years ago. There’s also a spare key to Mum’s house, which I pinch for the rest of my time here – I’ve been using Grandma’s one, but it always seems to get stuck in the lock.