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Chapter Three

Sunday, 28 August

‘Sunday drivers!’ spat Rob, slamming on the brakes of his somewhat battered Polo as an elderly couple in a dark green Rover pulled out in front of them with no warning. Ava winced, lurching forward and feeling the seatbelt cut into her chest across her necklace. Meanwhile, Wogan chatted chummily on the car stereo. Ava had barely slept, her nerves were jangling and there was a small well of nausea in the pit of her stomach. At this stage it could have been nerves, Rob’s driving or that extra Scotch she had had before bed last night causing it. Either way, she just wanted to close her eyes and block everything out. Instead, she turned to Rob, whose face was now puce with rage. A tiny bead of sweat trickled down from his hairline to the front of his ear. His hair seemed thinner than she had realised before, volume masking the areas of scalp that were beginning to peek through.

‘Easy!’ she said, hands pressed onto the dashboard. She looked back at the elderly couple’s heads bobbing away as they chatted away to each other, oblivious to their part in the drama playing out behind them.

‘We’re running late. You know how your parents are about us being late. We can slow down, if you like and then we’ll arrive with 10 minutes of wise-ass comments about how we’re never on time. Your choice!’ muttered Rob, raising a sanctimonious eyebrow.

‘I really do think they would prefer us late than dead …’

‘Oh, so I’m trying to kill you now? My apologies! I thought I was doing my best to employ my driving skills to get you to your parents’ in time. My mistake!’

‘Come on, I know you’re only doing your best. Relax!’

‘It’s hard to relax, knowing Lauren and Rory will have been sitting there for half an hour already when we arrive, late as usual, turning up like bad pennies.’

‘No one minds, they’ll be pleased to see us. Dad will make some stupid dig and then we’ll all forget about it. Jeez, why are you getting in such a state about it?’

‘You’ll all forget about it – I won’t! And you know why I’m getting into a so-called “state” about it.’

‘Don’t try and pin this mood on me, that just isn’t fair!’

‘Well, there’s a marked absence of anyone else to …’

‘To what, to blame this on? Hmm … I’ll tell you what, how about you? How about you take responsibility for this weird, petty fixation you have about my parents not liking you because it’s all in your own head! It’s simply something you invented and none of us know why.’

The track playing on the radio ended and Wogan piped up again, jolly as ever. His tone was so completely at odds with the mood in the car that Ava almost started to giggle in desperation. Instead she turned her head and gazed out of the window at the fields now whizzing by. She was exhausted at having this fight with Rob again. A couple of years ago, not long after Rory really became one of the family, Rob had convinced himself that Ava’s parents did not like him, that they somehow thought he wasn’t good enough for their daughter. It was simply not true and based on nothing beyond what seemed like an elephantine chip growing on his shoulder. He had clearly cherished his role as ‘the good boyfriend’ prior to Rory’s arrival more than any of them realised. Having known him for so long, Jackie and Andrew were thrilled when their daughter had ‘finally’ fallen for him. During those early years of Dunne’s Ava felt as if she and Rob were some kind of dream couple – blessed to see the potential in each other. Now, five years on, the cracks in their relationship were deepening but what really stuck in Ava’s mind was that neither of her parents loved Rob any less than they ever had.

‘You know, things have changed,’ said Rob.

‘Yes, I do. But what changed was you, not them. All they ever wanted was for me to be with someone who loves me, which you do, so that’s fine.’

But this statement was met with further silence and no confirmation of the fact that he loved her. Welcome to stability, thought Ava, it looks a lot like being taken for granted. Meanwhile, Rob stared ahead, tensing his jaw. Ava watched the muscle on the side of his face flex and relax, and thought of the nights she had lain awake recently, hearing him grind his teeth. What has happened to us and how can we undo it? A tractor turned out in front of them, followed by a small rush of cars coming down the lane from church. Ava saw Rob’s hands grip the steering wheel even more tightly. Clenching and letting go … Clenching and letting go.

Of course the glass of Scotch she had had last night was nothing to do with why Ava felt so sick and in her heart she knew it. She had tried to look forward to the weekend, surrounding herself in a cloud of positively all week, but the nervous knots she could feel just tightened as doubt and anxiety unfurled themselves. She had tried to pretend to herself that she had had a stressful week at work, but she knew that wasn’t true. Matt had worked so hard and with such a sunny attitude that she was actually thinking about giving him a bit of time off to enjoy the last of the summer on his surfboard. He was charming to the female customers and mates with the men who needed a hand in choosing flowers for their loved ones. In so doing he had definitely affected the shop’s turnover and been a pleasure to work with.

Only a couple of days ago she had enjoyed a drink with Sarah from Ruston’s the hairdresser and their fruitful exchange of local gossip had been as much fun as ever. Ava was sure that other shops and businesses did it too, but she and Sarah always laughed at the way the locals assumed they were all so anonymous – especially some of the fancier wives from the smart villages outside Salisbury. Little did they know their shopkeepers were taking an interest in their lives, noticing their children growing older, their hair getting longer (or greyer); their cars bigger. It was as if a whole local soap opera was running, kept alive by gossip between the shops around the market square, and Ava adored being a part of it. There had been great pleasure in the discovery that one of her clients was ordering flowers to be delivered to herself at work, even going so far as to pen romantic cards to make her colleagues jealous. That joy was even greater when Sarah revealed she had attended school with the same woman, who had a terrible reputation for stealing other peoples’ boyfriends.

No, it hadn’t been a bad week at work at all – it was life at home that was behind this sinking feeling. Rob had not taken well to being reminded about the long-planned Sunday lunch and had been making sly little comments about it since Tuesday. The resentments bubbled over this morning, leaving them silent in the car, all the while simmering and unable to find a way out.

It was not how Ava had ever imagined that Sunday mornings with her true love would be. During two long years after she had broken up with Mick–just as all of her closest friends were falling in love, getting engaged or married – she had fantasised about the Sunday mornings they were all having. She would wake with a start, wondering how to fill the next three or four hours until it was acceptable to call someone and not be interrupting anything, while her imagination cruelly filled in the time by picturing her friends in exaggerated romantic scenes. She never went quite so far as the cliché of the single long-stemmed red rose in a slim glass vase on a tray, but there had been bleak weekends when similar images presented themselves and taunted her. The Romantics – wildly in love, sharing the newspapers in bed, their side tables holding smug little cafetières of heavenly-smelling coffee and dainty fruit salads comprised of carefully sliced berries that they would feed to each other between kisses. Whether or not these scenes had ever taken place was neither here nor there to Ava. Now she could grudgingly admit that when she first got together with Rob there had been very a little of that for he wasn’t really one of life’s natural relaxers. Enjoying a moment was ‘wasting time’ and holding hands in the street only meant ‘shoving it in people’s faces’. By the time they crossed the divide into romance, they had known each other for so long that those early Sunday mornings together had not proved as much of a discovery as they usually were with a new boyfriend. So little heat, so little intrigue. It wasn’t that Ava hadn’t loved him – in fact, she had been relieved when there turned out to be so little left to discover – thank goodness for none of the nasty surprises she had been dreading! But that stage seemed so far away, as if it had faded with time. If he was so reluctant to show her he loved her at all these days, what did that say?

It’s just a phase , she had told herself that morning, all relationships go through bad patches. So for the first time in months Ava had gone against her natural instinct and actually tried to be proactive about things. Convinced a bit of a spice was what would rock the status quo, she decided to channel Lauren’s effervescent confidence. Rob had been sitting up in bed reading the motoring section of the paper when she rolled over and kissed him, nuzzling right up against him, pushing her head through the crook of his arm. He had smiled, given a little sniff of a laugh and kissed her on the top of her head … then batted her away as if she were a naughty toddler. In that moment it was as if a piece of her had been rubbed away, as if there was slightly less of her.

‘Oh, come on! What’s motoring got that I haven’t?’

‘It doesn’t want to talk to me about the future – and it doesn’t have morning breath either,’ he told her coldly.

Ava withdrew at once and perched on the edge of the bed, increasingly vulnerable in her pajamas.

‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for that.’

He had smirked and muttered that it wasn’t personal.

What had been the loneliest time of the week when she was single turned out to be even lonelier now she was part of a couple. Shaking with despair, she pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and an old T-shirt then went for an hour-long run through the crisp country lanes. As she closed the front door behind her at midday, Rob was there, showered, hair combed, tidying up the kitchen. He smelled of soap and self-righteousness, and greeted her with a tight smile – a masterpiece in passive aggression.

‘You know we need to leave in 15 minutes if we’re to have a hope of getting there for 1pm, don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes, I do! I’m just going to have a shower now,’ she replied, flustered.

‘Well, be quick – we wouldn’t want to be late …’ and when she headed up the stairs, ‘Hope you’ve got all that pent-up energy out now.’ As she turned into the bedroom, Ava could still hear Rob chuckling to himself.

The rest of the journey passed in silence but for the reassuring mutterings of Wogan, which Ava tried laughing at once or twice to make the point she was merely concentrating on the radio and not ignoring Rob. Finally they pulled into her parents’ driveway, just 10 minutes later than planned. As Rob’s car crunched on the gravel, Andrew stepped out of the kitchen door to greet them. He was wearing a pair of slacks and a classic ‘Dad’ jumper. There must be a thousand men like that up and down the country, thought Ava, and there isn’t a golf course in England that won’t have someone wearing that jumper somewhere on the premises. She waved back at her father and wound down the window on her side.

‘Hi, Dad!’

‘Hello, darling,’ he said, as he walked to her door and opened it for her.

‘How are you? Business good?’

‘Yes, thank you, and how are you?’ She hugged him tightly as he helped her with her bag, then she reached into the back of the car to collect the pudding she had brought with her.

‘Everything seems under control here – the courgettes are coming along well. Your mother is thrilled!’

He turned to Rob, who was pointing his keys at the car to set the alarm. ‘Hello Rob, old chap, good to see you – and on time for once!’ At this, he let out a great belly laugh and Rob smiled the smile of a man heading into court.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Andrew. And yes, we are on time – although if we’d driven at Ava’s speed of choice I think we’d still be somewhere on the A303 right now!’

She shot him a glance. Not right now, please can we just get through lunch? Rob avoided her gaze.

All three headed into the kitchen, with Andrew holding the door wide for Ava and Rob to make an entrance. Ava was holding a large pavlova overflowing with the last of the summer fruit. She had painstakingly assembled it the night before and was relieved to see it had somehow survived Rob’s driving, safe in the special container her mother had given her for Christmas. Though sagging a little, possibly in sympathy with its creator, it was more than passable. Rob looked almost bride-like, carrying a huge bunch of perfect creamy white calla lilies. He strutted into the room and presented them to Jackie with a flourish as if he had taken the time to organise them himself; that Ava had gone out of her way to get in a few extra of her mother’s favourite flowers on the Saturday order seemed of little consequence.

Jackie was standing at the hob, stirring the gravy. She was wearing a ridiculous saucy apron that Rory had given her that Christmas. Beneath the Venus de Milo emblazoned across her torso she had on a pair of black velvet trousers and a bright patterned knit. It was the sort of garment described as a ‘crazy hotchpotch weekend sweater’ in the catalogue – exactly the kind of thing that made Ava feel quite murderous, but Jackie considered it a ‘hoot’. Her ash-blonde hair was perfectly blow-dried and she was wearing a chunky necklace of randomly sized glass beads twisted together. As ever, her lipstick was perfectly applied – she was, after all, a woman who had named her daughters after Hollywood goddesses.

‘Jackie,’ said Rob, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘It’s a joy to see you!’

Going with a charm offensive, thought Ava. Sly move.

‘Rob, how are you?’ Jackie’s face broke into a crinkly-nosed smile as she stretched up to return his kiss. ‘Have you had a dreadful drive?’

‘Not at all,’ he told her. ‘It’s been a glorious morning.’

He’d stolen the march on her and Ava was seething.

‘Sit down and let me get you a drink. Gin and tonic?’

Jackie waved to the large wooden kitchen table on the other side of the room, where Lauren and Rory were already sitting, surrounded by newspapers. Rory was clearly wearing cashmere and was working his way through the same motoring section that Rob had enjoyed earlier that morning. Lauren was reading the style pages, effortlessly glamorous in a floral dress that Ava remembered having seen in a boutique a couple of months ago. She hadn’t even taken it off the rack as it had looked so odd on the hanger, but now it was perfectly obvious that this was a heavenly 1950s tea dress. Rory looked up and smiled as Lauren got up to greet them.

Ava gently placed the pavlova on the kitchen worktop and gave her mother a huge hug.

‘Ava, darling,’ said Jackie, holding her arms out to her. ‘Words fail! You look exhausted. Have you been getting enough protein? You girls work all hours and I don’t think you eat properly. Protein’s what you need. I read about it online – Penny sent me a link on the Facebook.’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Mum,’ Ava told her firmly. ‘And it’s Facebook, not the Facebook.’

‘Yeah, and when did you get a Facebook account, Mum?’ asked Lauren over her shoulder as she hugged her sister. ‘And what are you doing with it?’

‘They started organising so many of my clubs via the Facebook, I was getting rather left out,’ Jackie explained, while Andrew stood behind her at the kitchen worktop with two glasses full of ice, into which he was hurling large slugs of gin. ‘And it turns out it’s wonderful! I’ve hjoined a group for fans of Bishopstone Park, where we can chat about that scandalous gamekeeper business. There’s a woman on there who claims to have seen the scripts in a back of a taxi and she says she know how it’s all going to end. I can barely cope! You girls should get more involved. I’ve checked it out and there’s all sorts of chit-chat about Strictly – different pages about the dancers and the kinds of dance – it would be heaven for you, heaven! And as if that’s not enough, I’ve already seen photos of Penny’s baby granddaughter in Australia – she’s just two days old!’

She was almost puce with excitement.

‘That’s wonderful …’

‘But seriously, Jackie, it’s called Facebook, not the Facebook,’ interrupted Rob.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s sweet,’ said Ava, putting an arm around him, eager to keep the peace.

‘It’s interesting,’ said Rory, who had now looked up from the motoring section. ‘Because it really was called the Facebook to begin with – it only got changed later. So maybe Jackie’s the most cutting-edge of us all.’

At this, Jackie shrieked with laughter and clapped her hands together.

‘Cutting-edge? Marvellous!’ laughed Andrew.

Clearly Rob didn’t think this comment was at all marvellous as Ava could tell when she felt him stiffen with indignation beneath her touch.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn to local gossip. Ava and Lauren, who had grown up in the village, were always keen for an update: who was having a ridiculous argument with whom, how the local farmers had done with the year’s crops and what the latest dramas from the village pub were. There was no shortage of news from Jackie, who had a heart of gold but the eyes of a hawk. No petty grudge went undocumented, no late night shenanigans was unnoticed and thanks to Dave, her favourite barman from the King’s Arms, no drunken indiscretions went unmissed. As it turned out, one of the big local farmers had not only been cheating on his wife but he’d been doing it with the lithe daughter of one of his friends. Just 22, she was fresh out of university and still hanging around at home, with her floppy blonde hair and cardigan sleeves pulled down over her knuckles. Her parents seemed to have been hoping she would simply fall in love with a passing Wiltshire landowner and they might be able to have their house back to themselves. Apparently not!

‘It’s the oldest story of them all,’ declared Jackie. ‘Men are all the same – I don’t know why anyone would get married.’ She chuckled at her own wisdom, seemingly unaware of her audience.

‘Erm, Mum,’ said Ava. ‘We are all still here, you know – your husband and your engaged daughter. And her fiancé.’

‘Well, I didn’t mean us,’ said Jackie with an airy wave. ‘I just meant, you know, generally.’

It was exactly this kind of theatrical generalisation that most irritated Rob. Ava watched his jaw clench and braced herself for his analysis later.

Meanwhile, Lauren and Rory chuckled at Jackie’s ludicrous statement and started teasing her about whether she thought they ought to be getting married.

‘Ooh, that reminds me, Ava! I really want to talk to you about flowers before you go.’

‘Oh girls, you must! Flowers are so important at weddings.’

‘Thanks for that, Mum,’ said Lauren, rolling her eyes at her sister. ‘More much-needed advice for Ava, who as we all know really struggles with her floral know-how.’

‘You lot are so mean, I just want to pass on the wisdom of my great age.’

‘Yeah, you’re ancient,’ Lauren prodded her shoulder, ‘practically a crone.’

While they were teasing each other, Ava was wondering exactly what it was Lauren wanted to say about the flowers for her wedding. Would it be advice on getting a good florist, or was she about to ask her to do them herself? Ava was slightly dreading being asked as she knew it would be a fresh new level of stress, but then she didn’t want to be deemed not up to the job, or too ‘difficult’ either. She was about to ask, but the conversation had meanwhile galloped on to an analysis of how much better this summer’s village fête had been organised. Unsurprisingly, Andrew had some quite firm ideas, while Jackie had the inside track on who had fallen out with whom by the end of the day.

The meal itself proved as delicious as the gossip. Lauren had brought homemade pâté, which she proudly served on Jackie’s favourite Melba toasts before everyone tucked into an amazing piece of roast pork. The crackling was perfect, the gravy sublime and the roast potatoes crisp, comforting nuggets of heaven. Jackie beamed with pride to see them all enjoying it and seemed to puff up like a proud hen as she offered seconds around the table. Ava watched Rob load a second helping onto his plate. He took a mouthful, wiped a trickle of gravy from around his mouth, and then carried on chewing his meat, completely focused on his meal. She tried to imagine how he would look and behave once he was the same age as her dad, who was sitting there with his twinkly-eyed grin and booming laugh. Would she still know Rob when he was that age? Perhaps they’d be sitting like this with their own children one day? Was this where they were heading? It seemed impossible to imagine, but then Ava remembered those years when she had found it unfathomable that they would ever be boyfriend and girlfriend.

Halfway through the meal, relaxed and with the soothing food inside her, Ava felt overwhelmed by tiredness and decided to offer to drive home. She put a hand over her wine glass when Andrew offered her a second glass and whispered over to Rob, ‘You go ahead, I don’t mind driving back – I really don’t fancy drinking.’ At this, he eyed her with suspicion. Ava spotted this and felt as if someone had pinched her heart between finger and thumb. ‘Honestly,’ she told him, ‘just enjoy yourself.’ This wasn’t met with a smile, however, just a shrug and then ‘Fine.’

Ava got up to serve the pavlova. Everyone ooh-ed and ah-ed as she brought it to the table, and Jackie and Andrew seized the opportunity to give them all a rundown of how the various fruits in their little garden were coming along. The courgettes had been the stars of the season, the basil almost out of control during the heat of the summer, but the darling fig tree had let no one down either. Ava concentrated on dividing the meringue into equal portions, preventing the fruit from falling too far down the sides of each slice and letting the chatter wash over her. She was at the exact point where sad and relaxed meet, a resigned melancholy. It was as if the room were in soft focus as she passed a plate to each of them, sat back and enjoyed her pudding, half-listening to a conversation Jackie and Lauren were having about how to keep their jewellery clean. So intent were they on maintaining sparkle without causing damage, it was as if they were in some sort of Bling Club.

‘That ammonia diamond cleaning stuff absolutely stinks, doesn’t it?’ said Lauren.

‘Oh I know, it’s ghastly! Sometimes I have to put my eternity ring in the shed if I’m cooking,’ agreed Jackie. ‘I just can’t bear the smell of it in the house. But then one day I became incredibly nervous that a squirrel or a magpie or some other creature would find its way in there and either help itself to my diamonds or drink the stuff and die.’

‘So what do you do now?’

‘I make your father clean it when I’m at bridge.’

Andrew raised his eyes heavenwards and nodded.

‘It’s like a horrible window into my future,’ said Rory, with the kind of childlike smile that made it perfectly obvious that he loved all conversations about his finest hour: the engagement ring. As the table chuckled collectively, Ava glanced idly at what she called her ‘Dunne’s ring’, with its simple band and small stone. She felt her father’s broad hand pat her leg beneath the table before he leant in and whispered in her ear, ‘Your day will come, my darling. I have no doubt.’ At this, she stared down at her plate, ashamed to be once again comparing herself to Lauren, for whom she was genuinely happy. She felt the tears well up and blinked fast to do her best to quell them: she didn’t care about a wedding or even want a big ring, just a slice of the joy that Lauren and Rory seemed to share – the sense of being in the same boat together was what she envied, not the accompanying accessories.

As Ava looked up, she noticed Rob was staring at her curiously. For the first time all weekend she was completely unable to read what his face was saying. This in turn panicked her, not because she couldn’t tell, but because once she found it so easy to do so. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but each looked as if they had just told the other bad news. Tiredness turned to sadness as she stirred milk into her coffee.

The drive home was even more silent than the one there. Rob reached for the radio controls as soon as the car was out of the driveway and they had stopped waving to Jackie and Andrew. Once he found a books show on Radio 4, they listened to it intently for the entire journey, occasionally commenting companionably. The programme provided a conversational buoy that they clung to gratefully. Anything rather than drown in the mire of the things they suddenly needed to talk about. There was none of the resentment of earlier in the day, it was almost as if their situation was something they shared. At last they had found common ground again. Maybe now they could turn a corner.

Ava pulled up outside the house and turned the engine off.

‘Would you like me to come in?’ asked Rob.

He always stayed over on a Sunday night. They might never have chosen ‘their song’, but there had never been any doubt that Sunday night was ‘their night’. The fact that he even had to ask this question made feel Ava sad. Meanwhile, the sensation of cold, prickly anxiety running through her was increasing.

‘Of course, it’s Sunday.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’m still really full, though. Not sure about cooking.’

‘Okay, no problem.’ He smiled back, politely.

Their new-found awkwardness continued as they reached the front door, each trying to hold it open for the other: the timidity of a first date, with none of the delicious tension. When they finally entered, both were tired and took their coats off with relief.

Ava went into the kitchen to put the container from the pavlova into the dishwasher and saw that it had not been emptied from last night’s curry. She scanned the room; it quickly became obvious that the ostentatious tidying up that Rob had been doing when she had returned from her run had been somewhat superficial. As she noticed this, she heard the insistent mosquito buzz of racing cars in the living room. Clearly Rob had decided to pop his feet up and catch up on Formula 1. Ava took a deep breath. She didn’t want to be that woman – the one who whinged on about the housework, only pausing to nag about commitment. That woman was everything she dreaded, becoming her was to be avoided at all costs.

She took a deep breath and went upstairs, where she lay down on the bed for a couple of hours, trying to read a book. It was soon replaced by the remainder of the morning’s papers, which she flicked through looking for something to distract her. Eventually she gave up and had a bath. By the time she came back downstairs in her pajamas and fluffy dressing gown they had been at opposite ends of her admittedly tiny house for almost three hours.

‘I’m going to make an omelette,’ she said, standing at the living-room door. ‘Would you like one?’

Rob looked up, displaying all the signs of having forgotten that she was in the house at all.

‘Ooh, yes please! And look – Morgan & Hughes is on.’

The regional detective show was one of Ava’s favourites – second only to Strictly in the cosy autumn TV watching schedules. They had spent many happy evenings together, with trays of comforting wintery food on their laps, trying to work out who the unlikely murderer was. (It was always the most famous of the weekly guest stars!)

‘But it’s already begun.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve missed the set up.’

‘You’ll catch up …’ He patted the sofa next to him, as if she were a cat.

But you didn’t call me, she wanted to say. You used to call me! She chose not to say anything – it seemed wiser at this point.

Fifteen minutes later she was snuggled next to Rob on the sofa, their omelettes eaten and an apple shared. They watched the programme in the same companionable silence as they had driven back from the Dunnes, as if they were the best flatmates in the world. Later, Rob had a shower while Ava got into bed and returned to her book. He returned from the bathroom wearing pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, got into bed, kissed Ava on the forehead and rolled over before she had a chance to kiss him back.

‘Good night,’ she mouthed to herself as she leant over to turn off the bedside light. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rise and fall of Rob’s breathing.

Just before she fell asleep she realised that Lauren had never explained what she wanted for her wedding flowers.