Will’s flat was exactly like Will himself, scruffy and uncoordinated but welcoming and, against the odds, attractive in its own way. The decor was basic, tidiness clearly wasn’t a priority and the wallpaper out in the hall was, frankly, very George and Mildred, but Estelle didn’t care. She was here with Will and that was all that mattered.
‘Here we go. Should be champagne really.’ Will appeared, carrying two mugs of tea, leaving a trail of drips in his wake.
‘Tea’s fine.’ Taking a sip, Estelle suppressed a shudder; he’d put sugar in.
‘Sorry, sorry. God, I’m a hopeless case.’ Snatching it away from her, Will swapped it with his own.
‘I still can’t believe you’re here, that you’ve actually left Oliver. It’s like a genie has just burst out of a lamp and granted my wish.’
This time the tea was better but the mug was a bit grim, chipped and stained and looking as though it had been hastily rinsed out rather than introduced to the joys of washing-up liquid. Bravely forcing the tea down, Estelle said, ‘All these years, I never had any idea. What kind of a man brings his mistress and son to live in the same village as his family?’
‘The kind of man who thinks he can do anything he likes and get away with it.’ Will’s voice was gentle.
‘Exactly! That’s Oliver all over. Bastard!’ raged Estelle. ‘Well, I’m not going back. It’s over.’
‘Bed,’ said Will.
‘ Really over. Juliet’s welcome to him.’
‘Bed.’
‘God knows how many other women he’s had ...’ Estelle paused. ‘What did you say?’
Will removed the chipped mug from her grasp and drew her towards him. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
She shivered with anticipation. ‘Are you sure?’
He grinned. ‘Are you kidding? This is my second wish.’
‘OK, but there’s something I have to say first.’ Estelle hesitated, because she might not be wearing her hideous honeycomb pants this time but there was still the problem of her less than perfect body.
‘Don’t expect ... you know, too much, OK? I’m forty-five.’
‘Fantastic,’ Will said happily. ‘That’s my third wish come true.’
By early evening, everyone in Ashcombe had heard the news. Phil Jessop, who worked as a porter at the hospital by day and in the kitchen of the Fallen Angel at night, had told everyone he knew, and the ripples had spread out from there. Tiff remained in a critical condition at the hospital. Juliet was still with him, as was Oliver Taylor-Trent. Estelle, along with a pair of suitcases, had left Dauncey House in a taxi. Kate was currently serving behind the bar of the Angel, biting the heads off customers faster than Ozzy Osbourne could bite the head off any bat.
Since Ashcombe was currently a hotbed of gossip, it wasn’t too surprising that Sophie Harvey had got to overhear most of it before bedtime.
‘I might be seven, but I’m not stupid,’ she announced to Jake, Maddy and Nuala, who were outside in the back garden of Snow Cottage. Wearing a blue vest and yellow pyjama bottoms and with toothpaste splashes around her mouth, Sophie settled herself on Jake’s knee. ‘I heard Cyrus Sharp talking to Theresa Birch in the shop. They were saying Oliver Taylor-Trent is Tiff’s dad, but he can’t be.
He’s never even bought Tiff a Christmas present.’
Jake wondered how you were supposed to do this. He’d been putting off the birds and the bees lecture for as long as possible, but there wasn’t just the technical aspect of procreation to consider.
Sophie was only seven, for heaven’s sake. How were you supposed to answer the Christmas present question?
‘Oliver is Tiff’s biological father,’ Nuala came unexpectedly to the rescue, ‘but it was a big secret. So nobody knew, not even Tiff.’
‘Biological.’ Sophie was frowning. ‘That’s the seed thing, right?’
‘Right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter a bit,’ said Nuala. ‘All we care about is Tiff getting better.’
‘But what if he doesn’t?’ Sophie’s gaze swung back to Jake. ‘Theresa Birch said people die of meningitis.’
‘Tiff isn’t going to die,’ said Jake.
‘But if he does, will you make a casket for him?’
‘He’s not going to die,’ Jake repeated, because what else could he say?
‘You hope he isn’t going to,’ said Sophie, ‘but if he does, he wants one like a batmobile. And if I die, I want a red one with a giant spider on the lid.’
‘Poor Kate,’ said Maddy when Jake had carried Sophie off up to bed. ‘Must be a bit weird for her. I still can’t get over it – Juliet and Oliver, of all people. I can’t believe they never once gave themselves away.’
‘It’s good, really, that Estelle’s left. Otherwise you wouldn’t know whose side to be on, hers or Juliet’s.’ Finishing her can of Coke, Nuala gazed at Maddy with longing. ‘Is it my turn now?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, go on, don’t be so mean. Let me have a go.’
‘Look, I’m an expert, I know how to handle these things. You’d just fall out and fracture your other collarbone.’ As she said it, Maddy shielded her eyes from the setting sun and watched Jake re-emerge from the house without Sophie.
‘Maddy won’t let me have a turn on the hammock,’ Nuala called out. ‘Tell her she’s being selfish.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Maddy knew something was up the moment Jake failed to turf her out of the hammock and leap into it himself.
‘I just rang the ITU. They let me speak to Juliet.’ Jake’s throat was working as he struggled to keep his voice under control.
Fearfully, Maddy said, ‘And?’
‘Tiff’s taken a turn for the worse. The doctors have warned her that he may not last the night.’
‘I have to go to Ashcombe,’ said Will. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’
It was nine o’clock in the morning. Since waking twenty minutes earlier, Estelle had been torn between revelling in the fact that she had spent last night making love with a man who wasn’t her husband, and coming to terms with the realisation that she was a cheated-on wife. The other unfamiliar situation was her nakedness beneath the bedclothes – it actually felt quite weird, when you weren’t used to it, not to be wearing a nightie.
‘Today?’ Hauling the duvet up around her breasts, she struggled into a half-sitting position.
‘It’s my job. I’m a documentary maker.’ Will, already showered and dressed, came to sit on the bed.
‘Not including all this stuff in the programme would be like making a film about Hitler and not mentioning the war.’
Estelle nodded; of course he had to go.
‘You’re amazing.’ Will reached out to stroke her cheek.
‘You won’t tell him I’m here, will you?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He pulled a face. ‘Do I look stupid?’
‘Nor Kate,’ Estelle insisted. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’
‘Hey, don’t panic. We’re on the same side, remember. I’ll be back tonight.’ Will held up a front door key. ‘Now, this is my spare. Will you be OK here without me?’
Blissful memories of last night came flooding back, of Will whispering how beautiful she was, and how she didn’t have to hold her stomach in for him. In a rush of love and gratitude, Estelle decided she’d spend the day cleaning his flat, restoring order from chaos and discreetly bleaching his coffee mugs.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Taking the key, she leaned up for a kiss.
‘Typical,’ said Will good-naturedly. ‘All these weeks I couldn’t wait to race down to Ashcombe, and now all I want to do is get back here to be with you.’ Then he paused. ‘How will you feel if Oliver’s distraught about your leaving? Will it make you want to go back to him?’