‘You do trust Luke, don’t you?’ His voice has taken on a serious tone.
‘Of course I trust him,’ I say, without hesitation. ‘Luke loves me. I know that. He’s never once done anything to make me even question his honesty.’
‘I know, it’s just that men of a certain age can get their heads turned if a pretty young woman starts to take an interest.’ He drains the rest of his coffee. ‘I’ve handled plenty of divorce cases where an older man has been flattered by the attentions of a younger woman.’
‘Luke wouldn’t do that to me, so I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.’
‘If I recall, you brought it up in the first place. Anyway, you know your husband best. Who am I to say what he is or is not likely to do? We’re both probably reading far too much into it. That’s what comes of being a solicitor.’ He takes the empty panini wrapper from me, scrunching it up with his own and getting up, chucks it into the rubbish bin. ‘Everything will be fine. You’ll be fine, Clare. Give yourself a break. And Alice.’ He begins to walk away. ‘Come on, we’d better get back before Leonard puts out an APB on us.’
I catch him up and we walk back through the park. ‘I think I’m tired. Emotionally. I’ll be okay, though. Just a bit of an overreaction on my part.’ I drop my empty cup into the next bin we pass. ‘Anyway, when do you fancy coming over to meet her?’
Tom pulls a face. ‘I don’t know. Is it a good idea?’
‘Of course it is. Come over on Saturday with Lottie. Hannah would love to see her; they can play in the garden. You can’t not meet Alice after all the years of me banging on about her and roping you in to try to trace her. Leonard’s coming.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Absolutely no “maybe” about it,’ I say. ‘You won’t be intruding or anything. I’d like you to come. Really, I would. Please?’ For some reason it’s suddenly very important to me that Tom meets Alice.
‘Okay,’ says Tom with a lack of enthusiasm. ‘I’ll come.’
‘Excellent. Don’t let me down.’
‘When have I ever let you down?’
Driving home that evening, I make a conscious decision to try to relax a bit more about Alice being here. I need to recapture that initial enthusiasm I felt when she first got in touch. I put my unease down to not only Alice’s return, but also the pressure I’m under at work with the McMillan case.
A reminder pings on my phone and I glance down at it and swear. It’s that bloody school governors’ meeting tonight. I had completely forgotten about it. I can’t dip out. I’m part of the sub-committee who have been overseeing the application for new parking restrictions and a build-out into the road to make it safer for the kids to get to school. It will be more hassle not attending and passing on the information than it will to actually attend.
I check my watch. It’s not worth going home. I might as well go straight to the school. Hannah’s school is in the next village, but due to rural spread of new house-building, the villages of Little Dray, where we live, and Budlington, have almost merged. A small strip of road, about one hundred metres long, is the no-man’s-land between the two places. Little Dray’s primary school was closed two years ago and the children now all attend Budlington Primary, which has put an increased pressure on the village infrastructure. Traffic flow through the village at school dropping-off and picking-up time has increased considerably. The flock of 4x4 vehicles and MPVs that swarm in and out of Budlington twice a day, when I’ve been privy to witness it, reminds me of a flock of starlings. They arrive en masse, dipping and diving in unspoken synchronised manoeuvres as they queue to enter the small turnaround in front of the school, drop their children off, or pick them up, and then move on out. The locals living near the school are not very happy, to say the least. I give a sigh and mentally prepare myself for the governors’ meeting as I pull up in the school car park. Before I go in, I tap out a quick text message to Luke.
Sorry, school govs meeting. Be home as soon as I can. Xx
A reply comes back just as I’m getting out of the car.
Okay, Babe. See you later. This is accompanied by a sad-face emoji.
If I was of the praying persuasion, I’d run off a quick thank you that I have such an understanding husband and that Luke doesn’t highlight the guilt trip I’m already on. Only one more academic year and then I can give up the governor’s role. I had taken it on as a favour to the school, really. They needed some legal advice, which I was happy to give for free but, before I knew it, I was more involved than I had anticipated.