“Good lord,” said Annie. “She doesn’t seem it.”
“Never had children,” said Maeve by way of explanation. “Except her nephew, John, he was as near as hers, dammit. But none of her own. It’s the kids that kill you!”
“Charming!” said Annie. “And how many have you got?”
“Five,” said Maeve. “Two daughters and three sons. The youngest one’s thirty now, but it’s still like herding cattle when they’re all together. I reckon they’ve taken five years each off my life.”
“What a bastion of parenting you are!” said Gemma.
“This one has her kids in bed with her and her husband,” said Maeve with a nod of her head in Gemma’s direction.
“It’s called attached parenting,” said Gemma.
“It’s called a rod for your own back!” said Maeve.
“What about you, Annie?” asked Gemma. “Any children? Is that okay to ask? I never know if it’s an insensitive question. You know? Not very feminist.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” said Maeve. “She’s either got them or she hasn’t. And if she hasn’t, she either didn’t want them, couldn’t have them, or left it too late.”
“I swear to God, Maeve, you’re going to get us banned from places one of these days,” said Gemma.
“I’ve got two grown-up boys; twins,” said Annie quickly to try to stop the situation from escalating. “I started early,” she added, smiling at Gemma in a way she hoped would put her at ease.
Maeve and Gemma continued to verbally spar with each other as they took chairs down from tables. Given the good-naturedness of their arguing, Annie sensed a deep affection between the two women.
A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and the rain followed with renewed gusto, sounding like a thousand tiny hands smacking the paintwork. Annie shivered and remembered that she was still soaked through. Rain dripped steadily off the ends of her hair and onto her sweater.
“Right,” said Annie. “I’ll get that kettle on.”
“Jolly good,” said Maeve. “Mine’s a tea with milk and two, leave the bag in.”
“Got it,” said Annie. “Gemma?”
“Coffee would be lovely, please,” said Gemma. Her teeth were chattering. “Milk but no sugar.”
“I’ll see if there’s an electric heater upstairs I can bring down,” said Annie. “And towels, I’ll bring towels.”
“Don’t worry about the heater,” said Maeve. “I’ve found this old beauty!”
Maeve pulled an old Calor Gas heater into view. She blew the worst of the dust off the rungs and rubbed the rest with her coat sleeve.
“Off you go!” said Maeve. “Gemma and I will have us a table sorted when you get back.”
Podrick weaved in and out of the tables, picking up cobwebs in his wet fur and leaving paw prints on the dusty floor. If Annie didn’t know better, she would say this room had been breathing shallow, biding its time while it waited for her to find it. She shook herself; silly, rooms didn’t breathe, it was just an old forgotten space, someone else’s history that she was romanticizing. And yet Annie felt an energy in this place that not even the dust and neglect and the very obvious drafts could hamper.
Chapter 22
While the kettle came to a boil on the stove, Annie disrobed and shrugged into fresh tracksuit bottoms and a fleece hoodie. She made herself and Gemma a coffee from her fancy machine and set Maeve’s tea to brew while she went from cupboard to cupboard looking for snacks. She added an unopened packet of Hobnobs to the tray. Tucking two towels under one arm and draping two blankets from the airing cupboard around her shoulders, she gingerly made her way down the stairs with the laden tea tray.
She pushed the door open and was engulfed by the smell of burning dust and the unmistakable scent of the Calor Gas heater. Already the warmth from it was spreading through the forgotten space.
Gemma jumped up from her spot by the heater and took the tray, setting it down on a small central table, now dust-free and streaked with wet. Three chairs, also dusted, sat round it. Annie handed out towels and blankets and took a seat.
“Now, then,” said Maeve. “How do you feel about book clubs?”
“Book clubs?” said Annie. “I’ve never had the time to join one. I’ve always fancied the idea, though. Are you part of one?”
“No,” said Maeve. “We want to start one. A Victorian book club, revisiting the classics. This place would be the perfect venue! What do you say?”