But there’s nothing to be gained from making life more difficult than it already is, so I bit my tongue and in the end she gave me the money, all deep sighs and eye-rolling, mind you, just so I knew how grateful I was supposed to be. So S and I went to the shoe shop. I let her choose for herself and she picked out the dearest little pair in red with tiny flowers punched out of the leather. If they’d done them in bigger sizes, I’d have bought some, too – not that I had the money, of course. And then on the way home we went for an ice cream with raspberry sauce, which we ate as we walked on the prom, and we chased seagulls, and then we ran into the sea and got our dresses wet. The water was perishing and our legs went blue, but we didn’t care. I want to make the most of the sea whilst we’re here. When we go back to London it won’t be so easy.
But they had never made it to London. Audrey had told Pip that Evelyn was still here. For all her talk of moving back with Scarlet and picking up her acting career again, she seemed to have become trapped in Southwold. Scarlet would be nearly forty by now. Pip hoped that she, at least, had spread her wings.
18
Having decided that she’d like to chat to Jez, Pip managed to catch him after breakfast the next day.
‘Hi there,’ she began. It felt a bit forced, but she had to start somewhere.
‘Hi,’ he replied. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but neither was it warm.
‘Look, I’m really sorry I’ve not spoken to you since I’ve been back,’ Pip said. ‘It’s been a bit . . . Well, you know. But I am sorry. I should have made a bigger effort.’
Jez’s expression said, ‘You’re only just working this out now?’ but his lips remained sealed. It seemed he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I was wondering if you fancied going out for a drink, for old times’ sake. A bit of a catch-up. You know . . .’
In the face of no response, Pip tailed off a little. Had she misjudged things? Maybe his girlfriend was the possessive kind who wouldn’t take kindly to him going out for a drink with an old flame, even if their relationship had been almost a lifetime ago. Or perhaps, more worryingly, there had been too much water under the bridge since they were teenagers, and he wasn’t interested in spending any time with the person she had become in the intervening years. Pip really hoped it wasn’t that.
He looked up, his eyes finding hers and transporting her straight back to her childhood in an instant. He hadn’t changed a bit, she thought, whereas she had done nothing but change.
Then he grinned at her. ‘Go on then,’ he said, ‘seeing as you asked so nicely. For old times’ sake, was that it? And also so I can tell you everything I know about old Miss Mountcastle.’ He raised an eyebrow as he spoke, and she knew he’d seen straight through her – of course he had. He knew her, or at least had known her, far too well for her to get away with a trick like that.
Pip felt her cheeks glow and she rolled her eyes. ‘You got me,’ she replied, giving him half a smile. ‘But it would be nice to have a catch-up too. Where do people drink these days?’
‘How about the Nag’s Head? Seven thirty suit?’
Pip nodded gratefully. ‘That’d be great,’ she said.
Pip spent most of the day daydreaming about what she should wear. It most definitely wasn’t a date with Jez – he had a girlfriend, and there was the whole thing with Dominic, still so new and raw – but she still wanted to look nice. Her lacklustre appearance had been pretty much the last thing on her mind recently and she had hidden herself away in jeans and baggy jumpers, but at the thought of seeing Jez it felt like a switch was flicked in her. She wasn’t sure she knew quite what she was feeling, feelings of any kind being so rare, but she wondered if it might be pride that made her want to look her best for him, or maybe something else more essential, a part of herself that she had lost sight of but was perhaps now flickering back into life.
But set against that was the idea that she didn’t deserve to look nice or enjoy herself, considering what she had done. How could she contemplate getting dressed up when the mother of the boy she had killed would probably never care about her appearance again?
In the end, she settled for jeans and a crisp white shirt. It was a neutral choice, neither particularly stylish nor broadcasting that she was making an effort, and in any event, it was unlikely that Jez would even notice.
Not wanting to draw her parents’ attention to her movements, she had intended to sneak out, leaving a note on the kitchen table as to her whereabouts but, with an unsurprising second sense, her mother appeared in the kitchen just as she was putting on her jacket.