‘After meeting you the other day I’ve been thinking a lot.’ Melissa lowers her voice as she leans on her stick. ‘About Rose. And Daphne …’
‘Oh, yes?’ Lorna tries not to get her hopes up. It was nearly forty years ago. What could Melissa remember that would be useful?
‘Would you like to come for a cup of tea? My cottage is only down there, by the river.’ Beside the market cross she can hear a toddler crying and a woman’s voice, coaxing.
‘That would be lovely,’ she says. She senses that Melissa is probably lonely and wants a trip down Memory Lane. It will give Saffy and Tom some time to themselves. And she’d like to know more about what her mother was like when she was younger. As well as the mysterious Daphne. She needs a distraction until she meets up with Theo and Jen later.
‘Do you mind dogs?’ she asks, untying Snowy’s lead from the lamppost. ‘He’s my daughter’s.’
‘Of course not.’ Melissa hitches her carpet bag over her shoulder. She walks slowly, resting heavily on her stick. They cross the little bridge and follow the river for a bit, Snowy stopping to sniff the trunk of a weeping willow, until they get to a row of cottages at the opposite end of the village to Saffy’s house. Melissa’s cottage is smaller, terraced, but with the same Cotswold stone and all of the character that Lorna has come to expect from properties in Beggars Nook.
She follows Melissa through the door and straight into a sitting room with low beamed ceilings. It’s old-fashioned, with big-armed floral sofas and plates on the wall, but it has charm. And it’s clean and tidy, which is important to Lorna. She can’t abide mess. She wonders if Melissa ever married or had children of her own.
‘Make yourself at home,’ she says, indicating the sofa. ‘Cup of tea?’
Lorna says that would be lovely and offers to make it but Melissa is having none of it. She’s fiercely independent and, obviously feeling more secure in her own cottage, props her walking stick against the wall. Lorna settles herself on the sofa with Snowy by her feet.
Melissa returns with two mugs and hands one to Lorna, then sinks her large frame into a faded armchair opposite, by the little leaded window.
‘Gorgeous fireplace,’ says Lorna. It’s wrought iron with a guard around the outside. The mantelpiece is cluttered with figurines and photo frames. She can’t help wondering how long it would take to dust it all. But it’s spotless, not a dust mote in sight.
‘Thank you. We have them in all the rooms. Although I never used the bedroom ones. I doubt anybody does, these days, but the cottages were built before central heating.’ She chuckles.
‘Gives character, though,’ says Lorna, sipping her tea and thinking of the fireplaces in Saffy’s cottage. She wonders if the ones in the bedrooms have been used since her mother lived there. ‘Anyway, so tell me, what were you about to say outside the shop?’
Melissa sets her mug on the side table next to her and purses her lips, her chins wobbling. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘seeing you and reminiscing about Rose brought it all back.’
‘Brought it all back?’
‘That strange autumn.’
Lorna shrugs off her jacket. It’s a warm day but Melissa has her heating on and the room is stifling. Her lower back is starting to feel sweaty.
‘The autumn of 1980?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what way was it strange?’
‘Well,’ she folds her arms across her stomach, ‘that’s when I started to notice something wasn’t quite right. With Rose.’
‘Really?’ Lorna leans forward to place her cup down. The tea is making her feel hotter.
‘Like I said before, she was always quiet, kept herself to herself. It was obvious she was a devoted single mother. She never mentioned a husband. She always seemed jittery and on edge, overly worried about your safety. Anyway, I’m repeating myself, I’ve told you that before. But although Rose did all of those things, she still tried to help out in the community. She volunteered at the church café twice a month. She was in the WI. And then, around early summer, she stopped. She cut herself off completely from all of us in the village.’