The Corner Shop of Whispers Read online

  I put down my paintbrush, suddenly drawn to read the letter again, even though I knew what it said word for word. It was at that precise moment my mobile chirruped the arrival of a text. It was from Daisy.

  Fancy a coffee?

  I sighed. I was pleased her text had distracted me from digging out the letter. However, much as I loved Daisy, I knew I really should crack on with the current work in progress. The local Italian restaurant had already bought paintings off me and were after yet another. I stared at my easel, observing the riot of colour before me. It was coming together, but nonetheless not complete. I dithered. If I ignored Daisy’s text, she’d take to the doorbell. If I stalled for time and asked for two hours’ grace she’d only be chasing me later this afternoon. Wiping a blob of Prussian blue from my iPhone, I decided to reply. After all, I had amazing news to share. In fact, most newly pregnant women in my shoes would by now have employed a town crier to scream out an announcement. “O’yez! Gather round and know that Florence Milligan’s ovaries have finally popped an egg and partied with a single exhausted sperm. God bless the fruit of Marcus Milligan’s loins.” I wasn’t exactly behaving in a euphoric manner, was I? I began to tap the mobile screen with a paint-stained index finger.

  Sounds good. As it happens, I have something wonderful to tell you!

  Daisy’s response was immediate.

  In that case, I’ll see if Alison is available too. We can’t exclude her or neither of us will ever hear the end of it.

  I mentally nodded. Too true.

  Sure. I’ll be over in a jiffy. Just give me a few moments to clean up.

  I was just locking the front door when Alison emerged from Number 3. Her expensive perfume wafted on a little gust of spring air invading my senses. I sniffed appreciatively. It was a familiar smell, quite masculine with its musky overtones, although I couldn’t place it, or remember where I’d smelt it before.

  ‘Not bogged down with PTA meetings this morning then?’ I grinned.

  Alison shuddered dramatically, but we both knew she loved being involved with fund raising. No day was complete for Alison without sucking up to the School Governors at Darwin Prep. There wasn’t a cake sale or a second-hand-uniform jamboree that Alison wasn’t behind.

  ‘There is a PTA meeting but thankfully much later this afternoon.’ We stepped over the strips of grass separating the three houses she, Daisy and I lived in. ‘However, I can’t stay too long for coffee at Daisy’s.’ She placed a perfectly manicured nail over the doorbell and gave it a couple of sharp rings. ‘I have to go to Harriet Montgomery’s place in an hour or so. We’re finalising the arrangements for the May Ball. It’s also going to provide some fund-raising for Darwin Prep. With only a week to go there’s still lots to do. Harriet absolutely insisted I was involved from the start. You know Harriet, don’t you?’

  Alison knew perfectly well I didn’t personally know Harriet, but everybody in Lower Amblegate knew who Harriet Montgomery was. A beautiful ex-movie star, she’d dominated the big screen for ten years before dramatically announcing she was getting hitched and “taking a rest”. Harriet Montgomery had gone on to marry famous business tycoon Martin Murray-Wells who was old enough to be her grandfather. As Daisy had sardonically said, “It must be love.” They’d managed to produce one daughter, Piper, who also went to Darwin Prep. It went without saying that Alison was very keen for little Tiffany to be Piper’s bestie. Meanwhile Alison was doing sterling work cosying up to Harriet at every given opportunity.

  Daisy answered the door, eyes shining. She had managed to brush her hair since I’d last seen her but was still wearing the crumpled pyjamas covered in egg yolk and baked bean sauce. Alison clocked the grubby nightwear with distaste, but arched an eyebrow at Daisy’s evident happiness.

  ‘Why are you looking so perky?’

  Together we stepped over the threshold into Daisy’s hallway.

  ‘Because I’ve just watched the best bit of breakfast telly ever!’ Daisy clapped her hands together. ‘There was this gorgeous bouncer pinning down this mouthy woman who was trying to knock seven bells out of this really chavvy female, and they were arguing over this ancient bloke. I mean, really ancient. He had to be at least fifty.’

  Alison looked affronted. ‘Can I remind you, Daisy, that Henry is fifty. He is not, as you so eloquently put it, ancient.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Daisy flapped a hand dismissively, ‘I forgot you like oldies. Still, at least Henry isn’t as ancient as your mate’s hubby.’ Daisy nodded at the hall window. We followed her gaze and looked into the distance at a huge mansion perched high on a hill and overlooking the North Downs. It was Harriet Montgomery’s pile. Alison didn’t know whether to be peeved at Daisy’s insult of being attracted to old men, or flattered that Daisy thought Alison and Harriet were “mates”. Alison’s ego got the better of her and the latter comment won.

  ‘Harriet’s hubby is delightful,’ she cooed. ‘Naturally I’ve met Martin several times. Martin is an absolute sweetheart.’

  ‘Good to know.’ Daisy shrugged as we followed her into the lounge. ‘I still wouldn’t want to bonk him though.’

  ‘I personally think Martin is extremely debonair,’ Alison said defensively as we carefully negotiated the floor. It was covered in discarded toys, colouring pads and breakfast detritus.

  ‘Someone’s got mentionitis,’ said Daisy. ‘You’ve just said “Martin” three times in as many seconds.’

  Alison ignored the dig and carried on talking.

  ‘I was just telling Florrie, I’m helping Harriet put the finishing touches to the village May Ball. It’s a fundraising affair obviously. I fully expect you both to attend, even if you have to drag your husbands along kicking and screaming.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to rub shoulders with all your toffee-nosed friends,’ Daisy grumbled.

  ‘They are perfectly normal people,’ said Alison irritably as she flopped down onto a sofa, ‘and anyway, it’s not just the Darwin Prep parents who will be there. Everyone in Lower Amblegate is invited.’

  I sat down next to her, narrowly avoiding stepping on some congealed plates. Alison stared at them distastefully.

  ‘You allow your children to eat on the floor?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Daisy. She gave Alison a strange look. ‘It’s near the telly.’

  Alison looked appalled. ‘Don’t you ever sit up at the dining table as a family and make intelligent conversation about how to resolve world peace or debate whether Donald Trump will be a good president for America?’

  ‘What the heck would we want to do that for?’ Daisy asked in bewilderment. ‘I’d miss Jeremy Kyle or Coronation Street.’

  Alison’s brow furrowed. ‘But if you don’t ever sit around a dining table, where do you entertain?’

  ‘Entertain?’ Now it was Daisy’s turn to frown.

  ‘Yes! As in hosting a soirée.’

  ‘A what?’

  Alison rolled her eyes. ‘A dinner party, Daisy.’

  ‘Ah,’ Daisy looked enlightened. ‘Where you’re sitting, Ali. There’s nothing like fish and chips out of newspaper on your lap.’

  Alison looked stunned. The day she offered the likes of Harriet Montgomery a take-out whilst sitting on a sofa or floor would be the day Hugh Heffner became a monk.

  Daisy cleared her throat. ‘Now then, ladies, coffee or tea?’

  ‘I’ll have coffee, please,’ I said to Daisy.

  ‘Do you have any Earl Grey?’ asked Alison.

  Daisy placed her hands on her hips. ‘Honestly, Ali, I do wish you’d drop the airs and graces. You’re not at Mrs La-de-da’s house now. You’re at mine, complete with chaos and mess. You’ll have the supermarket special and love it.’

  Alison looked pained. ‘Well at least give me a porcelain cup and saucer rather than a cracked workman’s mug.’

  Daisy tutted, and stomped off. From out in the kitchen we could hear her huffing and puffing as she searched through cupboards for the elusive china. Five minutes later sh
e returned with a tray bearing steaming drinks and a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Have you thought about getting a cleaner?’ Alison asked.

  Daisy bit into a chocolate biscuit. ‘Why would I want one of those?’ she asked, dropping crumbs everywhere.

  ‘To make this place ship-shape of course,’ said Alison in exasperation. ‘You have such a lovely house, Daisy, but inside it looks like it belongs to Mr and Mrs Slob. Doesn’t Tom ever get annoyed?’

  ‘Sure. But I just tell him I’ve done the housework and the kids simply messed it all up again.’

  ‘Doesn’t he ever suss that you only do the minimum?’

  ‘Nah,’ Daisy shrugged and took another bite from the biscuit. ‘I just squirt a bit of furniture polish in the air before he comes home and he says, “Wow, I can tell you’ve been working your socks off today.” That’s when he’s home, anyway. After school, he’s catching up on pastoral chit-chat with the vicar. These days he seems to be perpetually busy.’

  Alison nodded. ‘Your husband too, eh?’ She rattled her cup into the saucer making Daisy and I jump slightly.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Daisy said helping herself to another chocolate biscuit. ‘At least it gets me off the hook in the bedroom.’

  ‘Don’t you like,’ Alison paused, ‘sex?’ She mouthed the last word.

  ‘Yeah,’ Daisy nodded. ‘Well, I did.’ She chomped away, thoughtful for a moment. ‘I guess it’s just all a bit predictable though. And boring. Do I really want a late-night grapple which no longer makes the earth move for me? Especially when I’ve just washed the sheets. It just makes another job. I guess, like housework, sex for me is a chore.’ She grinned, revealing a chocolate crumb lodged between her front teeth. ‘We can’t all be like our Florrie here. What’s it like still fancying the pants off your hubby and having mad passionate sex morning, noon and night?’

  I laughed, but couldn’t quite meet Daisy’s gaze and took a hasty swig of coffee so I wasn’t able to reply.

  ‘Anyway,’ Daisy shifted in her chair. A regrouping gesture. She looked at me expectantly. ‘What’s this fab news you have for us both?’

  Alison straightened up, giving me her full attention. ‘Fab news?’ She turned two wide eyes towards me. For the first time I noticed exactly how wide Alison’s eyes actually were. Surely she hadn’t had a lift? After all, she was only thirty-seven. I stared at her forehead. It was as smooth as polished marble. That had to be the work of botox. And, good heavens, her mouth was looking incredibly pouty. Was that a touch of filler around the upper lip? ‘What fab news?’ she repeated.

  I blinked and, suddenly shy, gave a tiny smile. ‘I’m expecting a baby.’

  Daisy immediately stood up and punched the air, slopping coffee down herself in the process. ‘Fan-flaming-tastic,’ she whooped.

  Alison’s response was more reserved. ‘That’s wonderful news, Florrie,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m very pleased for you.’

  I allowed my smile to turn into a full-on grin. Inside I was still quaking somewhat. Still trying to digest it all. But now I’d told my two dearest friends, it was as if an internal light switch had been flicked on so that I immediately began to feel like I was glowing radiantly.

  ‘To be honest, Marcus and I are shell-shocked. But happy,’ I added, nodding emphatically as some butterflies took off in my stomach. Nerves. I brushed the feeling away. Surely every expectant mother felt nervous. The fact that expectant mothers were more likely to feel nervous nearer to the time of their due date as opposed to the day of finding out they were pregnant was surely neither here nor there. Everyone was different, I firmly told myself. I looked from Daisy to Alison, and my megawatt smile instantly faded. Alison seemed to be struggling with her emotions. The duck-pout was wobbling alarmingly, and the wide-apart eyes were now swimming with unshed tears. Alarmed, I leant forward and touched her arm. ‘Ali? Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘N-nothing,’ Alison sniffed. ‘E-everything.’

  ‘Eh?’ Daisy hunkered down in front of Alison. ‘You’re not fretting about this chuffing May Ball, are you?’ she asked. ‘Of course we’ll come. Even if I’m so tired that I collapse head first into the asparagus velouté and start snoring. I absolutely promise to be there for you.’

  Alison sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. She gave a watery smile. ‘Sorry. I’m just a bit out of sorts.’

  ‘Why?’ I put an arm around her cashmere-clad shoulder. ‘You can tell us, Ali.’

  The tears were threatening again. Her face worked. She was clearly wrestling with her emotions, unsure whether to confide in Daisy and me, or not. ‘It’s Henry,’ she eventually said, almost choking on her husband’s name.

  Daisy and I looked at each other and paled.

  ‘Is something wrong with him, Ali?’ Daisy asked. ‘I’m sorry I said he was old. He’s not old really. Well, not old enough to die anyway.’

  Alison gave an imperceptible shake of the head. ‘He’s not ill.’ Foraging up one sleeve, she removed a tissue and noisily blew her nose. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘What is it then?’ I urged.

  She gulped a few times, still not quite sure whether to divest a secret. Taking a deep breath, the need to unburden won.

  ‘Henry’s having an affair.’

  Chapter Three

  For a moment, Daisy and I simply stared at our weeping neighbour. Henry was having an affair? Henry? Was this the same Henry who spent his Saturdays taking Tiffany to London trekking around museums or art galleries, and his Sundays dutifully manicuring the lawn and flowerbeds under Alison’s watchful eye? Boring Henry? Impossible! Daisy was the first to speak. From her position on the floor at Alison’s feet, she leant forward and touched Alison’s arm.

  ‘Ali,’ she said gently. ‘Is there any chance you might be a teensy-weensy bit wrong?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Alison sniffed. She trumpeted into the already overworked tissue.

  ‘So you’re not one-hundred percent sure?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘I’m ninety-nine percent sure,’ Alison said flatly. There was a moment’s silence while we contemplated this. Alison stared blankly at the soggy paper hanky balled up in her hands.

  Daisy was the first to speak. ‘Sorry, Ali, but I think you’re mistaken. After all, let’s not beat about the bush. Henry’s fifty.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Alison’s voice was suddenly sharp.

  ‘Well, without sounding insulting…’ Daisy hesitated, ‘surely he’s past it.’

  Alison’s cheeks flushed red. ‘What are you talking about, Daisy? Are you suggesting that at the end of Henry’s forty-ninth year and on the stroke of midnight, he was suddenly struck impotent?’ Alison straightened up on the sofa, indignant now. ‘Is that what you think? That the moment a male embraces the Big Five-Oh all his teeth fall out, he loses his hair and bits of his body stop working?’

  Daisy frowned. ‘Well…yeah. I mean Henry’s teeth are whiter than Simon Cowell’s, so I presumed they were false.’

  ‘Veneers,’ Alison snapped. ‘Cosmetic dentistry. They cost an absolute fortune.’

  Daisy wasn’t convinced. ‘Well he lost his hair years ago. He’s as bald as a snooker ball with a scalp twice as shiny.’

  ‘He shaves his head to be trendy,’ Alison hissed.

  ‘I see,’ Daisy said. She clearly didn’t see at all. She rocked back on her heels and contemplated Alison. ‘So are you trying to tell me his willy still works?’

  Alison looked affronted. ‘Yes, Daisy. It goes up and down. Mostly up. But not for me. Instead he’s ga-ga about…’

  ‘Who?’ Daisy and I chorused.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alison wailed. ‘A colleague maybe? He’s always home so late.’

  ‘You did say he works hard,’ I soothed.

  ‘Not hard enough to achieve full half-year bonus,’ Alison’s eyes flashed and her mouth disappeared into a tight line. ‘Without wishing to go into how much money my husband makes, let’s just say that there’s always bee
n plenty of the stuff. But suddenly I’m being told to limit my spending. Being asked to use the local hairdresser instead of popping up to Mayfair to see Nicky. Having Tiffany’s education compromised with Henry refusing to pay for flute lessons.’

  ‘Well she is already studying clarinet, violin and piano,’ I patted Alison’s hand.

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nobody’s!’ I assured hastily. ‘I’m just thinking of Tiffany trying to fit another instrument into her already busy schedule.’ I did sometimes wonder what planet Alison was on when it came to her daughter’s education.

  ‘And do you know what he said to me this morning?’ she gasped and clutched her chest dramatically.

  ‘What?’ Daisy and I chorused.

  ‘He told me to stop shopping at Waitrose and to go to,’ she gave a little shriek, ‘Asda.’

  ‘I go to Asda,’ said Daisy indignantly.

  ‘I’m sure it’s perfectly all right for people like you, Daisy,’ Alison said patronisingly, ‘but I really don’t want to shop in a store where people are still wearing their pyjamas.’

  ‘Have you been spying on me?’ Daisy narrowed her eyes.

  Alison tutted. ‘I have better things to do with my time than check out your shopping attire, Daisy.’

  I giggled and nudged Daisy. ‘You’ve never gone to Asda in your PJs, have you?’

  ‘Only twice,’ Daisy sighed. ‘The last time I did it the security guard wouldn’t let me in the store.’

  ‘And rightly so,’ Alison’s chin jutted. ‘Don’t you ever get fed up of lounging around in your nightwear?’

  ‘No,’ Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s comfortable. Why on earth would I want to wear cashmere in the morning when I’m frying eggs and stirring beans?’