A Question of Us
First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Mary Jayne Baker, 2020
The moral right of Mary Jayne Baker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781789546149
Aria
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www.ariafiction.com
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
The Never Have I Ever Club was completed at a time when everyone in the UK was being reminded on a daily basis how proud, lucky and humbled we ought to feel to have the NHS, and the incredible men and women who work for it. This book is dedicated to them.
The fluorescent strip lights seared into Robyn’s brain in a shade of white she’d decided to name Guantanamo Ivory.
She assumed she could thank the daytime drinking for her headache. Two glasses of wine with lunch. Not a regular habit, but she’d felt the need for some Dutch courage.
She stopped at the hand gel dispenser, squeezed out a blob and rubbed it into her skin.
Cliff Cockburn was there, the corner shop owner’s hacking cough drowning out the hum of easy-listening jazz in the background. A harassed parent cuddled a snivelling, red-faced toddler and a stack of very out-of-date literature sat untouched on the table.
Doctors’ waiting rooms. They had to be the worst places in the world, with the possible exception of airport lounges and municipal swimming pools.
There was a self-check-in machine by the receptionist’s desk. Robyn tapped in her details, then frowned as it displayed the words NO APPOINTMENT FOUND.
Swearing under her breath, she approached the desk.
‘Hi, Mrs Sykes,’ she said to the receptionist. ‘Your machine’s not finding my appointment.’
‘Oh, pay no attention to that thing, it’s always playing up,’ Mrs Sykes said, casting a resentful glance at the machine. ‘Now, it’s Robyn Bloom, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
Mrs Sykes tapped at her keyboard. ‘Yes, we’ve got you: 2.15pm, Dr Barnes.’
‘No, that’s not right. Dr Kaur’s my doctor, I’m here to see her.’
The receptionist frowned. ‘Not according to our records. It’s Dr Barnes you’ve been booked in with.’
‘What? But I was quite clear I…’ Robyn took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d really prefer to see Dr Kaur.’
‘Hmm. Young lad, was it? That you spoke to when you rang?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Bloody Jason,’ she muttered. ‘That’s three times now he’s muddled the appointments.’ She glanced up with a conciliatory grimace. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m training my grandson to work on reception and he’s a bit dithery. Looks like he’s put you in with the wrong doctor.’
Ugh. Was there anything in this place that worked?
‘These things happen,’ Robyn said, forcing a smile. ‘But can I please see Dr Kaur? I’d prefer to speak to a female doctor.’
‘I’m afraid she’s over at the Glen surgery in Longcliffe this afternoon. We’ve only got Doctors Sykes and Barnes here.’
‘Could I drive there?’
Mrs Sykes tapped at her keyboard and shook her head. ‘She’s fully booked for today. I could reschedule for you?’
Robyn hesitated. She could reschedule, but… she knew she’d have no rest, no sleep, till she’d been checked out.
‘No.’ She exhaled through her teeth. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll see Will then – Dr Barnes.’
‘Right. Just take a seat and he’ll be with you shortly.’
Robyn went to sit in the waiting room. She grabbed an old Cosmo from the pile, gazed listlessly at the pouting cover model, then tossed it back.
Ten minutes later, Dr Will Barnes emerged from his consulting room.
‘Bloom,’ he said, nodding. ‘What, you missed me so much that you just had to come see me at work?’
She couldn’t help smiling. Easy charm was a trademark of the Barnes boys, who’d played on it shamefully all through their – and her – school years. It hadn’t been much of a stretch for Will to repurpose his flirting into bedside manner.
‘Mmm. Must be your magnetic personality,’ she said, standing up.
‘Well, I can’t argue with that. Come on through.’
In his room, she perched on the edge of a chair, her legs tightly crossed.
‘Right,’ Will said, firing up his computer. ‘So according to this, you’ve got “women’s issues”. I hate to tell you this, Bloom, but that’s not a valid medical complaint. Can you be any more specific for me?’
She looked down at her feet.
How the hell was she supposed to talk about this with him? Bad enough he was a bloke. Bad enough he was Ash Barnes’s brother. Bad enough he was her next-door neighbour. But then he had the nerve to sit there with Ash’s face, her ex-boyfriend’s face, smiling and expecting her to make casual chitchat about her lady parts like it was no big deal.
‘Um, I’ve had some… bleeding,’ she said at last. ‘At a time when I’d expect not to have. It’s stopped now, but for around four days last week.’
‘Heavy?’
‘No. Well, enough to worry me.’
‘Right. And this isn’t something you’ve experienced before?’
‘Never. My periods have always been regular.’
‘Where were you in your cycle?’
‘Around the middle, I guess.’
He looked up from the notes he was making. ‘Was this after sex?’
Her cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of crimson. ‘No. Just… random.’
‘And is there any chance you could be pregnant?’
‘Doubt it. I’ve heard a rumour you need to have sex first.’
‘Okay, I’ll take that as a no,’ he said, scribbling in doctor-esque gibberish on his clipboard. ‘When did you last have sex?’
‘You live next door, mate – you tell me.’
He smiled. ‘Come on, Bloom, meet me halfway here. You know I won’t judge.’
‘You can’t need to know that.’
‘I’m sorry, I do. Just, you know, ballpark. It rules a few things out, that’s all.’
‘I don’t remember exactly. At least six months ago. Before me and Ash broke up.’
‘And any unusual discharge other than the bleeding?’
‘No,’ she muttered. ‘God, Will, I feel so embarrassed talking about this with you. I wanted to see Darya Kaur, but she wasn’t available.’
He looked up. ‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise that. Would you prefer to reschedule with her?’
‘No thanks. I won’t have any peace until I’ve got this over with.’
He flashed her a reassuring smile. ‘Well, there’s really no need to be embarrassed. I’m a doctor; I deal with these things every day.’
‘I know. Um, will you need to… you know, examine me?’
‘I’ll need to take swabs, but I can refer you to someone else if that’s going to make you uncomfortable. Sykesy’s got free appointments this afternoon, or I can book you in with either Darya or the practice nurse for another day if you’d rather see a woman.’
‘No, I don’t want to wait. I want it out of the way.’
‘Would you prefer to see Dr Sykes then?’
This was the problem with living in a tiny Yorkshire Dales village like Kettlewick. Nearly everyone had a connection to you, or to some friend or relative – your doctor included. Robyn would have felt slightly less uncomfortable with Darya, who at least had all the same bits as her. She’d feel excruciatingly embarrassed with sixty-five-year-old Donald Sykes, the senior GP in an old family practice, who used to run the am-dram group she’d been in as a kid and was a mate of her dad’s.
No, awkward as it was, she’d prefer to be seen by an old friend like Will. She was about to make herself very vulnerable, and she’d rather that was with someone she knew and trusted. And it was true, wasn’t it? Doctors dealt with this stuff all the time. She might be embarrassed, but to Will it was just another body – another day in the office.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’d rather have you, please.’
‘You’ll have a female chaperone, obviously. I’ll ask Mrs Sykes to come in.’
Oh, great. Someone else she wouldn’t be able to look in the eye when they bumped into each other down the shop.
‘Fine.’ She let out a long breath. ‘I’m scared, Will. That it’s, you know… something bad.’
‘Chances are it’s nothing. Most things are. The sooner we get it checked out, the sooner you can get your peace of mind back.’ He nodded to the curtained examination area. ‘You get ready while I fetch Mrs Sykes. I’m sure you know the drill from your regular smears.’
‘Okay,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘Will there be snuggling after?’
He groaned. ‘Oh God, here we go.’
‘What?’
‘The wisecracks. Every bloody time I have to do a cervical or prostate exam.’ He sighed. ‘Go on, get them out of your system. “At least buy me dinner first” usually comes next.’
‘Will you? Because I could murder a burger and chips.’
‘No.’ He gave her arm a pat. ‘Look, it’s fine, Bloom, really. There’s absolutely no need to feel awkward. Not to make you feel cheap, but you’re not my first vagina.’ He stood up and gestured to the examination area. ‘Now go on, darling, get in there and spread ’em. I promise I’ll be gentle with you.’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Smooth.’
‘Thanks. Like I said, not my first time.’
Oh, he was good, she thought as she wriggled out of her pants behind the curtain. He knew that cracking a few jokes, just being his usual daft self, would help put her at ease. In fact, for a minute, she’d almost forgotten how terrified she was about what might be wrong. Actually, it’d been kind of nice, like old times – before Ash had left. Except in those days the conversation hadn’t tended to revolve around her private parts quite so much.
And now there they were, her private parts, exposed to the cold, naked chill of the surgery’s air con under her maxi skirt. And there were the nerves, back in force. Thank God she’d remembered to do her bikini line.
She looked around for somewhere to stash her knickers, realised there was nowhere and stuffed them into her bra.
Robyn heard the consulting room door close as Will came in with Mrs Sykes.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Are you ready for us in there?’
‘Um…’ She glanced longingly at the door, just visible through the slit in the green paper curtains, then lay down on the bed. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
*
Freya leaned forward, barely noticing her hair falling into her wine. ‘And then what?’
Robyn shook her head. ‘You two are loving this, aren’t you?’
‘Come on, Rob, you can’t just leave us hanging.’
Next to Freya, her brother Eliot nodded emphatically.
‘Don’t you guys have invasive medical procedures of your own you can get off on?’ Robyn demanded.
‘No,’ Eliot said. ‘So as a charitable Kettlewick citizen, it’s only right you should share yours.’
‘Fine.’ Robyn lowered her voice so the story of her epic humiliation wouldn’t be audible to every drinker in the Boon Companions. ‘So, Will and Mrs Sykes come in and he’s brandishing this giant lubed-up speculum – I mean this thing was two foot long if it was an inch, I swear. With sodding claws on the end.’
‘Claws?’
‘I’m sure it had claws. Some proper Roswell shit. And I’m lying there, legs spread, eyes watering, then Will says – right, get this. “Don’t worry, Bloom,” he says, waggling this humongous metal schlong at me. “You won’t feel a thing.”’
Eliot snorted.
‘He’s taking the piss,’ Freya said.
‘Course he is, he’s Will.’ Robyn smiled. ‘But the jokes did kind of take the edge off. He’s good at that stuff.’
‘Did it hurt?’ Eliot asked.
‘Well yeah, course it hurt, El. It’s a three-foot-long rod made of hard, cold steel.’
‘It’s grown.’
‘It’ll probably grow some more by the end of the story.’ Robyn took a reviving gulp of wine. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t the worst bit.’
Freya cocked an eyebrow. ‘Being rogered by a ten-foot steel probe wasn’t the worst bit?’
‘No.’ She grimaced. ‘It was him. Will. I mean, when I looked down and he was… there.’
Eliot frowned. ‘Well he’d have to be there, wouldn’t he? If he was examining your bits.’
Freya nudged him. ‘She means because of his brother, you prat.’
‘Oh. Oh! Yeah, that’d be weird.’
‘I really didn’t think the whole identical twin thing through when I started seeing Ash,’ Robyn said. ‘You can wave goodbye to your bastard, but his doppelgänger in the house next door isn’t so easy to shift.’
‘Will’s not a bastard,’ Freya said.
‘Never said he was.’
‘You implied it.’
‘Maybe I did.’ She sighed. ‘I know Will’s Will and Ash is Ash. I’ve got no beef with Will; he’s a nice lad. But he’s wearing the face of a man who unceremoniously dumped me six months ago and is currently on a beach in Western Australia having lazy, sun-drenched, and – if there’s any possibility there really is a God – quite possibly herpes-ridden sex with a girl more than ten years his junior.’
‘Not Will’s fault, is it?’
‘No. But he’s genetically identical to the person whose fault it is, and that’s a tough one to get your head round. I mean, technically they’re the same human being.’
‘That’s not how it works, Rob. There’s more to people than DNA.’
Robyn shook her head, scowling. ‘Eight months me and Ash were together, and mates for decades before that, yet still he… every time I look at Will, all I can see is his knob of a brother giving me that excruciating “it’s not you, it’s me” speech the day we broke up.’
‘Pretty unfair on poor Will.’
‘I know it is. I feel awful about it, but it just… hurts, you know?’
‘If we could return to the issue of Robyn’s front bottom for a moment,’ Eliot said. ‘How is it? Clean bill of health?’
‘I won’t know till my swab results come back, but Will said everything looked normal. He thought the extra period might just be an anomaly.’
‘And you feel better?’
‘A bit, but I won’t be able to properly relax until I get the test results.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Two weeks. I’ll get a text if it’s fine.’
‘Which it definitely will be,’ Freya said. ‘Right. Are we starting tonight’s meeting?’
‘Hang on,’ Robyn said. ‘Drinks first.’
When Robyn had made a trip to the bar, Freya took a gavel from her handbag and banged it on the table.
‘Okay, welcome one and all to the seventh weekly meeting of The Happy Singles Club. We’ll waive the singing of the club song, “I Will Survive”, and get straight to business.’
Robyn shook her head at Eliot. ‘I can’t believe you bought her a gavel.’
‘Aww. But she does love it so,’ Eliot said, giving his sister a squeeze.
‘So. Eliot,’ Freya said. ‘I understand you’ve devised a new game to underline how much better off we all are in our single, manless state. Tell us more.’
‘It’s called “What’s Wrong With Him?”. I made it up when I was browsing Match.com last night.’
Freya frowned. ‘I shouldn’t need to remind you, El, that browsing dating websites is strictly against club rules.’
‘Hey, this was research.’ He took out his phone. ‘Okay, let’s give it a go. What do you reckon?’
He showed them a photo of a man around their age, mid-thirties. He was good-looking, greying at the temples in a sexy, silver fox type of way. Nice smile, fashionable shirt, deep brown eyes. He looked pretty perfect to Robyn.
‘Serial philanderer?’ she hazarded.
‘Possibly, but he’d hardly put that in his dating profile. No, it’s worse than that.’
‘Ooh, let me have a go.’ Freya snatched the phone off her brother and examined the photo, her nose practically against the screen. ‘Okay, I’ve got it. You’ve cropped the photo in the middle. Corduroys, I bet. Or – shit, it’s not board shorts, is it?’
Eliot shook his head. ‘Wrong again. You want me to tell you?’
‘Yeah, go on,’ Robyn said, intrigued as to what could possibly be wrong with George Clooney’s fit younger brother.
‘Winnie.’
‘Eh?’
‘That’s his name. Winnie. Short for Winston, I guess.’
‘Yikes,’ Freya said, casting a gleeful look at poor Winnie. ‘You’re right, that’s irredeemable.’
‘Come on, girls, tell me honestly. Could you ever do it with a Winnie?’
Robyn shook her head. ‘It’s just too posh. I mean, unless he’s from a family weirdly obsessed with bears. “Oh, this is Winnie, and have you met Paddington, Rupert, Yogi and our youngest, Gentle Ben?”’
Freya nodded. ‘Seconded. Sorry, Winnie.’
Eliot presented another three candidates for their consideration – unlucky-in-love Gerard, who at thirty-four had been divorced no fewer than four times; Paul, who was forty-three but only interested in women twenty-five or under (‘And ladies, please don’t waste my time and yours – no munters’), and handsome, grinning Bradley, who had a passion for collecting lawnmowers. ‘What’s Wrong With Him?’ was voted a success and added to the official list of club games.
‘Okay, hobbies,’ Freya said. ‘Robyn, how’s the plan to replace sex with crochet going?’
‘It’s going well, in that I’m not having any sex, and badly, in that I’m crap at crochet.’
‘Well, keep practising. El, how about you?’
‘Not so well. I joined a film club at the village hall.’
‘Okay, and…?’
‘They’re having an Idris Elba season. How am I supposed to not think about sex when there’s Idris Elba?’
‘Hmm. I can see how that might be rough. Maybe try something a bit less stimulating, like vegetable-growing.’ She banged her gavel. ‘Right, we’ll catch up again next week. Meeting adjourned.’
When Robyn headed out for work the next morning, Will was on his driveway, scraping ice off his windscreen.
‘Morning,’ he said with a cheery nod, entirely unembarrassed at being caught in his Oscar the Grouch lounge pants and dressing gown.
Robyn wished she felt as relaxed as he seemed to be. Despite the November chill, she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she thought about the last time she’d seen him. Or rather, the last time he’d seen her. A whole damn lot of her.
‘Morning,’ she said, summoning her brightest smile. ‘Dress-down Friday at the surgery, is it?’
He laughed. ‘No, just thought I’d better tackle the ice before I jumped in the shower, give the antifreeze time to work its magic. I’m at the Glen this morning. So, did you have a good time yesterday?’
She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s meeting night on Thursdays, isn’t it? The Shag Marry Kill Club?’
Robyn laughed. ‘Oh, that. For a minute I thought you meant – you’re way behind, Will. The Mid-Nineties Sean Bean Appreciation Society replaced The Shag Marry Kill Club yonks ago.’
‘Freya’s idea?’
‘Yeah, she made us switch after retro Beany kept cropping up as her shag choice. She’s got her own gavel now, you know.’
‘Heh, I bet she loves that. So are you guys still Beanying?’
‘No, after Eliot broke up with Jackson and we ran out of episodes of Sharpe we changed to The Happy Singles Club. We haven’t quite finalised the official club badge design yet, but otherwise it’s going well.’
There was a moment’s awkward silence as Robyn’s unasked question hung in the air. Not so long ago, Will would have been welcome to join the three of them for their regular Thursday pub night. But now… now everything was weird.
‘I’d better go,’ she said at last. ‘I have to brush Cerberpus before we open, otherwise she gets mange.’
‘The glamorous life of a folk museum curator, eh?’
‘Technically, I’m only a folk museum steward, but I appreciate the promotion.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘The money, I think.’
‘Ah.’
She shrugged. ‘To be honest I’m lucky to still be in a job. Not many backwater museums like ours have a full-time steward these days. Most run on a volunteer rota.’
‘How come ours has one then?’
‘Some of the exhibits are pretty valuable, hard as it is to believe.’ Robyn sighed. ‘Still, it does feel like I’m one budget review away from redundancy. If visitor numbers don’t improve, the council might even decide to close us and house our stuff elsewhere.’
Will looked up from his de-icing. ‘Bloody hell, are things as bad as all that?’
‘Other than the odd tourist, we’re like a ghost museum.’ She managed a smile. ‘Anyway, I’ll stop boring you with our woes. I’d better go get the place smartened up. Eliot’s bringing his class over this morning.’
‘Hey,’ Will said as she turned to leave.
‘What?’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask, would you be free a fortnight Wednesday for a thing?’
‘What type of a thing?’
‘I got talked into helping at the senior citizens’ Christmas social at the village hall. Wondered if you fancied pitching in.’
‘Senior citizens’ social?’ Robyn pulled a face. ‘Yes, well, fun as that sounds, I’ve actually got some unsightly facial hair I need to epilate that night, so…’
He shrugged. ‘I just thought it’d be nice to hang out. I hardly see you any more.’
Again, the wave of guilt. Again, the sharp stab in her gut when she looked at Will – good old Will, who she’d known since they were both eight years old – and saw his brother’s charming, treacherous face looking back at her.
‘I’d have thought you saw plenty of me yesterday,’ she said, attempting a light-hearted tone.
‘Come on, Bloom, what do you say? Yesterday was all well and good, but it’s the other bits of you I miss.’
She flushed. ‘Look, Will, I’m sorry we’ve not seen much of each other lately. Just… you know.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He smiled sadly and turned back to his car. ‘I guess I’ll see you around then. And try not to worry, eh?’
‘Easier said than done,’ she muttered as she headed in the direction of Kettlewick Castle.
The castle was, in fact, not a castle at all but a two-storey cottage in the village’s main square. The name had been the original owner’s idea of a joke. The cottage sat right opposite the war memorial and one on from Cockburn’s corner shop.
The whole place was a bit of a joke really, although Robyn would go full Scrappy Doo on the ass of anyone who had the chutzpah to say so. Only she and her Aunt Felicity had that right, earned through years of polishing the creepy wax dolls and brushing down their star exhibit, a stuffed cat with three heads they’d christened Cerberpus.
‘Morning,’ Felicity said when Robyn got in. She was hard at work, applying generous squirts of Windolene to the glass cabinets.
Robyn smiled at the lively old lady, clad in one of her homemade tie-dye dresses. She could never fathom why Felicity chose to spend her retirement volunteering in the world’s naffest folk museum, but she was grateful for the company.
‘Morning,’ Robyn said. ‘All set for today?’
‘Oh yes, the precious lambs of Year Three will be joining us, won’t they?’ Felicity said, pulling a face. ‘I’d better check our supplies of squash and arsenic don’t need topping up.’
‘At least we’re getting some guaranteed custom. If the council gets wind of how few people we’ve had in this month, they might finally decide to pull our funding.’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Felicity said, looking fierce under her long silver tresses.
Robyn sighed. ‘I wish we could afford some new exhibits.’
‘What’s wrong with the ones we’ve got?’
‘Nothing, except that everyone round here’s seen them a hundred times over.’ She pulled up a chair behind her desk. ‘A new exhibition might go some way to bringing in more customers.’
‘Could we put in an application for extra funding?’
‘I’ve applied for every pot going. It’s so competitive now, little museums like ours never seem to get a look-in.’
‘Our time will come, you’ll see.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
Robyn shoved the mess of yarn and crochet hooks on her desk to one side and seized gratefully on a mug of coffee that seemed to be for her. Felicity glanced up from her polishing.
‘So, my duck, how did you get on at the doctor’s?’
‘Medically? I won’t know for two weeks. Socially? I’ll never live it down.’
‘Oh dear. It didn’t go and do something odd while you were having it looked at, did it?’
‘If by it you mean my vagina, then no.’ Robyn grimaced. ‘They assigned me the wrong doctor. Will had to examine me.’
‘Young Dr Barnes, eh?’ Felicity shrugged. ‘Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. He’d be welcome to give my bits the once-over.’
Robyn smiled. ‘Really, you’re trotting out “randy old lady”? You’re not going to get a rise out of me with that, you know. It got old with The Fast Show.’
‘I don’t know why I still bother trying,’ Felicity said, laughing. ‘I know you pride yourself on being unshockable.’
Robyn took a sip of her coffee and coughed. ‘Bloody hell, Aunty, what’s in this?’
Felicity grinned. ‘Just a nip of bourbon. I thought you might need a pick-me-up after yesterday’s ordeal.’
‘Fliss, it’s half-eight in the morning! I can’t be drinking on the job. The kids’ll be here soon.’
‘It’s only a tiny bit – help settle your nerves.’ She shot Robyn a keen look. ‘You know, I wasn’t entirely joking before. Handsome lad, Will Barnes.’
Robyn took another sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste. As soon as Fliss wasn’t looking, she’d pour it down the sink and make a proper cup. The last thing she needed was the Kettlewick Primary kids telling their parents that the museum lady reeked of booze first thing in the morning.
‘And my evil ex’s exact double,’ she reminded her aunt.
Fliss shrugged. ‘A good-looking man is a good-looking man. How did Will feel about it?’
‘Oh, he was all professionalism, with a few jokes chucked in. He’s good at that stuff – knowing what to say to put you at ease.’ Robyn blinked into her coffee. ‘I’m worried, Aunty. Worried it might be something… bad.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘It’s not daft though, is it? You remember Grace Barnes.’
Felicity hobbled over to rest a hand on Robyn’s shoulder. ‘Robyn, you’re a healthy young woman with many years ahead of you. That’s all that’s worrying you – you so rarely get ill that one little change in your body sends you into a panic.’
‘Has it ever happened to you?’
‘Sweetheart, I’m seventy-six years old. I’m in and out of doctors’ surgeries more times in the week than you need to visit the little girls’ room.’
‘But has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had any bleeding where you didn’t know the cause?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But it’ll be nothing, I’m sure of it.’ She pressed a small gemstone into Robyn’s hand. ‘Here, I brought you this.’
‘You know I don’t believe in that crystal stuff.’
‘But I do. Take it for me, eh? I’ll feel better knowing it’s with you.’
‘Oh, go on then.’ Robyn gave the hand resting on her shoulder a pat. ‘Thanks for caring, Aunty.’
Felicity drew one finger over the stone. ‘Clear quartz, for healing. I’m sure you won’t need it, but just keep it in your pocket. Can’t do any harm, can it?’
‘I suppose not.’ Robyn slipped it into her pocket and stood up. ‘Okay, let’s get the place spruced up. The little poppets of Year Three will be here in an hour.’
*
Robyn was trying to occupy her mind with the granny square blanket she was crocheting when she heard the chatter of young voices outside. Eliot poked his head through the museum door.
‘Are you ready for us, Ms Bloom?’
She put her crocheting down and stood up. ‘Yeah, in you come.’
Eliot beckoned to the gang of seven- and eight-year-olds lined up behind him. ‘All right, you lot.’
The kids piled in, a couple of parent helpers bringing up the rear.
‘Okay, gang,’ Eliot said in his bossy teacher voice. ‘We’re very lucky to have the castle to ourselves, so I want you all on your best behaviour while Ms Bloom shows us some interesting things from Kettlewick’s history. No wandering off, talking out of turn or generally being a pain in the backside until we get back to school. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mr Miller,’ the kids chorused.
Robyn stifled a smirk. It was weird seeing her friend doing his job, like a real grown-up.
‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to Kettlewick Castle Heritage Museum,’ she said to the group, who were already casting underwhelmed glances around the exhibits. She nodded to Felicity. ‘My lovely assistant, Miss Heath here, will hand out some Treasure Trail sheets and then we’ll—’
A hand attached to a brassy-looking ginger lass shot into the air.
‘Why’s it called a castle when it’s not then, Miss?’ she demanded.
Eliot frowned. ‘I think Ms Bloom would prefer to answer questions at the end, Laurie. You’ve been told before it’s bad manners to interrupt.’
‘But I put my hand up!’ Laurie’s lip started to wobble. ‘I did it like I was s’posed to, didn’t I? Put my hand up, didn’t I? Don’t see why I’m in trouble if I put my hand up.’
‘It’s okay, I don’t mind answering questions as we go.’ Robyn flashed the little girl a smile. ‘It’s not a very interesting story, I’m afraid. The house was known as Kettlewick Castle long before it was a museum. I think the man who built the place thought it was funny.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, because it’s not a castle. Just an ordinary house. It’s a joke, you see?’
Laurie pondered this for a moment. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. The other kids nodded in agreement.
‘I guess it’s not a very funny joke,’ Robyn conceded. ‘There was no TV in those days so people had lower expectations when it came to comedy.’
The children stared at her blankly.
‘No TV?’ one lad whispered to his friend. ‘What did people even do?’
‘Aha!’ Robyn seized gratefully on the prompt. ‘Funnily enough, that’s one thing you’re here today to learn about. The Treasure Trail sheets please, Miss Heath.’
Felicity handed out worksheets and pencils, then the kids followed Robyn upstairs.
‘This,’ she said, gesturing around a second-storey room, ‘is our Cabinet of Curiosities.’ She tried to convey a bit of PT Barnum showmanship in her tone, although she might as well have been exhibiting wallpaper swatches for all the interest the kids showed.
‘Oooh!’ Eliot said in a painfully transparent attempt to drum up some enthusiasm. ‘That sounds exciting, doesn’t it, guys?’
There was a noncommittal murmur from the group.
Robyn tried not to feel hurt at the kids’ lack of engagement. It did seem like she had to work harder to impress school groups these days, in the era of smartphones and entertainment on tap. Well, that was to be expected. They were children, after all.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling it was a little unfair. They did have some really interesting stuff in the museum. In this room alone were three of Robyn’s favourite pieces: a nineteenth-century mask from South America, a genuine German First World War helmet and an ivory Meerschaum pipe carved in the shape of a lion’s head. Not to mention the other fascinating little pieces dotted around the castle, a story behind every one of them.
‘What’s curiosities mean, Miss?’ the gobby kid, Laurie, demanded.
‘Curiosities, or curios for short, were sort of conversation pieces,’ Robyn told her. ‘They could be anything rare or interesting. The Victorians were very keen on them. In fact, people used to travel miles to visit fairs and private collections where they could look at them.’
‘What, and pay money?’
‘Sometimes. I know it seems strange to us now, but like I said, there was no internet or TV back then.’
The boy next to Laurie curled his lip at Cerberpus, who’d fixed him with a creepy blank-eyed stare from her glass case. ‘You mean people paid money just to see a yucky old cat with three heads?’
‘Er, yes.’ Robyn felt her smile wobble and screwed it back into place. ‘Things like Cerberpus – the cat, I mean – were seen as wonders of nature. People were fascinated by them.’
‘Why’s it got three heads anyway? I never seen a three-headed cat in real life. Is it special effects?’
‘Multiple heads sometimes occur when an animal has a partially formed conjoined twin,’ Robyn told him. ‘They’re usually born dead though, sad to say. But our friend Cerberpus here is actually a fake. The conman who made her just took three cats and stitched them together, then sold her as a curiosity to the house’s original owner. When that owner’s grandson died in the 1950s, he left the family curio collection and this house to the village to be preserved as a museum.’
‘What, he stitched the cats together while they were alive?’ one little girl whispered, staring at Cerberpus in horrified fascination.
‘Oh, no, sweetie, nothing so awful as that,’ Robyn said. ‘He’d have used three dead cats.’
‘Did he kill them?’
‘Er… no. No, they’d already died of natural causes. Painlessly. After long, happy, fulfilling lives.’
Laurie put her hands on her hips. ‘You mean someone went and sewed up some dead cats?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But that’s disgusting!’
The other kids muttered in wholehearted agreement. Robyn shot a please-help-me look at Eliot.
‘Times were different then, Laurie,’ he told the girl. ‘People did a lot of things we wouldn’t think were acceptable nowadays. Sometimes quite gruesome things.’
‘Shouldn’t be allowed,’ Laurie muttered. ‘I got a cat. I wouldn’t let no one sew him up, even if he’d died. An’ what if he turned into a cat zombie, like in Pet Sematary, only with three heads?’
‘I’m sure he… hang on, you haven’t seen Pet Sematary, have you?’
‘My cousin did. Then he acted it out for me with Moshlings coz I’m not old enough to watch.’
‘Did he? How generous of him.’
‘It certainly wouldn’t be allowed now,’ Robyn said. ‘You have to remember that this was the time of the Fiji Mermaid and other sideshows of the kind, when such things were all the rage.’
‘What’s a fidgy mermaid?’ another kid asked.
‘Well, people back then believed it was a real mummified mermaid, but it was actually half a baby monkey sewn onto the tail of a—’ Robyn caught Laurie’s appalled expression and stopped. ‘You know what? Why don’t we go take a look in the prehistoric cabinet?’
The prehistoric cabinet, containing skulls of animals that had roamed Kettlewick in days gone by, proved to be more of a hit. Robyn actually got a ‘wow!’ from one kid when she showed him the skull of an ancient bear which, she suggested, might once have lived in his back garden. The Edwardian dolls’ house went down well too, and the Roman coins drew mild interest.
The preserved Victorian room was a bomb though, and the display of regional rock samples nearly left her and Eliot with a mutiny on their hands. Thankfully Felicity appeared at that point bearing biscuits and squash to soothe the savage beasts.
While the kids tucked in, Eliot and Robyn snuck into the kitchen for a coffee.
‘It’s going well, isn’t it?’ Eliot said.
Robyn scoffed. ‘You what? Where’ve you been?’
‘I supervise a lot of school trips, Rob. Trust me, this is one of the better ones.’
‘Bloody hell. Where have you been taking the poor sods?’
He grimaced. ‘Last time? Haverthwaite Soap Museum.’
‘Oof.’
‘Anyway, don’t worry. Once they’ve spent their pocket money on novelty rubbers and replica Roman coins, they’ll be raving about this place. Nothing makes amends like a gift shop.’
‘Let’s hope so. Thanks for bringing them again.’
‘No problem. Same time next year?’
‘Guess so.’
There was silence for a moment. Robyn absently swirled her coffee.
‘How the hell did I end up here, El?’ she said.
‘I thought you loved it here.’
‘I did, once. The quirk of it appealed, and you get plenty of time to read or think or whatever. It felt like quite a cushy number in my twenties. But… I dunno. It was only supposed to be temporary while I worked out what I wanted to do for a career, and now it’s fifteen years later and… I’m starting to worry I’ve let life pass me by, that’s all.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, look at the rest of you. You’re a teacher; Freya’s got her advertising job. Will’s a bloody doctor, for Christ’s sake. Even Ash managed to forge a decent career in graphic design, despite flunking two of his A levels. And here I am on minimum wage, minding a museum whose star attraction is a manky mutant cat.’
‘Rob, are you okay? I’ve never heard you talk like this before.’
She sighed. ‘I’m thirty-five, Eliot, and what have I got to show for it? This time last year, when things were going so well with Ash… I never said anything to you guys, but I was actually wondering if he might be gearing up to pop the question. If the next phase of my life was about to start – marriage, kids, a new career. And now… now I’m just wondering if I’ll still be here this time next year.’
‘Come on, don’t say that,’ Eliot said gently. ‘Bodies do weird things all the time. It’ll be nothing, you’ll see.’
‘So everyone keeps telling me. But none of you know, do you? I mean, everyone’s got an opinion, but not one of you actually bloody knows.’
‘We do have a bit more perspective than you though. Obviously you’ll be fearing the worst, but statistically it’s more likely to be nothing than something.’
Robyn lifted her scowl and looked up. ‘Sorry for snapping, El. I know you’re only trying to make me feel better. Worried, that’s all.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll tell you what though: if I get through this, that’s it. No more life happening while I’m making other plans. I’m drawing up a serious bucket list to start ticking off.’
‘Such as what?’
‘I’m not sure yet. All I know is, too many of us miss out on what we want to do in life. If this isn’t… you know, it, then it’s my wake-up call from the universe. Time to work out what I want out of my time on earth, before it’s too late.’
‘How long did you say it’d be until you got your results?’
‘Two weeks.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll be lucky if I can sleep until then.’
Call me now. URGENT.
Will read the message one more time. Then he chucked his phone to one side, sank back on the bed and groaned.
Urgent. Of course it was. They were always bloody urgent, weren’t they? All that meant was that Ash needed to offload about some supposed crisis and the tight bastard didn’t fancy paying the roaming charges on a call to the UK.
Obviously, Will would end up phoning his brother back. You couldn’t say no to Ash, he was just too… Ash. Unreliable, selfish, impulsive, but still eternally, endearingly Ash: his irresponsible, charming, infuriating little brother. His ‘little’ brother who was eleven minutes older than him.
Will’s phone beeped with another text.
Seriously, bruv, urgent!!! What the hell are you doing?!?
‘Ten,’ Will counted. ‘Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five…’
On the count of four, his phone burst into melody. He’d never made it as far as three, not after a second text. He swiped to answer.
‘What’s the crisis then?’
‘Will, I made a mistake. A massive, massive mistake.’ Ash’s voice was thick and tearful. ‘Can you ring me back?’
‘What makes you think I can afford it? Mobile calls to Australia don’t come cheap.’
‘Come on, you’re a doctor. You must be on a basquillion quid an hour.’
‘I’m a village GP, Ash, not bloody… House.’ He paused. ‘You pissed, mate?’
‘Maybe. A bit.’
‘What time is it there?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Late.’
‘It’s two in the morning, isn’t it? Have you been drinking all night?’
‘Had to, I was having an epiphathingy. Ring me back, can you?’
The line went dead. Sighing, Will hit redial.
‘Well?’ he said when Ash picked up.
‘I made a mistake, Will. A terrible one.’
‘You said.’
‘The walls were just closing in, you know? Huge bastard big-boy walls, like you know that bit in Star Wars with the garbage disposal, and Luke’s all like “arghhh, bollocks!” and Han tries to shoot it – I mean, the underwater snake thingy – and the walls are squashing them up while 3PO drama-queens it on the radio—’
‘Ash. Ashley. Shut up and tell me what you’re blathering about, can you? Ideally minus the Star Wars references.’
Ash gave a tearful snort. ‘I split up with Melinda.’
‘Oh God.’ Will sighed. ‘I’m sorry. What happened?’
‘Well, she was a kid, wasn’t she? It was never going to work. She didn’t even remember Thundercats, Will. You can’t spend a lifetime with a woman who doesn’t appreciate a decent Snarf impression.’
Will frowned. ‘Are you telling me you’re bawling your eyes out because you broke up with her?’
There was a sob, and the sound of something being glugged. ‘I had to.’
‘But last time we spoke you were full of how perfect you were for each other. Young heart, young mind – you remember saying that?’
‘Yeah, well. That turned out to be a load of old shite.’
Will bit his tongue. He’d narrowly avoided commenting something similar himself at the time, so as much as he felt for his brother’s aching heart, it was good to be vindicated.
‘Are you okay, kid?’ he asked gently.
‘I will be.’ Ash tried to swallow a hiccup and it emerged as a sort of chirp. ‘You’ve got my back, right?’
‘Always do, don’t I?’
Will heard car tyres crunching onto gravel outside. He went to peep through the blinds.
Robyn was parking up in her drive. Will watched as she unloaded a couple of shopping bags and trudged to her front door with them. She looked exhausted, poor lass.
What day was it? Thursday? Two weeks since he’d seen her at the surgery…
‘Will?’
He shook himself, realising Ash had been talking to him.
‘Sorry, I’m listening. What’s up?’
‘Will, I’m telling you, I made a mistake.’
‘Breaking up with Melinda?’ He sat down on the bed again. ‘Well, sober up before you make any big decisions about getting back together. I don’t want to speak out of turn, Ash, but she was twenty-three. We’ll be thirty-five in two months. That’s a pretty big gap.’
‘Not with Melinda.’ Ash gave a strangled snort. ‘I should never have come here, Will. It must’ve been a midlife crisis or something.’
‘What, at thirty-four?’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t you ever get that feeling, like we’re getting older? No wives, no kids, no… whatever else we’re supposed to have by now?’
‘Sometimes,’ Will said cautiously. ‘What’re you saying, bruv?’
‘It’s just… earlier this year it felt like the garbage disposal walls of adult life were closing in, you know? I liked her, Will, I really liked her. Rob, I mean. And suddenly, with her, I needed to be this fucking… grown-up, right? And she kept looking at me with those eyes – you know those eyes she’s got?’
‘I’m aware of them, yes.’
‘Right. And it was like she was waiting or something. Like a… a spider. An adorable little spider that just wanted to wrap me in her cobwebs and gobble me up, and Jesus Christ was I up for that, and I…’ He stopped. ‘I lost my thread. Where was I?’
‘Robyn’s eyes.’
‘Right. Right! I could sense her waiting for me to take it to the next level, and it scared me to death. And I… okay, so I freaked out. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened. And everything since then – wanting to travel. Melinda. It was just… acting out or whatever. Couldn’t face my youth being over. But now, Will, now. Now. Now, I’m ready, okay? I want you to march out there, bang on that door and tell Melinda I’m ready.’
‘Melinda?’
‘Robyn.’ There was a long pause. ‘Robyn. I meant Robyn.’
‘Ash, mate, you need to sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Will you watch her for me?’ Ash mumbled, sounding half asleep now.
‘Who, Melinda or Robyn?’
‘Rob. Is she seeing anyone new?’
‘Well she’d hardly tell me.’
‘Why not? You’re mates, aren’t you?’
Will sighed. ‘I’m not sure these days. I hope so.’
‘So, is she single?’
‘I… as far as I know, yes.’
‘And will you keep an eye on her?’
‘Ash, I’m not spying on Robyn for you. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow. You’re no good to anyone in this state.’
‘Not… spy. Just make sure she’s doing okay. I… love her, you know?’
The line went quiet. Will, assuming his brother had nodded off, was about to hang up when a voice came through the receiver.
‘Will?’ Ash whispered.
‘I’m here.’
‘Get my room ready, will you? I’m coming home.’
‘What, seriously? When?’
But Ash had already hung up.
Sighing, Will tucked his phone away and headed downstairs.
Could Ash be serious? Was he really coming home? Or was that drink and break-up talking? When he’d left, he’d talked about travelling around Australia for a year at least.
He wondered how Robyn would cope with that. It’d be painful for her, having Ash living next door again after the way the two of them had ended. After Melinda. Hell, it was only a few weeks ago that his brother had been enthusiastically talking about moving out to Australia permanently so they could be together. And now, suddenly, it was all over.
Well, he was glad. Of all the poor choices Ash had made recently – breaking up with Robyn, spending his savings on this once-in-a-lifetime trip – the twenty-three-year-old surfer he’d hooked up with almost as soon as he’d set foot in Perth had to be the worst. It had worried Will, listening to his brother raving about Melinda as if they were made for each other only weeks into the relationship. That was Ash all over: as a boyfriend, as with anything else, he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy.
No caution, that was his problem. When Ash decided he wanted something, he threw body, heart and soul at it, leaving his brother to yank the whole lot back again when things inevitably went tits up.
Not that Will doubted Melinda was a perfectly nice girl. But to break up with someone as ideal for Ash as Robyn Bloom – honestly, what could he have been thinking? If you found a woman like Robyn, you kept hold of her, Will knew that much. He’d been looking for one himself for long enough.
At the foot of the stairs, Will almost tripped over a pair of Ash’s rugby boots that had tumbled from the shoe rack. He smiled and put them back where they belonged. Even in a drunken stupor on the other side of the world, his brother was still managing to clutter up their shared house.
Will mixed himself a scotch and soda and sat down on the sofa.
It puzzled him how Ash could make such very different choices to those he would have made in the same circumstances. As impulsive as his brother was, he’d always respected Will’s advice, especially since they’d lost their mum. Will had usually been able to talk him out of the more madcap schemes he had a tendency to concoct. But this time he just hadn’t been able to get his twin to see reason.
It was funny, how they could be so alike and yet, in a lot of ways, so very different. Back at school they’d always been ‘the Barnes boys’ – two of a kind, permanently together. They’d fought and they’d made up over and over, every falling out and falling in again just making the bond between them stronger. They’d played rugby together, got drunk together, chatted up girls together. And although they had similar tastes in that area, they’d always managed to avoid falling for the same girls – none of their frequent fights had been about that. Even if Will had felt a glimmer of attraction to someone, he’d backed off the minute he thought Ash might be interested. After all, brothers came first.
But in personality, they’d never been as alike as people tended to assume they would be. Will wasn’t sure why. Perhaps… he hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that felt his brother might be a bit spoilt.
Will had always known Ash was their mother’s favourite. He still remembered a prank they’d played when they were seven. A harmless one really: Great Uncle George had been visiting, and when he started nodding over his Christmas sherry, Ash had whispered what a laugh it would be to swap the old man’s slippers for a pair of their mum’s high heels. As with so many bits of childish naughtiness, it had been Ash’s idea but Will who got the blame.