ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE).. ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG

‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Five

Betrayal of a lodger, but two new? The Moocher Effect rolls into action. Is this Hugh’s final good-bye?

She must have been there all that time. Liz looked through the upper, glass part of the back door and saw Simon and Lydia over their side oohing and aahing and being totally useless. Lydia also had a mobile phone cradled between her chin and shoulder. Liz hoped she wasn’t calling out any fire and rescue teams to liberate Julie. She could just imagine that being plastered all over the local paper. Now, Liz…

She looked back at the heap on the floor. “Why on earth didn’t you shout?”

Julie slowly raised her head, gave her a venomous look and flopped it back down again.

Fancy getting stuck in the dog-flap. Liz hadn’t thought Julie was that chunky, for Pete’s sake, but that explained Simon’s objections to the exercise. Even so, being chunky doesn’t stop people from forgetting their keys.

How irritating it all was.

Liz sighed.

Then she jumped about a metre in the air as a voice bellowed in her ear, “What the hell’s going on? What have you done to this poor girl? Don’t just stand there — we’ve got to get her off this floor before she gets hypothermia.”

“Hang on a minute,” Liz said. “Hang on! Blimey — what makes you so sure it’s anything to do with me? I can’t help it if she chooses to get stuck in my dog-flap. Why the bloody hell didn’t she yell about it?” She glared at the heap on the floor. “Not only that, but if you hadn’t kept all your clothes on, Julie, it would have been a doddle.”

Julie stirred, gave her a nasty look and came back with: “You didn’t tell me that part of the deal was to crawl through here naked.”

“Oh, very witty. Talk about exaggerating! If you’d taken off that huge jacket of yours and thrown it through first you’d have come through that dog-flap without touching the sides. Anyway, why didn’t you scream for help when you got stuck?”

“What — to be ripped to pieces by that ravening animal of yours?” Julie was obviously recovering.

“Don’t be silly. I don’t know this man.”

“Your dog,” she snapped. “I’m talking about your dog.”

“You don’t know my dog.”

Tony joined in. “You’ve got a dog?”

The world was going mad around her unsuspecting head. “Well of course I have. Why would I have a dog-flap if I didn’t have a dog?”

He looked grave as though he was seriously considering the question. “I don’t know, perhaps to indulge a strange habit of getting people stuck in it.”

“It’s not a habit. It’s never happened before and wouldn’t have happened now if she’d taken that enormous coat off. And I still fail to see why the hell she didn’t yell out.”

But she could see Julie was going to get sulky rather than answer her questions. Pity, she’d seemed like a good sport for a while. Liz watched with interest as Tony inspected the frame of the dog-flap.

The whole situation raised rather worrying concerns. It had never occurred to her before that there might be potential lodgers who were just too big to go through the dog-flap. Liz couldn’t discriminate to that extent could she? She couldn’t say to people, “No, sorry, but you’re too big to go through my dog-flap. Therefore you can’t have a room.” Although it might make perfect sense to her, she could see that to some it might not. She could even be had up by the equal opportunities people, maybe, for discriminating on the grounds of size. She could be accused of sizism. Life gets complicated sometimes.

Some instinct made her look up. Lydia was transfixed by the tableau and was making unmistakable hand signals. She wanted to know who the hunk was. Liz shrugged exaggeratedly which seemed to make Lydia even more excited. Simon in the meantime had obviously taken the opportunity to have a few smokes and was in the process of rolling the lit end out between his thumb and forefinger in that absent-minded way he had. And, yes, into his pocket it went. When he started to dance around on the spot clutching his leg, Liz found herself glad that she was in here and he was over there. The smell of burning leg hairs is not nice.

After wallowing in another deep sigh, she returned her attention to the present and realised that Tony Armitage had taken it upon himself to remove the entire dog-flap from the door, frame and all, with Julie still stuck in it. Julie stood there, in her kitchen, wearing the dog-flap as if it was some sort of fashion accessory. Why she should be able to extricate herself more easily from a loose dog-flap than from one anchored firmly in the back door was beyond Liz. But by this time she was too tired of the day to object. She put the kettle on instead. Let them get on with it.

No one was taking any notice of her so she scoffed the rest of Sandra’s chocolate biscuits. Hers was the only tin that rattled when Liz shook it. Liz hated it when the lodgers pinched off each other, but there were only four biscuits anyway and Liz would replace them. Her need was greater than Sandra’s at that moment.

Now Tony was removing Julie’s clothing. She just stood there, a life-size doll with a sea of discarded clothes around her feet like wrinkled waves. Tony continued taking her clothes off, pulling a sweater gently out from between her and the dog-flap frame, to reveal another sweater beneath.

The door-bell rang out. Liz was glad to have a good excuse to leave them to it.

Except, it turned out to be Hugh. Trust him to turn up too late to rescue her from a madman who had bodily carried her over her own threshold — but not too late to witness the spectacle in her kitchen. Neither of them spoke. He simply followed her into the house. But he took one look at the tableau in the kitchen and turned on his heel to leave, still silent.

She trotted after him. “Hugh. Hang on. What’s up? What did you call round for?”

He stopped halfway down the garden path and looked at her as if totally exasperated by something. “I’m on my way to see a client and had quarter of an hour spare, so I thought I’d drop in to see you. I still want us to have a chat. But I can see you’re far too busy at the moment. God knows what you’re up to now. But I no longer want to know. What you get up to is your business.”

For years Liz had wanted him to believe that, and behave as though her business was truly hers, but she didn’t want him discontinuing all interest in it in quite this contemptuous manner. What was going on with him that his attitude towards her had changed so radically? Liz couldn’t fathom it, but was determined not to let it rile her. At that moment, though, she knew if she tried to sling together a whole sentence she’d probably start shouting. He was bugging the hell out of her with his newly stuffy ways. So she merely opened her mouth to squeeze out a squeaked, “Okay. See you then,” gave a brief wave and marched back into the house. It was impossible to slam her front door because it didn’t fit properly. It was very annoying.

She stomped back down to the kitchen just as Moocher turned up looking displeased. His lie-in must have been badly disturbed by all the hoohah. Liz tried to stroke the wrinkles out of his forehead. “Ooh, lookie, lookie. Here’s the ravening creature,” Liz announced.

Tony stopped what he was doing, and Julie and he both glanced around at the ravening creature, briefly, before hurriedly looking away.

Of course, Moocher had chosen that historic moment to perform his morning toilette, thoroughly and noisily. Criminy. Liz went for another biscuit, but in the stress of it all she’d finished them. She wet her finger and tried to get the crumbs out of the bottom of the tin.

The clatter as the dog-flap hit the floor jerked her attention out of the biscuit tin. The pile of discarded clothes was enormous. This explained why Julie’d had no luggage with her — it was all on her back. It must be easier to carry it that way. Tony continued to peel yet more layers of clothing off her.

Liz thought it was time she stepped in. “Leave her be. She might want some of those clothes left on.”

“They’re soaking wet, Mrs Houston. She’s in a state of shock. Look at her. We must get them off her and get her into something warm.” He certainly seemed keen to get them off her, and if they were wet, Liz supposed the basic idea was right. More clothes slapped onto the floor.

“How did you get so wet, Julie? It’s not raining.”

“I fell in the pond.”

“How did you manage to do that? The pond’s nowhere near the back door!”

Liz wondered if Julie felt too stupid to admit being scared into the pond by a rampaging devil-tortoise.

“I was just looking around.”

“You can’t have been looking that thoroughly, then.”

“I was, but your pond is so overgrown I thought it was a cabbage patch or something.”

“It’s a pond for wildlife isn’t it? You can’t expect to see water if it’s for wildlife can you? Oh, that reminds me — lodgers have to contribute some effort to the upkeep of the garden, too.”

“Well that shouldn’t be difficult if you want it to remain at its present standard,” Tony said.

“It won’t be a problem of yours, don’t forget,” Liz said, feeling the need to remind him that he wasn’t going to be a lodger of hers anytime soon.

She could see that Julie was shuddering with cold, so she went upstairs, started a bath running, found a towel and dressing gown, and trudged back down the stairs. As she passed through the breakfast room, she glanced out of the window and saw Lydia opposite, sitting in her own breakfast room in regal splendour, a cup of tea in one hand, a biscuit in the other, watching the drama in Liz’s house unfold. Simon leant against her back door, smoking. He had a sizeable hole in his trouser leg.

What did startle her was that Hugh was there, too. He must have left her house and gone straight next door. He stood just behind Lydia’s shoulder as though at attention, and his face could have belonged to one of those avenging angels that come down to moralise at you, finger wagging. He looked at her as though they were complete strangers. Actually, Liz thought they were at that moment. She had certainly never met her ex in his current, bigoted guise. She wondered what on earth he was doing in Lydia’s, but she turned away in what she hoped was a ‘stuff-you’ gesture.

Moocher was leaping in and out of the hole in her back door as if to say that swinging the flap had been too much effort all along. Tough! It would have to go back in. The temperature of the house had dropped considerably and God knew what was happening to the next gas bill right at that moment.

She was amazed to see that Julie now looked about half the age she’d thought her. She was positively stick-like, very young and very cold. Liz thought Tony had gone far enough and took charge. “Come on, let’s get you in the bath and then bed perhaps.”

“Can I have the room then?” she asked, her voice wobbling as it came out between quivering jaws.

Liz sighed again. “Yes. Come on. You have passed the test, after a fashion. I don’t believe you’ll get stuck again. You don’t have to walk around clad in your entire wardrobe any more.” Liz turned to Tony, “And I want that dog-flap back in the door forthwith!” She was fresh out of social niceties by then.

Liz took Julie upstairs, made sure she had everything she needed and left her in the bathroom. She would put herself to bed when she got out of the bath. Liz wondered if she’d clean it.

She could hear hammering from downstairs. Where had Tony got a hammer from? Perhaps he came prepared. She went on up to her attic and stood in the doorway, looking longingly into the room. The attic was the very hub of her business empire. In the attic Liz could be alone and undisturbed by all the irritating influences of everyday life. However, this was not the time, so she left it again, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Coming back down the stairs she heard the familiar screech of the front door as it dragged across the flagstones. Must be Sandra at this time of day. She worked early shifts and came home for lunch when civilised people were having elevenses.

“Hellooo…”

She always yelled when she came in the house.

Why?

Liz completed her descent to the hall. “Hello,” she said in what she hoped was a repressive tone of voice. Sandra was one of these unbearably bouncy people, even first thing in the morning. Especially first thing in the morning. Awful.

“Oh, Liz. I meant to tell you. I’m moving out today,” Sandra said, watching her carefully with her slightly protruding eyes. Liz hadn’t really taken note of them before. Nor had she noticed before what a very sly face Sandra had. “Today,” she repeated. “I’m moving out. You can keep the deposit.”

Liz was startled. Sandra had no intention of moving out last time they’d spoken. That had been the previous night. As for offering to forego her deposit, that didn’t fit with her grasping nature at all.

“You’re moving out? Today? And I can keep the deposit?” Liz just wanted to be sure she’d heard aright.

Sandra was already galloping up the stairs. “Yup,” she yelled over her shoulder. “By the way, there’s a woman outside looking for a tortoise.” Liz heard her door open and shut and then heard her singing. Singing! Out of tune. Thank God she was going. It meant Liz didn’t have to buy a replacement pack of chocolate biscuits. Viciously she wished there’d been more biscuits in Sandra’s tin and then Liz could have eaten them all. That would have served her right.

She didn’t want to think about the drop in income straightaway.

By that time tortoise-woman, thankfully minus Pink and Fluffy, had appeared at the door, swinging her pet basket as though it was an admission ticket to Liz’s house and garden. She merely lifted an eyebrow. Liz merely nodded and tortoise-woman cantered off down the hall.

Then Liz realised how she’d been set up. She wondered if the clunks and clicks were audible as her brain finally made the connections. She sprinted up the stairs after Sandra. She could move pretty fast when she wanted to, even if her brain lagged behind by a few weeks. She had barely begun to beat on Sandra’s door before she threw it open. “It was you, wasn’t it? You rang this man, this Tony Armitage, pretending you were me. You told him to come round here at ten thirty, told him there was a room. How much did he pay you for your collusion? And why did you do it? And how did you know to ring him?”

Sandra was busy piling heaps of clothes into black rubbish bags, but she looked up and said, “I didn’t do anything of the sort.”

Liz had never before noticed how crab-like her mouth was.

Sandra started to fill another bag, hurling into it many-coloured boots, pastel-shaded shoes and extravagantly-strapped sandals. “Someone I know who knows him knew he wanted a place in Bristol in a hurry — he seemed particular about being in this area — he asked her if there were any rooms going here and I said there might be for a price. And he paid it. I said I would arrange with you for an appointment. I had meant to tell you of course.”

“Of course.”

Taking in lodgers can be a disillusioning experience.

Liz studied this ex-lodger’s activity with sneaking admiration. She’d never seen anyone pack up their life in such a short space of time. Sandra had lived there for about a year and, just like that, she was ready to move on.

“How much did he pay you?” Liz was genuinely curious because for Sandra to voluntarily forfeit her deposit and take off at a moment’s notice, it must have been an absolute fortune.

“Mind your own business,” Sandra said, outrage colouring her voice.

“Have you still got it all?”

“What’s it to you?” she demanded, but she stopped, momentarily, the process of stuffing a shelf full of hideous rag dolls of different nationalities into another black bag. She looked at Liz speculatively as if wondering if she might be on to another deal.

“I’m only asking because when I tell him he can’t have your room he’ll probably want it back. He strikes me as someone who won’t want to have parted with that kind of money for nothing.”

“He won’t want it back because you’ll let him have the room,” Sandra declared, as though she could read Liz’s mind with utter certainty. “I saw the gas bill come through yesterday.”

Perhaps she could read her mind with utter certainty.

Liz didn’t ask Sandra where she was going. Sandra didn’t offer a forwarding address.

Going back up to the attic Liz looked in. Yes, her little world was still there. Waiting for her. She shut the door with her on the outside of it and went to confront the future, pulling a fiercely gruesome face at Sandra’s bedroom door as she passed it.

Liz wished she’d remembered to tell her that when she’d been on the phone to Tony Armitage, he’d thought she was in her fifties. That would have been a crushing blow to such a vain twentyish person. It still gave Liz a pleasant glow to think of it. Maybe things were looking up.

Tony had finished fitting the dog-flap back into its hole in the door and was sitting at the breakfast room table with two mugs of coffee in front of him, presumably for him and for Liz. She wondered if he came prepared with coffee in his pocket, too, and walked straight past him to minutely inspect the dog-flap. As if she knew what to look for by way of carpentering jobs. She pushed it out and watched it swing back in with its usual ‘clatter-thunk’. He’d done a tidy job as far as she could see. Liz glanced out of the window, but Lydia and Simon must have retired into her front room, no doubt to recover from all the excitement. Hugh was still there, though, and stared at her as though his look alone was enough to make her see sense about whatever it was she was supposed to have done now. Liz gritted her teeth, gave a little fluttery wave, and endeavoured to produce a light-hearted grin. Neither his stance, nor his expression, changed one iota. Sod him, then.

She truly wished she could put up a fence between the two houses so that her affairs weren’t quite so open to Lydia’s view on an everyday basis, and Hugh’s just now. But Poor Lydia would have felt shut out. Liz sighed and sat down opposite Tony. The sunlight streaming in through the window showed her he was older than she’d first thought.

“I decided to make us some coffee,” he said. “I’ll replace it.”

Spoken like a potential lodger with all the right attitudes.

“Thanks,” she said.

“That’s a helluva dog-flap you’ve got there,” he said. He had a nice, clean and even smile.

“Moocher’s a helluva dog.” Liz’s answering smile felt a touch strained and self-conscious and was mainly for Hugh’s benefit.

“You’re not bothered about anyone else coming in through it?”

“Nah. What would you think if you saw a dog-flap that size?”

“I’d think that one helluva dog lived in that house.”

“Quite so.” Her smile, this time, came more easily.

“Julie still in the bath?”

“She’s in bed now.”

“Why do you think she was wearing all her clothes?”

“Oh, I dunno. Easier to carry? She was in disguise? She was cold? Thanks for helping with her, by the way, and with the dog-flap. You were right about the need to get her warm again.”

“You know there’s a man watching us from next door, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Just ignore him.”

“I will. Oh, by the way, a strange woman with a pet basket came marching in here, stopped, looked across to your neighbour’s, muttered something, rushed out into the garden, ran around it, rushed back in, muttered something else and ran out of the house.”

“Oh, that was Tortoise-woman. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it a daily occurrence — a tortoise-woman rushes around your property and rushes out again?”

“No. Well, it didn’t use to be. Don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine she’ll be round again.”

“I won’t worry. Did you know she’s in next door now, standing next to the man we’re ignoring?”

Liz couldn’t help herself. She immediately looked up. Hopeless. She got so mad when she said to other people, “Don’t look now, but…” and what did they do? Yeah. They looked. And here she was behaving in the same undisciplined way. And Tony was right. Tortoise-woman was next door talking to Hugh. What on earth was going on? As Liz watched, Tortoise-woman made her way through Lydia’s kitchen and out of her back door. She must have decided devil-tortoise was raping and pillaging in next door’s garden when she couldn’t find him in Liz’s.

Tony and Liz fiddled with the handles of their mugs, took miniscule sips of coffee, crossed their legs and uncrossed them again. Liz wondered if Tony was worried about varicose veins too.

Suddenly he asked: “Do I get the room?”

“Why do you want it so much?”

“I need somewhere to stay in Bristol.”

“Yeah, but there’s lots of places. Why are you so anxious to be here, in this house? You must have paid Sandra a fortune to get her to leave.”

“You’ll need someone else now that Sandra’s leaving.”

“Why do you want to be in this house so much?”

“It must cost a lot of money to keep an old house like this one going.”

“Mr Armitage! Please answer my question. Otherwise how can you expect me to give you the room? You’re making yourself more and more suspect by avoiding the issue.”

He straightened up and looked directly at her. “I want to be in this particular area. Are there any other houses with empty rooms in Malvern Road?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well there you are. It has to be in this house then. But I can assure you that, if there was a room in the house next door for example, I would take it. Does that reassure you that it’s nothing to do with you personally?”

“Yes.” Liz couldn’t say anything else. His reasons were his concern and anyway she didn’t usually ask such questions of her lodgers. There were things she wouldn’t like people to ask her. And he appeared to be well able to pay the rent…

“Do I get the room then?”

“Yes. You’ve gone to a lot of effort, not to mention expense, to get it.”

He beamed, positively beamed, and Liz felt warmed.

She would have to watch that.

She seemed to have come out of it quite well — two new lodgers and Sandra’s deposit. The gas bill, huge though it was, could be paid, no problem. Tony was very good-looking and seemed like a useful chap, if a tad used to getting his own way. Julie, as it turned out, was a mere babe. Liz could cope with her. Two months rent up front. Yes, all in all, it had worked out okay.

“However,” she said, endeavouring to get back to business. “There are certain house rules to which you must adhere…”

“I gather that the dog-flap business is about if a lodger forgets their key — I have no intention of doing the dog-flap trial, I’m afraid.”

There was that unmistakeable high-handedness again. Pity. Liz shrugged, but before she could say something silly like: “Well, you can’t stay here then,” he said, “I hate to draw your attention to it, but do you think my shoulders would get through?”

She gazed at the parts of his anatomy in question and realised, sinkingly, that he was right. Not only that, but although his shoulders wouldn’t get through, his hips certainly would. Perfect. However, she had her resolutions to think of and one of them was to not think of such things. “If you put one shoulder in first and sort of twisted your way in, I expect…”

“No.” He did something nice with his eyebrows. A sort of a twitchy, appealing thing. “How about if I get some more keys made up and give one to your neighbour?” He flicked his eyes sideways to indicate Lydia who now stood next to Hugh in her window staring their way.

“No!”

There went the eyebrows again. Liz must ignore them in future.

“No?”

“No. She’s very sweet and a Poor Thing because she’s so lonely, but she’s a damn nuisance. She has no life of her own and lives what little she does have through us. She’s always around, always calling, always peering through this window from her window.”

“Why don’t you put up a fence?”

“Because it would be too much of a slap in the face.” She knew she’d just contradicted herself, but really, there were some things you just couldn’t do. “It would be like slamming a door on her foot. Anyway — the key — I can’t have her having one — God knows if she would, but I can just imagine her prancing in here any time she felt lonely which is about once every quarter of an hour. It would be a nightmare.” Her shudder was real.

“All right then, can I give one to the neighbour on the other side?”

“Git-Next-Door? Certainly not! What a creep that man is! What a pain. He’d use it to come in here and poison Moocher.”

Tony looked interested for a second. “Git-Next-Door? No, I don’t want to know.” He lowered his eyes and absently pulled a long black dog hair from his sleeve. The Moocher Effect had rolled into action. “What about if I kept a key in my car? Or just hid it somewhere anonymous?”

Liz couldn’t think of any better suggestions. “Oh, all right. You can keep a key somewhere else. But you’re not allowed to tell anyone that I’ve let you off the trial or I’ll never regain my authority and house rules are house rules.”

“So — you’re definitely letting me have the room?”

She nodded without looking at him again. She needed to build up some defences against Tony Armitage’s charms, that was for sure. Moocher had no such reservation and ambled over to lay his head on Tony’s lap in order, no doubt, to share around some more hairs. Tony idly pulled Moocher’s ears — a sure sign of a dog-man. He was okay. Moocher had given his seal of approval. In fact, as Liz watched, his approval became rather too enthusiastic and she jumped up to drag him off and make him sit at her feet in obedient-dog fashion. She refused to be embarrassed. He was a full-blooded dog after all, although, it had to be said, that was only because he’d chosen to enter and brighten her life when he was too old to be safely done.

“And Mr Houston?”

Considering Liz’d just been thinking about neutering the dog, this query took her by surprise. It would probably have taken Hugh by surprise, too. “Pardon?”

“Mr Houston? Doesn’t he have to okay the lodgers?”

“No,” Liz snapped, not prepared to actually tell this man Mr Houston had nothing to do with her lodgers whatsoever. Except, of course, that if Mr Houston was still there no lodgers would be required, but it was her fault for chucking him out. She started to sink into her usual swamp of self-pity when thinking of the break-up of her marriage when she realised that Tony must only have asked to see if there was a Mr Houston at all, and also, Sandra would probably have told him there wasn’t.

Slightly flustered as she wasn’t sure of his motives, or even whether she was interested, especially as she’d sworn off all that stuff, Liz launched into landlady mode. “Anyway, there are other rules, you know,” she said to try and regain some authority over the proceedings.

“Yes, Sandra’s told me them — no phone calls after ten, clean bath after get out not before get in…”

Sometimes she knew when she was beaten. “Right, well, I can get back to work then…”

It was a relief, too, to get away from Hugh’s regard. From the corner of her eye she could see he still stood there, next door, like a great black looming mountain, waiting to fall on her with so much disapproval she’d suffocate under it. Tortoise-woman was nowhere to be seen.

Hugh watched Liz leave the room and was surprised to see the man who’d been ignoring him until now turn directly his way and smile. What did that mean? Alarmed, but naturally polite, Hugh gritted his teeth and managed an answering grimace. Did he think Hugh was someone else? Why would he be smiling at him?

Hugh turned away from the window even more worried about Liz than before. What on earth was he going to do about her? She had this knack of getting in trouble, just falling from one perilous situation to the next. How could he keep an eye on her when he wasn’t supposed to be seeing her anymore? He knew it was a bit lame of him merely to acquiesce to Charity’s wishes in this, but at the same time he knew it was best to steer clear of Liz. Although he did love Charity, there was something about Liz that got him hot and bothered. And hot and bothered in an unsettling way he no longer wanted to feel.

Charity had known as soon as she’d seen him that he’d not told Liz about them and she’d made it clear, in her quiet way, that he needed to apprise Liz of the situation forthwith. Well, he’d failed again. He’d turned up at Liz’s but somehow the sight of some man, who was now smiling at him, stripping some girl in the kitchen was not conducive to telling his ex-wife about his future wife. He was chicken. He knew it.

Of course, now that Simon and Lydia had filled him in on the new lodger getting stuck in the dog-flap, it all made perfect sense. Except no one knew who the man was. Hugh had premonitions about him. He was bound to be trouble.

And as for the strange woman he’d seen before, minus children this time, but faithful pet basket in hand — what was that about? They’d exchanged a few words about uncontrollable tortoises and she’d gone, but he was convinced that if Liz wasn’t part of the picture neither would there be a mad Tortoise-woman.

“Hugh, do stop worrying about her. She is a full-grown woman now and must fend for herself.”

He flinched as Lydia came through to refresh the teapot.

“Yes, but she doesn’t, does she? She’s always getting in trouble.”

“Nothing she can’t handle.”

“How can I not be around to help, though?” He felt powerless. Lydia put down the teapot.

“Hugh, I gather you’re not supposed to see Liz anymore. That’s your business. Why don’t I just report in to you every now and then so you can feel reassured that she’s fine?”

He felt immense relief at such a simple solution and could only stare at Lydia gratefully.

“Of course, Liz will feel that it’s spying if she found out, but she won’t find out.” Lydia happily opened another packet of biscuits as Hugh’s relief dissolved like butter on a hot plate. His scalp tingled. What if Liz found out?

Lydia glanced at him and laughed. She smacked him playfully on the arm. “She won’t find out! Why on earth should she find out? I’m not going to tell her. Go on, go about your new start and stop worrying about Liz. I’ll let you know if she really needs you, so you needn’t worry about it.”

Motionless, Hugh stared across at Liz’s house and mentally said goodbye. Unexpectedly choked up, he took his leave of Lydia and went to start his new life with no more loose ends from his old to trip him up.

Chapter Four of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!

Chapter Six of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!

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