But when Mavis looked back at Evie her eyes were dancing and her mouth was twitching at the corners.
‘Gran? You’re laughing?’
‘Oh, Evie. I’m so sorry, my love. But it’s true what you said earlier. You really are the most terrible judge of character. And you certainly do attract the wrong kind of men.’
Evie smiled, relieved her gran was managing to see the funny side – it could have gone either way. But inside she felt a little nugget of hurt crystallise and settle. And all the thoughts she’d tried not to have about Michael, all the hope and excitement and questions and memories of their short time together, dissolved into nothing and floated away.
Chapter 7
Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, and Evie woke up feeling strangely buoyant. She pulled back the flowered curtains in her grandparents’ spare room and pulled the wooden chair up to the window. It wasn’t yet spring, but there were signs of new life all over the communal gardens. Outside numbers ten and twelve the gardens had been segmented into raised beds, and there were the first shoots of growth that Evie assumed were vegetables. An allotment. She smiled and wondered if Frank would let her help out with it. She could do with a bit of physical labour. It would take her mind off Michael.
Her jaw tensed just thinking about him. He’d texted her three times after the meeting, and each time she’d deleted the message without answering. Did he really think saying “Talk to me, Phoebe Sloan” or asking if they could carry on where they’d left off would make up for what he was planning to do to Cupid’s Way? Evie looked out at the row of even-numbered houses opposite. She had to admit they were looking a bit the worse for wear. The paint on the window frames was cracked and flaking, and parts of the red brickwork had blown. The guttering above number ten was hanging on by a thread, while there were more than a few roof tiles missing all the way down the row.
She sighed and turned away, gathering up her clothes to take to the bathroom, where the electric heater made it bearable to undress and dress. Mavis and Frank weren’t alone in not having central heating, but room heaters and the ubiquitous open fires kept the residents warm enough.
Downstairs, Mavis and Frank were arguing in the kitchen. Evie had heard them through the floorboards, but she’d tried not to listen. There would be no getting away from it now.
‘Evie!’ Frank pounced on her the moment she walked through the door. ‘Will you tell your grandmother to take it easy. She won’t listen to me.’
‘Okay,’ Evie said. ‘But what makes you think she’ll listen to me?’
‘I am actually here,’ Mavis said, her hands on her hips. ‘And I’m not an imbecile. I’m seventy-five years old, and I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.’
Frank led Evie into the lounge. ‘She’s not herself, you know,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘I woke up in the night and she wasn’t in bed. When I came down here she was sitting in the kitchen talking to herself. And crying. But I’m not sure she even knew she was crying.’
Evie shook her head. ‘It’s been a shock for her, Gramps. But she’ll rally round. She always does.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
Frank looked back towards the kitchen, and Evie noticed how frail he seemed, despite his height and his aura of blustering strength. The skin on his face was grey and taught, and his hands were lumpy and curled in on themselves. She reached out to touch his back, but then pulled her hand away before making contact. Her granddad wasn’t one for cuddles. She figured her mother had taken after him.
Mavis burst into the room, carrying a tray of cupcakes. ‘Evie, is that what you’re wearing for the party? Now, I don’t want to interfere but I think it’s important to dress to impress. We’re all counting on you to come up with a plan of action for us, and you might hold more weight with the residents if you were wearing something smarter than jeans and a holey old jumper that looks like it’s been chewed by rats.’
‘Gran, you knitted this for me.’
‘Did I?’ Mavis peered at the offending item, then shrugged. ‘Well, it’s certainly seen better days. I suggest a nice skirt and a proper blouse.’ She looked at Evie dubiously. ‘You do have such a thing as a blouse, don’t you?’
Evie had the shirt she’d worn to the conference, but after stuffing it into her suitcase while still damp she couldn’t vouch for what state it would be in. She nodded mutely, then pointed to the stack of cakes.
‘Can I just ask – what party?’
‘It’s hardly a party,’ Frank said, huffing. ‘It’s a council of war.’
‘We’re having a meeting of our own,’ Mavis explained, turning on her heel and heading back to the kitchen. Frank and Evie followed. ‘All the residents are coming. We’re going to form a proper residents’ association, come up with some ideas to fight the planners.’
Evie smiled. Her gran was a force to be reckoned with, and she didn’t fancy Dynamite Construction’s chances against her. Or Bristol City Council, for that matter. But Frank’s face was still grim.
‘She’s taking on too much. Offering to do the food, organising the whole bloody thing. She’ll be printing leaflets next, and knocking on doors with a petition.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ Mavis said, grabbing a notebook and pen off the top of the fridge. ‘Petition,’ she repeated. ‘Leaflets. Right, the meeting starts at eleven sharp, so you’d better go and make yourself decent, young lady.’
Evie started to protest, but Frank bent down and whispered in her ear. ‘It’s either that or get roped into making sandwiches for sixteen people.’
‘I’ll go and get changed,’ she said, risking a quick kiss on his stubbly cheek. Frank smiled and touched her arm briefly.
‘It’ll be alright, Evie,’ he told her. But as she crept upstairs, Evie felt as though she’d let him down. It should have been her reassuring him.
*
‘Evie! Come over here.’
The party was in full swing – and it was definitely more party than council of war. Evie found the upbeat spirit of the residents both reassuring and slightly worrying. She had the feeling they didn’t realise just how serious the situation was.
She also had the uneasy feeling it would be up to her to tell them.
Mavis arrived at her side, out of breath and dragging a blonde-haired man behind her. ‘Evie, have you met Zac Jones? He’s our newest resident – he bought number four
and
number six last year, and he’s doing one of them up for his mum.’
The man stepped forward and held out a tanned hand. ‘Hi, Evie. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve sure heard a lot about you.’
He was solidly built, with short hair and blue-green eyes. Although not as tall as Michael, he was one of those people who gave the impression of height by holding themselves confidently erect. It wasn’t a swagger though, Evie was glad to note, and neither was he the shaven-headed thug-type she’d feared. Zac was pleasing to the eye and had a ready smile. He gestured towards the bright blue gazebo where Frank was manning the beer pump.
‘They should have had some of that flowing at yesterday’s meeting,’ he said with a grin. ‘Might have made the pill less bitter to swallow.’
Evie laughed. ‘I’m not sure alcohol’s a good idea when tempers are running high.’ She turned to gauge her gran’s reaction, but Mavis had retreated into the food tent. How very convenient.
‘Or temperatures,’ Zac added. ‘There were more than a few people getting hot under the collar in there.’
‘I don’t blame them.’ Evie regarded Zac thoughtfully while he was distracted by two children running in circles around them. She wondered about his take on the new development. It sounded like there was money to be made out of selling up – she was realistic enough to know that not everyone would be as attached to their homes as her grandparents.
She said, ‘So, what do you …’ at the exact moment Zac turned to her and said, ‘Mavis says you’re …’ They both stopped and smiled.
‘You first,’ Zac said with a gallant wave of his arm.
‘I was just going to ask what you think of the plans. Will you sell up?’
Zac’s blue eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘Sell out more like! I thought that was what this little gathering was all about – fighting the good fight. I don’t think anyone is planning on selling.’
‘Really?’ Evie pursed her lips and looked around. Bob Peacock and his wife Freda were leaning against the wall of their joined-together houses, looking bored. Sarah Lowrie and Tim were talking to Mavis, who was standing guard over her stack of cupcakes. There was no sign of Rolo Peacock, Bob’s dad, but Evie had noticed Stig milling about, wearing his trademark dirty tweed jacket and red neckerchief. Evie smiled to herself, remembering how the kids in the street had pretended to be scared of the crazy old man who lived at the end of the row. She couldn’t for the life of her remember why they called him Stig.
All of these people had lived in Cupid’s Way for most, if not all, of their lives. But there were others milling around Evie didn’t recognise.
‘Who are they?’ she asked Zac, pointing to a couple warming themselves by the chimenea. ‘They look like they could do with a good meal.’
Zac laughed. ‘They’re our resident hippies, Pip and Cissy. They live in the end house, opposite your folks.’
‘Ah, the renters.’ For as long as Evie could remember, the houses at the end of the row had been rented out. Someone called Mrs Reid had bought numbers ten and twelve years ago but had never lived in them; instead she rented them to various friends or family members, and in the nineteen eighties they had been knocked together to make one big house and, as far as Evie knew, sold on. The people who lived there were always called “the renters”, as though the residents of Cupid’s Way could barely be bothered to learn and memorise their real names. She looked at Pip and Cissy, taking in their tie-dyed flowing tops and matching blue jeans with frayed hems. It wasn’t hard to see why Zac referred to them as hippies.
‘I had noticed the wind chimes outside their house,’ she told Zac.
‘Noticed as in they drive you insane when you’re trying to get to sleep?’ he said, flashing her another smile. She nodded and laughed, then remembered that Zac had been about to ask her a question.
‘What were you going to say before? When we interrupted each other?’
Zac gestured to the food table and Evie followed. He picked up a cupcake and passed it to her. Mavis beamed.
‘Your gorgeous gran here told me you’re an architect,’ he said. Evie forced a smile, then stuffed her cake into her mouth, thus removing the need to answer yes or no.
‘What do you think of this lot?’ He waved his arm and took in the McAllister building looming above them and the sparkling facade of the retail park. ‘Good architecture?’
‘Blot on the bloody landscape and everyone knows it,’ Frank called from behind his keg. ‘You wouldn’t have anything to do with that kind of architecture, would you, Evie?’
Evie smiled and reached for another cake. This conversation was doing no favours to her sanity, or her waistline. She was saved from further engagement by an elegant hand that clutched her arm and a voice that said,
‘Evie? Oh, my, god. You’ve not changed one bit!’
Evie swallowed the cupcake in one go and exclaimed in surprise.
‘Eloise? Is that really you? How
are
you?’ She leaned forward and embraced the woman, mainly to hide her shock. The pig-tailed girl she remembered from school had been obliterated, and Evie was struggling to reconcile her memories of that scrawny kid with this siren who stood before her. Eloise was gorgeous. The youngest of the Peacock kids, she’d always been skinny, but now her figure would be described as athletic, and her hair, once stringy and dull brown, reached past her shoulders and glowed with a hazelnut sheen. Her skin glowed too, and she was dressed like one of Bristol’s finest, designer-style down to her fingernails. ‘Wow,’ Evie said. ‘You, however, certainly have changed.’
Eloise laughed, showing perfect white teeth. ‘For the better I hope.’
‘For the better, definitely. I didn’t know you were here, Gran didn’t say.’ Evie threw her gran a look – she certainly could have done with a head’s up on Eloise’s transformation. What use was a gossiping grandma who didn’t give you the right kind of gossip?
‘Do you live here in Cupid’s Way?’ Evie said.
‘Unfortunately not. I’ve got a flat over towards the river.’ Eloise sighed and shook back her mane of hair.
‘I’d have thought there was plenty of room for you.’ Evie looked across the gardens. She could see the upstairs windows of the Peacock houses and one of the front doors. Numbers five, seven and nine had been haphazardly connected over the years, but not in any way that couldn’t be reversed with the bricking up of a doorway or two.
Eloise leaned in and whispered, ‘It’s a midden in there, Evie. Take my advice – if you’re ever invited in, say no.’
Evie laughed and said, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ She noticed Zac giving Eloise the once over, which wasn’t so very surprising. She smiled to herself and began to hatch a plan.
‘Do you two know each other?’ she asked them, linking arms with Eloise and turning her to face their resident builder.
‘I’ve seen you around,’ Zac said, throwing out another dazzling smile. ‘Those two gorgeous kids are yours, aren’t they?’
They all looked at the tow-headed boys, who were at that moment standing behind Frank and mock-belching. Frank lifted his hand in the air and told them to clear off or else. Both boys turned around and wiggled their backsides.
Eloise laughed. ‘Yes, they’re mine I’m afraid. Sammy and Davy. They’re a right pair of tearaways. I can’t do a thing with them.’
Which was patently obvious, Evie thought. Worried her plan would come to nothing, she said, ‘I bet their dad is proud of them too.’
‘Who the hell would know?’ Eloise said, inspecting her fingernails, which Evie noticed had tiny flowers embedded in them. ‘I haven’t seen him since they were in nappies.’
Zac moved in a little closer. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but it wasn’t lost on Mavis.
‘Evie has the most wonderful job now, don’t you, Evie? And her own flat in Manchester, and her own car. She’s doing very well for herself.’
If her gran was trying to impress Zac, Evie had the idea that a short blonde woman with a rented flat and an old banger couldn’t possibly compare with Eloise’s obvious assets. Her comments could, however, turn Eloise from a potential friend and ally into a sure-fire enemy.