Lyn was not convinced.
The hot weather broke at last at the beginning of September. Torrential rain hurtled across the gardens, and the roof began to leak. Wearily Joss and Lyn trudged up and down to the attics with buckets and washing up bowls and Tom caught a violent cold. Wiping his nose for the hundredth time as they all huddled in the kitchen Joss had sent him off to play before going out to the door to collect the post. Glancing through the handful of letters she paused, looking at one particular envelope, then she threw the whole pile on the table. ‘Bills,’ she said casually. ‘Bills and more bills.’
‘In that case I’m going out to the cars.’ Luke stood up, stuffing the last piece of his toast into his mouth. ‘Like to bring us out some coffee at about eleven? That would be nice.’ He glanced at Lyn and then at Joss. ‘Please?’ he wheedled.
They both laughed. ‘We’ll toss for it,’ Lyn said. She stood up and began to stack the dishes.
It was Joss who carried out the two steaming mugs and a pile of home-made cookies later, leaving Lyn with the washing. Her raincoat collar pulled up against the cold wind and streaming rain she ducked into the coach house and put them down on the bench amid a pile of brake drums and shoes and old spanners.
‘Where is he, Jimbo?’
‘Under the car.’ Jimbo jerked with his thumb towards the chassis blocked up in the middle of the coach house.
Joss crouched down. ‘Grub’s up!’ She peered down to see Luke lying on his back, groping above his head in the car’s intestines. ‘Great.’ His voice was muffled. ‘Thanks.’ He began to push himself out. As his face appeared, black and grinning from beneath the wing the car with no warning lurched suddenly sideways. ‘Luke!’ Joss’s scream brought Jimbo leaping to her side.
‘Watch out. The axle stands are slipping.’ Jimbo’s warning shout as Luke rolled clear was drowned by the crash as the car body slid down onto the ground.
Luke stood up shakily. ‘Close one!’ He wiped his forehead on the back of his hand.
‘Luke. You were nearly killed.’ Joss had gone white.
‘Fraid so. Never mind. I wasn’t.’ He turned to Jimbo who was picking up the stands. ‘What happened?’
Jimbo was ashen. He shook his head. ‘Must have been knocked, I reckon.’
‘Knocked?’ Joss looked from one to the other. ‘By me? It must have been me?’ She was distraught. ‘Oh God, I’m so tired these days I can’t see what I’m doing.’
Luke shook his head. He came and put his arm round her. ‘You weren’t anywhere near the car, Joss. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, love. No harm done. These things happen.’
‘Oh, Luke.’ Her knees had begun to shake. ‘It was me! Luke, I could have killed you.’
‘Take more than that to kill your husband, my dear.’ Luke grinned. He reached for one of Lyn’s biscuits. ‘Go on. Forget it. I’m OK.’
The rain clouds had blown themselves out by lunch time and the afternoon was crisp and glorious. Leaves scattered across the lake, and the lily pads slapped playfully on the water. Standing side by side Luke and Joss were silent as they watched a heron take off on the far side of the lake and fly laboriously over the hedge with indignant raucous squawks of complaint. One of the kittens, half hidden in the undergrowth had been stalking it with exaggerated care. As the huge bird lifted above its head the small cat turned and fled towards the house. ‘Are you OK?’ Luke glanced at her sideways. ‘You’re not still worrying about that silly accident with the car are you?’ Joss’s face was pale and strained. There were dark circles under her eyes.
She gave a wan smile. ‘Not really.’ In her shock at what had happened she still couldn’t believe the fact that she had been nowhere near it when the car began to move. In theory she knew perfectly well that the accident had not been her fault, but deep down inside she wasn’t certain.
‘Are you sure?’ He was studying her face. Something was wrong. More than just the tiredness. He turned back to look at the water, screwing up his eyes against the glare from the sun on the dancing ripples. ‘Have you heard from David recently?’ he asked. He kept his voice casual.
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she shook her head. ‘Not for ages. Why?’
‘I just wondered.’
He rammed his hands into his pockets with a shiver. The autumn wind was growing cold. He had seen the envelope lying in the pile on the kitchen table and he had recognised the writing, just as she must have. It had been bulky and sealed with Sellotape. The stab of rage he had felt when he saw it was irrational and violent. Why hadn’t he thrown the thing on the stove? Why hadn’t he opened it and read it? After all he could guess what was in it: more about the bloody house. At first she had ignored it – left it on the table to be lost in a swirl of newspapers and shopping lists – then at lunch time he saw that it had disappeared. Tear it up, he thought. Please, Joss, tear it up.
He took a step or two nearer the steep bank, staring down into the water to where goldfish and tench flitted amongst the roots of the lilies, faint shadows in the water – water which was deceptively deep.
‘Luke.’ Joss’s voice came from further away now.
Luke swung round. He frowned. He couldn’t see her. A raft of ripples crossed the water, rocking the floating leaves. Near the far bank a moorhen ran lightly across the lily pads, scarcely rocking them, giving sharp croaks of alarm.