A look of sadness suddenly swept over Ann’s face.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked, touching her hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘It’s the waves of emotion – one minute I’m just my normal self and the next I feel sad. The best thing is just to keep busy. I was prepared for Mum’s death; I knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.’

  ‘She definitely had a good innings,’ I said.

  ‘She always made me promise that I wouldn’t mope around, but that’s easier said than done.’

  I nodded.

  The waiter arrived and we both ordered a deluxe cheeseburger with all the trimmings and a bottle of wine. The waiter returned a couple of minutes later carrying a bottle of red, which Ann had chosen from the wine menu. He poured a tiny smidgen into a glass and handed it over it to Ann. She smiled as she held up the drink and sniffed it before she tasted it. I watched with amusement. The way she was acting, you’d have thought she was a wine connoisseur.

  ‘Yes, that’ll do nicely,’ Ann confirmed, placing the glass firmly on the table. The waiter poured us both a glass then left to seat a couple who’d just walked in.

  ‘Remember that wine-tasting course you went on years and years ago?’ I said. ‘You got so drunk that I had to come and pick you up, and the tutor diplomatically suggested that it might not be the course for you.’

  ‘Yes, I remember!’ said Ann with a small smile. ‘I went with a couple of teaching assistants from work. We were at a loose end on a Tuesday night and decided we wanted to become a little more sophisticated. We weren’t actually meant to drink the wine, but it was too tempting. Come on, please – who in their right minds swills a mouthful of wine around their pallet and spits it into a bucket. It’s just a sheer waste of wine in my opinion.’

  ‘Only you, Ann,’ I said, giggling as I picked up my wine and took a sip.

  ‘The rest of the course was so boring too. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I wasn’t interested in learning about the different regions and the types of grapes used. It’s easy to know your wine without going through all that rigmarole.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulders.

  ‘How do you determine a good bottle of wine from a bad one then?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s easy,’ she mused. ‘If a bottle of wine is priced below £2.99, it’s rancid. If it’s between £2.99 and £6.99 it’s bearable, and anything over that price is classed as a decent bottle,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘You are very educated on such matters,’ I said and nodded solemnly, before we both burst out laughing.

  We sat there for the next hour, reminiscing about anything and everything while we sipped our wine and ate our food. By the time we’d finished it was fast approaching 4 p.m. and the restaurant suddenly seemed to have another spurt of customers. I noticed the Christmas lights glowing outside on the street.

  ‘It’s already gone dark outside,’ I said, glancing out of the window as I put money down for the bill. ‘My treat,’ I insisted as Ann started fishing around in her bag. ‘Put your purse away.’

  ‘Thanks, Lizzie,’ she said, popping a free mint in her mouth and slipping her arms back inside her coat. ‘What shall we do now?’

  ‘There’s still time to have a quick look around the shops.’

  ‘Yes, no doubt they’ll be open for another few hours yet for Christmas shopping,’ I said, standing up and fastening my coat.

  We wandered back outside and I shivered. The temperature had dropped a few degrees. The band was still playing and a stall selling roasted chestnuts had now popped up underneath the sparkle of the Christmas tree.

  ‘Do you fancy some chestnuts and a hot chocolate?’ I asked Ann as I joined the queue and started rummaging around in my bag for my purse. Realising Ann hadn’t answered me, I turned to find she was no longer by my side. I twirled around and spent a minute or two trying to find her amongst the busy crowd of shoppers. Finally, I spotted her a little way up the street, peering into a grimy shop with a pink neon light flashing around the window frame. I quickly paid the vendor and hurried over to join her, juggling two cups of hot chocolate and the bag of nuts in my hands.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Ann asked as I joined her, her eyes wide.

  My jaw dropped to the ground.

  ‘I’d rather not think at this moment in time,’ I said, petrified.

  A wry smile spread across her face. ‘It’ll be another one ticked off the bucket list.’

  ‘I think I prefer the milking-the-cow option,’ I replied.

  Before I could say any more, Ann pushed open the door to the tattoo parlour and stepped inside.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I muttered, glancing quickly over my shoulder at the people walking along the street. I hadn’t a clue why; maybe I was hoping for someone to come and rescue me? My heart was thumping hard as I hesitantly followed her into the shop.

  Ann was already leaning against the counter, flicking through a laminated ring binder full of different designs. ‘What are you going to go for?’ she asked me while unbuttoning her coat then rolling up her sleeve. ‘Maybe the ankle,’ she said, talking to herself excitedly and sticking her leg out before I could answer her question.

  I was clutching on to my bag of nuts like my life depended on it, and a severe feeling of sickness lurched in the pit of my stomach. Only a few hours earlier Ann had said she didn’t like needles or pain, and here we were standing face to face with a bald man with a bolt through his nose. Every part of his body that was on show was either pierced or tattooed, and I shuddered.

  ‘Come on, Lizzie, what do you fancy?’

  ‘I don’t.’ My voice was shaky. ‘Henry would kill me.’

  Ann looked up from the book and moved over to gaze at the designs pinned to the surrounding walls. ‘Live dangerously,’ she said and smiled, turning back towards me for a second.

  ‘Ann, you need to think about this. It’s not something you can rush into. It’s not a spur-of-the-moment thing,’ I said, more forcefully than I felt.

  Ann looked determined. ‘It’s now or never.’

  ‘Never seems the sensible option to me, and anyway you’d have to book an appointment. You can’t just rock up and have someone start jabbing a needle in your arm.’

  The tattooist behind the counter flicked his eyes towards the clock. ‘We’ve been run off our feet all day.’

  Why didn’t I believe him?

  ‘But there’s no one booked in now, so if you decide on a design, I can soon get started.’

  ‘Where do you suggest I have one?’ Ann asked the man. ‘Ankle, shoulder, hip or wrist?’

  The man shrugged. Ann continued to examine the designs.

  ‘This one’s nice,’ she said, pointing to a design on the wall. ‘How long would this one take and how much would it be?’

  ‘These things are permanent,’ I insisted, hoping to jolt her from her madness.

  ‘Laser removal is available these days,’ she replied nonchalantly.

  ‘Hepatitis, hepatitis.’ My voice had suddenly become very high pitched. I was panicking; clutching at straws.

  She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Don’t be daft, he’s not going to stab a dirty needle into me.’

  ‘Ann, you aren’t in the right frame of mind. You aren’t thinking straight. Your emotions are all over the place at the moment. Why don’t you sleep on it?’

  Ann chose to ignore me and five minutes later she pointed at a red rose on the wall. It was a small, delicate design, and I knew it was also her mum’s favourite flower. She opted for the shoulder.

  Francis, the tattooist, led us into the back room. I could barely breathe as Ann stripped off her jumper and lay down on a white surgical bed. She seemed relaxed and in good spirits, but I was having major heart palpitations.

  The hum of the needle began. I squealed and Ann looked over her shoulder with amusement. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, but Ann didn’t flinch once. I think I must have felt more pain than she did when I bit down on my lip and tasted a trickle of blood.

  Ann looked relaxed lying there chatting away, but I sat in silence for the whole time.

  Once the tattooist had switched off his tool, Ann sat up. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, trying to strain her neck so she could see over her shoulder.

  Francis fetched a mirror. ‘Here, take a look.’

  She nodded. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ were the only words I could muster.

  ‘You may need to take some painkillers for the next few hours, but after that the pain should become more bearable. There’s a chemist just over the road.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ I asked her as Francis covered up the tattoo with a white linen patch.

  ‘It’s smarting a little, a bit like a burning sensation, but I love it.’ Ann smiled broadly. ‘I can tick it off my bucket list!’

  I was just thankful I’d been sensible with my bucket-list choices and opted for easier things.

  ‘All you need to do is kiss a stranger,’ Ann said, laughing. Francis raised his eyebrows in our direction as he swiped her credit card through the machine.

  Damn, I’d forgotten about that one.

  After two and a half hours we left the parlour. Ann was ninety quid lighter, and I was in serious need of a drink.

  38

  I heard a muffled F-word seeping out from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by the toilet flushing, a tap running and a sniffle. I carried on throwing a few more logs into the wood burner, munching on crisps from the bowl I’d just filled up.

  Ann had been hiding away in the toilet for over twenty minutes now. I’d taken the opportunity to phone home, hoping to speak to Henry, but it was Abbie who’d answered. She’d nipped home from her friend’s house for a change of clothes, but her tone was frosty and one-word answers were all I could squeeze out of her. I couldn’t blame her though.

  I’d kept my voice as normal as possible and told her I’d be home tomorrow. Henry hadn’t been back from work so after I’d hung up I sent him a quick text, asking him to give me a ring when he got home.

  I actually needed to hear his voice. Marcus had also been quiet over the last twenty-four hours, which was playing on my mind a little. I knew he’d be run off his feet at work, but in the last hour or so, I’d begun to get an uneasy feeling in my gut and I wasn’t exactly sure why.

  I heard the bathroom door open and Ann walked out with a tear-stained face. Her eyes were puffy and she was wiping her nose with a sheet of toilet paper.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ I said, offering her a caring smile and patting the rug next to me.

  ‘It’s blooming hurting,’ she said, sniffling. ‘Can you take a look at it?’ she asked, sliding her arm out of her jumper and turning her shoulder towards me.

  I knelt up and leant forward. I pushed up her jumper and peeled back the gauze.

  ‘It looks OK to me. Hopefully it’ll settle down by tomorrow,’ I said, taping back up the gauze and pulling down her jumper while she slid her arm back into it.

  ‘Me and my bright ideas!’ she said, smiling through her tears as she stuffed the soggy tissue into her jeans pocket.

  ‘I honestly didn’t think you’d go through with it,’ I replied, pouring us both a glass of wine.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It might help numb the pain.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, it actually looks OK, and once the redness has subsided it’ll be a very pretty little rose.’

  ‘Mum’s favourite,’ she said, tucking her knees underneath her and taking a delicate sip of her wine.

  ‘I feel like a fag,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘You haven’t smoked in years!’ I said. ‘And in your current emotional state, I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘I think I can declare I’m in destruction mode,’ she said, staring into the dancing flames of the fire.

  ‘It’s just a very difficult time for you. Maybe we should’ve waited until after your mum’s funeral before having a night away,’ I said, realising that whatever she’d said, it was probably all a little too much for her right now.

  ‘No, I needed this. Christmas is going to be difficult to get through, and being here with you, I know I can be myself. I can cry when I want. I can laugh when I want.’

  ‘And have tattoos when you want.’

  Ann looked up and smiled through her teary eyes, ‘And you always have the knack of making smile, Lizzie Stevens.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  For a moment we were both quiet. Ann fumbled in her jeans pocket, looking for her tissue, and I looked at my phone surreptitiously. There was still nothing on my screen.

  I sighed.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’

  ‘It’s nothing, honestly; compared to what’s going on in your life, my problems pale into insignificance.’

  ‘Don’t be daft – talking about what’s going on with you will keep my mind occupied.’

  ‘It’s Marcus,’ I declared, taking myself by surprise.

  ‘What’s he done?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘Nothing as such. It’s probably just me. I’m just being silly. He’s not returned any of my texts today.’

  ‘Lizzie, you are being silly. Just think about it: he’s the manager of a department store. It’s Christmas. The store’ll be open late and it’ll be manic.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right, but while I was sitting in the tattoo parlour I got thinking.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous thing, that thinking lark,’ Ann said and smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘I’m out of my depth,’ I said, plucking the bobbles from my cardigan and avoiding eye contact with her.

  ‘In what way?’ she delved softly.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I have a strange feeling in here,’ I professed, thumping my hand on my chest. ‘Something’s not quite right.’

  ‘Where’s that come from?’

  Something my father had told me, not long before he died, filtered back through my mind. ‘You have to work at your marriage, Lizzie, you have to work at it.’

  ‘A gut feeling – and my gut feelings are always right, Ann.’

  ‘What’s brought this on?’

  I shrugged. ‘Things have been playing on my mind for a few days, but I spoke to Abbie on the phone and she was so cold towards me. I’ve let her down. I shouldn’t have slept with Marcus; it was a mad moment – and not one of my finest.’

  ‘You’re confused – and only human.’

  ‘And Larry Braithwaite is playing on my mind too. What was all that about? It felt like he wanted to hurt me for some reason. All of this… it’s not sitting right with me.’

  ‘You’re going to have to have a conversation with Marcus; that’s the only way to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘I know. But I am actually disappointed with myself. Where was my self-control? I’m married and I have two daughters. I should have sorted my relationship with Henry first.’

  ‘There’s no doubt Marcus swept you off your feet, but it’s a bit late to be worrying about self-control now. Look, Lizzie, you’re just scaring yourself. You’re away from home and trying to second-guess what everyone is thinking.’

  ‘Marcus is still grieving for his wife,’ I continued. ‘The last thing he needed was to get entangled with a married woman – especially when she’s his neighbour.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, why are you beating yourself up over this? No one forced him. You didn’t exactly throw yourself at him, and he knew you were married. He was the one who surprised you with expensive dresses, hired limousines and planned the night of the Christmas party. He had that piano room well and truly set up by the sounds of it; there was only one thing on his mind that night and he succeeded. However this situation pans out, he needs to take responsibility for his actions, too.’

  ‘When you put it like that,’ I said.

  ‘But Abbie finding out has thrown a spanner in the works, and time unfortunately isn’t on your side,’ Ann said, regretfully.

  ‘And let’s face it, if Abbie knows, there’s a chance Freya does too. She might’ve confided in her.’ I sighed and tears welled up in my eyes. ‘I could lose everything.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Ann said. ‘Why was she at my mum’s house in the first place?’

  ‘You know, I never got to the bottom of that one. I can remember her saying she’d seen the note I’d left for Henry but that said I’d gone to your house. I only went there after speaking to Dave.’

  I studied Ann’s face. She had suddenly gone very pale. ‘You look bloody awful. Are you OK?’

  ‘It’s the pain,’ she admitted. ‘I wish we’d stopped by the chemist now and bought some painkillers, but I honestly thought I’d be alright.’

  ‘I’ll have a look and see if I’ve got anything in my bag. There might be something lurking at the bottom,’ I said, standing up.

  I grabbed my bag and hunted through the broken Polo mints, chewed biros and loose change, but unfortunately, there wasn’t a painkiller in sight.

  ‘Ann, I’ll nip to reception and see if they have a first-aid box. I won’t be long,’ I said slipping my boots on and grabbing my coat from the back of the door.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, lying down and resting her head on a cushion in front of the fire.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, scooping everything up from the worktop and stuffing it back into my bag.

  My phoned beeped.

  ‘That’ll be Marcus now,’ Ann said in a soothing voice.

  My heart began to beat faster as I hurried over to the coffee table. Snatching up my phone, I saw Henry’s name on the screen.

  ‘It’s only Henry,’ I said, swiping the screen to read his message.

  I looked up towards Ann, my eyes wide. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said, alarmed. ‘Has Abbie told him about Marcus?’

  I thrust the phone towards her.

  ‘Come home, I miss you.’ it read.

  39

  I closed the door behind me and left the warmth of the cabin utterly confused. The bitter night air stung my cheeks, and without a doubt, the temperature must have dropped below freezing.