Page 54 of Loving Netta Wilde

Netta heard a car pull up out the front. She checked through the window. ‘Good idea. He’s just come back. I’d better go. I’ll keep you informed.’

She opened the front door to let him in and eyed the carrier bags in his hands. ‘Been shopping?’

‘I thought I’d cook tonight’s dinner. A thank you for putting up with me. Is that okay?’

‘Sure. Are you going home then?’

‘No, not yet. Unless you’ve had enough of me?’

‘Don’t be daft, of course I haven’t.’

Now would have been the perfect time to ask him what he was sticking around for, or even why he’d come in the first place, but she’d hesitated too long. He already moved past her and was on his way to the kitchen. ‘Merrie’s coming in a couple of days so I’m sticking around for a bit longer. Do you think Frank’ll be coming over for dinner?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll check.’

‘Cool. I’ll take a shower first. Been doing some gardening for an old lady.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Don’t think so. You know that letter we found at the allotment? It’s the lady we delivered it to.’

‘Oh, that’s nice of you.’

‘Not really. I just…’ He screwed his face up.

‘Just what?’

‘I dunno. You remember my dad’s wife, Monique?’

‘You hated her.’

‘Yeah. Priscilla, the old lady, reminds me of her.’

‘Oh! But you’re still helping her out.’

‘I know. Mad or what?’

The doors to Frank’s studio were wide open and Fred was lying across the gap. He lifted his head wearily, as if it was too much effort. Netta patted it as she stepped over him and he let it flop back down to the floor. She could hear music coming from upstairs. Frank had said he was painting one of the bedrooms, so she guessed that’s where he was. It was all part of his new life plan, now that he’d retired. It began with putting his own stamp on the house he’d neglected for years and spending more time on his art. He’d shared all that with her when he’d returned from his epiphany-style road trip at Easter. Was it really only a few months ago that everything had seemed so straightforward and simple? And was it only yesterday that she’d been sitting in the garden, wondering who this man was that she’d been sharing her life with?

It had been his reaction to the revelations about Colin and Arianne that had done it. She’d told everyone when they got back from the walk. Will’s lack of surprise came as no surprise given that he’d already hinted at something along those lines. Liza had also suggested it, but she still blamed herself, despite everyone’s assurances to the contrary. Netta’s mum and dad said very little, but it was highly likely they thought Colin had it coming. Frank had said almost the same thing, word for word, as Doogie. Maybe it was because his late wife, Ellen, had been quite unstable that Netta had assumed he’d have some sympathy for Colin. She’d assumed incorrectly. When Frank had said it, she’d been annoyed. Partly at his lack of sympathy, but mostly because he’d managed to insinuate that she was somehow less of a person than Arianne for not putting up more of a fight with Colin. She’d let it ride when he said it, but all afternoon, she could feel the aggravation festering like a simmering pot.

It took Doogie to make her erupt. Wasn’t it always the way? He was probably the only man she ever really lost it with. That was how it worked with them. But it didn’t feel like a bad thing.It felt like an honest thing. Within an hour of him saying it, they were friends again. That didn’t stop her resenting the suggestion that she was weak, but for some reason, her resentment had settled entirely on Frank. Perhaps it was because the way she and Doogie dealt with differences was big, loud and fast. But she and Frank didn’t have that confrontational aspect to their relationship. Frank wasn’t an arguer. The boat didn’t rock. But keeping it on an even keel had its own risks. Unspoken words were in danger of festering if left unsaid. Back to that simmering pot again.

A painting caught her eye as she made for the kitchen. It wasn’t Frank’s usual style, but the subject was unmistakeable. It was Colin. She moved nearer to get a closer look, then wished she hadn’t. She did a sudden, sharp intake of breath. It was the eyes that got to her. Fear, despair and exhaustion with a hint of cruelty and spite. The sum parts of Colin Grey right now. Just looking at it filled her with sorrow, and when she saw the initials in the bottom corner, she almost cried. It wasn’t Frank who’d painted it. It was Liza. She pulled herself away before it got to her completely and went to find Frank.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw him in the room opposite. He had his back to her, running a roller up and down the wall. Van Morrison was turned up loud and he was singing along, unaware that she was watching him. She smiled, despite herself and stayed there until he turned and saw her. He grinned at her and her heart swelled. But she’d caught him by surprise, and it was an all too brief unguarded moment. Within seconds his expression had changed and this time, her heart shrank just a little bit.

‘It’s looking good,’ she said, all at once feeling embarrassed.

‘It’ll need another coat but definitely an improvement.’

‘Are you coming over for dinner tonight? Doogie’s cooking.’

‘I thought I’d stay in. Keep an eye on Colin. After what you said yesterday about him and Arianne.’ It was obvious he’d just reached for that last bit because it was a handy excuse.

‘Okay then. If that’s what you want.’ She took a step down, then remembered that simmering pot. ‘How long are you going to keep this up?’

‘Keep what up?’

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