Page 60 of Loving Netta Wilde

Colin passed Ursula’s allotment, went through the gap in the hedge and sat down in front of Samuel Sweeting’s shed. If it had been anyone else but Chambers, they might have stood a chance. But it wasn’t and sometimes even now, Colin felt that weight coming back to crush him. Arianne picked up on it soon enough, which is why she sometimes lashed out. Perfectly understandable. Hadn’t he done the same when he’d been hurt? Except he’d taken a more subtle approach.

He saw a flash of electric blue. Ursula. She was wearing that dress again. ‘I thought it was you. I wasn’t expecting anyone here today.’

‘I just needed to get out of the house.’

‘Do you want to borrow a spade?’

He surveyed the remaining patch of tangled weed. One more day and it would all be clear. He’d have no excuse to come back. What would he do then? ‘No. I’ll leave it for today. I’ll just sit here for a while, if you don’t mind.’

‘No problem. I was about to go home. I have some jobs that need doing.’

‘Anything I can help with?’ He didn’t know why he’d said that. All he really wanted to do was sit here on his own and be still.

She let her head drop to one side and frowned slightly. ‘I have to take some things to the tip. I suppose I could use an extra hand.’

Ursula’s house was like a big white square box with large, black-framed windows and a flat roof. Although he didn’t know a lot about architecture, Colin knew of a style that was similar to this. It was called Bauhaus. It was the kind of house he’d dreamed ofliving in before everything had gone pear-shaped. It was not the kind of house he’d expected to find Ursula in. He’d imagined her living in a little terraced villa or a cottage, possibly with roses around the door.

She seemed to read his thoughts. ‘It was built by my late husband.’

‘He was a builder?’

‘An architect.’

The interior took his breath away. The downstairs was a wide expansive room that was partially divided by screens. A wall of glass overlooked a large garden. The space inside seemed vast and every bit of it was filled with light. Plain white walls were accentuated by modern artwork that looked like genuine originals. Every piece of furniture was in the classic modernist style. Expensive, stylish, but not necessarily comfortable.

‘I like your house,’ he said.

‘All my husband’s design. I can’t take any credit for it. He died six years ago. It’s still as he left it.’

Colin looked out onto the garden. It was immaculate. ‘How do you manage to keep it so tidy?’

‘I have a gardener. I’ve no interest in it. It’s just window dressing to me. I prefer my allotment.’

‘So gardening was your husband’s thing?’

She gazed out of the window. ‘No. Order was his thing. Order and control. Everything in its place. If you look closely, you’ll see each tree and plant in the garden has been placed where it is for visual effect. It’s not really a garden. It’s a beautifully landscaped prison.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘I can’t stand the garden or the house. That’s why I’m selling up.’

‘You’re moving?’

‘The board’s going up tomorrow. Which is why I need to go to the tip. I’ve been clearing out a lot of baggage.’

Ursula showed him to the garage which was set apart from the house. Inside was an old Volvo estate and a lot of boxes and bags. ‘Everything on the left is to go to the tip. Everything on the right is for the charity shop.’

They did the tip first and then cleared out the charity shop donations in a couple of trips. Ursula parked the Volvo back up in the garage and locked it up. Normally she drove a newer car, one of those little Fiats, but Colin thought the Volvo suited her better. ‘Nice old car,’ he said.

‘It was my husband’s pride and joy. He’d spend hours polishing it and tinkering with it, refusing to let it give in to age. A car should be allowed some scruffiness as it gets older, don’t you think? I’ve helped it along a bit since he went. I like to think of it as small acts of defiance. Are you hungry?’

‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’ He was still trying to work Ursula out and the sudden change of subject caught him off guard.

‘How about lunch? There’s a nice Italian restaurant nearby.’

‘That sounds great.’ For a few seconds, Colin entertained the idea that she might be suggesting something other than a friendly lunch, but that was as long as it took to dismiss it as fanciful. In his heart, he knew a woman like her wouldn’t be interested in an ugly, skinny arse no-hoper like him. He was quoting Arianne there. It was one of her favourite quips if ever he was stupid enough to mention Netta. Still, he was glad he’d spent so long in the shower that morning. It was important to be presentable. It was important to be positive too, which was exactly what he’d said to himself last night as he lurked in the shadows watching Arianne and Wordsworth, or Byron, or whatever the fuck his name was, smooching up on his sofa, in his lounge, in his house. Bastards. The world was full of them.

They went for the fixed-price menu, both opting for spaghetti bolognese for their main course. It was perfectly adequate. In times gone by, Colin would have been a bit disappointed by it but these days, even adequate was enough to set his taste buds off like fireworks.

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