Page 17 of The Runaway Wives

Babs noticed that Dee didn’t mention Nigel coming with her; she knew he wouldn’t. She couldn’t remember the last time Dee and Nigel had gone away together. He was always too busy working, although he always had time to go off on a golfing holiday with his friends. She’d never known what Dee saw in Nigel but there was no accounting for taste where love was concerned. Though it had always seemed to Babs that Nigel hadn’t really loved Dee, not in the way he should, but had married her because he’d thought she was good wife material.

The art gallery was up a little side street. You would have walked past it if you hadn’t known it was there. According to the sign inside the doorway, all the paintings were done by local artists. There were the inevitable beach scenes, ships on a stormy sea, and a few abstracts. Babs was standing in front of a vivid abstract painting, trying to make out what it was supposed to be, when she was interrupted by a phone call from Molly. ‘Mum, you need to come home. Dad says he’s got a viewer coming tomorrow!’

What? ‘How dare he!’ Babs said, then lowered her voice when she noticed people staring at her. ‘He knows how I feel about it and he’s still gone ahead and done it.’

‘I’ve tried talking to him, Mum, but he won’t listen. You’ve got to come home and talk some sense into him.’

Babs glanced around. Dee was mesmerised by a painting of a lighthouse at night-time, its beam of light slicing through the dark night sky, guiding a ship to safety.

‘I love that one,’ Dee exclaimed.

‘Thank you.’

A man was standing behind them, his long silver-grey hair thick and a bit wild-looking. He was suntanned and had deep blue eyes and a small moustache. Dee’s eyes widened and Babs heard her exclaim, ‘Kenny Roscoe!’

13

DEE

‘Dee Walton! Goodness me, it’s been years!’

It had, but Dee would have recognised Kenny anywhere, especially that rich deep voice of his. Fancy bumping into him here!

Babs looked from one to the other. ‘You know each other?’

‘Kenny and Margot lived near Nigel and me when we were first married. They moved away though, and we lost touch,’ Dee explained.

Babs indicated her phone, then the doorway and stepped outside into the street. Dee guessed that Geoff or one of her children had called. She turned her attention back to Kenny. ‘Is Margot with you?’ She looked around for Kenny’s wife.

Kenny shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she died a few years ago.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dee said softly, reaching out and briefly touching his hand in sympathy.

‘Me too, but I’ve learnt to live with it. You have to, don’t you?’ He smiled at Dee. ‘How about you? Is Nigel with you?’

‘No, he’s on a golfing holiday in Portugal.’ Dee looked again at the painting. ‘This really is good. Have you always been an artist?’

‘I started painting in France, as a hobby, then when we came back to live in Port Telwyn – I grew up here, you know – we opened a craft shop. In the winter Margot made jewellery and I painted, in the summer we sold what we made in our shop.’

‘Do you still have the shop?’ Dee asked.

‘No, I’m retired now and I paint as a hobby. I’ve a little studio in my backyard.’ He stroked his beard. ‘How long are you here for?’

‘Only until Saturday, we got a last minute deal,’ Dee told him.

‘Well if you’re at a loose end tonight why don’t you and your friend drop into The Pirate’s Head later for a drink and a chat? It would be good to catch up again.’

‘That sounds great, I’m sure Babs, my friend, would enjoy it too. What time would be best?’

‘We’ve got a meeting about raising funds for the new Artists’ Studios first, but we should be finished by eight, so make it after then?’

‘I’ll run it by Babs, see what she thinks. If not, maybe I’ll bump into you again while we’re here.’

‘I’m sure you will. You’ll find me in Moira’s most lunchtimes. That lady does a mean bacon and egg buttie.’ He nodded. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day and hopefully see you later.’

‘Well, he’s a bit of a dish, isn’t he?’ Babs joined her as Kenny walked away. ‘He reminds me of an older David Cassidy. You had quite a thing for him, didn’t you? You used to plaster your walls with pictures of him, remember?’

‘And you used to be mad on Donny Osmond,’ Dee replied. ‘Goodness, where have those years gone?’

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