Free Rumours by Freya North Page A

Xander stood in his mother’s hallway thinking, if I was a burglar, I could swipe her handbag, her car keys, various pairs of shoes, library books, two terracotta plant pots and a selection of Paul Newman DVDs by barely crossing the threshold. Last week, her car keys had been in the car, actually in the ignition; the passenger seat piled high with interestingly bulky Jiffy bags ready for posting and a clutch of Steve McQueen films loaned from Mrs Patek’s esoteric DVD-rental service.
    â€˜Mum?’ Where
was
she?
    â€˜Hullo, darling!’
    She was behind him, making her way up the garden path.
    â€˜Mother – what are you
doing
?’
    â€˜Your dad forgot his jacket – it’ll be chilly later on. I don’t want that bronchitis coming back.’
    Monday night – card night at the pub.
    â€˜But you left your keys.’
    â€˜I didn’t lock the door.’
    â€˜Exactly – you left everything in here.’
    â€˜Xander!’ she chided and laughed. ‘Stop worrying! I only popped out – I’ve only been gone five or ten minutes. Don’t start putting the willies up me about thieves and the like. This is Little Dunwick, remember.’
    â€˜It’s cloud cuckoo land.’
    â€˜Don’t be cheeky.’
    Xander shrugged.
    â€˜You think Long Dansbury is small and friendly – well, here in Little Dee, we’re a tiny happy family in comparison.’
    Xander smiled as if he acquiesced. His mother still needed to justify her move away to this neighbouring village over a decade ago.
    â€˜Come on in and give your old mum a kiss.’
    Audrey Fletcher made herself sound ancient though she had only recently celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday and looked much younger albeit in a windswept way. She had thick, iron-grey hair worn at one length to her shoulders and a fringe she kept too long so that she blinked a lot, which gave the impression that she was always concentrating hard when actually she chose to listen only selectively. It drove Xander mad, but his father greatly appreciated it, not being one for involved conversation. If Audrey lost track of what people were saying, she never asked them to repeat themselves, she never interrupted and she never murmured, ‘Hmm?’; she simply smiled and blinked in a calmingly beatific way, which gave everyone the impression that she liked them very much and was pleased for them to talk at length. This, combined with the way she dressed – loose trousers or long skirts overlaid with smocks in heavy fabric and a penchant for Native American patterns and colours – invested her with the semblance of someone worldly, wise and contemplative; a modern oracle, a latter-day soothsayer.
    In her day, she’d been the only member of staff at Longbridge to resolutely refuse to wear uniform without having to say a word. Certainly, she didn’t dress like the Norland Nanny who predated her there and if the Fortescues had requested a uniform, she probably didn’t hear them. (Lydia was privately quite sure that the clothes Audrey wore now were the same as then – and secretly, she marvelled at the longevity of such fabric.)
    Xander kissed his mother. She cupped his face in her hands and smiled at him.
    â€˜Let me look at you.’ She’d seen him the week before. ‘How’s my boy?’
    â€˜He’s fine.’
    â€˜Soup?’
    He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table. It came naturally to Xander to say a sentence at a time and wait for her to respond; that way nothing was wasted and everything was heard.
    â€˜If you must leave the door unlocked, please don’t leave your valuables in the hallway.’
    â€˜It’s leek and potato.’
    He didn’t respond.
    â€˜I’ll try to do that, Xander – for you, rather than to fox any neighbourhood villain.’
    Good. ‘Leek and potato sounds good.’
    â€˜How’s