‘I don’t know where she went. She certainly left Ilkley.’

Chrissie sighed, sat back and took a long swig of Sauvignon Blanc. Her part of the narration was over, and this time she made no objection when Karen picked up the baton. ‘It’s no great surprise that they moved after that. Adrian couldn’t go anywhere in the town without people whispering behind their hands. How they sorted it out between them, who set up the house sale, who decided where they were going to move to, I’ve no idea. But move they did. To Fethering, of all places.’

Jude looked bewildered. ‘But how on earth did Gwyneth do all that? Getting the posters printed, taking them to the pubs, spraying the car. Who did she have to help her?’

‘She didn’t have anyone to help her,’ answered Chrissie. ‘She did it all on her own – the revenge of a woman scorned.’

‘But how could she have done it?’ asked Jude. ‘In her condition?’

‘In her condition?’ echoed Chrissie.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Karen.

‘In the house they’ve bought in Fethering, High Street, near the parade, just a few along the road from Woodside Cottage, which I’m sure you remember well, Karen …’

‘Certainly do.’

‘… Adrian Greenford has had to put in all kinds of ramps and handrails.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘So that his wife Gwyneth can get around the place in her wheelchair.’

‘Wheelchair?’ The two other women looked at each other in astonishment, before Chrissie said, ‘Gwyneth Greenford had no problems with her mobility. She didn’t use a wheelchair when she lived in Ilkley.’

SEVENTEEN

Over the weekend, Carole kept thinking about Jude. She wasn’t jealous of her neighbour being at a healing conference in Leeds. She couldn’t imagine anything she would enjoy less. She needed ‘Healing in the Head’ like a hole in the head. And she didn’t think being in the company of a lesbian couple would improve the experience for her. But she did want to share the news of her Friday afternoon encounter with Dr Rawley. Calling Jude’s mobile was always an option, but Carole – typically – was worried that might make her sound needy. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t survive a weekend with an empty Woodside Cottage next door. The conference, she knew, finished at lunchtime on the Sunday. Jude would be back late that evening. Catching up with her on the Monday morning would be soon enough.

By the Sunday morning, however, the need to make contact was even more urgent. Carole tried to allay it, by ringing her son Stephen and family in Fulham, but listening to the garbled exploits of her granddaughters, Lily and Chloe, did not work its usual magic sufficiently to distract her. When she’d put the phone down, she knew she was going to give in and call Jude.