Lavender Lane Page 2

  She felt so trapped. If only Matt could understand. If only he could see further than Lavender Cabs!

  The phone rang, and Sally stretched out a lethargic hand. It probably wouldn’t be for her.

  ‘Hello? Oh, hello, Judith. No, they’re all out. Megan’s at Peter’s rugby match – the rest of them have gone stock car racing. Yes, all right, I’ll tell her. Bye.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Matt emerged from the bedroom with Kim snuggled in his arms. ‘And before you say anything, I didn’t mean to pick her up. I just couldn’t resist her …’

  Sally looked at him, and at their beautiful pink-and-white daughter in her cuddly sleep-suit, and smiled.

  ‘I know. I never can either. Oh, Matt … what’s gone wrong with us?’ she sighed.

  ‘Nothing.’ Relief swept over him at her change of mood. ‘At least, nothing that can’t be sorted. Look, why don’t we ask Gran Foster to babysit for Kimberley and we’ll go out for a meal? Would you like that?’

  ‘Could we talk about the business?’ she asked warily.

  ‘Do we have to?’ he ventured, but he caught sight of the fresh fury dawning in her eyes and sighed. ‘All right, if you must.’ He bent his head to breathe in Kimberley’s sweet baby smell. ‘And who was that on the phone?’

  ‘Aunt Judith.’ Sally was smiling now. The whole evening alone with Matt – surely she would be able to persuade him to change his mind. ‘She wants to see your mum – urgently.’

  Matt groaned. ‘Oh, no. Then we really will be better off out of the way tonight. I don’t think I can stand another one of their showdowns. I bet Uncle Paul’s at the back of it again.’

  ‘Probably.’ Taking Kim from Matt’s arms, Sally tickled her until she gurgled. ‘Still, it’s one side of the Phillips power struggle that we don’t have to be involved in, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er … yes,’ Matt didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I suppose it is …’

  Megan Phillips tapped her fingers against the steering-wheel. She would give Peter another five minutes. If he didn’t turn up then, she was going home without him.

  The wind buffeted the side of the car, and Megan shivered. Even with the heater on full, it would take ages to get warm again.

  She had stood on the touchline for the full eighty minutes, watching Peter’s team win handsomely, dutifully cheering every try, every conversion. Before that, she had been up to her armpits in the traditional team tea, helping the other wives and girlfriends prepare the gargantuan feast their menfolk expected.

  A sharp rap on the window made her stop drumming her fingers. Neil James, one of Peter’s cronies, was squinting in at her.

  She wound down the window and shuddered in the icy blast.

  ‘Peter says to tell you he’s having one for the road. He wondered if you’d rather come in and join him.’

  ‘Too right I would.’ Megan scrambled from the car. ‘If I don’t, he’ll stay in there for the duration, re-living every darned moment. Thanks, Neil. You off home?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ Jenny, Neil’s wife, was tugging at his arm and laughing. ‘I’ve got my man under control, Megan. You ought to do the same with yours.’

  The rugby club was crowded. The win had been spectacular, and the noisy good humour was even louder than usual.

  Megan squeezed her way through the throng. She could see Peter, lounging against the bar, drink in one hand, gesticulating wildly with the other. Shaking her head, she shouldered her way towards him.

  Peter King was Matt’s best friend from school, three years older than her. Megan felt as though she had known him for ever. They had drifted into their easy-going relationship by sheer familiarity.

  ‘Neil found you, then?’ Peter, tall and thick-set with close-cropped dark curls, smiled. ‘Shall I get you an orange juice?’

  ‘Please.’ Megan sighed. It was taken for granted that she would be the chauffeur on rugby match days so that Peter could either celebrate or drown his sorrows.

  Sometimes, after driving a Lavender cab all week, Megan would have liked to leave the driving to someone else and indulge in a glass or two of wine. But she’d never voiced the wish, and as with everything else, Peter took it for granted that she was perfectly happy.

  ‘Mr Bamford was out there today, watching.’ Peter covered Megan’s hand with his large one. ‘That’s one of the few times he’s ever been to see us play.’

  Mr Bamford was the manager of the bank where Peter and most of the team worked.

  ‘He was probably making sure you’re all still fit enough to turn up for work on Monday morning.’ She grinned. ‘He’s probably more interested in safeguarding his staff than in assessing your skills in a scrum.’

  Peter nodded philosophically. He never argued, never really volunteered an opinion. He was placid and plodding, both in his work and with Megan.

  ‘Jennifer was saying that Neil’s applied for assistant manager in one of the Oxford branches.’ Megan sipped her orange juice. ‘Didn’t you think of applying for it? After all, you and Neil have been at the Appleford branch for the same length of time.’

  ‘No.’ Peter shook his head and waved his empty glass across the bar for a refill. ‘With all the reorganisation in banking, I’m quite happy to stay as a personal advisor for the time being. I’ve got my eye on old Bamford’s job when they put him out to grass.’

  ‘Surely they won’t promote from within? They’ll bring in someone who has at least been assistant manager somewhere, won’t they?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Peter shrugged, draining an inch from the top of his fresh pint. ‘Still, I’m quite happy to bide my time. Why rock the boat, eh?’

  Why indeed, Megan thought wearily, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She barely reached Peter’s shoulder, and with her straight hair cut into a bob, and all her make-up whipped away by the biting wind, she looked like her mother.

  Peter was suddenly swallowed up by a crowd of back-slapping cronies, and Megan found herself elbowed aside.

  Irritably, she finished her drink and pushed her way back to him.

  ‘I’m ready to go, Peter. You won’t be long, will you?’

  This was met by jeers and ribald remarks from Peter’s friends, and she half-smiled.

  ‘OK. So one of you will drive him home then, will you?’

  ‘Come on, Megan.’ One of his mates, Toby, put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Loosen up a bit.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Another, Nigel, grinned. ‘After all, a rugby man’s wife has to know her place.’

  ‘Really?’ Megan’s eyebrows arched above dangerously glittering eyes. ‘Then it’s just as well that I’m not one, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, but it won’t be long,’ Toby persisted. ‘We’ve told Pete – he’s got to arrange his wedding outside the season. We can’t afford to lose him on a Saturday …’

  ‘And who’s the poor unfortunate girl?’ Megan looked past Toby and Nigel to where Peter was laughing. ‘Do I know her?’

  They all laughed more loudly, and Megan suddenly found it extremely irritating.

  ‘You mean he hasn’t asked you yet?’ Toby shook his head. ‘Maybe he’ll do it next Saturday night.’

  ‘Why?’ Megan asked. ‘Why next Saturday night?’

  ‘It’s the dinner and dance.’ Nigel shook his head at her forgetfulness.

  ‘When even a rugby player’s thoughts stray to love and romance. It’s not just a disco and chicken and chips; we’ve got a sit-down meal and a proper band.’

  ‘I know.’ Megan was feeling tired now. ‘But it’ll still be an excuse for drinking and joking and your usual loud behaviour, won’t it? I can’t see it being a wine and roses occasion – after all, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, can you?’

  Toby and Nigel looked shocked, and Peter frowned.

  ‘That’s a bit uncalled for, Meg. You’ve always enjoyed the dances …’

  ‘Have I?’ Megan said, quietly but very clearly.

  After all these years, he still didn’t rea
lly know her. She had accompanied him to all manner of functions, not drinking so that she could drive him home, sitting tight-lipped as the jokes and behaviour became sillier.

  He didn’t know that she would really like to go out with him, alone, be wined and dined and wooed. But then, she thought sadly, it was just as much her fault as his. She had never told him.

  ‘I suppose we ought to be going then.’ Peter drained his glass and winked at Toby and Nigel. ‘My taxi driver’s got the meter ticking.’

  Peter slid into the passenger seat and fiddled with his seat belt as Megan drove slowly out of the club’s car park.

  Finally he settled back in his seat and looked across at her.

  ‘You were a bit sharp with Toby and Nigel. They were only joking.’

  ‘I know.’ Megan steered the car carefully into the stream of traffic. ‘But I’ve heard those jokes so many times! What is it about men getting together that makes them all behave as though they’ve never left the playground?’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Peter turned in his seat to stare at her. ‘Where’s your sense of humour? You’ve been a misery all afternoon – you’d better cheer up by tonight.’

  Megan pulled a face. ‘What’s on tonight? Something else connected with the rugby club that just seems to have slipped my mind?’

  ‘We’re meeting Neil and Toby and Nigel in the Blue Boar.’ He was smiling happily again. ‘Like we always do.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Like we always do,’ Megan echoed, manoeuvring the car towards the High Street.

  They would meet Neil and Toby and Nigel at half past eight – as they always did – and while the men propped up the bar and discussed the day’s game yet again, she would sit with Jenny, Theresa, and Sara, and discuss nothing much.

  ‘Why don’t we go out on our own tonight?’ She drew up at red traffic lights. ‘Why don’t we give the Blue Boar a miss? After all, you’ll see them all at the bank on Monday – and you’ve been with them all afternoon. Why don’t we do something different tonight? Like go to the cinema.’

  ‘What?’ Peter couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d suggested belly dancing in the marketplace. ‘But we always go to the Blue Boar on a Saturday night.’

  ‘Yes, of course we do. Silly me.’

  Peter missed the danger in her tone, and relaxed again.

  ‘You were joking, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Megan pulled away from the lights, too weary to argue. ‘I must have been joking.’

  Outside Peter’s flat she switched off the engine while he scrabbled around for his sports bag.

  ‘Just time for a bit of shut-eye before you come and pick me up again.’

  ‘No.’ Megan stared straight ahead. ‘I’m not driving tonight.’

  ‘You’re not? Why not?’ Peter was half in and half out of the car, and looked over his shoulder in surprise.

  ‘Because I drive all day every day for a living. For as long as I can remember, I’ve driven you about so that you can have a drink with your friends. I’m a taxi driver all day – I don’t want to be an unpaid chauffeur by night.’

  ‘But you’ve never said anything before.’ Peter looked hurt. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’

  ‘It’s not sudden,’ Megan snapped. ‘Look, will you either get in or get out? I’ve been freezing all afternoon for you – it’s like Siberia out there – and at least the car is warm.’

  Peter got back in and looked at her in concern.

  ‘Meg, are you ill? You’re not usually this snappy. Look, I’m sorry if you’ve not been feeling too good and I’ve made you hang around … would you rather stay in tonight?’

  Megan almost laughed. At last she’d got through to him!

  She nodded. ‘I’ll phone for a take-away and borrow that DVD Mitchell’s been raving about. Mum and Dad are bound to be out somewhere tonight. We’ll have the place to ourselves … Well, apart from Gran and Granddad Foster, Matt and Sally and Kim, and Mitch – but at least they’re all self-contained. What time will you come round?’

  Peter was staring at her as though she’d gone mad.

  ‘I didn’t mean that we’d have a night in, Meg. I meant that if you’re not feeling well, it might be better for you to have an early night, and I’ll meet up with the lads at the Blue Boar on my own.’

  Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Megan found herself doing both.

  ‘Forget it, Peter.’ She swallowed. ‘Just forget it. I’ll have a night in tonight, alone, with the DVD. You go and enjoy yourself with the lads …’ Her voice was rising hysterically and she fought to calm it. ‘Just don’t expect to find me waiting for you next time you need a chauffeur!’

  She leaned across and almost pushed him out of the car before revving it into the sort of snarling take-off that would have won Mitchell’s approval and made her parents wince.

  As she tore away from the flat, she was aware that he was staring after her, his eyes troubled and confused.

  ‘Selfish, selfish so-and-so,’ she muttered, slowing the car to a more reasonable pace. ‘I’ve been taken for granted for too long, Peter King! It’s about time things changed!’

  Chapter Two

  A Point Of Conflict

  The stock car circuit was practically obliterated by a cloud of dust that even the biting wind failed to shift, and by thick plumes of exhaust fumes.

  The raw noise of the engines was only fractionally louder than that of metal crunching on metal.

  Bob Phillips looked on in shock, but Amy and Cicely were leaping up and down beside him, screaming Mitch to victory.

  Mitchell had always been a problem; always the one to climb the tallest tree, to jump from rope swings into the fastest flowing section of the river, to crash motorbikes, to do anything that was a little bit more daring than anyone else.

  Bob knew his own staid and careful nature made this wild son of his almost a stranger to him on occasions, but watching him out on the track, risking life and limb, filled him with glowing pride. Mitchell was doing something that he would never dare undertake in a million years.

  ‘Have you heard from Judith?’ Cicely shouted in Amy’s ear as the cars sped away from them on another circuit. ‘I met your mother at the WI last week and she said that you still weren’t speaking.’

  ‘We speak.’ Amy pulled a face. ‘But neither of us says what the other wants to hear. Sometimes it seems terrible to have such a rift with my own sister but Judith is –’

  ‘Bossy, overbearing, and ruled by that bad-tempered husband of hers.’ Cicely, who always called a spade a spade, nodded fiercely. ‘I don’t know why she thinks they should be getting a piece of Lavender Cabs anyway.’

  Amy laughed. ‘Well, I suppose when Mum and Dad retired three years ago, Judith automatically assumed Lavender – and the garage – would be split between both of us. I know Paul expected that when he came out of the army, they’d just move in and take over the running of one or the other.’

  ‘Why should they?’ Cicely bristled. ‘You helped out as soon as you left school, when your Judith wanted to go to secretarial college and not get her hands mucky. Then you put yourself through those evening classes, even while Matt and Megan were small, so that you could take over the accounts properly. And my Bob –’ She cast a fond glance towards her son, waving his arms excitedly as Mitchell’s car once more tore into view. ‘Well, he’s worked for your dad since he was sixteen. Lavender Cabs belongs to you and Bob, my dear. Not to Paul and Judith and those awful children of theirs – and I shall tell her so when I see her!’

  ‘Oh, please don’t,’ Amy said quickly, knowing Cicely was more than capable of doing so. ‘It would only make matters worse. Oh, look – Mitch is in the lead!’

  ‘And only one more circuit to go!’ Cicely whooped her grandson on with enthusiasm. ‘Come on, Mitch! Show ’em a clean pair of heels!’

  Bumping and barging, rocketing into the crash barriers and bouncing back, the tangle of cars roared past them again.

  Amy realised she was
gnawing her nails, and guiltily stuffed her hands into her pockets. Her dark hair, still untouched by grey, swung about her face, and her hazel eyes widened.

  This was always the most nerve-racking part of the race, when the cars that were left intact were battling it out in fierce determination in the final stages.

  ‘That young Brennan girl is still up there with them!’ Bob shouted in her ear. ‘She’s got some guts, hasn’t she?’

  Amy nodded reluctantly. Jacey Brennan’s car – like every car she drove – was painted pale pink with lilac stripes. Jacey Brennan did not believe in hiding her light under a bushel.

  ‘Anyway –’ Cicely returned to her former train of thought as soon as the cars had roared past. ‘– what do Judith and Paul think they could contribute to Lavender, or the garage for that matter, that you and the children can’t?’

  ‘Judith thinks – or rather, I suspect Paul tells Judith to think – that the whole set-up is hopelessly old-fashioned. His idea is to leave Lavender Cabs to me and Bob, while they take over the garage. The last idea I heard was to sell it off to one of the chains and make a sort of diner-cum-supermarket as well …’

  ‘Stupid fool!’ Cicely sniffed. ‘The whole appeal of the place is the personal service, just as it was when your dad ran it and his father before him. And what does Paul know about running a business anyway? Oh – look! This is it! Mitch is in the lead! He’s going to win this one, Amy! He’s going to win!’

  Bob and Amy clutched each other as Mitch’s car screeched round the final bend on two wheels.

  Bob’s mouth was dry and his heart was thumping uncomfortably fast. Amy wanted to close her eyes, but found herself willing Mitch on, silently mouthing his name.

  The driver of a black and gold car, sensing this was his last chance, drew alongside Mitch with a reverberating crunch.

  Sparks flew. The crowd screamed.

  For a split second the two cars seemed glued together, then with a metallic screech they parted and, almost in slow motion, Mitchell’s car veered across the track and hit the barrier broadside.

  For a moment it looked as though he was going to be able to control the spin, but at the last moment the car lurched on to its side. Over and over it rolled, dust surrounding it, bouncing from one side of the track to the other.