might travel fast in Kelton, but it didn’t reach me.’
Hannah carried on arranging her flowers. In her early thirties, she was conservative in everything, from her dress sense to her politics. Jill suspected she would love to break out of the constraints imposed by being the local Tory candidate and go wild for a few hours or days. She was attractive, and usually took great care with her appearance, but this evening she looked as bad as she must feel. Her hair was unbrushed, her face was devoid of make-up, and her eyes were red from crying and surrounded by dark circles from lack of sleep.
‘I saw Jack yesterday,’ Jill said. ‘I hope he didn’t think I was being rude, but of course, I hadn’t heard. Strange that he didn’t mention it.’
‘Not really,’ Hannah said, standing back to assess her arrangement. ‘It’s hit him hard. He was really excited about the birth of his first great-grandchild.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Jill said.
All the same, she thought Jack would have mentioned it.
‘And people don’t talk about miscarriages,’ Hannah added bitterly.
‘It’s difficult,’ Jill said, taken aback by her tone.
‘Will you stay for a drink?’ Hannah asked. ‘We were just about to open a bottle of wine.’
‘Thanks, but no. I’m sure you don’t want company.’
‘Please stay,’ Hannah implored her. ‘Company is exactly what we need.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I rarely turn down a glass of wine.’
Hannah smiled at that. ‘White or red?’
‘Whatever you were planning to open.’
Hannah carried the flowers into the lounge and placed them on a table beneath the window.
‘They’re gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much, Jill.’
She turned to Gordon. ‘Are you going to open that bottle of wine then?’
‘Of course.’
He smiled, somewhat sheepishly Jill thought, and went off to the kitchen. When he returned, he carried three glasses of red wine.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy with tension. Jill wasn’t surprised. People often said that grief brought people together. In her experience, it was more likely to tear them apart.
Hannah knocked back her glass of wine and immediately went to the kitchen for the bottle and a refill.
‘Gordon thinks it’s my fault,” she said as she filled her glass. ‘He says I overdid things.’
‘Hannah!’ Gordon was as appalled as Jill was embarrassed. ‘Of course it wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. Yes, I think you overdid things but—’
He broke off before he said anything more. He blamed her for overdoing things, but not for losing the baby.
‘I went out for a walk on Wednesday afternoon,’ she explained, ‘and yes, I was tired when I got home.’
‘Where did you go?’ Jill asked casually.
Bradley Johnson had been murdered that afternoon but, after an inner debate, Jill decided it showed an appalling lack of taste to ask if she’d seen Bradley Johnson or anyone acting suspiciously.
‘Oh, all over,’ she replied vaguely. ‘Into Bacup, into the park there.’
‘I should have taken her to hospital that night,’ Gordon said, his expression bleak as he stared into the depths of his red wine. ‘Hannah would have none of it, though.’
‘I felt fine,’ she muttered.
‘And on Thursday morning—’ Again, Gordon left the sentence unfinished.
On Thursday morning, Hannah had been rushed into hospital where she had lost her unborn child.
‘As tragic as it is,’ Jill said calmly, ‘it’s no one’s fault.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Hannah retorted. ‘We’re all agreed on that. But hey,’ she added, raising her glass, ‘at least now that I’m no longer pregnant, I can have a drink.’
Moisture glistened in her eyes as she spoke and Jill took a large swallow of her wine. She had to get out and leave these people to their grief.
‘We were talking about Bradley Johnson before you arrived,’ Gordon said, changing the subject. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen.’
‘ You were talking about
Hannah carried on arranging her flowers. In her early thirties, she was conservative in everything, from her dress sense to her politics. Jill suspected she would love to break out of the constraints imposed by being the local Tory candidate and go wild for a few hours or days. She was attractive, and usually took great care with her appearance, but this evening she looked as bad as she must feel. Her hair was unbrushed, her face was devoid of make-up, and her eyes were red from crying and surrounded by dark circles from lack of sleep.
‘I saw Jack yesterday,’ Jill said. ‘I hope he didn’t think I was being rude, but of course, I hadn’t heard. Strange that he didn’t mention it.’
‘Not really,’ Hannah said, standing back to assess her arrangement. ‘It’s hit him hard. He was really excited about the birth of his first great-grandchild.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Jill said.
All the same, she thought Jack would have mentioned it.
‘And people don’t talk about miscarriages,’ Hannah added bitterly.
‘It’s difficult,’ Jill said, taken aback by her tone.
‘Will you stay for a drink?’ Hannah asked. ‘We were just about to open a bottle of wine.’
‘Thanks, but no. I’m sure you don’t want company.’
‘Please stay,’ Hannah implored her. ‘Company is exactly what we need.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I rarely turn down a glass of wine.’
Hannah smiled at that. ‘White or red?’
‘Whatever you were planning to open.’
Hannah carried the flowers into the lounge and placed them on a table beneath the window.
‘They’re gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much, Jill.’
She turned to Gordon. ‘Are you going to open that bottle of wine then?’
‘Of course.’
He smiled, somewhat sheepishly Jill thought, and went off to the kitchen. When he returned, he carried three glasses of red wine.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy with tension. Jill wasn’t surprised. People often said that grief brought people together. In her experience, it was more likely to tear them apart.
Hannah knocked back her glass of wine and immediately went to the kitchen for the bottle and a refill.
‘Gordon thinks it’s my fault,” she said as she filled her glass. ‘He says I overdid things.’
‘Hannah!’ Gordon was as appalled as Jill was embarrassed. ‘Of course it wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. Yes, I think you overdid things but—’
He broke off before he said anything more. He blamed her for overdoing things, but not for losing the baby.
‘I went out for a walk on Wednesday afternoon,’ she explained, ‘and yes, I was tired when I got home.’
‘Where did you go?’ Jill asked casually.
Bradley Johnson had been murdered that afternoon but, after an inner debate, Jill decided it showed an appalling lack of taste to ask if she’d seen Bradley Johnson or anyone acting suspiciously.
‘Oh, all over,’ she replied vaguely. ‘Into Bacup, into the park there.’
‘I should have taken her to hospital that night,’ Gordon said, his expression bleak as he stared into the depths of his red wine. ‘Hannah would have none of it, though.’
‘I felt fine,’ she muttered.
‘And on Thursday morning—’ Again, Gordon left the sentence unfinished.
On Thursday morning, Hannah had been rushed into hospital where she had lost her unborn child.
‘As tragic as it is,’ Jill said calmly, ‘it’s no one’s fault.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Hannah retorted. ‘We’re all agreed on that. But hey,’ she added, raising her glass, ‘at least now that I’m no longer pregnant, I can have a drink.’
Moisture glistened in her eyes as she spoke and Jill took a large swallow of her wine. She had to get out and leave these people to their grief.
‘We were talking about Bradley Johnson before you arrived,’ Gordon said, changing the subject. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen.’
‘ You were talking about
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