‘That will have to go’ James pointed to an ornate Victorian urn containing pink and purple flowers with a single red bloom in the centre. The urn was green with age, bolted onto a stone plinth and concreted into the pathway at the top of a series of steep, stone steps. ‘Tasteless Victorian rubbish,’ he took off his glasses and cleaned them with the handkerchief that Jenny had bleached and ironed to ice white perfection.

‘All of the garden furniture does come with the cottage which makes it very good value at this price.’ The estate agent flicked long blonde curls over her shoulder and smiled at James. His height and slim frame, with the dark hair that was only flecked with grey at the temples made him look far younger than his 56 years. Jenny had got tired of the number of times women had simpered whenever he was around. If only they knew the truth.

‘The cottage is perfect of course,’ James stood back and looked up at the latticed windows and the neatly thatched roof ‘and if we keep it for a few years, we’ll make a killing.’

 ‘You are so right, sir,’ the blonde curls nodded their approval. But James always believed he was right, thought Jenny and his last plan to make a killing was one reason why they had to move yet again.

‘Let’s have a quick look round and then we can think about on offer, all right darling?’ James glanced over at Jenny and waited briefly for her assent. She nodded, fixing a grin on her face. He was in a good mood, for the moment.

Jenny stretched out her hand to caress the solitary red flower as she passed. Its crimson trumpet hung down from five scarlet petals and left a stain on her fingers. ‘This will be a new start for us, won’t it?’ James whispered. Jennie sighed inwardly. She had heard this so many times before.

Within eight weeks Jenny was unpacking the last tea chest marked CHINA kitchen only when the phone rang. She leapt to answer it before the shrill tone annoyed James. ‘Hi Mum, how’s the new house? ‘

‘Oh it’s lovely and the garden is stunning, or will be’ Jenny added. ‘I’m just replanting the pots and tubs with new bedding plants for the summer. We’re going for yellow and cream.’ She knew she was prattling on but she hoped to keep Lucy away from the subject of her father but it was not to be.

 ‘How’s Dad?’

‘He’s fine. He’s got a lot to do in the garden and …’

‘Mum, you know what I mean. How is Dad, really?’

Jenny could imagine her daughter’s pinched face. ‘Well you know your father, he likes everything just perfect…’

‘Mum you know what I mean. Just how much longer are you going to put up with this? What does Dad have to do to make you realise you deserve a life too?’

Jenny took a deep breath and swallowed hard. She had tried over the years to protect her daughter from the worst of James’ peculiarities and the illusion had to continue. ‘I know you mean well, darling but so does your Dad.’

There was a pause before Lucy continued, her voice insistent, now ‘Well if you ever need to get away, you can always come here, you know that don’t you? Even if you just need a break, Tom and I will sort something out.’ Her voice trailed away with all that needed to be said left unspoken yet somehow understood by both.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary’ Jenny said but as she spoke, something stirred within her that perhaps her daughter might just be right. Time would tell. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine but if not, I might take you up on that offer.’

‘You do that. Love you lots’ and Lucy hung up.

Jenny looked at her watch. There were five minutes before James would expect his coffee which had to be served with three biscuits; one digestive, one custard cream and one pink wafer. She hoped he wouldn’t get too upset because there was only a plain wafer but the village shop didn’t have a lot of stock.

James’ rage at the substitution of a plain wafer for a pink one had left Jenny reeling. She had cowered in the kitchen, a cold flannel pressed to her cheek and watched the mayflies through the window as they hovered over the pond in their short dance of life. Ephemera they were called, a name she remembered from biology lessons. Most of their existence was spent in the mud, darkness and detritus at the bottom of the pond with only a brief foray into daylight before they mated and died. At least you escaped, she thought and in that instant she knew what she had to do.

 By the time Jenny visited the shop again, the bruise had almost gone and she was now waiting for the right moment. She pushed open the door and was greeted by the earthy aroma of fresh fruit and vegetables. ‘Jenny, lovely to see you, come and have a cup of coffee with me. It’s time we had a good old gossip.’ May heaved her bulk from behind the counter and collected a small box from the store room as Jenny sat down at the counter. ‘I’ve got those pink wafers your husband likes back in stock and that mustard. I got a jar for my old man. He loved it, said it was just right for his cheese on toast.’ Jenny shuddered, imagining James’ reaction if the jar of mustard was not served on the blue dish with the small silver spoon from his grandmother‘s collection. But that would all soon be in the past she thought and a flicker of a smile crossed her lips.

May poured out two cups and added milk and sugar. ‘Here, have a slice of banana cake and tell me what you think.’ She plonked herself down on the seat in front of Jenny and took a sip from her mug before peering at Jenny’s face. ‘What happened to you? Have you been in the wars, as my old mum would say to me?’

Jenny bent her head hoping her grey bob would flop over her face and hide the evidence. She reached for a slice of cake. ‘No, just a cleaning wound,’ she tried to make it sound cheerful and forced a smile. ‘The mop fell to bits as I was scrubbing the ceiling. I must get a new one.’ Jenny hoped she sounded convincing. If May thought anything was wrong it would be round the village in minutes.

‘You need to be careful. There was a nasty accident at your cottage many years ago. My mum told us kids about it. A woman not much younger than you and her husband had moved in. Six months later he was dead. Killed by a blow to the head but no one could discover what had happened as his wife was out at the time.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘I reckon he was up a ladder and fell. A thatched roof always needs a lot of repair and he liked everything perfect did Mr Ransome.’

 It was unnervingly quiet when Jenny got back to the house. She crept in through the back door and hastily unpacked the shopping, putting away the pink wafers in the Coronation tin before going to find James. He was in the small room off the hall that he had commandeered as his office. Jenny peered in through the open door. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded under his chin. A muscle twitched in his cheek as she entered, ‘Can’t you get anything right?’ He glared over the top of his glasses like a disapproving teacher. ‘Just how difficult is to get the correct colour of flowers?’

‘What do you mean? You saw the ones we bought and you agreed,’ Jenny felt a new sensation rising up in her, one that she thought had been extinguished long ago by years of keeping the peace and protecting herself and Lucy from his rages. It was her own anger. But before she could say anything else,  James grabbed her by the shoulders, frog marched her to the front door, opened it and pointed.

The urn that Jenny had filled with plants that promised cascades of cream and yellow blooms had one red flower standing proud amongst the rest. ‘Well?’

‘It’s just a rogue plant; I’ll get rid of it. What’s the fuss?’ She turned to face James, ready at last to stand her ground but as she did, the back of his hand caught her lip. Jenny winced in pain and something began to dribble down her chin. She touched it and a streak of red stained her finger. She escaped to the kitchen to get some ice to staunch the flow of blood and to give her time to plan her next move. The shed door banged and she could hear him dragging something metal across the path. Sounds of splintering concrete echoed through the cottage.

 ‘That urn can go, too. Wrong place, wrong, bloody place ‘ James’ voice punctuated the thudding of metal as he attacked the concrete that held the urn. It was replaced by a ringing sound as metal struck metal. Jenny dabbed at her swelling lip, wincing with the pain of the assault on her lip as well as the assault on her ears. She would make her escape today. While he was busy, she would pack a small bag. Lucy would understand if she just turned up. She went upstairs into the bathroom and turned on the tap to cover any sounds she might make. She stowed the case in the spare room and went downstairs to check where James was, ready to slip away.

The house was silent. ‘James?’ she called out. There was no answer. She looked out into the back garden. It was deserted. She crossed the hallway and noticed the front door was still open. As soon as she stepped outside, she saw him lying at the foot of the stone steps, his eyes staring, lifeless and a large gash on his head was staining the pathway with a sticky red pool. The pick axe was still in his hands but the urn was exactly where it had always been and showed no signs of any damage.                  

***********

The estate agent stood at the top of the steps that led to the cottage, ‘The owner wants a quick sale. Her husband was killed in an accident and she decided she wanted to be back in London, closer to her daughter and grandchildren. She’s on a cruise now so I’m showing you round.’ She led the young couple past an urn where now two red blooms stood upright against the cascades of yellow and cream flowers that Jenny had so carefully planted.