The Old Girls' Network. Judy Leigh

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      Pauline hauled up the engine cover at the back of the ancient Volkswagen, checking the oil, wiping the dipstick carefully with a paper towel. The journey to Taunton was fifteen miles, and she didn’t want the engine to seize up because she’d run out of lubricant. She walked around the yellow car and inspected the tyres. They seemed all right: they weren’t flat. She had enough petrol. The journey would take her twenty-five minutes, so she had plenty of time, especially now Barbara’s train was running late. She hugged her jacket around herself; there was ice in the wind this morning. Her fingers were cold as she took the car keys from her pocket.

      ‘Yoo-hoo, Pauline.’

      Down by the gate, a woman was waving through the open window of a white Fiesta. She stopped the car by the gate and wriggled out. The woman was very slim, with short red hair in a pixie cut, bright green jacket and red skirt, orange tights, clumpy heeled shoes, in her late thirties or early forties.

      ‘Are you all right, Pauline? Has the car broken down? Do you need a hand?’

      Pauline grinned. ‘No, I’m fine. Dizzy. Just—’

      The woman bounded over, her face creased in a huge smile, her legs fast and flexible as a Labrador’s.

      ‘I wondered if your car wouldn’t start. I have jump leads in the Fiesta. Mind you, I have no idea how to use them.’ Dizzy pushed a hand through her long layered fringe, three shades of red, orange and burgundy. ‘I only carry them so that I can pretend to break down occasionally and ask a handsome strapping man to help me. Of course, it hasn’t worked yet. I either get crabby pensioners or hearty women from the WI who tell me I should learn to do things for myself.’ Dizzy chuckled, oblivious to the fact that Pauline had been receiving a pension for well over ten years.

      Pauline shrugged. ‘Well, maybe they are right, Dizzy. Maybe it’s good to be able to do things for ourselves. I wish I’d been brought up to be a bit more practical at basic tasks.’ For a moment her face was sad. ‘I’ve learned to be independent and do a bit more for myself nowadays.’

      Dizzy’s forehead creased. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Pauline, I didn’t mean to…’ She grabbed Pauline’s arm, patted the coat sleeve and grinned. ‘I’m on my way to Thorpe. I’ve got a job there. Some woman I’ve never met before rang last night – she wants a complete restyle.’ She scrutinised Pauline’s hair, the soft roll on top of her head, the loose waving strands. ‘You must let me do yours, Pauline. My rates are good. I could make you look like a new woman.’

      ‘Oh, I’m fine, Dizzy…’

      ‘So,’ Dizzy appeared to have forgotten she had a hairdressing appointment in Thorpe, four miles away. ‘Tell me all about your new neighbours from across the road.’

      ‘I don’t know them yet.’ Pauline looked towards the neighbours’ house. ‘They only moved in last week. I haven’t met them. I saw them when the removals van arrived. She’s in her forties, I suppose, the woman – dark hair. He has glasses, same age as his wife, same hair colour.’

      Dizzy rolled her eyes. ‘I must pop round there, offer my services. She might benefit from a good cut and blow dry. Or him, a nice tidy-up. And I’ll do the kids cut-price, if they have any. Do they?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. Look, Dizzy, I’m sorry – I have to leave soon. I’m picking up my sister from the station in Taunton – she’s just phoned me with a third update on her arrival time.’

      Dizzy beamed, her eyes shining. ‘Is she coming to stay? I didn’t think she’d been here since you moved – what – it must be more than three years ago now?’

      ‘That’s right. She’s been twice, once for our first Christmas. She stayed for a day or two. She was bored, I think. Then she came just after Douglas died and managed to tolerate me for three days. I don’t think she likes the country life.’

      ‘Why is she coming, then?’ Dizzy’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘She won’t stay long.’

      Pauline nodded. ‘I expect not.’

      Dizzy patted her on the arm and gave a little skip. ‘You mustn’t miss yoga, the day after tomorrow in the village hall. You are coming, aren’t you?’

      ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ Pauline’s eyes shone. ‘I always look forward to it.’

      Dizzy turned. ‘I’ll see you there then.’ She walked four paces away, then twisted back. ‘Bring your sister. It might do her some good.’

      Pauline watched Dizzy slide into the Fiesta, following it with her eyes as the car shunted away. She chuckled softly. ‘It might be an idea. It could help Barbara to chill out. On the other hand…’ Perhaps it was the word chill, or the bite in the gust of wind, but Pauline shivered inside her jacket. With a heart heavy as stone, she flopped into the Volkswagen and started the engine.

      Two hours later, Pauline gripped her keys, opened the oak front door and stood back to allow Barbara to walk in with her case. Barbara stopped stiffly in the hallway.

      ‘Smells damp in here, Pauline. Very musty.’

      Pauline was conscious that plenty of fresh air was sweeping into the house, cold air with a touch of ice, and that she had put the radiators on full especially to welcome Barbara into her home. She shut the door with a heavy thud and made her voice light.

      ‘I can’t smell anything.’

      ‘I suppose you are accustomed to the damp. It’s in all these old houses. That’s why I live in a cosy little modern terrace.’

      Pauline murmured, ‘Soulless places,’ under her breath, then put an arm on her sister’s. She hoped a warm gesture might be a positive start; it might begin to close the gap between them. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of tea. I need one.’

      ‘Good idea. But I’ll need to take my bag up to my room first and put my things away tidily. I like everything in order.’ Barbara glanced at Pauline’s hand on her arm and her eyes glittered. ‘And I’ll need the loo. Tea always goes straight through me.’

      Pauline shook her head and led the way to the kitchen, hurrying forward like a broody chicken: the quicker she could seat Barbara at the table and fill her mouth with tea and cake, the less her sister would be able to speak, to complain about the house. Pauline considered her home through Barbara’s eyes: musty, damp, old, in need of renovation. Pauline wondered if her sister saw her the same way: a lonely widow, past help, crumbling, incapable of keeping up her own home. She folded her arms, determined she’d show her that she was independent and in charge of her own life. Barbara wouldn’t stay for long but, while she was here, Pauline was certainly not going to put up with any of her nonsense, that was a certainty.