Trust by Kate Veitch Page B

her father said, ‘but it’s not your job.’ He flung a sweaty arm over her shoulders, turning her back toward the house. She twisted around, looking at the van as it drove away down the street. As it turned the corner she thought she could see Finn’s small pale face at the window, staring back at her.
    She raised her arm to him, forlorn and desperate, but tonight her cousin did not – or could not – return the salute.

NINE
    ‘You just sit there and relax, darling,’ Jean said. ‘Leonard’ll help me; he knows where everything is.’ And indeed he did, as Susanna realised watching her mother’s friend get out the mustard, or the colander, as needed, with quiet efficiency. My friend Leonard Styles : that was how Mum always referred to the tall, courteous man who’d moved into the retirement village a year or so ago – but surely they were more than just friends? Susanna hoped so; she thought him a very suitable companion: active, intelligent, a good conversationalist. Would Mum actually get married again? Susanna felt a tingle of presentiment that an announcement, a significant announcement, was going to be made this evening.
    Not wanting to hover, she went across to the living room and looked around, trying to figure out what it was that had vaguely registered as being different when she’d arrived. Not the flowers, not the furniture … It was — oh! The pictures, on the wall! Susanna froze for a moment, then went closer to make sure. Yes.
    ‘Mum! You’ve put up Dad’s painting of me and – Angie’ . Her voice dropped as she said her sister’s name. Jean hadn’t had even a snapshot of Angie on display, not since the day Susanna’s father died.
    ‘Yes, dear. A bit of a change,’ said her mother in a neutral voice. Amazed, Susanna gazed across the room at her and saw her mother glance swiftly at Leonard, who was assiduously picking over a bowlful of lettuce leaves. ‘Actually,’ Jean said, ‘Leonard suggested that it … might be a nice idea.’
    Ah, did he now? Susanna’s respect for Leonard Styles ratcheted up several more notches. She went over and leaned against the bench. ‘Thank you, Leonard,’ she said quietly, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.
    ‘Now, Susie, look at this,’ Jean said, in a tone that declared Change of Subject. She handed her daughter a newspaper clipping. ‘Aren’t these paintings lovely? When I saw this article I thought, these are the sorts of paintings Susanna could do for her exhibition.’
    ‘Oh, Mum, I’m flattered! But this is so far out of my league. Cressida Campbell is one of our finest artists.’
    ‘I’m sure you could do things just as good as these,’ said Jean.
    ‘No, Mum, really!’ Susanna protested. ‘I play a bit of tennis, but I don’t kid myself I’m up there with Serena Williams.’
    ‘Well, I think you are,’ Jean said stoutly. Their eyes held each other, then they both laughed. ‘Now then. Dinner’s ready. Let’s sit at the table in the courtyard, shall we? It’s still light enough.’
    ‘Might I ask, Susanna,’ said Leonard, as he put some grilled fish on her plate, ‘what sort of pictures you’re planning to have in your exhibition? I’m not very knowledgeable about art, forgive me, but I am interested.’
    She told them, rather hesitantly, about the ‘Women’s Work’ idea, and found herself buoyed up by their enthusiasm. Maybe it was a good idea after all. Their simple dinner was soon finished, and Jean apologised to Leonard for the lack of dessert. ‘One of our book group members has a patisserie, so Susie and I always save ourselves for whatever wicked indulgence Jo brings.’
    ‘Of course, my dear,’ said Leonard.
    ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Susanna, half rising, but Jean held up a hand to stay her. ‘Wait, Susie.’ She and Leonard exchanged a meaningful look. ‘There’s something we wanted to tell you.’
    Susanna’s heart did a little skip. ‘I thought there might be.’
    ‘We’ve