Peony Place. Jules Wake

in shades of pale pink and dark rhubarb red, like big pom-poms surrounded by fans of dark green leaves. I stared at them for a moment, struck by the colours. When was the last time I’d actually noticed flowers? Or even had time to sit and look at them. Or to smell them. Everything had been grey for so long. Without thinking, I leaned over to take a deep sniff.

      ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’ said a voice.

      Startled, I looked up to see an elderly lady with a fine frizz of soft white hair around her head, like a snowy aura, marching towards me. Something rattled at the back of my brain; she seemed awfully familiar.

      She plonked herself down on my bench, almost spilling the coffee I’d put down next to me.

      ‘Lovely morning. You carry on with your communing with nature, dear. Don’t mind me.’

      Feeling a little caught-on-the-hop, I gave her a weak smile. I didn’t normally ‘commune with nature’ as she’d put it. I probably looked a bit strange. Oh, to be in one of my smart suits like a normal person. I wanted to tell her that actually I had a very responsible job and was a ‘someone’ in real life. I closed my eyes as if doing so would shut her out and I could ignore her. I didn’t want to be that person who was desperate to talk to someone because it might be the only adult conversation I had all day. Maybe I could phone Ros and see how things were in the office. I winced thinking of all the things I should be doing there. The list started to snowball and I had to force myself to open my eyes.

      The cheek! I looked into twinkling blue eyes peering at me over the top of… my takeaway coffee cup.

      ‘Help yourself, why don’t you?’ I said, taken aback but trying to gain the upper hand. My withering sarcasm failed to make so much as a dent in her cheery smile.

      ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Without a care, she lifted my coffee in toast and took another slurp. ‘Oh, that hits the spot. I do adore a good cup of coffee. That’s one of the things I do miss.’

      For a moment I stared at her, completely thrown by her blithe disregard of my indignation.

      ‘It’s not good for me,’ she said. ‘Bad for the old ticker, apparently. Why is it all the good stuff is so terribly bad for you? I mean, Brussels sprouts, they taste bloody awful and do dreadful things to your digestive system. I remember my Great Uncle Vincent – that man could clear a room… Why aren’t they bad for you? Swede, another disgusting, tasteless vegetable; why couldn’t that be terribly bad for you instead of chocolate and wine? I do love a good glass of Malbec. And the health police constantly on at you. I keep telling them I’m too old to care but… they insist on serving bloody decaffeinated rubbish. Instant at that. I ask you. I mean, what do you think about decaffeinated anything… a crime against human nature, I think. Stands to reason. God put caffeine in for a good reason. Not that I’m awfully matey with him up there right now. Guess I might decide to become better acquainted when I get closer to shuffling off the old mortal coil. You find that they all become God-botherers when they get older. I call it hedging your bets. Not me. If he doesn’t like me the way I am, tough cookies.’ She held out the coffee cup. ‘Here you go, dear. Don’t worry, I drank out of this side and I’ve got nothing worth mentioning. Not that I can recall anyway.’ Her brow furrowed as if she were giving it serious thought.

      My lips twitched and much as I wanted to maintain a dignified distance and ignore her unwanted presence, I was intrigued and, to be honest, entertained by her. I rather liked her forthright untarnished views. She said it as she saw it and it was very refreshing.

      I could see exactly which side she’d drunk from by the ring of fuchsia-pink lipstick lining the cup, so I took a sip of my coffee from the other side. It must be hell to have to go without coffee.

      ‘I’m Hilda.’

      ‘Claire.’

      ‘So what are you doing here?’ She eyed my shoes. ‘Running?’ She lifted her own feet and regarded her Day-glo trainers with satisfaction.

      I laughed. ‘That was my intention. I’m a bit out of practice. Today was more about shuffling. I didn’t get very far.’

      ‘You’ll get better. I’ve not seen you here before. It’s very good for you. Running, that is. A bit every day and you’ll soon be up and… running.’ With a chortle at her pun, she poked me in the thighs. ‘Gets the endorphins going. Do you work in an office?’

      I nodded, not wanting to admit that I was on temporary hiatus. It would be too embarrassing explaining why. She might think I was taking the easy way out, time off when there was nothing really wrong with me. I clenched my fists under my thighs. And she’d be right. Dr Boulter had overreacted. I could probably go back next week once I’d caught up on a bit of sleep.

      ‘You don’t want to get an office bottom, do you?’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘Office bottom, also known as spreading arse. Too much sitting down.’

      ‘Ah, no. I don’t.’

      ‘So, a bit further every day and before you know it you’ll be running a marathon,’ she said with an air of complacency. ‘I can tell we’re going to get on famously. What did you say your name was again? That’s the downside to being old: butterfly brain. By the time you get to my age, it’s so full of stuff, I lose things in there.’

      I smiled, rather charmed by her description that shied away from forgetfulness.

      ‘I’m Claire.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you Claire and welcome to Command Centre.’

      ‘Command Centre?’ This woman veered from sensible and stately to completely whacky in nought to sixty. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.

      ‘Yes, this is my little spot. I know everything that goes on in this park.’ She patted the plump pink peony heads at the end of the bench on which we were sitting as if they were pet dogs, thereby loosening a few drops of rain. ‘It’s my personal fiefdom, if you like. I’ve lived around here off and on for sixty years.’ She pointed to the rather smart Regency houses that just peeped over the trees to the south of the park. ‘I used to live in one of those when my son was small. He used to want to come to the park a lot then. Play on the swings. Feed the ducks. Children,’ she sighed, ‘they grow up so quickly. One minute they’re clinging to your hands, the next minute they’re packing you off to a home. Of course, he hasn’t been here for years. Do you have children?’

      ‘Er… no.’

      ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

      ‘I’m looking after my nieces for a week while their mother is away and I’ve just taken them to school.’

      ‘Ah, that must be fun. How old are they?’

      Mmm, the jury was out on the fun bit. This morning had been a bit of a nightmare. ‘Poppy’s ten and Ava’s six’

      ‘Lovely ages. Shame they have to grow up really. My son’s turned into a pompous twerp.’

      ‘How old is he?’ I bit back a smile at her weary dismissal.

      ‘Forty-five going on ninety-five.’ She shook her head and pursed her walnut-wrinkled mouth. ‘Don’t ever let anyone dump you in a home. I come here every day, just to get out of that dreary place.

      ‘Where do you live?’

      ‘Dreary place, weren’t you listening?’ She gave me a mischievous grin. ‘Also known as The Sunnyside Memorial Home for the half-dead and totally bewildered. My son insisted. I had a bit of a fall and broke my hip. He was all for putting me in a care home on the south coast. I’m old but I’m not senile.’ She gave me a wicked grin. ‘So I started running again, just to annoy him.’

      ‘How does that annoy him? I’d have thought he’d be rather proud of you running at your…’ my voice petered out.

      ‘Oh Lord girl, don’t be shy. At my great age. It’s all right, you can say it. With