The Loner by Rachel Ennis

I found out he had a mistress in Dubai and an eighteen-year-old daughter.’
    â€˜Bloody hell,’ Claire whispered.
    Jess nodded. ‘Exactly. I’m not looking for sympathy. And I’ve got past “why me?”’ She shrugged. ‘Why not me? A friend pointed out that it had happened and couldn’t be undone so I should deal with it and move on.’
    Scepticism soured Claire’s expression. ‘You make it sound simple.’
    â€˜The advice is simple. Following it isn’t. I hate violence, but there are days when I want to smash things. My husband’s actions totally changed my life. I had no say in any of it. The cottage I live in is a quarter the size of our house in Truro, but it’s mine. I’ve started two small businesses and resurrected friendships from my school days. So while the past two and a half years have been … difficult is the polite word, I wouldn’t be where I am, or have what I’ve got, without everything that happened.’
    â€˜You’re stronger than me.’
    â€˜No, I’m not. I just got sick of feeling miserable.’
    â€˜How am I supposed to stop worrying about Ginny?’
    â€˜You can’t. It goes with being a mother. My sons are doing well in jobs they love. But they have problems like everyone else. I could spend every day fretting. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t help them, I’d be miserable, and people would avoid me.’
    It wasn’t until the words were out that she realised how they sounded. ‘That wasn’t a dig at you. I went through a stage when I worried about everything. The counsellor I saw said it was an anxiety reaction. She told me to think of happiness and misery as two wolves. The one I feed is the one that will grow strong. She advised me to spend my time and energy on things I enjoy. So that’s what I’m doing.’ Jess shrugged. ‘Anyway, if you fancy lending a hand in the kitchen at the over-sixties lunch club, you’d be very welcome.’
    Claire shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’d feel as if I was on trial.’
    â€˜I don’t mean to sound rude, Claire, but it’s not about you. It’s about people who may not see or talk to anyone else for the rest of the week. The lunch club is not just a freshly cooked meal, it’s a reason to dress up, bring along a bottle of beer or wine, and enjoy a couple of hours’ chat and laughter.’ Jess stood up. ‘Have a think about it. I’d better get back. When your husband gets in will you tell him I called?’ She took out one of her cards and glanced round at the sound of footsteps in the hall.
    The door opened and Paul Griffin came in. Jess caught his quick glance at the tumbler and his wife and read concern behind his smile. ‘Hello, Mrs Trevanion.’
    â€˜Drink, darling?’ Claire invited him. ‘Tea’s still hot.’
    He touched her shoulder lightly. ‘I’m already awash. “Cup of tea, vicar?” is usually the first thing people say after “hello,”’ he told Jess. He turned to his wife. ‘Any lunch?’
    â€˜I was just about to get it,’ Claire pushed herself to her feet.
    â€˜I won’t keep you,’ Jess said. ‘I wanted to ask about a burial plot and funeral service for –’ Her discoveries weren’t proved and would take too long to explain. ‘For John Preece.’
    â€˜The parish council manages the cemetery. Talk to Charlie Spry, he’s the new chair. Do you know when Mr Preece’s body will be released?’
    â€˜The coroner promised to ring me. As soon as he does I’ll phone you. Gerry and Sandra in the shop have started a collection to cover the cost.’
    â€˜I saw the jar. It’s already a quarter full. People are being very generous.’
    Jess simply nodded. If he believed the donations were spontaneous he had never seen Gill and Sandra