The thought made her shiver.
She parked the car and hurried up the steps to Auntie Jean’s front door. Next door, the front window blind twitched.
It took a long time for Auntie Jean to make it out to the passage from her kitchen and, by the time she opened up, a small knot of children had gathered by the front wall.
‘Is that ’er, like?’
‘She don’t look like she does on TV.’
‘Are you sure it’s ’er?’
‘Yeah, that’s her old house.’
Auntie Jean came to the rescue, ushering her into her little front room. She still had the same gas fire on the wall, the same wallpaper, the same dark carpet. The flatscreen TV and a fishtank seemed to be the only new features.
‘Sit down, love, I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ said Jean, but Jenna didn’t take a place on the plastic-covered chintz sofa.
‘Oh, let me do it,’ said Jenna, realising too late that she had made the cardinal mistake of offending a Bledburner’s sense of independence.
‘No, no, no. I might be ancient but I can manage a kettle, love. Go on with you.’
‘I didn’t mean …’ said Jenna, but Jean flapped a hand and shuffled out to the kitchen, returning minutes later with a tea tray.
‘Two for one at the supermarket, these biscuits,’ she remarked, offering a plate of pink wafers. ‘Your favourite, they were, do you remember?’
Jenna laughed. ‘Jean, I was six.’
‘Ah, you never grow out of pink wafers.’
She took one, mentally crossing that evening’s treat of Greek yogurt with berries off her list. These would cancel them out.
‘So, how are you?’ she asked, pouring her milk. ‘Do you get out much these days?’
‘Down the club for bingo on a Saturday night. There ain’t much else going off. I don’t like to be out after dark these days.’
‘Do you still see your old mates down there? What were they called? Di? And Lynda?’
‘Oh yes, they’re still about. Do you remember Sheila Tarbuck, though? She died, couple of years back.’ Jean leant forward. ‘Suicide,’ she whispered.
‘Oh God, how awful. She had kids, didn’t she? A little bit younger than me?’
‘Little girl, Mia, broke her heart.’
Jenna took a sharp breath and gripped her teacup tight.
‘Mia Tarbuck?’
‘That’s right.’ Jean looked curious. ‘You wouldn’t have known her. She was still a nipper when you went off to London.’
‘No. Sad, though. Does she still live around here? Mia?’
‘Here, there and everywhere. Into the drugs, ooh, terrible. What a shame, she’s a lovely girl. Used to be so pretty. Now she’s into all kinds, got a boyfriend on the run from the police.’ Jean lapsed into tutting.
‘Sounds like it’s all been going off here. Who’s the boyfriend?’
Jean pursed her lips.
‘Kathy Watson’s boy. Bad blood there, mark my words. She weren’t no good, either.’