Harriet was glad for the retrospective permission. ‘I’ve moved a few things,’ she said, ‘but we can put everything back before we leave.’
‘Oh, don’t bother with that. We’re used to not knowing where anything is.’
Yet another reason for her labelmaker. ‘There’s a lot of food in the fridge,’ said Harriet. ‘Would you like me to check the dates?’
‘The dates? Crikey, no, don’t make more work for yourself. I just throw it away when it smells.’
‘It smells.’
Sophie laughed. ‘Then throw it away. Are you finding everything okay?’
‘Yes, including the snake.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Oh? Yes, I hope that’s not a problem. I guess I think of her like I would a fish. Well, not exactly a fish. Just that she stays in her enclosure most of the time.’
‘What do you mean, most of the time?’
‘You can leave her in the whole time you’re there. Carlos will be in and out to look after her anyway. He knows we’re away an extra week.’
Harriet laughed. ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
She found herself still smiling after she’d hung up. Other than officially for work, she didn’t usually talk to people on the phone. James arranged periodic nights out with Persephone in the village. She had a standing dinner date with Julia and her London friends, always at the same restaurant at the same time on the last Thursday of the quarter. She booked the table on a rolling twelve-month basis. That way nobody wasted time wondering where to go or whether they’d like the menu. Her only other social engagements were the post-work drinks with her colleagues that she said yes to every third time they asked her.
Harriet was studying the online map when James shuffled into the kitchen with the newspaper under his arm. He’d been up at his usual time, even though there probably wasn’t a goat to milk within twenty miles. Harriet woke to find him showered and dressed, with breakfast bought and coffee brewed. ‘Would you rather go to Harrods or the Fortnum & Mason food hall after the museum?’ she asked. ‘Harrods is thirteen minutes’ walk, but there’s a forty per cent chance of rain this afternoon. Fortnum’s is fifteen minutes by Tube. No changes.’
He scanned every headline on the front page before he answered. ‘That sounds like a maths problem from school.’
‘Can you solve it?’
The pages rustled as he folded them to just the article he wanted. For some reason he always did that instead of laying it out on the table. ‘Answer C? I was just at Waitrose. It’s five minutes round the corner.’
Harriet was tempted to remind him how nice that kind of convenience was. ‘I want to get some special treats while we can,’ she said. ‘So, will it be Harrods or Fortnum’s?’
He sauntered to the coffee-maker and took an age to fill his mug. Then he opened the lid on the milk for a sniff. Harriet could count on one hand the number of times in all their years together that the milk had gone off, yet he’d never lost that habit.
Leaning against the worktop, James slurped his coffee. Eventually he said, ‘Why do we have to schedule our schedule to keep to a schedule?’
‘We could spend two weeks staring at each other in the house. Would that be better?’
He sighed. ‘What do you need to get? Waitrose has a lot, you know.’
‘You’re talking to me like I don’t order from Waitrose every single week. I want delicacies, terrines and fresh pasta and delicious cakes. And those crumbly biscuits for cheese.’
‘Maybe some goat’s cheese?’ James ventured.
She stared at him. He must know what a red rag that was to her. ‘You could get some of your own cheese if you’d bothered to take my advice. In fact, you could have picked some up when you got breakfast this morning.’
James closed his eyes. ‘If I’d taken your advice then my cheese would be right next to the Babybel at ASDA. Why can’t you drop it? Haven’t we been over this enough?’ He shook his head.
‘Your crown is crooked, drama queen,’ she said.
‘That award goes to you in this case, dear heart. I didn’t make a big deal of it, remember?’
She wished she could forget. If only she’d never heard of the International Cheese Awards, then this thorn of resentment wouldn’t still be digging into their relationship.
Actually, she shouldn’t wish away the awards, because James took the bronze medal there. She’d been so proud of him for that. And when the Waitrose rep had emailed him, Harriet was sure he’d been talent-spotted. ‘I’m the Spice Girl of the cheese world,’ he’d joked.
His business was on its way, Harriet just knew it. The mail orders were doing well, but Waitrose was huge. James was about to hit the big time.
She’d kept her mobile on her desk at work the day of his meeting (something she never did), waiting for his call after he’d finished.
He rang just after lunchtime. There was a tasting, as she predicted. Everyone said the right things, naturally. Then they broke it to him, right after they’d tucked into two of his favourite cheeses. They loved it. It just needed to be a bit less goaty. James might have won an award for it, and it was delicious. But goaty. Many of their customers preferred a less strong flavour. Could he do that?
‘What did you say?’ Harriet kept her voice measured. She knew her husband. She feared the answer.
‘I asked why not make it a bit less cheesy, too, while I’m at it? I could talk to my goats, maybe, and get them to be less goaty. Then I could spend four months – feeding and keeping the goats, milking, pasteurising, cutting, draining, moulding, ageing and turning the cheeses – to make goat’s cheese that didn’t taste goaty or cheesy. No problem. I’ll call it butter.’
James had burned his butter with Waitrose.
They’d been bickering over it ever since.
‘You know something?’ James said now. ‘I hope I don’t die before you do. You’ll probably etch it on my headstone.’
‘Could have been in Waitrose,’ she said. ‘Instead of Only in Our Hearts.’
‘Never did What was Asked of Him,’ he added. ‘Finally Resting in Peace.’
They smiled at each other.
Chapter 6
Friday
Sophie floated from the massage room in exactly the gelatinous state she’d hoped for when her Italian holiday was still on the cards. Who needed Italy when she had the New You Spa? She hadn’t felt so relaxed in ages, though she was now heartily sorry for all the times she’d made fun of the pampered women in her neighbourhood who swanned around in yoga pants and bragged about their treatments. That’s what people in the know call them: treatments.
Now she was one of those women, using words like treatments. Though she didn’t see herself in yoga pants. She preferred dresses. So did Dan. She hardly ever wore jeans any more. Not like when they’d first met. She cringed to remember her fashion non-sense then.
She didn’t have the right wardrobe to go out with Dan, and there seemed to be no end to the invitations to glamorous events. With each one, she fell deeper in love, and deeper in debt as she tried not to embarrass him at Wimbledon and Royal Ascot (Ladies Day, no less!) and even the famous polo tournaments, where she definitely channelled Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. There was more opera at the giant greenhouse, and even a catered picnic with proper cutlery and real glasses at Glyndebourne. She did need a gown for that. Mum met her in Oxford Street to help her find something.
‘Though I don’t know what’s in style, ballgown-wise,’ Mum said as they made their way to Selfridges. ‘They don’t wear them much down at the pub, but we’ll find something nice. Maybe something you can shorten later if you don’t need it again.’ She must have noticed Sophie’s expression. ‘I just mean that I’ve only worn a long gown once in my life, when I married Dad. How many operas are you going to go to? It’s not really your thing.’
Sophie pulled up short. ‘It is Dan’s thing, though,’ she said, ‘and if we’re going to be together then it’s mine, too. Mum? Do you think I’m
being silly, trying so hard?’
‘What? No, love, why would you say that?’
She watched the shoppers streaming past them. ‘Because I love him so much,’ she murmured. ‘I can hardly believe we’re together, that he wants to do so much for me … That he loves me, too.’
Her mum spun her around on the pavement. ‘Sophie Marie, you listen to me. You’re just as good as him, and of course he loves you because you’re my wonderful girl. I want you to ring me up whenever you need a reminder. Got it?’
‘Got it, Mum. Thanks.’
But Sophie didn’t need reminding when Dan told her constantly. He only wanted what was best for her.
Now, she wondered why she’d never done regular spa sessions before like he’d suggested. She hadn’t minded the pan pipe music or the incense that reminded her of Camden Market or Molly the masseuse’s constant questions, whispered while she thumbed the knots out of Sophie’s back.
She didn’t even care about wearing paper pants in front of Molly. She was paying the young woman to handle her wobbly bits. Well, Dan was paying her.
Not that Sophie minded her figure. She never had, though all of her school friends seemed to be squeezing themselves into skinny jeans (never in a million years would Sophie be caught dead in those) or surviving on cabbage soup and grapefruit juice. She couldn’t be bothered when everything about her was soft and ample and, she thought, quite nice.
Even now, beyond the tautness of youth, she hardly ever looked over her shoulder into the wall mirror at home. Not because she wouldn’t like what she saw. Only because there was no need. She knew exactly how much orange peel was back there. Enough for a citrus and sultana scone, maybe. Definitely not enough for a whole cake.
People often described her as cuddly, just like her mum and gran had been. She’d take that any day over skinny and grumpy. If it meant her thighs stopped moving slightly after she did, then so be it.
‘Shall we book you in for another treatment?’ Molly whispered as they made their way back to the reception desk. Whispering was required here. Molly looked like she whispered outside of work anyway. She was tiny, from her narrow shoulders to her handspan waist to her delicate feet. Her dark eyes were huge in her heart-shaped face. That, and the wisps of pale hair that floated around her head like she’d rubbed it with a balloon, gave her a very otherworldly look.
‘Yes please, for tomorrow. Could I do three o’clock again?’ She hoped Molly would be free. She had amazingly strong hands for such a little woman.
‘I’m sorry, but that time is already taken.’
The teenage receptionist leaned over Molly’s shoulder to check the appointment book. ‘You’re Sophie, right? I’ve already booked you in for tomorrow at three.’
‘Wow, psychic, too!’ Sophie said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I wish. I’d play the lottery. Your husband rang and booked everything ahead.’
How typically thoughtful. ‘Great, a massage a day keeps the doctor away.’
‘Exactly, though it’s not for a massage tomorrow. It’s a lymphatic drainage.’
‘Do my lymphatics need draining?’ That sounded painful.
The receptionist shrugged. ‘I s’pose so.’ She looked at the book again. ‘Then on Monday you’ve got the age defy facial, Tuesday it’s the toning tightener, that’s the seaweed wrap—’
‘It’ll take inches off, you’ll love it!’ Molly said.
Sophie didn’t mention that that wasn’t a priority. It might make Molly think she wasn’t grateful for all this effort.
‘Then Wednesday morning …’ the receptionist went on. ‘I can write them all down if you like.’
‘No, it’s okay, actually,’ said Sophie, ‘surprises will be more fun.’
The sun warmed her face as she walked along the footpath back to the house. Birds chirped and darted around the hedge that ran between the path and the vivid green fields. What were they growing? Not lettuce, but something leafy. If ASDA didn’t label it then she didn’t usually know what it was.
Everyone around here probably knew their apples from their elbows. All this nature was so soothing! She could hear traffic on the other side of the trees, but it was only background noise. All the little birds nearly drowned it out.
She stopped to watch a tractor chugging up and down the rows in a distant field.
Nobody passed her on the path, but she wished they would – a dog walker or child on a pony or even a Lycra-clad runner. She was brimming with the urge to wish someone a cheery afternoon.
Molly must have rubbed loose some extra happy hormones.
But a little of her happy bubble deflated when she reached the house. Katie and Oliver were bickering in the front garden. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Dad won’t let us go to the barns.’ Oliver was close to tears. Sophie’s heart squeezed for him as she glanced around. Dan didn’t like it when he got emotional. ‘He’s banned us. It’s not fair!’ He was trying very hard not to let his lip quiver.
Katie balled her fists on her hips. ‘We weren’t bothering Marion. I hate Dad.’ Wisps of hair had come loose from her plait. They quivered in her anger.
‘If you hate Dad, then why are you arguing with each other instead of him?’
Katie stared at her.
‘Dunno.’ Oliver sniffed.
Sophie felt a prick of annoyance at Dan. ‘Where’s your father?’
‘He’s down there making cheese with Marion. It’s not fair.’
‘You’ve mentioned that,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
She knew that the cheesemaking kitchen was in the barn, but she didn’t know why she was creeping there. She couldn’t hear any voices inside. ‘Hello?’ she called through the closed door.
‘Hang on,’ Marion called back. Then the door opened. Marion was dressed all in white, from her hat to her coat to her shoe coverings. ‘Hi! Do you want to come in? I’ll get you kitted out.’
‘Oh, well, no, that’s okay, we were just …’ Now that she was there, she wasn’t sure what she was doing.
‘Really, it’s fine,’ Marion said. ‘I’m happy to show you.’ She was already pulling more coats off the shelf by the door. She rolled up the sleeves for Oliver, but the hat kept slipping over his eyes. ‘Sorry – we’re out of small ones,’ Marion said, leading them all back into the cheese kitchen. ‘I need to order more. We let the children take them home. For some reason they love the hats.’
Dan grinned at her as she tucked her hair into the hat Marion gave her. He, too, was all in white. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he told her as she shuffled beside him with the children.
She was pretty sure he was teasing but she thanked him anyway. She felt like a great white lump, but Marion managed to look perfectly comfortable despite being dressed like a nuclear scientist. Some people suited uniforms better than others.
‘It’s just about ready for me to add the bacteria culture,’ Marion told everyone as she slowly stirred an oar through the pale-yellow liquid in the big tub.
‘Wow, it’s a very physical process,’ Sophie said. How had she got herself into this cheesemaking lesson? All she wanted to do was go into the house and read her book.
‘’Tis, all the cheeses are made by hand. Saves me going to the gym.’
‘You’re adding good bacteria, aren’t you?’ Katie asked. ‘Not the kind that Dad uses the antibacterial wipes on. He’s not supposed to use them because they end up in the ocean. Plus, they kill the weak bugs, which lets the strong ones get stronger.’ She levelled a look at her father. ‘It’s only our entire future, Dad, but don’t mind us kids.’
Marion buried a smile. ‘Those wipes don’t make any distinction between good and bad bacteria, but no, this isn’t harmful. It’s what helps give the cheese its nice flavour.’
It was almost an hour later before Sophie found a way to politely extract herself with the children.
Katie threw herself into the reading chair in the conservatory. The long summer day bathed them all in sunlight
. ‘That was cool,’ Katie said. ‘I don’t know why Dad didn’t want us there. Mum, did you know that’s how cheese was made?’ But instead of waiting for her mother’s answer (which was no, but still), she said, ‘I bet Dad knew already.’
‘Dad knows everything,’ Oliver added with absolute certainty.
Well, he certainly thinks he does, Sophie thought. ‘I do know some things too, you know.’
‘Like what?’ Katie sounded genuinely surprised by the notion.
‘I know when a thirteen year old is skating on very thin ice.’
But Oliver jumped to Sophie’s defence. ‘Mum knows lots of things. She can bake a cake without looking at the recipe, and make pancakes and … eggs. And she always knows where my book bag is. And she only shrank the clothes that one time when Dad’s new jumper was in it.’
‘I am a bit of a scrambled egg expert.’ Sophie laughed. High praise indeed.
Dan came in not long after them.
‘I should start dinner,’ he said as he reached for her hand. ‘How was your treatment? Though your hand is like jelly, so I can guess.’
‘It was beyond wonderful! So relaxing.’ She hesitated. ‘Thanks for booking more treatments, though I don’t know what half of them are.’
Dan smiled. ‘You’re welcome. Don’t worry, they’re all exactly what you need.’
‘I need a fat wrap?’
Dan looked at her. ‘I thought you’d like that one. You mentioned that you felt a bit puffy.’
Had she? That didn’t sound like her. ‘They’ll all be lovely, thank you.’
As she watched Dan busy himself around the kitchen, pulling out pots, chopping fresh herbs and generally being the perfect partner, Sophie counted her blessings. Dan did know what she needed. He reminded her of that all the time.
‘I’ve got to make a few calls,’ he said. ‘I’ll be quick. Don’t bother with any of this. I’ll put dinner together when I’m finished. You just relax.’ He was staring at his phone as he left for James’s office.
She was glad to leave it. He’d only get cross if she tried to help, anyway. Dan liked to make everything perfect for them. Sophie sank down onto the plush sofa, sighed deeply and closed her eyes. Yes, she counted her blessings.
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 6