It wasn’t a complete picture, but Harriet did think she was getting to know Sophie better. So far Sophie was a guilty work-at-home mum with confidence, thrush and possible earwax issues who enjoyed aqua, bedtime chocolate and big penises, but not coconut, candles or loofahs.
When Harriet went out into the garden the next morning, goosebumps popped up on her bare arms. The sun hadn’t yet reached over the tall fence that ran down one side, and most of the patio was still in shade. Harriet nudged her notebook so that it lined up with the bottom edge of Sophie’s glass-topped garden table. The two pens, one black and one blue, she set together beside the notebook. With her thumb she wiped a tiny coffee drip from the side of her mug. Then she rotated it so the handle lined up with the edge of the notebook, and rang her office at exactly 9 a.m. as arranged.
It was the only call she’d make to work. Otherwise there was no point in physically being away if mentally she was still going to be in the office. A short sharp shock of work to the system, and then she’d repack her notebook and pens and be off again for a week.
But first she had to go through all the pleasantries with her colleague, Sam, who saw no irony in telling her that she should get back to her holiday, which only delayed Harriet getting back to her holiday. ‘This is a scheduled call,’ she said, to pre-empt any more time-wasting. ‘As agreed, I’m ringing for an update on my cases and to see if there are any questions to answer.’
‘That’s me told then,’ said Sam. But Harriet knew she wasn’t offended. Sam was one of her eleven-years-and-seven-months friends. ‘But first you have to tell me: how is Rome? Is it sunny? Are you surrounded by gorgeous men?’
‘You’d have to check the forecast to see, but I imagine it’s a little hotter than here. I’m in London.’
‘What happened to Rome?’
‘The ash cloud happened. Sam, don’t you ever watch the news?’
‘You know I get my news off Twitter. Come to think of it, I did see a hashtag. How did you end up in London?’
Harriet wasted more time explaining about the house swap with Sophie.
‘That’s risky. How do you know you can trust them? I wouldn’t give my house keys to strangers.’
‘No kidding, Sam, nor would I. I know the husband already from a charity dinner. It was just a coincidence they were booked on the same flight. He’s a solicitor. Dan Mitchell? The name didn’t ring a bell till he reminded me that we’d met.’
‘Dan Mitchell? Why does that …? Hang on.’
Harriet could hear the handset being put down. ‘Sam? Sam! I haven’t got time for this.’
She heard Sam’s distant voice. ‘Just hang on a sec!’
More scraping. ‘Right, I thought the name sounded familiar. That guy is well dodgy. He was accused of perverting the course of justice a few years ago. Don’t you remember? They said he destroyed some of the evidential statements his client made. I think there were witness-tampering rumours as well. It went to court. It’s all right here on Twitter.’
Rumours and Twitter. ‘Oh, then it must be true.’
‘It is true! Come on, you must remember. They unearthed it all while he was on holiday, when the client told his colleague about the documents. That’s why they make bankers take two weeks straight, you know. It’s hard to hide fraud for two weeks in a row.’
‘He’s not a banker, Sam, he’s a solicitor.’
‘You’re splitting hairs, as usual. It’s the same idea, Harriet, that’s all I mean. Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.’
‘Don’t do that.’ She’d never get off this call.
‘Just so I can read the article. Here. He claimed he’d taken the documents home to work on them. Even though they happened to be only the witness statements and, let’s see …’ She made vague noises, presumably as she read. ‘Yes, here. They happened to be all the ones that would have weakened his client’s defence. He hadn’t logged them into the system, so the prosecution didn’t have access. It was only because he was able to produce them again that he got off. Looks like he got a slap on the wrist, when everyone knows that’s well shady. I’m surprised the firm didn’t fire him after. He must bring in too many fees for them.’
Come to think of it, Harriet did recall reading something. ‘Are you sure it’s the same person? It’s not exactly an uncommon name.’
Sam mentioned Dan’s law firm. ‘It is the same bloke then. I guess he probably won’t be a risk to your house, but everyone still thinks he’s hiding something. Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire.’
As Sam went on to brief Harriet on her cases, Harriet wondered how much about Dan Sophie already knew.
‘I found some shoes,’ she told Sophie when she rang her later. She didn’t mention the other things she’d discovered. ‘In the bathroom cupboard. I put them all in your wardrobe.’
‘Oh those! I’d forgotten. They’re my old work shoes. I should donate them. They just take up space and I’ll never use them.’
Harriet would never question a person’s decision to work outside the home or in it. That was a personal choice that didn’t have a right or wrong answer and wasn’t anyone else’s business anyway. But since Sophie had brought it up, Harriet had wondered. ‘You might go back into an office one day. When the children are older.’
‘They’re ten and thirteen! They’re old enough now. That’s not why I’m not working.’
‘You are working,’ she reminded Sophie. ‘Running the house and volunteering are still work.’
‘In an office I mean, for pay. I found it very stressful.’ Sophie laughed. ‘Now I press clothes and peel eggs and stuff envelopes instead. What’s the worst that can happen? I get a paper cut?’
‘Well, I guess if it was too stressful then I’m not surprised you gave it up.’
Sophie took a moment to reply. ‘Do you know what? It was so long ago now that I’m not sure. I didn’t really notice the strain for the first few years at my job. I was an administrator, so I was crazy busy, and there were always fires to fight. Especially with my boss. But I don’t remember the stress now. I remember liking it.’
‘But you just said that’s why you quit.’
‘I have always said that, so I must have felt it then. Dan noticed it, that’s for sure. He said it made me a different person. Interesting, isn’t it, how one’s point of view changes with time.’
Harriet thought about James. Her view of him had definitely changed lately. ‘Interesting.’
Chapter 14
Friday
As Sophie shoved aside Dan’s sweatshirt and Katie’s pyjamas and two pot lids from Dan’s cooking the other night to clear a little space on the farm table, one of the glasses of water there tipped over. Of course the kitchen roll holder was empty. She mopped it up with Dan’s sweatshirt.
She looked again at the number she’d scrawled on the back of a receipt. Ka-thunk! went her heart. Come on, Soph, it’s only a phone call. Just do it, like those adverts said. She looked at her phone, rehearsing what she was going to say, then tapped in the number.
It kept ringing. She was just about to hang up when a man answered. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, ‘this is Sophie Mitchell. Well, that wouldn’t mean anything to you. I’m staying at Harriet Cooper’s house? I think you’re organising their event?’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’ The man sounded vague. ‘Right.’
‘Well, I just wanted to let you know that some of the things have arrived, the tables and the flowers, and I wondered if you’d like me to do anything special with them. I’ve just put them in the barn for now.’ She was keeping an ear out for more delivery vans. It was already Friday. She remembered back to her and Dan’s wedding, those last few days before – ready or not – all her nearest and dearest turned up expecting a party. There’d been about a million moving parts to think of. Tables and chairs and flowers were only the tip of the iceberg, she knew, even though the fundraiser would probably be a little less complicated than a wedding. No fighting relatives to keep apart on the seating pl
an, for one thing.
‘That’s fine, cheers …’ he said. Sophie had to strain to hear him. The man was nearly whispering. ‘Ta-ra now.’
‘Wait! Will you be, er, coming by to—’ Do your job? she wanted to say. ‘Organise things? Because isn’t it in two days?’
‘That’s right. I’m not sure I can make it, though.’
He made it sound like she was asking for an RSVP. This wasn’t a Regrets Only type situation. ‘Okayyy. Then who is coming?’
‘My mum is in hospital,’ the man said. That explained the whispering. ‘I can’t leave her now.’
Oh dear, she knew that feeling. When her mum had suffered the stroke, Sophie barely left the critical care ward. She was sure the minute she did, her mother would die. She couldn’t let her be alone when that happened. She had to schedule her wees around when Dan or her dad came. Mum couldn’t speak but she knew Sophie was there.
Tears welled in her eyes. What that poor man must be going through. ‘Please don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate right now. Can you get some of your guys here to take care of things?’
‘Honestly, this is my first event. I was going to do it all myself. There’s a lot more to it than I thought. Maybe I’m not cut out for it.’
Was he crying? ‘Well, you got everything ordered at least, didn’t you? Well done, because that’s a big part of it.’ She was desperate to make him feel better. ‘So, all the major stuff is taken care of, I guess. You’ve got food? A caterer or something?’ She prayed he wouldn’t say he’d planned on throwing together a few cheese and tomato sandwiches. ‘And drinks? Not a bar, probably, since they are Scouts. Unless it’s for adults too?’
‘’Tis.’ The man sniffed. ‘It’s a fundraiser. The caterer is taking care of the bar.’
‘Well, you see? That’s not so bad, then. All that’s left is setting up, right?’
‘S’pose. I don’t know what to do.’ The anguish in the man’s voice pulled at Sophie. She wanted so much to ask what was wrong with his mother, but he’d only just stopped crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be sorry, I can help! It’s just setting up the tables and decorations, and … will there be tablecloths or anything?’ The man said those were being delivered with the chairs. ‘It’ll be easy! No problem at all.’ What was she saying? There were who-knew-how-many people turning up in the garden in two days. Since when was she in the event management business? ‘Don’t worry. I can be there to make sure it all goes smoothly.’
It would only be one day out of their holiday. It was the least she could do for someone who might be losing his mother.
‘Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,’ he answered before hanging up.
Right, she could do this. Assuming the planner had really arranged all the deliveries, she could handle each thing as it turned up. And if he’d forgotten something, well, then they’d have to make do.
But first, the flowers. They weren’t going to bouquet themselves.
The sun warmed her face when she stepped outside. Most of the goats were on the grass, bright white against the green. Their bleating conversations mixed with the sound of birdsong. She waved to Oliver and Katie. Marion had let them do a bit of the milking this morning.
The flowers had survived the night, and a few were starting to open. Sophie prised open one of the cardboard boxes and took out a few of the glass jars. That made her smile.
Her best friend growing up had one of those mums who used Kilner jars in real life, not just to keep spare change in like most people. She’d made pickles, chutneys and jams and even lemon curd that she gave away at Christmas. Sophie would have loved having her very own jam-maker in the family, but that kind of homeliness took time that Sophie’s mum didn’t have. Not with the long hours she and Sophie’s dad worked just to make ends meet. Ready meals were called home-made in their house because they needed heating up.
No wonder she’d never learned to cook till she’d had to feed herself at uni.
The flowers hadn’t started releasing their scent yet, but they looked pretty in a mix of gentle colours: dusty rose, yellows and whites, snapdragons, something with loads of petals that she always forgot the name of, miniature bottlebrush fronds and delicate Queen Anne’s Lace. They all looked like they could have come from the nearby fields.
Sophie counted sixty jars. She found a pair of rusting secateurs hanging on the wall inside the barn and worked methodically till each jar was tumbling with blooms. They looked lovely all sitting together on the barn floor.
Standing and stretching, she felt a few vertebrae crack. She had no idea what time it was, but her tummy told her it might be getting close to lunch.
Then she went inside to tell Dan what she was doing. He’d be proud of her.
But the office door was still closed. The kitchen was exactly as she’d left it. He’d been in there for hours.
She crept to the door. She could hear Dan talking to someone on speakerphone. Judging by the soothing tone her husband was using, it must be a client. ‘If you’re not comfortable doing it then that’s fine,’ he was saying, ‘although there’s nothing illegal about talking to him. Gently, I mean, nothing intimidating. It’s up to you, obviously, but it would be useful.’
Another voice said, ‘As long as you’re sure it’s a good idea.’
‘I’m sure,’ Dan confirmed, ‘but I want you to be comfortable. That’s the most important thing. Why don’t you think about it and ring me back? Any time. You know I’m always available.’
Sophie waited a moment before calling to Dan through the door. ‘Sorry, it’s just me. Will you be finishing work soon?’
There was some shuffling before the door opened. ‘Do you miss me?’ He was smiling.
Sophie relaxed. ‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘Come out and be on holiday with me.’
She folded herself into his open arms. The smell of Harriet’s shower gel was unfamiliar, but she really liked it: it reminded her of Christmas and lemons. She’d look for the same kind when they got home. ‘I wish you didn’t have to work.’ She was starting to hate that office of James’s.
‘I’m not working.’
‘Well, you’re in there for hours every day. You must be doing something.’
Dan kissed the top of her head. ‘We don’t all have someone taking care of us, Soph. Besides, this holiday is for you, not me. You’re the one who’s meant to be relaxing.’
‘I like having you with me while I’m relaxing.’ Dan was her favourite person to be around when he was in a good mood.
‘That’s sweet,’ he said. ‘Tell you what. Give me another thirty minutes and then we’ll all do something after lunch. I can look up some options and you pick anything you want. I’ll leave it to you to coax the children out of that barn.’
‘Great, give me the hard job. Thank you,’ she said.
He did appear in the kitchen half an hour later, just as he promised. He reached for his sweatshirt on the table. ‘This is sopping wet.’
‘Is it?’ She was the picture of innocence. ‘Hmm.’
As Sophie started pulling things out of the fridge for lunch, a lorry pulled up in front of the house. ‘Chairs,’ shouted the driver as he hopped down from his cab. She waited for him to give her the order sheet to sign.
At least the main things were there now, she thought. The planner hadn’t done such a bad job. Aside from not turning up, that is. He’d even ordered the Portaloos – something that Sophie wouldn’t have remembered till the first child needed to take unsteady aim at their downstairs loo. The delivery person had driven over the lawn to deposit the tiny cabins, hopefully downwind, near the treeline.
Sophie had her own mini-Glastonbury!
As long as the caterer turned up. She should have asked the planner for those details while she had him on the phone. If his mum took a turn for the worse, he probably wouldn’t answer her call.
She could see stacks of metal chairs inside the cavernous trailer, and rows of fold
ing wooden chairs, which he began to unload. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll take them into the barn for me?’
‘Health and—’
‘Safety, I know. It’s fine. I’ll take them down.’
She didn’t like the look the driver was giving her. ‘Isn’t there a bloke around who could do it?’ he asked.
‘You mean aside from you?’ He didn’t catch the sarcasm. ‘My husband is in the house, but actually, I don’t need a bloke to do it.’ Like she was some weak little woman. She hooked one arm through the backs of three chairs and did the same on the other side. They weighed a ton, but she’d break her back before she’d put any down while he was watching.
Sophie grumbled as she staggered towards the barn. Women could run everything from households to countries, inventing and creating, all while juggling childbirth and careers, partners and finances, yet people like that driver still thought they were the weaker sex. Weak? Hah! Give men one menstrual cycle and they’d change the employment laws to give paid leave for PMS.
Her mind flitted to Dan, but as she dropped the chairs inside the barn, she was already arguing with herself. That was different. Dan wasn’t sexist. He did everything he could for her because he was generous. He might go over the top when she didn’t really need the help, but she wasn’t putting up a fight, either. She was sure she could do more for herself whenever she wanted to. It was just that he’d always wanted to take care of her because he loved doing it. He’d told her that a million times. People like Dan were natural carers. Why wouldn’t she love that?
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 14