I stomped downstairs, the good humour I’d generated at the success of India’s party now totally evaporated, and went in search of the others. India had taken root on the sitting-room sofa with Sylvia, both engrossed in one of the new DVDs she’d been given as a birthday present. Diana, my mother-in-law informed me, had taken my parents home.
‘Granny Keturah was over in Granny Sylvia’s flat, looking for Patricia,’ India said, through a mouthful of birthday chocolate, without once looking up from the television screen. ‘She seemed a bit strange. Who’s Patricia?’
Oh my God. Of course! Amanda and Mum, together, in the same house. Had Amanda been introduced to anyone at the party? I doubted it. Too eager to get her mitts on Nick to be interested in overexcited kids and wandering Grannies. I bet she’d snuck up my stairs, revelling in the fact that she was going to get my husband to herself. Meeting my mother for the first time wouldn’t have caused Amanda any worries – I still wasn’t convinced she was aware that I was John’s sister. Mind you, I suppose even if Mum was still in possession of all her marbles – and after yesterday’s little episode I feared she no longer was – there was no reason why Mum would associate Mandy Henderson, Nick’s new boss’s wife, with Amanda Goodners. She’d never met her, after all.
‘Patricia, Mum? Who’s Patricia?’, India insisted, as I had an awful vision of Mum, armed with the cheese and pineapple hedgehog or whatever weapon came to hand, stalking Amanda through the house as she sought a final revenge for what Amanda had done to John.
‘Oh just someone she used to know, years ago,’ I said, too brightly, as Sylvia looked at me, eyebrows raised. ‘Where’s Grace?’
‘Gone for a ride on a motorbike,’ said India.
‘A motorbike? Whose motorbike?’
‘A very attractive young man’s motorbike,’ Sylvia laughed. ‘If this arthritis in my knee hadn’t stopped me riding pillion, I’d have been up there in the queue waiting my turn. I think he must belong to that delightful young woman who is helping Nick with his computer. She is a poppet isn’t she?’
‘Isn’t she just?’ I said with a saccharine smile.
‘She brought me this.’ India, momentarily distracted from the screen and chocolate, fished down the side of the sofa, bringing up the most divine, midnight-blue jacket I’d ever seen. ‘It’s from Italy,’ India crowed proudly. ‘And there’s a scarf and hat to go with it.’
So, not content with seducing adults, she was now bewitching vulnerable grannies and defenceless children.
And what the hell was Enrique Iglesias doing here? What was it with these Hendersons? Didn’t they have a fucking home to go to?
I made my way to the kitchen where the sad remnants of the party feast stared balefully up at me from under, as well as on, the table. Half-eaten sandwiches – the Queen would surely have insisted her guests eat up their crusts – curled up in protest at their relinquishment, lay wantonly abandoned. Even Bones, always an indiscriminate and insatiable forager of food, had turned his nose up at the remains of the potted-meat sandwiches and was making his way disdainfully out of the room, tail held stiffly aloft, in search of something more to his liking.
Sweeping the whole mess into a black bin liner, I made my way to the freezer in search of pizza. While fourteen-year-old boys are probably no more discriminating in their eating preferences than Bones, I accepted that I really could not serve Kit’s friends a birthday tea of leftovers.
I felt tired and defeated. Everyone seemed to be having a lot more fun than me. I was just chief-cook and bottle-washer while everyone else seemed to be getting on with their lives. Most of all I hated the waspish and petulant person I seemed to be turning in to. I was never like this before Amanda had arrived back in my life.
‘Who’s the dude on the bike?’ Kit asked as he came into the kitchen followed by the five boys he’d invited over to help celebrate his birthday.
‘Mandy Henderson’s son, Sebastian. He must have come to pick up his mother.’
‘Well he’s obviously changed his mind and picked up Grace first. As in picked up,’ Kit tittered, to the accompaniment of sniggering adolescents. ‘And that Mandy’s a bit fit. I wouldn’t trust Dad upstairs with her if I were you.’ More guffaws from the hormonally saturated five.
‘Pizza alright for you lot?’ I asked. ‘Or would a bucket of cold water suffice?’
‘Can we eat it in the new shed? Sort of camp out?’ asked Kit. ‘We can take some music and torches down there and be out of your way. There are some new batteries somewhere that I can put into the CD player.’
Now that was tempting. ‘I don’t see why not,’ I said, ‘but you’ll need something warm on. There’s no heating down there, you know. Give me ten minutes to sort some food out for you.’
‘Have you any idea where the binoculars are?’ asked Kit as the boys left the kitchen in search of drinks.
‘Binoculars?’ I asked, surprised. ‘What on earth do you want binoculars for?’
Kit hesitated for just a fraction before saying smoothly, ‘I think I saw a heron the other day. I’d like to see it close up if it comes back into the garden.’
‘Since when have you been interested in birds?’ I asked in amazement. More explosive laughter drifted out from the utility room where the boys were filling a Sainsbury’s bag with coke and crisps.
‘Since Bella Sinclair started going on our bus,’ sniggered Tom Prestcott. Tom had been at school with Kit since infant days and, while friendships came and went, Tom and Kit seemed fairly constant in their regard for one another.
‘Since I saw the heron a couple of days ago,’ Kit retorted with some dignity. ‘I believe this is going to my new hobby. I might even spend half term researching birds.’
‘Well, it doesn’t look as if you’ll have to visit the library to find books,’ I sniffed, indicating with a nod the copy of ‘Nuts’ that was poking out of the back pocket of Tom’s over-long jeans and resting artistically on the waist band of his (clearly new) Calvin Klein boxers.
‘So where do you think the binoculars might be?’ Kit asked again, amidst the ensuing laughter.
‘Bottom of my wardrobe, I think. I’ll get them for you.’
Was it my imagination or were Nick and Amanda now sitting even closer together than before? I couldn’t quite make out where Amanda’s blue denim shirt ended and Nick’s started. For a mad second I contemplated leaping in between them, grabbing Nick and shouting, ‘Mine, I think you’ll find, Amanda!’
Instead, I retrieved the binoculars from their usual habitat amongst my shoes, quickly painted on a layer of bright-red lipstick and sailed past them back to the waiting boys.
Chapter 14
‘Hi, Harriet. Good to meet you again.’ Sebastian Henderson extended a leather-clad hand and grinned down at me as I manoeuvred myself out from under the kitchen table after spotting and retrieving the rather sorry-looking pineapple and cheese hedgehog. It had obviously made a final bid for freedom while we were all out in the garden, and wedged itself, rather squashily, against a chair leg. Reversing has never been my strong point and I’d managed to somehow entangle Sebastian’s foot beneath my bottom. Emerging puce-faced from my exertions on all fours, I marvelled anew at the sheer beauty of this twenty-three-year-old. While he may have had his father’s colouring, there was no doubt who his mother was: Amanda’s high cheekbones and large, almond eyes were uncannily reflected in Sebastian’s own features.
‘Fabulous house you’ve got here,’ he said, gazing round.
‘Needs a huge amount of work doing on it, I’m afraid,’ I sighed, seeing the shabbiness of the kitchen as if for the first time through a newcomer’s eyes.
‘And your garden has so much potential,’ he went on, moving over to the window and taking in the view down the garden and to the farmland beyond. Now late October, the nights were drawing in but the farms and tiny cottages down the valley were still visible as were the wreaths of wood smoke ascending silently from the chimneys silhouetted greyly against the tr
ees.
‘Time. We just haven’t got the time to do what is needed,’ I said wistfully, joining Sebastian at the window. My little plot, its newly turned dark earth making it stand out in that part of the garden, seemed to gaze back reproachfully, demanding more attention than I was able, because of all my other commitments, to give to it.
‘I’d love to get my hands on that banking down there.’ Sebastian nodded towards a neglected piece of garden that had lain, untouched, certainly since we moved in about ten years ago. It had probably been ignored even by its previous owners, an elderly couple who, realising the amount of work that needed doing to both the house and garden after years of neglect, were happy to downsize to a new-build semi near their son in Sussex.
‘Help yourself,’ I laughed. ‘It’s all yours.’
‘Really?’
I glanced curiously at Sebastian. He seemed animated. Why would this gorgeous, bright young man who was about to launch himself into the world of the law want to spend time digging my garden?
‘You’d really come and tackle that bit of wilderness out there?’ I asked. ‘I thought you were back from New Zealand to start law college?’
‘Well, yes I am, but the course doesn’t start until January. I really intended staying out in Christchurch until Christmas and then coming back ready to move to London in January, but then I got a bit fed up with sheep – they’re pretty boring creatures – and decided to have a couple of months at home.’
Hmm. Sheep, my Aunt Fanny! I bet there was some female out there who he was a bit fed up with. Some poor girl who was saving up her pennies and poring over maps of England, planning her trip to see her errant lover.
‘I’ve realised I really like being out in the fresh air – I’ve felt a bit cooped up since I got home – so I’d be more than happy to attack that banking of yours.’
‘Well it’s all yours, but I’m afraid I can’t pay you anything for doing it,’ I said, embarrassed at having to reveal my lack of funds, but knowing I had to lay my cards on the table now rather than in a few weeks when Sebastian might expect a wage packet.
Sebastian looked put out. ‘I don’t want any money. I’m more than happy to be out in the fresh air rather than at home kicking my heels until January. I’ll go and have a quick look at the garden on my way out and then start on it this week if that’s OK with you. Is Mum ready to go?’ He raised an enquiring eyebrow at me as he turned finally from his gaze over the garden. With a pang, I realised that Amanda and Nick must still be ensconced together over the laptop.
‘I’ll go and give her a shout. Tell her you want to be off,’ I said, throwing the balding hedgehog into the overflowing black rubbish bag. ‘Where’s Grace, by the way? Did you drop her off at home?’
‘Yes.’
Nothing more. No explanation as to why Grace had abandoned her god-daughter’s birthday party without saying goodbye. There would have to be some serious phone calling to do later on this evening.
‘Hi, my darling. Are you waiting for me?’ Amanda breezed into the kitchen, totally unfazed by the fact that she’d been virtually wrapped round my husband all afternoon. Nick, following in her wake and conscious of my present mood, was not quite as self-assured and was steadfastly refusing to meet my eye.
‘Sebastian has offered to come and work in my garden,’ I said pointedly, putting emphasis on the word my. ‘Isn’t that great of him?’
For a split second, Amanda’s navy eyes narrowed slightly and then her composure returned. ‘You keep him occupied and out of trouble, Harriet,’ she trilled condescendingly. ‘He needs something to do before he goes to London in the New Year. A bit of digging will be great. Right, Sebastian, do you have the spare helmet? I’ll just pop next door and say my goodbyes to Sylvia. What a lovely lady she is. We’ve had such a chat this afternoon. She knows the Henderson-Smythes, from Epsom – Penelope was my mother’s bridesmaid. You are so lucky to have such a saint on hand twenty-four hours a day, Harriet. I’ll be in touch, Nicky.’
And with that she was off – game, set and bloody match to Mandy. Sebastian, grinning widely at my obviously dropped jaw, kissed me lightly on the cheek and went to start up his bike.
‘I’ll go and open a bottle of wine, shall I?’ Nick said, hastily backing out of the kitchen.
‘You’ll be lucky,’ I shouted, as he began to search in vain through the various cupboards in the utility room. ‘We drank the last bottle a couple of days ago.’
‘We always have a bottle somewhere,’ Nick shouted back.
‘Not any more. Can’t afford it. I think there’s a bottle of Dad’s home-made rhubarb wine that’s been hanging about for a few years. Should have quite a kick to it by now.’
Nick came back into the kitchen. ‘You trying to make a point here?’ he asked.
‘A point?’
‘Yes. A point.’
‘And the point being?’
‘That now I’m working for myself we haven’t a bean?’
‘We haven’t. Not even a tin of baked beans. Kit ate the last one as a snack before he went to bed last night.’
‘Shall I pop down to the Co-op? It should be still open shouldn’t it?’
‘Well, you can, but spending money on wine isn’t a good idea when we’re broke, you know. India had my last pound to buy a poppy.’ I knew I was being a dog in the manger but Amanda’s presence plus the after-effects of midday drinking had made me irritable.
‘Poppies already? We haven’t had Bonfire Night yet have we?’ Nick smirked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, before adding, ‘Oops, of course. Had that a couple of Saturdays ago, I believe.’
‘Oh, we are a wit, aren’t we?’ I had a sudden urge to kick Nick’s shins.
‘I really could do with a drink,’ Nick went on, looking round as if hoping a bottle would magically materialise in front of him. ‘I spent all my ready cash on things for the party yesterday. Come on, Hat. You’re being very overdramatic, you know. We’re not that broke. Hasn’t India had any birthday money? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind subbing her poor old dad with a fiver until I can get to the hole in the wall in the morning.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said, petulantly. ‘And don’t go begging to your mother either. And how long have you been having an affair with Amanda Goodners?’
My God, where did that come from?
‘Amanda Goodners? Who the hell’s Amanda Goodners? Oh Mandy! Mandy? What sort of question is that?’
‘An uncomfortably direct one going by your reaction to it,’ I said, suddenly feeling curiously detached. Maybe the word was defeated.
‘I shall treat that with the contempt it deserves, Harriet. For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter with you? When have I had time to have an affair? Lighten up, can’t you? This whole thing with Mandy, you and Grace and now your brother is really beginning to wind me up. Just leave the poor woman alone, will you? Now, I’m going to find, by whatever means it takes, enough cash to buy myself – yes myself, Harriet – a bottle of wine from the Co-op. I’m then going to lay down on the sofa and drink it all and get very drunk.’ And with that he made his exit.
‘I know my Shakespeare,’ I yelled after him. ‘I know ‘Macbeth’. “Methinks he doth protesteth too much.”’
India decided she wanted to spend what was left of her birthday with Bertie, so Sylvia said she would put up the camp bed in her little sitting room and India could bunk down there for the night.
‘I’m going on a sleepover,’ she announced. ‘I need to pack my bag.’
‘I’m off as well, Mum,’ Liberty said, poking her head around the kitchen door.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, surprised. My whole family seemed to be deserting me.
‘I told you. I’m off to Beth’s. Her dad is dropping us off at the cinema, and then I’m staying over. He’s here now.’
Had she told me? I really couldn’t remember. ‘Well, have you got your toothbrush and some clean pants? And don’t forget: ‘May I?’ and ‘Please’ an
d ‘Thank you.’ Oh, and make sure you eat all your crusts.’
‘Mum, I’m not five years old,’ Liberty sighed as Beth giggled from the other side of the kitchen door.
‘Have you got some money?’ I asked, praying that she wasn’t after a sub too.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Westmoreland,’ Beth called. ‘Dad’s treating us. We’ll have to go or we’ll miss the start of the movie. My mum says she’ll bring Libby home tomorrow.’
Well, thank heavens for Bethany’s father. I really would have had to raid India’s piggy bank if Liberty had demanded money for the cinema. This was getting silly. When was payday? Was I going to have to go to one of those loan sharks and then spend the rest of my life hiding behind the front door, sending India to tell the man on the doorstep that Mummy wasn’t home right now? Or could I make enough to keep the wolf from the door by putting my fake Mulberry Bayswater handbag back for sale on eBay pretending it was genuine? Or was that fraud? My head was beginning to spin. Perhaps I needed another drink or to talk to Grace. Or both.
I decided I definitely needed both. I unearthed Dad’s rhubarb wine from the cellar, poured myself a large glass and, ignoring Nick who had just walked past me to the sitting room, a plastic Co-op carrier bag in tow, dialled Grace’s number.
‘You went without saying goodbye,’ I said, as she picked up the phone.
‘I had the chance of a lift home, and seeing as I’d drunk almost a bottle of champagne it was either that or your spare room.’ Grace sounded defensive.
‘You sound defensive,’ I said, grimacing slightly as the rhubarb wine hit the back of my throat.
‘Defensive? Why should I be defensive?’
‘Ah ha! Macbeth again.’
Goodness, Grace and Me Page 18