by Sharon Owens
‘Can we say what the place cost?’ Arabella asked. ‘Or maybe we shouldn’t mention cost? I don’t want to drop you in it regarding the MPs’ second-home allowance.’
‘No, my darling, it is not my second home,’ Jeremy said sweetly. ‘Do you think I’d have let you in the door today if it were? This is my one and only home, and I paid for it myself. Well, okay, I paid for it with an inheritance, thank you very much. It was £750,000. I can’t deny there’s some old money floating about in the Cavendish family coffers. But that’s not a crime, is it?’
‘Not at all,’ Arabella assented. ‘I wish some dear old aunt would pop her clogs and leave me a load of money.’
‘Indeed,’ Jeremy smiled, pouring more coffee.
‘At least I’ve invested my windfall in property and helped the economy,’ Jeremy added. ‘I could have nipped off to the Bahamas with it and left dear old Britain behind. This place hasn’t warmed up in years.’
‘That’s true,’ Emily admitted.
‘I’m almost afraid to ask this question, but do you think you’ll be PM some day?’ Arabella said, patting some chocolate sauce from her crimson lips with a paper napkin.
‘We will, of course,’ Jeremy said confidently. ‘I have no doubt of it. And then we shall set about making this country great again.’
‘So do you think we should focus on politics with this feature, or on your forthcoming happy union with Julian?’ Arabella wanted to know.
‘Both,’ Jeremy replied at once. ‘I think it’s time to put this country back on the map – both as a centre of art and culture, and as a country that respects committed relationships of all kinds.’
‘Bravo! Hear, hear,’ Julian said happily. ‘Let me show you the bedrooms, and then we can round off the tour with the sitting room, the study and the TV den.’
Arabella and Emily were out of their seats in a heartbeat.
‘Our bed is a reproduction four-poster, and it has twenty-eight pillows and cushions on it,’ Julian said proudly. ‘It takes half an hour each morning to make the bed. We had to sleep in the guest bedroom last night, because I knew there wouldn’t be time to stage our room for your visit.’
Oh boy, Emily thought to herself as the four of them went prancing up the stairs. This is going to be good.
And it was.
She got a super picture of the two men sitting rigidly on the bed together, holding hands but staring straight ahead like something from an art-house film.
Arabella was positively giddy for the rest of the day. She bought everyone in the office a box of luxury chocolates, and took them all to PizzaExpress for supper. She even gave Jane Maxwell a hug, and told her she was doing great work as a stylist.
‘Emily,’ Arabella said triumphantly to Emily in the taxi home that night, ‘we have arrived.’
‘We have?’
‘Yes. Not only will I be putting Jeremy and Julian and their bed on the next front cover of Stylish Living, I will also be relaunching the magazine as a truly upmarket celebrity style bible.’
‘Are you sure about that? What if we can’t find a celebrity for every issue?’
‘Are you serious? They’ll be queuing up to be in it. I’m sure Jane will be able to get us lots of big names now she’s partying with Doug and his pals. We might even go global, start shipping issues abroad. We’ll get more advertising, and you and I can go on junkets to Nantucket and Moscow. Oh, Emily, this is going to be huge.’
‘Welcome back to the wonderful world of Stylish Living,’ Emily said dryly.
But Arabella just threw back her head and laughed until the tears were running down her face.
22. House-hunting
It was the 23rd of December. Emily and Dylan were lying in bed together. They’d been in bed all day. There were two duvets on the bed as well as a fake fur throw. They were both wearing paisley flannelette pyjamas (as a joke) and they were still slightly cold. They’d been watching old Miss Marple DVDs on the portable TV, dozing occasionally, making love, and drinking cups of hot chocolate to keep warm. Although it was still early in the evening, it was already pitch dark. The sky outside the bedroom window was the mottled silvery colour of black grapes. It looked as if it might snow again too. Emily said if it didn’t stop snowing soon, she was going to move to the North Pole and be done with it. At least that way she could finally bid farewell to hope and just resign herself to everlasting icicles and chilblains. It seemed as if one fall of snow had only just been swept away, or melted into slush, when it was replaced with another layer. They could hear some partygoers in the next building, raucously singing all of Slade’s greatest hits. Neither of them had done a single bit of Christmas shopping.
‘Are your parents coming over for Christmas dinner?’ Dylan asked.
‘Yes, I asked them yesterday,’ Emily said. ‘Get ready for the time of your life, kiddo.’
‘Come on, it’ll be lovely.’
‘Yes, you’re quite right. And I’m going to be nice to them from the minute they walk in the door until the minute they leave. If my mum says the turkey is dry, I’ll offer her more gravy. And if my dad says there’s nothing good on the telly, I’ll invite him to tell us riveting tales about Christmas past. You know, when they got a satsuma and a walnut in their stockings, and they had to walk fifty miles to church, wearing a coat made from a wheat sack and shoes lined with old newspapers.’
‘He probably isn’t exaggerating about the shoes. Listen, good for you for asking them for dinner. And I’ll do the washing-up.’
‘You’re a living saint, do you know that? I invited Arabella too, but she’s going away to some hotel spa in Spain for a couple of days of pampering. I told her she was a lucky thing, but I get the feeling she might be a bit lonely there.’
‘Maybe. But she can always come home, if she is. Why don’t we go late-night shopping this evening, and get your mum and dad a whole bunch of nice little things?’ Dylan suggested.
‘Like what?’ Emily asked nervously. She didn’t want to remind Dylan she was counting the pennies these days. Everything in the fridge was a 2-for-1 from the supermarket. Every time she looked in there, she thought she was seeing double.
‘Well, like scarves, gloves, chocolates, biscuits, socks, soap, shower gel, coffee, books, jams, wallets and slippers for a start?’
‘Steady on, I’m hardly Simon Cowell,’ she joked.
‘I know, but we could go to BHS and Primark and Tesco … and get loads of stuff. We could wrap lots of little things, and pile them up on the dining table on Christmas Day.’
‘Have you been reading my old magazines?’ Emily laughed. ‘Christmas Style on a Shoestring Budget.’
‘Maybe I have,’ he admitted shyly, ‘when you were having a bath last night.’
‘What did you get for your family, by the way?’ Emily said, sitting up and reaching for her dressing gown.
‘Vouchers – I just get a load of vouchers every year and give them to Mum. She slips them into her own Christmas cards, and adds a note that the vouchers are from me. Actually, I don’t even buy the vouchers myself; I give Mum the cash and she buys them.’
‘You lazy sod,’ Emily scolded him.
‘I know. But it’s what my sisters want, trust me. They all have children and mortgages, so they’d rather have vouchers than scented candles.’
‘Fair enough. So will we hit the shops tonight, then?’ Emily asked.
‘Yeah, might as well – it’ll only get worse on Christmas Eve,’ Dylan yawned.
‘Okay, I’ll jump in the shower,’ Emily said, getting out of bed.
‘I’ll make breakfast,’ Dylan offered. ‘Or should that be supper? You’ve made me lose track of time, you temptress.’
‘Dylan, what would you like for Christmas?’ Emily said suddenly.
‘Oh, nothing much. A kiss under the mistletoe with my true love would be more than enough for me.’
‘Seriously; stop larking about for a second. What would you like? It’s our first Christmas together. So ev
en though I’m not exactly minted at the moment, I’d like to buy you a nice gift.’
‘Do you want me to tell you the truth?’ he said quietly.
‘Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Right, then – you asked for this. I’d like us to move in together.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yes, big wow,’ he laughed. ‘What do you say?’
‘You mean, you’d move in here – to this flat?’ she asked, looking around the room. ‘I suppose it could work. The wardrobe is empty now, so there’d be room for your things.’
‘Don’t get too carried away, will you?’ Dylan teased, pulling her back on to the bed and kissing her tenderly. ‘There’s a lot more to moving in together than a roomy wardrobe, you know.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just taken me by surprise a bit,’ she laughed.
‘Why don’t we get the shopping done, and then drive around the city checking out affordable neighbourhoods? If we find a nice area, we could park the car and just walk around looking at all the Christmas trees in the windows. I always think you can tell that a place has a good sense of community, if it has lots of Christmas trees. Or is that an old-fashioned thing to say?’
‘It’s a bit old-fashioned, yes. But more important than that, it’s freezing outside.’
‘It might be nice to move house – or even buy a house – around Christmas time, though,’ he replied. ‘And it’s a buyer’s market at this time of the year, because nobody is really looking. And none of the sellers are expecting an offer, so they might accept a bit less than the asking price.’
‘You soppy old romantic,’ she teased him, suddenly filled with Christmas joy.
‘That’s my girl. So will we go house-hunting, then?’
‘Yes! Oh, wait a minute … I owe the bank my wages for the next ten years, and you’re doing unpaid work for Sylvia. How are we going to pay the rent, or the mortgage? Say we did find anything remotely decent and halfway affordable?’
‘I’m going back to work,’ Dylan said then.
‘You mean, you’re going back to banking?’ Emily asked, puzzled.
‘No, I’m going to apply for something in accounting. I can do that as well as banking. It’s a bit boring, but it pays well enough. And it doesn’t have the same terrible stigma as banking.’
‘An accountant … When did this happen?’ Emily said excitedly.
She had a sudden vision of Peter Diamond, sitting in his lovely office in the Doll’s House while his wife cleaned and dusted and mopped and vacuumed her days away.
‘You never told me you were thinking of going back to work.’
‘I just decided last night,’ he told her lovingly. ‘When you were sleeping last night I just lay awake thinking about my future, and I realized I can’t see a happy future for myself without you in it. And why should we bother with a ten-year courtship if we know already that we’re meant to be?’
‘Oh well, now,’ Emily said, moved to tears by such a tender revelation.
‘So what do you think? Do you fancy a duplex, a semi, a loft, a new-build, a cottage, a mews, a tower block or a warehouse?’
‘I’d like a small, cosy Victorian terraced house, with white window frames, sills deep enough to carry window boxes, and a dark green door. And a tiny patio garden out the back where I could grow daffodils and red tulips in reclaimed chimney pots. And I’d like the sitting room to have deep alcoves on either side of the fireplace where I could have built-in bookcases. And I’d like a kitchen with open shelving, so I could display lots of crockery and storage jars instead of hiding them all away in cupboards. And I’d like it to have room for a tumble dryer, so I never have to go to work in damp socks ever again. And I’d like the house to be near the Tube station, so I can take the train to work – if the traffic gets any worse than it is already. And I’d like it to be near a deli, because I’d love to be able to say, I’m just nipping out to the deli for a baguette and some Swiss cheese, but I won’t be long.’
‘How delightfully specific; I can tell you’ve given this subject plenty of thought already. And I think I know several streets that might fit the bill. I used to read the property pages during my lunch break at work.’
‘Why did you never buy a house before this?’ Emily asked him. ‘If you were in such a good job, it would have been better to buy than to rent, surely?’
‘I knew there’d be a massive slump, that’s why,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I’m the only one from my old office who hasn’t got at least forty per cent negative equity nowadays. Bless them; why did they ever think a terraced house was worth two million quid? I just knew it wouldn’t last.’
‘My, you’re the clever one,’ Emily said, nodding her head in admiration.
‘Mind you don’t tell anyone,’ Dylan laughed. ‘I like to portray myself as a rather endearing idiot.’
‘In your dreams … This is so exciting,’ Emily cried. ‘Let’s go right now! We can always do the shopping tomorrow.’
‘Hooray!’ Dylan laughed. ‘Yeah, let’s go now. And we can pick up a couple of bacon rolls at some coffee shop.’
Three hours later, Emily and Dylan stood arm-in-arm in front of their dream house. It was exactly as Emily had described it to Dylan – right down to the window boxes planted with winter flowers, and the dark green front door.
‘How did you know?’ she said breathlessly.
‘I didn’t. I just thought I remembered there were some Victorian terraces around here, that’s all.’
‘It’s my dream house,’ Emily said, pointing at the yellow-coloured brickwork. ‘There’s the date set above the bay window, look.’
‘And there’s lots of lovely big Christmas trees in this street too,’ Dylan added, ‘which means there’s lots of young families around here.’
‘Pity the house we want isn’t for sale,’ Emily said sadly.
‘Not to worry,’ Dylan told her, pulling a notebook and pen out of his pocket.
‘What are you going to do? Make them an offer?’ Emily asked him.
‘Might as well, if it’s really the house you want. I’ll not make an offer just yet; I’ll just tell them we’re interested, yeah? Give both parties a chance to do some thinking and look at current market prices for this neighbourhood. I also need to get a job.’
‘Oh, Dylan, I can hardly believe it,’ Emily cried, throwing her arms around his neck.
‘It’s pretty normal stuff – getting a job and buying a house,’ he laughed.
‘I know it is, but I never thought it would happen to me,’ she said. ‘Most of my friends in the office have given up on ever owning their own places.’
‘Ah, but they aren’t dating a financial whiz kid, are they?’
‘No! Lucky old me …’
Just then the front door of the house opened, and a little old lady in a purple tweed coat came teetering down the steps, complaining bitterly to herself about the cold. Suddenly, as Emily and Dylan made to walk away, the elderly woman slipped on a patch of invisible ice and almost lost her balance. She clung on to the garden wall for support and dropped the paper bag she was carrying. Half a dozen cherry scones tumbled out of the bag and rolled in all directions.
‘Bugger it and bollocks,’ she cried. ‘All blinking afternoon it took me to make those things. Damn this winter to the pit of hell.’
‘Are you all right?’ Emily asked, rushing over to help.
‘Wretched winter,’ the woman said crossly. ‘I was taking some home-made scones over to my friend Ida. She lives on the other side of the street.’
‘Shall we walk you across?’ Dylan asked her. ‘Or would you rather we brought the parcel for you?’
‘I shouldn’t tell you my business,’ the old woman said carefully, ‘but I like the look of you, so I will. My pal Ida is going into a residential home tomorrow, and I’m really going to miss her. The home is miles away, so visiting will be a real problem for me. But Ida’s not able to manage on her own any more, and that lazy daughter of hers can’t be
bothered coming round every day. No, she’d rather go ballroom dancing with that idiot lover of hers. Nobody cares about old people any more. Well, I do. So even though it’s late, and perishing cold to boot, I wanted to sit with Ida for a while.’
‘Come on, then,’ Dylan said, proffering his arm. ‘Lead the way. I’m Dylan, and this is Emily. We were just doing a bit of house-hunting.’
‘And I’m Enid. Oh, this one is good-looking, isn’t he?’ the lady said brightly. ‘If I were fifty years younger, I’d give you a good run for your money, young Dylan.’
‘I bet you would,’ Dylan said, winking at her.
‘So are you looking to buy in this area?’ Enid asked as they made their way slowly to Ida’s house. ‘This is a good, quiet neighbourhood. But we don’t get a lot of interest from young people like yourselves, as there’s not a lot of off-street parking. Most young ones can’t walk to the corner shop.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think of parking,’ Emily said, glancing round.
‘I’ve got a good-sized garden round the back that could be converted into two spaces,’ Enid said brightly. ‘Say you used those porous bricks?’
‘How do you know about porous bricks?’ Dylan laughed.
‘My late husband was a landscape gardener,’ Enid told him sharply. ‘So I know all there is to know about porous bricks, thank you very much. I might be on the wrong side of eighty, but I’ve still got all my marbles.’
‘Sorry, Enid,’ Dylan said contritely.
‘So how much are you looking to spend?’ Enid asked them.
‘Do you mean on a house?’ Emily said.
‘Yes, on a house. I don’t need to know what you spend on groceries, do I?’ Enid quipped.
‘No, of course not, silly me. Well, let me see. As far as our budget goes … well, that depends,’ Emily smiled.
‘What on?’
‘Lots of things: the decor and the fittings, and so on,’ Emily faltered.
‘I might be putting my place on the market one of these days,’ Enid said suddenly.
‘Are you really?’ Dylan and Emily asked in unison.
‘Yes. I don’t think I can let Ida go into that home by herself; you hear all sorts about residential homes these days. Corners being cut and rough types hired. They’ll give anybody a uniform – or so it seems – and do the checks whenever they get round to it. Country’s gone to the dogs, and no mistake. It looks a nice enough place. I’m not saying it doesn’t look nice, but I can’t help worrying about poor Ida.’