The Home for Broken Hearts

by Rowan Coleman

  CHAPTER

  Four

  Charlie eyed Sabine across the dining-room table, where she sat eating a bacon sandwich that she had made herself. Sabine had asked Ellen when she might be allowed access to the kitchen, and Ellen, realizing that she hadn’t given catering or kitchen arrangements a moment’s thought, had told her to use the kitchen whenever she liked. Sabine had gone out for an hour, returned with several Sainsbury’s bags, and then had politely asked Ellen if she might have a shelf in the fridge, one near the top would be preferable.

  “It will save on labeling,” Sabine explained, although Ellen had no idea what she meant.

  “Useful to have a big supermarket so close,” Sabine remarked as she munched on her sandwich.

  “I suppose it is.” Ellen smiled. “Although I must admit I get all my groceries delivered, once a week. I read that it’s greener, because the delivery van has less of a carbon footprint or something. Besides, I don’t drive.”

  “You never learned to drive?” Sabine asked.

  “Oh, I learned, it’s just that living in London you don’t really need to, and since Charlie was born I sort of lost my confidence. I prefer not to drive, I should have said.”

  “You still keep Dad’s car insured, though,” Charlie said, arriving home from school, his hair tousled, his uniform Friday dirty. Normally, all that would greet him would be his mum, sitting at the kitchen table, up to her elbows in some book or other, but now he was greeted by a German blonde sitting in his usual chair. He had known that the first lodger was coming today. Ellen had discussed or at least attempted to discuss with him at length what he thought about the idea on the same day Hannah had suggested it, but Charlie had simply shrugged. “Yeah, okay then,” he’d said. Ellen had been nonplussed.

  “Well, hang on a minute, Charlie—let’s think about this. It would mean a really big change, a house full of people—not just us here anymore.”

  “I know.” Charlie had nodded.

  “And you don’t mind that?” Ellen had asked, wondering if she should feel put out that he was quite so relaxed about the end of their quiet little family.

  Charlie had tipped his head to one side. “Mum, you really don’t want to leave this house, do you?”

  “Well, no—but you don’t either… do you?”

  Charlie had looked thoughtful. “The point is, you don’t want to leave, you can’t leave. You need to be here, and I know you think I don’t know anything that’s going on, but I know that money is tight, I know we need to make some. So we get in lodgers, it’s fine.”

  “But are you happy about it?” Ellen had pressed.

  “I’m happy!” Charlie had exclaimed, grabbing a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. “Besides, Aunt Hannah says it’s a good idea.”

  “Oh, she did, did she? Well, that makes it okay then.” Ellen had never voiced how irritating she found the private joke that Charlie and Hannah had shared, ever since he was three years old, of only ever addressing each other formally, or that it drove her mad that Charlie was so interested in every word Hannah said, that he respected her lifestyle and her career and the travel and material prizes that her work brought her, while he increasingly treated Ellen like she was the one who needed looking after. Before, Nick’s word had been law; if he said something was good, bad, or indifferent, then Charlie agreed with him. Now it was Hannah’s word he trusted, and Ellen wondered if he would ever really open up to her again.

  “She said we needed the money,” Charlie had told her. “Yeah, it will be a bit whack—but mainly I’m cool with it, seriously.”

  Ellen had decided that this was not the time to remind Charlie that he was an English middle-class schoolboy and not a New York gangster rapper.

  “Well, just so long as you know you don’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

  “I’m not worried,” Charlie had insisted, chewing the corner of his thumb as he spoke.

  Ellen watched her son closely now for signs of distress as he studied Sabine, but all she could detect was naked curiosity.

  There were only three mismatched chairs at the kitchen table. When they moved into the house, Nick had taken them to a local junk shop where he had spotted a large, ancient, battered pine table that he thought would be perfect for their new kitchen. Ellen had complained that it didn’t have matching chairs, and Nick had laughed, waving his arm around at the collection of disowned chairs of all shapes and sizes.

  “I know,” he’d said, winking at an enchanted Charlie. “Let’s choose a different chair each. One that will suit us and be our chair whenever we sit at the table.”

  Ellen had chosen a chair that she thought was most in keeping with the table, a humble pine affair with a simple back and straight legs. Nick had managed to find a dark wood carver that looked like it had once belonged to a much grander set and had ideas far above its station, with its turned arms and sturdy, squat bowed legs. Charlie, much younger, still a baby really, had found a brightly painted chair that must have once belonged to an amateur artist. Every leg was painted a different primary color and the back rest was an acidic green decorated with a painted eye. Ever since that day, the three of them had always sat in their special chairs, until Nick had died, and then his remained stubbornly vacant, and even Hannah knew better than to sit in it. Today, Sabine was sitting in Charlie’s and he took up residence in his mother’s. Ellen leaned against the kitchen counter and watched, fretting about how to break the news to her lodgers that one of her kitchen chairs was off-limits.

  “This is a delicious sandwich,” Sabine said after she had finished chewing. “Do you like bacon, Charlie? I love Danish bacon.”

  “I don’t eat bacon,” Charlie told her. “I eat fish fingers, white bread, ketchup, and Frosties.” He issued the declaration like it was a challenge.

  “Ah—you’re a fussy eater.” Sabine nodded, as if nothing Charlie had said was out of the ordinary. “When I was a girl I would only drink milk and I wouldn’t touch any vegetables.”

  “Even when you were nearly twelve?” Charlie quizzed her, making Ellen tense—wondering if he was as worried about his eating habits as she was or if some of the kids at school had said something.

  “Oh yes, until I was much older than twelve. I didn’t like vegetables until I was in my twenties, after several years of smoking and drinking. Your taste buds are young and tender, unsullied by alcohol or nicotine—it’s normal for a young boy to only like a few things.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Charlie grinned at her, his shoulders relaxing, happily forgetting the ravenous appetite he’d had for nearly anything edible before his father died.

  “So, Charlie,” Ellen said from her observation point. “We got our second guest today. She’s a writer, Mummy’s favorite writer actually, and she’s arriving on Tuesday—so you and I have our work cut out, turning the dining room into a bedroom and painting it lilac this weekend.”

  “Lilac! Gross!” Charlie and Sabine looked at each other and wrinkled their noses, striking up an easy camaraderie that Ellen could not help but envy. It hadn’t been that easy between her and Charlie for a long time; he always seemed so disappointed in her.

  “I know, but the best bit is I’m going to be her research assistant, which means more money—which means I can pay Aunt Hannah back for your skiing trip!” Ellen told him proudly. Whether or not she actually wanted him to go was moot for now, it was the fact that she no longer needed Hannah’s money that was paramount.

  “But Aunt Hannah’s already paid for it.”

  “I know, but it was just a loan—now I can pay it back.”

  “Yes, but Hannah’s loaded and you’re skint, so why don’t you—”

  “I’m paying for it, Charlie, end of discussion.” Ellen felt hurt that Charlie had rejected her announcement so roundly.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. What about the bills, the mortgage…?”

  “Charlie…” Ellen heard her tone rising, against her will.

 
“May I help you paint this weekend?” Sabine asked, taking a packet of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket, looking at them rather wistfully, then putting them back again. “I don’t have any friends here or a social life yet. I would welcome the chance to get to know you better, plus I am an excellent painter. I do very straight edges. It’s because I’m German, you know—we’re very precise.”

  Sabine winked at Charlie, who chuckled, and it took Ellen a second to realize that her guest was joking.

  “Well, Sabine, if you’re sure, that would be wonderful.” Ellen smiled. It seemed that for now, anyway, having a lodger wasn’t nearly as dreadful as Ellen had feared, unlike the unexpected ring of the doorbell.

  “Well, I will just go outside for a cigarette.” Sabine nodded at the kitchen door. “Out there, okay?”

  “Oh yes, fine,” Ellen said, bracing herself to answer the bell, even though she knew who it was.

  “Charles.” Hannah nodded at her nephew as she entered the kitchen.

  “Aunt Hannah,” Charlie replied with a small bow. “A delight to see you as ever.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Hannah replied regally.

  “Hannah.” Ellen watched as her sister sprawled in her now-vacant chair. “It’s very nice of you to drop by, again, but you didn’t say you were coming over tonight and it’s just I’ve got a lot to do, a lot of sorting out for the next lodger.”

  Ellen wanted Charlie to see that she could manage some things for herself.

  “Oh, God, please say it’s not the second-floor suite you’ve let out?” Hannah exclaimed.

  “If you mean the attic rooms, then no—I’m converting the dining room into a room for an elderly lady—actually she’s—” Ellen was keen to share her bit of news but Hannah rushed on before she could.

  “Oh good, that’s a relief. I came for two reasons. Because I thought I’d say hi to Sabine, and offer to take her out for lunch on Monday and show her around.” Hannah looked around. “Where is Sabine anyway? Have you confined her to her quarters? I’m dying to see what she looks like.”

  “She’s really nice,” Charlie assured Hannah, making his aunt and mother look at him. “She’s outside, smoking, and she’s a total fox.”

  “Oh, Charles, you are growing up!” Hannah burst out laughing; Ellen did not.

  Ellen privately smarted. Here was Hannah, marching in, making everything about her as usual, even the possibility of any fledgling friendship that Ellen might have with Sabine. Since Hannah had hit her teens, it had been characteristic of Ellen’s life that once anyone she knew met her sister, Hannah’s burning sun eclipsed Ellen’s quieter personality almost immediately; this had happened so much that Ellen had taken to avoiding bringing her friends to her parents’ house, because once they met Hannah they couldn’t stop talking about her, how pretty, how delightful, how funny, how different from Ellen. Hannah’s determination to claim Sabine was just the same as when at age twenty-one Ellen had brought her first-ever proper boyfriend home from university to meet her parents. When she had left the previous autumn to return to college, Hannah had been a sulky and sullen teen, resentful and jealous of Ellen’s escape to more exciting—or at least different—climes. But when she and Jack had returned that summer, Ellen feeling especially grown-up, hand in hand with her first-ever lover, Hannah had been waiting for them, sitting on the front step in a pair of white denim shorts and a halter top, her flame-colored hair swinging down her back, grazing her sun-drenched shoulders. Ellen knew, from the moment she set eyes on her sister, that Hannah wanted to see if she could make her boyfriend like her more than he liked Ellen, and what really hurt was that it took just a few seconds for her to claim him. Not in actuality—as far as Ellen knew, Jack had never touched Hannah—but for the duration of his visit he could not take his eyes off her, and she pranced and danced and laughed for him, testing her budding sexuality with capricious delight. She had made Ellen feel so dark and clumsy and invisible that eventually she had picked a fight with Jack, accusing him of chasing her little sister, and he had looked at her, both shamefaced and disgusted, accusing her of petty childishness. Their relationship fizzled out quite soon after they got back to college and Ellen put the blame firmly on Hannah’s shoulders. How she had dreaded taking Nick to meet her family, but it was probably on that day that she had fallen in love with her husband once and for all, because Nick was the only person Ellen had ever known who seemed quite disinterested in Hannah, even mildly irritated by her. It was one of the reasons that Ellen had loved him so fiercely. From that moment on, Ellen had done her best to separate her life from her sister’s, and yet here she was again, laying claim to the new people in Ellen’s life before she had a chance to get to know them herself.

  “Oh well, the other reason I came is because I had a response from the Time Out ad,” Hannah went on seamlessly. “Clever and beautiful Aunt Hannah has found you another lodger!”

  “Please say it’s not a little old lady who only likes lilac,” Charlie begged, hauling himself up to rest his chin on the tabletop as he watched his aunt, with bright eyes, as if she were a particularly entertaining TV show.

  “No, much better than that—he’s a man! His name is Matt Bolton, he’s twenty-six, a nonsmoker, and he’s just moving down from Manchester to take up a job as a staff writer for Bang It!”

  “Wicked!” Charlie’s eyes widened.

  “What on earth is Bang It!?” Ellen questioned, her expression pre-set to disapprove.

  “It’s a lad’s mag—you know the sort of thing, photos of busty babes, articles about computer games, how to get a six-pack in six weeks—that sort of nonsense. Anyway, Matt had a column about being a single man in the Manchester Evening News, and apparently it caused a bit of an uproar amongst Manchester’s feminist community, and he was on the verge of losing his job when he got spotted by the editor of Bang It! and was offered a job continuing the column down here. The offices are in Hammersmith, so this place is perfect for him. He was especially stoked about the idea of having his own loo and shower.”

  “So you’ve already told him he’s got the room?” Ellen asked hesitantly. “Without checking with me first, like you said you would, remember?”

  “I said I’d screen the applicants and weed out any weirdos, and Matt’s not a weirdo, he seems really nice on the phone. Besides, he’s got the money and he works down the road. I expect he’ll be out most of the time, a young single man in London—you’ll hardly know he’s here.”

  “No, sorry—I’m putting my foot down,” Ellen said firmly, feeling dizzy from how quickly her life was spinning out of control. “You’ll have to tell him he’s not coming.”

  “Oh, Mum!” Charlie exclaimed, disappointed. “I’ll be the coolest boy in the school if one of our lodgers worked on Bang It! It’d make up for the old lady!”

  “Hang on a minute, Ellie,” Hannah countered. “Let’s think about this a bit more. Why do you object to Matt?”

  “Because my other tenants are females, and one of them is an older lady, a writer with sensitive needs. The last thing Allegra Howard wants is some man crashing around the place, swearing and talking about… God knows what. This is a house of women, we don’t want any men.”

  “Oh, thanks very much.” Charlie scowled.

  “Allegra Howard—isn’t that the woman whose books you love so much?” Hannah asked, completely breaking Ellen’s stride and making her firm stand seem rather less effective.

  “Yes, it is—she needs a place to stay while her flood-damaged home is being restored and she needs a research assistant and PA—and that’s me. I’ve got the job. I’m getting paid and everything.” Ellen nodded emphatically on the final word.

  “Really—Ellie, that’s fab news—well done, you. See what you can do when you set your mind to it?”

  Ellen nodded, caught off guard by Hannah’s enthusiasm for her. After all, she hadn’t really done anything yet—except answer the phone. Still, Hannah didn’t know that.

  “But honestly, I don�
��t see why that means you can’t have Matt as a tenant. Like I said, he’ll be out most of the time, and when he is here he and Allegra will be separated by a whole floor! Besides, if the covers of her books are anything to go by, she likes a strapping young man with his top off, and it wouldn’t do Charles any harm to have a man about the place…” Hannah stopped herself, probably from saying “since Nick died.” Her face was still and dark for the briefest moment. “You know, to watch footy with and talk about girls to.”

  “Please, Mum,” Charlie begged. “I would get total respect at school.” Ellen looked at him, puzzled. Was he really keen to have another man in the house or did he just want to please Hannah?

  “You’re really begging me to let a male lodger stay?” Ellen asked.

  “Like Aunt Hannah says, it will be cool to have a bloke around, otherwise it will just be me and a load of old women. And Sabine.”

  “Hey, you, Sabine’s not much younger than me,” Ellen protested, self-consciously tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

  “Oh, go on, Ellie—at least give Matt a try—I’ll tell him he’s on a one-month trial and if you don’t like him you can kick him out after that. Just think, if you take Matt on, you don’t need to look for any more lodgers. You can get stuck in your new job, and Charles will be settled with the new arrangements before you know it.”

  “I will,” Charlie agreed.

  Ellen felt her shoulders slump. It seemed that she was the victim of a fait accompli.

  “Okay, I’ll give him a trial, but if he smells or swears or is in any way a bad influence, then he’s out.”

  “Great! He’s getting an early train down from Manchester Monday morning; he’s going to move his stuff after his first day.”

  “Hello.” Sabine appeared from the garden, where she had been smoking among the ragged rose bushes that Ellen hadn’t touched since last summer.

  “Oh, hello. You must be Sabine. I’m Hannah—we spoke on the phone?”

  “Ah, Hannah, hello, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

  “Well, I thought you might like to meet for lunch tomorrow and get some of the inside goss,” Hannah said. “Seriously, if I don’t know it, then it’s not worth knowing.”