by Annie Lyons
‘Just got to get one more thing.’ He returned five minutes later, grinning and struggling with the tree in his arms. ‘I’ve always wanted an apple tree,’ he explained.
‘How are we going to fit it in the car?’ I laughed.
We drove home, singing along to ‘I Gotta Feeling’ on the radio, with our new tree poking out of the boot of our tiny VW Polo. I felt my heart sink at the memory as I gazed out at the tree, now festooned in cloud-like blossom.
‘You’re not moping are you?’ called Ed from the dining room. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’
Damn him and his insightful perception. I had known Ed for over ten years and he knew me almost as well as Dan did. My publisher had paired us as a writer-andillustrator team for the very first Ned Bobbin book and we had worked together ever since. He was a bit like a favourite brother, collaborator and best friend all rolled into one. He was the first person I’d called after Dan left too. Admittedly, I didn’t call him until the next morning. I hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone before that. The ‘almost getting myself killed’ aspect to that morning had made me realise that I needed someone to talk to and, as was often the case when life got tricky or sad, it was Ed that I called.
‘I’m not moping. I was waiting for the kettle to boil.’
‘Very well,’ answered Ed. ‘Anyway, come and look at Ned in his super-hero outfit. I think he looks rather dashing.’
‘On my way,’ I replied, pouring boiling water into my mug. There was a knock at the door. I could tell almost immediately that the person on the other side was impatient. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they knock at a door. We have one of those very loud metal door-knockers that always makes me jump. I would have liked a doorbell really but we’d never got round to installing one and at least the knocker got my attention. Whoever it was tapped it loudly and rapidly so that I slopped my tea at the sound.
‘Damn, blast and bollocks!’ I cried.
‘Shall I get it?’ offered Ed.
‘Would you mind? Thanks.’ I reached for a cloth. I heard Ed talking to someone whose voice I didn’t recognise. They were speaking very loudly as people often do when they meet for the first time and are trying to size each other up. I heard Ed say:
‘She’s just in the kitchen, come through.’ I hastily wiped the tea splodges from my top before turning to be confronted with Tilly’s mum, Caroline, holding out a bunch of scarlet peonies.
‘Oh, hi, Caroline,’ I said. I was surprised to see her. We hadn’t spoken since the incident with the car, even though I’d seen her in the playground. Woody and Tilly were in the same class and I’d heard him mention her from time to time but I don’t think Caroline realised this. I got the feeling that I wasn’t her sort of person. She had been the Chair of the PTA for years and to be honest, women like that terrify me.
I had baked some cakes for a sale once and something had gone wrong with the buttercream icing so that they sort of slumped overnight. Added to this, I had topped each bun with a Malteser. My friend Mel had sidled over and snorted with amusement, ‘They look like boobs, Nat!’ just at the moment I was handing them over to Caroline. She had stared at the nipular cakes and then back at me before accepting the Tupperware box with obvious disdain and muttering, ‘Thank you but please make sure you bake something more appropriate next time.’ Obviously there hadn’t been a next time.
She was beaming at me now as if we were old friends. ‘Hi, Natalie. These are for you,’ she said, handing over the flowers.
‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
‘My pleasure. I just wanted to check that you were okay after our little bump the other day?’
She said it like it was a fun thing – a mutually shared treat. ‘I’m fine, thanks, and you didn’t need to buy me flowers.’
‘Well, I was in Waitrose and I saw them so I thought I would, plus Matilda told me that your son is in her class and that you write the Ned Bobbin books. I had no idea, so I thought I would pop in on my way home, say, “Hi,” and just check that you’re all right. You seemed very upset the other day.’ She creased her face into a grimace of sympathy.
I realised then that she had only called in because of who I was. I get this from time to time. People are often very interested when they find out you’re a writer.
‘Wow! That must be fascinating!’ they say. It isn’t really. It’s a job like any other and it involves staring at a blank piece of paper, desperately trying to think of some words, so it can be quite stressful too.
Or they’ll smile at me with obvious envy. ‘You’re so lucky. That’s my dream job.’ Really? Because my dream job is to be Mary Berry’s official cake taster. You should aim higher, my friend.
‘You must earn millions,’ is another one I hear occasionally. Hmmm, not especially. Although I am waiting for the Hollywood version of Ned’s life to propel me towards retirement. It’s turning out to be quite a long wait.
I did love my job but it was as frustrating as any other and often quite lonely. Dear old Ned had become quite popular amongst pre-schoolers and contributed towards the mortgage but man, he could be demanding.
So it was clear that Caroline had just discovered a new fact and decided that she wanted a writer as a friend. Still, there are worse crimes and I am pretty fantastic, despite now being a single mother with a worrying brownie addiction. ‘It’s very kind of you to pop by,’ I said.
She smiled and nodded at me, glancing over at Ed and then back to me, waiting for an introduction. ‘Sorry.’ I said. ‘This is Ed Jarvis.’
‘Oh, my God! You’re the Ed Jarvis. You illustrate the Ned Bobbin books. We love those books. They were basically the only thing that would get Matilda to sleep,’ chimed Caroline. She shook hands with Ed. He gave her his best modest but charming smile. Caroline looked from Ed to me and back to Ed. ‘This is so exciting! I can’t believe I’m standing here with Natalie Garfield and Ed Jarvis – it’s amazing!’
Ed and I exchanged glances. ‘It is overwhelming,’ he joked. ‘To be honest, Nat and I rarely get any work done due to the overpowering nature of our awesomeness.’
I rolled my eyes whilst Caroline snorted with delight as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. ‘Soo, are you working on something at the moment?’ she asked, eyes fixed firmly on Ed.
I shot him a look, which I hoped would say, ‘No.’
‘Actually, I was about to show Nat my roughs for the new Ned book. Would you like to see?’
‘Oh, my God, I would love that!’ gushed Caroline, pressing her hands to her heart as if he’d just offered her a date with Ryan Gosling.
I shook my head in disbelief. The problem with Ed was his ego. He loved to show off and he loved to get approval for his work. I know this is a normal human thing but he was basically a three-year-old when it came to his artwork and I was his mum. Today. Caroline was the auntie who only visits on occasion and Ed knew he had a captive audience. ‘Follow me,’ he said, grinning, leading Caroline into the dining room.
‘Oh, wow!’ breathed Caroline, taking in the sketches. ‘These are gorgeous.’ Ed stood back, basking in the glory.
Actually, they were pretty magnificent. He had given Ned a super-hero make-over, complete with mask, cape and dinky boots.
‘You are so talented,’ declared Caroline.
‘Well, Nat?’ asked Ed, looking at me. Bless, I thought. He still needs approval from his mum.
‘They’re wonderful,’ I smiled. Ed beamed. I almost wished I had a gold sticker to give him. ‘Just one thing, do you think he should have his pants over his costume like that? Maybe he should have a belt with the NB logo instead?’
Ed’s face wrinkled into a frown as he took in the illustrations again. ‘I thought the pants thing made it more fun,’ he said.
‘I think it’s perfect,’ declared Caroline.
‘See? Caroline thinks it’s perfect and she’s an actual, real-life reader,’ said Ed in a know-it-all voice.
I knew he was teasing but I was irr
itated by Caroline’s interference. What did she know about books and writing? This was my world. She should stick to PTA cake sales and Farrow and Ball paint charts. I kept my voice calm. ‘Let’s see what the art director thinks, shall we?’
Ed glanced at me. He could tell I was riled. ‘Whatever you think, angel-cake.’
I smiled with gratitude. ‘Anyway, Caroline, thanks for dropping by and for the flowers.’
She looked at me in surprise. If she thought she was staying for a cuppa, she was mistaken. ‘Oh yes, no problem at all. It was great to see you and lovely to meet you, Ed,’ she cried with a sycophantic smile. I followed her to the front door. She paused, turning back to face me. She was one of those women who knew how to make the best of her features. She wasn’t necessarily beautiful but she wore the right make-up, clothes and hairstyle to make herself effortlessly attractive and therefore rather intimidating to me. ‘Actually, Natalie, there was something I wanted to ask you.’
Oh gawd, here it comes. She’s got a brilliant book idea that she wants me to look at or she’s going to enlist me to write all the copy for the PTA. And I’m too weak to say no. Damn you, Dan – this is all your fault.
‘Did you know that they’re planning to demolish Hope Street Community Hall?’
I was shocked. I had fond memories of the place. It was a fairly dilapidated building but it was much loved and used by the busy, chaotic toddler group, which provided a haven for new mothers on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. I had found this a godsend when Woody was a baby. It was run by a group of retired ladies, who were basically like clucky, kindly hens, always willing to make you an industrial-strength coffee whilst they rocked and cuddled your fractious baby. On more than one occasion, during the intense early years, I had arrived looking like a character from A Nightmare On Elm Street, but returned home feeling almost human and reassured by their kindness and insistence that I keep up my strength by devouring at least twenty-five chocolate bourbons.
‘Oh, that’s really sad,’ I said, feeling my eyes mist at the memory and then hating myself for being so bloody emotional at the moment.
‘I’m glad you feel like that,’ said Caroline, thrusting a flyer into my hand. ‘Save Hope Street Community Hall’ was printed on it in large red letters with details of a forthcoming meeting, which I noted with increasing dread was due to be held at Caroline’s house later that week. I avoided her gaze by staring down at the flyer. ‘So you’ll come? I’m going to leaflet this street and the surrounding ones today. I think we’ll get a huge response.’
I swallowed, ready to make my excuses. Single parenthood wasn’t a status I wanted but it was a trump card today. ‘Oh, I don’t think I can make it. There’s no-one to look after Woody,’ I explained.
‘Won’t your husband be home?’ she asked.
‘Not any more,’ remarked Ed, appearing behind us.
I glared at him. To his credit, he recoiled in horror, mouthing ‘Sorry’ to me.
Caroline’s eyebrows were raised and I realised that I would need to explain before she cranked up the rumour-mill in the school playground. I sighed. ‘My husband and I are having a few problems,’ I said, feeling annoyed that despite my writer’s credentials, this was the best I could come up with.
‘Oh. Oh dear,’ she said in a way that sounded to my ears like, You’ve clearly failed. I’m pretending not to judge you, whilst judging you. ‘Well, I do hope you manage to sort it out and persuade him to come home. I don’t know what I’d do if Oliver ever left. Not that he would, of course.’
‘You can never be too sure,’ I retorted.
‘I know my husband,’ said Caroline with a thin smile.
‘I thought I knew mine too,’ I replied with narrowed eyes.
‘Anyway, ladies!’ cried Ed, detecting the start of a bitch-fight. ‘I love the sound of your campaign, Caroline, so I’m more than happy to baby-sit for you, Nat.’
‘Thank you,’ I said through clenched teeth.
‘Thank you,’ repeated Caroline, beaming at Ed in adoration. ‘See you on Thursday then, Natalie. 7.30 sharp. Lovely to meet you, Ed.’
‘You too.’ Ed said, nodding with a grin.
Caroline gave us both a neat little wave as she skipped down the steps into her stupidly large, gas-guzzling car. ‘Byeee,’ she trilled before driving off in a haze of planet-destroying fumes.
‘Judgemental cow!’ I cried as I slammed the door behind me.
‘I thought she was nice,’ teased Ed.
‘Shut up,’ I said, jabbing him in the chest. ‘You like anyone who admires your pictures. You’re basically a three-year-old in a man’s body.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ he laughed, holding up his hands. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, as I pulled on my coat and grabbed my bag from the kitchen.
I fixed him with a look. ‘I’m not having that prissy tiger mother judging me. And you’re right. I need to be more proactive if I want to save my marriage.’
‘So-o?’
‘I’m going to surprise Dan at work and take him out for lunch, get the campaign rolling.’
‘Good for you, honey,’ he smiled. ‘Good for you.’
An hour later, I was standing outside Dan’s offices, checking my appearance in the window of the glass-fronted building. Ed had encouraged me to slow down, change into something ‘casual but sexy’, as he called it. My options had been limited but the blouse and jacket looked pretty good. ‘And brush your hair,’ he instructed. I had even put on lipstick. Usually, I just applied foundation and a dab of blusher so as not to frighten the Reception children in the school playground but actually, it felt good to make more of an effort. I did my best to stride with confidence into the building. This is always tricky where revolving doors are concerned but I managed to make it to the reception desk without having to go round a second time or falling over.
The woman behind the desk was immaculate with perfect hair, nails and teeth. A fleeting concern that Dan was having an affair with her leapt into my mind. I could feel my heart thundering as I approached the desk and said, ‘Please could you call Dan Garfield for me. It’s his wife.’ I watched her face carefully at these words. No flicker of recognition, guilt or jealousy. Calm that imagination, Nat, you crazy fool.
‘Just a moment, please.’ She smiled, putting through a call. ‘Dan Garfield? I have your wife here for you.’ She listened to the reply. ‘Er, okay, well she’s standing right here. Do you want to speak to her?’
I frowned with confusion as she held out the receiver. ‘Hello, Nat?’ said a voice. ‘This is Dan’s colleague, Penny.’ I could vaguely remember meeting her on a trip to the office with Woody once. She was pretty but I recall Dan saying that she was a bit annoying. Maybe that was a red herring, maybe she was in fact his dream woman and was about to confess to me.
‘Hello?’ I said, keeping my voice guarded. ‘Is Dan not available?’
‘He’s left for the day,’ she explained.
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Yes, sorry. He had another hospital appointment.’
‘Pardon?’ The world seemed to blur in and out of focus.
‘Another hospital appointment?’ said Penny but with less certainty this time. ‘Sorry, Nat, I assumed you knew and had just forgotten.’
‘Erm, yeah, of course, the hospital appointment,’ I stuttered, not wanting to seem like more of a fool than I already felt.
‘It’s at St Peter’s and he only left about ten minutes ago so you can probably catch him up. I’m sure he’ll be glad of the company. He said how boring it was waiting last time.’
‘Yes. Great. Thanks, Penny.’ I handed the receiver back to the receptionist. ‘Thanks. Thank you very much,’ I said, needing to fill the air with words as a rising tide of panic swept over me.
I wasn’t sure who was making my body walk out of the building, onto the street and along the road. All I knew was that I had to get to Dan. I had to be with him because suddenly I realised why he had left me. He was ill and he was goi
ng to die and in his ever-reasonable, ever kind and gentle way, he was trying to spare my feelings by facing it on his own. But I wasn’t going to let that happen. I was going to go to him, comfort him and offer him all the support he needed. He wouldn’t have to face it on his own. I would be there with him, right until the end.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAROLINE
‘Okay, everyone, thank you for coming. Let’s make a start, shall we?’ I gave the group seated in my kitchen a warm encouraging smile. I remembered running meetings from my years at the bank and I’d always loved that dynamic buzz of people coming together, sharing their ideas and making things happen. Admittedly this was small beer compared to the deals I’d been involved with at Sheridan’s but still, it was important.
Life was very different since I’d given up work but I told myself that it was a good different. Oliver went out to work, I stayed home and worked for Matilda – a demanding but nonetheless rewarding employer. Since she’d started school, I’d had time to take on worthwhile projects within the community, whether it be the PTA or this campaign to save Hope Street hall.
I had always thrown myself into life, done my best and aimed for excellence. I know some people feel intimidated by me. I can’t blame them. I try to live up to my old school motto, Ad summa nitamur – ‘Let us strive for perfection’. I know this isn’t for everyone. Perfection is such a final word, but I believe you have to try. Anything else is just giving up.