Make Do and Mend in Applewell

by Lilac Mills

  ‘You can pay me in coffee and sandwiches,’ Delia replied, her attention on the plate of food Lottie had just finished preparing. Lottie had even ripped up some parsley leaves from a plant on the kitchen window sill and sprinkled them on for added colour. ‘They look yummy. Did you do this for me, or do you garnish every meal like this? Stephen wouldn’t know what had hit him if I garnished his curry and rice. He’d think I’d been abducted by aliens and one of them had taken over my body.’

  Lottie pulled out some chairs and everyone sat down at the table. The kitchen table was another one of what Henry called her ‘make do and mend’ projects, and she was rather pleased with it. It was amazing what a lick of paint, some old tiles for the tabletop and recycled and re-covered cushions – courtesy of Gracie Stewart, who was a brilliant seamstress – for the seats, could do.

  ‘I don’t think I could be bothered. Henry is one lucky fella,’ Delia said, as she accepted a plate and popped a couple of sandwiches and some grapes on it before handing it to her son.

  ‘I wish he thought so,’ Lottie muttered, shoving a plate at Morgan. The two children tucked in hungrily. Lottie served herself but didn’t have much of an appetite and her sandwiches remained untouched. She slumped back in her seat and let out a sigh.

  ‘What’s up?’ Delia asked, around a mouthful of food.

  ‘Henry is behaving oddly.’

  Her friend shot her a sharp look. ‘In what way?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There’s something going on, but…’

  ‘Another woman?’

  Lottie could feel the colour draining from her face. Hearing someone vocalise her fears made them seem horrifyingly real. She nodded, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Delia asked, putting her sandwich down and giving Lottie her full attention.

  ‘He’s moody, distracted, distant…’

  ‘That describes my Stephen to a tee, but I can assure you he’s not playing away.’

  ‘Who’s playing, Mummy?’ Tyrone asked.

  Delia pulled a face. ‘The men on the telly. Cricket.’ She waited for her son to turn back to Morgan, and shook her head. ‘He’s as nosy as I am, but one ball game he doesn’t like is cricket, so if he thinks we’re talking about batting averages and legs before wickets, he’ll not pay us any attention.’

  ‘Batting averages?’

  Delia shrugged. ‘It rubs off on you – like cat hairs. Stephen watches so much of it I’m sure it’s in the air and I breathe it in.’

  ‘At least you know what Stephen is up to when he’s glued to the TV. Henry and I had a row on Saturday night and he stormed out. He says he went to the pub.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘He had grass stains on the bum of his jeans. And he didn’t smell like he’d had a pint.’

  ‘That’s hardly grounds for thinking he’s having an affair,’ Delia pointed out, reasonably.

  ‘There’s more. He’s getting home later and later, and Mairi Edwards said she saw him parked up outside her house and she thought he was upset. And…’ She paused, knowing what she was about to say sounded daft, but the thought had sneaked into her mind and was hanging around, stubbornly refusing to leave. She lifted her chin. ‘You know the boat he found, the one I’m making into a bed for Robin—?’

  ‘Ooh, how’s that going? I meant to ask. Can I see it?’ Delia interrupted, clapping her hands together.

  ‘It’ll be finished in a couple of days, and of course you can see it. As I was saying—’

  ‘Sorry.’ Delia placed her hands on the table, wrapping the fingers of one hand around the other, her expression sombre.

  ‘I think he gave it to me to keep me busy,’ Lottie finished.

  To her surprise Delia burst out laughing. ‘Do you honestly think that?’ She reached across the table and patted her on the arm. ‘I actually think he was being rather sweet and thoughtful. Robin wanted a new bed, a different bed, and Henry saw an opportunity and took it. I think it’s lovely he has such faith in you. Stephen does all the DIY in our house, but I’d never dream of shoving an old rowing boat under his nose and asking him to turn it into a bed. Now’ – she rubbed her hands together – ‘can I see it?’

  Lottie led her outside and dragged open one of the shed doors. That was another thing that needed fixing – the sagging shed doors.

  ‘Wow!’ Delia’s eyes were round. ‘I mean, wow! Are you sure this is the same boat you put on Instagram?’ Her mouth had dropped open.

  Lottie smiled. ‘I’m sure.’ The two women moved into the shed. ‘Careful, I only just finished painting the white bits this morning. It’s usually dry in half an hour, but what with it being so cold out here it might take a little longer, and I don’t want to take any chances of you getting it on your clothes.’ She stuck her head out of the door and checked on the children. They’d followed the adults outside and were happily playing with a digger and a truck in her wintry flowerbeds, so she left them to it.

  ‘It’s fabulous. You’re so talented and I’m so jealous. It’ll look wonderful in Robin’s room. Has he seen it yet?’

  ‘No one has except you.’ Lottie sounded wistful and sad, and she winced.

  ‘Maybe Henry is waiting for you to tell him it’s finished,’ Delia suggested. ‘Have you asked him to take a look?’

  Lottie dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded. She hadn’t asked him as such – what she’d said was that he should come out and look at it some time. That was the same night he’d refused to make love.

  ‘He doesn’t want to have sex,’ Lottie blurted.

  ‘What! Not ever? Since when?’

  ‘Last week. I tried to initiate proceedings, but he turned me down.’

  ‘How often has this happened?’

  ‘Just the once.’ Once was enough. He’d never turned her down before.

  ‘Once?’ Delia snorted. ‘Are you telling me that your husband hasn’t said no to sex with you before now?’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ Lottie protested.

  ‘Do you ever say no to him?’

  ‘Not often.’

  ‘But you still refuse sometimes?’

  Lottie nodded. It was rare: Henry seldom initiated anything when she wasn’t in the mood, and vice versa. Until she’d misjudged the situation the other night.

  ‘So why isn’t he allowed to say no to you? I’m sure he has days when he’s too tired, doesn’t feel well, can’t be arsed. We all feel like that sometimes – why not Henry?’

  Delia had a point, Lottie realised. ‘It’s just that it’s never happened before.’

  ‘Blimey! How long have you two been married? Stephen and I tend to give each other the brush-off more often than we get to do it. I thought that was the norm. Are you telling me it’s not?’

  Heat crept into Lottie’s cheeks, and she knew her face was turning beetroot.

  Delia slung an arm around her shoulders. ‘Look, my lovely, from what you’ve said, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. So what if Henry is moody and preoccupied? Do you think it might be a work thing? Have you asked him?’

  She had asked the same night he’d knocked back her advances. ‘He said everything was tickety-boo.’

  ‘Well, then. Don’t go jumping to conclusions, eh? Henry loves you and the kids. He’s not the type to go sneaking around behind your back.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Lottie sighed. ‘It’s probably just me being silly.’ And with that, she vowed not to go trawling through his pockets again.

  No more thinking that her husband was up to no good. Delia was talking sense – they had been married a long time, and she shouldn’t expect everything to stay the same. It was only natural their relationship would evolve as the years went on, and they weren’t the same people they’d been, pre-kids.

  Lottie could see that they’d been taking each other for granted perhaps, and they each had their separate issues to deal with. But that shouldn’t drive them apart, so she vowed t
o try to make some time for each other outside the family. They could do with some date nights in their life – not a quick fumble in bed after a long day when both of them were exhausted.

  She’d start with getting a babysitter for Friday evening, and perhaps they could have a meal out. They hadn’t done that in ages, and she found she was looking forward to it.

  Chapter 10

  Henry

  Henry almost whooped with joy. One of his many applications had led to some interest he read, with growing excitement as he rapidly scanned the email. This one hadn’t been through an employment agency, but direct to the company concerned. He hadn’t held out much hope that he’d get anywhere with them because Allinson’s speciality was fertilisers not feed, but they seemed to like the cut of his jib enough to drop him a line to say the sales director would be in touch in the next few days.

  Deciding it called for celebration, Henry knocked off early for the day. He’d been to all the appointments he needed to, so now he could scuttle off home and hopefully be back in plenty of time for tea.

  He wasn’t known for whistling, but he caught himself whistling along to a couple of tunes on the radio and he even tapped his fingers on the steering wheel once or twice when something livelier came on. Feeling the most upbeat and optimistic than since he’d been told he was being given the push, Henry found himself looking forward to spending some time with his family. He saw his wife and kids daily, but for the past couple of weeks he’d felt as though he was there in person but not there in spirit. He guessed Lottie might have come to the same conclusion, and he vowed to make it up to her.

  He was almost tempted to tell her what had been going on, but this job was far from in the bag and he didn’t want to tempt fate by announcing it and then to have it fall through. There’d be time enough to tell her when he had a firm offer under his belt.

  On seeing the sign for Aberaeron ahead, he considered popping into the library for half an hour since he had plenty of time, but he changed his mind. Checking job sites daily was a thankless task, as they needed time to refresh. Every other day, or every third day was enough, but he’d felt so desperate he’d trawled through them obsessively every single day, even if he had to use his phone to do so, which wasn’t ideal. There was a lingering taste of that desperation in his mind now, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before he’d read the email.

  Sally Chisholm, that was the sales director’s name, and he couldn’t wait to talk to her. Selling was one thing he was good at, no matter if it was pony nuts or himself, even though he hated being interviewed. Even so, every job he’d managed to get an interview for, he’d been offered. Throughout the course of his career it was only three, but the precedent had been set. His main problem this time around would be that he wasn’t applying for a sales job in animal feed – but, honestly, it shouldn’t be hard to make the transition between selling one kind of agricultural product to another. Henry beat his fingers once more to a tune on the radio.

  Five minutes later, however, he was suddenly assailed by the idea that the change might prove impossible. For one horrible moment, as he negotiated some sleeping policemen, he wondered if he’d lost his touch.

  Almost immediately, he shoved the notion out of his mind. It simply didn’t bear thinking about, so he turned up the volume on the radio and for the remainder of the journey he sang along to the songs on Radio 2, doing the la-la-la thing when he didn’t know the words.

  * * *

  ‘Sh—sugar!’ Lottie exclaimed, as Henry barged through the front door and nearly knocked her over. He put a hand out intending to steady her and caught her around the waist instead, pulling her into him.

  She came up against his chest with an audible ‘Oof!’ and he laughed out loud.

  ‘What time is it? I haven’t started cooking tea yet. Oh, damn. Sorry…’ Lottie looked delectably flustered, and he laughed again, earning himself a rather incredulous look.

  Henry kissed the top of her head and released her. ‘I’m early,’ he explained. ‘It’s only ten to four.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! I thought I’d lost a couple of hours, for a minute. Let me take this upstairs’ – she nodded at the now-crumpled pile of ironing she was holding – ‘and I’ll get tea started. It’s chicken wraps, so it shouldn’t take more than half an hour.’

  ‘Where are the kids?’ he asked.

  ‘Robin’s got football and is having tea at Joffrey’s house. Sabrina is in her room and Morgan is doing a jigsaw in the kitchen.’

  As though he’d heard his name mentioned, Morgan came hurtling down the hall and threw himself at his father. Henry grabbed him by the arms and lifted him up. ‘What have you been doing today, my little monkey?’

  ‘I helped Mummy clean Robin’s room. Shh, we’re not supposed to tell him. It’s a secret.’

  ‘It is?’ Henry glanced at Lottie for confirmation.

  She nodded. ‘Actually, I’m glad you’re back early, as it would be an ideal time considering Robin is out of the house, to bring his boat-bed in from the shed. That’s why Morgan was helping me clean his room. Can we do it now, before I start cooking?’

  ‘I’ll just get changed. Give me a sec.’ Still dangling Morgan by the arms, Henry made his way upstairs. It looked as though being home early was fortuitous.

  He wondered why Lottie hadn’t said anything about finishing Robin’s bed, but when he thought about it, neither of them had said a great deal to each other over the past few days, since he’d stalked out of the house on Saturday.

  It was time to apologise.

  Lottie was already in the shed when he entered the kitchen, Morgan hot on his heels. His son had stuck to him like a limpet, following him into the bathroom and back out again, into their bedroom and back out again, chattering all the time. Henry listened to him with a mixture of incredulity (did Morgan ever pause for breath?) and delight. He realised how much he missed this. He’d hardly been at home lately, and had been so preoccupied…

  ‘I love you, mate,’ he said to his son, scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

  Morgan squealed in delight, his heels and his fists drumming a beat on Henry’s torso.

  ‘I’ve got a sack of spuds,’ he declared to Lottie as he walked into the shed, holding Morgan firmly in place. ‘Where do you want them?’

  ‘I’m not a spud!’ Morgan shrieked indignantly. ‘Put me down!’

  Henry popped the child down on the floor, only for the little boy to immediately demand to be picked up again.

  ‘Can you go and ask Sabrina to open Robin’s bedroom door, please?’ Henry asked. The tactic worked, as Morgan scampered out of the shed and into the kitchen, yelling for his sister at the top of his voice.

  ‘I’ve already opened the door,’ Lottie said.

  ‘I wanted a quick word without Mr Big Ears listening,’ Henry said, and drew in a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Lottie. I’ve been an arse.’

  ‘You’ve only just realised?’ His wife’s expression was arch.

  ‘I’ve got no excuse for behaving so badly.’ He pulled a face. ‘It was a work thing preying on my mind, but whatever it was I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and the children.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ she agreed, and he wondered if she was going to forgive him. ‘Is everything OK now?’ she asked.

  Henry risked telling a porkie. ‘It is.’ It wasn’t quite yet, but he hoped it soon would be. And even if it wasn’t, he didn’t intend to act like such a prat again. So much for him not wanting to worry her – dashing out of the house in a fit of pique hadn’t exactly helped.

  He held his arms wide and she stepped into them, snuggling against him. God, but he loved this woman. Even if they did squabble now and again, it was never over anything major and it never lasted long.

  Her perfume wafted into his nose and he inhaled the flowery scent of her, thinking how good she felt. He was just about to discover if she tasted as good as she smelt when Morgan came hurtling into the shed.
r />   ‘I want kisses, too, Mummy, Daddy,’ he demanded, and the mood was broken.

  Henry brushed his fingers down her arm as he released her, and whispered, ‘Later, Mrs H.’ Her wicked answering smile almost made him melt, and he hurriedly cleared his throat. ‘Shall we get on with it?’

  ‘It’s heavy,’ Lottie warned. ‘I’m not sure the two of us can manage it on our own.’

  ‘How did John Porter get it in the shed? Did he have some help?’

  ‘No, it was just him.’

  ‘Then I’m sure we can manage it between us,’ Henry declared. But he’d not taken John Porter’s farming muscles into consideration, and by the time he and Lottie had navigated the repurposed boat out of the shed and into the kitchen, sweat was beading on his brow and his T-shirt clung to his back, despite the temperature outside.

  ‘Good Lord, I didn’t realise I was so unfit,’ he said. ‘I think I’d better start going to the gym.’ Or maybe not the gym: running was free and there were plenty of places he could go for a jog right on his doorstep.

  Eventually, though, they managed to tilt it this way and that, and get it through the kitchen and up the stairs, with Morgan dancing excitedly around them. Sabrina stuck her head out of her bedroom once to see what all the fuss was about, then retreated hastily in case she was asked to help.

  By the time Robin’s bed was in his room, the only thing Henry wanted to do was to go and lie down on his own bed. He was worn out, but he gamely helped Lottie dismantle their son’s old bed, and put the original mattress on the new one.

  ‘When did you do that?’ he asked, noticing that the walls had been painted a fresh light blue.

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘Oh.’ Henry felt idiotic for not noticing. He’d been so wrapped up in himself… ‘You’ve done a fantastic job on that old boat,’ he said, standing back to admire it.

  ‘Do you think?’ She sounded doubtful.

  ‘I most certainly do. How much would something like that cost if you bought it in a shop?’