Make Do and Mend in Applewell

by Lilac Mills

  Eleri led Lottie through to the garden and out to her summer house. In the centre of it sat the TV cabinet, resting on top of some old cardboard to protect the floor.

  If Lottie hadn’t known it used to be a TV cabinet, she never would have guessed. Bits of it had been taken off and were lying around in various stages of preparation. The main reason why she was there was to remove the shelf that the TV would have sat on, and take it back to her house where she would cut a small hole in it and insert a washing-up bowl. That was what Eleri planned to use as a pretend sink.

  As Lottie stared at it, she thought she might have some small lengths of dowel that she could affix to the side of it to make it look like a draining board. It would only need little pieces, because the area wasn’t a large one. The other side of the washing-up bowl would be where potential young cooks could pretend to chop vegetables and prepare food.

  Lottie and Eleri carried on dismantling the TV stand so Lottie could get to the length of wood she needed. It was going to be reassembled in roughly the same manner, with the addition of a few shelves and some hooks, so Lottie carefully stacked each piece in order, so that she knew where they had to go when she came to reassemble it.

  ‘You’re doing a grand job on the sanding,’ Lottie said, ‘and I see you’ve done a couple of test colours. What are you going to go for?’

  Eleri stood back, hands on hips. ‘I quite like these ice cream shades,’ she said. ‘The pale blue, together with the mint green and the pink is very on trend.’ She laughed. ‘Listen to me, saying things like “on trend”.’

  ‘It’s true, though. Think of the colours of the dressers and the appliances in The Great British Bake Off, and you’re almost there. You could put some fairy lights across the top of it, or maybe some bunting?’

  ‘Ooh, I like that idea. And a friend of mine has got a kiddies’ bench and table she no longer uses. It’s been in the garden for ages, but she’s happy for me to have it. It will need a good sanding down and painting, and I was thinking of asking Gracie if she’d make some cushions to go on it. It would look like a proper little kitchen-diner then.’

  ‘You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?’ Lottie said. ‘If their parents don’t mind, their children will be able to eat there, too. It could get a bit messy, though,’ she added.

  ‘That doesn’t matter – as long as everyone has a good time and enjoys the food, that’s all that counts,’ Eleri said.

  The pair of them admired their handiwork for a moment, sipping their wine. Lottie was careful not to drink too much, as she didn’t want her mouth to run away with her when she got home. Despite outward appearances, she was still very annoyed, incredibly upset and almost in a state of disbelief. She still couldn’t understand why he’d do this to her. Didn’t he love her any more?

  He couldn’t, could he, if he was sleeping with someone else? It was just a pity she loved him with all her heart, because he had quite happily trampled all over hers.

  Chapter 21

  Henry

  So much for hoping to find some oars and make amends to Lottie, Henry thought, after he had switched his phone on and saw the number of missed calls and the several texts from his wife, each one getting progressively shirtier. He had totally and utterly forgotten he was supposed to be looking after the children that evening. Could this day get any worse?

  Oh, yes, it could, he realised, when he saw his mum’s car in the drive. Lottie had gone out regardless of him not being home. He didn’t blame her, but he wasn’t in the mood for speaking to his mum this evening. He wasn’t in the mood for speaking to anyone; not even Lottie, because after being so late she probably would have ignored him anyway.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, wearily, as he trudged into the house. Oh, Lord, the children were still up. He should have expected it, because he was supposed to have put them to bed. Lottie had probably been hanging on waiting for him to come home, and had then phoned his mother in desperation.

  ‘Lottie hasn’t long gone,’ his mother said, cheerfully. ‘The boys have just finished watching a film, and she told me not to bother to put them to bed, because you’d do it.’

  I bet she did, Henry thought grumpily. He could do without this too, but it wasn’t fair on the children if he took out his bad mood on them. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Lottie, come to think of it. Nor his mother. He was the one to blame. Although it wasn’t his fault he’d lost his job. Oh God, what a mess.

  ‘Had a good day?’ Meryl asked, her eyebrows raised as she looked at him.

  ‘All right, I suppose,’ he said. He probably wasn’t fooling her, but right then he didn’t care.

  ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it, Henry?’ she asked.

  Henry gave a start. ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing.’ His mother’s tone was offhand, but he knew her too well, so when she carried on saying, ‘It’s just that Lottie seems a bit out of sorts,’ he knew he was in for a grilling.

  ‘Mum, I’m tired, and I’ve got to get the kids to bed. Can we do this another time?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Chat about Lottie.’

  ‘So there is something wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Mum, leave it, it’s nothing.’ Or it would be nothing if he could get himself another job, and fast. He didn’t know what was up with Lottie, but he had so much on his plate at the moment he couldn’t begin to work her out. No doubt she’d tell him eventually; she usually did. Besides, in the past when she’d been having a moment and he’d asked her what was wrong, her usual response had been, ‘Nothing.’ Yet she expected him to know anyway. What was he, a mind reader?

  It might have been with undue haste that he steered his mother to the front door, but he didn’t care about that, either. All he cared about was putting three children to bed, two of whom were getting quite fractious because they were overtired. Sabrina was up in her room, as usual, probably playing on some game or another. But at ten, she wasn’t a baby any more, and he trusted her to get herself ready for bed when he told her she should.

  The other two were a different matter. Robin protested all the way and Morgan, getting a second wind, gave Henry the runaround, charging up and down the landing and in and out of bedrooms, giggling like an idiot while wearing a pair of pants on his head. It wasn’t his son’s best look, but it did make Henry smile.

  Eventually all three children were safely tucked up in bed, Morgan fast asleep, Robin getting there, and Sabrina reading. He stuck his head around her door. ‘Are you all right, sweetie?’

  She glanced up at him, her face illuminated by the bedside light, and he was struck by how gorgeous she was. Fresh-faced and clear-eyed, her cheeks still rounded yet with a hint of cheekbone underneath, she was the image of her mum. At that moment, he could almost imagine Lottie as she would have been at the same age. The child was far from being grown up, but he could see hints of the adult his daughter would soon become, in her face and mannerisms. It was fascinating, awe inspiring, and exciting all at the same time. Together, he and Lottie had made this new human being; three of them in fact, and watching them grow up was an absolute delight.

  He sat on Sabrina’s bed and she moved over to give him some room. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked.

  ‘The Witches by Roald Dahl,’ she said, closing the book slightly to show him the cover.

  ‘Is it any good?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘I remember when I used to read to you every night,’ he said, wistfully.

  Sabrina didn’t look impressed. ‘I was a baby, that’s what you do with little ones. I can read all on my own now,’ she told him, slightly sarcastically.

  Henry ruffled her hair and she pulled a face. ‘Get off,’ she whined.

  Abruptly, it struck him suddenly and with great force that his daughter’s childhood was fast disappearing. She was racing headlong into being a teenager, and although he guessed he
probably wouldn’t lose her totally, he knew she would retreat from him. It was beginning already. It was only natural, but he didn’t like it one bit. He wanted his little girl back, his little princess who would wrap her arms around him, kiss his cheeks, and tell him he was the best daddy in the world.

  He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that.

  Ignoring her frown, he leant across the bed and kissed her on the forehead. He was grateful she didn’t wipe at the skin his lips had touched. But he had a feeling she wanted to.

  Henry made a promise to himself that no matter what happened, he was going to make the most of spending as much time as possible with his family – the children especially. The last ten years had flown by and so would the next ten, and suddenly they’d be grown and gone, and he’d no longer be able to rock his children in his arms, or be covered in sloppy kisses and told ‘I love you, Daddy’ in a high, piping voice.

  With tears in his eyes, he wandered back downstairs and slumped in front of the TV.

  It was some time later when he heard Lottie return, and he sat up a bit straighter, feeling slightly stiff, both physically and emotionally. He had a feeling he’d be in for a bit of a battering for being so late and not being contactable, and he braced himself for the onslaught.

  But as he’d surmised earlier, Lottie ignored him. She didn’t even glance at him as she walked past the living room and into the kitchen. It was as though he didn’t exist. He debated whether to go and speak to her, ultimately deciding it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. He could tell she was annoyed with him, but it would blow over. It always did. The best thing he could do was to keep his head down and wait it out. It shouldn’t take too long; they very rarely fell out for more than a day or so.

  He was about to sneak off up to bed when she stalked into the living room and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. ‘So, what’s the excuse?’ she demanded. ‘You knew I was going out this evening.’

  ‘Sorry, I was in a bit of a blank spot,’ he lied, unconvincingly.

  Lottie raised her eyebrows, her lips set in a thin line.

  ‘I messaged you as soon as I could,’ he assured her.

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’ He held his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. ‘You were still able to go out. My mum came round, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but no thanks to you. It was just sheer luck she didn’t have anything on this evening.’

  ‘I said I’m sorry. Couldn’t you have rearranged?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Why? So that you could be late again on another night instead?’ she argued.

  ‘Lottie, you have no idea what’s going on,’ he said, throwing caution to the wind.

  ‘Tell me, then,’ she demanded.

  Henry reined himself in. With the mood she was in, he didn’t want to confide in her. It would only make matters worse, and after the day he’d had he could do without the aggro. Not knowing what else to say, he fell silent.

  He was dimly aware of Lottie shaking her head in disgust before storming out of the room.

  Feeling suddenly very sad, he let her go.

  * * *

  Henry could hear Lottie moving about, getting ready for bed, but he stayed where he was until the house fell silent. Even then he was hesitant about being in the same room as her.

  When he finally took himself upstairs, he saw he didn’t have to be. Morgan’s bedroom door was firmly shut and he guessed that was where his wife intended to spend the night. Filled with sadness, he shucked off his clothes before slipping into his side of the suddenly very empty double bed. It was one thing not wanting to start the conversation back up; it was quite another to have her not share his bed.

  Not only had he lost his job, Henry felt he was in serious danger of losing his wife and his children, too.

  For the first time since he was a child, Henry cried himself to sleep.

  Chapter 22

  Lottie

  Lottie obsessively checked her Instagram account for what must have been the twentieth time in an hour. She was enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen before she had to pick the children up from school, while watching Morgan colour in (she used the term loosely) a line drawing of an elf, and hoping to get some interest for her post of the renovated door.

  She let out a gasp when she saw she now had forty-three likes, and the number was climbing steadily. She had only posted it half an hour ago, and she was already pleased with the results. But more importantly, she’d also posted it on Etsy for sale!

  She’d thought long and hard about doing this, scared someone might want to buy it then take one look at it and change their mind. But, as Delia told her yesterday, she would never know unless she posted it. Delia had also told her that she didn’t realise how talented she was, which had made Lottie blush and feel rather uncomfortable. But even as she had brushed the comment away, she knew she’d done a decent job of transforming the door into a coat rack. It was practical yet unusual at the same time. In the right setting it would look stunning. It needed a rustic farmhouse-style property to set it off, but it wouldn’t look out of place in an industrial-style loft. It didn’t look out of place in their own house, but they had enough furniture and enough hooks and shelves, and she didn’t see the need for any more.

  She almost wished she’d shown Henry the finished product but, to be honest, she couldn’t be bothered. She was still smarting from the other evening, even though he’d made an ‘effort’ and had arrived home early yesterday.

  She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that he was more than likely having an affair. It didn’t seem possible somehow, not her Henry. She wouldn’t put him down as being the type. But then again, what was the unfaithful type? What she meant was, she’d thought he loved her too much to even look at another woman. And that was what pained her most – that he didn’t.

  Had he fallen out of love with her? He must have done, or he wouldn’t treat her like this. When had he realised he didn’t love her any more? Over the past day or so, she’d racked her brains but she couldn’t identify any particular point. It must have been gradual; so gradual that she hadn’t noticed. But she noticed it now, all right.

  ‘Finished, Mummy,’ Morgan declared, holding up the red and green scribble covering most of the elf and the rest of the paper.

  ‘Well done! Shall I put this one on the fridge?’

  He nodded enthusiastically, then rubbed his eyes and yawned. He’d been up since five thirty and Lottie had spent the biggest part of the morning in the park trying to wear him out and take his mind off the impending visit of a certain jolly man in a red suit. Lottie hadn’t even put the tree up yet but Morgan was demanding they leave out a carrot, a mince pie and a glass of milk just in case Santa was early.

  After school, Delia had promised to pop over with Mick and Tyrone, and Lottie was still in two minds about saying anything more to her friend about the state of her marriage. She was no further forward when it came to gathering concrete evidence, despite the circumstantial evidence mounting up against Henry. She didn’t want to be one of those women who was constantly jealous; up until now she hadn’t been in the slightest, but at this very minute she didn’t particularly like herself. More importantly, she liked Henry even less.

  She popped Morgan upstairs for a nap after she’d given him lunch, and figured she probably had about half an hour of peace, but for the first time in ages she didn’t have something to work on, having finished the sledges she’d been making, and was at a bit of a loose end.

  The problem with being at a loose end was that it gave one time to think, and she was totally fed up with thinking; all it did was wind her up and make her head spin. She was the type of person who liked to be busy; having time on her hands didn’t suit her. She simply wasn’t used to it, so she needed to find another project sharpish, if only to take her mind off Henry and the state of her marriage.

  Picking up her phone, she logged into Freecycle. After
Henry’s disapproval when she’d brought the sledge home, even though it had only cost £5 and she’d made another two from wood she’d already salvaged (which was considerably cheaper than buying three plastic ones the next time it snowed), she was reluctant to spend money on anything to do with her hobby. She’d see what she could find online for nothing, though the area this particular group covered was quite extensive, and if she found anything she’d have to wait until she could get her hands on the car before she arranged to collect the item.

  She was busy trawling through posts and having a good gander at the photos and wondering what she could do with things – the ideas sluggish and slow to come to her – when she received a notification.

  Someone wanted to buy the door!

  Except, it wasn’t a door any longer, was it? She’d described it as an unusual coat rack and had posted several pictures. And now someone wanted to buy it.

  Squeee!!

  Lottie danced around in a circle, waving her hands in the air. Suddenly she sobered. What if, when they came to pick it up, they didn’t like it? What if they thought it was rubbish? Oh, God, what was she going to do?

  The potential buyer had provided their contact number and name, and asked how soon they could come round to view it. Lottie decided there was no time like the present; the sooner they came to see it, the sooner she’d know whether she should take it off the market, and never try to sell anything she’d made ever again.

  It was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that she spoke to the woman who had expressed an interest, and they arranged for her to pop around in an hour or so.

  Goodness, this was moving far too fast for Lottie, and she didn’t know what to make of it all. She’d only posted it this morning and it was just after lunch, and very shortly she might have made her first sale. Or not.

  Lottie carried the door carefully out from the shed and into the hall, where she propped it up against the wall, then she waited impatiently for the lady, whose name was Jo, to arrive.