Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  She finished dusting and cleaning the downstairs – she’d do the upstairs on Sunday – and padded across the tiled hall into the big kitchen, pushing the hoover ahead of her to put it away. Much of the house hadn’t changed much since it had been built and it boasted a wealth of period features. It was the cornicing, the tiles, the fireplaces and the like which had made both Maxine and her husband, Gordon, fall in love with it completely and which had convinced them they should buy it even though they knew that they would have to live extremely frugally for years in order to afford the mortgage. But it had been worth it and Maxine felt no less love for the house than she had back then. The sole alteration they had made to the fabric had been to extend the kitchen out into the big garden and install some huge bi-fold doors so that in the summer the garden and the house became one. And, last Christmas, Gordon had built Maxine the summer house at the bottom of the garden which she used as a studio. Other than that, Maxine always felt that the original occupants from a hundred years previously would have recognised it and still felt right at home.

  As she put away the vacuum in the utility room, she could see Gordon working on the garden, digging over a bed for some spring planting. Above him the cherry tree was in full bloom and the daffs and tulips beneath it were swaying gently in the light April breeze. Maxine smiled, her heart lifted by the gloriousness of the flowers, before she tapped on the window to get her husband’s attention and made a ‘T’ with her two hands. Gordon nodded in response.

  Five minutes later, carefully carrying two steaming mugs, Max went into the garden.

  She handed one to Gordon.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said as he took a sip.

  ‘Olivia just popped by,’ she told him.

  ‘You should have said; I’d have come in and said hello.’

  ‘She didn’t really stop; she was on her way to work. She said she’d spotted Abi in town and it reminded her that she and I haven’t seen each other for an age – not properly, since she had to get a job.’

  ‘How is she?’

  Maxine related the gist of her conversation. ‘Not that we had time to have a proper catch-up but we promised each other that we will, and soon. And I tried to persuade her to join my art club.’

  ‘Still not enough members?’

  ‘I think I’ll be all right, but I won’t know for sure till it gets going. The community centre could take up to thirty with ease and I only need about ten to make the project wash its face, but the more the merrier. And the more we have the more we’ll have in funds to pay for awaydays.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Gordon put his empty mug on the bird table and picked up his spade. ‘I’ll finish this bed and then we’ll go to the pub, yes?’

  Maxine didn’t need asking twice. Just then her phone pinged with an incoming text.

  Need to see you before I head to London. Over in five mins. Lunch would be nice

  ‘The pub’s off,’ said Max as she showed Gordon her phone.

  ‘Bugger.’

  *

  ‘So, how did you get on?’ asked Maxine when Abi had shrugged off her coat. Gordon was still in the garden digging over another bed now the chance of a lunchtime drink had gone.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, I don’t know why I bothered. How difficult is it to understand that when a client has a list of essential features, it’s not a list of things they’d quite like? I mean…’ and with that Abi launched into a tirade of how useless the estate agents in Little Woodford had been. As Abi ranted Maxine went into the kitchen, followed by her daughter, and began to make some sandwiches.

  ‘Have you thought of widening your net?’ asked Maxine when her daughter drew breath. ‘Trying somewhere like Cattebury?’

  ‘Cattebury?’ screeched Abi. ‘Mum, that’s a place people move away from, not to!’

  ‘Or some of the other villages round about?’ Maxine began to slice off the crusts.

  ‘Maybe, but I like the idea of coming back to my roots; all those happy memories; maybe seeing old school friends. Lots of the kids in my class still have parents who live round and about and they come back to visit them. It’ll be nice to hook up with them again, talk about old times…’

  As Maxine recalled, Abi hadn’t been able to get away from the town fast enough when she went off to uni. She seemed to recall the words stultifying, boring, crap and dead on its feet featuring quite a lot. And she hadn’t thought much better of half the kids in her class either. Lacking in ambition and drive and brain-dead morons had been her assessment of some of her peers. She forbore to remind her daughter of her previously held opinions and just said, ‘Well, I expect your friends’ parents are a bit like us – they like the quiet life because it is very quiet here. Would that suit you after living up in London?’

  ‘We’ll get the train up to town if we want a bit of excitement,’ said Abi.

  ‘Which is fine till you start a family.’

  ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it?’

  Maxine did. Although it had been some years since she’d been to a theatre or a concert, she didn’t remember babies and small children being welcome in the audience. Or being welcome in night clubs for that matter. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘once kids come along, going out won’t be as easy.’ She got out a plate and began to move the sandwiches on to it.

  ‘I don’t see why not. It isn’t as if you and Dad ever do anything – I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance to bond with your grandchildren.’ There was a loud sniff. ‘Maybe I was wrong.’

  ‘Of course, Dad and I will help out where we can… we’d love to.’ She meant it; she was looking forward to being a granny. ‘But that’s all for the future.’ Maxine paused. ‘It is, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not…’ She glanced at Abi’s stomach.

  ‘No, Mum.’ Abi rolled her eyes. ‘I want to get settled. We’re not going to try until everything is sorted. Anyway, I came back to ask you to keep an eye on the estate agents’ windows and the local press. I don’t trust them to keep me properly in the loop – I mean, they might have promised to but after their almost universal display of incompetence…’

  And with that Abi gave her mother a list of instructions as to how she could best help with the house-hunting. Maxine tried, and failed, not to feel put-upon.

  3

  The following week, Olivia strolled towards the sole pub in the town, a battered and dog-eared copy of Jude the Obscure, which she’d managed to unearth in one of their bookcases, clutched in her hand. The state of the book was a result of it being a set text for her exams, back when she was eighteen. When she’d flicked through it the previous weekend to reacquaint herself with the story, her pencilled notes in the margins reminded her of what a dreary book it had been. She wondered why the group had chosen it. She suspected Miranda, the rather highbrow woman who had moved into her old home, The Grange, might have had something to do with it. Miranda, thought Olivia, had mellowed a little since she’d moved to Little Woodford and had given up trying to change the ways of residents to her way of thinking – encouraging them to embrace veganism and minimalism – but it was more than likely that she still felt it her duty to try to raise the townsfolk’s cultural awareness. And good luck with that, thought Olivia as she reached her destination, pushed open the pub’s front door and greeted the landlady who, as always, had a genuine and welcoming smile on her face.

  ‘Hi, Belinda.’

  ‘Hello, stranger! I haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘I know. That’s the trouble with shift work – it totally buggers up one’s social life.’

  ‘But, all better now, back to a nine to five job… or so Maxine told me.’ Belinda tucked one side of her page-boy bob behind an ear.

  Olivia grinned. She didn’t mind that the town’s rumour mill had already swung into action. At least this time she could be thankful that it was good news that people were sharing. It made a pleasant change from the last time she’d been the hot topic of conversation. ‘Yes, it’s nice to be able to establish a proper routin
e and to plan ahead.’

  ‘And… and I hope you don’t mind me saying this… but the pay rise must be nice too.’

  Olivia shrugged. ‘I won’t say it isn’t handy but we’ve kind of got used to a more basic lifestyle so I don’t think we’ll be splurging the extra very much. I’ll tell you something, though – I am considering having Amy back to work for me, if she’s got any free time. I hate housework and say what you like about Amy,’ which a lot of people in the town did, because she was an inveterate gossip and sometimes got her facts hideously wrong, ‘she’s a bloody good cleaner. Anyway, enough chitchat, I need to get a drink and get to the book club or Miranda will tick me off for being late!’

  ‘Red?’

  ‘Please. And best I buy a bottle to make up for my shocking attendance record.’

  Belinda reached below the bar and picked up a bottle of the house red. She cracked open the screw top and handed it over. ‘Nineteen fifty, please. And how many glasses?’

  ‘Give me three. We can always get a couple more if needed,’ she replied as she handed over the money and waited for her change. ‘Anyone else here yet?’

  ‘Quite a few. Heather, Bex, Miranda, Max – the usual suspects.’

  ‘Cool. Well, I’ll see you later. Always assuming we haven’t been reduced to topping ourselves by picking over the awfulness of Jude Fawley’s life.’ She waved her book at Belinda and then tucked it under an arm so she could gather up the bottle of wine and the glasses.

  Belinda laughed as Olivia made her way through the bar and up the stairs to the pub’s function room. She could hear the animated conversation from the bottom of the stairwell.

  ‘Hello,’ she called to the group of around ten women standing around the low table that was placed in the middle of the room, a circle of chairs surrounding it.

  Her friends turned and greeted her.

  ‘Olivia!’ said Jacqui, the doctor’s wife. ‘How lovely!’

  The others in the room echoed the sentiment.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Olivia, suddenly feeling slightly bashful at the effusive welcome. ‘I can’t tell you how nice it is to stop working shifts.’ She gazed around at the women in the room. ‘I have so missed my social life. Anyway,’ she said putting her bottle down on the table, ‘what were you all talking about? It sounded very lively.’

  ‘Husbands,’ said Heather, the vicar’s wife.

  Olivia snorted. ‘Well, where do I start?’ The others laughed. ‘Although, as I said to Max only the other day, he is getting better.’

  ‘Well, I won’t have a word said against Miles,’ said Bex, a young widow who had recently remarried to the pub’s chef.

  ‘Yes, but you’re still in the honeymoon phase,’ said Heather.

  ‘And he can cook better than most women,’ added Maxine.

  ‘And he enjoys it,’ added Jacqui.

  ‘Don’t blame me for being a good picker,’ said Bex with a laugh. She looked around the room. ‘Anyway, your husbands are all lovely.’

  ‘Oh, they are. Mine is a paragon, except when it comes to housework, cooking, cleaning, ironing, putting out the bins, picking up his dirty clothes off the bathroom floor… the list is endless,’ said Jacqui.

  ‘Has he been taking lessons from Brian?’ said Heather.

  ‘Aren’t they born like it?’ replied Maxine.

  The sound of more voices and footsteps drifted up the stairwell and a few seconds later another half dozen women piled into the room and the noise level rocketed. Olivia drew Maxine over towards the window.

  ‘I know you said so the other day but retirement really is good, isn’t it? It did seem so when I saw you but… you know… Let’s face it, as one who knows all about putting on a brave face, about dissembling to friends…’

  ‘No, honestly I’m not putting on a brave face. I absolutely love it. And so does Gordon.’

  ‘I’m glad. Some marriages aren’t strong enough to cope with all this sudden togetherness. Not that I’ve never thought that you and Gordon are anything less than a wonderful example of why marriage is a good thing.’

  Max felt herself blushing slightly at this praise. ‘To be honest, we’re hardly under each other’s feet at all. What with his golf and my studio there are some days when our paths hardly cross.’

  ‘Studio?’

  ‘Of course, you didn’t have time to see it when you popped over last week. It was my Christmas present from Gordon. It’s really a glorified summer house at the bottom of the garden but I love it. The thought has crossed my mind that he bought it for me to get me out from under his feet…’ They both laughed. ‘You must have a guided tour next time you pop over. I can paint there undisturbed by the phone, the internet or real life. Honestly what with one thing and another we’re busier than ever. And that’s before I take into account the WI, the book club, my art club, the occasional lunch with friends plus working in the Oxfam shop.’

  ‘And how is the art club going?’

  ‘We start next week – Thursday evening, at the Community Centre. Fancy coming along?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘I’m going to charge a hundred pounds a term which will cover the room hire, paints, brushes, sketchbooks, acrylics, really basic easels… all the kit to get everyone started.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s some investment you’ve made.’

  Maxine nodded. ‘It’s seed corn money really. If people get keen, they’ll probably want to buy their own stuff and, if they do, I can review the fees.’

  Olivia was about to reply but was interrupted by Miranda pinging a wine glass with a pen and the imperious ding-ding-ding cut through the conversation.

  ‘Shall we make a start?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll make a real effort for Thursday,’ said Olivia as they took their seats.

  ‘Please do, it would be lovely to have you join us.’

  *

  As the book club, in the upstairs room of the pub, was discussing the ghastly events that had dominated the life of Jude Fawley and wondering if Thomas Hardy was a complete kill-joy, Amy, the cleaning lady to several of the town’s residents, strolled into the pub downstairs. As always Amy seemed to have one too many buttons undone on her blouse and her skirt was a good few inches shorter than was entirely decent. Belinda wondered why she wasn’t catching her death.

  ‘Hiya,’ said Belinda. ‘Meeting Ryan?’ Ryan was Amy’s new boyfriend and a vast improvement on her previous one, Billy Rogers, who was still inside doing time for burglary. Most of his victims had been local townsfolk and no one had felt the least bit of sympathy when the local magistrate had sent him down for three years. Belinda had never understood what Amy had seen in him – nasty weaselly man with a quick temper.

  ‘I certainly am. Well, I am, assuming he hasn’t had a shout.’ Ryan was a fireman so his and Amy’s plans were sometimes ruined if duty called. ‘And a G and T please.’ Amy extracted a tenner from her bag in readiness. ‘And a pint of Guinness, too, please.’

  ‘What if he can’t make it?’ said Belinda as she pushed a glass under the gin optic.

  ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  Belinda picked up a pair of tongs and deftly dropped in ice and a slice before she squirted in the tonic from the dispenser. ‘And I might have some good news for you.’ She handed the drink through the beer pump handles.

  ‘Really?’ Amy took a gulp.

  ‘Olivia was in here just now – she’s at the book club upstairs.’

  ‘Mrs L? I haven’t seen her for a while. How is the old bat?’

  Belinda sucked in her cheeks to stop a smile. ‘She’s fine. She also mentioned that she’s thinking of asking you to clean for her again.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’ Amy was genuinely surprised. ‘What, after that business with Billy and her mum’s engagement ring?’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t nick it. Billy was a low-life and you were as honest as the day was long.’

  Amy blushed because that wasn’t the exact truth – b
oth Heather and Olivia had caught her helping herself to little treats from their biscuit tins or their gin bottles. But she’d learnt her lesson and she hadn’t done it since. Well, not much. Or more accurately, she was more careful about not getting caught.

  ‘Have you got any free time?’

  ‘Wednesday afternoons. Mind, I quite like that bit of time as I can get me smalls washed and sort me own gaff out.’

  ‘True, but it’d be another few quid each week.’

  ‘And her new place is only titchy,’ said Amy, thoughtfully. ‘I could get it all done and dusted in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Exactly. Extra money and still home in time to get a wash on.’

  ‘I’ll pop round and see her, shall I?’

  Belinda pursed her lips. ‘Maybe it’d be better for her to come to you. She didn’t say she’d made her mind up for definite.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘And, let’s face it, if she’s going to get a cleaner the only person she’s going to ask is you, isn’t it? Hobson’s Choice is what she’s got.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There was a film… never mind. It means she’s got no choice at all. Who else cleans round here?’

  ‘Yeah, good point. Or if they do, I bet they don’t clean as good as me.’

  Belinda looked over Amy’s shoulder. ‘And here comes your young man.’ She went to pour the Guinness as Amy turned and greeted Ryan with a big kiss on his cheek. She had to stand on tiptoe as he was six foot and she was only a shade over five. And given that he was rugged and hunky with swarthy good looks and she was blonde, blue-eyed and curvy, they couldn’t have been more like chalk and cheese, but somehow they managed to look good together. Belinda smiled fondly at the couple and hoped that this boyfriend was going to prove to be a keeper for Amy. She might have her faults but she deserved a happy relationship.