Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Good day?’ Amy asked her bloke.

  ‘So-so. I’ll be better when I’ve had a drink.’

  ‘Did you get a shout?’

  He grimaced as he nodded. ‘An RTA. A nasty one.’

  ‘Ooh, yuck.’ Amy pulled a face. ‘Don’t tell me the details, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘No, you don’t, trust me.’

  ‘Here you go,’ said Belinda, as she handed over the drink. Ryan went for his wallet. ‘No, Ames paid for it.’

  ‘Cheers, Ames,’ said Ryan with a broad smile. ‘I might just hang on to you.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ she responded. The pair went to sit at a corner table. ‘I might have just had some good news.’

  Ryan’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not with you. Either you’ve had good news or you haven’t.’

  ‘That’s just it. Belinda told me that one of the ladies I used to clean for is thinking of taking me back on again. So, if she is, it is good news but I don’t know for definite yet.’

  ‘OK, I’m with you now but have you got the time? What with the Post Office and your other cleaning jobs it seems to me you hardly have time to draw breath. Between your jobs and my shifts, we see little enough of each other as it is.’

  Amy sipped her drink. ‘I know but the cash would be nice.’

  Ryan sighed and stared at his Guinness. ‘Good point.’ He paused, then said, ‘I suppose…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘This is going to sound a bit cheeky…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What about if I moved into your place?’

  ‘But you’ve always said you like your flat, you like your own space.’

  ‘I like you more, Ames. And I’d pay half the bills and the rent and everything, and we’d see more of each other, and I’d do my bit round the house. I’m quite handy with a duster and an iron, and they always say that two can live as cheaply as one—’

  ‘Three. I’d have to ask my Ashley.’

  ‘Of course. Absolutely.’

  ‘He’ll probably say he’s cool with the idea. He likes you. He never liked Billy.’

  ‘No… well…’ No one had liked Billy – except Amy and that was only because he’d flashed the cash he’d made from drug-dealing and pinching stuff. ‘And with me working shifts means there’ll be lots of time when it’ll just be you and Ash.’

  ‘But what about when you’re on nights and need to sleep during the day? Especially at weekends. I don’t mind creeping around and being quiet, but it’s not fair on Ash.’

  ‘That’s why they invented ear plugs.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘And your Ash isn’t exactly a hell-raiser, is he? I mean if he had a drum kit and needed to practise, I might think twice, but I expect I can sleep through a bit of music or him chatting on his mobile.’

  Amy started to smile. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Never been more sure in my life.’

  ‘How soon do you want to move in?’

  ‘Just as soon as Ash says it’s OK.’

  4

  The following Sunday, as Ryan, helped by Amy and Ashley, was packing the last of his personal possessions into his elderly Corsa, Gordon and Maxine were getting ready to walk across the nature reserve for a lunchtime drink at the pub. They’d done everything on their list of jobs for the morning: outside the grass was cut, the edges strimmed, the washing was blowing on the line; inside the house was dusted, the floors swept and mopped and they both felt they deserved a reward.

  Maxine gathered up the paper and shoved it in her handbag so they’d have the crossword to do while they enjoyed their drink and Gordon went round the house, closing the windows and checking all the doors were locked. Two minutes later they were shutting the front door behind them when an unknown car swept into the drive.

  ‘You expecting anyone?’ Max asked Gordon as she stared at the Mini.

  He shook his head.

  Maxine thought for a moment. ‘Didn’t Judith say something about buying a Mini?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not like your sister to drop in is it? She’s never been a fan of this town – no bright lights, no cocktail bars, no Michelin-starred restaurants... Besides, she’d have rung first.’

  Gordon was right about Judith liking a bit of hedonism. Actually, she liked a lot of hedonism so their contact was pretty much reduced to regular phone calls, which made the relationship much easier on every level and always had done. Gordon disliked Judith’s husband Mike, whom Gordon thought was a knob, and it didn’t help matters that he also thought his sister-in-law was a spoilt, over-dressed narcissist. Of course, he was polite and tolerant when they met but such encounters were never completely relaxed or easy and over the years they had reduced somewhat. Maxine had tried to convince Gordon that Judith wasn’t as bad as he thought, not really, but that her attitude was the result of being the much-longed-for second child who had arrived after Maxine had gone to secondary school and who had been indulged from day one by her doting parents. That she’d always been a bit spoilt hadn’t been helped by marrying someone who apparently worshipped the ground she walked on.

  The car door opened and out stepped Judith in a faux-fur leopard-print coat (at least Maxine hoped it was faux-fur since Mike always seemed to think nothing was too expensive or over-the-top for his wife) and with immaculate hair and huge Jackie O sunglasses. Maxine smiled to herself – how like Judith to wear sunglasses even though the day was overcast.

  ‘Judith? How lovely. We weren’t expecting you,’ she said, genuinely pleased by the surprise as she hugged her sister. ‘You should have rung.’

  Judith disentangled herself from Maxine’s grasp, raised her glasses revealing a tear-stained face. She was obviously upset about something but whatever had befallen her hadn’t stopped her from giving her long blonde hair an elaborate up-do and making up her eyes with liner, mascara and brown eyeshadow which, Judith had always insisted, made her eyes look even bluer. Of course, there was the possibility that the news had come after she’d got up but given that she wasn’t an habitual early-riser and it had only just gone midday, Maxine wondered, a bit cynically, if the need to look beautiful outweighed the tragedy. Judith began to sob – loudly and theatrically.

  ‘Judith! What on earth’s the matter?’ She saw that Gordon had the front door open again and she dragged Judith towards the threshold. ‘Is it Mike? What’s happened?’ she asked as they both got into the hall. Max shrugged off her coat and helped Judith off with hers. ‘Gordon, pour Judith a drink. She looks like she needs one.’

  ‘Gin?’ offered Gordon. He took Judith’s wail as an acceptance and went to pour it.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ directed Maxine. She led the way into the sitting room and Judith collapsed onto the sofa. ‘So, what’s going on?’

  Judith rummaged up her sleeve and pulled out a tissue and blew her nose.

  ‘It’s Mike.’

  Maxine had guessed as much. ‘Is he…? He’s not…?’

  Judith looked up sharply, her sobs ceasing instantaneously. ‘Dead? He will be if I have anything to do with it. The bastard’s leaving me.’

  ‘No!’ Maxine was totally shocked. She’d never have thought Mike would have had the balls to walk out on Judith. ‘But why…?’

  Judith blew her nose again. ‘Oh, go on… guess.’

  ‘Another woman?’

  Judith nodded. ‘A thirty-year-old. Young enough to be his daughter.’ Not that Mike and Judith had any children. She’d flatly refused to even countenance having a baby as it would have ruined her figure.

  ‘Shit,’ breathed Maxine.

  ‘Yup, that was pretty much my sentiment.’

  Gordon came in with a large gin and tonic and handed it over. He gave Maxine a quizzical look. She mouthed ‘Mike’ at him, then ‘he’s left her.’

  Gordon pulled a face.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Judith. ‘You can say it out loud. I won’t disintegrate.’ She gave them a wan smile. ‘Or no more than I have alr
eady.’ She sniffed then swigged her drink. ‘Thanks, Gordon – just what I needed.’

  ‘You’ll stay the night, won’t you?’ said Maxine. She was going to roast a chicken for supper and there’d be more than enough for an unexpected visitor. The spare room bed was made up – it would be no trouble.

  ‘You sure? I did throw a few things in a case… I can’t bear the thought of being alone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Although, I’m not quite sure what we’re going to have for lunch,’ she admitted. She and Gordon usually had scrambled eggs for lunch on a Sunday and she knew she didn’t have enough for three.

  ‘Let me take you out,’ said Judith. ‘While we still have a joint bank account, I have every intention of spending as much of Mike’s money as I possibly can. Bastard.’

  ‘That’d be very kind. Let’s go to the pub – then we don’t have to worry about driving back.’

  Judith necked her drink in three large gulps. ‘That’s a plan then.’

  Ten minutes later they pushed open the pub door, hoping that it wouldn’t be too busy which it often was on a Sunday. Luckily there was a vacant table which Gordon and Maxine bagged while Judith went to the bar to collect the menus and a bottle of wine.

  It was almost three when they got back to the house by which time Judith was quite maudlin and either crying again or bitterly insulting her ex-husband. One bottle of wine hadn’t been enough as far as Judith was concerned so she’d ordered a second, despite Max and Gordon’s protestations that they had had plenty and then she’d finished off the meal with a large brandy.

  ‘I think I might have a lie down,’ she announced as she staggered into the hall.

  ‘Good idea,’ muttered Gordon. More loudly he said, ‘Give me your keys and I’ll get your case in.’

  Judith sat on the bottom step of the stairs as she rummaged deep into her handbag. ‘Here they are,’ she announced as she hauled the car keys out with a flourish. She hiccupped loudly. ‘Oops, manners.’

  Gordon fetched in an ominously large case which he took up to the spare room and then Max shepherded Judith upstairs, hovering behind her just in case her sister’s sense of balance failed her – which, given how much booze she’d shipped, wasn’t entirely unlikely.

  Having got Judith safely to her room the couple returned to their sitting room and collapsed.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ said Maxine. ‘Who’d have thought Mike would have dumped her like that.’ She gazed at Gordon. ‘And I don’t want you getting any ideas.’

  Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘Come off it, Max. Just because Mike’s having a mid-life crisis doesn’t mean I’m going to follow suit.’

  No, he was right and Max instantly felt bad for having made the suggestion. She moved her train of thought away from men and mid-life crises. ‘It’s a big suitcase – it certainly isn’t a few things. How long do you think she’s going to stay?’

  ‘Why are you asking me? She’s your sister.’

  ‘She looks like she brought enough with her for weeks.’

  ‘She can’t stay that long. You know what they say about visitors and fish.’

  As Gordon liked to tell her whenever anyone came to stay, that both stank after three days, she certainly did. ‘I can hardly tell her to sling her hook when her three days are up, can I? She’s in a terrible state and supposing she’s got nowhere else to go?’

  ‘Then, she’ll need to find somewhere. Besides, as Mike’s floozy is thirty, she surely has her own place so, he can, presumably, move in with her.’

  ‘Maybe. Unless he’s moved her in with him. In which case…’ They both considered the ramifications of Judith being homeless. ‘At least,’ said Maxine gloomily, ‘if she stays for any length of time, as she’s a grown-up I can leave her to her own devices while I get on with my own life. She might be miserable and upset but she can’t expect me to put everything on hold.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Gordon. ‘Your sister…? Not want constant attention? Good luck with that.’

  Maxine sighed… She loved Judith dearly but she wasn’t good with only herself for company. Gordon might have a point.

  *

  Judith awoke with a banging headache, a vile taste in her mouth and a total loss of orientation. Where the hell was she? Her heart raced for a second before she recognised the chintz curtains and remembered that she was at her sister’s house in her oh-so-twee spare room. Judith gazed at the decor and wondered why on earth her sister had such an affinity for antiques, mahogany and cretonne when the rest of the world had moved onto birch, light oak and clean modern lines. Still, chacun à son goût, although she thought Maxie’s goût was very iffy. Maybe it was Gordon’s taste. She wouldn’t put it past him – old stick-in-the-mud. She knew Gordon didn’t particularly like her – she wasn’t stupid, even though she was equally aware he thought she was.

  She shifted her head on the pillows and pain lanced behind her eyes. Ah, yes… there had been gin, and lunch at the pub with wine, and then a brandy. As she stared at the ceiling she wondered if the brandy had been entirely wise. From somewhere in the house she could hear the sound of a television and someone, presumably Maxine, was clattering about in the kitchen. Outside the window she could see it was definitely dusk. It was, wasn’t it? It wasn’t dawn, surely. She levered herself onto one elbow and flicked on the radio next to the bed.

  ‘Listen to me, Adam…’ she heard Brian Aldridge say. Ah, The Archers, not the Today programme so definitely Sunday evening not Monday morning. She flicked off the radio again, swung her legs off the bed and sat up. Her head clanged as if there was a lead weight rolling around in it. She sat perfectly still for a second or two as the pain subsided and then tottered into the bathroom to grab a glass of water. As she filled the tumbler, she opened the cabinet over the sink in the hope there might be some ibuprofen or paracetamol. No such luck, so she gulped the water and went to find her sister.

  The kitchen, when she reached it, was full of steam and the smell of roasting meat. She gagged. Oh, gawd, she didn’t think she could face a massive dinner, not feeling like she did. Maxine, standing at the sink with her hands in soapy water, hadn’t heard her come in, but she must have seen movement reflected in the window as Judith saw her visibly jump.

  ‘Jesus, Judith, did you have to creep up on me like that?’ her sister yelped.

  ‘And do you have to shout?’ retaliated Judith. ‘I’ve got a dreadful head. You haven’t got any painkillers, have you?’

  Maxine raised an eyebrow in that way that had always annoyed her, before she reached into a kitchen drawer and chucked a packet of pills across. Judith snatched them out of the air.

  ‘Thanks.’ She popped a couple out of the blister pack. ‘Water?’ she asked.

  Again, that raised eyebrow before Maxine picked up a glass from the dish drainer and filled it. As she handed it to her sister a pan on the hob began to boil over and Maxine let out an audible ‘tut’.

  ‘Look, sorry, I am being such a monumental inconvenience,’ said Judith as she took it, her headache making her tetchy. ‘I didn’t plan to have my life ruined by my crappy husband. I didn’t plan to be left high and dry and I’m sorry I’m such a bother.’

  ‘No, no, you’re not,’ said Maxine, turning down the gas and taking another saucepan off the heat. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, but you’ve been here enough times to know where I keep things.’ She was juggling the pan and a colander as she drained the veg, then she tipped the broccoli into a dish which she shoved in the oven to keep warm. ‘Look, if you’d like to make yourself useful, you could make the gravy.’

  Cooking? Shit no. ‘To be honest, Maxie, I’d only spoil it.’ She put the glass and the rest of the pills on the counter. ‘Maybe it’d be better if I got out from under your feet.’

  She missed Maxine rolling her eyes as she drifted out of the kitchen and into the sitting room where Gordon was glued to some football match or other. She perched on the sofa. Surely there had to be something better on th
an footie? The trouble was, Gordon seemed to be quite enjoying it. Well, she wasn’t and she was the guest here. Besides, whether it was the pills or the water she didn’t know, but she was starting to feel better. And a nice gin would complete her recovery – a hair of the dog and all that – which might be on offer if she could tear him away from the sport.

  ‘Good match?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s OK,’ was the reply.

  ‘Who’s winning?’

  ‘Fulham.’

  ‘I didn’t know you supported Fulham.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then why? I mean, why watch if you don’t care who wins?’

  ‘Because… because…’

  ‘There, you see. You’re just watching for something – anything – to watch.’

  Gordon sighed and switched off the TV.

  ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? We can have a nice chat now. How long till supper?’ asked Judith.

  Gordon shrugged and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Dunno, twenty minutes, maybe.’

  ‘Good,’ said Judith. ‘Just time for a pre-dinner drink then. I’m sure Max could do with one too.’

  She smiled at Gordon as he stomped into the kitchen to fix the drinks. She leaned across the table and picked up the remote. A second later the theme tune to a banal game show blared across the room. Judith settled herself down to enjoy the entertainment. Football might be rubbish but this programme most definitely wasn’t.

  *

  Just as Gordon, Maxine and Judith finished their breakfast the next morning, the phone went. Gordon answered it and mouthed ‘Mum,’ to Maxine as he left the kitchen to chat to his aged parent. Some people described Anthea as ‘fiercely independent’ but Maxine preferred the phrase, ‘cussed old biddy’. She hoped all was well because, if Anthea gave Gordon cause for concern he would, like as not, jump in the car and drive the two hours to her place to make sure with his own eyes, that she was still capable of living on her own in the rambling house where she had resided for the best part of sixty years. Her house was, as Max frequently observed, hopelessly inappropriate for someone of Anthea’s age and with limited mobility and vision, but she flatly refused to move out. It had trip hazards between almost every room because of the different levels throughout the building and as for the number of threadbare rugs scattered about it… Her sole concession to her age was to have a cleaner, Dot, who came in twice a week and who, as well as giving the house a once-over and doing the laundry and ironing, shopped on-line for her.