Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘We’ll just have to hope Dot doesn’t find her dead at the bottom of the stairs,’ Max had said, when the arrangement had been put in place.

  ‘Actually,’ said Gordon, ‘apart from the shock to poor Dot, it wouldn’t be a bad solution; no persuading Mum to go into a care home, no slow decline into dementia, no battling for lasting power of attorney…’ The latter was an on-going fight they were having with Anthea.

  ‘I’m not losing my marbles and I resent the implication that I am,’ she snapped whenever it was mentioned.

  ‘But, Mum, supposing you did or you had a catastrophic illness? People do, you know, and if that happened there would be nothing I could do for ages to sort out your affairs.’

  ‘If,’ said Anthea with a gimlet stare in her son’s direction, ‘that happens and if you dare allow the medics to resuscitate me, when I finally do manage to shuffle off, I’ll come back and haunt you.’

  And Max and Gordon didn’t doubt it. Anthea had very firm views on nature being allowed to take its course. But until that happened, Anthea and Gordon phoned each other about once a week and once every couple of months Gordon felt duty bound to race across country because he had a gut feeling all was not well. Usually his fears were unfounded, but it was, as he often observed, just a matter of time before his mum’s grumbling about ‘feeling under the weather’ actually turned out to be pneumonia or bronchitis. However, the snippet of conversation that Maxine had overheard before Gordon had moved into the sitting room and out of earshot, seemed to indicate that Anthea was still very much in the land of the living and was positively hale and hearty.

  She got to her feet and started to stack the dishwasher. She pushed her concerns about Anthea to the back of her mind and turned her attention to her sister instead. Judith’s life might be in total crisis but she’d still appeared at breakfast, coiffed, made-up, wearing a smart, silk shirtwaister and some very fetching sandals, looking like something out of a fashion magazine. Maxine, in her habitual jeans and plain cotton shirt felt frumpy in comparison.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you’ve told me that Mike’s a shit and a shyster and that he’s got a younger woman but…’ she paused. She knew she was being prurient but she felt there was something in Judith’s story that didn’t quite stack up. ‘There’s got to be more to him buggering off than having a wandering eye. I mean, a married man having a fling is one thing, dumping his wife is something else.’ Across the kitchen table sat Judith, her eyes downcast as she toyed with a cup of coffee, a half-eaten piece of toast on the plate in front of her. ‘I mean, presumably he’s been carrying on with her for some time so why does he suddenly want to up-end the apple cart and leave you?’

  Judith shrugged. ‘I can’t really see the details are any of your business.’ She looked up and glared.

  Maxine met her sister’s gaze steadily, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite. ‘You’re my sister, of course it’s my business. You’ve been hurt, horribly. Mike’s jacked in twenty-five years of marriage… there has to be a reason.’

  Judith looked away and pushed her plate across the table. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  Maxine knew she was hiding something; Judith might have always been an inveterate fibber when it suited her but she’d also been a crap one. However, if her sister wasn’t going to level with her there wasn’t much she could do. She stood up again. ‘Finished?’ she asked as she picked up Judith’s plate.

  Judith raised her eyes. ‘Are you talking about breakfast, or my life?’

  Maxine sniffed. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ll be all right. Despite what you’ve been saying, you know as well as I do that, deep down, Mike’s a decent bloke, he’s always been generous and he’ll make sure you’re OK financially.’

  Judith’s eyes flooded with tears. ‘Easy for you to say,’ she snapped. ‘It’s my life that’s ruined. He’s had my best years and now he’s just chucked everything away. I don’t want to live on my own. I’m not like you; I’m not good with my own company.’ She sniffed and wiped away her tears with her fingertips – careful not to spoil her make-up. ‘What’ll I do? What will become of me?’

  Maxine looked at her sister. If anyone was ever destined to come out of any situation smelling fragrant, it was her sister. She’d no doubt wind up with a huge settlement and be able to live out her years in the lap of luxury – and that was assuming she didn’t meet another man, which, considering she was remarkably well-preserved and still a beauty, wasn’t outside the bounds of possibility. Not that this was the moment to point it out. Instead she said, ‘Your house is worth a mint, you’ll be entitled to half of it. You don’t need such a big place—’

  ‘When I’m a lonely old lady?’ peeved Judith. ‘I’ll just need a bed-sit and a cat, you mean?’

  ‘Noooo, that’s not what I meant. Seriously, supposing you downsized, got a nice flat somewhere so you didn’t have to worry about the garden or maintaining such a big place. You’d have squillions left over; more than enough to see you right for the rest of your life.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to be seen right. I want Mike. I want company, I want MY husband.’ Judith got up and stormed out of the kitchen leaving Maxine none the wiser as to Mike’s decision but certain there was more to it than just tiring of his wife.

  5

  Judith stayed for three nights at the end of which both Maxine and Gordon were beginning to realise the old saw about fish and visitors was completely true. They both sagged with relief when she announced after supper on the Tuesday that Mike had texted her to say he’d cleared all his things from the house. Now it was empty of his presence she was going to return to it. She’d leave in the morning. Quite apart from the gin bill, they heard more than enough about Mike’s shortcomings to last them a lifetime.

  ‘If he really was that bad, why did she put up with him for so long? She’s no martyr, is she?’ said Gordon to Maxine in the privacy of their bedroom as they got ready for bed. ‘And I don’t remember Mike being the bastard she’s portraying him as. A knob, yes, but not a bastard.’

  ‘I think it’s a case of hell hath no fury… et cetera, et cetera,’ responded Max. ‘I also think she wants to try and convince herself that she’s better off without him. It’s a coping mechanism. I’m still wondering why he upped and left, though. I can’t get a thing out of Judith. She says she doesn’t know why – beyond the fact he’s got a younger woman on the go. Which I suppose might be enough but it seems so out of character for Mike. He’s always indulged her so much. Spoilt her, even. Why would he do this now?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  Max stopped brushing her hair and stared at her husband. ‘You don’t think that’s…? No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘What, being too nosy? Let’s face it, you’ve only heard your sister’s side and you’ve often told me she can fib for Britain.’

  ‘It’s just… I’d be betraying her. Wouldn’t I? Siding with the enemy?’

  ‘I don’t see why being in possession of the facts is a betrayal.’

  ‘Judith wouldn’t see it like that.’

  ‘Just make sure she doesn’t find out. If you don’t tell her and Mike doesn’t either – and why should he? – who will?’

  ‘I dunno. I’ll think about it.’ Maxine resumed brushing her hair for a bit. Suddenly she put her brush down on the dressing table and turned to face her husband. ‘You haven’t got some bit of crumpet squirrelled away anywhere, have you?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Max. Me?! Besides, where was I going to find some willing and able totty on my field trips.’ Gordon had been a geologist for a major petro-chemical company and had spent a lot of his working life in the back of beyond looking for oil fields accompanied, mostly, by burly blokes who would do the heavy engineering if he felt further exploration might yield pay dirt.

  ‘You went to conferences too,’ she pointed out. ‘I bet there were women at those.’

  Gordon nodded. ‘Probably. But, as the immortal Paul Newm
an once said, “why go out for burgers when you’ve got steak at home.”’

  ‘Well, much as that’s very sweet of you to compare me to Joanne Woodward you’ve got to remember that, firstly, he was married to Joanne Woodward and I am nowhere near her league in looks or talent… or earning capacity, come to that and, secondly, he isn’t immortal, he’s dead.’

  Gordon grinned at her. ‘Details, details. Anyway, never mind Judith or Mike, let’s just be grateful she’s going home.’

  ‘Although I worry about what she’s going to find. I mean, she said that after he’d broken the news, she threw some stuff in a case and lit out to us. Mike could have used the time since to completely empty the place… and the bank accounts.’

  Gordon shook his head. ‘As I have just said, he’s a knob, not nasty.’

  ‘Let’s just hope and pray you’re right because, if you’re not, I’ve got an awful feeling she’ll boomerang right back here.’

  *

  Abigail put her phone on the coffee table in their tiny sitting room and rubbed her face with her hands. It had all seemed so easy when she’d told her mum and dad about her and Marcus’s planned relocation – sell the flat, find a new house, move in – what could possibly go wrong? But now, almost a month on, she knew the answer to that question; it was lots. Plenty of people had viewed the flat but most had gone no further. And now, she’d had a call from their estate agent telling her that the couple who had expressed a real interest in their flat had decided against a second viewing. No, it was all a horrible mess but the move had to go ahead. There was no backing out now because Marcus wasn’t going to be able to commute to head office on a daily basis and, even with his promotion, they couldn’t afford to rent a place in the country and pay the mortgage on the London flat.

  Marcus pushed his glasses off his face and into his thinning hair. For someone who was in his early thirties he had hair more suited to a seventy-year-old. What with that and his thick glasses he looked exactly like the accountant he was. ‘We’ll find a buyer.’

  ‘Huh. I mean what’s wrong with people these days? Fifteen minutes from the station isn’t so far to walk to get the train. We manage it.’ She glared at Marcus as if the distance was his fault.

  ‘But it’s not just that though, is it? No garden, no off-street parking—’

  ‘This is London, what the hell do they expect?’ She didn’t stop to think that the lack of amenity space or car parking were two of the things that she didn’t like about the flat either.

  Marcus held his hand up to stop her rant. ‘Maybe those things, plus the fact the flat is quite small.’

  ‘They’ll be lucky to get anything bigger for the money we’re asking. And no, I don’t think we should drop the price. We’ll need every penny if we’re going to get what we want near your new job and Mum and Dad.’ Marcus didn’t reply. ‘Aren’t you worried that we may not have sold when you have to move?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘We might have to get a bridging loan. It wouldn’t be too bad with interest rates as low as they are.’

  ‘I suppose. But that’s if we find somewhere to move to.’ Abi looked at the pile of estate agent details on the coffee table, all printed out on the office printer because she found it so much easier to compare what was on offer on paper rather than on the internet, and the company was better placed to absorb the cost of printer ink than she was. ‘It isn’t as if we’re after something outrageously unusual… Three beds, two bathrooms, gas heating… I mean, all quite normal stuff. If we wanted a home cinema or a heated swimming pool, I’d understand that there mightn’t be much to choose from—’

  ‘There certainly wouldn’t be for the money we’ve got.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, you know what I mean.’ She pushed at the pile of paperwork. ‘Which is more than the bloody estate agents do. Two thirds of these houses are hopeless.’

  ‘But we could compromise. I don’t mind if it isn’t perfect—’

  ‘—well, I do.’

  Marcus ploughed on, bravely. ‘Just because a house isn’t completely perfect, it doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it so.’

  ‘But the expense, the mess.’

  ‘Short-term pain, long-term gain,’ reasoned Marcus. ‘And we might add thousands to the value, especially if we bought somewhere that was a doer-upper.’

  Abi considered his argument for all of a few seconds before she dismissed it. ‘No. Besides, I couldn’t live in a place that was over-run with builders.’

  Marcus leaned over and picked up the pile. He shuffled through them, reading each one carefully. After a few minutes he rifled back to one he’d noticed and pulled out the pages from amongst the others. ‘This one is a case in point.’

  Abi barely glanced at the sheet of A4 he held out to her. ‘But look at the state of it.’

  He studied the pictures. ‘It’s all cosmetic.’

  ‘But it’s gross.’

  ‘I agree, the kitchen and bathroom are vile but replace those, get rid of the wallpaper, put down new carpets and it’ll be lovely. And it’s reflected in the price; it’s way below our budget.’

  Abi took the details and had a second look. ‘It’s only got one bathroom.’

  ‘The main bedroom is huge, vast. Plenty of space to put in an en-suite. You could probably fit in a dressing room as well.’

  ‘I suppose…’

  ‘None of the jobs are tricky. A few stud walls here and there, new units… a built-in wardrobe or two. You want modern – well, it would be when we’ve finished with it, and a half-decent builder and a painter and decorator could have the whole job done in a couple of weeks. I reckon, once we’ve done the work the house would be worth another hundred thou.’

  ‘You think?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘It’d be a fantastic investment.’

  ‘And only two weeks.’ She didn’t stop to wonder what Marcus, a non-practical, DIY-averse, money-man knew about house building and retro-fitting? Instead she pondered the prospect and the price and the huge mark-up they might achieve when the work was finished. There was certainly a lot of bang for your buck – it was a much bigger house than anything else they’d been offered. Abi didn’t like compromise but, on this occasion…

  ‘And with a garden that size,’ added Marcus, ‘there’d be room to extend if we wanted to. That would add even more value. And it’s handy for the school and the village shop and,’ he looked at the map, ‘not that far from your parents.’

  Abi nodded. He had a point. ‘Maybe we should go and see it. I’ll fix a viewing in the morning for Saturday and then ring Mum. We could stay the night with them – make a weekend of it. Mum and Dad would like that.’

  *

  The next morning, Judith parked her car on her driveway and stared at her house. In some ways she was glad to be home because staying with her sister had been tricky. When she’d fled there, three days previously, it had seemed like a good idea; a bolt-hole in which to hide while she licked her wounds after Mike’s appalling bombshell. But she’d barely arrived before she remembered how much Maxine and Gordon could irritate her with their air of faint superiority, of being better, just by being older. The last straw, as always, was her sister’s barely concealed implication that her life would have been so much more fulfilling if only she’d had children. Really? Like, having stretch marks, saggy tits and a vastly depleted bank balance would have been the great panacea. Besides, despite what she’d told Maxine about Mike’s faults, they weren’t as bad as she’d made out and she had been happy, very happy, right up until the moment he’d buggered off.

  She pulled her keys out of the ignition and stared at the bunch for a second or two. She was dreading going in, she was dreading living on her own, she was dreading the future… she was dreading everything. Wearily, she undid her seat belt and got out of the car. She went round to the boot, popped it and hauled her case out. Time was she’d have got her husband to do that… no more. She grunted as she dragged it to the front door and over the doorstep. She let hersel
f in and gazed at her empty house – nothing obvious had changed, except everything had. The atmosphere was different and it wasn’t just because it had been left empty for a few days. Heavens, she and Mike had left the house empty every time they went off on a cruise but it never felt ‘abandoned’ when they returned – which is how it felt now. And cold.

  She took off her coat, hung it on the newel post, banged up the thermostat and then went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. What she really wanted was gin but even under the circumstances she couldn’t bring herself to crack open the bottle for elevenses. Besides, drinking alone was the way to ruin and one thing she had decided on was that she was going to get even with Mike and, for that, she needed to be focused. He had had her best years and she was going to make him pay.

  While the kettle came to the boil, she went upstairs to check that Mike had indeed gone and removed all evidence of his presence. She opened his wardrobe and found a few old suits and a couple of pairs of down-at-heel shoes but the rest of the hanging space was empty. This actual proof of his departure hit her unexpectedly and she collapsed, sobbing, onto the bed. She was all alone. No one loved her. What was to become of her?

  After about ten minutes of self-indulgent sobbing, Judith’s tears dried up. With no one to feel sorry for her or to say ‘there-there’ crying seemed rather a waste of time. She blew her nose and sat up. She returned downstairs and switched the kettle on again. While she waited for it to re-boil, she sat at the table in her vast kitchen and took stock. Maybe, she thought, her sister was right. This house was huge, it was worth a mint and, much as she liked it, it was going to seem awfully big and lonely when she was rattling around in it on her own. If she was honest, it wasn’t as if she and Mike had had a load of friends in their town. Maxine had always said she’d missed out on school gate friendships because she was childless and, at the time, she’d poo-poo’d the whole concept but, in retrospect, Maxine did seem to know a lot of people in Little Woodford and it wasn’t just because of the number of years she’d lived there. She and Mike had lived almost as long in West Myring and they hardly knew a soul. OK, since Mike had taken early retirement they’d spent half the year on cruises or other holidays so they hadn’t been around much, but even when he’d been working, Judith had preferred to spend her days up in London, drifting around the high-end shops of Bond Street or being pampered in a luxury spa rather than spending her money in her own neighbourhood. West Myring was a nice-enough town but its main attraction for Judith had been the fast train to Waterloo which meant central London was only thirty minutes away.