‘Don’t start a fight with me,’ he warned. ‘You don’t want to piss off both your parents.’
Abi muttered something unintelligible as Gordon left the room. As he passed the dining room he caught sight of the whisky decanter on the sideboard. He was going to need a stiffener before he faced the rest of Max’s wrath. He poured himself two fingers – well, maybe three – before he headed to the sitting room. He found an old repeat of Family Guy which would do nicely while he had his nightcap.
It was nearly midnight before he made his way up to bed. He didn’t dare switch the light on – he didn’t want to provide yet another reason for his wife to be cross with him so he slipped into the bathroom and got undressed there. It was as he was leaving the en-suite and a shaft of light from the half-open door fell across the bed he realised that she wasn’t sleeping there. The row was obviously worse than he’d realised.
Oh well, it would all blow over in the morning. Feeling slightly sozzled he was asleep in an instant.
17
The next morning, after Abi and Marcus had left for Wisteria Cottage, Maxine got quietly out of the single bed in the box room and padded downstairs to make herself and Anthea an early morning cuppa. She’d lain awake most of the night, tense, miserable, angry and fed up and feeling, in turns, guilty about her reaction and livid at being taken for granted. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she tried not to get wound up again about the previous night’s row but she was still finding it hard to believe that Gordon had sided, once again, with Abi not her. She had always known how he indulged his daughter and she’d found it quite endearing – well, mostly. But surely even he could see that Abi’d crossed a line. And when he’d told her that she was being unfair on Abi…! The very thought of what he’d said made her start to hyperventilate, again. Unfair! How dare he? She took long slow breaths to try and calm down. Just how was she being unfair? Abi was just swanning along as usual while she… she had lost half her house, her studio, her free time, her job… She took another calming breath.
Gordon mightn’t want rows, he might want a quiet life but how about her? Didn’t she deserve that too? And that was before she even contemplated the extra housework and shopping and cooking. And then there was the small matter that Abi could stuff washing into the machine, but the more lengthy and time-consuming process of taking it all out and hanging it up seemed to be entirely beyond her skill set.
The kettle clicked off and Maxine distracted herself from her black thoughts by making two cups and taking one of them up to Anthea who was awake, sitting up in bed and listening to the Today programme.
‘Morning, Anthea.’
Anthea stared at her over her glasses. ‘Morning. So what was all that about?’
‘What?’ Maxine plonked the mug on the bedside table.
‘Maxine, I am neither deaf nor stupid. There were raised voices last night – an argument.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes, that. You weren’t arguing about me, I trust.’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Because I don’t want to stay here if I’m not welcome.’
‘Of course, you’re welcome.’
‘Good.’ Anthea picked up her mug with her good hand and took a sip. It struck Maxine that now she knew she wasn’t the cause of the altercation she’d lost interest in what was. Not that Maxine cared terribly. It wasn’t as if it was any of Anthea’s business.
‘I need to tell you that I’m going out shortly, so when Pearl has got you sorted for the day, it’ll be Gordon who’ll get your breakfast ready. He was late back last night so I’m leaving him to sleep – you might have to tell Pearl to give him a bang on the bedroom door to make sure he’s awake.’
‘Oh.’ Anthea sounded disapproving.
‘I’m sorry, Anthea, but I think I deserve a day off.’
‘If you say so.’
Anthea couldn’t have made her opinion clearer if she’d actually said that Maxine was a slacker. She left Anthea’s room, closing the door behind her slightly harder than was necessary.
Stuff them. Stuff them all, she thought as she showered in the family bathroom and dressed in her previous day’s clothes to avoid having to go into her bedroom. The way she was feeling right now, the last person she wanted to encounter was her husband. She didn’t think she would be held responsible for her actions. She went downstairs, gathered up her painting gear plus a portable easel and stool and headed out. As she picked up her handbag, she noticed her mobile phone and removed it. She wanted to be alone and that meant she didn’t want to be badgered by Gordon or anyone else. She jumped into the car and reversed out of the drive. And if Gordon wanted the car, tough, she thought rebelliously as she drove down to the cricket pitch.
She chose a corner of the outfield which gave her a terrific view of the oaks that bordered it and the yews which edged the churchyard and yet was out of the way of passing walkers or any of the groundsmen. The dark, British racing green of the yew foliage contrasted brilliantly with the fresher, brighter green of the oaks and the expanse of verdant grass of the pitch and as she stared at the view, she felt her blood pressure lowering. She set up her easel, settled herself on her stool and began a preliminary sketch of the scene. Apart from a blackbird singing and a robin’s staccato warning to incomers against encroaching on its territory, the silence was almost total. If she listened really carefully, she could hear a faint hum of cars on the ring road several hundred yards away, and now and again a soft breeze rustled the leaves. Maxine immersed herself in her picture to the extent she was even unaware of the chimes of the church clock as it recorded the hours and half hours as they passed.
A shadow fell across her watercolour and she looked up, startled and saw the vicar’s wife.
‘Heather!’
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘You’re not.’ Maxine glanced at her watch. ‘Blimey, is that the time?’
‘I saw you from the bedroom window first thing and you’re still here. I was about to make Brian and myself a couple of sandwiches for lunch and I wondered if you’d like to join us? Please don’t feel you have to.’
‘No, no, that’d be lovely.’
‘Really?’
‘I didn’t think to bring a picnic and now I think about it, I’m famished.’ She smiled broadly at Heather. ‘That’s really kind of you.’
‘We hardly ever see each other outside the book group.’
‘No, and I missed the last meeting and not being a church goer…’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
Maxine thought probably quite a lot. ‘But it’ll be lovely to have a proper chat – and lunch too. What a treat.’
‘I’m only offering a sandwich.’
‘Even so.’ After all the emotion of the previous evening, this unexpected kindness made Maxine feel quite moved. She turned away so she could dash away a tear without Heather seeing it and busied herself putting her paints away and folding up her stool.
‘I’ll just dump this lot in the boot of the car. I don’t expect anyone will be so desperate as to nick a second-rate watercolour but you never know.’
‘That’s not a second-rate watercolour. It’s gorgeous. I love it. You completely capture the scene – which, by-the-by, is one of my favourites.’
‘Then it’s yours.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t possibly accept it.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘I’ll pay you.’
‘OK, done.’
‘How much?’
‘One cheese and tomato sandwich.’
Heather grinned at her. ‘It might have to be pickle not tomato.’
‘Then the deal’s off.’ Max paused for about a second before she added, ‘Joking.’
‘Phew. And can I be cheeky?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you sign it for me? Because, you know, when you’re all rich and famous I can flog it to fund my old age!’
Maxine laughed.
‘I think we’ll both need to dream on.’
Heather helped Maxine gather up her bits and pieces before they both headed off to the vicarage.
‘I’m back,’ Heather called to Brian as she shut the front door behind them. ‘Brian, I’m back,’ she yelled again.
‘I heard you,’ said Brian coming out of the study.
Maxine had never met Brian, what with her not going to church and him not attending the book club, but she was instantly struck by how kind he looked. Kind, but messy. His fringe stood up at all angles, his sweater which had a hole in the ribbing, had biscuit crumbs down its front and his baggy, saggy trousers had a mark near his right knee.
Heather stood next to him and brushed off the worst of the crumbs. ‘Maxine, meet Brian, Brian – Maxine.’
The pair shook hands.
‘Maxine and I go to the book club together and she’s a super-talented artist.’
Maxine felt her face flaring. ‘What Heather means is that I dabble in watercolours.’
Heather tutted. ‘Don’t listen to her, Brian. Now then, you come into the kitchen with me, Maxine. I think I might have a bottle of sherry somewhere if I can persuade you to join me in a little treat. Brian?’
‘No, not for me, dearest,’ said her husband. ‘I’m writing a bit of a tricky letter and I need a clear head.’
Brian disappeared back into his study as Heather led Maxine through to the back of the house and the kitchen.
Maxine had never been in the vicarage before and was struck by the out-of-date decor. Not even shabby-chic but far worse and as for those ghastly green tiles!
Heather saw her looking. ‘Grim isn’t it? But it’s weatherproof and the church commissioners have promised us we’re in the queue for an update. Take a seat,’ she said as she headed for a cupboard and rummaged till she found the amontillado. ‘You will, won’t you?’ she asked as she looked for some glasses.
‘Just a small one. I’ve got to get the car home later.’
Heather carefully poured two tots and handed one to Maxine.
‘So… how’s it all going? Olivia told me at Church last week that you’ve suddenly had your family descend on you. It’s not easy when that happens, is it? Olivia had a desperate time with her Jade.’
The thought of what awaited her when she got back home made her tempted to neck her sherry in one go, so she removed the urge by putting the glass carefully on the table. She then took a deep breath. ‘I think I could cope if it were just Anthea or just Abi and Marcus, but the fact that it’s all of them…’ This time she did allow herself a small sip. ‘And last night I lost it – really lost it. I went batshit with Abi and then, when Gordon came back from the pub, I shouted at him too. Which is why I decided to spend the day painting so we can all calm down.’
‘Very wise.’ Heather gathered up the makings of the promised sandwiches and began to butter the bread. ‘Dare I ask what was the cause of the row?’
‘Bread crumbs.’
Heather snorted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said straightening her face.
‘No, you’re right. Talk about a storm in a tea cup. But, the thing was, I’d left the kitchen spotless after I’d cleared up after supper and when I went back a couple of hours later it was a mess again. OK, just a few crumbs and a dirty plate but it was the principle of it all. The thoughtlessness.’ She felt ridiculously close to tears – again. Maybe it was because she’d had such a rough night.
Heather put the bread knife down and gave her a hug. Maxine lost it and howled.
*
‘I still can’t get over Mum’s attitude last night,’ grumbled Abi for the umpteenth time that morning. She pulled off one of her gardening gloves and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
‘Change the record, Abs,’ said Marcus as he loaded the wheelbarrow up with a pile of hedge clippings.
‘It’s all right for you. You weren’t the one who got shouted at. And she swore at me.’
‘She was very angry.’
‘She was very unreasonable.’
‘Your mum’s got a lot on her plate right now.’
‘And we haven’t?’ Abi tugged her glove back on and began cutting back the branches of an overgrown shrub with a pruning saw. The garden around them was starting to take real shape as they reversed the years of neglect. The beds were still full of mare’s tail, bindweed, brambles and nettles, and the lawn was more dandelion than grass but at least now they could see that there were beds and a lawn whereas before the garden had mostly consisted of dense scrub. Abi had commented, when they’d first started on it, that she wouldn’t be surprised if they came across a castle with Sleeping Beauty imprisoned in it.
‘Your mum’s got a point that we don’t do very much to help,’ reasoned Marcus.
‘Don’t you start.’ She pulled off her gardening glove again. ‘I need a break, I’m knackered.’ She piled her gloves and the pruning saw on top of the wheelbarrow and headed for the house. Marcus trotted after her.
‘Steven!’ she called as she peered through the back door. In front of her was a large hole in the floorboards with arc lights shining out of it and a couple of planks laid over it.
A muffled ‘hang on’ answered her from the depths.
‘I’m going to put the kettle on. Want a cuppa?’
‘Please.’
Abi went over to the tray balanced on a Workmate and picked up the kettle. A single tap protruded from the wall in the shell of the room that had once been a kitchen. Everything had been stripped out with the exception of a couple of sockets, the tap and some patches of dingy, cracked tiles which had been behind the sink and the range. It could have been hit by a bomb, thought Abi as she filled the kettle and plugged it in.
As the kettle spluttered, Steven emerged from the hole.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Abi.
‘Slowly, but I’ve got two of the replacement joists in position and with any luck I should get the third one in by next week. Once that’s done the house will be stable and we can start getting anything else removed that might be infected. Dry rot is a bugger for spreading. Once we’ve worked out what needs replacing we can do that, then we can start treating everything against a recurrence, then we can start replacing the floorboards and then, when that’s done, I can start on the kitchen proper.’
‘And how long will that take?’
Steven sighed. ‘We’re talking lengths of string here. The last thing you want is to find a pocket of dry rot left and have to start again in a dozen years or so. It’ll be a couple of weeks at least if I’m going to make sure we’ve got all the infected timbers out. Then we’ll have to get a specialist team in to treat anything that remains and all the new stuff.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe another ten days or so on top of that.’
‘That adds up to almost a month.’ The kettle clicked off but Abi ignored it. ‘And it’s already been three weeks.’
‘You can’t hurry this sort of thing – not if you want a proper job doing.’
‘And in the meantime the bills keep going up and up.’
‘Can’t be helped,’ said Steven. ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘I know, I know.’ But she didn’t sound happy.
‘It’ll be lovely when it’s finished,’ Marcus chipped in.
‘But it’s not the two week job you said it would be,’ grumbled Abi.
‘Two weeks?!’ said Steven, incredulously. ‘You’re kidding me?’
Marcus looked embarrassed.
‘What did you think I’d use for tools – a magic wand?’ asked Steven before he muttered ‘two weeks’ again. ‘Look, what with one thing and another, you’ll be lucky to be moving in in under three months, maybe four or five is nearer the mark.’
‘Five?’ squeaked Abi. ‘Mum’s going to go ape.’
‘Not if we don’t tell her, like you suggested,’ said Marcus. ‘We don’t want another row.’
Steven looked from one to the other. ‘Things a bit tense, are they, with the folks?’
‘Y
ou could say that,’ said Abi while Marcus nodded, morosely.
18
After a good cry on Heather’s shoulder, Maxine felt much calmer.
‘Letting it all out can be very cathartic,’ Heather had assured her as she passed her tissue after tissue.
‘But I feel such a fool,’ Maxine had said as she dabbed her eyes and finally pulled herself together. ‘What on earth have I got to feel sorry for myself about?’
Heather returned to making the sandwiches. As she sliced the cheese and laid it on the buttered bread she said, ‘You’re tired, you’ve got a lot on your plate, your world has been turned upside down and you feel unappreciated and undervalued. It’s enough to make anyone feel a bit low.’
Maxine sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry, you invited me in for a nice lunch and you end up giving me counselling.’
‘Hardly. Besides, I’m a vicar’s wife – it’s in the job description.’
Maxine gave her a damp smile as Heather dolloped on pickle.
‘I expect,’ continued Heather, ‘your outburst will have made your family have a good look at themselves and realise how much you do for them. They’ll probably start helping out a lot more.’
‘You think?’
Heather nodded as she sliced the pile of sandwiches into triangles. ‘Now then, I don’t think another sherry will put you over the limit and even if you don’t want one, I do.’
After lunch, Maxine went back to the cricket pitch and carried on with her painting aware that she felt much calmer. Good old Heather, she thought. Had she instinctively known that there was a sheep in need of attention even if the ‘sheep’ wasn’t one of her husband’s flock? She finished her painting and then worked on some sketches to delay returning home.
It was almost five when she stretched and stood up. Time to go home and see how Anthea had fared under Gordon’s ministrations. She packed away her stuff and returned.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ was the greeting she got from Gordon as she let herself in through the front door.
‘Out.’
‘Duh,’ he said. ‘Obviously. I was worried sick.’
Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford Page 14