Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Anthea merely sighed, picked up the remote and switched on the TV. Maxine had been dismissed.

  There were several white vans and a couple of skips outside the cottage when they pulled up on the drive. The transformation of the garden was noticeable and it looked much bigger than it had on their previous visit. The cottage had also been transformed – into a major building project. Maxine’s heart sank.

  ‘It’ll be lovely when it’s finished,’ said Gordon as Maxine opened the car door. She looked at the logos on the vehicles. One said ‘Professor Timber – dry rot treatment a speciality’ and another proclaimed it belonged to ‘Kestrel Structural Repairs.’

  Maxine pointed to the vans. ‘That doesn’t bode well.’

  They headed past the vans and the skips to the front door which stood open. The sound of hammering and drilling spilled out. The pair entered and headed through the huge gloomy hall towards the kitchen which was flooded with bright light. They stopped at the door. Maxine was reminded of a picture of the Blitz she’d seen once; a house had been damaged by a bomb and a group of rescuers stood around a massive hole looking into the crater. In this case the men were builders and the hole was illuminated by three large arc lights on tripods.

  ‘Shit a brick,’ she whispered.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ echoed Gordon.

  A bloke in a hard hat noticed them. ‘Can I help?’

  Maxine pulled her eyes away from the pit. ‘Oh… yes… we’re Abi’s parents. We came to see how you’re getting on.’ She hoped she sounded bright and cheerful and not horrified. ‘Maxine,’ she added, sticking out a hand. ‘And this is Gordon.’

  ‘Steven,’ said the bloke. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He shook their hands in turn before he turned and gesticulated at the massive hole in the floor. ‘As you can see this is proving to be a bigger job than we imagined. Your daughter is very lucky that her insurance agreed to cover the cost but there was no way anyone – not even the previous owners could have known about this cellar – and your daughter is certainly the innocent victim in all of this. The main problem is the dry rot.’

  ‘So Amy was right,’ muttered Maxine.

  ‘You know Amy, do you? Nice lady,’ said Steven. ‘The rot’s infected a lot of the timber beams which support this floor and so the rest of the house. Good job we got to it when we did. Another few years and I reckon the entire building would have collapsed.’

  ‘Isn’t that lucky,’ said Maxine through clenched teeth.

  At this point the back door, situated across the other side of the void opened and in came Abi clutching a couple of empty mugs. Her eyes widened as she saw her parents. ‘Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?’ Her eyes flicked guiltily from one to the other.’

  ‘We thought we’d come to see how things are progressing.’

  Amy put the mugs down on a tray by a tap protruding from the wall and picked her way around the side of the hole to join her parents.

  ‘Steven’s got everything in hand,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes. We can see that. Tell you what,’ said Maxine, ‘why don’t we leave Steven to get on – he doesn’t need us under his feet – and you can show us how you’re getting on with the garden.’

  Abi didn’t respond as she led them back out through the front door.

  When they got back outside Maxine rounded on her daughter. ‘Right, young lady – when were you going to tell us?’

  ‘It’s not our fault there’s a problem with the house,’ responded Abi.

  ‘That is not what I asked,’ said Maxine. ‘To judge by what I’ve seen you must have known for days – weeks – that doing up this house is going to take much more time than you thought would be involved. A couple of weeks? Huh! A couple of years more like.’ Maxine’s voice was starting to get screechy. She lowered it. ‘You’ve been lying to me.’

  ‘No, no I haven’t.’ Abi sounded genuinely shaken for a moment, then she regained control. ‘Have you been drinking, Mum.’

  ‘I met a friend for lunch and had one glass of wine and don’t change the subject. When, exactly, were you going to tell us? Eh?’

  ‘We were, honest. We were waiting for the right moment.’

  ‘When?’ snapped Max. ‘Or did you hope that your father and I wouldn’t notice that weeks were turning into months? Do you think we’re stupid?’

  ‘No, no of course not.’

  ‘Steady on, Maxie, don’t be too hard on her, she’s having a tough time of it. This house is turning out to be more of a nightmare than a dream. You shouldn’t blame Abi. This isn’t her fault.’

  Maxine stared at Gordon in disbelief and took a deep breath. He just didn’t see it, did he? She wasn’t cross about the state of the house, she was cross about being lied to, about being duped. By her own daughter. And that nothing was being offered to ameliorate the situation – no suggestion of moving all their kit out of her home, no suggestion of finding a place to rent… ‘Fine. Fine,’ she repeated. ‘I can see I’m completely over-reacting.’ She walked away from them back towards the car. Gordon and Abi exchanged a glance. ‘This is obviously all my fault that I’m not being more reasonable,’ she added as she opened the door. ‘Come along, Gordon, we don’t want to leave your mother alone for too long, do we?’

  As soon as Maxine got home, she ran upstairs and pulled a suitcase off the top of the wardrobe. A few minutes later Gordon came into the spare bedroom and saw her packing.

  ‘What’s going on, Max?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘But you can’t just light out.’

  Maxine stopped folding up a skirt and clutched it to her chest. ‘Why not? I told you I was going to go to my sister’s; I’ve just brought the moment forward.’

  ‘But what about your club?’

  ‘I’ll cancel it for this week. Or they can carry on without me. Up to them. Frankly I don’t care.’

  ‘But Max—’

  Maxine threw the skirt in the suitcase. ‘But nothing, Gordon. I hate the person I am turning into because no one else seems to be prepared to confront Abi about what is going on. So it’s me that has the rows, it’s me that tries to lay down the law, it’s me that has to be the bad cop. I never used to be like that, I used to be easy-going, relaxed about most things. Now I can see that you all thought I was a push-over, a bloody doormat which is why I’ve ended up being a sodding drudge.’ She put on a silly voice. ‘Oh never mind, Maxine’ll do it, she won’t mind. Well, I do mind. I mind that you think Abi is in the right and I am in the wrong; I mind I do all the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the pegging stuff out on the line and everything else because everyone else seems to think I don’t have anything better to do. I’ve had enough of being taken for granted—’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What?’ yelped Maxine. She gave a mirthless snort of fake laughter. ‘You’re the worst of the lot. I thought I could rely on you for help but all you do is tell me I’m over-reacting, being mean to Abi, that she’s having a hard time of it. What about me, Gordon? What about me?’ Yet again she felt tears close by. She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Well, maybe I am over-reacting, but I am tired and fed up and I don’t seem to have any personal space anymore and…’ And she stopped because the threatened tears couldn’t be dammed any longer.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Maxie.’

  She sniffed, gulped and used the heels of her palms to wipe the tears away. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You are either at the pub or the golf course, your hobbies are still OK, still sacrosanct. I’ve lost my studio, I’ve had to give up working at the shop, I’ve lost half my house, I’ve had my free time curtailed and no one seems to care – least of all you.’ She went to the chest of drawers and grabbed several pairs of knickers which she chucked in on top of the skirt. ‘So you can cope without me for a while, see how you like it when your mother sneers at your efforts—’

  ‘She doesn’t sneer.’

  ‘Huh.’ Maxine dragged some blouses off hangers and then put them and her pyjamas and a pair
of shoes in the case. She flipped the lid over and zipped it up.

  ‘You’re really leaving us?’

  ‘What does it look like, Gordon? And I’m taking the car.’

  She bumped her suitcase down the stairs and trundled it over the hall tiles to the front door. She saw her painting stuff lying where she’d left it and after she’d loaded her case into the boot, she returned for that too. Just because she was going to help her sister with packing up her house it didn’t mean she couldn’t have some time off too. Besides, she needed the Zen-calm that painting always brought her.

  Gordon had followed her and saw her put her easel in the car.

  ‘I thought you were going to help your sister. You didn’t say anything about painting.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to, is that it?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

  Maxine slammed the boot shut and rested her hand on it. ‘Do you know something, I don’t actually care what you meant. Not anymore.’ She got into the car, turned on the engine and lowered the window. ‘I’ll be back when I’ve calmed down. It might be a while.’

  20

  Two days later Olivia unlocked the community centre and wedged open the door. It was a glorious evening with the sun still high in the sky. If today, thought Olivia, was an indication of how July was going to pan out for the remaining thirty days of the month then it might be the start of a blinding summer. The temperature was perfect – proper Goldilocks weather, she thought, not too hot and not too cold. Across the way, the solid stubby Norman church tower cast a shadow over the graveyard, and the red valerian, which clung to the crevices in the drystone wall that surrounded it, bobbed and nodded gently in the faintest of breezes. Above her the rooks circled about their nests, their raucous, croaky calls echoing across the cricket pitch which was bathed in golden light. In the nets, on the far side of the ground the local cricket team was practising and the faint, clichéd sound of leather on willow and the muted shouts of encouragement only added to the perception that this was a flawless English evening. Olivia sighed contentedly. How could one not be at peace with the world when one viewed a scene like this? It was an ideal subject for a bit of landscape painting.

  ‘Evening, Olivia.’ Bill, one of Maxine’s art group arrived. A pleasant man of around sixty, Olivia judged, who wasn’t the best artist in the group but whose lack of technical skill was made up for by his enthusiasm and a rather attractive and childlike naivety in his work.

  ‘Hello, Bill,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘So what’s the plan for today?’

  ‘Do you mind if I wait till everyone gets here, or I’ll be saying the same thing a dozen times.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ He put his rucksack containing his painting equipment down on the floor. ‘Nice evening.’

  ‘Indeed. And I don’t think that Maxine will mind us using the opportunity of such glorious weather to meet outside.’

  ‘No. Who could mind about that?’

  Olivia didn’t like to break the news to Bill that, given the reasons why Maxine had buggered off, she probably wouldn’t give a toss where they met – or what they did. Not that she was going to share that with the group. What had been going on in Maxine’s private life was none of their business. In fact, Olivia didn’t think it was really her business either but as Max, after she’d sent a brief email to everyone on Tuesday afternoon about her intended absence from the group’s meeting, had followed it up with a personal email to Olivia with a longer explanation, she couldn’t now pretend she didn’t know all the gory details. In the last paragraph of Max’s missive, after a run-down of all her gripes with her family – most notably what had happened at the confrontation at Wisteria Cottage – she’d told Olivia she’d gone to her sister’s, ostensibly to help her move house but really that was just an excuse, she was going to switch off her mobile and she needed to get right away before she ‘lost the plot’. Apparently, the encounter at the house had been pretty grim, made worse by Gordon telling her she was over-reacting to Abi’s predicament. Still, the group didn’t need to know that Maxine was having a monster fall-out with her nearest and dearest and, hopefully, time away would allow things to calm down.

  Olivia nodded at Bill to imply that Maxine would be very happy with everything before she said, ‘How about helping me get some of the tables and chairs out here on the grass, ready for the others when they arrive?’

  Ten minutes later the rest of the group had pitched up in dribs and drabs and everyone was busy setting up their portable easels and sketch pads and some were even making preliminary drawings of the church – prior to painting it in watercolours which, Olivia had decreed, was their project for that week’s art club. Not original, thought Olivia, but the group seemed happy and working outside in the balmy evening sunshine was a bonus. Olivia, concentrating on her work, didn’t spot Heather strolling across the outfield of the cricket pitch.

  ‘Evening, Olivia. Can I interrupt?’

  ‘Heather, lovely to see you. Want to join us?’

  ‘Goodness no. I can’t even draw a straight line with a ruler. Do I gather Maxine isn’t here?’ Heather scanned the assembled artists.

  ‘No, she had to cry off this week.’

  ‘Good… well, not that she’s cried off but I want to pick your brains and I don’t necessarily want her to know.’

  Olivia, intrigued, laid down her sketchbook and pencil and gave Heather her full attention. ‘Pick away.’

  ‘What do you think of this?’ She produced a framed picture that Olivia hadn’t noticed she was carrying. It was a watercolour of the scene Olivia herself was trying to capture, of the church and the trees set in a simple gold frame and a pale gold mount. Olivia thought it was exquisite.

  ‘I think it’s really lovely. It’s also so good it makes me wonder why I am bothering. It’s a fabulous picture. But if you want a proper opinion you really need Max, not me. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Maxine gave it to me. She did it.’

  Olivia took it from Heather’s hand and examined it more closely. ‘I saw another picture she’d done a while back – it was of her garden but we were busy chatting so I have to admit I didn’t really look at it apart from thinking it was very pretty. But looking at this properly I can see this is good – or I think so… I’m no expert,’ she added.

  ‘I agree… that it’s good, that is. Not that you’re no expert.’ She grinned at her friend as she took the picture back. ‘It got me thinking… supposing we had an art exhibition?’

  ‘An exhibition? I suppose we could. Why?’

  ‘I had Max round at mine the other day and she sounded so down – really fed up. Unappreciated, undervalued… And she’d had a row with Gordon. Don’t tell her I told you so, but I know you two are good friends, and I think you ought to know she had a good old cry on my shoulder.’

  ‘Don’t worry, she sent me an email saying something similar which is why she’s not here. She hasn’t just cried off, she’s left home for a bit as she’s had another, worse, fall out with her family. She found out via Amy that her daughter’s house has serious structural problems and that Abi and her partner could be living with her and Gordon for the foreseeable future and Gordon didn’t back her up when she got cross with Abi for not telling them… What with that and her mother-in-law…’ Olivia sighed. ‘She’s gone to her sister’s for a bit while things simmer down.’

  ‘Amy? Why would Amy know about Abi’s house? I mean, I know she’s quite nosy but even so…’

  Olivia explained about the lunchtime meeting.

  ‘Trust Amy to let the cat out of the bag. I imagine Maxine was in the dark because Abi was waiting for a good moment to break the glad tidings.’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe Abi was hoping that Max and Gordon would get so used to her and Marcus living with them they wouldn’t notice how long they’d been there.’

  Heather nodded at the possibility of that being plausible.

  ‘Anyway, back to your idea of an art ex
hibition…’

  ‘Ah… yes… Given how put-upon Maxine is feeling, I thought that if we had an exhibition for local artists it might perk her up a bit. And given how good she is, her work would really shine. That would be bound to make her feel better about herself if all and sundry give her a pat on the back, say how talented she is and so on. And we could make it obvious that the art club was all her idea so that would be another feather in her cap. I can’t see how it would garner anything but positive comments and give Max a real boost.’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’

  ‘Thank you, I was rather pleased with it when I thought of it.’

  ‘Always assuming Maxine’s arm can be twisted.’

  ‘I think if we emphasise it’s about the art club rather than her, I think she’ll be happy to join in.’

  ‘So crafty,’ said Olivia. Heather smiled at her assessment. ‘Where do you think we should hold this exhibition?’

  ‘The town hall.’

  ‘Good shout, but won’t they charge?’

  ‘I think,’ said Heather, ‘that if the vicar’s wife and an ex-councillor approach them in the right way there’s a chance they might waive the fee. And especially if we offered to give some of the proceeds to a local charity.’

  ‘Proceeds?’

  ‘Oh yes, the pictures will be up for sale unless specified otherwise by the artist. I’d have paid good money for this.’ Heather waved the little painting. ‘Well, if I had any, that is. And, let’s face it, there are lots of people in this town who do have money. Oodles of it.’

  Olivia took this on board. ‘Good point.’

  ‘You and I need to go and see Miranda,’ said Heather.

  ‘Miranda? Why, because she’s got oodles of money?’

  ‘Partly. She’s got some seriously high-end art works in her house which means I bet she’s mates with a couple of proper arty types and what I really want is for a professional to value the paintings so we sell them at realistic prices. If Maxine’s are worth what I think they might be, her family are going to have to take notice of her talent when the cheques roll in.’