‘The other woman is called Trina?’ Maxine asked, hoping she sounded innocent. She’d been very careful not to let slip that she knew anything about Mike’s new woman or that she was pregnant because to do so would reveal that she’d spoken to Mike about the situation. She didn’t think Judith would be best pleased to know her sister had gone behind her back.
‘Yes, short for Catrina, I suppose. Not that I care.’ She lifted her chin, defying her older sister to contradict her.
‘Look, I’ve spent the last few days moaning about my lot and you’ve been a brick and listened. The last time I asked you about Mike and his new woman you told me it was none of my business. Which is fine. Truly. But talking does help… honest.’
‘A bit late for that with you about to head out the door.’
Maxine propped her case against the hall wall. ‘Not necessarily. I’ve not told Gordon I was thinking of returning today.’
‘Want to catch him out?’
‘Not really. I feel that if I arrive back unexpectedly, I’ll get a truer idea of how he coped.’
‘Not very well, if I’m any judge.’
‘Come on, let’s have a cuppa and you tell me about Trina. I’m agog with curiosity. All I know is she’s a lot younger than Mike.’
‘And pregnant,’ said Judith as she led the way back to the kitchen.
‘Pregnant?’ Maxine was quite proud of how shocked she sounded even though she’d known for weeks. ‘Crikey.’
‘It seems he suddenly had an epiphany and discovered that all he’d ever wanted to be was a father.’ Judith filled the kettle. ‘Whether it was before or after the scheming little madam got herself up the duff I don’t know. Anyway, that’s the long and the short of it. And that’s why he was happy about getting everything settled in double-quick time so the baby won’t be a bastard. Of course, the baby’s father is – and always will be – but it wouldn’t be fair on the kid to be saddled with Mike’s main characteristic on its birth certificate.’
Maxine hugged her sister. ‘No, and that’s very magnanimous of you. I’m sorry it turned out this way.’
Judith heaved a sigh. ‘It’s not all bad – the settlement is generous, things could be a lot worse.’
‘Even so.’
‘Yes. Even so…’ She sighed again. ‘The trouble is, I’m not good with my own company.’
‘I know. My idea of bliss is being cast away on a desert island – no one to look after but myself, no one demanding a meal or some attention when I want to paint—’
‘Bugger that,’ said Judith. ‘I’d want to top myself after day one.’
Maxine laughed. ‘I know. But you’re not going to be alone for long if I’m any judge. You’re still beautiful, you’re still pretty young, you’re certainly very well off – I should think you’ll have men queuing round the block.’
‘Maybe.’ She paused while she got a couple of mugs out and made the tea. ‘Anyway, in retrospect, Mike wasn’t that great. He could be a dull old stick. When we went on cruises, he spent half the time reading in the cabin or looking at the sea when there was so much to do on board. I had to drag him to everything because I wasn’t going to turn up to things looking like Billy-No-Mates. And then he’d complain of being tired and go to bed at half-past ten. Half-past ten – I ask you! Things would just be getting going at that time of night but oh, no – Mike needed his sleep.’
‘If he likes his sleep so much, I don’t think he’s going to like having a baby. They’re not great in that department.’
Judith giggled. ‘No, nasty messy little buggers too. And you know how Mike was a one for wanting things just so?’
‘So tell me about Trina.’ Maxine cradled her mug.
‘Well… not that I got any of this from Mike but I asked a couple of mates to see what they could find out—’
‘And?’
‘And it seems she’s some sort of mad, hippy-dippy, Green-voting, vegetarian, eco-activist.’
‘And Mike’s fallen for her?’ Maxine’s incredulity was no more faked than when Mike had told her similar things about Trina a couple of months previously.
‘I know. Talk about mid-life crisis. I mean, if he’d shacked up with some young bimbo who was all teeth and tits I’d have been livid, but I would’ve kind of understood it. It’s what men do, isn’t it? Trade up to the latest model. But this Trina… I just can’t get it. From what my friends tell me she’s a total frump – Birkenstocks in the summer, wellies in the winter and tatty old jeans all year round. I mean, since when has Mike ever shown any desire to eat lentils or wear hand-knits?’
‘Nowt so queer as folk. Gordon might have his faults but I’m pretty sure he’s not got a wandering eye.’
‘I thought that about Mike – just saying. Now then, are you staying for lunch or should you get going?’
Maxine looked at her watch. ‘I think I should head off; have lunch at home. But remember you can talk to me any time. Honest. A problem shared…’
‘I’m more of the a-friend-in-need-is-a-pain-in-the-arse school myself but you’re probably right. And it’s been nice having you here, having some company…’ She gave her sister a hug. ‘I never thought I’d say this but I’m actually looking forward to moving to Little Woodford.’
*
Just as Maxine was jumping in her car to drive back to Little Woodford, Miranda was on a train and heading to London, with Maxine’s watercolours safe inside a large art portfolio – also Maxine’s. She was quite excited on behalf of her friend although she told herself that, realistically, it was unlikely that Maxine was likely to be hailed as the new Damien Hirst or Tracey Emin but there was definitely something about her paintings, an energy, a vibrancy which made Miranda think they might sell. But first she needed to persuade Dominic to come along to Olivia and Heather’s planned exhibition. When she’d phoned him to arrange this meeting, he’d sounded tolerably enthusiastic so she was guardedly hopeful.
While she sat on the train, she Googled the address on Dominic’s business card and saw it was not far from Kensington Church Street. Perversely, her hopes plummeted somewhat. If he could afford the rent and rates for a gallery in that sort of area, he must be doing OK for himself. Maybe he might not be hungry enough to think a weekend in the country judging a local art exhibition was going to be anywhere near worth his time. Still, nothing ventured et cetera, et cetera. While Miranda was trying to weigh up her chances with him, her phone rang. Dominic.
‘Dominic, I was just thinking about you and looking forward to our meeting this morning.’
‘That’s just it, Miranda…’
Her heart sank; she knew it, he was having second thoughts.
‘I’ve got a problem at the gallery,’ he continued. ‘We’ve got a power cut. Terribly inconvenient. No lighting, no alarm system… Would you mind frightfully if we met somewhere else?’
‘No, of course not. But what a bore for you.’
‘And you.’ There was a heavy sigh. ‘The power company say they’re doing everything to resolve the issue but they can’t give me even a vague idea when we’ll be reconnected. I’ve told them it’d better be before closing time otherwise they can pay for security – there’s no way I’m leaving this place empty overnight without a functioning alarm system.’
‘Goodness, no. How awful. So where do you suggest we meet?’
‘The Royal Garden Hotel on Ken High Street. I’ll meet you in the lobby.’
‘At the same time we’ve got planned? Eleven thirty?’
‘Perfect.’
Miranda disconnected. She decided that when they’d finished with the business part of the meeting, if Dominic had the time, and if he’d offered to help her, then she’d stand him lunch. It was the least she could do.
*
Maxine stopped the car in the drive and stared at the house. She was dreading her return. For a start, she was fully expecting the house to be a complete tip and she didn’t think Anthea was going to welcome her with open arms. But, she also realised
, she was slightly worried that the house wouldn’t be a tip, that it was immaculate and that her absence wouldn’t have been particularly noticed. She wanted them to find out that she was invaluable – not redundant. Not that she was going to find out if her status had changed by sitting in the driver’s seat. Besides, it was lunchtime and she was hungry.
Maxine got out of the car, collected her bag from the boot and let herself into the house. She could hear the TV blaring in the sitting room which meant Anthea was downstairs – as she usually was at this time of day. Maxine thought about greeting her mother-in-law first but decided against it heading, instead, into the kitchen.
‘I’m back,’ she called. No way was Anthea going to hear her over the TV going at full blast but there was a chance Gordon might. Nothing. Maybe he was in the garden. She went out of the back door and tried there. Still no sign of him. Maxine felt a little stab of disappointment. There was nothing for it but to go and talk to Anthea and see if she knew where he was.
‘The pub,’ was the curt answer after Max had muted the TV with the remote in order to make herself heard. No additional welcome back, no, did you have a nice time with your sister? But, realistically, what did she expect?
‘And how are you?’ she asked her mother-in-law.
There was a sniff before, ‘Getting there.’
‘Good.’ Maxine went back into the hall and collected her bag before she dragged it upstairs. She looked at the door to her old bedroom before she hauled it to the spare room. Gordon obviously hadn’t taken her advice and moved into the smaller, cosier bed; the bed hadn’t been made properly – or, at least, not to her standard – it needed a dust and a hoover and, when she went into the en-suite, it was much as she expected it to be, barely acceptable. Part of her longed to sort it out but part of her thought, sod it. If Gordon couldn’t be arsed to keep up any sort of standard, why should she?
After she’d dumped her case and sent a quick text to Judith to say she’d got back safely, she went downstairs to the kitchen. The gin bottle in the corner of the work surface, between the kettle and the bread bin, glinted enticingly in a shaft of sunlight that fell through the window. And why not?
Just a quick snifter, she thought, in the words of her sister. She’d got used to a lunchtime aperitif during her stay at Judith’s and, quite apart from that, she was rather dreading seeing Gordon. She was still cross at his lack of support, she was still angry about how he took her for granted but she’d been the one who’d walked out, left him to cope and she had a nasty niggle that she hadn’t been quite fair. Would he resent it? Would he sulk? And would she deserve it if he did. She poured herself two fingers of gin, sloshed in some tonic and took a swig. Dutch courage.
‘Hitting the bottle?’
Oh, Gawd, Anthea. She turned, fixed a smile on her face and lied. ‘Just thirsty. Fancied a tonic.’
‘Really?’ The disbelief was almost tangible. There was a pause. ‘I am assuming you’re back to pick up the reins. Things have been dire since you left.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Anthea raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? I thought that was the whole reason for going – to make a point.’
‘No, not really. My sister needed help before her move – the van comes in a couple of days.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’ God, the old bag was irritating.
‘So, what’s for supper?’
Lie or no lie about the alcohol content Maxine chugged at her drink to keep her blood pressure down. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘There’s precious little in the fridge.’
Spurred by this comment, Maxine strode across the kitchen and pulled open the door – a manky piece of mousetrap cheese, a couple of tomatoes, a selection of condiments, some milk and a half-used bag of mangetout. Even Gordon Ramsay would be pushed to make anything out of that lot. And she’d drunk a large gin which might have put her over the limit so she was not going to risk her licence by heading for the supermarket right now. And Gordon couldn’t if he was at the pub. Well, if God had intended women to be tied to the kitchen sink, he wouldn’t have invented take-aways.
‘Assuming the children don’t bring anything home with them when they come back from work, I shall pick up the phone and order in a take-away.’
‘A take-away?!’ Substitute the word ‘handbag’ and Anthea could have passed muster for Lady Bracknell.
‘And why not?’
‘Can’t you shop for something?’ she peeved.
‘No. It was a long journey, I’ve had an exhausting time with my sister and, if I’m honest, I can’t be bothered.’ There was an audible ‘tut’ which Maxine ignored.
‘But you always cook.’
‘I might have done, but not tonight. So, any preference?’ she asked brightly.
‘For what?’
‘Chinese, Indian, pizza…?’
‘Is that the choice?’ Anthea sniffed.
‘No, you could have a burger or chicken wings or a kebab.’
Anthea rolled her eyes. ‘A kebab?!’ Another Lady Bracknell moment.
‘The ones from the local guy are very good.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Anthea sneered. ‘Frankly, my dear—’
I don’t give a damn, thought Maxine.
‘—I think I’d rather starve.’
‘Suit yourself. Anyway, there’s no need to make your mind up just yet, it’s hours till supper. You might have a change of heart by then.’ Maxine drained her glass and put it in the dishwasher – which needed to be run, she noted. She got a tablet out of the cupboard, shoved it in the slot, closed the cover, pressed the buttons and slammed the door. It whooshed into action as she made her way out of the kitchen. ‘I’m going upstairs to unpack and possibly have a lie down. When Gordon gets home, tell him I’m back, would you?’ Although, as she said it, she knew he’d spot the car on the drive and work it out for himself. Maxine tramped up the stairs feeling strangely liberated by the way she’d stood up to Anthea again. She must do it more often.
24
Miranda rang Olivia’s doorbell and hoped Olivia was in. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was gone five thirty so there was a chance she might be. As she waited for the door to be opened, she stood back to look at the house and its neighbours in the street. Maybe the estate wasn’t quite as tacky as she’d once thought although, as she gazed around, she was aware of a curtain twitching across the road. That was one thing she’d always been spared – nosy neighbours. Her apartment in Kensington had been three floors up and the nearest house to her new home was about a hundred metres away. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to live in such hugger-mugger conditions. Some of these houses were practically back-to-backs. She heard the door click.
‘Miranda! How did you get on?’ Olivia sounded genuinely happy to see her which Miranda found touching. She still hadn’t got used to the genuine friendship of the local population – so different from the faked corporate closeness of her old acquaintances where everyone had been assessing everyone else for their usefulness in the back-stabbing business of getting ahead. She threw the door wide. ‘Come in, come in. Sorry I was so long answering the door; I’ve only just this minute got back from work. I want to hear all about the gallery. What was Dominic like?’
Miranda laughed. ‘I’ll tell you everything, promise.’
‘Sorry, it’s just I’ve been on tenterhooks all day. Wine, tea, coffee…?’
‘I’d love a glass of white.’ For all Miranda’s veganism, she was prepared to let her ethos slip when it came to socialising over a glass of something with a friend which might not necessarily be completely free of animal products.
Olivia led the way into the surprisingly large kitchen-diner with a small conservatory tacked onto it which made it superficially light and airy although, as Miranda could see at a glance, the amount of work surface and cupboard space wasn’t that great. ‘Take a seat,’ said Olivia as she headed to the fridge and got o
ut a bottle of Pinot Grigio. She grabbed a couple of glasses from a wall cupboard and sat down opposite her guest.
‘Cheers,’ she said after she’d poured the wine. ‘Right, what happened?’
Miranda took a sip. ‘The good news is that Dominic has agreed to come along and put a value on the paintings and judge a couple of categories; we thought best novice, best watercolour, best mixed medium and best abstract… I don’t know what you think, but we reckoned it levelled the playing field a bit for the other painters. And naturally it’s all dependent on dates and availability but, in principle, he’s up for it.’
‘Hurrah. Brilliant news.’
‘And he likes Maxine’s work. He’s sure there’s a market for it. He reckoned on the open market he might get five hundred plus for that little watercolour she gave to Heather. Dominic hoped we wouldn’t mind but he took a picture of Heather’s watercolour to show some of his clients – to gauge the interest.’
‘Five hundred or more? Wow! Not that Heather would sell, of course, but even so… Anyway, what was his gallery like? You said it’s in South Ken.’
‘I didn’t see it. Poor Dominic was having a bit of a nightmare when I met him; they’d had a power failure and so all the lighting was kaput, the alarm system was out… We met in a restaurant and I bought him lunch to try and cheer him up.’
Olivia pulled her laptop across the table towards her. ‘What’s the address?’ she asked as she lifted the cover and pressed the ‘on’ button.
‘Why?’
‘Google Earth. The nosy person’s manna from heaven.’
Miranda laughed as she got out Dominic’s card and pushed it across the table. Olivia tapped in the address and then hit street view. The camera footage showed two galleries – one each side of the road.
‘It’s probably one of these. Classy,’ she said.
‘Exactly. There’s a lot of money in South Ken. Anyway, he’s kept one of Maxine’s sketchbooks because he wants to show her work to some other people. He’s going to courier it back to us in a week or so. He really seemed quite keen on exhibiting her.’
Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford Page 19