Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Olivia beamed. ‘But that’s wonderful. So, all we have to do now is fix up a suitable date for this exhibition, persuade the rest of the art group that not only is it a good idea but also it’s their idea, and then get Maxine on board.’

  ‘The first thing is easy, I should think, and I suspect the second is too…’

  ‘And the third should be because we’ll tell Maxine that the art group won’t play ball if she doesn’t join in.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure the others will go along with that – they mightn’t mind that much?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Olivia. ‘Because I’ll tell them that’s what they’re going to say if they know what’s good for them.’

  Miranda grinned. ‘Brilliant.’

  *

  Maxine lay on her bed in the spare room, reading a book and trying hard to ignore the sounds of her family moving about downstairs. She knew, if she surfaced, she’d be expected to take up the slack, make decisions, make meals, retake control and she wasn’t ready to yet. Let them carry on, she told herself as she adjusted her pillow and returned to the story. But it was difficult to concentrate when raised voices drifted up the stairs and a door slammed. She was wondering what was going on when she heard heavy feet on the stairs – Gordon, she suspected – and then a knock at her door. She thought about feigning sleep and not answering but the chances of being left in peace were vanishingly thin.

  ‘Yes?’

  Gordon pushed open the door. ‘You’re back,’ he said. No, hello, darling, noted Maxine.

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Mum said you’re not planning on cooking tonight.’

  ‘As there isn’t anything in the fridge to cook with, I said we might have to have a take-away.’

  ‘Mum’s not a fan.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Max, without a shred of sympathy in her voice. ‘And, as I’m not the only able-bodied adult in this family, I don’t know why you think it should be exclusively my job to supply meals.’

  There was a pause before Gordon said, ‘We’ve missed you, Max.’

  Tempting though it was to say good, Max restricted her reply to, ‘Well, I’m back now. But,’ she added as Gordon’s face brightened, ‘I’m tired after my drive from Judith’s and I’ve been working very hard helping her pack up. I’ll get back into harness tomorrow but right now I haven’t got the energy.’

  ‘That’s the thing, Max, we all feel a bit like that.’

  ‘What did you do today? When I got back your mum told me you were at the pub.’

  Gordon’s face flushed. ‘Might have been,’ he muttered.

  ‘You didn’t think to re-stock the fridge before you went there.’

  ‘I thought Abi and Marcus might do a shop.’

  Maxine stared at him. ‘Oooh look, flying pigs.’

  ‘It’s their turn,’ he countered.

  ‘And their excuse this time is?’

  ‘They had to go and see the house before they came home – and then they felt too tired.’

  Maxine shook her head. ‘Diddums,’ she said harshly. ‘Doing things when you’re tired or fed up or unappreciated are all part of being an adult.’ She stared at Gordon. ‘I’ve been coping with that for the past thirty years or so, ever since I had Abi, but I don’t think anyone has noticed. That was one of the reasons I buggered off; since Abi and Marcus moved in, they’ve reverted to being kids again – expecting me to do everything, just like the old days. Olivia warned me this would happen – she was so right. Well, tonight I am too tired to be bothered so that is why I suggest we order a take-away.’ She held up her hand. ‘I don’t care if your mother doesn’t like them, she can eat what she’s given and be grateful for it. I’m sure that was her mantra to you when you were growing up.’ The look on Gordon’s face told Maxine she was right. ‘And as Abi and Marcus can’t be bothered to shop, they can pay for it.’

  ‘That’s not going to be popular,’ said Gordon.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m her mother, not her best friend, and for once she can do as she’s told.’

  ‘When did you start being so harsh?’ muttered Gordon as he left the room. Maxine almost regretted coming home.

  *

  A couple of days later Olivia rang Maxine’s bell on her way home from work.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked when Maxine answered it.

  ‘It’s like I’ve never been away.’ She ushered her friend inside and led her through to the kitchen. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea.’

  Maxine called through to the sitting room to see if Anthea wanted a drink before she put the kettle on and pushed the door closed.

  ‘Your ma-in-law is still with you, I see.’

  Maxine rolled her eyes. ‘Indeed. Although, finally, there is light at the end of the tunnel; Gordon’s gone to her old house today to meet an occupational therapist to see what can be done to make it suitable for Anthea to move back. Frankly I’m not holding out much hope but, I suppose if the health people say it’s completely unsuitable, it gives us the green light to flog it and find something that is suitable nearer here.’

  ‘And what will Anthea say about that?’

  Maxine leant against the counter. ‘I don’t really care. I know it sounds harsh but it’ll make our life endlessly easier and it’ll give her a big pot of money to employ carers or cleaners or whatever she needs to make life comfortable. And, frankly, I think she will be as glad to see the back of me as I will be of her.’

  The door banged open. ‘Are you talking about me,’ demanded Anthea.

  ‘Yes,’ said Maxine. ‘I was telling Olivia that Gordon’s gone to your house to meet the occupational therapist.’

  ‘And about time,’ said Anthea. ‘The sooner I can move back the happier we all shall be.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ echoed Maxine.

  Olivia shifted uncomfortably as Anthea hobbled back to her lair in the sitting room.

  The kettle boiled and Maxine made the tea, taking Anthea’s to her, before she suggested that Olivia might like to join her out in the garden where they could sit on the studio veranda in the sun.

  ‘Sorry you had to witness the altercation,’ said Max. ‘Never nice to be the outsider on a domestic.’

  ‘Hardly a domestic.’

  ‘Even so.’

  The pair settled themselves in the chairs on the summer house deck and sipped their tea.

  ‘Now, Maxine,’ started Olivia, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m interfering…’

  ‘Sounds ominous. Why?’

  ‘Well, at the last art club meeting, the one you missed, the rest of us had a bit of a chat,’ Olivia lied fluently, ‘and we thought we’d like to hold an exhibition of our work.’ The truth was that she’d emailed the group, swearing them to secrecy about the plan she and Miranda had cooked up and basically ordered everyone to join in. Luckily, apart from one or two, everyone had been pretty enthusiastic and even the doubters had come round after a bit of gentle arm-twisting.

  ‘That’s a lovely idea.’

  ‘But the thing is, and we’re adamant about this, we won’t do it unless you exhibit too.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Maxine paused and looked deeply embarrassed. ‘Look, it’s not that I don’t want to but I’ve been painting all my life—’

  ‘—and you think it’ll be unfair on the others if your work is there as a comparator.’

  Maxine blushed. ‘Well… yes. But that sounds so big-headed.’

  ‘Supposing I was to tell you that we plan to sell the work and that, so far, we’re all agreed on giving a percentage of the proceeds to local charities. If people are prepared to pay more for some work than others it’ll mean more money for the good causes.’

  ‘Money to charity?’ Maxine still sounded unsure. ‘Not that I’ve ever sold any of my stuff but, yes… I suppose.’

  ‘And Miranda has offered to pay to get all the entries framed uniformly to make the whole thing look more professional. You know as wel
l as I do what a difference a decent frame makes to any picture.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s generous. I mean, I know she can probably afford it but that really isn’t the point. It’s incredibly kind of her.’

  ‘I happened to mention it and she asked about how we planned to exhibit the stuff and… Well, I think she’s knows about art and art galleries and stuff…’ Olivia tailed off. She didn’t want to reveal just how much Miranda knew or how she was helping in other ways.

  ‘Even so, it’ll make all the difference. You have been busy.’

  ‘It hasn’t taken much organising to be honest.’

  Maxine raised her eyebrows. ‘Hmm.’

  The pair sipped their tea in silence for a few seconds, enjoying the late-afternoon July sunshine before Maxine spoke again. ‘Have you got a venue?’

  ‘The town hall. And because of the local charity aspect the town clerk says we can have it for free.’

  ‘Better and better.’

  ‘He’s going to let us know which weekend in August we can have it.’

  ‘Best I look out a few pictures then. And at least I can get to my old sketchbooks now all the kids’ clutter has gone.’

  ‘Has it?’ said Olivia feigning ignorance. She looked behind her as if to check the veracity of her host’s statement. ‘Oh, so it has.’

  ‘The bonus of throwing a total strop was that they finally hired a self-storage unit. They’re still under our roof for the foreseeable future but now I’ve got my studio back I feel as if I can cope. Not that I’m telling the family that. I want them to carry on thinking I might bolt again at the least provocation – it’ll keep them on their toes.’

  ‘Talking of bolting… you said you’d gone to your sister’s to help her move house. How’s that going?’

  ‘She should be arriving tomorrow if it all goes to plan.’

  ‘So, Gordon’s away, your sister is moving house tomorrow, Abi and Marcus are still here…’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Maxine. ‘And to think, only a few months ago I was revelling in how quiet and ordered our life had become. God, if I could turn the clock back.’

  ‘Still, it’ll be nice to have your sister around.’

  Maxine didn’t answer.

  ‘Won’t it?’

  ‘She’s not terribly self-sufficient.’

  ‘Oh.’

  *

  As soon as Olivia left Maxine’s she pedalled to Miranda’s hoping, as she went, that her friend and co-conspirator was in.

  ‘Olivia, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Good news and bad news.’

  ‘Come in and have a seat, do. Can I get you anything?’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘Just had tea at Maxine’s. The good news is she’s on board with the exhibition, the bad news is she’s going to go through her pictures.’

  ‘And she might spot there are some missing,’ finished Miranda.

  Olivia nodded. ‘Do we know when we can expect the book back that Dominic kept?’

  ‘I’ll chivvy him up.’

  ‘Good. In the meantime we must return the other one. One missing sketchbook might be attributable to the chaos of Abi moving her furniture in and out but two might be tricky.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Miranda. ‘I’ll drop the one I’ve still got back while she’s at her art club tomorrow. I’ll use the opportunity to reiterate to Gordon that this exhibition is an art club idea and nothing to do with you and me.’

  ‘Although I told her about your offer to get the framing done.’

  Miranda tilted her head slightly making her emerald earrings dance. ‘I think we can explain that away as the actions of a local philanthropist. Not that I saw myself in that role when I got here,’ she added wryly.

  ‘Erm… no,’ agreed Olivia.

  ‘Things change.’

  ‘When are we going to tell her about Dominic and his role valuing stuff?’

  ‘Not until quite close to the day. We’ll pass it off as a serendipitous coincidence. A happy alignment of the stars that my art-dealer friend happened to be in the area that weekend.’

  ‘You think she’ll fall for that?’

  ‘Why not? It isn’t as if I’ve any involvement at all with the art group. And I think she’ll be so busy as the exhibition gets nearer, she won’t examine any of the details too closely. It’ll be fine. Trust me.’

  25

  Gordon shut the door of his mother’s house behind the occupational therapist and thought about what she’d said about it. She’d said that externally it was a truly lovely place, which it was given that it was a beautifully proportioned late Georgian or early Victorian building, with a wisteria covering the mellow stone facade. A dream home, she’d added slightly wistfully, before she’d announced that internally it was far from a dream home for a frail octogenarian. Actually, what Jolene, the health professional, had said was the house was completely unsuitable for a frail octogenarian and a total nightmare from an occupational health point of view, unless some major alterations were made. However, as the property was Grade II listed and, given the scope and scale of the alterations, it was going to be months and months before the relevant planning permissions were likely to be in place and even more months before the building work would be finished, it made the whole prospect of sorting it out to make it suitable almost a non-starter.

  Gordon sighed as he walked back into the glorious dining room with its open fire, wood floor and beautiful cornicing and wondered what it would look like converted to a downstairs bedroom with hoist over the bed and an en-suite wet room which was what Jolene had said would be needed for the coming years.

  ‘If your mother wants to carry on living here then the house will have to be future-proofed,’ Jolene had insisted. ‘A stair lift, some ramps and a few grab-handles simply aren’t going to cut it.’ She pointed out that the first floor had random floor levels with steps in unexpected places between rooms and along corridors, the lighting was atrocious and the floors were all uneven. ‘And suppose there was a fire? How on earth would your mother get out in an emergency?’

  Gordon had seen the sense of what she’d said but such alterations would cost thousands. Given that the house was set in a big garden surrounded by a neat beech hedge, around the corner from the local shop, the pub and about half a mile away from the primary school, when the inevitable happened and it had to be sold, it would be perfect for a family with young children who were more likely to want a functioning dining room than a downstairs DIY care facility. Surely, any such self-respecting purchaser would want thousands knocked off the price to convert it back? Gordon sighed.

  ‘There’s a certain amount the local NHS Trust will be prepared to fund – it’s far more advantageous for all concerned to keep people in their own homes – but, I’m afraid, certain alterations are beyond our scope.’

  ‘Just what help can we expect?’ asked Gordon.

  Jolene had looked at her watch and said that it was getting late and she needed to get going and it would be better if he phoned her department in the morning when the options could be discussed at length.

  ‘We might need to do another site visit,’ she added.

  As he watched Jolene drive away, Gordon knew in his heart what the obvious solution was; scrub the alterations, sell the place now and move Anthea into somewhere purpose-built near Little Woodford. But somehow, he didn’t think persuading Anthea was going to be an easy task.

  He looked at his watch; five thirty and the village shop shut at six. He made his mind up – he’d buy a ready meal, raid his mother’s wine cellar for a bottle of something and stay the night. If the local health people needed to do another visit there wasn’t much point in driving all the way only to have to return almost immediately. Besides if he slept on the problem, he might come up with something different – or better – as a solution.

  As he walked to the shop, he rang Maxine and told her the gist – that a lot of work would need to be done and he wasn’t sure it would be worth it. ‘And I’m go
ing to stay the night here. The occupational health woman thought they might need another look so there’s no point in coming home.’

  ‘Oh. Only Judith is moving in tomorrow…’

  ‘And?’ Did Max hope he’d rush back to be at his sister-in-law’s beck and call? ‘She’s got a firm of professional movers to do the job. Anyway, you didn’t tell me you expected me to help.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but, you know what she’s like. After they’ve gone, she might change her mind and want things put in different places. She can’t possibly move big pieces of furniture by herself. It would be nice if we could help her out a bit.’

  ‘God, Maxine, nothing will have to be moved instantly, will it? Surely Judith can wait a day or two if she needs a hand. It’s not exactly life or death, is it?’ It had been a long day and he was tired and he didn’t want flak.

  ‘No, you’re right. It’s better if you stay the night.’

  That was big of her.

  ‘Just one thing Gordon, what should I tell your mum?’

  ‘That it’s complicated, it’s going to be expensive and it probably isn’t going to be worth it.’

  ‘She’s not going to be pleased.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I may leave it for you to tell her.’

  ‘If you think that’s for the best, that’s fine,’ he lied. Bugger, he’d hoped Maxine would break the news – it was a conversation he really didn’t want to have.

  *

  The following day, as the shadows began to lengthen, Judith generously tipped the Pickfords’ men who had finished unloading, picked up a large swathe of polythene that had been ripped off her sofa as they’d squeezed it through her tiny hall, and shut the front door with a sigh. It was done. She’d moved. She was in her little mews cottage. She looked around at the mess. Sure, the big pieces of furniture were mostly all in the right place; the three-piece suite, the dining room table and chairs, the side board, the coffee table… but everywhere there were half-unpacked boxes, crumpled newspaper and bubblewrap, piles of china, stacks of pictures, clusters of ornaments… She didn’t want to even think about the upstairs. She’d made up her bed but the spare room was almost inaccessible due to the mounds of bed linen, duvets, towels and boxes full of her clothes.