Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Abi was going through each room with a notepad and pen, logging any defects and faults, not that there were many, and ticking off completed jobs on the decreasing list.

  ‘It’ll be perfect when it’s finished,’ she said happily. ‘Worth all the heartache—’

  ‘And the money.’

  ‘Thank God for house insurance.’

  The pair padded down the stairs and into the now bright, light hall area, rid of its dark panelling and through to the huge living space that incorporated a kitchen in the corner.

  ‘I can’t wait to move in,’ said Abi.

  ‘Two more weeks,’ said Marcus.

  Abi grinned at him. ‘That’s what we thought back in April.’

  ‘This time it really is. Your parents will be pleased.’

  The mention of her parents made Abi’s smile fade as it brought something else to the forefront of her mind. ‘And tomorrow we’re off to Croydon to get Ma’s pictures.’

  ‘I know. Got to hope it all goes according to plan because if it does, and we can get those pictures, it’ll be a good way of making everything up to her.’

  Abi started to make a tart retort. ‘Considering what Mum…’ She stopped, remembering Marcus’s previous comments about being sneery and unattractive. ‘You’re right. It can’t have been easy for her and Dad either.’

  Marcus gave her a squeeze.

  *

  ‘We’re off out for the day,’ said Abi to her parents after breakfast.

  ‘Somewhere nice?’ asked Maxine.

  ‘London.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely for you. Have fun.’

  Abi didn’t tell her that fun was very unlikely as they headed out to the car. Two minutes later they’d picked up Miranda and were headed for Croydon.

  ‘Not a place I know,’ observed their passenger from the back seat. It was mid-morning when they arrived outside the address. The street consisted of a long row of identical Edwardian terraced houses, each with a tiny front garden, a porch over a front door, and three windows – two upstairs, one downstairs – facing the street. They had to park the car a couple of roads away as the kerbside was crowded with the residents’ ones. Marcus and Miranda hung back a few yards leaving Abi to ring the bell – they didn’t want Dominic recognising Miranda and they felt Marcus might be intimidating. A woman on her own… not scary. But Marcus and Miranda were ready to leap forward as soon as the door opened. If it did.

  As she pushed the bell, Abi’s heart was thumping even harder than when she’d visited Miranda the second time. She waited for a good few seconds before the door opened.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man who answered it.

  ‘I’m Maxine Larkham’s daughter,’ snarled Abi stepping forward, ready to put her foot in the door as Marcus and Miranda rushed the ten yards along the pavement from where they’d been waiting.

  Dominic,’ said Miranda as she turned up the path.

  Dominic’s worried expression turned to one of shock. He made to shut the door but Abi had got her foot in the way and a second later she was joined by the other two and between them they were able to push it open wide. Dominic rushed backwards along the hall.

  ‘I can explain,’ he whimpered as he cowered against the newel post.

  ‘What?’ said Abi. ‘About being a thief, a fraudster and a crook?’

  ‘Yes… I mean no…’

  ‘You’ve stolen Mum’s pictures and you forged her signature.’

  ‘I didn’t mean any harm.’

  Abi rolled her eyes. ‘Bull shit. You can add liar to my previous list.’

  Dominic seemed to shrink further.

  Miranda stepped forward. ‘You’re lucky we haven’t got the police with us. But that could change if you don’t give us what we want.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Maxine’s paintings and all the prints you’ve had made. Every last one. Because if I ever find you’ve deceived me, I’ll have the fraud squad round here so fast they’ll break the sound barrier. Do I make myself clear?’ Maxine glared at him.

  Dominic nodded, his face ashen.

  ‘So where is everything?’

  ‘Through here.’ Cowed, Dominic led them through a scruffy galley kitchen with dirty crockery piled in the sink and a smell of stale cooking into a tatty conservatory at the back with several pasting tables scattered around the space. On each table was a pile of prints – some Miranda recognised, Maxine’s. In a corner were a couple of dozen cardboard tubes ready to mail out the rolled-up pictures.

  ‘And the originals?’

  Dominic pulled the sketchbook out from under the prints.

  ‘And is this everything? Because if you’re lying…’

  ‘I’m not, I swear.’

  ‘There don’t seem to be very many,’ said Miranda as she leafed through them. ‘How many did you have printed of each?’

  ‘Just twenty – to see how they sold.’

  Miranda sniffed. ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’

  ‘It’s true. I can show you the bill from the printer.’ Dominic began scrabbling around in a pile of paperwork near the cardboard tubes. ‘Here.’ He sounded really scared.

  Miranda took it and looked at it. ‘This could relate to any of these pictures.’ She gestured the other piles of prints.

  ‘But it doesn’t. Look at the date. A week after we met.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll believe you. But my threat still stands. One whiff of you ever selling anything of Maxine’s ever again and I’ll blow the whistle so loud you’ll be deaf for life. Understand.’

  Dominic nodded vehemently.

  The three of them began to gather up the prints and the sketchbook, the big A3 sheets of paper being awkward and unwieldy. It took them a couple of minutes before they were sure they had everything.

  They headed towards the front door.

  ‘And I hope,’ said Miranda to Dominic as they reached it, ‘I never have to have anything to do with your ever again. Scum of the earth, like you, should never have been allowed out of the primordial swamp.’ She swept out followed by the other two. Once they’d reached the car, popped the boot and dumped the piles of art work they indulged in a group hug.

  ‘You were magnificent,’ said Marcus. ‘Even I was scared of you.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ said Miranda. ‘But it was a team effort and we got a result.’ She slid into the front seat of the car, which Abi had rather thought of as her place – being the driver’s partner – but she wasn’t going to argue. Having witnessed another example Miranda’s capabilities, she wasn’t going to risk it.

  36

  The first weekend in October was going to be, thought Maxine, one for a lot of celebrating. And considering she’d already had quite a big celebration when Miranda, Marcus and Abi had returned, triumphant, with her pictures she was starting to feel thoroughly spoilt. Not something she’d felt for quite a while – it made a pleasant change from feeling like the put-upon underdog. But, with Marcus and Abi finally moving out on the day when the TV programme was going to be screened in the evening, she felt it was only right that she and Gordon had planned to pop a champagne cork – or two – on their own. Home alone with fizz! It seemed more – a lot more – than the best part of six months since Maxine had been feeling smug about her life given that, apart from Abi and Marcus moving in, they’d also had to deal with visits from Judith and the presence of Anthea. One way and another, since April, Maxine’s spare rooms had been in almost constant use.

  She couldn’t wait to get back into their old weekend routine; lie-ins, pottering round the house and garden, a bit of painting, lazy lunches at the pub… Oh, the bliss of the quiet life.

  She picked up her mid-morning tea off the counter and wandered out into the garden, heading for her studio. The autumn colours in the nature reserve were starting to look spectacular – brown, russet, gold, bronze… Her fingers itched to have a go at capturing them. She opened the door and her phone pinged in the back pocket of her jeans. Belinda.


  I’ve fixed up a tv in the function room. Fancy joining me and some regulars to watch your programme?

  Oh. She and Gordon hadn’t considered that. Fizz on their own, or celebratory drinks with a bunch of mates? She went to see what Gordon fancied.

  ‘Sounds like a perfect excuse for a bit of a party,’ he said, leaning on his spade in his vegetable patch. ‘I know we planned a quiet night in but… well, this could be more fun.’

  ‘I’ll tell Belinda that we’ll be there, shall?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  The following evening, they made their way across the dark nature reserve with just the dim half-moon for illumination. Not that they needed much light – they knew the reserve so well they could almost have made the journey blindfold.

  Maxine took Gordon’s arm. ‘I’m having second thoughts about this,’ she admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they may have edited the programme to make us all look like complete numpties. Once you’ve signed that release form they can cut and paste and do anything with the footage; take things out of context, have a voice-over that is disparaging or plain rude – think Come Dine With Me. I kind of wish I’d never agreed to this and we’d stayed at home.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Gordon, but inwardly he knew she might have a point.

  They opened the door to the pub and were greeted by a huge press of people. Maxine recognised most them as they were either friends, pub regulars or members of her art club. Judith was there too, raising her glass in a toast, as were Heather, Olivia, Jacqui and Bex. She was relieved to see that there was one notable absence – no Ella.

  ‘Drinks are on me,’ said Belinda as she poured a large glass of red and a pint of Guinness.

  ‘Don’t be daft – you haven’t seen the programme yet, it might be ghastly,’ protested Maxine.

  ‘You’ll be a star, I know you will.’

  But Maxine was still having doubts.

  ‘Besides,’ continued Belinda, ‘you’re famous already.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said again.

  ‘Honest. I Googled you straight after your exhibition and found you’ve got your own Wikipedia entry and then a whole bunch of your paintings came up. I even bought one. Look!’ She produced a tube from under the bar and hauled out one of Dominic’s prints – Maxine’s portrait of Belinda. ‘I couldn’t resist. I know it’s only a print but it’s signed by you so almost as good as the real thing. I’m going to get it framed really nicely and hang it over the fireplace.’

  Maxine was totally blown away by Belinda’s support but, knowing the truth about this picture, she resolved to let her have the original.

  Belinda leaned across the bar and winked. ‘I bet you’re selling loads. You’re going to be vying with Miranda as our richest resident if you carry on like this.’ She turned away to serve another customer.

  Maxine wondered how much money she might have made if the cash from the prints had gone into her bank account not that conman’s but then she’d never thought of selling her paintings – or making and selling prints of them. Maybe, in some respects the wretched Dominic had done her a favour because she was certainly considering flogging her work now.

  She was joined by Judith.

  ‘All set for your big moment?’ her sister asked.

  ‘Not really.’ She repeated the doubts she’d voiced to Gordon.

  ‘Look a fool? You? You won’t. Anyway, even in the unlikely event you do, people have short memories.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Judith checked Gordon was busy chatting to another regular before she lowered her voice. ‘It seems Ella has already forgotten your Gordon. My spies tell me she’s working in a pub in Cattebury and has her hooks into solicitor there.’

  ‘Belinda sacked her?’

  ‘She didn’t have to.’ Judith tapped the side of her nose. ‘She got the hint and moved on. I don’t think she felt that welcome here.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Maxine turned at the sound of her daughter’s voice. ‘Abi. I didn’t expect to see you here. And Marcus.’ She was genuinely touched to see them. ‘I thought you’d have been too tired from moving furniture to come.’

  ‘Couldn’t miss your big moment, could we Marcus? Isn’t this exciting!’

  For the umpteenth time in a couple of weeks Maxine wondered why her daughter had become so much less difficult. She’d asked Gordon if he’d spotted the transformation.

  ‘I think you’re exaggerating, Max,’ he’d said. ‘She wasn’t that bad. I know she had her moments but, on balance, things weren’t so very dreadful.’

  Maxine had wanted to remind him how often he went to the pub to escape the rigours of three generations under one roof, of the row than made her move out to her sister’s for a few days but then she channelled her inner Elsa – let it go, she’d thought.

  Belinda rang the bell behind the bar to get everyone’s attention. In the silence she said, ‘I’m not calling time but it is time to see the programme.’

  Maxine led the way up the stairs to the function room where she and Gordon were ushered to the front. Almost everyone else in the bar trooped in behind them and the little room was filled to bursting.

  Belinda switched on the TV and dimmed the lights and a couple of minutes later the opening titles to the show appeared on the screen.

  This was a programme that was new to Maxine and Gordon so they had no idea what to expect and Maxine sat on the edge of her seat not sure if it was fear or excitement that was stopping her from relaxing.

  As the theme music died away, Isadora appeared on the screen. ‘This evening’s programme is brought to you from the idyllic market town of Little Woodford.’ A cheer went up in the pub, doused by a gale of shushing. She described the town’s attributes, its architecture—

  ‘Get on with it,’ a heckler called. ‘We all know about that.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘And it also boasts an enviable number of clubs and societies. Most recent of which is the town’s art club set up by the super-talented amateur artist and art teacher, Maxine Larkham.’

  Another cheer erupted. Maxine’s face burned with pleasure and embarrassment and Gordon gave her such a nudge of pride she almost spilt her wine.

  There then followed a head shot of Maxine.

  ‘Gosh, Mum,’ said Abi who was sitting behind her mother, ‘You do glam up well.’ Maxine could have cried.

  ‘So, Maxine,’ said Isadora, ‘what gave you the idea for this club?’

  And Maxine explained about her own passion, the pleasure it gave her and how she wanted to share it with others. As she spoke there were cut-away shots to various pictures of the group’s work and then, after Maxine’s interview, other members of her club were also interviewed before it was back to Isadora.

  ‘Britain has a long history of producing top-rate artists and this little group shows that there is a lot more raw talent to still be discovered, thanks to people like Maxine Larkham.’ And as the segment finished a close up of one of Maxine’s landscapes filled the screen.

  Maxine sat, stunned as the viewers around her went ballistic. ‘Oh, my,’ she whispered as tears of total happiness fell unchecked.

  When things had calmed down and everyone had trooped back down to the bar, Maxine found herself the centre of attention for some time. As the crowd around her thinned, Abi and Marcus came and said their congratulations and their goodbyes, citing exhaustion from the move and the need for an early night. It wasn’t long after that Judith managed to squeeze her way through the press to talk to her sister.

  ‘You’re going to have to set up another art club, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Half of Little Woodford is going to be beating a path to your door wanting to be taught by the great Maxine Larkham.’

  Maxine laughed. ‘We’ve got vacancies for a few more in the current group but I shan’t expand beyond that. Besides, what this group has achieved is down to them
, not me. I can teach technique but no one can teach talent.’

  ‘Very profound,’ said Judith.

  Gordon escaped from a corner where he’d been having his ear bent by Bill, one of Maxine’s group who was slightly the worse for wear, about ‘wunnderful Maxine and her dedicashun. She’s sho lovely. Don’t you think your wife is wunnerful, Gordon. I do…’ While Gordon was delighted Bill thought so highly of his wife the conversation seemed to be on a loop that was going nowhere.

  ‘Fancy another?’ he said noticing Max’s glass was almost empty.

  ‘Tempting—’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Judith. ‘A large G and T – easy on the T.’

  ‘Max?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I’ve had enough,’ said Maxine.

  ‘But this is a party. You’re celebrating,’ insisted Judith.

  ‘Sure?’ said Gordon. Maxine nodded. Two minutes later he was back with Judith’s drink but not one for himself, Maxine noticed. Judith, with a new drink in hand, dived back into the thick of the party leaving Maxine and Gordon alone.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she told him. ‘All this emotion and attention has worn me out. I’m not used to this sort of thing.’

  ‘Me neither, and I’ve only been on the periphery. It’s nice, though, and I’m very proud of you. You were such a star in that programme, and that Isadora woman obviously thinks you’re the next Turner.’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Maxine. ‘But she did tell me I ought to submit to the Royal Academy summer exhibition.’

  ‘Really? But that’s wonderful.’ He drained the last dregs of his drink. ‘I’m so sorry I never realised that you were as good as you are.’

  ‘But you don’t know about art. You know about oil fields and geology and stuff like that.’

  ‘But I’ve got eyes.’

  ‘Honestly, it doesn’t matter. And seriously, I knew I was competent, quite good even because people like my stuff, but I didn’t know till that git Dominic took me for a ride that it was properly saleable. Not for real money.’