by Maeve Haran
Ella sighed. Actually, she used to love being up to her elbows in mud, sifting it as if she were making crumble, the height of Ella’s culinary achievements, until it was fine and rich and ready for planting.
Oh well, no use moping. It wasn’t helping her. She should just get some pots of geraniums and admit defeat.
She picked up the vegetables and poured them into the jute bag Stevie held out. It read TRESPASSERS WILL BE COMPOSTED and it almost made her cry, remembering the mug she had given him with the slogan GIVE PEAS A CHANCE and how he hadn’t got the joke till half an hour later then suddenly fallen about with laughter and toddled off to repeat it to everyone else on the allotment.
Come on, Ella, this really won’t do, she instructed herself firmly. She knocked back her tea, so strong it tasted like bitter medicine, embraced them all and headed for her car.
Sal could have done with half an hour’s peace to think through her decision but instead found Rose waiting for her in her office.
‘Just checking on the progress of the dating site. Have you put together those figures?’
Sal sighed, half wishing she hadn’t come up with the idea. It was turning out to be more complex than she’d thought and now one of the big daily newspapers had just offered a free bottle of wine at Café Bleu, the chain much beloved of their target age range since it offered a not bad three-course lunch for a tenner, if you joined up with their dating website.
‘By the way,’ Rose added, ‘I see you’re staying at Igden Manor this weekend.’ She indicated the email the hotel had sent her confirming the booking which Sal had printed up and left on her desk. ‘Isn’t that old Murdo Binns’ place?’
‘Rose.’ Sal shook her head. ‘I have no idea what Murdo Binns is. It sounds like a posh waste-disposal company.’
‘It’s not an it, it’s a him. Lord Murdo Binns. I’m pretty sure he owns it.’ Rose smiled with a rare attempt at coyness. ‘I used to think I was in love with Murdo Binns. Of course it was a very long time ago.’
‘Shall I give him your regards if I see him?’
‘I doubt very much you will. His mother used to live in the place and when she died they turned it into a hotel.’
‘Fascinating,’ Sal nodded, trying to change the subject in case Rose asked who she was going with.
‘Well, have a lovely time.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Nice to see you relaxing for once. You work too hard.’
Sal laughed. ‘Not as hard as you do.’
‘I suppose we’re both the same. That’s why we get on.’
‘Hello, Mum.’ Laura answered her door next morning and found her daughter Bella on her doorstep. She opened her arms to her daughter and grandson delightedly, suspecting Sam might have suggested she drop round.
‘Hi, darling, how lovely to see you both. Have you got time for a coffee?’
‘Absolutely.’ She took the sleeping Noah out of his sling. ‘Would you like a cuddle?’
Laura held her grandson tenderly against her chest, his downy head resting under her chin, breathing in his clean, milky baby smell, and let herself enjoy the moment. Whatever happened to her, Noah was the future. Somehow it was infinitely reassuring.
‘Sam said you’ve had an offer.’
‘Yes. The full asking price so unless they find dry rot or an extension of the Central Line running under the house, it’ll be time to move.’
‘Oh, Mum. I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you, darling.’ Laura felt so lucky that at least she had two generous children who cared about her, though she mustn’t trade on that. They had their own lives to lead. ‘It was your home too. Are you upset about it?’
‘Apart from wanting to kill Dad? No. Besides, we . . .’
Bella obviously decided this wasn’t the moment to pursue her line of thought and stopped.
But not soon enough for Laura. ‘Besides, you . . . ?’
‘Well,’ she hesitated. ‘London rents are so high and Nigel isn’t the commuter type so, as I mentioned, we need to find somewhere a bit nearer his new school.’
‘In Surrey,’ Laura stated flatly, hoping she might have changed her mind.
‘Yes.’ Bella reached out a hand to her mother. ‘In Surrey.’
‘Suddenly everyone seems to be moving to Surrey.’
‘It’s not that far away,’ Bella replied. ‘It’s not as if it’s Leeds. Or New Zealand. It’s only an hour down the A3. It can take that long to cross London.’
‘Of course it can.’ Laura tried to pull herself together. It was just that today, because she was feeling so lonely, it seemed as far as New Zealand.
‘You should look round there too!’ Bella suddenly enthused. ‘After all, your friend Claudia’s there.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready to be put out to pasture yet. Besides, my job’s here.’
Bella politely didn’t reply that she could probably get a job in a supermarket in Surrey. ‘Of course. And you like it there.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘And it annoys the hell out of Dad. Fair play.’
The doorbell rang, waking Noah who protested loudly. Laura handed him reluctantly to Bella. ‘If that’s that smarmy estate agent . . .’
But it wasn’t the estate agent, it was Ella. ‘Ella!’ Laura greeted her warmly. ‘Come and stop my daughter trying to persuade me to join the Gin and Jaguar set in Surrey.’
‘I’m not sure that’s quite how I’d describe Claudia and Don,’ Ella laughed. ‘They’re more the Sauvignon and Real Ale set.’
‘You know what I mean!’
Ella looked at Noah, who had stopped screaming and was regarding her large plastic necklace with fascination. ‘Can I have a little hold? My grandsons are a bit big for a cuddle. About six foot.’
Bella handed over the baby who proceeded to cram as much of Ella’s necklace in his mouth as he could. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Ella said. She studied Bella’s striking face. ‘I think he looks like you.’
‘He looks like a baby,’ Bella laughed. ‘Anyway, now you’re here I might pop off into town. I’m seeing someone about my baby sling.’
Ella contemplated it. ‘It looks fine to me.’
‘Bella’s going into production with her own baby slings, silly!’ Laura laughed.
‘Right. Are you leaving Noah?’ Ella asked hopefully.
‘I think I’d better take him. I’m still breastfeeding. But I’m really glad you’re here.’ She put an arm round her mother. ‘We’re so glad Mum’s got such a good support team.’
‘Yes,’ Ella laughed. ‘Husbands come and go but friends last forever, as we’re always saying. Okay,’ she announced, suddenly brisk. ‘Do you want to see this flat?’ They sat down and Ella opened her laptop. ‘Two beds, a nice sitting room with room for a table and chairs, and sole access to the back garden.’
‘It looks really nice.’ Laura peered at the rooms on the screen. ‘How much is it?’
‘Not as much as you’d think but they do want a quick sale. Shall we go and see it?’
Laura nodded, feeling more cheerful than she had for weeks. Bella was right. She did have a good support team. And if the flat was as promising as it looked in the photographs, it might be somewhere she could actually bear to live.
Contrary to her expectations, it seemed there could be life after divorce.
Sal laid out the clothes she assumed to be suitable for a country weekend on her large double bed. She’d never been very good at the country. The one time she’d made an effort to blend in she’d splurged on a suede jacket and an expensive cashmere sweater to find everyone else in jeans and parkas. In the evening, learning her lesson, she’d changed into jeans and made her way to the host’s house to find them all wearing evening dress. It was beyond her. Give her a lunch in Lambeth or cocktails in Canary Wharf and she’d know exactly the right dress code, but once she got beyond the M25 she was sartorially at sea.
Just to cover herself she packed jeans and an evening dress.
The thought of Lou made h
er suddenly nervous. He was such a warm, reassuring man, like a small but friendly bear. Part of her said, Don’t be stupid, it’ll be fine. But what about if it went further and she had to take her top off? Maybe she should have made an excuse and backed out after all.
She tried to calm herself down by having another glimpse at the hotel’s website. It had a central block in mellow stone with roses growing up the front and two rows of pretty cottages round the sides. How bizarre that this was the actual place that Claudia envisaged them all living together. But surely it would cost a mint, and anyway, it looked as if it could accommodate about twenty people. Who exactly did Claudia imagine would be joining them as they went quietly gaga?
Claudia could hear them all the way down the path to her parents’ front door – her mother Olivia laughing loudly with the new carer – and it made her want to explode. She was about to confront her mother when she decided to let it go for now and nip round the side entrance to look for her father in his shed hideaway.
‘Hello, Claudia darling,’ Len greeted her jovially. ‘Avoiding the unholy alliance? I don’t blame you.’
Her father, she had to admit, looked surprisingly cheerful, but his surroundings shocked and outraged her. There were used cups and saucers, a pile of old newspapers that looked like a fire hazard, unwashed laundry and to cap it all his hair looked straggly and unwashed, as if he lived on the street rather than in a nice comfortable rectory.
‘Dad, what is this bloody woman actually doing? We hired Mrs O’Brien to help you.’
‘She is helping me. By keeping your mother off my back. It’s brilliant actually.’ He clicked the remote and the racing came on the TV.
She had to admit he was looking a lot happier than when she’d last seen him.
‘But it’s like a student flat in here!’ she protested.
‘Excellent. Best days of my life. Permanently pissed and three months off in the summer. Better than being old, I can tell you.’
‘You haven’t found anything good about being old since I last saw you then?’
‘What do you think?’ He looked so twinkly and endearing that she leaned over to kiss him and got the familiar tell-tale whiff that had made her hire the carer in the first place.
It was too much for Claudia. ‘I’m going to talk to the woman.’
‘Careful, Clo,’ pleaded her father. ‘I really am happier.’
Did he really not know that he was sitting in his own shit? Claudia found she wanted to cry.
She pushed open the door from the garden and found her mother and Mrs O’Brien staring at her as if she were a rather unwelcome intruder. ‘Claudia, dear,’ her mother said finally. ‘Wherever did you spring from? Mrs O’Brien and I have just been planning the shopping. I thought we might pop into the shopping centre and go to Sainsbury’s.’
‘What about Dad?’
‘Well, you’re here, aren’t you? You could stay with him and after that he’ll be fine on his own. We’ll leave him some food and water.’
‘He’s not a dog!’ Claudia wanted to shout.
‘And what about if he needs the toilet? He’s already soiled himself. Really, Mrs O’Brien, I thought you said your first job during the day was personal hygiene.’
‘Don’t get shirty with Una!’ Olivia answered aggressively.
So it was Christian names now, Claudia noted.
‘Your father won’t let her anywhere near him to clean him up!’
‘Then she has to persuade him. That’s her job. She works with old people. There must be a way of talking him round.’
‘Your father is a very obstinate man, Mrs Warren.’
‘No, he’s not, he’s absolutely delightful!’ Claudia heard herself shout.
‘Then you’d better clean him up yourself if he’s so delightful, and good luck to you!’ Her mother reached for her bag and coat just as a taxi pulled up outside and she and the carer departed down the garden path, leaving Claudia fuming.
How kind of her mother to leave Claudia to find a solution to her father’s incontinence with no help from her or the so-called carer.
Oh, bloody hell! Now they were paying the woman to go swanning round Debenhams (she could bet that was their goal rather than Sainsbury’s) with her mother while her father still sat in his own excrement.
Great outcome all round.
Laura was feeling more cheerful than she had for weeks when she went in to work at LateExpress. She’d really liked the flat and they had put in an offer at once. It would all depend on how quickly the sale of her own house went through, of course, but now she could look forward to something positive coming out of this horrible mess.
She could tell there was something in the air as soon as she walked into the shop, a sense of extreme tension laced with anxiety. The young girl who was meant to be manning the till seemed to be lurking away out of sight in the stock room and there was no sign at all of Mr A.
Laura took off her jacket, donned her tasteless tabard and stationed herself in front of the cigarettes. These were the most probable target for pilfering, though the small bottles of vodka and gin were popular, not to mention the vacuum-packed steaks. She’d read, to her astonishment, that there was apparently a thriving market in meat theft, even for the big supermarket chains, with people managing to walk out with whole legs of lamb, even frozen ones, stuck up their jumpers. There was no end to the inventiveness of the contemporary pilferer.
After about ten minutes Mr A appeared, looking pale and shaken.
‘My mother-in-law has arrived and I have delivered her to the White Swan Hotel,’ he announced just above a whisper in case she could hear him from three miles away. ‘Already she has telephoned to complain. The place is shoddy, the service slow and her room too noisy.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘And all this in the first half hour.’
‘Oh dear,’ Laura sympathized, wondering what on earth could be done to improve matters. Would it be totally unfair to Sam if she invited her to stay with them for a few days? There was the question of the sale, of course, but now that they had accepted the offer at least there wouldn’t be prospective buyers tramping round looking at the place.
‘How would you feel,’ Laura found herself asking, ‘if she came and stayed with me for a day or two until you find a longer-term solution?’
‘But have you room?’ he asked, his gloom visibly lifting.
‘Well, actually,’ Laura explained apologetically, ‘I do live in rather a big house. It’s up for sale because it was the family home, but that means it’s tidier than usual and I assume it wouldn’t be for long?’
‘Mrs Minchin, I knew you were nice lady, even my wife acknowledges you are nice lady, but this generosity could save our bacon. Let me have consultation with my wife and I will let you know on the instant.’ He ran off, his phone beginning to ring again in his pocket. Probably his mother-in-law with another complaint.
You must be certifiably mad, Laura told herself. But she liked Mr A a lot and he had been kind and generous to her. She would like to help him out of a hole and it would probably only be a day or two till they found some better alternative.
Laura was rewarded by the vision of Mrs A, for once not in her quilted dressing gown but a formal sari in shades of bright emerald, embellished with row after row of flashing gem stones, hurrying towards her and grabbing her hand, which she clasped to her generous bosom.
‘Mrs Minchin, you are our saviour in shining armour!’
‘It’s nothing.’ Laura tried not to giggle. ‘You’ve both been exceptionally kind to me during a difficult time of my life. I’d love to be able to repay you with this small service.’
‘Mrs Minchin, it is not small. It is big.’
‘Do you think your mother would be prepared to stay at the White Swan tonight or would you like me to go home and get a room ready now?’
‘I think now is better,’ Mr A replied instantly, picking up a wire shopping basket and proceeding to fill it with items. Bombay Sapphire Gin with Fever Tree
tonic, two fillet steaks, oven chips, some slightly wilted French beans and a large packet of Mini Cheddars. ‘For dinner tonight,’ he explained.
‘Wouldn’t your mother-in-law prefer something Indian?’ Laura enquired. ‘I could easily order some. My son always keeps the takeaway menu handy.’
‘My mother despises Indian food,’ Mrs A said, shaking her head. ‘She much prefers French cuisine.’
‘Right,’ Laura replied, racking her brains for French recipes. She used to be quite a dab hand back in the day when they had dinner parties. She sagged slightly. How long ago that seemed. Well, however much of a dragon this lady turned out to be, by the sound of it she wasn’t going to be boring and Laura could do with a diversion just at the moment. ‘I’ll slip off home now then. What time would you like to drop her round?’
‘How soon would you be ready for her?’
Laura tried not to look too stunned. Clearly this lady was like a nuclear attack. You only got a four-minute warning.
Seven
Laura tried to call Sam on his mobile to warn him about their unexpected visitor, but as usual he didn’t pick up. Why did no one under thirty ever answer their phone? She was halfway through leaving a convoluted message when the doorbell rang.
She’d just spent the last half hour changing the bed in the spare room, laying out fresh towels with a guest soap and placing a small vase of flowers next to the bed. It struck her rather sadly how much she’d enjoyed doing things like this over the years of her marriage, small but pleasurable domestic acts, and how little homemaking was valued in the modern world. Only career success seemed to matter. Her twenty-five years of looking after her home and family now seemed faintly embarrassing and anachronistic. The Sukis of the world were the ones who were admired. Laura mentally shook herself. She wasn’t going to think about Simon’s younger colleague who’d caused the break-up of her marriage. That would mean Suki had won.
Instead she skipped downstairs and opened the front door.
Without being conscious of it, Laura realized she’d had a somewhat stereotyped picture of Mrs A’s terrifying mother as being somewhere between Indira Gandhi and Mrs Kumar from Number 42. Instead the woman who stood at her front door, though she couldn’t be younger than seventy, was as sophisticated and sleek as a senior diplomat’s wife, wearing what looked like a couture outfit in French blue wool with matching high heels.