In a Country Garden

by Maeve Haran

  Rose, restored to health, sank into a deeply cushioned sofa and declared that it was so comfortable she might never leave it again.

  Bella, with her usual perceptiveness, plus a dash of self-preservation, decided to let Rose discover the features that would make ageing easier for herself. She could well imagine that introducing Rose to a loo that washed and dried you might end up with Bella being pushed down it. She would certainly get an ear-bashing about planners going mad to insist on such nonsense.

  Sal stood staring out of their arched cottage windows at the swimming pool which was only a few yards away.

  ‘Terrific!’ Lou asserted. ‘Now I only have to get out of bed and plunge in. I’ll be doing a triathlon in no time, just watch me.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit cold?’ asked Sal the city softie.

  ‘Nah. I’m used to it. We Brooklynites are tough.’

  Sal had to admit he seemed genuinely enthused about the prospect of living with her friends, the eccentric Mrs Lal, his old friend Rose McGill, Claudia’s parents and not forgetting Hiro the robot.

  He caught her looking at him intently and slammed her against his well-covered chest. ‘Yes!’ he announced in a loud and definitive voice.

  ‘Yes what?’ asked Sal, trying to breathe despite being crushed in cashmere.

  ‘Yes, I am happy to be here in this crazy commune full of decrepit seniors, so you can stop looking at me for signs of regret, horror and sense of impending doom!’

  ‘Less of the decrepit if you don’t mind. Was I looking at you for signs of regret?’

  ‘Only every five minutes since we got here. Here I am in beautiful Surrey with the only woman I love.’

  ‘Forgetting the previous three you actually married,’ pointed out Sal, laughing.

  ‘I’m an American, as you never fail to remind me. It’s expected of us.’

  Sal had been deeply relieved that when it came to doing up their cottage they turned out to have quite a similar vision, which Sal described as ‘Shaker meets Arts and Crafts’. Lots of wood, simple but comfortable furniture, and a kitchen made by a firm who described themselves as ‘English cupboard-makers’. The only sticking point had been that Sal demanded a bath with feet. ‘I’ve wanted a bath with feet all my life,’ she insisted.

  ‘And I can see this is your last opportunity before the Grim Reaper comes to scrub your back,’ Lou agreed, grinning. ‘Okay,’ he added. ‘I’ll trade you a bath with feet for a moratorium on cushions. I choose the cushions and there will be no more than six.’

  ‘Six?’ Sal squeaked. ‘In the whole house?’

  Lou nodded. ‘It’s generally assumed that men come from Mars and women from Venus due to their attitudes to sex, fidelity, remembering anniversaries and putting the trash out. The truth is actually cushions. Cushions are the essential difference between men and women.’

  Sal shook her head, trying not to collapse with laughter. ‘Six cushions it is then, but I’ll choose them.’

  ‘No pink satin?’ he demanded, thinking of her bed in North Kensington, which had been piled with pink satin cushions.

  ‘Positively no pink satin,’ she conceded.

  ‘Or any satin at all?’

  ‘You’re pushing your luck, Maynard.’

  ‘Just think of that bath with feet when I bring you a glass of something chilled.’

  ‘Okay,’ she finally capitulated. ‘No satin at all.’

  Ella packed up the small bag of clothes she’d brought and looked around her. The cabin, which was really more of a summer house, had its own deck adorned with a white fretwork pelmet thing (there had to be a more technical word than that) which gave it a slightly French air. Funnily enough it reminded her of the summer house she’d had at the bottom of her garden in the big house she’d lived in for so long in London with her husband Laurence, but that had been a sanctuary from the city. This was deep countryside. Funny how people dismissed Surrey as commuter land, yet it could actually be as rural as Somerset or Shropshire. Ella, who had always seen herself as solidly urban, had surprised herself by loving it here.

  Certainly it had been cold and frosty in the winter, but the stove had made it as cosy as if it had been centrally heated. She looked out at the quiet landscape, and listened to the silence, broken only by birdsong. She would miss the feathered friends who had sung to her throughout her time here.

  You’re actually talking to yourself about birds, a voice in her head intervened sternly.

  Ella laughed. Just as well if she was moving into the mad Manor for the rest of her life. A sudden panic gripped her. Was she doing the right thing? It was fun meeting her friends once a month in The Grecian Grove, quite another to decide to live with them till she dropped dead. What if they loathed each other? What if one of them suddenly needed nursing? Would they be able to cope?

  The lawyer in Ella told her they had gone into this too loosely. Okay, they had drawn up a trust document and it had a get-out clause, but actually exercising it would cause huge problems for the others. And then she remembered her terror when she’d thought she had dementia. At least she would have been among friends, not living alone, waiting to die or lying dead on the doormat for three weeks.

  She looked around once more before deciding to pop into the pub for a farewell drink with the landlady to take her mind off her concerns.

  ‘Your musical admirer’s not in yet,’ the landlady grinned.

  Ella looked at her in surprise.

  ‘He won’t be long, regular as clockwork. Two pints. Never three. And again at six – well, you know that because you often come too. And good luck to you. Life’s much better with someone else.’

  Ella almost choked on her glühwein. They all thought she came in here deliberately to see Daniel. Jesus, why was she thinking she was getting to like the country? In London no one looked or cared.

  But was it the truth? The question fizzled into her mind.

  ‘You’re not usually in here at this time,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Are you off on holiday?’ Daniel pointed to her suitcase. He was wearing his usual outfit of jeans and cashmere sweater. A day’s stubble blurred his chin.

  Ella had to admit he was devastatingly attractive.

  ‘No, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m finally moving up to Igden Manor with my friends.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ he flashed his charming smile. ‘I couldn’t do it in a million years.’

  ‘How’s the choir going?’ she asked brightly, wanting to change the subject. It was too close to what she’d just been thinking herself. Ella had found the best way out of any tricky situation in life was to ask the other person about themselves. It always worked like a dream.

  ‘Pretty good as a matter of fact.’ He took the bait as she’d thought he would. ‘We’ve won another award actually.’ He stood up. ‘Just going for a refill. Would you like another?’

  Ella shook her head. Her mind was swirling already.

  It didn’t take him long to get served. There were hardly any customers in the pub. Only the student Bella had cleverly hired to maintain the swimming pool, chatting to the gardener who kept the lawns mowed and the flowerbeds just about under control.

  Daniel said hello to them then came back to Ella holding a pint and a large glass of white wine.

  ‘Really,’ Ella protested, attempting not to sound like a virgin trying to protect her honour, ‘I can’t manage all that.’

  ‘Shut up and drink it,’ replied Daniel, but with such a devastating smile that it took the sting from words which would otherwise have made her want to slap him.

  Ella slugged it back quickly, suddenly wanting to leave Daniel and the mixed emotions he was invoking in her.

  ‘So you’re really going to do it?’ he asked quietly. ‘Sounds like a complete nightmare to me. Though who knows, if I start to lose my marbles it might be just the thing.’

  ‘I really don’t think so, Daniel.’ Ella put down her glass feeling really rather drunk. ‘Right. I’m off. See you sometime.�
�� She picked up her case and concentrated on walking out of the pub in a straight line.

  ‘Now, now, Daniel,’ the landlady, who had clearly been listening to their conversation, remarked. ‘They don’t generally invite the fox to move into the henhouse.’

  Seventeen

  Laura sat looking out of the window in her new flat, suddenly realizing that all her friends, as well as her beloved daughter, were all in Surrey. Her son Sam was caught up with his new job and Calum had gone back to his wife. Ella was supposed to be coming back to supervise the sale of her cottage but she was taking her time. Ella, she supposed, still had more money in the bank than the rest of them after selling that huge house she’d lived in with Laurence.

  The truth was, she was lonely. She laughed at the thought that Mrs Lal was determined to find her someone worthy of her, but Mrs Lal, back from India, was with the others and anyway, God knows what Mrs Lal’s idea of worthy would be. Probably an accountant with no sense of humour.

  She’d never resorted to dating websites as somehow they seemed too awful to her. She knew the young thought nothing of it and half of them met their partners that way, and anyway, she wasn’t techie.

  Nevertheless, she began to browse the web and stopped at a site called Out There. This made her laugh. It was a reference to that movie line she often remembered from When Harry Met Sally when Carrie Fisher says to the man she’s finally settled down with, ‘Tell me I’ll never be out there again.’ And he holds her and says, very firmly, ‘You will never have to be out there again.’

  God, how many women had felt exactly that? The holy grail of finding some nice man who wasn’t so boring he’d send you to sleep telling you about his stamp collection, or so ego-ridden he’d just talk about himself. Someone who would look after you and love you. It might sound unliberated and 1950s-ish, but it was still what most women wanted. Especially at her age.

  Despite her better judgement, and her lack of tech savvy, Laura found herself registering for Out There.

  No one would probably get back to her anyway.

  ‘I know,’ Sal suggested as they all gathered for the first time in the communal sitting room on the ground floor of the Manor. ‘Why don’t we have a party? We could ask the architects and the nice builders who’ve worked so hard to finish in record time. It would be a welcome-to-Igden party.’

  Lou stood behind her, his gaze like a warm and loving shawl thrown over her in case she felt the cold.

  Claudia watched him, trying not to feel just a little bit envious. It must be amazing to have someone who clearly thinks you’re wonderful. After thirty-five years Don only noticed she existed if they ran out of toilet rolls or teabags.

  ‘Great idea. I could make a chicken korma,’ announced Mrs Lal, guessing this would be acceptable to British palates.

  ‘I’m not sure my digestion would be up to that,’ announced Olivia. Claudia tried to give her a quelling glance. It was clear that she and Mrs Lal were eyeing each other up as potential rivals. Her mother had been queen bee in Surrey for longer than Claudia could remember and she clearly wasn’t giving up now.

  ‘If we must have something Indian, then coronation chicken always goes down very well, I find.’ Olivia smiled patronizingly at Mrs Lal as though this was an act of enormous cultural generosity.

  ‘I think you will find,’ Mrs Lal replied as if she were addressing a cack-handed scullery maid, ‘that coronation chicken was the invention of the Cordon Bleu Cookery School for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. It has nothing whatsoever to do with India. In India we could never consider adding curry powder to mayonnaise.’ She paused dramatically. ‘Or to anything else. We only use fresh herbs and spices and consider curry powder to be the ingredient of the amateur.’ She smiled benignly as Olivia struggled to find a suitably cutting reply.

  ‘I’m sure the kitchen could come up with something delicious,’ Bella intervened diplomatically. ‘Why don’t we put the idea to a vote?’

  Everyone voted in favour except Olivia and Len, who was either doing it to keep in with his wife, or hadn’t been listening anyway.

  ‘A party it is then,’ Bella smiled. ‘How about next Saturday?’

  ‘I may have to go to an urgent dental appointment,’ insisted Olivia.

  ‘How unfortunate for you,’ commented Mrs Lal. ‘And on a Saturday evening too.’

  Claudia tried not to be discouraged. Their first communal vote and it left two people pissed off.

  She just hoped Mrs Lal didn’t bring her Bhangra music.

  ‘We could decorate the room a bit,’ suggested Sal, looking round. It was a very pleasant space with armchairs dotted around small tables with reading lamps in muted shades. ‘How about a little Forties glamour? A bit of the vibe of Casablanca? Men in DJs, ladies in evening dress. We could download Play It Again, Sam.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ agreed Ella, thinking of the Forties-style sequin jacket she never wore.

  ‘I might get out my tortoiseshell hairclips,’ Rose seconded. ‘Unless they got thrown away in The Great Clear-Out. I suppose we all had one of those?’

  ‘Too right,’ Ella agreed. ‘Although I’d already downsized a lot to move to the cottage.’

  ‘Giving away some things nearly broke my heart,’ Olivia announced dramatically.

  ‘But think how happy the charity shops were to get your stuff,’ reminded Claudia. ‘I’m sure it’s done a lot of good.’

  ‘Yes, but not to me,’ was her mother’s swift reply. ‘And now I need to go. Leonard, come along.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay for a bit, old chap,’ Len said to Hiro, sounding like an indulgent uncle. ‘More fun here than another early night.’ It took them all a moment to realize he was addressing the robot.

  ‘Thank you, Len, I think I will do so.’ Hiro turned to the assembled gathering. ‘Possibly I could help at your party.’

  They were all fascinated to know what he would offer to do.

  ‘I could read poetry. Perhaps the sonnets of William Shakespeare?’ He revolved in a complete circle and began to declaim: ‘Can I compare Thee to a summer’s day?’

  ‘That’s terrific, Hiro,’ congratulated Lou. ‘A robot who knows Shakespeare. That’s really something.’

  ‘And I could do fortune telling,’ announced Mrs Lal. ‘I am quite famous for it in India, as well as the matchmaking.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Claudia was feeling a bit overwhelmed. ‘That sounds fascinating.’

  ‘Maybe I could ask Mum.’ Bella was beginning to wish her mother Laura had joined in with all her friends instead of staying on in London without them.

  Claudia glanced at her friend’s lovely daughter. She was so glad that everyone had accepted Bella deserved a cottage for as long as she wanted to stay, after all her hard work. From what she said, Nigel loved his new job and it might be for a long time. Maybe she’d be able to start that business of hers. And she couldn’t wait to have her daughter Gaby and nice son-in-law Douglas there too, who’d also given his all to get the manor finished. Of course they’d have to get their planning permission and the question of some kind of payment might come up. Fortunately she and Don had some over from their house sale and might be able to help. She did so hope it would be okay for them.

  Later on, when they’d all gone back to their rooms, Claudia turned to her husband and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Oh God, Don, I’m not sure what I’ve done here. All these egos battling.’

  ‘It’s only your mother and Mrs Lal. And anyway, if they don’t like it, they don’t really have to see that much of each other. Everyone has their own key and can come and go as they want. It’s not some kind of care-home prison, it’s just a way of giving each other a bit of support.’

  Claudia giggled, feeling a bit more herself. ‘Plus fortune telling and Shakespeare.’

  ‘And why not? I like a good sonnet. I might even get out my Jew’s harp.’ At this Claudia collapsed completely. Don playing the Jew’s harp was a source of wild family amusement.

&n
bsp; She saw that Don was looking hurt. ‘I’m sure everyone would love you to play it,’ she insisted guiltily, but probably too late.

  ‘So what are you going to wear?’ This was clearly Don making an effort. He had about as much interest in women’s fashion as Boris Johnson on a bad day.

  ‘I’ll have a look in my wardrobe,’ replied Claudia, thinking it didn’t really matter. There would hardly be any glamorous men like Humphrey Bogart arriving to sweep them all off their feet.

  In her rented flat in London Laura was trying to resist the lure of Out There and failing.

  It was just too tempting to get out her laptop and look at men rather like a menu in a restaurant, even if some of the specimens were more fish and chips than haute cuisine.

  She decided, just for purposes of comparison, to browse some sites aimed at older people. Instantly a website popped up offering ‘Free Russian Ladies’.

  Laura giggled, wondering what entitled you to a free Russian lady. Did you get one as a gift free with a litre of vodka?

  So far she hadn’t created a profile on Out There, just done a bit of window shopping. It was clever of the dating sites, Laura noted, that you didn’t have to pay just to sign up, but could just flick through the pictures and only go further if you saw someone you fancied and then pay if you wanted to find out more about them.

  Tonight she’d gone a step further and put up a profile with her age, where she lived, the fact that she was a mother of two grown-up children and that her status was currently single. Then she panicked at the idea of putting up her photo. Instead, since she’d listed reading as one of her interests, she took a photo on her phone of a very beautiful book and used that as her image.

  Laura went to the kitchen to get a glass of wine and when she came back two of the men she’d been looking at had sent her a heart, which apparently meant they were interested.

  Now, if she wanted to make contact with them, she would have to properly join Out There.