by Maeve Haran
Laura tried not to think how much these photographs were costing. She had decided to sign up for Out There at a cost of £14.99 per month so that she could get full access to Gavin’s profile and he would be able to see hers. That was why she needed a really good set of photographs. The advice on internet sites was to dress up and give it your best smile. That was why Laura found herself in a photographer’s studio in hip Clerkenwell, in front of a beige background, with her hair done and full make-up, wearing her favourite fluffy cardi and tight blue jeans. She’d thought of putting on a skirt but she so rarely did these days that she wouldn’t feel natural.
With the photographer’s encouragement she’d opened her top button, feeling like a page-three girl with some old lag shouting, ‘Come on, darlin’, show us what you’ve got!’
She was very conscious, as a matter of fact, that her cleavage might be as wrinkly as an old apple, but the young man, who was not much older than her son Sam, assured her it was very tasteful and attractive.
Part of her was screaming, Laura, you are an intelligent, sane woman, what are you doing? But another part was reassuring her that this was what intelligent sane women did nowadays, and how was she going to meet a nice man if she just stayed at home?
When she got back she started on her profile properly. What were her interests? The advice site said don’t just say things like watching TV and films, it sounded too dull.
Laura sat back in her chair, taken aback because she couldn’t think of a lot of interests. Her family had been her number one interest. A wave of longing for the soft downy head of her grandson Noah suddenly overtook her. She couldn’t put him down as an interest on a dating website. Actually, why not? Laura thought about why she was doing this in the first place. The whole idea was to meet someone she was in sympathy with, so no point pretending to be someone else even if it was more attractive. She didn’t particularly like walking or sport, or the life and oeuvre of François Truffaut or anything intellectual like that. She didn’t even really like gardening. Anyway, she didn’t have a garden at the moment. She did like browsing junk shops and creating interiors. She’d loved her family home, but that was all over now, husband Simon living somewhere else, Sam up in Manchester and Bella down at Igden Manor. Funny that her daughter should be living with her friends rather than Laura herself, but to Bella it was just a job and cheap accommodation. To Laura it would have been a prison.
She might as well be herself. So for interests she wrote ‘my gorgeous grandson Noah, finding hidden gems in junk shops, restoring old furniture, listening to Sixties music and watching Poldark’.
She had only chosen her favourite photograph and uploaded it about five minutes ago when a heart came back from Gavin. This meant he wanted to talk to her!
Laura knew it was ridiculous but she felt as excited as a schoolgirl going to her first party. She tried to calm herself by looking for a long time at the photograph he’d posted on Out There.
With his warm brown eyes and slightly too long wavy hair he really was quite devastatingly attractive.
But she wasn’t going to jump right into anything. She was going to be sensible and take her time.
Until tomorrow at the very least.
Rose looked round her sitting room and sighed with satisfaction. It was south-facing and the sun was streaming in. She had opened her French window onto the small balcony and could hear a bird singing. A blackbird or maybe a robin, given the time of year. She loved robins, not only for their cheery Christmas-card appeal but because they sang so much of the year, even at night sometimes. Rose suffered from insomnia and it was often a robin she could hear when she got up to read for an hour in the middle of the night. The robin at Igden seemed almost like a friend.
That had been quite a drama last night, but like Don she didn’t want to live in some ghastly place where everyone pretended to be nice, and where the staff displayed awful fake cheeriness. ‘Come on, dearie, there’s a good girl!’
She much preferred a bit of reality, even if it was a little uncomfortable. Give her EastEnders rather than The Archers any day, though even The Archers was fraught with drama these days.
She thought about Murdo for a moment. The truth was, she’d been deeply flattered that he still cared enough to make selling them the Manor dependent on her presence here. Mrs Lal coming along at the last moment, and Murdo’s evident attraction to her, was certainly an irritant, but she believed Murdo would have the sense to see that Mrs Lal would be trouble one of these days. At least she hoped he would. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so sharp with him.
She made herself her favourite tea in a delicate china cup and decided that unless things got a lot rougher here, it was a place she could be happy. And for someone who’d lived alone for years, she was actually enjoying the company much more than she’d expected. And the food, something that mattered a great deal to Rose, was excellent.
She’d done a good job in persuading the chef to stay on. It had only been the offer of free accommodation that had done it. But accommodation was one thing they had plenty of at Igden Manor.
With her unsettled state of mind, Ella decided to distract herself by thinking about what she would do with the gardens.
There was nothing like a bit of digging and weeding for calming the soul. Fortunately the main areas were already established so it really only meant improving the herbaceous borders and trying to ensure some year-round colour. Ella was excited to find there was a tractor lawnmower like the one Laurence had appropriated in their London garden. Now she would get a go.
She also rather fancied doing a bit of private planting around her own cottage, perhaps even putting up some unobtrusive fencing, something she could disguise with climbing plants so she could have a bit of privacy. It was Ella’s little secret that she occasionally liked to sunbathe topless and she didn’t want to frighten the horses by whipping her bikini off in the communal areas. Wrinkly boobs were best kept to yourself, in her view, but a nice row of hollyhocks which bloomed well into September and fast-growing roses should do the job if she were discreet about it. She even took her top off in winter now and then if there was a bright enough day. I mean, we all need a shot of Vitamin D, don’t we? she thought to herself.
Whistling happily, she started her tour.
‘So where are all these young people we were promised?’ Lou teased Bella. ‘A student flat crossed with a kibbutz was the description that lured me in.’ He looked lovingly at Sal. ‘And that old crock of an Amazon over there of course.’ He indicated Sal, who laughed back at him.
‘I’m young,’ protested Bella. ‘And Noah’s even younger. Douglas and Claudia’s daughter Gaby will be here. It’s just that getting planning permission for a new build on that land beyond the coach house is taking much longer than our renovations did.’ She laughed back at him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Bella put a protesting Noah into his buggy and pushed him round the grounds. She wanted to think. It was true real communities didn’t just have one age group and they still had plenty of empty rooms. What about inviting students to occupy a couple, just for a short space of time, and seeing how it worked out? If it was ghastly, then there would be no long-term commitment.
There was a university not too far away that used to be a tech and had loads of practical courses. She could easily put a notice on their boards and see what happened.
Just in time she remembered she probably ought to ask Claudia first.
As it turned out, Claudia thought it would be fine, but no more than two of them and initially just for three months or a term, whatever worked for the students.
‘Don could do with some help in his new handyman role and I’m sure Ella could handle some young people giving her a hand with the garden.’
‘And talking to the residents,’ added Hiro who’d just come into the room to get something for Len.
‘Hang on,’ protested Claudia. ‘This isn’t a care home and we’re not gaga yet!’
‘Olivia wo
uld like a young man to chat to,’ suggested Hiro. ‘She doesn’t like me but she likes young men.’
‘Right, Bella.’ Claudia winked. ‘Bear that in mind when you’re interviewing.’
‘Claudia,’ Hiro added in a low tone, ‘could you have a word with Leonard? There’s something urgent he wants to talk to you about.’
Her father was sitting in his new shed, which had been created out of the old stable block, watching cricket highlights. The effervescent crowd sat in bright sunshine drinking beers and cheering.
‘I wish I were there,’ he stated. ‘Everyone looks like they’re having such a bloody good time, which reminds me: Claudie, you made me a promise a while ago.’
‘What was that, Dad?’
‘That if something nasty were to happen to me – heart attack, stroke, that kind of thing—’
‘Dad—’ she started to interrupt.
‘No, listen, Claudie. You too, Hiro.’
‘Dad,’ Claudia replied more assertively this time. ‘I’m sure Hiro won’t mind me reminding you. He’s a very good friend but he is a robot.’
‘He’s got a lot more damn sense than most human beings. Especially your mother. If I have a heart attack or a stroke I DO NOT WANT TO BE RESUSCITATED. Got that?’ He handed her over a piece of paper. ‘There you are. All typed out for you to make it official. What’s more, I do not want to be taken to hospital and left to die on my own among strangers. I want to stay here. Is that clear?’
‘Have you talked to Ma about this?’
‘No. For the very good reason that she won’t agree. She believes in the wonder of medicine and I don’t. Besides, look.’ He pulled an article from the desk behind him and announced with huge satisfaction: ‘New Report from America says 88 per cent of doctors would opt for Do Not Resuscitate if they had a terminal illness.’
‘Yes, but how would we know if you had a terminal illness?’
‘Life is a terminal illness, Claudie. And I have had my fill. The good part is behind me, I don’t want to hang on covered in test tubes. Promise?’
‘Oh, Dad . . . I love you so much.’
She put her arms round him, feeling the frail brittleness of his bones. Her big strong dad.
‘Dad, I can’t.’
Len turned away, looking dashed. ‘I’m sorry I asked you then. It was probably unfair of me. Off you go now. Our lot are batting again in a moment.’
Claudia turned away, feeling more torn than she could ever remember. She was letting her beloved father down. And yet how could she agree not even to call an ambulance?
Bella put her advert up on the student noticeboard. She had drawn a colourful design showing the manor and written Free accommodation in luxurious manor house in exchange for some help with older residents in new-age old-age commune! Help required for thirty hours a month. Contact Bella Minchin, Igden Manor.
She hoped it would be sufficiently intriguing to attract some bright young people.
Now that she had joined up for Out There, Laura was able to access Gavin’s full profile and even get in touch with him on the app’s website. Feeling very nervous, she sent her first tentative message: Hello, Gavin, this is Laura. I’d love to hear more about you.
A reply came almost at once. Hello, Laura! I am fifty-eight years old, with brown hair (his hair was obviously important to him, as well it might be, it was gorgeous), I’m five feet ten tall (she had a feeling she’d already read that on the website) of average build (good, not fat!) and I have an outgoing personality. I like to play tennis (well, she had played tennis a bit when she was younger) and because I am living in Beirut (wasn’t that dangerous or was she out of touch with world events?) I spend quite a lot of time outdoors, especially in my work as a civil engineer.
Laura instantly googled Lebanon. It was above Israel, between Syria and the Mediterranean Sea. It wasn’t really that far from Damascus and she instantly started to feel frightened for him, which was ludicrous and quite possibly deeply ignorant too. Laura began to wish she’d taken a bit more interest in Middle Eastern politics.
She wondered what kind of civil engineering project he was involved in. Of course she wished he was in England, but the Lebanon wasn’t too bad compared with Singapore or New Zealand or somewhere really distant.
She dimly remembered there had been a girl at school with her – my God she hadn’t thought of her in fifty years! – who had come from Beirut and said in those days it used to be the St Tropez of the Med, all yachts and casinos.
She realized she wasn’t quite sure what civil engineers actually did. The Institute of Civil Engineers came up with an answer: Civil engineers are creative people. They design the transport systems to keep big cities on the move. They create easy-to-build schools so children in faraway places have somewhere to learn. They use the sun and wind’s energy to make electricity for our homes.
She liked the sound of Gavin being a creative person. Engineering had sounded a bit off-putting.
And then another email from Gavin popped up.
You say you have a grandchild. Do you have a husband?
I’m divorced from my husband. Laura sighed. She didn’t know why she didn’t like saying that. Millions of people got divorced and yet she still somehow felt a failure.
How long ago?
It seemed a slightly strange question, but why? Fairly recently. She wasn’t going to be specific. She would have liked to ask him how long he had been a widower, but it seemed too intrusive. Instead she enquired How old are your children?
In their thirties. Amazing, isn’t it? was the reply.
Yes, it’s hard to believe, Laura replied cautiously. What are you working on in Lebanon?
A solar energy plant. They have a lot of sun.
Laura found herself laughing rather too loudly at this mild joke.
Rather like a first meeting in real life, she decided to reveal herself a bit more gradually. Have to go now, she added. Hope you have a great evening. Actually she had no idea of the time in Lebanon. Good old Google supplied it. They were two hours ahead of the UK in Beirut.
As a matter of fact, Laura’s own evening spread out before her with absolutely nothing to do.
Gavin had one last thing to say before she went. Why don’t we get off this app? Do you have a number I could message you on?
For just a few seconds Laura thought twice about giving out her private number. Then she thought of Gavin’s warm brown eyes and lovely wavy hair and she typed it in.
‘Ella.’ Sal knocked on the door of Ella’s cottage. ‘There are some very peculiar people waiting for you in the lounge. Lou says he thinks they’ve come to the wrong place and must be auditioning for Waiting for Godot at some local theatre. One of them is holding some kind of vegetable.’
Ella hurriedly finished her coffee and rushed along the path towards the main building, her face glowing with pleasure. She had a strong suspicion who these unexpected visitors were.
And so it proved. In the lounge, looking entirely mystified at being addressed by a strange American as Estragon, Vladimir and Pozzo, were Bill, in his usual bobble hat despite the lovely weather, and Les and Stevie, who were standing nervously by.
‘Ella,’ Bill greeted her gratefully, as if she could rescue them from a dangerous lunatic, ‘I think this gentleman has got the wrong end of the stick. He keeps calling us by some very odd names. Could you vouch for our identity?’
‘Absolutely.’ Ella hugged each one in turn which made Les turn the colour of a Scotch Bonnet pepper. ‘These are my very good friends Bill, Stevie and Les.’
‘We bought you these.’ Improbably Stevie produced a battered Harrods bag dating from about 1954, and invited Ella to peer in. It was crammed full of assorted vegetables plus the seeds from runner beans, onions, garlic, peas, radishes, spinach and Swiss chard, all in separate envelopes marked in Pentel.
‘We’ve brought some pegs and string to mark up the different sections in your new vegetable garden,’ supplied Stevie eagerly.
; ‘You know,’ Ella said, trying to embrace them all at once, ‘it’s so bloody good to see you. Let me go and get you a coffee.’
‘I’ll go,’ Lou offered.
‘Actually,’ Stevie said shyly, ‘I’d prefer a Lapsang Souchong, if you don’t mind.’ They looked grateful not to be left with this small but strange American.
‘Now, tell me.’ Ella could hardly wait. ‘How is life at the allotment? How are Sharleen and Sue, not forgetting Mr Barzani?’
‘They all send their love,’ Stevie replied. ‘And Mr Barzani sent some of his special aubergine seeds. We were that surprised. He never shares them with anyone. Says they come from Cyprus before the Turks invaded. They’re a little bit of home.’
Ella found she had to fight back a tear. It really would embarrass the Three Musketeers if she started blubbing.
As soon as the coffees and Stevie’s tea arrived Ella suggested they go and have a tour of the gardens. She felt ridiculously happy to see them. Just like Mr Barzani’s aubergines, the seeds they had brought for her would feel like a little bit of the allotment at the manor.
After a couple of hours of measuring and marking, they planted out some of the precious seeds. When they finally finished they were amazed to find it was late afternoon.
As she summoned a taxi and waved them off, Ella realized this what was what she’d needed to get over missing the allotment and finally feel settled here.
Lou braced himself for his early morning swim, leaving Sal luxuriating in bed, and reminded himself that it was good for him to take exercise at his time of life. He didn’t want to get old, and he didn’t feel like having a heart attack just at the moment. Strange that a born New Yorker, with ex-wives and children back home, should enjoy life in a Surrey mansion with a bunch of women, but oddly he did. And it was great being near his youngest daughter and her baby. He hadn’t been the greatest grandfather. He’d been one for the large gesture rather than time spent at the coalface, but now he was doing his best and discovering the rewards too. And of course there was Sal.