by Sarah Long
‘You’re far too exotic for corporate life.’
‘Weird, you mean.’
‘That too,’ said Nicola, patting his hand affectionately. ‘Anyway, you’re much better suited as an interior designer where you don’t have to rein in your character and your weirdness is a plus. But seriously, have you thought about the next stage? I know it’s early days with David leaving so recently, and you obviously need to adjust to that, but that’s exactly why my plan is perfect for you.’
‘I know you hated him,’ said Leo. ‘You don’t need to pretend otherwise.’
‘I didn’t hate him! And I wouldn’t dream of saying I told you so. But he was a bit of a shit.’
Leo remembered David’s parting words as he stood by the front door with his overnight bag. ‘It’s no good,’ he’d said. ‘I can’t pretend anymore; this isn’t what I want.’ Leo had remained rooted to the spot, listening in shocked silence, but he knew there was no point arguing. You can’t help what you feel.
‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘he was a bit of a shit.’
‘So, here’s the big idea,’ said Nicola, pushing aside her plate as she leaned in to deliver her pitch.
‘You sell your house, we sell ours and so do our other carefully selected friends. We pool our resources and buy a country pile of unbelievable grandeur, so vast that we can all inhabit different wings. Then we live a merry life in a shared community and are happy all the rest of our days!’
Leo’s face was a picture of horror.
‘You needn’t seem quite so appalled,’ she said. ‘You look as if you’ve had a stroke.’
Maybe he just needed time for the idea to sink in, so she waited a few seconds for him to respond.
‘So come on,’ she said, becoming impatient at his silence. ‘First thoughts?’
Leo carefully replaced his teacup.
‘Darling Nicola, where do I start? You know what a private person I am. Like Marlene Dietrich, I need to be alone. And you haven’t even said who the other inmates are.’
‘The usual suspects. You can probably guess. Beth and Simon, Dougie and Mary, Will and Fizz.’
‘So I’m the token singleton.’
‘You’re not the token anything, just your fabulous self.’
‘And how on earth does it work? Do we all bring our own furniture? Think of the style confusion!’
‘We can work it out. Do as we please in our own rooms, then have some kind of overarching plan for the communal areas. You should be in charge of that, obviously, with your unrivalled eye. It would be a fantastic project for you. It could even be a sort of live portfolio for you – you could show your clients the kind of transformation they long to achieve in their own homes.’
She watched Leo as he tried to conjure up this new imaginary home.
‘It would certainly be a challenge,’ he said eventually, ‘but I think I could get used to having those big het men around. Fizz is a funny little thing, I quite like her even though she’s rather spoilt, and of course I adore Beth. Mary is the only person I’ve met who can outdo me when it comes to housework, so we’d have that in common . . . Do you know what, Nicola, I think it could be the most enormous fun!’
He leaped to his feet and pulled her out of chair, twirling her around the room.
‘Will there be a ballroom?’ he asked as they came to a standstill, shrieking with laughter. ‘We absolutely must have a ballroom, and invite the county set. I’ll be the polka master. Master interior decorator and lord of the dance!’
It was, he decided later in the deadening quiet of his lonely bedroom, the perfect antidote to his heartbreak. If David had decided that Leo wasn’t what he wanted, then Leo should find something that he wanted, and this could well be it.
*
‘I knew Dougie and Mary would be shoo-ins,’ said Nicola, when she put the phone down. ‘Mary said that since they stopped teaching, they no longer feel part of the university. “A couple of research fellows put out to seed”, is how she described it. They’re absolutely on for a new beginning. Dougie also said he’s tired of living in their modernist box house; he now fancies living in a character home with a sense of history.’
‘I always liked their house,’ said Dominic. ‘That development reeks of Sixties dreamers; you can almost smell the brown rice cooking.’
‘Which is exactly why it’s time for a change.’
Dougie and Mary lived in Highsett, a Span housing development in Cambridge that had won an architectural award in 1966. Nicola and Dominic met them thirty years ago on the day they moved into their Clapham house, when Mary appeared on the doorstep with a loaf of warm bread and a cup of salt to wish them luck. It turned out she lived next door with Dougie, both of them then studying for their PhDs in London. ‘Our boffin neighbours’, as Dominic referred to them. Or Walking Encyclopedia, which was his nickname for Dougie when he was getting on his nerves. For two years they enjoyed the particular friendships that can flourish between neighbours, in and out of each other’s houses, until the ‘boffins’ upped sticks to continue their academic careers in Cambridge.
‘Mary said yes straightaway,’ said Nicola. ‘Her only reservation was her mother, who lives in a home nearby. But then Dougie pointed out that her visits were mere exercises in guilt-reduction. Her mother hasn’t a clue who she is, calls her Brian most of the time, and asks her if she’s come to deliver the kippers. Plus Mary’s sister will still be on hand if their mother does worsen.’
‘Poor thing. Old age ain’t pretty.’
‘Which is exactly why we need to do this now – while we’ve got twenty or thirty years to enjoy it all before we all turn gaga. I’m so excited!’
‘Me too,’ said Dominic. ‘Look, I’ve been doing some research. This one’s in Hampshire.’
Nicola curled up beside him on the sofa to take a look at the imposing house displayed on his laptop. It boasted a long line of high Georgian windows and a crenellated roof worthy of the mad wife in Jane Eyre.
‘Nice. Have you looked it up on Google Earth?’
‘I’m on it.’
They watched together as the house came into focus, the marvels of modern technology showing the surrounding trees, the expansive gardens. Then, as they zoomed out, the factory and office block bang next door.
‘It won’t do,’ said Nicola. ‘The dream falls flat if you’ve got to look out on an industrial estate.’
‘Snob,’ said Dominic. ‘I quite agree.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Two weeks later, the hunt was properly underway. To Nicola’s surprise – and delight – everybody had said yes, and it was with intense excitement that she launched the WhatsApp group Dreamy New Life. Images from primelocation.com were pinging in at all times of day and night, much to Dominic’s concern. It was all very well for Mary to nurse her insomnia in Cambridge by conducting research in the small hours, but it didn’t mean he should be woken up by her messages about the important Jacobean wood panelling in one house she’d spotted. Most fanciful was Leo’s suggestion: an entire Scottish island complete with lighthouse – just think what they could do with that!
They’d thrashed out a rough budget, based on what they could afford. Estate agents had been called to see what their existing houses might be worth, sold or rented out, while Dougie – used to planning for a fairly lean academic retirement – had been giving them advice on what they could all unlock from their own pensions. Still, even with a magic number on paper, it was hard not to get carried away as they sent each other links to all sorts of once-grand stately homes, actual castles and a deconsecrated monastery with dungeons and cellars, accessible only by boat. Luckily, Dougie was there to bring them down to earth.
They settled on a shortlist of three properties: a manor house in Oxfordshire with its own deer park, a stately pile in Gloucestershire, formerly a nursing home – ‘appropriate to our ageing needs,’ as Leo pointed out – and a cluster of farm buildings in Herefordshire – an entire hamlet – which had the advantage a
nd disadvantage of lodging them all under separate but neighbouring roofs. They agreed they should visit them all on one lightning tour and Will arranged to borrow a minivan for the purpose, letting it drop that he would be the best person to take the wheel as he had passed his advanced driving test.
‘Who on earth bothers to take their advanced driving test?’ Dominic wanted to know. ‘That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’
Mary and Dougie travelled down to London on a frosty Friday afternoon, staying overnight with Nicola and Dominic in anticipation of the early start, which found them all a little bleary as they gathered on the doorstep the following morning to await their chauffeur. Leo was last to arrive, in a taxi that drew up at the same time as the minivan.
‘This is it, decision day!’ said Will as he jumped out of the driver’s seat to open the rear door for his passengers. Fizz remained sitting in the front, plugged into her earphones. Simon banged on her window and she looked up crossly.
‘Age before beauty, Fizz,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take the front seat. You can squeeze yourself into the back.’
She sulkily complied with his request, changing places with a face like thunder, which wasn’t lost on Nicola. She did hope this wasn’t all going to be a terrible disaster.
‘I feel like I’m on a school bus,’ said Simon, plumping himself into the prime seat. ‘All we need are some signs on the rear window.’
‘I shall go in the back with Fizz, as we are the bendiest,’ said Leo.
‘Bendiest and the hottest,’ said Fizz, finally breaking into a smile as she placed a flirtatious hand on Leo’s knee. ‘I’m sure the others won’t mind me saying.’
Beth shot Nicola a sour look, and Nicola winked back at her. They had privately discussed the likelihood of Temple-woman turning out to be a bit of a nightmare, but thought she was manageable. And in any group dynamic, it was useful to have one person who annoys everyone: it gives the others someone to bond against.
‘Hands off, Leo, she’s mine!’ said Will, speaking into the microphone that was fitted over the driver’s seat.
They set off in high spirits, Beth passing round a bag of sweets to confirm the impression of being on a school outing.
‘Second childhood, get used to it,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait for us all to be installed in our early retirement home. Remind me which one we’re seeing first?’
‘Langbourne Manor,’ boomed Will through the microphone. ‘Smallest of the three but comes with its own orangery and the village cricket pitch, not to mention the deer park. Can’t argue with that.’
‘Turn it down, old chap, we’re not deaf!’ said Simon.
‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Fizz, passing on the sweets. ‘I’ve given up refined sugar for January, though I rarely take it anyway. Empty calories.’
*
After all their anticipation, the first visit was over very quickly. They’d tumbled out of the van, wide-eyed at the grand avenue of trees that flanked the drive, and staring up at the vast façade of the house. But their private dreams of what life could be like as lords and ladies of Langbourne Manor were promptly shattered. The charm of the house and the expansive park was eclipsed by its proximity to the M40, the roar of the traffic particularly noticeable in the bleak midwinter, without the insulating camouflage of summer leaves. They inspected the interior out of courtesy to the agent, but it was impossible to ignore the noise of thundering lorries that passed through the mullioned windows with no respect for historical authenticity.
‘Can’t believe we didn’t pick up on that before,’ grumbled Dougie. ‘It should have been obvious from the map. It is entirely pointless to trade the peace of Highsett for the sound effects of living on a racetrack.’
‘Never mind, onward and upward,’ said Nicola, determined not to let the mood deteriorate. ‘We still have the other two to see, and it will make the choice easier now we’ve ruled one out. I’ve got a good feeling about the next one. It’s miles away from any motorway and it has so much space we could be really creative about how we adapt it.’
*
On arrival at house number two an hour later, they realised just how creative they would have to be to remove the nursing home atmosphere that permeated the dingy rooms, which were still kitted out with support rails and hospital-style bath equipment.
‘It’s not speaking to me,’ said Leo, as they walked in silence through the dining room with its refectory-style table, scattered chairs and grim overhead lighting. ‘Or rather, it is. It’s reminding me that I’m headed for the quiet fastness of the grave and before I get there, I’m going to be wheeled round an institution in a bath chair.’
‘That’s the wrong way to think,’ said Nicola. ‘Imagine when it’s stripped of all this geriatric equipment and decorated with our flair and multiple lighting sources. Think back to when this was a gracious home of a country lord. You must admit it’s a potentially beautiful house. It was and it will be again.’
‘It’s got a good-sized lake at least,’ said Simon, thinking of his duck house as he peered through the window at the large but rather bleak garden, where budgetary constraints had clearly prevailed over aesthetic sensibilities and resulted in a blank stretch of lawn. ‘And it certainly ticks the boxes in terms of space.’
‘And it’s within budget,’ Dougie chipped in.
‘That’s the problem, as I see it,’ said Beth. ‘It fulfils our technical requirements: substantial old house, big garden, rural location, an asking price that means we can afford at least some renovations. But there’s no magic.’
‘There was certainly no magic in that dreary high street we just drove through,’ said Leo. ‘I can’t see myself wandering along there with my shopping basket. Not a vegetable in sight as far as I could see, never mind a delicatessen or artisan bakery.’
‘This is so depressing,’ said Fizz. ‘There’s no way I could live here. Imagine trying to get a good Insta shot in this place. Bleak.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Will, ‘but I also think we’re tired and hungry. How about we get some lunch in that pub we passed and gather our thoughts?’
‘Good idea, I’m starving,’ said Simon.
The pub was in the familiar style: a beamy old building on the through road, with a large car park and a sign outside announcing Sunday roasts.
‘Glad it’s not Sunday,’ said Beth. ‘I’m such a sucker for a roast dinner, I’d have been loading my plate with heaps of potatoes, then feeling bad about it.’
‘I agree,’ said Will. ‘Toby Carveries are my guilty pleasure; it’s like a really delicious version of school dinners, queuing up to ladle on the gravy.’
They settled down at two tables and Simon and Dougie went up to the bar, under the watchful gaze of two men seated there over their pints. Two couples at the next table were looking at the newcomers in a not very welcoming way.
‘It’s all a bit American Werewolf in London,’ said Beth. ‘Look how they’ve all gone quiet at the entrance of strangers. You know, that scene where they wander in off the moors and the whole pub falls silent.’
‘Nonsense, you’re just being paranoid,’ said Will, giving a smile and a nod at the woman staring at him, which wasn’t reciprocated.
Simon returned with a tray of beers and some menus.
‘Dougie’s getting a bottle of wine. I’d recommend the pies, they smell fantastic. But then pies always bring out my inner Billy Bunter.’
*
‘So, what are our thoughts so far?’ asked Will, once they had given their orders.
‘I think it’s safe to say we are still looking,’ said Mary. ‘Neither of the places we’ve seen today come anywhere near our expectations. Maybe we are being unrealistic, but I think it’s important to trust your instincts on these things, and if you’re not blown away on first sight, then it’s a big no-no.’
‘Agreed,’ said Leo, pulling a face as he took a sip from his glass. ‘And I can’t be doing with this pub; we couldn’t po
ssibly have it as our local. The wine is shocking and I bet that everyone in here voted Leave.’
‘Shhh,’ said Nicola. ‘Stop sounding like a member of the metropolitan elite.’
‘Out and proud,’ said Leo. ‘There’s no need to pretend.’
‘There’s still Herefordshire,’ said Will. ‘Third time’s a charm, maybe.’
*
They all dozed off in the back seats on the final stage of their journey, heavy with the food and drink, although Will kept up his cheerful commentary through the microphone, inspired by road signs to places he had visited in his youth.
‘No one’s listening, Will,’ Fizz informed him sleepily from the back seat. ‘They’re asleep and even if they weren’t, they soon would be after listening to you banging on about your camping holiday in Worcestershire.’
‘That’s harsh, Fizz, but I forgive you. Nearly there, then you can wake them up.’
The agent was waiting for them when they drew up outside an attractive cluster of farm buildings.
‘Good lord, I didn’t realise there’d be so many of you,’ she said, greeting them as they climbed out of the van. ‘Which of you is Dominic?’
‘I’m here,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘As I explained on the phone, this is a group venture, so we need everyone’s agreement and thought there was little point in sending an advance party.’
‘I see, decision by committee,’ she replied, seeing her chance of a sale withering as this odd gathering shook themselves down and looked around at the view across the valley. ‘Multi-generational living is becoming quite the vogue,’ she added, looking from Fizz to Dougie and frowning as she tried to work out where Leo fitted in.
‘As you can see, it’s a spectacular setting,’ she said. ‘No immediate neighbours, so you’d be very private. The vendor owns the entire hamlet; it’s been in his family for years.’