by Freya North
‘Not many pairs of the wrong hands have the wherewithal to purchase a place like Longbridge,’ Lydia said. ‘By virtue of its size, its location, it can only attract a certain type.’
Xander felt cynical but too deflated to debate. Was Lydia so naive as to think that money was still the domain of the landed gentry, of historical families with the abundant funds and the taste, the discernment and knowledge – the breeding – to invest in an estate like Longbridge? Didn’t she often complain that she was one of a dying breed? But he knew now was not the time to warn Lydia of Russian oligarchs, footballers’ wives or chavvy young pop stars. He knew, too, that there might never be a time appropriate to discuss it – because what business actually was it of his? None whatsoever. He loved the place because he’d grown up here, all his rites of passage had happened here, love and heartache, prosperity and poverty, safety and danger.
‘OK,’ he said at length. ‘I do understand, Lydia.’
She drained her tea, placed cup and saucer neatly down and looked at him straight. ‘Then you will understand that I need to have the whole estate valued – which includes Lime Grove Cottages.’
‘The woman with the high heels and clipboard,’ he said darkly, as if she was the Grim Reaper in disguise. ‘Were you there today? Earlier? Outside my place?’
‘Yes,’ said Lydia.
‘Why didn’t you come in? You didn’t even knock.’
‘Because you were in,’ she said. ‘Because we had no prior arrangement.’ She looked at him. ‘It’s terribly impolite to simply turn up, unannounced, uninvited, with no prior warning whatsoever.’ Her words sounded sharp but they were edged with a glint to her eye and a wryly raised eyebrow. And when she told him to bugger off home – there’s a good boy, her tone had softened and her smile was fond. Xander didn’t want to wipe it from her face by asking whether or not Verity knew anything about any of this.
* * *
Caroline had collected Millie from school and was trying to distract both children from the lure of the corner shop when she saw Xander walking on the other side of the high street in a world of his own. What was he doing back from work so early? And when did he ever go in to work dressed like that? She called and waved but he didn’t hear. It was one of the busiest times on the high street, the thirty minutes after school; the slinking cortège of four-wheel-drives with darkened windows and personalized registration plates, the gaggles of mothers chatting amidst a fidget of children wanting wanting wanting. One of the mums was trying to chat to her about fund-raising, and Sonny was tugging at her, and Millie started wandering off, and God knows where the dog had gone – and although Caroline prided herself on her ability to multitask, watching Xander had to be forfeited.
Finally walking home, Caroline stopped in her tracks and stood still. Her children and her dog looked up, surprised. They’d never had cause to wonder if she knew what she was doing. But now, she was standing still, appearing to be unaware of the chill, of the three sets of eyes staring at her in growing puzzlement. She didn’t say anything when she executed an about-turn and retraced their steps at quite a pace and it wasn’t until they’d gone way past the school gates that she turned to them and said, we’re going to see Uncle Xander. The children hooted a chorus of Xander! Xander! (because it was only Caroline who prefixed his name) and the dog barked because he thought he ought to.
She phoned him while she marched.
‘Get that kettle on, pet – you have visitors.’
Oh God, thought Xander. You can’t come – I’ve tidied the house.
This had nothing to do with any mess the children might generate. Quite the opposite: if Caroline saw the house in such extreme order, she’d know in an instant why. He only cleaned like a dervish when something was afoot. And Caroline, of all the people in his life, would be able to elicit anything and everything he was intending to keep private. He did, for a moment, consider pretending he wasn’t home. But she’d phoned his landline, not his mobile. She was on a mission, she was coming over – and that was before she’d even set eyes on the spruce interior.
Even if he went out, if he knew Caroline she’d just go to the shed at the back for the spare key and let herself in anyway. Switch on the television and pop the children in front of it; root around for a Tupperware container and give the dog a drink. Make herself a cup of tea and wait for him. With an air of resignation, he set the kettle to boil and filled a plastic bowl with water which he put by the back door.
‘Surprise!’
‘Xander!’
‘Xander!’
The dog barked.
Xander looked at the posse on his doorstep, the children ruddy cheeked, Caroline beaming, the dog scrabbling halfway up Xander’s leg.
‘Well, hullo,’ he said and he swept his arm low to invite them in. In an instant, the children tumbled around on his sofas, the dog was lapping at the water and Caroline was looking around, wryly flabbergasted.
‘You’re either preparing for guests, or else you’re clearing up after them.’
‘Yeah,’ said Xander, ruffling his hair, which contradicted his lightweight laugh. ‘Something like that.’
‘Or,’ she said, noting that she hadn’t heard Xander say ‘yeah’ since student days. ‘Or there’s something going on that has nothing to do with Cillit Bang being on special offer at all.’
‘Tea?’
‘Go on then!’ she said, with a little nudge in his ribs as if he was twisting her arm to stay.
‘Pretty please may we watch the smellovision?’ Millie asked, employing Xander’s terminology and her mother’s canny wink.
Little Sonny simply chanted, smelly! smelly! smelly!
Usually, Caroline would say no, that they had to chat to their Uncle Xander first. But today she walked boldly over to the set and turned it on to CBeebies. Xander knew this wasn’t for her children’s benefit as much as to afford her the peace and quiet to grill him to within an inch of his life. He tried to deflect it by waffling on about Andrew and work and running and the next half-marathon but Caroline simply stood with her back to the wall, arms crossed and an expression that said, I’m humouring you, sunshine, and as soon as you shut up I’ll be wading on in.
He handed her a mug of tea and, gave her a shrug. ‘Go on then,’ he said, with a measured sigh.
‘Why didn’t Mrs Mop go into work today?’ she asked him. ‘And Mrs Mop’ll be you, before you get all Smart Alec on me.’
Xander thought about it.
He’d started off the day perplexed by his situation with Siobhan and that was the reason for playing hookey – yet he had given her little thought since seeing Lydia. It was the news of Longbridge which loomed largest, and darkest, for him.
‘It’s been a weird day,’ he said.
‘Go on, you dark horse you – who is she?’
‘She’s no one,’ Xander said.
‘That’s not very nice,’ said Caroline.
‘She’d say the same about me,’ Xander said. Caroline looked confused.
‘So you weren’t on a hot date yesterday?’
‘Not in so many words,’ said Xander. He looked at Caroline and shrugged. ‘She’s a hook-up,’ he said, ‘as I am to her. That’s all.’ He rinsed out his mug, filled it with cold water and drank it down. ‘So it’s a “no” to dinner at yours, but it was kind of you to ask.’
‘Oh my God – you didn’t meet on one of those sad-fucker Internet sites, did you? Shag Buddies Dot Com or some such? Oh, Xander – no!’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ he said. ‘We met in a bar – it’s been like a one-night stand on repeat.’
Caroline looked at him askance. ‘Oh?’
‘It’s easy,’ he said, now a little irritated. ‘I like it that way. It suits me.’
The concept didn’t seem to suit at all the Xander that Caroline knew so well. ‘Isn’t it all a bit – shallow?’ she said. ‘And a bit – seedy?’
Xander shrugged. ‘It’s preferable to having a relationship. It suits m
e just fine.’
Caroline wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘That’s just some stupid motto you’ve decided to engrave onto your virtual shield of self-protection.’
‘A virtual shield of self-protection, eh? Bollocks.’
‘No, it’s not. What’s wrong with her, that she can’t move on from one-night-standom?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with her,’ Xander snapped. ‘On the contrary, that’s precisely what’s right with her – it’s balanced, what I give and get.’
‘You’re sounding like a tosser, mate.’
‘You’re sounding common.’
‘Fuck off.’ Caroline glanced through to the sitting area but her children hadn’t heard her. ‘So she’s called Siobhan and –?’
‘Jesus, Cazza – there is no and.’ And then Xander thought, but there is an end. And that was this morning. ‘Bloody wish you hadn’t muscled in last night. And I wish you – Mum – Lydia – all had something better to do than fixate on who I’m seeing and when I’m going to settle down.’
‘So it’s my fault, is it?’ Caroline said it softly – she could see he was struggling a little.
Xander thought about it. ‘Of course not.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m sorry. And you know what? You’re probably right – perhaps I was kidding myself I could have this on-the-side thing and keep it all separate. Because, actually, it was disturbing when the two sides of my life crossed last night. Neither fitted with the other. It just all felt – wrong.’
‘How long have you been – seeing her?’ Caroline paused. ‘Or, rather, giving her a seeing-to?’
Xander laughed. He loved Caroline most when she was gutter-mouthed and irreverent because she put such heart and well-meaning into it.
‘Couple of months,’ he shrugged. ‘Longer.’ He was embarrassed. ‘Six, I suppose.’
‘Calling it quits?’
‘If I have the self-control,’ he said. ‘It’s not easy when a bloke receives a text saying fancy-a-fuck.’
‘You need to pre-empt her sending you any kind of text,’ Caroline said. ‘For her sake as much as yours – because I’m telling you this, however much a woman may profess to want nothing more than a no-strings shag, you can bet before long she’ll want the lot.’
Xander laughed, but he sensed she was right. He nodded. He thought back to Siobhan – it was so manufactured last night. Down to her extremely sonorous and long-lasting orgasm.
‘Is that why you skived off work?’
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I just felt – crap.’
Caroline looked into her half-drained mug while considering how badly he must have felt to have skipped work. Unheard of, for Xander. She felt a wave of sad fondness. Why hadn’t he told her of Siobhan? Why did he want that – rather than what the rest of them had? Why wasn’t he shacked up happily, like her and Andrew and the others? Such a bloody waste of a good bloke. Bloody Laura. No, not bloody Laura – Laura was lovely. It wasn’t her fault. No one was to blame.
‘You OK now?’ she ventured.
He shrugged. ‘To be honest, Siobhan is the reason for my house being spotless – but Jesus, did the day get worse.’
‘How so?’
‘Lydia,’ he said. ‘You were right – the rumours are true. Longbridge is for sale.’
‘You are not serious?’
‘I am. And so is Lydia – I went round to see her this afternoon. I wasn’t back long when you announced you were coming over.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘I went for a run this morning – did the top loop and saw one of those ridiculous estate-agent cars parked in the driveway of Longbridge. I ran down and some woman is mincing around the garden with a clipboard and a suit, sinking into the grass in high heels.’
‘Were you very rude?’
‘Probably,’ Xander said, with a rueful smile.
‘What’ll happen?’ said Caroline. She’d given it little thought when she’d heard it from Mrs Patek and Nora. But to hear it from Xander made it very real. ‘What’ll happen with everything – the house, everywhere?’ She thought about it. ‘Christ, it’s going to turn the village upside down.’
Xander nodded, his face grave. God, he was tired.
‘Will she be selling the lot? Or just the house? Here? But this is yours!’
‘She needs the whole lot valued.’
‘Hence the clipboard lady.’
Xander nodded. ‘She’s coming over here on Saturday morning, apparently.’
‘Ship in a load of cockroaches! Shame you’ve cleaned – make it mucky! The kids’ll help. Make it stink!’ He wasn’t responding. Caroline tipped her head. ‘You needn’t be in,’ she said. ‘If you’d rather not be here, I’ll stop in for you, if you like.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps Lydia will sell the cottage to you?’ She paused again. ‘Or maybe the agent might know of somewhere local up for grabs?’ But then she thought, I may as well scatter all these straws I’m clutching at, all over the floor, to give Xander something else to clean up later when he needs the distraction.
‘It’s slightly pathetic for me to feel so burdened by it all, because it all seems so – futile,’ Xander said. ‘I mean, Lydia didn’t seem that perturbed by any of it. Longbridge costs a fortune to keep going – she’s broke – it’s time to sell.’
‘Broke?’ Caroline baulked.
‘Apparently so,’ said Xander. ‘So it has to go – all of it.’
‘End of,’ Caroline murmured.
‘End of an era,’ Xander said.
‘The hoity-toity don’t have feelings,’ Caroline said.
Xander thought about it. ‘I know why you’re saying that – but perhaps you’re wrong there. Perhaps they do and perhaps they’ve evolved this really clever and sensible method for both not letting it show and not letting it affect themselves.’
‘Andrew’s taking the children to Audley End on Saturday morning – I can come in, if you like. When the estate agent comes? If you decide you’d rather not be here?’
‘I might well take you up on that,’ Xander said.
Later that evening, sitting in his pristine front room, he stared at the screen on his phone. He’d composed a text message.
Hey. Hope you’re well and your day was good. Am feeling we should perhaps just let it lie and call it quits. It’s been fun – but it’s time. X
He had yet to send it. He reread it. She wouldn’t think that was a kiss, would she? X for Xander.
Was it cowardly? Should he phone instead? Would it be better to be doing this face to face? Yet would that not give the whole thing the gravitas that he and Siobhan had prided themselves on eschewing?
Sod it.
He sent the text.
He felt like a right bastard. Not because he imagined Siobhan would be particularly distraught or lovelorn, but because he’d been in a situation for which an ending like this was appropriate. It wasn’t who he was at all, really.
Deep down, sitting there alone on a Wednesday night, he knew the whole thing had been unseemly. It had been so disconnected – from emotions, from day-to-day life, from the people who meant so much to him, from his past and the relationships he’d had. Good, long, solid ones with love and sex and sharing and laughter and the company of friends and family. Suddenly, he felt a little sickened by this alter ego he’d recently thought so cool and controlled. Stupid. I’m practically forty. I don’t own my home and I’m about to be evicted. My history is about to be erased.
So design yourself a future, Xander. You design and print packages for others, according to their specifications. And you do it very well. High time you made yourself one.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I can’t see it taking me more than a couple of hours,’ Stella said to Jo. ‘I’ve already seen the other two cottages in the row – it’ll be pretty straightforward. Will? Will?’
‘Don’t worry about Will,’ Jo said, glancing up the stairs of her home where the children had disappeared moments ago and all was now ominously quiet.
‘Please
ask the girls not to put make-up on Will,’ Stella groaned. ‘Last time he came out in hives. And he has football this afternoon.’
‘Facepaint?’ Jo said.
‘I’d rather they didn’t,’ said Stella. ‘It’s his first match for the B team.’
‘Bless him,’ said Jo. ‘Now go, would you – see you in a while.’
Stella blew her a kiss. ‘You’re a star and I love you.’ She walked briskly to her car, remembering the patronizing satisfaction with which Gill had announced that all the company cars were taken for Saturday. You need to be in the office to be in the know, she’d said. Whatever that meant.
What did it matter! Stella liked her little car. The last two days in the office had been awful; Geoff had been off sick and she found herself alternately batting away the sarcastic asides as to her performance and whereabouts, and fending off the heavy chill of being ignored. Even her uncle seemed a little irritated that, as yet, nothing was certain one way or the other with Longbridge Hall. He started muttering about whether he should phone the old dowager himself. Almost there, Stella had tried to assuage. Almost there. In truth, she still didn’t feel she had a handle on it all. It was so big, so – involved. She needed not just one floor plan, but a number of them; not just a map but an atlas. A forest of family trees, a who’s who and who’s where on the estate. She’d gladly ask for her uncle’s advice – but not before she knew whether or not Lydia wanted Elmfield Estates to handle the sale of Longbridge Hall.
Mr Fletcher’s gate was creaky, his front garden as plain as the one next door was colourful and Miss Gilbey’s, at number one, was overgrown. Just lawn at Mr Fletcher’s Stella noticed; a little mossy in places, either side of a paved pathway. She rang the doorbell, checked her watch and mobile phone and thought, if I’m lucky I can grab a sandwich with Jo before we head off to football.
‘Click click clickety click,’ Xander muttered under his breath. ‘Miss Clippity Clipboard and her clickety high heels is here.’
He slung the tea towel over his shoulder, picked up his mug of tea and went to answer the door.