Abi's House

by Jenny Kane

  ‘I will take that as a compliment.’ Max laid down his cutlery and peered thoughtfully into his pint of cola. ‘So let me get this straight, you have one hundred per cent decided not to sell the shop. Is it officially off the market?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Was Maggie OK with that?’

  ‘She thinks I’m crackers not to sell up completely, take the money, and run, but considering how I’ve messed her about between selling and not selling, she’s been great.’

  ‘The advantages of growing up in this village together, you can take a few more liberties with each other’s patience!’

  ‘I guess so.’ Beth’s cheeks darkened a little, ‘I do feel bad about it, though, I can’t imagine her boss was thrilled.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. They’ve had almost two years of monthly payments from you to keep the shop on their sale list, for doing sod all. It’s your future that needs addressing, not theirs. Talking of which …’ Max took a huge gulp of fizzy drink, which Beth knew would make a lesser-sized mortal burp like a trooper, but probably wouldn’t even touch the sides of Max’s bear-like frame, before he added, ‘we have exactly ten minutes before I have to get back to the bathroom I’m in the middle of decorating, so we’d better either think very quickly, or meet later for a proper planning session.’

  Beth looked at her watch. ‘Max, it’s nearly five o’clock!’

  ‘I know, but the old dear is stuck without a toilet. This is a mercy mission!’

  ‘But you’re a painter, not a plumber!’

  ‘True, but when I was decorating, she told me about her toilet not working properly, and I told her I’d fix it. Save her spending her pension money on a plumber. It’s a simple job, but I need to get a few parts, so I thought I’d grab some grub at the same time.’

  ‘Your kind heart is never going to get in the way of your stomach, is it?’

  Max rubbed his overall-covered stomach. ‘Are you implying I’m fat?’

  ‘Nope, I’m saying you really like your grub.’ Chuckling, Beth stood to leave, ‘I would love that proper planning session though, if you’re up for it. How about tomorrow night? I have a heap of marking to do tonight, not to mention all the admin stuff they throw at us at the end of each school year to plough through.’

  ‘Perfect. Tomorrow evening, about seven? We could go for a walk before the tourist season kicks off in earnest and we can’t move for grockles and emmets cluttering up the coastline, and have a good ole talk.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that just be emmets if they’re in Cornwall? Grockles is the name for tourists in Devon, isn’t it? Or is that Somerset? I can’t remember now! Anyway,’ Beth laughed, ‘anyone would think you didn’t like the tourists, Maxwell!’

  ‘And they’d be right! Pain in the arse. Can’t ever park the works van for bucket and spade carriers!’

  Poking her best friend in the ribs playfully, Beth followed Max towards the door. ‘Don’t knock it; we may need the tourists to buy stuff from whatever shop I run. If I open one.’

  ‘If you open one?’ As his booted feet crunched across the gravel car park to his van Max pushed his ginger hair out of his eyes. ‘You don’t have any idea about uses for that space at all, do you?’

  ‘Not a clue. But I do know it needs cleaning out before I do anything as rash as making another life choice.’

  ‘And a coat of paint might be a plan as well.’ Max climbed into his van ready to go back to his toilet-less old lady.

  ‘I’ll slap a covering of whitewash over the whole thing and go from there.’

  Max rolled his eyes. ‘Not while I live and breathe, Miss Philips!’

  Chapter Four

  Abi knew there was no hope of avoiding her brother-in-law for ever, and the longer she put off seeing him again, the worse the situation would get.

  Until the previous evening, Abi hadn’t really understood what it was like to seethe. Not even Perfect Polly had managed to elicit that emotion from her. But seething was the only possible word which could sum up how Abi had felt as she’d mutely watched Simon leave her home the night before, a smug self-righteous expression on his smoothly shaven face.

  Smooth. That was an apt description of Simon, with his designer suits, sharply cut blond hair, and steel blue eyes.

  Unshakeable. As Abi sat up in bed, her arms wrapped around her duvet-clad knees, she thought that was another description that could be applied to her brother-in-law. It wasn’t that he was never wrong. It was simply that the idea that he could be wrong, or even be ‘in the wrong,’ never ever crossed his mind. Yet despite her better judgement, Abi couldn’t help but respect Simon. She just wished she could shake the unease she felt whenever he was around.

  Despite the July sun’s efforts to beat its welcoming early morning rays through her closed curtains, Abi pulled the duvet tighter around herself and flicked her straying hair behind her ears as she tried to make sense of the night before.

  She’d stayed sat at her little patio table long after Simon had left, only rising after the light dimmed to the point that the cold night air had cut through her long sleeves and dotted her arms with goose-pimples. She’d sat numbed into a state of speechlessness.

  Perhaps if Simon hadn’t tried to touch her hand while he was speaking at her (it had definitely been at her and not to her), then it wouldn’t have been so bad. Abi exhaled in a frustrated noisy rush. Luke could have won the occasional award for being a control freak, but compared to his brother he’d been an amateur.

  Simon had even managed not to look affronted for more than a split second when, having played his trump card, he’d placed his hand over hers, and she’d snatched it away at top speed, placing both palms out of reach on her lap.

  Abi still couldn’t believe he’d suggested it. Not only that he’d suggested it, but the fact he’d obviously thought it through carefully, and decided it was the best solution all round.

  Their inevitable marriage, he’d declared, was not just agreeable to himself, but would be good for the Carter family as a whole. Oh, and for Abi of course, he’d added. There was no doubt she was a minor part in his calculations, rather than the main factor.

  Simon had informed Abi that he’d decided it would be sensible for her to just move into his house to start with. His mock Georgian home was, he’d said, far too big for him alone, and that he owned it because it would look wrong from a business perspective if he didn’t have a place outside the city as well as his Knightsbridge flat. He’d considered his options, and giving her the use of the third bedroom to begin with, which he was sure Abi would like because it was light and airy and she could both work and sleep there, would be the best option for both of them. ‘Although’, he’d added as an afterthought which made Abi wonder if he was talking to her or to himself, ‘I’d rather not redecorate, so I hope you like the dove grey furnishings. You’d only have to live there for a while anyway, as if my current business strategy pans out then I have my eye on a property in Oxford I’m convinced you’d love. ’

  Stunned, struggling to process what Simon was actually saying, all Abi had managed to ask at that point was why and when this idea had come to him, seeing as she’d only just decided to sell up.

  ‘After you called me about helping with the estate agent this afternoon of course. I popped in on the parents before I came here and mooted the idea to them. They saw it as the ideal solution, although they did suggest I wait a few more months. However, with you toying with the idea of moving, the time to broach the subject seemed right to me. Strike while the iron’s hot and all that stuff.’

  ‘What? What do you mean? Your parents?’ Abi frowned. ‘And what makes you think my moving plans are just thoughts?’ I’m not toying with the idea of moving, Simon. I am moving. And I will be living on my own.’

  Now, after a broken night’s sleep, filled with an odd combination of dreams about being held captive by a wicked prince and his mother, which reminded Abi of a suffocating version of Shrek 2, and bouts of anger at Luke for having been so
stupid as to take on a challenge he was far too old to do and go and die on her, Abi found Simon’s suggestions even more difficult to comprehend.

  She hated being talked about at the best of times, but now a picture of her in-laws all sat around Simon’s dining table, port in hand, discussing what should be done about Abi made her insides shrivel. The scene refused to stop replaying over and over again through her head.

  The remainder of Simon’s one-sided conversation with her last night had become more and more preposterous after he’d dropped his bombshell. All the protests Abi knew she should be making aloud had become stuck in her throat in the face of her sheer indignation at the Carter family’s presumptuous cheek.

  He’d explained to his parents, he said, that it would be unwise to let Luke’s house go out of the family – and, as Abi was still capable of having children, albeit a little late in the day, he was sure he could persuade her that she did want a child, despite Luke’s claims to the contrary, and that it made sense that the child should remain a Carter.

  His plan therefore, which had his parents’ full approval, was to move Abi in with him and, once a respectful period of time had elapsed after Luke’s death, propose to her. After all, he was far nearer to her age than his brother had been, and there was every chance that if they didn’t hang around too long, that they could have the heir that Luke had always dreamed of …

  He’d seemed amazed when Abi hadn’t replied with an instant, ‘Yes, that’s a good idea’ to his practical suggestion – a suggestion which had been delivered as if it were already a decision made.

  Abi had sat there, her mouth opening and closing like a rabbit mesmerised in headlights, expecting Simon to tell her he was joking, but he didn’t.

  After two minutes of total silence, he had finally got the message that he’d shocked her, ‘Well I guess it’s a lot to take in, and we’ll need to sell this place first, won’t we?’

  ‘We?’ Abi had taken a slug of wine from her glass as Simon stared at her as if she was a business asset ripe for acquiring.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Simon had looked at his watch then, and risen from his seat. ‘You invited me to help. Well, it’s getting late. I should be going. Call me tomorrow and we’ll sort out when I should be here to check the supervisor doesn’t cheat you. After all, you wouldn’t know whether they are doing the job or not, would you?’

  In the safety of her bedroom, Abi rested her head in her hands. Every single expletive she could think of was running through her mind, each one queuing up impatiently for their chance to hurl themselves at Simon. She was amazed he hadn’t patted her on the head and told her she shouldn’t worry her pretty little mind about all these man-decisions.

  Abi was at a loss as to which of his statements had hurt her more. The assumption she needed someone with her because she couldn’t cope on her own? The fact he and his family had not only married her off to her dead husband’s brother, but hadn’t even considered her feelings on this? Or the dig about Luke’s lack of an heir. A son presumably.

  OK, there was no contest, it was the ‘you are still capable of having children, albeit a little late in the day …’ that had stolen the last vestiges of any possible coherent responses from her head, and made her sit and listen to his assumptions like a statue, without letting fly the crippling ball of hurt that had knotted in her stomach.

  It was so unfair. Abi would have loved children, but Luke hadn’t wanted them. Ever. Although he wanted the trappings of wealthy suburban life, the traditional 2.4 children didn’t fit into his plans. So that was that. Subject closed. She’d had no idea the Carters blamed the lack of grandchildren on her.

  Throwing back the duvet, Abi forced herself to the shower. As she let the water work its magic against her tense muscles, the shock began to pass, and Abi allowed her anger to take its place. She owed neither Simon nor his parents anything. Especially not his parents! They’d made no bones about the fact that Luke had married beneath his class, and had always made sure Abi never forgot the fact. Not that they were top-drawer themselves – but they certainly thought they were, and there was no fighting convictions like that.

  As she shampooed her hair in a furiously vigorous motion, Abi closed her eyes, and the image of Simon was transplanted with one of a tall cylindrical building, covered in wooden slats and topped with a conical roof.

  ‘Of course!’

  Washing the shampoo out as fast as possible, Abi jumped from the shower and, wrapping a large bath sheet around her dripping body, dried her hands and dashed to her studio room. Flicking on the laptop, she towelled herself dry as she impatiently waited for the machine to connect to the internet.

  One minute later, Abi found herself looking at one of the enduring images of her early childhood: The Roundhouse and Capstan Gallery in Sennen Cove, Cornwall. She smiled as she remembered the miniature wooden parrot she’d bought from its craft shop when she was six. She’d called it Nelson, and her dad had placed it on a string and hung it over her bed.

  Keen to tell Ollie that she’d remembered the name of the village, Abi switched to her email to write him a message, only to find one from him waiting for her.

  Ollie had found the pictures he’d been looking for, and here they were, scanned and uploaded for her to see so she didn’t have to wait for the postman to deliver them. Abi, Ollie, and their parents outside the Roundhouse when Ollie was about five and she three. Abi and Ollie on the beach, building sandcastles. And, last of all, a photograph of Abi, grinning all over her young face, pointing at a house sign that said ‘Abbey’s House’, with a traditional Cornish terraced row behind her.

  ‘That’s it! That’s my house – or one like it anyway!’ With a new resolve, Abi replied to Ollie with over-enthusiastic thanks, and dashed off to get dressed.

  Talking to herself as she moved about the house, Abi began to compile a list of what she should do next. ‘First I need to call that snake Simon and tell him to forget all his assumptions, then I’ll call a different estate agency and get another quote.’

  Grateful that she enjoyed freelance status at work, so could take leave in between projects whenever she liked, Abi added under her breath as she pulled on her jeans, ‘I’ll email work and tell them that when I’ve finished my current project I‘ll be taking a month’s break. And then I’m going to go house-hunting. In Cornwall.’

  Abi happily pressed print on her computer so that she had copies of her brother’s photographs to carry on her travels, in the hope someone would recognise the row of cottages in the photograph. She rang two rival estate agents, secured an appointment for a quote from both of them, then emailed work, promising them that the remaining pictures for Davy and the Rebel Robots would be with them by Monday morning, and then after that she was taking a relocation break.

  Ironically pleased that she hadn’t yet managed to bring herself to break Luke’s ‘no mess in the house’ rule, Abi had little to do but wipe round the bathroom and make her bed before the estate agents arrived.

  Scooping up her laptop and taking it to the kitchen, Abi stood for a moment, drawing breath as she snapped on the coffee machine. It was going to take at least one double espresso, if not two, before she called Simon. Her natural instinct was to ignore the situation, pretend he hadn’t said all that, and just disappear. After all, now Luke had gone, there was nothing to connect them. There wasn’t even any legal wrangling to sort out, as Luke had left Abi everything in his will, a fact which had left her very well off. It was something that she acknowledged made her very secure, but also very determined to make her own way. Apart from using the proceeds from the sale of the house to buy a new home, Abi was determined to only spend Luke’s money if she really had to. After all, she’d always paid her own way, and although her wages couldn’t support her living in Surrey, they could in Cornwall if she had no mortgage to pay.

  The sale of her current home alone should keep her in a style to which Luke had wished she’d become accustomed.

  Giving the espresso ti
me to take effect, Abi googled ‘The Roundhouse, Cornwall: hotels nearby’ and, pulling a notebook and pen towards her, began to jot down the names of all the nearest bed and breakfasts, hotels, guesthouses, and pubs offering rooms as close to Sennen as she could find. Then, with her list of hope laid out in front of her, and her perspiring palms giving away how anxious she was, Abi called Simon.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Abigail! Thank you for calling. I was just thinking about you.’

  Not responding to his ominously enthusiastic greeting, Abi could hear the blood thudding in her ears as she launched into the speech she’d been rehearsing. ‘Simon, I would appreciate it if you would listen to me without interruption.’

  Without allowing him time to respond either positively or negatively, Abi spoke at top speed so she could get out everything she needed to say before the inevitable interruption. ‘I have no idea why you believed that you could replace Luke, or that I was even looking for a new husband. The fact you and your parents have even discussed this situation without consulting me is both insulting and hurtful.’

  Abi’s hands were shaking but she kept going, relieved that Simon hadn’t tried to butt in yet. ‘I asked you to assist with the sale of the house because Luke always respected your opinion, and I hoped that I could rely on your help as I will not be on hand to supervise the sale myself. Obviously, that can’t now happen. It is only out of loyalty to Luke that I’m phoning you now. And, because I’m sure you are blissfully unaware how downright insulting you have been, I suspect that if I left without saying goodbye you’d probably assume I’d thrown myself under a bus or something. So, I’m phoning to say goodbye now. Goodbye, Simon.’

  Abi hung up. Damn. That last bit wasn’t how she’d rehearsed it. Her emotions had taken control of her tongue from the point where she’d said she’d supervise the sale herself. Abi had meant to sound professional and cool, not overemotional and cross. Her hands still shook as she tried to block out her imagined images of Simon’s stunned face as he digested what he’d been told. Her imagination, which was so essential for her work, was a real hindrance to the rest of her life sometimes.