The Time of Their Lives

by Maeve Haran

  It was probably just a neighbour’s cat on a midnight assignation.

  For God’s sake, Ella, pull yourself together! This wasn’t like her. When the house had been broken into, she hadn’t felt frightened at all and now she was crumbling like a three-year-old on Bonfire Night.

  Should she go downstairs? When you heard a noise your first instinct was to investigate, yet surely if there was a burglar that would be the most stupid thing to do when you were alone, as she was?

  Really, if she went on like this, her daughter Julia would be right. She was getting too old to stay in her beloved house. With a supreme effort Ella forced herself to put her head under the duvet and to try to go to sleep.

  When she woke early the next morning she was relieved to find there was no sign of a break-in. She made herself a cup of tea and took it back to bed.

  An idea had just come to her and she wanted to give it some serious consideration.

  She thought about it all the time she was drinking her tea, then during her shower, and while she got dressed and put on her make-up.

  By the time she came downstairs she’d made up her mind.

  Half an hour later she was driving along the High Street.

  Split Endz was a smart minimalist-looking shopfront next to an unprepossessing minimarket. A tall blonde Valkyrie, dressed in an eye-popping embellished velvet dress, was opening the shutters.

  ‘You wouldn’t be Minka, by any chance?’

  ‘Sure.’ The Valkyrie smiled. ‘Are you wanting appointment?’

  Ella wondered all at once what the hell she did want. ‘No, actually, it’s about your friend Wenceslaus.’

  ‘He not in trouble?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘Good. I surprised if he in trouble. He is very nice boy.’

  ‘But not nice enough to live with you? He told me you had chucked him out.’

  Minka laughed, completely without embarrassment. ‘Would you like coffee? Shop not opening for fifteen minutes. We talk inside.’

  With the supreme confidence of a gorgeous young woman used to getting her own way, Minka held open the salon door.

  Inside, despite the fact that Split Endz was at the seedier end of the High Street, the place was both beautifully decorated and immaculate. It could have been one of those big-name Mayfair salons that charged you £200 to get in the front door. Minka took in Ella’s admiring glance. ‘You should have seen before. Red plastic benches, lino on floor, smell of cat. Clients all – how you say it – OAPs wanting half-price perm on pension day. I bring in Polish builders, bish, bash, bosh, done one weekend. All my own design.’

  Ella could see at once what kind of woman Minka was. The type was universal. Underneath the high heels and clingy dress she could have run a multinational company, an NGO or a school governing board.

  ‘You want to talk about Wenceslaus. He is good-looking boy but his taste is too simple for me. I like going out. He like staying in. I like vodka. He prefer Coca-Cola. You see problem.’

  ‘Would you give him a reference?’

  ‘For job?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘As lover?’

  ‘Definitely not!’ Ella found herself blushing like a traffic light stuck on red.

  ‘He is nice boy. Kind. Likes animals. Not interested in money. Not my type.’ A gunmetal Porsche drew up and a rather portly, balding middle-aged man dressed in black cashmere got out. Minka grinned and indicated him. ‘This my type. I am sure Wenceslaus get you references if you want. One thing,’ she grinned suddenly, ‘in case you think me hard Polish bitch because I tell Wenceslaus not to come here.’ She winked at Ella. ‘We keep half-price OAP customers.’

  Ella laughed, thinking how much the OAPs would enjoy the improved surroundings. It was impossible not to like Minka, even after five minutes’ acquaintance. ‘Well, thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful.’

  She was still wondering whether to go ahead with her admittedly bold scheme when she arrived at the allotments. To her horror she found a small crowd had gathered there plus a police car with its light flashing.

  ‘Now see here,’ she could hear Bill insisting, his bobble hat nodding up and down in indignation, ‘this here illegal immigrant broke into our allotments and made himself at home in one of our member’s sheds. He should be bloody deported.’

  ‘Actually, sir,’ Wenceslaus was trying to explain, his calm tones infuriating Bill even further, ‘not illegal immigrant. I Polish. Poland now part of European Union.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s part of bloody Disneyworld, you’ve no right to break into that shed.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, Bill,’ Ella tried to pacify him, ‘I said he could. Just for the night.’

  ‘But it’s against regulations! No one’s allowed to sleep in the sheds. Not even the allotment holders!’

  ‘If it’s any help,’ the community policewoman interrupted, clearly smitten by Wenceslaus’ good looks. ‘There’s a homeless hostel down the road. If you wanted a lift—’

  ‘Aren’t you even going to arrest him?’ Bill demanded. ‘You should be sending him home. He’ll be after my job next.’

  ‘Actually, Bill,’ Ella said gently, ‘he’s got every right to be here. And to work as well.’

  ‘And how do you know so bloody much about it?’

  ‘I’m an employment lawyer.’ This was a slight exaggeration as she’d stopped working but Bill wasn’t to know that.

  Bill looked at her as if she’d pulled an unfair advantage. ‘Bloody hell. I don’t know. What did we fight a sodding war for?’

  ‘To stop Hitler. And lots of Poles fought with us. On our side.’

  Bill seemed much struck by this.

  ‘Everybody happy then?’ asked the community officer, a graduate in politics. ‘Feel like renegotiating the Treaty of Rome while you’re about it?’

  Ella laughed.

  ‘What’s she on about?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Just making a little Euro-joke.’

  ‘There you go,’ Bill protested. ‘It’ll be the British sense of humour that’ll go next. They’ll probably ban Benny Hill.’

  ‘Ernie,’ interjected Wenceslaus unexpectedly.

  ‘Come again?’ Bill demanded.

  ‘Ernie,’ Wenceslaus repeated, straight-faced. ‘He drove the fastest milk cart in the West. I see on old TV clips on YouTube.’

  Bill’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘Hey, Les, Stevie,’ he called to two of his fellow allotment holders. ‘Make this young man a cup of tea. He’s only a fan of Benny Hill.’

  ‘Actually,’ Ella grabbed Wenceslaus before he was spirited away to discover the joys of builder’s tea laced with Carnation, ‘I need to have a chat with Wenceslaus myself.’

  When she drove home an hour later Ella was surprised to find Julia’s pretentious four by four parked in the space she usually parked in herself.

  Both her daughters had keys and occasionally dropped round without warning. Cory was the more usual visitor, since she lived alone and sometimes came for a weekend, enjoying the semi-rural feel of Old Moulsford.

  She could hear laughter coming from the basement kitchen. How nice to have the girls back. And how unusual that they were both together. Cory and Julia had a spiky relationship that had started in early childhood and persisted into the present time. She knew they loved each other really and would, if the chips were down, drop everything, as they would for her. But when there wasn’t a crisis they seemed to inhabit different planets. Even their dress sense was wildly at odds, Julia favouring flowery skirts and pretty cardigans while Cory wore edgy designs in black or grey. The funny thing was, as Cory often pointed out, while Julia festooned herself and her house with flowery prints, she was totally uninterested in nature and had even covered her garden with easy-care decking. Cory, on the other hand, loved the outdoors and often went for long hikes.

  Which made it all the odder that they were here together.

  ‘Mum, there you are.’ Cory unwound her
long legs from the stool at the breakfast bar and jumped down. ‘We were beginning to wonder if you’d been kidnapped. The burglar alarm wasn’t even on when we came in.’

  ‘Oh God, I forgot.’ She’d been so full of her plans this morning it hadn’t occurred to her. ‘Don’t worry, I always put it on at night.’

  Was she imagining it, or did this statement elicit an ‘I told you so’ kind of glance from Julia to her sister?

  ‘The thing is, Mum,’ Julia began briskly. ‘Cory and I—’

  ‘Less of the Cory, Jules, this is all you and Neil.’

  ‘. . . are really concerned about you after the break-in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ella decided to be even brisker. ‘But there’s really no need. As you see, I have the burglar alarm . . .’

  ‘Which you don’t even put on,’ Julia pointed out.

  ‘Which I always put on at night,’ Ella replied firmly, kicking herself for having left it off.

  ‘The thing is, Neil and Cory and I think you should be planning ahead, thinking of the next stage of your life when you might be a bit frailer. You may live for another thirty years . . .’

  ‘I hope I do.’ Ella bristled, getting more suspicious by the moment.

  ‘And if you do, you’ll probably need care, and to live in a way that suits you, not rattling around in this vast house.’

  ‘I thought we’d get to the house sooner or later. And can I remind you, Julia, how much I love this place, how unique and amazing it is?’

  ‘But the cost of running it—’

  ‘As you know,’ interrupted Ella, ‘I lost your father, and I got considerable compensation, the one small advantage in what was the most terrible time of my – and all our – lives, so that I could stay on here in the house I loved.’

  ‘But the future, Mum. Neil says the property market’s never been higher and besides, it would be so tax-efficient if you made early provision.’

  ‘By which you mean death duties. But that means seven years before I die, darling. I thought you believed I might live another thirty?’

  Julia had the sense to look a bit ashamed. ‘It wasn’t just death duties. We just thought—’

  ‘You just thought,’ reminded Cory. ‘Leave me out of this.’

  Julia ignored her. ‘You’d be safer somewhere like a flat with a concierge.’

  ‘What about sheltered housing?’ Ella suggested sweetly. ‘Surely that would be better still?’

  ‘The waiting lists for that are very long. Neil looked.’

  ‘I bet he did,’ Cory flashed. ‘Mum’s only sixty-three, not some old biddy.’

  ‘Or a nice care home?’ Ella asked. ‘Perhaps Neil thinks that would take too much out of your school-fees fund?’

  ‘Mum, don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘She’s got a point. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’ Cory intervened. ‘Neil sending your boys to his alma bloody mater at twenty thousand pounds a year. Just to turn them into mini-versions of himself.’

  ‘I don’t see you offering to move in with Mum and look after her,’ Julia snapped.

  ‘This isn’t a Victorian novel,’ Ella cut in, ‘and I don’t need to ruin my daughter’s life by making her fetch and carry for me. I can fetch and carry for myself.’ Ella wondered for a moment if she was being selfish. Were their fears for her genuine and sensible? Was it unfair of her to go on living here when the house was so valuable and they were struggling financially? The thought struck her that she could give them some of the compensation money. It wouldn’t be like selling the house, but it would be something and it would be now when they needed it.

  But Julia, sensing the fight was being lost, couldn’t resist one last argument. ‘Neil says it’s actually rather irresponsible of you to go on living here alone. After all, if something happened to you, it would be Neil and I who would need to pick up the pieces.’

  Before Cory could think of an outraged answer, Ella made up her own mind about the decision she’d been turning over since yesterday. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she announced quietly but firmly, ‘I am not going to be living on my own.’

  ‘Oh my God, Mum,’ Cory grinned, ‘you haven’t met someone?’

  ‘Not in the way you’re imagining, no. But I have invited a young Pole called Wenceslaus to move into the spare room upstairs. Instead of rent he will do all the tasks around the house I find so irritating, changing light bulbs, putting the rubbish out, mending things that go wrong. And, the most important thing is – and I am sure you and Neil will find this reassuring – he will give me back a sense of security.’

  Even if it didn’t work out with Wenceslaus, it was worth it to see the look of stunned horror on her daughter Julia’s face. Ella didn’t want to be unpleasant but Julia’s tendency to encroach on her freedom had to be stopped before it got out of hand.

  ‘But, Mum, what the hell do you know about this man? He could be a con artist. Eastern Europe is bursting with them, Neil says.’

  It occurred to Ella that Neil should clearly meet Bill; they’d get on like a house on fire. Though, for Ella’s money, she’d prefer Bill. He was an uneducated working man. Neil had been to one of the most expensive public schools in the country, plus university, and ought to know better.

  Ella’s instinct, on the other hand, was to believe the best in people until proved otherwise. Sometimes in her role as an employment lawyer she had encountered both criminal con artists and legitimate experts making the system work for their personal benefit. Indeed, she’d encountered such people working for the railway operator when Laurence had been killed and had eventually won compensation from them. But most people, she had discovered, wanted to be honest. And Wenceslaus, her gut feeling told her, was one of them.

  And if she were wrong, no one would enjoy telling her so more than Julia and Neil.

  ‘Well, I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ Cory seconded. ‘After all, it’s all the rage to have male au pairs to look after the kids. Why not a granny au pair for the over-sixties?’

  ‘It would be different if it were someone you knew . . .’ began Julia.

  ‘People never know their au pairs. They advertise for them. I was just reading an article about a mother who got two thousand replies when she put an ad for one in a Hungarian newspaper.’

  ‘Is that what you did? Advertise? You never said anything to me.’

  ‘That’s because she knew you’d discourage her,’ Cory countered.

  To Ella’s immense relief the doorbell sounded and she remembered it would be Sal who, unusually, was coming round to ask her advice. Which meant she wouldn’t have to divulge to either of them the unusual manner in which she had encountered her new lodger.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sal had been busy in the last few days, applying for every job that was even remotely suitable and quite a few that weren’t.

  And getting absolutely nowhere. Not even an interview.

  ‘It must be my age,’ Sal protested to Ella as they sat in Ella’s sunny kitchen. ‘There’s no other explanation. I’m brilliantly qualified for all these jobs and I haven’t had a single interview.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at your CV,’ Ella suggested, shooing the girls out of the kitchen so they could have some peace.

  Sal passed it over, feeling rather proud of all she’d achieved during her considerable career.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Ella winced. ‘As a professional, I can tell you there is nothing wrong with it. It’s very impressive. But between you and me, as a friend, I can tell you it’d scare me shitless. You’ve done so much!’

  ‘But surely that’s a good thing?’

  ‘That depends on the job. Yes, if it’s a really big job but not if it makes your potential boss feel you’re more qualified than they are!’

  ‘So you’re telling me to sound less qualified?’

  ‘I think you should streamline it, leave out all but the essential things that make you suitable for each job. Here’s another problem: your last salary was way larger than the ones
these jobs are offering.’

  ‘So you think I should lie about that too?’

  ‘Maybe just subtract a bit.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d pay for your advice.’

  ‘You wouldn’t get it from me officially, but I’m giving it as a friend. Getting a job’s got ten times more difficult than when we were young. They really put you through hoops these days.’

  At that moment, Sal’s phone beeped, making her jump. Ella could see that technology wasn’t exactly Sal’s thing either, no matter what she claimed. ‘I’ve got an interview! From those holiday people. That’s more like it. And without slimming down my CV!’

  If anyone had told Sal a few weeks ago that she’d think getting a job interview was almost a miracle, she wouldn’t have believed them.

  ‘Let’s celebrate,’ Ella suggested. ‘I’ve got some cava in the fridge.’

  ‘At midday? No wonder they’re worried about the over-sixties drinker!’ commented Cory, who’d come back to find her phone.

  ‘Actually, maybe we should wait. Laura’s coming round any minute. It’s her wedding anniversary today and she’s surprising Simon by dragging him off to Brighton to relive their first rapturous seduction. I’m looking after the cat.’

  ‘Oh my God, she’s not, is she?’ Sal looked aghast.

  ‘Why shouldn’t she? I thought it was rather romantic. I’d prefer Budapest to Brighton, if it were me, but Brighton is where they first did the deed, so Brighton it is.’

  ‘And Simon doesn’t know anything about it?’

  ‘People don’t usually when it’s a surprise.’

  ‘Nightmare, more like. The thing is, I saw Simon last week in The Ivy with his tongue down the throat of a nubile work colleague.’