by Maeve Haran
The next night, with Neil and Julia and their sons Harry and Mark, was a penance by comparison. The boys played with their gadgets, Neil sulked and Julia, never the most entertaining companion, tried to keep the conversation going with no encouragement whatsoever from her family.
Tactfully, Wenceslaus had gone out to join Minka and a group of their Polish friends, which didn’t stop Julia glancing round for him constantly, and Neil noticing her glances and sulking even more.
Merry bloody Christmas, thought Ella, no wonder the divorce courts were busiest in the New Year.
She was grateful when it was all over.
But just like a drinker addicted to gin or a junkie to their hit, before she went to bed she sneaked up to her computer.
CHRISTMAS, she tapped out, BAH HUMBUG, I’M WITH SCROOGE ON THIS ONE.
In her empty flat in North Kensington, which wasn’t quite Notting Hill, Sal sat with her laptop on her knee and tried to watch the evening’s irritatingly cheery Christmas television.
It had been the worst Christmas she could ever remember. Her eyes were itching, her nose was running constantly. She had eaten a chicken breast and a lonely chipolata and it had brought the happy legacy of constipation followed by diarrhoea. The newest surprise was night sweats and a constant feeling of cold so that she had to wrap up in a duvet when she wasn’t at work.
Goodwill to all men and Fucking Peace on Earth.
It was quite the fashion for cancer sufferers to share their pain on a blog and Sal saw how helpful this might be, giving you a voice when you felt reduced and powerless, but she didn’t feel like doing it herself, even anonymously.
Instead she went to her favourite MOAN FART DIE, where she came upon Ella’s bad-tempered rant on the subject of disliking Christmas.
It instantly cheered her and made her laugh out loud. The anonymous blogger had such a wonderful wry and downbeat take on life, puncturing all the sentimental Yuletide saccharine that was peddled by the media.
Sal quickly tapped out a reply to the post:
Whoever you are, you are wonderful. Please please please contact me. I want to offer you a job. Is that too many pleases? If so I will add another. Please get in touch with me as soon as you get this message,
Sally Grainger, Editor of New Grey magazine.
Contacting the mystery blogger gave her a lift.
Enough of this self-pity, she told herself, get dressed and get out. She looked at her patchily naked head in the mirror and tried not to flinch.
At least you haven’t got a man to put off, she found herself thinking, before angrily correcting herself for such anti-feminist claptrap.
Her wig stood on its stand next to her dressing table but Sal reached into the drawer instead. After a bit of rummaging she found what she was looking for – Rachel’s legacy to her, the pink wig – and put it on.
CHAPTER 18
Claudia’s next choir practice was in the New Year.
She took extra care getting ready, even washing her hair and putting on a dab of perfume.
‘You look nice,’ Betty commented, with an ironic twitch of the lips. ‘Red velvet on a Tuesday.’
‘Trying to keep up the Christmas spirit.’ Claudia avoided Betty’s glance. ‘How was yours, by the way?’
‘Quiet but enjoyable. I went to my great-nephew’s. Played lots of charades.’
‘I bet you’re a dab hand at those after all your stage experience.’
‘Kicking your legs in public isn’t that useful a training for charades, as a matter of fact.’
The singing exercises began and Claudia was finding them rather fun. At first she had felt self-conscious coming out with these nonsense words – ‘Veh-veh-veh-veve-veh!’ and rhymes about ravioli and arrivederci – but now she could feel her lungs expanding and could listen to her voice rising through the different keys. She began to see why people took such pleasure in singing. They worked their way through some Bach and Schumann, which were way beyond Claudia’s capacity, and it was a relief when Daniel confirmed that they would definitely be tackling The Sound of Music.
‘I loved that show,’ Betty whispered.
‘I’ll be wanting to choose some soloists,’ Daniel added.
‘You’d be brilliant as the Reverend Mother, Betty.’ Claudia nudged her.
After practice ended there was a buzz of excitement in The Laden Ox with everyone wondering who should be chosen for Maria.
Betty, by now on her second G & T, began reminiscing how, when she was young enough to play Maria, she had swum in a tank with dolphins that had been specially trained to undo her bikini.
‘I know men who could do with that lesson,’ commented one of the young girls.
‘I hope you’re going to be trying out for something, Claudia?’
Claudia turned to find Daniel Forrest at her side.
‘Me?’
‘Don’t sound so astonished. You have a very good voice. I could hear it in rehearsal.’
‘I’m really not sure . . .’
‘Why did you join a choir if you don’t want to sing?’ He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
‘I do want to sing. Everyone tells me it’s good for the soul. But I have zero ambitions to do a solo. To be honest, I really joined because I wanted to be part of the community.’
‘There are plenty of ways of doing that around here.’
Claudia grinned. ‘I’m not really the church-cleaning type. Or the flower-rota type. Or the golf type. Or the bridge type.’
‘What type are you, then?’ His rather amazing hazel eyes bore into hers. ‘Think you’re above the good ladies of Minsley, do you, with your red dress and your London ways?’
She was about to protest when she realized he was teasing her.
‘No, no. it’s just that I’m looking for something a bit more challenging.’
Several of the aforementioned ladies were looking at her and Claudia wished she hadn’t started down this route.
Daniel Forrest, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying her discomfort.
‘Stop it, Dan,’ Betty intervened. ‘Leave off troublemaking and get some more drinks in.’
Later on, as the gathering was about to disperse, Claudia found Daniel at her elbow. ‘You know your trouble? You’re allergic to risk. Have a go at a solo. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I might embarrass myself.’
‘So? Maybe you’ll have fun. And then maybe you’ll be up for something genuinely challenging. Like my charity.’
‘And what exactly does your charity do?’
‘It’s called Sing Out. We bring music to kids who’ve fallen through various nets in society.’
‘How, exactly? By singing them their favourite tunes? I’m a bit out of touch with rap.’
‘Thank God for that. And don’t be so patronizing.’
Claudia bristled. She could bet she knew a lot more about marginalized kids than he did. ‘I was a teacher, remember. I don’t think you need to lecture me about relating to kids.’
‘Come along, then. Your experience could be useful. Better than tidying the house and walking your little dog.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
He was laughing at her again. ‘Don’t do anything too rash, will you?’
Betty was coming towards them on the demon scooter. ‘Betty!’ Dan appealed to her, ‘Get Claudia here to join us at Sing Out.’
He turned one last time to Claudia. ‘Prove you are different from the ladies of Little Minsley. With something like this, you think you’re helping them, but it’s often the other way round.’ She could hear the commitment in his voice; clearly the charity was his real passion, not the choir.
‘Why not?’ She’d been looking for something to motivate her after all. ‘I’d be happy to get involved.’
‘Great. I’ll be in touch. I don’t think you’ll regret it.’
Betty and Claudia watched Daniel’s retreating back. ‘The red velvet wasn’t wasted, then.’
‘Bet
ty Wilshaw, you are a wicked, wicked woman.’
‘I was,’ conceded Betty. ‘But there’s only so much you can get up to when you’re pushing eighty.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘So I’ll just have to watch you, won’t I?’
Don was still up when she got home, even if he was on his laptop. Claudia planted a kiss on his forehead.
He looked up, surprised. ‘What was that for?’
Their marriage was hardly hunky dory when her husband needed an explanation for a kiss. She’d better take care.
‘Maybe the music is going to my head.’
‘How was it? The Minsley Choral Society?’
‘Interesting. You should come along. The choir master’s unusual. He runs a charity for deprived kids. As a matter of fact, he’s asked me to get involved. Why don’t you come along too?’
Don shook his head. ‘I’m glad about the choir.’ He shut his laptop with a snap. ‘It’s great you’ve found something here you really enjoy.’
Feeling peckish she opened the fridge and hunted for a Raspberry Ski. Damn, it was past its sell-by date. She chucked it in the bin.
‘Claudia,’ Don pointed out piously, ‘do you know, in the UK we throw away one point three million unopened yogurts every day?’
Claudia bit back a rude reply. She was damned if she was going to feel guilty about yogurt.
‘Are you coming up to bed?’ She felt maybe they ought to have some sex. Even unspontaneous pre-planned sex that had more in common with Band-Aid than the Kama Sutra could still help bridge gulfs in marriage.
For a moment the question hung between them.
‘Vito needs to go out,’ Don answered eventually. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes.’
Ella woke up, convinced that she could hear banging from the bottom of the garden. For a moment she felt the old fear of the house being broken into, then relaxed, remembering she had Wenceslaus to look out for her.
Drowsily she pulled back her bedroom curtains and was greeted with the sight of Wenceslaus up a ladder. Not only had he fixed the damaged boards on the garden shed but he had repainted it from top to bottom.
It had fallen into disuse for so long that Ella had forgotten how delightful it was, more summer house than shed, really, with lacy woodwork round the gables that were now gleaming with white paint.
When the girls were little, Laurence had loved gardening and they would often spend whole weekends at the bottom of the garden. He would give them rides in the wheelbarrow before accidentally tipping them out into the piles of new-mown grass. Ella stood looking out, almost able to hear their shrieks of delight as they ran naked through the sprinkler or chased each other across the lawn with the hose. If only she had known what was to come.
She repeated her mantra. They are not long, the days of wine and roses.
At least she’d had hers. More than some people.
She showered and dressed quickly. Wenceslaus often made a pot of coffee when he came down but today he was clearly too busy. She breakfasted on granary toast and delicious goose-berry jam, then made a pot big enough to share.
She poured a mug and carried it to the back door where she slipped on her outdoor shoes. Even though it was mid-morning, the frost on the lawn was white and thick and her footprints left deep imprints as if Bigfoot or the Abominable Snowman had been an early visitor.
She was about to call out a greeting to Wenceslaus when she heard a sudden burst of laughter. Feeling like an interloper in her own property, Ella peered in the window. The shed had changed beyond recognition. Instead of old chairs and broken furniture leaning up against garden tools and the lawnmower, there was a table covered in a gingham cloth on which sat a kettle, cafetière and a basket of croissants.
Beyond that, a sofa was draped in brightly coloured rugs. The effect was charming and raffish, like one of the more bohemian homeware catalogues.
Had Wenceslaus done this with Minka?
Ella heard laughter again and realized what she was feeling was faint irritation that Wenceslaus had invited Minka, not herself, to join him in this little hidden world.
Surely, Ella asked herself, she wasn’t jealous?
And then the door opened and a figure stepped out holding a brightly checked cushion and laughing.
Ella’s irritation flickered into fury.
It wasn’t Minka but her daughter Julia.
‘Julia, for God’s sake! What on earth are you doing here?’
Julia shrugged, holding the cushion like a shield against her mother’s anger.
‘Get off my case, Mum. Since Wenceslaus was doing up the outside of the shed I thought it’d be fun to do the inside. I don’t know why you’re making so much fuss.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Ella resisted the temptation to shout at her daughter. ‘You know perfectly well why I’m on your case, as you put it. You have to stop this stupid involvement. You are married. You have children.’
‘Believe me, I know.’
‘I don’t want to have to ban you from coming here. But I will if this goes on. If you and Neil are so unhappy, separate. But don’t sneak round here pretending to play house with a man ten years younger than you and tell yourself it doesn’t matter.’
‘You’re jealous! You like having him around to fill your empty life!’
Ella felt as if she’d been kicked.
‘I think you’d better leave. And I’d like my house key back.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t be so petty! This is my home too.’
‘No, Julia, I don’t think it is. Your home is with Neil and the boys. If the marriage ends and you are homeless, that would be different, but I refuse to be involved in this underhand game of yours.’
Julia delved into her shoulder bag and almost threw the key at Ella, then stormed out of the side gate.
Ella took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the shed. A moment later Wenceslaus opened it, his blue eyes anguished.
‘El-la, I very sorry. But maybe I think you have wrong impression. Julia ask me to help her make shed nice so she can bring her sons here.’
‘If I have the wrong impression I think you do as well. I don’t think Julia has the slightest intention of bringing her sons here. I understand that my daughter is forceful but she is also vulnerable. It is a combination that can prove dangerous – to you as well as to her. I think perhaps you are being a little naïve.’
‘What is naïve?’
‘Unduly innocent, too easily taken advantage of.’
‘I understand. Would you like me to leave?’
‘I have told her she may not come here again unless to see me. I am also locking this shed and removing the keys. Julia needs to sort out her life for herself. Agreed?’
Wenceslaus nodded.
Ella put the key in her pocket and walked back to the house.
To her horror she remembered that before any of this had blown up she had invited Julia and Neil to supper tonight. They would be coming on their own as Cory was busy and the boys had gone back to school.
That was going to be a fun little gathering.
Julia wouldn’t mention anything about the confrontation, she knew, but Ella had better tell Wenceslaus she expected him to stay firmly out of the picture. Should she ring up Julia and cancel? Perhaps Julia would do so herself. But she knew her daughter better than that. Julia would bluff it out.
She was right. The doorbell rang at precisely 7 p.m.
‘This is good of you, Mum,’ Julia announced as if the scene that had taken place earlier had never happened. She kissed her mother on both cheeks and handed over a bunch of roses.
Neil eyed the three steaks sizzling on the grill. ‘Yes, nice change for a Wednesday.’ He sniffed the air like a bloodhound.
Ella handed them a glass of wine. ‘Why don’t you both sit down?’
Half an hour later they were seated round the table trying to make conversation. The steak and chips were delicious, almost as good as in France, Neil said.
Ella was just about to plead
an early night when their conversation was interrupted by the phone.
She got so few calls on the landline these days that she jumped.
Neil and Julia exchanged one of their deeply irritating ‘Isn’t Mum a hoot’ looks while Ella answered it.
‘Hello,’ asked the caller, ‘am I speaking with Mrs E. Thompson? This is the Fraud Prevention Department of the SouthWest Bank.’
Ella experienced a minor flurry of panic. Hearing from the bank’s fraud department somehow made her worry that she had done something stupid, like leaving her bank card in the machine.
The agent from SouthWest ran through the usual security questions before informing Ella that her credit card had experienced some unusual activity. ‘Did you, for example, purchase an Apple computer in Krakow, Poland?’
‘No, I certainly didn’t,’ Ella replied. ‘My laptop is an ancient Hewlett Packard.’
‘Did you withdraw a thousand Polish zloty from the PKO bank in Warsaw?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘One final question: did you apply for a credit card from Deutsche Bank, Warsaw, giving this address?’
‘Apply for a credit card?’ Ella repeated, shocked. ‘From Warsaw?’
Even before she put the phone down she could imagine Neil’s face.
He sat opposite Julia, gloating and gleeful, poised like a crow at the prospect of fresh carrion.
But before he could say a word they heard a key turning in the front door. It must be Wenceslaus. True to their agreement, he started to go straight upstairs instead of coming into the kitchen.
Ella went into the hall to intercept him. Minka was at his side.
‘Wenceslaus, could I have a word?’
He came back down, looking thrown at this change from the designated plan. Minka followed, tossing her long red hair.
At the sight of both Julia and Neil at the table, his eyes darted to Ella’s face, trying to work out what the hell might be going on.
‘The thing is,’ Ella explained, ‘I just had a rather strange call from my bank. Someone in Poland has been trying to buy stuff with my card – a computer in Krakow and a cash withdrawal in Warsaw. They even tried to take out a credit card – using this address.’