by Minna Howard
‘It must be so upsetting after being together for so long,’ Gail went on.
‘It is.’ Sarah turned to the woman on her other side. She didn’t know her, but she was talking with Linda.
‘And, suddenly, we’ve found the house of our dreams! Exactly where we’ve always wanted to be, near Aix, but we can’t afford it unless we sell our house here. We’ve got to do that fast, before someone else snaps it up.’
Linda asked her why they couldn’t take out a loan on the house in France, but the answer was complicated. Sarah, not much interested, but only asking because she wanted to prevent Gail from wheedling out any more gossip about her and Dan, said, ‘Where is your house?’
‘Just off the New Kings Road. It’s very sweet, we love it, but this one came up and Paul says we ought to grab it while we can. Those houses are like gold-dust in that part of France.’ She went on at length to describe her house. Linda, who couldn’t face a rerun, wandered off, leaving Sarah alone with her.
‘There are two identical houses standing together at the end of the street, so it has a bigger garden than the rest. Four bedrooms and nicely done up, though we were going to re-do it this autumn.’
Sarah knew where the house was. It was in a short, pretty street near Parsons Green. Some of the red brick houses were painted in ice-cream colours. To her great surprise she heard herself saying, ‘Which agent is it with?’
‘Oh, are you interested?’ The woman turned to her, as eager as a terrier.
‘N – no, I’m not looking, actually,’ Sarah confessed, realising that this woman would jump on any possible buyer, however remote, and she had raised her hopes without meaning to.
‘Oh.’ The woman looked disappointed, said wistfully, ‘Of course, it would be wonderful to sell it privately. Then we could do our own deal on it, make it advantageous for all of us. Where do you live now?’
‘I live round here, too, off the Fulham Road.’ Sarah described the house she loved. But now, with its heart torn out of it, it no longer felt like a home. The cost of it was becoming a serious worry – the money Dan gave her and her salary did not seem to stretch very far. Would it not be nice to have a new, smaller house? Do it up, make it her own? But she hated house-hunting. It was such an emotional rollercoaster. The house you liked was too expensive, or falling down, or you were gazumped, or the dreaded ‘house chain’ broke somewhere along the line and you lost out that way. She wouldn’t want to deal with all of that on her own.
The woman seemed to sense her thoughts. She said, almost pleadingly, ‘You could come and look at it, if you like. But we need to sell it ASAP. I’m going to see some estate agents on my way home from here.’
‘I’d have to sell my house first, and really I don’t think it will do me.’ Seeing the woman’s crestfallen face, she said as an offer of comfort, ‘Give me your contact number. I might hear of someone who’d like it.’
‘Thanks. My name’s Annie Blake. Here are my details.’ She thrust a card into Sarah’s hand. ‘In fact, I’d better go now, get it on someone’s books. Bye.’
‘Bye and good luck,’ Sarah said, thinking she would leave, too.
*
That evening, as she sat at the dining-room table, working on her designs, the doorbell rang. She glanced at her watch; it was half-past eight. She got up and opened the door. Gerry Squires, Linda’s husband, stood on her doorstep, swaying slightly. ‘Gerry,’ she smiled, pleased to see him. He looked as if he’d been tossed about in a whirlwind, mussed-up hair, bursting out of his city suit, his blue shirt creased and his tie askew. But then he always looked like this.
He bent forward to kiss her. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Lost your key?’ she joked. ‘Have you time for a drink?’ She led the way into the living room pleased to have the company of a friend for a moment. ‘I think Dan left some whisky or there’s wine.’
‘Bloody fool, Dan,’ Gerry said, ‘leaving a lovely woman like you.’ She was touched at his sentiments. They had, all four of them, shared some good times together.
‘It’s done now,’ she said, ‘but I do find it very hard.’
‘You must do.’ He stood in the middle of the room, regarding her intently. She asked again what he would like to drink. He made a sudden lunge at her, crushing her in his arms, raining kisses on her face, her neck, her breasts, anywhere he could reach with his large, red lips.
‘Gerry, stop it!’ The more she struggled, the more excited he became. He was panting, kissing, slurping; arousing nausea and revulsion in her instead of passion. With a superhuman effort, she pulled at his hair with one hand and whacked him on the back with the other. ‘Stop it!’ she screamed in his ear. ‘Stop it at once!’ He loosened his hold on her; his eyes had a crazed look.
‘Sarah, you must be so lonely, in that huge bed all by yourself. I’ve always fancied you, you must know that.’
‘Gerry, you must be mad.’ She jumped away from his grabbing hands and ran into the hall to open the front door.
‘I’m lonely, too,’ he said, following her. ‘I thought we’d be able to help each other.’
‘But Gerry…’ He thought she wanted sex from him. She used to value his friendship, look on him with affection; now he had ruined it. ‘What about Linda? You can’t just come round and expect—’ She shuddered.
He caught the movement and she saw how it wounded him. She felt degraded, furious, and immensely sad that sex was all he was offering. A quick tumble to slake his lust. He would have been far more useful if he had offered to look at the washing-machine, which was making dubious noises.
‘On your way, Gerry.’ She opened the door.
‘You know how much I care for you, Sarah.’ He had a silly grin on his face, as if he must humour her.
‘Not in that way,’ she said. Linda had confided that Gerry was not interested in bed. Well, she’d got that wrong. He was rampant, leaping on her like that the minute he came into the house. Would Gerry be the next one to roar off in a sports car with a mousy girl by his side?
‘But aren’t you lonely in bed?’ he tried again, as if he could not believe that she did not want to sleep with him.
‘Not enough to sleep with…’ She would have said ‘you’, but despite it all she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him further. She suspected that underneath his jovial manner lurked a small, hurt boy longing to be loved. Instead she said, ‘someone else’s husband. Especially as you live in the same street. Now go,’ she said sternly, ‘and never, ever do this sort of thing again.’
He slouched out of the house into the street. ‘You won’t mention this to the old girl, will you?’
‘Just go!’
‘If you are ever lonely…’ he repeated before she shut the door behind him.
She stood in the hall, shaking. Gerry, of all people! How could he have shamed her so? But is that how men saw her? A lonely, unrequited woman, desperate for sex?
The empty house seemed to stand judgement on her, accusing her of some unconscious behaviour that had brought him here. She no longer fitted here, a single, discarded woman among the other couples. What if the other people in the Crescent had seen that charade? They would soon pass it on to Linda, cause untold trouble by their remarks, shame her even more. Or – ghastly thought – other husbands might turn up, the thought terrified her. She felt unclean, as if she had been violated. Then she remembered Annie Blake, who wanted to sell her house. She snatched up her bag, trawling through it until she found the card with her mobile number and email on it. She wouldn’t want the house, but it might be worth looking at, as practice in case she had to move in a hurry.
Sarah arrived at Annie’s house just after nine the next morning. It was, as she described, two houses side by side, standing together at the end of the street, flanked by two rows of smaller houses going down to the other end. Annie’s house and its twin were both painted the same pale shade of Wedgwood blue, which gave the illusion that they were one house with two front doors.
Annie appeare
d nervous. ‘You’re the first person I’ve shown round. I was going to fill the house with flowers and the smell of freshly brewed coffee to make it seem more desirable, but I haven’t got round to it. An estate agent is coming later today. I’m dreading that. They see all the faults, don’t they?’
‘I think they often overpraise the house to get it on their books, then, if they can’t sell it, they start picking it to pieces, saying no one wants small houses, large houses – whatever yours is – at the moment,’ Sarah said, looking around her.
The house was a different shape to the other houses in the street. It was wider and lower. The small hall was at one end, then the living room, then a large kitchen/dining room, with a comfy sofa against a wall near the window looking out into a well-stocked garden. The sun streamed into the house through large glass doors lifting Sarah’s spirits. As she went round, she could feel the house slowly attaching itself to her. A sense of excitement crept through her. How much easier it would be to live here. It was more compact than her house with its many stairs and a room on each landing, but there was still room here in this smaller house for Tim and Polly. It was in the area she loved and knew well, but far enough away from the Crescent and Gerry and the neighbours who had known her as Dan’s wife. Here, it would be different. Here, she could start again as herself.
‘Who lives on the other side of you?’ she asked Annie, wanting there to be a difficulty – people who partied all night or had a dog that howled when left alone all day, something… anything to put her off.
‘Robert Maynard, but he’s hardly ever here now. He’s recently inherited a business up north… but he’s nice, you won’t have any trouble with him. So…’ Annie waited expectantly. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Very much, only,’ Sarah braced herself to tell her story, ‘my marriage has broken up and I’m in limbo at the moment. I don’t know…’ She tailed off, feeling foolish that she couldn’t cope with this on her own. Dan had been so good at everything like that. He just got on with the business side of things without involving her at all.
‘If you really like it, Paul, my husband, could help you. Can you come to supper tonight and discuss it with him?’ She was so eager, Sarah couldn’t help but get caught up in her enthusiasm. Having supper with them wouldn’t hold her to anything.
*
‘What do you think about it?’ she asked Celine, when she got to the shop later and told her about everything, including Gerry.
‘If you like it, go for it. A new house will help you come to terms with Dan’s defection, establish your independence and it will be fun to do up, just as you want it. As long as the money side works out, of course.’
‘I’ve got to sell mine first, but it should be worth more. Goodness, when I think of when we first bought it, we could barely afford it, even though it was in a terrible condition. We had to have a huge mortgage.’
‘Frightening how housing has rocketed in price in our lifetime. And particularly in Fulham. What’s it worth now? A small fortune, I should imagine.’
‘Yes, but then the new one will not be cheap. But, oh, the children!’ She gasped in horror. ‘I’d forgotten them, they’d hate to move.’
‘Tough.’ Celine, who had no children, said firmly, ‘You’ve given them years of your life, now it’s your turn. Do you need a solicitor? If so, use Rebecca. She’ll sort out everything for you.’
Rebecca was their company solicitor. She would certainly see to everything.
That night, at supper with the Blakes, Sarah found herself agreeing to buy the house. Paul, Annie’s husband, was a jovial man whom she took to at once. What clinched matters even more was that he had friends who were looking for a family house in the Crescent and might like hers.
‘It is obviously meant to be,’ Annie said piously.
‘If I can persuade Tim and Polly,’ Sarah said.
She rang them when she got back that evening.
‘But, Mum, you can’t!’ Tim cried out in agony. ‘It’s our home.’
‘But you are hardly ever here, and anyway this new house will be a home, a new home for us all.’ She tried to ignore the guilt clutching at her heart.
‘It won’t be the same,’ he went on.
‘Life is not the same any more, darling, remember that.’ She refrained from bursting out, ‘Your father has ruined it for us – blame him, not me.’
‘Oh, Mum, we’ve lived in our house all our lives. Nowhere else will ever be the same,’ Polly wailed.
‘Come home and see it before I make the final decision. Tim said he would. Tomorrow’s Thursday; come for the weekend. I have to make a quick decision or I’ll lose it,’ Sarah said, then added as a softener, ‘You can do up your own room just as you like it.’
Tim and Polly came home that weekend. Saturday also produced a text from Dan. One of them must have told him about the move.
Are you sure you are making the right decision? After all, I don’t think you are in the right frame of mind for something of such importance. Wait a while.
Sarah wondered if his warning was a stab at getting his own back after her scene in the street. This only fuelled her determination to make her own decision.
Paul Blake’s friends came round to see her house on the Friday. She arranged for them to come early, before Tim and Polly arrived home. Her children might well be sullen and difficult if they saw prospective buyers poking round their home, but as she waited for Paul’s friends, she suddenly had cold feet herself and wished she’d put them off. It was all going too fast; perhaps next week she’d wake up and realise it had all been a huge mistake.
Paul’s friends were a young couple, with three small children and a dog and they loved her house at once. They had been searching for a family house in the Crescent for ages, and they told her terrible stories of how they had lost houses elsewhere at the last minute. They kept looking at each other delightedly as she led them from room to room, and she had not the heart to say she’d changed her mind, but, she accepted that this house needed a growing family and now, in her single state, it no longer made her feel welcome.
Linda came round early on Saturday morning. Tim and Polly were still in bed. She said with indignation, ‘I think you are mad to move, Sarah. You’re happy here, and we all know and like you.’
It was difficult to feel relaxed with Linda now. She’d managed to avoid her these last few days. How would she feel if she knew that it was thanks to Gerry that she felt she could no longer live here? ‘I need a change, a fresh start, and I’m not far away,’ she said lamely, not able to meet her eyes.
‘Gerry thinks it is a bad idea, too,’ Linda went on. ‘You know what they say, after a bereavement you shouldn’t make any major decisions for at least a year.’
‘This is not a real bereavement.’ Doubt grabbed her again. Perhaps she was mad to move; perhaps Gerry would feel less threatened if she moved to another street, and would become a real nuisance. She’d see what Tim and Polly made of it.
When at last they emerged from their bedrooms, they all went round to the new house. The Blakes tactfully went out, leaving them to it.
Polly grudgingly admitted that she liked it. ‘You could make that cupboard place into a shower-room, then it would be en-suite to my bedroom. And the garden’s great; pity we can’t have the other side of it, too and we can have barbecues and things, have our friends over, can’t we, Tim?’
‘We had barbecues in our old house when Dad was here,’ Tim answered sulkily.
‘Look, you two,’ Sarah said firmly, ‘I’ve got to live my own life now. You’ve both got yours, but because of your father’s potty behaviour, I’m on my own now. This is what I want to do. You are hardly ever here, Tim, but you will still have your own room in this house.’
‘Come on, Tim, don’t make it difficult,’ Polly said, turning excitedly to Sarah. ‘I could design my room as I liked, paint murals on my walls couldn’t I?’
‘Of course, could you do it as a project for your course?’ Sarah
asked as Polly was studying art and design.
‘Probably anyway it’s a great room small but very light.’
Tim slumped on a chair. Like Dan, he did not talk about his feelings. Sarah suspected that their break-up had hurt him more than he would admit to. He would see selling the house he thought of as home as yet another betrayal. But he would have to come round, accept that things had changed for ever.
They went back to their studies on Monday morning. Polly was cautiously excited about the move, while Tim was resigned.
Paul Blake drove the whole thing forward at breakneck speed, which at least stopped Sarah dithering away and not making any concrete decisions. She was sleepwalking through life, had been ever since Dan had left, drifting along with the flow of it, too apathetic to protest. She sent a text to Dan asking him to come and collect any bits of his furniture and things he wanted. He lived in Pimlico now.
‘I want you to come alone. You can arrange for Tim and Polly to be here if you need some help. I shall be out,’ she told him. Even though she was leaving the house, she did not want that mousy creature poking and peering round the home she and Dan had created with such love together.
Dan rang her one evening. ‘I’ll be round on Saturday with a van,’ he said tersely. ‘Gerry said he’d give me a hand.’
‘Fine, I’ll be out all day.’ She put her mobile down. ‘Two-headed creep Gerry,’ she muttered.
When Dan’s things had gone, the house felt even more denuded. It reminded her of a holiday resort out of season, with autumn leaves blowing in the empty streets, loud with the silence of loneliness.
There seemed to be so much to pack up and sort through. Things for the charity shop, things for the dump, things to take with them.
University had broken up for the summer. Tim and Polly came to help her before they went off again on some projects of their own.