The Mixture As Before

by Rosie Harris

  After an intensive bout of window shopping, during which time she sat in so many armchairs, on so many settees, and laid down on so many different beds that she felt dizzy, she found most of the pieces she had set her heart on. When she totalled up what it would all cost, however, she knew it far outstripped her budget.

  Margaret toyed with the idea of going back to the bank manager, and asking him to extend her credit, but she had a niggling feeling that this was not only unprofessional but that it would also be letting herself down. Charles would crow. He’d be quick to point out that this was positive proof that she was not capable of managing her financial affairs.

  Instead, she made out a list of her requirements and took this along to one of the furniture stores and told them exactly how much she could afford to spend. With their skilled help, she was able to compromise so that her outlay was within her budget.

  She still managed to create a furnishing scheme that satisfied her although it meant that she had to forgo many luxury accessories, such as cushions, side tables, lamps and rugs.

  ‘You can always buy the other items later,’ they assured her, as they arranged a date for delivery.

  Delighted by her achievement, she wanted to live there right away but Charles persuaded her not to do so. ‘Willow House has a better atmosphere if it is occupied,’ he pointed out, ‘and it’s as important to you, as it is for us, that potential buyers are impressed.’

  She acquiesced, even though it worried her to stay on at Willow House in case Jason came back. There had been no row when she had told him he must leave because she was selling up. He had stared at her stonily, then gone upstairs and packed up all his belongings from his bedroom and from the room he had been using as a studio.

  A van had arrived the next day and he had helped the driver to load everything into it and then driven off without even saying goodbye. He left his keys in a plain white envelope on the kitchen worktop.

  Afterwards, she had been so engrossed in acquiring her new flat and furnishing it that she had managed to put Jason out of her mind. Moving to Windsor and her new flat would certainly draw a line under her previous life.

  The flat was so different from Willow House. Near the river, not far from the castle, adjacent to a park, close to the Windsor Theatre Royal, and handy for the King Edward Court shopping complex. It was the centre of a hubbub of activity. She loved it. Being able to look out of the window and see the boats on the river, traffic passing, people strolling about, was such a novelty that it intrigued her, made her feel so alive.

  She longed to invite Jan, Brenda and Thelma over, and see their reaction, not only to its setting but to the way she had furnished it. It was so completely different from both the original style of Willow House and from Jason’s scheme. It was cool, elegant and uncluttered. She was glad now that because she had been restricted by her tight budget she had not been able to buy the countless lamps, and cushions, and side tables that had taken her eye.

  There was something infinitely calming about having only the bare essentials. She wasn’t even sure if she would go back and buy all these extra bits and pieces even if she could afford them later on.

  Margaret and her three children all attended the auction. It was as if they were saying a public farewell to their family home and in many ways it was as poignant as a wake.

  Charles, smartly sombre in a dark business suit, white shirt and discreetly striped blue and red tie, looked strained, his mouth a taut thin line. Steven, slightly more casual in grey slacks, and a black blazer, seemed relaxed, almost cheerful. Alison, in a charcoal grey skirt that reached to her ankles, hunched into a black long-line jacket, appeared dejected and irritable.

  ‘Now make sure you don’t start scratching your nose or patting your hair, Mother, or you may find you’ve bought the old place back again,’ Steven warned jocularly.

  ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ Alison sniffed. ‘I think it’s terrible selling the family home, especially at an auction. It’s the place where we all grew up, so full of treasured memories, leastways it was until that vandal Jason Parker ruined it.’

  ‘That will do.’ Steven squeezed her arm to silence her, hoping his mother hadn’t heard her tirade. It was bad enough for her having to sell up her lovely home and move into a modern flat in Windsor, without being made to suffer Alison’s recriminations.

  The hall filled up surprisingly well. There were a number of local people, though whether they were there out of curiosity to hear how much it fetched, or because they wanted to buy Willow House, Margaret couldn’t be sure. Her heart was in her mouth as she waited for the proceedings to begin. She had never attended a house auction before and had no idea what to expect.

  Once the bidding started it was surprisingly brisk. It began at £350,000, and she felt waves of panic wash over her in case it didn’t reach the reserve price. She gave a swift sideways glance at Charles; his face was a frozen mask and she knew he must be experiencing the same doubts about the reserve price as she was.

  The bidding moved swiftly upwards, past the magical £600,000 and still rising. One thing she couldn’t fathom was where the last bid came from each time. She whispered to Steven, ‘I don’t understand what is happening. Every time the auctioneer takes a bid from someone in the room, the man on the telephone says something to him. Is he taking bids over the phone?’

  ‘That’s right!’

  £600,000 … £650,000 … £700,000 … £750,000 … £800,000. It seemed the battle between the bidders in the hall and the anonymous unseen bidder on the phone would go on forever. At £800,000, however, there was a long pause and an expectant hush fell over the room. The prospective buyer in the room, a portly man in his late fifties, was looking triumphant when the man on the telephone intervened. ‘An offer of eight hundred thousand and two hundred and fifty pounds,’ he announced laconically.

  The portly man in the room shook his head. Three times the auctioneer announced the new figure before bringing his gavel down.

  ‘Willow House sold for eight hundred thousand and two hundred and fifty pounds,’ he announced with genuine satisfaction.

  Charles looked as though he was in shock. Impulsively he grabbed his mother’s shoulders and squeezed them. ‘Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!’ he exclaimed jubilantly. ‘I can’t believe my ears; it’s incredible!’

  ‘I think this calls for a drink,’ enthused Steven. ‘Your shout Charles?’

  They could talk of nothing else as they sat round a small table in the nearest pub. It was an unbelievable victory.

  ‘So, do I get my car?’ Margaret asked.

  ‘I think we should be able to afford a little second-hand runabout for you,’ Charles said smiling. ‘It’s unbelievable,’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘I would never have dreamed that Willow House would fetch a figure of this sort. It will put the company back on its feet, pay for your new flat, clear the overdraft, and in addition, once we’ve dealt with the cost of furnishing the flat, will, with any luck, provide that nice little nest egg for you, Mother.’

  ‘So my idea of putting up the reserve price wasn’t so silly after all.’

  Charles frowned. ‘No, it wasn’t. Although at the time I was afraid you’d ruined everything and that at the end of the day we’d still have Willow House on our hands.’

  ‘It is the end of a chapter in all our lives,’ Margaret said a trifle sadly.

  ‘Things change all the time,’ Charles asserted. ‘Mine changed when I left home as I’m sure yours did, Steven. What about you, Alison?’

  ‘I am heartbroken that Willow House has gone, I would sooner have seen it pulled down than to know that other people, perfect strangers, were going to live there,’ Alison exclaimed dramatically.

  ‘Quite true, but I’m sure that saying goodbye to Willow House must be worse for Mum than it is for us because she has far more memories,’ Steven stated.

  ‘The happiest days there were when you were all small. You used to love playing in the garden so very
much,’ Margaret smiled.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ replied Steven with a laugh. ‘It was the Wild West, the African jungle, a fairground and countless other places. Cowboys and indians, cops and robbers, you name it we played it there.’

  ‘Happy days but all so long ago,’ Margaret sighed.

  As they stood up to leave, Steven offered to drive Margaret back to Windsor.

  ‘Thank you, dear, I want to say goodbye to Willow House first and I’d like to do it on my own,’ she said quickly when Steven seemed to be on the point of offering to drive her there.

  ‘You can’t go back there, Mother, its not yours any longer,’ Charles cautioned. ‘I don’t want you arrested for trespassing!’

  ‘I can walk past there, surely?’

  ‘Yes, but you shouldn’t go inside the gates.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t trespass. I want to take one last look, that’s all.’

  ‘Promise you won’t go in! Perhaps you’d better go with her, Steven.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ she promised.

  ‘I’ll come with you, Mum,’ Steven told her. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking a last look at the old place myself.’

  Ten minutes later they both stood by the gate looking up the lone gravel drive past the huge willow tree towards the house, silently thinking about the past.

  Margaret sighed. ‘Woman’s curiosity, I suppose, but I would like to know who has bought it.’

  ‘We’ll probably never know that. One of the reasons for using a telephone bid is so that the purchaser can remain anonymous.’

  ‘Yes, but surely Charles will know when the cheque comes in from the signature on it?’

  ‘Not necessarily. In all probability payment will be made by bank transfer …’

  ‘So we’ll never know?’

  ‘Not until the buyer becomes part of the local scene, then perhaps we will.’

  Thirty-Nine

  A fortnight later Margaret stopped her smart little five-year-old blue Citroën outside the gates of Willow House. She sat there for several minutes staring up the drive at the familiar building that had been home to her and her family for so long. To her surprise she felt nothing.

  She had expected to feel overcome by remorse about what she had done as she compared it with the compact modern flat that was now her home in Windsor.

  She had anticipated experiencing a feeling of great loss, but she remained completely unmoved.

  She wondered if she would feel any different if she actually went inside the gates and walked up the drive. That would be trespassing and something she had promised both Charles and Steven she would not do.

  She got out of the car and walked over to the gates and stood there expecting a lump to rise in her throat, or for tears to prick behind her eyelids, but there was nothing. Instead there was a feeling of calm satisfaction. It was like looking at a holiday snapshot and remembering all the good times, but not wishing to go back there again.

  She wondered who the new occupiers were, but felt neither envious nor resentful. She loved her new home in Windsor and she had been pleasantly surprised by how impressed Jan, Thelma and Brenda had been the first time they had visited her there.

  ‘I had no idea that retirement flats were so well appointed,’ Brenda commented.

  ‘No, it’s more like being in a hotel than a … a home,’ Brenda murmured.

  ‘You were going to say, “Old People’s Home”, weren’t you,’ Margaret chided. ‘Well don’t! Never let me hear you say that. These flats are for people over fifty-five. Many of the residents here are still working. There are one or two really old people who walk with a stick or a stroller because they have had a hip operation or are infirm in some way but there are people like that in most streets.’

  Even Jan agreed that since they were all getting older they should admire people like that who still managed to retain their independence.

  ‘Heaven knows what we will all be like in ten or fifteen years’ time,’ she pointed out gravely.

  Although Margaret agreed with her in every way she had still hankered to take one last look at Willow House. She hadn’t mentioned that it was her intention to do so to any of her family because she knew they would protest and tell her that it was better not to do so.

  She moved closer to the gate and stared up the driveway again. She noticed that there was a car already parked in the drive, and wondered if it belonged to the new owner. Then she looked again and drew in her breath sharply.

  The open-top sports car was familiar. They must have already called in Jason Parker. She felt the first stirrings of annoyance. The house was perfect! There were absolutely no changes that needed to be made; it was perfect as it stood. What sort of morons were they to want to change anything at all?

  ‘Well, Margaret, I thought you might find your way back here immediately after the auction. I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay away so long.’

  She gasped. She had been so intent on staring at the car that she hadn’t realized Jason was in the garden. He was standing within a few feet of her, half hidden by the willow tree and she wondered how long he had been watching here.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ he invited softly.

  She shivered and shook her head. ‘No, thank you! It’s not mine now and the new owner might think I was trespassing.’

  ‘Oh no, don’t worry about that. I am quite certain he wouldn’t mind at all,’ Jason assured her.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘I’ve moved on now, I don’t even want to know what changes you’ve been asked to make.’

  ‘There are no changes being made, Margaret. Willow House is still exactly as you wanted it and it always will be. Not a single thing will ever be changed. It will always remain the way you planned it, the way I redesigned it for you.’

  ‘What nonsense are you talking now, Jason?’ Margaret asked sharply.

  ‘I shall go on living here and keeping your memory alive; in fact every day will be dedicated to your memory.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you are on about?’

  ‘You will when you take the time to think about what I’ve just said,’ he told her smugly.

  ‘Surely you are not trying to tell me that you are still living here?’ Was he a squatter she wondered in alarm, or had he managed to come back again as a lodger.

  ‘Of course I am living here. I am the new owner. I bought Willow House when you put it up for auction.’

  Hatred and resentment welled up inside Margaret. She wished she had never come back. She wondered if Charles had known who the buyer was and that was why he had impressed on her that she must not go back, must not trespass.

  It was like wandering into a nightmare; she wished it was one and that she would wake up and find herself safe and snug in her new modern flat.

  For the first time since she had resolved to sell Willow House she felt tears welling up in her eyes because she had lost the home that had meant so much to her and to her family. All her clever plans were turning to ashes.

  Selling Willow House to complete strangers was one thing but the realization that it would be Jason living there was something else. She had sacrificed Willow House in order to sever all connection between her and Jason. Had she done so in vain? It certainly looked like it if he was the new owner and would be living there, she thought despondently.

  ‘Willow House can be your home again, Margaret, whenever you choose to come back to it – and to me.’

  Jason’s voice, soft and wheedling, was ringing in her ears as blindly she turned away and walked towards her car.

 

 

 
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