‘Normally it would be, yes, but your hubby wanted us to make a good start today so I said we’d do a couple of hours overtime.’
‘I see. Give me a minute to put the car away and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Driving the car round to the garage, I fumed. Where did Rex think the money was coming from to pay these builders? And how dare he go out and leave me to walk in on it without a word of warning?
In the kitchen, as I waited for the kettle to boil, I took out my mobile again and selected Rex’s number. His phone was switched off and the call went straight to voicemail.
‘It’s me. I’ve just got home to find the house full of builders – engaged apparently by you,’ I snapped. ‘Will you ring me as soon as you get this and tell me what the hell is going on?’ I hung up and threw the phone down on the worktop. How dare he do this without talking to me about it first? A voice behind me made me jump.
‘Tea up, is it, Mrs T? Me and Jim are spittin’ feathers.’
‘Right, coming up.’ I threw a couple of teabags into two mugs and got out the milk and sugar.
‘Three sugars each,’ Bob instructed. ‘And if you’ve got any biccies they’ll be gratefully received as they say. Be a while before we get anything to eat tonight.’
Tight-lipped I got out a fresh packet of biscuits and a plate.
I sat fuming during the two hours that followed while Bob and Jim banged away upstairs, their portable radio booming out ‘heavy metal’. Finally at about half past seven Bob appeared in the kitchen doorway again.
‘Right, we’re off,’ he informed me. ‘Broken the back of that bathroom a treat if I do say it myself. Should finish it tomorrow all bein’ well as they say. We ain’t left you with no lav so you won’t have to get a bucket out.’ He chuckled. ‘We’ll be back bright and early in the mornin’ if that’s OK with you.’
‘All right. Thanks, Mr Harris.’
‘Oh, call me Bob. Don’t stand on ceremony, don’t me and Jim. Night then, Mrs T. Have a nice weekend.’
After the men had gone I made myself a sandwich and tried to watch TV but I was too angry to concentrate so I switched it off. It was eleven o’clock when Rex finally arrived home. He had clearly had a drink and was in a jovial mood.
‘Hello sweetheart. How’s my favourite brunette then?’ He planted a beery kiss on my cheek and began to take off his coat.
‘Did you get my message?’ I asked him.
He looked puzzled. ‘Message?’
‘I tried to ring you – about the builders.’ When he still looked nonplussed I sprang up. ‘Rex! Don’t play the innocent with me. What the hell did you think you were doing, engaging builders to do what you’ve had months to do yourself? And doing it without a word to me! Didn’t you think it might have been better to talk it over first?’
My anger seemed to sober him up. ‘Talk it over? Just look at you now and ask yourself why I did it without telling you. You always bloody overreact to everything.’
‘It’s not just a question of overreacting,’ I shouted. ‘How on earth are we going to pay for it?’
He turned away from me, his face sheepish. ‘Is there anything to eat or drink? I’ve had nothing since lunch.’
‘Rex! Answer me,’ I demanded. ‘Did you get an estimate from these people? How much is it going to cost, and just where is the money coming from to pay for it all?’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s taken care of so you don’t have to worry.’ He walked out of the room but I followed him through to the kitchen where he began looking in the fridge.
‘Taken care of – how?’
‘Is there any cheese?’
I put a none-too-gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Rex! Look at me. Tell me the truth. What have you done? If you’ve taken out a loan….’
‘I haven’t taken out a loan – well, not officially,’ he mumbled.
‘Go on.’ I stood in front of him, blocking the doorway. ‘I’m waiting and you’re going nowhere until you tell me. What have you done?’
He sighed and put down the can of beer he’d just taken from the fridge. ‘OK. I asked your folks to help out.’
I stared at him. ‘You what? My heart was thudding and I felt my neck and face flushing. ‘How dare you. You know how I feel about asking them for anything.’
He shrugged. ‘They’re loaded. And they’ve always given you anything you asked for.’
‘Anything except real parenting, which is why I’ve always been so determined to stand on my own feet. I don’t want to take anything from them ever again. I’ve told you how I feel enough times so why can’t you understand?’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ he said calmly. ‘This house is your dream project, not mine, and now it’s time to admit that you’ve taken on more than you can cope with. We need help and they can afford to give it. Anyway they were only too delighted to be able to help out.’
‘I bet they were,’ I said bitterly. ‘They’ve always thought they could buy my loyalty. This is their way of making me admit that I still need them – bringing me to heel. Now that they’re retired a daughter is suddenly an asset, an adjunct to complete their idyllic lifestyle and show off to their friends. No matter that it’s the child who used to be nothing more than an inconvenience to them.’
‘Oh, stop being so melodramatic! You’re overreacting again.’ Rex pulled the ring-pull off the can of beer and took a long drink from it. ‘And you wonder why I never asked you first.’
‘You could have done the work that those builders have done today,’ I said. ‘In one day they’ve achieved more than you’ve done in three months.’
‘I’m an artist, not a bloody navvy!’ He was angry now. ‘You say you want to stand on your own feet and show your mum and dad how independent you are, but would a nice little semi in the suburbs do? Would it hell! You just wanted to best them, didn’t you? You wanted to kick them in the teeth and tell them what they could do with their money. Well I’m sorry but it’s backfired. I’m not going to slave away at work I hate and let my new career that I worked so hard for go down the tubes just for some crazy hang-up of yours.’ He glared at me. ‘Get real, Sophie.’ He swallowed the remnants of his can and tossed the empty can vaguely in the direction of the bin. ‘I’m going to bed.’
It was an hour before I crept upstairs and into bed beside Rex, an hour during which I’d thought long and hard. He had a point. Maybe I’d been unfair to him. It wasn’t his fault that my parents thought cash could solve everything. His parents may have been poor but at least they loved their children.
Thinking he was asleep I slid into bed and lay still but after a few minutes he turned to me. ‘Look, Soph, I’m sorry.’
I eased myself away from his reaching arms. ‘No, listen, I’ve been thinking,’ I said. ‘You were right. I let us in for more than we could handle and I’m sorry. We’ll let the builders finish the work then we’ll put the house on the market. As soon as we’ve sold it we’ll pay the loan back with the appropriate interest, then we’ll look for the little suburban semi you’ve set your heart on. Happy?’
There was a pause then he turned over, away from me. ‘Whatever you say,’ he mumbled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FRANCES
The open day at St Eldred’s School was painful. I wore my new outfit, which Charles barely noticed, and a brave face, which he later said looked like a death mask. Harry, bless him, was delightfully oblivious of it all. He was excited to be getting a foretaste of his new adventure and when we arrived he was in his element. By the time the day was over he had already made several friends. I know I should be happy about that – and I am. I wouldn’t want him to be miserable or homesick of course. But with every smile and handshake, every introduction to Charles’s old school friends, their wives and assorted offspring, some of whom had been at the school for several years already, I felt the bond between Harry and me stretching to its limit – like an elastic band, just a snap away from breaking.
A selected few �
��old boys’ and their wives, including Charles and me were invited to take tea in the head’s study and I found myself sitting next to one of Charles’s old school friends. She looked at me sideways over the rim of her teacup.
‘Will this be your son’s first term?’
I nodded, trying to smile. She nodded sympathetically.
‘He’s rather young for boarding school, isn’t he?’
I felt my heart contract again and tears begin to gather but I blinked hard and smiled at her. ‘He is a bit. He’s eight – nearly nine.’
She nodded sympathetically. ‘It’s all a bit traumatic, isn’t it? But Richard, who starts next term, is our third and believe me once they’ve been away from home for a while you get used to it. See it as the beginning of new freedom. The long summer holidays will be so exhausting that you’ll be glad to wave him off to school again every September.’ She looked at my expression and laughed. ‘Oh, you might not think it now, but believe me you will.’
I knew I never would.
As we were leaving the head’s wife, Mary Masterson buttonholed me. ‘My dear, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,’ she said quietly.
She was a kindly woman in, I’d guess, her early fifties; the twin set and pearls type, with greying hair cut in a sensible short style and very little make-up. I took one look into her sympathetic blue eyes and felt my throat thicken again. She reached out and took my hand between both of hers.
‘I’ve been watching you this afternoon. All this is rather difficult for you, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘He’s so young to be going away to school.’
‘Harry is your only child?’
I nodded.
‘I thought as much. I agree he is a little young but he seems a very well adjusted little boy. I really wouldn’t worry about him,’ she said. ‘I make it my business to keep a close eye on the young ones and make sure they don’t feel lost during the first few days. We have a very good Matron too. She’s brought up a family of her own and she understands children. She’s firm but very kind.’
I returned the soft pressure of her hand and withdrew mine. ‘Thank you. That’s very reassuring,’ I said. ‘It’s just me being silly. Harry’s really looking forward to starting here next month. I just can’t help wondering how he’ll feel when….’
‘When the realization that he’s actually left home behind kicks in?’ She smiled. ‘Call it a rite of passage. He’ll soon get used to it. He seems a friendly little chap. He’ll be in his father’s old house of course and with so much to get involved in here he’ll soon slip into the routine.’
I hoped she was right.
In the car on the way home Harry sat beside Charles in the front of the car. He chattered non-stop about his new school: the science lab with its state-of-the-art equipment, the sports facilities, including a rugby pitch and a super-size swimming pool and the ‘dorm’ where all the boys had their own small private space complete with wash basin. Clearly he couldn’t wait for the new term to begin. I knew then that nothing between us would ever be quite the same again.
I cried myself to sleep that night, stuffing a corner of the sheet into my mouth so that Charles wouldn’t hear. He’d enjoyed the day almost as much as Harry had
And he couldn’t understand why I couldn’t be happy for our son.
‘He’s going to get the best education money can buy at St Eldred’s,’ he said at breakfast next morning, looking exasperatedly at my red-rimmed eyes. ‘Surely you don’t begrudge him that.’
‘Yes, Harry’s bright,’ I argued. ‘So surely he’d do just as well at the local Grammar. In my opinion private schools are only for children who need small classes and special attention.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ he snorted. ‘What a stupid, ignorant point of view. I suppose you can’t help it, taking your upbringing into consideration. St Eldred’s is one of the finest public schools in the country, not a school for children with learning difficulties. I hope to God you didn’t voice your left wing opinions in public yesterday.’
‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘Thank God for that!’ He looked at me disdainfully. ‘I never had all this nonsense with my mother,’ he told me. ‘In fact I think she was glad to see the back of me by the time I was old enough to go to St Eldred’s. But unlike you she had a busy social life. You should get out more, Fran. What about voluntary work or a bridge club – both even? You spend too much time on your own, thinking and worrying about things.’
‘That’s why I’d like to come back to work,’ I ventured. ‘You know I hate gossiping women and do-gooders. I’d rather be occupied with something productive.’
But as usual his patience snapped as soon as I suggested working for him again. ‘Oh Fran! For God’s sake! We’ve been through all this a hundred times.’
‘Well why not? I was good at my job, wasn’t I?’ I knew I was pushing it too hard but I couldn’t help it. ‘I know you, and I know the firm. I could be really useful to you.’
He gave a deep, exaggerated sigh. ‘Why can’t you get it into your head – that part of your life is over and done with?’ he told me. ‘You are my wife and Harry’s mother, not my PA any more. It’s unprofessional to blur the boundaries.’ He got up to leave but paused in the doorway. ‘Anyway, I’ve already got a PA.’
I opened my mouth to argue but he was already gone. As I watched from the window I saw his car speed off down the drive, leaving me feeling frustrated and misunderstood.
There were times when I longed to ring Katie or Sophie and tell them how I felt – ask them what they would do, but I never did. Neither of them had children of their own. Katie wasn’t even married. When we met I’d hidden the fact that I had a husband who seemed to have lost interest in me. I’d played up the fact that I had a beautiful home and plenty of money. They couldn’t possibly know how it felt to have my son taken away – just as that other little one was taken from me? I could never tell them about that any more than I could tell Charles. So, with my sad secret and so much else locked up inside me there was no one I could turn to for advice. I had to face the fact that soon Harry would be gone, leaving me here rattling around the house like some useless, unfulfilled ghost to cope with it on my own.
On the day that Harry was to travel to St Eldred’s, Charles refused to let me accompany him. He took Harry himself in the car, dragging him away from me as I gave him a final hug and speeding off without a backward glance. I guessed that Harry would get a lecture on the way about toughening up and not becoming a mummy’s boy.
I wandered round the house for a couple of hours, feeling like a lost soul and dreading the empty weeks ahead. Then I caught sight of the swimming pool through the bedroom window. The blue water sparkled temptingly in the sunlight and on a sudden impulse I decided to have a swim. The pool had only been installed at the end of April and I’d hardly used it. Maybe that was one thing I could do with all this new freedom – improve my swimming skills.
It was a beautiful morning, warm and sunny without a cloud in the sky. As I opened the gate to the paved enclosure the boy who came daily to maintain the pool was just finishing. He raised a cheery hand to me.
‘Morning Mrs Grayson. Fancied a dip, did you?’
‘I thought it was about time I made use of it,’ I said.
He rolled up his hose and vacuuming equipment and stowed it in the little wooden building that housed the heating element. ‘Right. I’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your swim.’
I shrugged off my robe and slid into the water. It felt cold at first but after the first length it was silky and refreshing. I rolled on to my back and did a length of backstroke, beginning to relax and enjoy myself. I was floating dreamily on my back, my eyes closed as the sunlight danced on my eyelids when I suddenly became aware that I was not alone. I opened my eyes to see a man standing at the pool’s edge watching me.
‘Oh!’ I hastily swam to the side.
‘Please, don’t be alarmed,’ he said as I clambe
red out of the water. ‘I didn’t like to disturb you as you were obviously enjoying your swim so much.’
I pulled on my robe and shook my wet hair. ‘What can I do for you?’
He held out his hand. ‘I’m Adam Fenn from Tropicalle Pools. I like to visit recently installed pools personally to check if everything is satisfactory.’
I shook the hand he offered. ‘Oh, I see. How nice of you. I don’t remember you coming before.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t install the pools myself. I own the company.’
I shook my head, embarrassed. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.’ Looking more closely I took in the well tailored suit and expert haircut. I should have known he wasn’t a foreman or some kind of labourer. ‘Look, please let me run inside and dress,’ I said. ‘I’ll make some coffee. I’m sure you could drink a cup.’
‘Please don’t go to any trouble,’ he called as I moved away.
‘It’s no trouble. I won’t be a minute. Please have a seat and make yourself at home.’
Upstairs I hastily dried myself and pulled on a tee-shirt and jeans. Glancing out of the window I saw that instead of sitting down he was walking round the pool, crouching down around the edges to examine various things. I ran down to the kitchen and hastily made coffee. When I arrived once more at the poolside with coffee and biscuits on a tray he was just emerging from the room housing the heating system. I put down the tray on the table.
‘Come and have some coffee.’
Smiling, he joined me. ‘Well, I’m pleased to see that everything looks fine,’ he said, sitting down. ‘I only employ competent people but you never know. There’s nothing like a personal check.’
‘We’ve been very pleased with the pool,’ I told him, pouring the coffee. ‘My son loves it. He and his friends have spent all summer in it – till now.’ I stopped speaking abruptly as I felt my throat thickening again.
He took the coffee cup I passed to him without a word but after a moment he asked quietly: ‘Are you all right, Mrs Grayson?’
True Colours Page 7