The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker

by Jenni Keer

  Within seconds Emily tapped at the door and entered.

  ‘Oh dear. What have I done?’ Lucy asked.

  Emily sighed and knelt down next to her increasingly hysterical daughter, stroking her hair but getting kicked and screamed at in return.

  ‘It’s not your fault. Rosie has been begging to be the one who woke you this morning since she found out you were coming. She’s been downstairs all morning making you a breakfast tray to bring up and it was her thing. Bless her, she even went into the garden and picked some cornflowers to put in a small white china bud vase she found in the sideboard.’

  Hearing the reasons for her distress spoken out loud only seemed to increase Rosie’s sense of injustice and her cries increased in volume and ferocity.

  ‘What I don’t know,’ Emily said, eyeing her youngest daughter, who seemed to have slid further down the bed as this conversation progressed, ‘is whether my two-year-old did this on purpose or not.’ Grace locked eyes with her mother and then cast them downwards, picking up the doll from the duvet and thrusting it in front of her aunt, trying desperately to draw everyone’s attention back to the doll and away from the escalating drama. ‘Come on, Gracie, let’s leave Auntie Lucy to get dressed. Rosie, are you going to bring the beautiful breakfast tray up or not? Because if you aren’t, I shall do it.’

  Rosie was quieter now but still had her head buried in the carpet. She didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m going downstairs and I will wait exactly five minutes. If you don’t appear, I shall bring the tray up to Auntie Lucy. It isn’t her fault your sister barged in, and she’s probably starving by now. It will be such a shame if you aren’t the one to present it to her after all your hard work.’ And leaving Rosie with that thought, Emily and a reluctant Grace left the room.

  ‘The worst of it is that I feel like throwing a Rosie tantrum most days but the social expectations placed on adults mean I’m not allowed to.’ Emily had a wry smile on her face and a weak white wine spritzer in her hand. She glanced at her drink. ‘And I can’t even drink properly to take the edge off. Bastard pregnancy.’

  They were sitting in the south-facing conservatory at the back of the house. The double doors were flung open and the girls were playing on the lawn, the earlier incident seemingly forgotten. Rosie had reluctantly presented the tray at the last moment, and Lucy’s enthusiasm over the breakfast from her eldest niece had smoothed everything over.

  Mouth-watering smells of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen and Stuart kept half an eye on his daughters while he practised his golf swing across their perfect lawn, insisting the sisters had some alone time to catch up.

  ‘You don’t mean that. When the little one is here and your family is complete, you will sit in your lovely garden, surrounded by your precious children and realise it was worth it. It’s got to be better than sitting in a rented square of concrete, next to a shabby old shed, surrounded by knitting patterns and a microwave meal for one,’ she joked.

  ‘Oh, hon, it’s a grass is greener, if ever I saw one. Don’t look at me and think I’m sorted – that my life is some kind of fairy tale. This is the first time in ages we’ve had a proper family weekend and it’s only because you were coming. You have to work hard to have beautiful things, but if you are working so hard you aren’t ever here, who gets to enjoy them? Everything comes at a price. But I don’t want to talk about me…’ She put her glass on the low wicker table and turned to her sister, hitching her feet up on the chair. ‘I want to know what’s made my little sister look so…different.’

  ‘Me? I’m the same as I ever was.’ She was aware of the locket beneath her T-shirt.

  ‘I don’t think so. You are positively glowing. Even Mum said she’d noticed a change in you. You are standing straighter, your eyes are animated and you seem more…colourful somehow.’

  ‘Perhaps I do feel different,’ Lucy admitted. ‘I suppose I’m standing up for myself a bit more and caring less about what people think. I don’t want to be in the shadows any longer. It’s not that I crave the limelight, but I desperately want to succeed at work, and that’s not going to happen while I let myself get pushed around and spend half my day making tea and coffee for everyone in the office. It’s amazing what happens when you start to assert your authority.’

  ‘Good for you, little sister. Look, don’t feel obliged, but there are two bags of clothes I sorted out for charity, which you are welcome to riffle through. I know my colouring is darker than yours, but we are the same shape. Some of it’s a bit formal – suits for work and some posh dresses that I’ve done to death either at work functions or playing the gracious hostess to help further Stuart’s career – but do take a look.’

  The biggest smile spread from Lucy’s flushed cheeks to her wide eyes. ‘I’d love to. Thanks, sis.’

  After a ridiculously elaborate meal that Emily insisted on largely preparing herself, the sisters remained at the dining room table while Stuart magnanimously loaded the dishwasher. Grace had crashed halfway through the meal into her plastic bowl of mashed-up meat and vegetables. She was lifted into the living room, where she slept on the sofa covered in a Barbie blanket and clutching Belle tightly in her chubby hands.

  Rosie was sitting at the table beside Lucy, head down and tongue out, as she tried to loop a strand of emerald green wool around the fat crochet hook to produce a simple chain. Unlike most four-year-olds who had barely mastered the control of a pencil, she had pretty good fine motor skills and was doing extraordinarily well. The green chain was now a couple of inches long, and despite Auntie Lucy sorting out a few tangles, she was determined to make it long enough to tie in Elsa’s hair.

  Emily twisted around for the third time to check the time on the wall clock, and Lucy started to wonder if she had outstayed her welcome.

  ‘Do you need me to go? I don’t want to intrude into your family Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘No. Far from it. I want you to stay until the last possible minute. It’s just Stuart has a solicitor friend popping over this afternoon. Something work-related. I thought I’d introduce you. He’s a nice bloke, Luce.’

  Lucy choked on the mineral water she was sipping. ‘Are you trying to set me up?’

  ‘No. Well possibly. Look, Mum mentioned—’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. You and our manipulative mother are not going to manage my life. I’m twenty-five, Ems. I’m doing okay.’

  Emily lifted her hands defensively. ‘I’m sorry. I know. In some areas of your life you’re more sorted than me. Mum said you’d refused to make the swans. Wish I could say no to her sometimes. You’re a brave girl.’

  ‘Nonsense. I am getting more confident and it’s having surprising results, but I’ve never been as totally driven as you. I don’t think I would be able to remain as focused on my career, and still juggle five hundred and sixty balls in the air with my free hand. Something would have to give, possibly my sanity.’

  Emily stared at her clasped hands, resting across her folded knees, but didn’t respond to Lucy’s comments.

  ‘Ems?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Ems?’

  ‘What? Sorry. I think Gracie has woken up. Excuse me,’ and she wandered into the hallway.

  As Stuart lifted Lucy’s suitcase into her boot, and the girls skipped around her banana-coloured car singing a random version of ‘Yellow Submarine’, Lucy took her sister’s hand and met and held her eyes.

  ‘If anything happened to you, Emily, this family would collapse. Promise me you’ll put yourself at the top of your to-do list.’ The weekend visit had done little to dispel Lucy’s concerns about her sister.

  ‘I’ll try, but it’s not always that easy.’

  ‘Nonsense. If I can say no to mother’s napkin swans, you can say no to the things that don’t matter outside your immediate family. I’m always on the end of a phone or a car ride away. If you need me for anything, just ask. Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  Emily pulled her baby sister towards her
and hugged her as if she was about to depart on a twenty-year mission to Mars. Lucy stroked her sister’s back and wondered when she’d suddenly become the strong one.

  Chapter 35

  Brenda was full of tales about her weekend with George, the highlight of which was being taken to some posh hotel near Peterborough (she was frustrated with herself but couldn’t remember the name) for afternoon tea with his mother. So much for just popping in – it seemed he’d taken it upon himself to become her personal chaperone.

  ‘It was all tiddly sandwiches and dainty cakes,’ she enthused. ‘As soon as I’d poured a cup of tea, someone swooped in and replenished the pot. I felt like royalty. Or a modern-day pop star, which is practically the same thing I understand.’ She patted her hair, which was up in a bun, and her cheeks flushed pink. ‘Such a handsome man. He told me I looked beautiful when he knocked on the door to collect me. And his mother was such a gentle, quietly spoken lady. I had the most wonderful afternoon.’

  Okay, Mr Aberdour, another house point, Lucy thought begrudgingly. Keep this up and I might want you to fall in love with me. And then she noticed Brenda staring at her and, wary of Brenda’s uncanny insights, tried to focus on the things he did that made her cross.

  ‘So tell me more about his mother,’ Lucy said, just in case she kept him on. Some future mother-in-law…erm, mother-of-the-boyfriend information might be handy.

  Head high and gigantic sunglasses perched jauntily on the top of her head, Lucy strode into the office Monday morning and slipped elegantly into her seat, crossing her ankles and flicking her loose hair over her shoulder. The linen square was in her handbag, and instead of being tucked away under her clothing, the locket swung on its chain from side to side, across a pretty silk top in a deep shade of purple.

  She’d spent the previous evening trying on the clothes her sister had given her. They were all items she’d never have bought for herself; either because of their distinct Look at Me factor or the price tag, but wearing them now added to her new-found confidence. As well as acting like an assured member of the sales team, she looked the part.

  The office was quiet as it was still early, but Adam was in the corner, wrestling with an awkward ring-binder. He did a double take as Lucy entered and it didn’t take long for him to sidle up to her and perch a bottom cheek on the edge of her desk.

  ‘Well, a good and most impressive morning to you, young Lucy-Lou. Power dressing for any particular reason? Hoping for promotion, are we? My job is taken, I’m afraid. Well, unless there’s a promotion on the cards for me as well. Ha ha. We all want to climb the slippery ladder of success, but most of us don’t rely on dressing provocatively for the boss to do so.’

  He stretched out an elbow to rest on the partition board but his reach wasn’t quite long enough and he slipped.

  ‘Sam is a woman, Adam.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I wouldn’t assume your leanings. Or hers for that matter. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: anyone is welcome at Tompkins. We are an inclusive company and your race, religion and sexual persuasion are irrelevant. In fact, we could do with a gay in the office. Or the warehouse. I’ll mention it to Sam when we think about recruiting Christmas staff later in the year.’

  Lucy switched on her computer and entered her password to indicate she was busy.

  ‘Anyway, Lucy-Lou, wanted a word. You know that you do all that knitting?’

  ‘Yes.’ She wasn’t sure where this was going.

  ‘Can you knit anything?’

  ‘You aren’t going to ask me to knit a pair of long trousers, are you?’ She regretted saying it immediately, but Adam didn’t seem to get the dig.

  ‘Not sure why anyone would want knitted trousers, unless they were woolly-minded. Ha ha. But seriously, I was thinking publicity and, even though it’s months away, I was wondering if we could pull together and knit a little nativity scene for reception? Something home-made and original? Sales of the starter knitting kits have really taken off for the eight to twelve age range. Might even be worth talking to Kiddicraft and getting some sponsorship? Between you, me and the bedpost, I don’t think Sam the man has taken a shiny cloth to me. I thought I’d up my game.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Lucy considered his suggestion. ‘How about knitting a sort of nativity scene but one where the figures were replaced by well-known toys? Maybe the three bears instead of the three kings? That sort of thing?’

  ‘I’m liking your thinking. Link it more to what we do at Tompkins. Serious sucky-up points for me – and you, of course – if we could pull it off.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.’ It was an interesting idea, and one she would enjoy brainstorming.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Adam said, and Lucy thought for one horrible moment he was going to ruffle her hair.

  People began to arrive for work and sit down at their desks. Lucy put on her headset and took a call. Adam looked around for someone else to engage with, but everyone was suddenly extremely busy, so he meandered back to his desk.

  ‘What the ACTUAL bloody hell?’

  Everyone looked up as Adam shouted at his computer.

  ‘Cress. Bloody cress?’ He was waving his keyboard around and pointing at it. Closer than most, Lucy could just about make out a faint green edging to the keys.

  Sam walked over to the ranting sales office manager and peered over her red-rimmed reading glasses.

  ‘You do know that persistent teasing is a form of bullying in the workplace, don’t you? This is something we can discuss, if you wish to take it further?’

  ‘No, I’ve got this. It’s a one-off,’ Adam said. ‘And anyway, it’s not like we even know who the perpetrator is.’

  Taking a file downstairs to copy before lunch, Lucy bumped into Sam in the Tardis.

  ‘I’m nearly done and then it’s all yours,’ said Sam and she looked admiringly at Lucy’s smart suit. ‘Look, I have no right to ask this question, so don’t feel you have to answer, but are you looking for another job?’

  Lucy frowned.

  ‘Forget I asked,’ Sam said, gathering her papers and lifting the lid to take out the master copy.

  As she left Lucy to the photocopier and returned upstairs, Lucy replayed the question and wondered if it had somehow been Sam’s coded way of telling her she should be.

  Coming out through Brenda’s gate having shared a fish and chip supper, Lucy stopped to stroke Scratbag, who was sunbathing on the low wall between Brenda and George’s houses. Chloe, the little girl from across the road, was coming along the pavement carrying a clear plastic bag of hay. Her arms were wrapped around it but her hands didn’t meet and she could barely see over the top.

  ‘This is for my new rabbit.’ She stopped in front of Lucy and held the bag up for Lucy to appreciate. ‘She’s so much nicer than Turnip. He was a bit bitey sometimes, but Bunny Snuffle-Paws is a licky rabbit.’

  ‘Wow, a new rabbit. You’ll have to show her to me sometime.’

  ‘You can come and play with her whenever you like.’

  Lucy looked across to the mother who was a few paces behind Chloe. Her face said it all.

  Chloe dropped the bag at her mother’s feet as she drew level with them both and reached up to pet Scratbag.

  ‘Flipping rabbit,’ the mother whispered. ‘I didn’t wish Turnip ill, but I was a teensy bit relieved when he passed away. I’m the one who was cleaning him out and feeding him. Same old, same old. I give Bunny Snuffle-Paws a week and then she’ll be abandoned to my care, like Turnip.’

  ‘Then why on earth did you get her another one?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘I didn’t. The man at number twenty-four turned up saying he’d heard the sad news about her rabbit and thought he’d get her a replacement. He also gave Chloe a special pet carrier, a huge bag of food and some rabbit treats. Lovely idea and all that, but I wish he’d run it by me first.’

  George buying his way out of trouble again.

  ‘I suppose he meant well,’ she said in his def
ence, and leaned over her own gate to unlatch it. ‘Great name, by the way. Don’t you love the naming skills of a child?’

  ‘Chloe didn’t name her. The man from number twenty-four did.’

  Chapter 36

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Lucy had been summoned to her elderly neighbour’s by phone the following evening, so rushed straight over, wondering what she was going to find.

  ‘What a lovely surprise,’ Brenda said in a much louder voice than was necessary.

  Oh dear, another muddled moment, thought Lucy. She’s forgotten she called me over.

  ‘We were having a cup of tea and a sticky bun. Well, one of us is having a lactose-free cookie, but I just adore sticky buns and he remembered. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Come and join us.’ She pushed open the living-room door to the sound of tinkly chimes and there, in Lucy’s favourite chair, sat George; his large thighs squashed together by the wooden arms and his height making the whole thing look much smaller than it was. Brenda gave her a conspiratorial wink from the doorway. ‘Just giving him a nudge in the right direction, dear. I can’t wait around for you two to get your act together any longer,’ and she scuttled down the hall towards the kitchen.

  ‘Lucy.’ He leaned forward to stand, but she put her hand out to indicate he should remain seated.

  ‘I’ll sit over here, out of your way, as every time we meet you seem to end up injured.’

  ‘Yes, you are rather like an unpredictable tornado leaving destruction in your wake.’ He gave a half-smile and there was a definite and undeniable appearance of both dimples.

  ‘Is that chair big enough for you?’ she asked. Goldilocks was sitting in her chair and baby bear didn’t like it.

  ‘Yes. It’s surprisingly comfortable. And warm.’

  ‘Like it’s got a heated seat?’