The Unlikely Life of Maisie Meadows

by Jenni Keer

  ‘Um, yeah.’ She began to flick through the tray of neatly stacked paperwork as a whirring noise came from the sideboard.

  ‘What’s in the cage?’ the man asked. He was a bit over-friendly for her liking.

  ‘My hamster, Nigel.’

  ‘They make great pets. I had hamsters when I was little. And rats. And stick insects. And cockroaches. And a corn snake …’

  ‘That’s a lot of pets,’ she said, thinking only the hamsters really appealed in his extensive list.

  ‘Only child so I guess my mum overcompensated.’

  She handed over the April issue of the Tattlesham magazine, which he barely looked at.

  ‘Keep it. There’s lots of useful numbers at the back.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m Josh, by the way,’ and he stuck out a hand.

  ‘Maisie. Have you moved far?’

  ‘Essex, so not a million miles. Just outside Braintree. But I like it here. Much more peaceful.’

  ‘You won’t be so enthusiastic when you’re stuck behind a tractor doing about ten miles an hour down the A140. Or when a stream of low-flying aircraft set off from one of the airbases. Or when they spread muck over the fields at the back and we get invaded by a biblical plague of flies.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ he said, with a mock-serious face.

  Her mobile started to ring so she grabbed it from the circular dining table as she showed Josh out, telling him to ask if he needed anything else. Ben’s name flashed up as she closed the front door. Aha. The stranger had been a false alarm but Ben was about to break exciting news to her; perhaps a tour date had been cancelled or he was squeezing in a trip home because he’d realised the importance of family after all.

  ‘You’re coming home?’ she gushed, heading back to the living room. Maisie bent down to pick up a stray thread of cotton from the carpet, then looked across at Lisa’s bags and rolled-up bedding and let the thread drop from her fingers. What was the point? She knew Josh was right. She should be focusing on her time with Lisa instead of stressing about the chaos her visit had caused. Nigel was swinging from the top of his cage by his back feet, tiny arms waving about in the air like a rodent gymnast. He plopped to the bottom, waddled over to the side bars, climbed up to the top and proceeded to hang from his toes again.

  ‘Nope. Ringing about Mum,’ Ben said.

  ‘I’ve never seen her happier. She bouncing about like Tigger, has renewed her wardrobe and even had her grey coloured.’

  ‘Then you get why I’m worried?’ Ben muttered.

  Maisie nodded slowly, even though Ben couldn’t see her. ‘Yes. If it all comes crashing down she’ll be inconsolable.’

  ‘When, you mean, not if. But you’ve got her back, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Cool. Just checking.’ Typical Ben. Intermittent and brief contact but often coming from a pure place.

  ‘Perhaps if you’re worried about Mum you should make the effort to visit? Even for one night. You know I’m keen to organise a get-together and the Mum-Dad window could be microscopic.’ All the siblings felt uneasy about the reconciliation. It wasn’t that anyone wanted it to fail, it was more that the oil and water combination that was their parents was always destined to separate.

  ‘No can do, sis. The tour’s been extended and then I’m house-sitting in Helsinki for the winter. Sorry, but count me out of your plans because I won’t be back in the UK until early next year.’

  Chapter 35

  It was fascinating to Maisie that you could follow the changing seasons through the salerooms. Now that summer was stalking the tail end of spring, DIY enthusiasts and outdoorsy people skipped from the woodwork and the items coming up in the auction adjusted accordingly. Sets of garden furniture and assorted ceramic plant pots made a steady appearance, along with rusty tools and the contents of musty garden sheds. She found it odd that someone might want items in less than perfect condition but Arthur explained there were people who made a good living from selling reconditioned lawnmowers and resharpened shears.

  ‘A lick of paint and a whetstone across the blade and that there scythe’ll be swinging through the summer meadow like new,’ he assured her, wearing a sun hat and Hawaiian shirt he’d dredged up from somewhere. It was a bit early to be sporting tropical attire but too warm for the woollen. Theo had equally embraced the better weather and was in khaki knee-length shorts. Maisie could now fully appreciate his firm calf muscles, like steel nutcrackers, the by-product of his running days.

  ‘Isn’t he just adorable?’ Johnny mused, as Theo strode across the forecourt in a lurid orange and blue tank top over a crumpled beige granddad shirt. Maisie nodded a quiet acquiescence. ‘Quite muscular under those shapeless shirts of his, like Michelangelo’s David. He used to run for the county, don’t you know?’

  Maisie nodded again even though she still struggled with the notion that Theo had a sporty side. He seemed too lethargic to motivate himself to even play dominoes. She imagined him running over hill and dale, nonchalantly gazing at the wildlife around him, surprised as the next man that he was first to cross the finish line. But yes, she mused, as his fuzzy head bobbed down to help a porter lift a tin bath across The Yard, he was adorable.

  A little while later she found herself alone with Theo in the back office.

  ‘I appreciate this is short notice but would you like to grab some dinner tonight?’ he asked. His eyes dropped away and he started fiddling with a jumper he’d flung across the back of his chair the day before, rolling it up in an attempt to tidy. It needed a good shake, one of the arms pulling through and folding properly, but Maisie didn’t interfere. ‘I mentioned coming to mine before, as you’ve shown an interest in modern design. No funny business – just friends,’ he stressed.

  It was fine. She got it. He wasn’t interested romantically but it was great he wanted to be her friend outside of the auction house. That was good enough. Almost.

  ‘And Ella?’ she asked, braving the subject she’d avoided for so long. Was there something going on between her colleagues or not?

  ‘I could ask her, I suppose, but our relationship is a separate thing. And anyway, I’m seeing her Friday. Such an exceptional and beautiful young woman, but a little lost – like most of us.’

  Maisie meant would Ella mind, not did he want to include her in the meal, but regardless, it seemed her suspicions were right. There was something going on and she really couldn’t blame him.

  ‘No, just us is fine. Shall I follow you back after work?’ she said, never having been to his house before.

  ‘Great plan. I’m dying to show you my spider chairs,’ he said. Maisie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of them, being an arachnophobe, but she kept an open mind.

  ‘Sorry, I should have given you an hour and followed on later,’ Maisie said, casting her eye over Theo’s living room. Abandoned T-shirts and socks were strewn over the floor, and the sofa cushions were lopsided and squashed out of shape. Food debris littered the surfaces, and there were enough pint glasses to open up a small pub. Books and magazines were balanced open in haphazard piles on the floor. Whatever type of gathering he’d had, his houseguests hadn’t been particularly considerate.

  ‘Not at all,’ Theo said. ‘Take a seat.’

  What seat? Not one of the chairs was available for immediate bottom placement.

  ‘If you’d told me it was a post-party night, I would have happily satnavved after you’d got yourself sorted.’ She began to gather up a few of the glasses by the rims.

  ‘I am sorted. Will you put those glasses down? I wouldn’t come to your house and start tidying up. You are implying my lifestyle isn’t up to your inflated standards.’

  She blushed. ‘Sorry, I thought …’

  ‘What? I’d had some sort of wild rave last night?’ He snorted. ‘Chance’d be a fine thing. I’m so busy at the moment, I barely have time to have a wild cup of tea, never mind a rave.’ He pulled a crumpled jumper out from the seat cushion at the end of the sofa and
gestured for her to sit.

  Looking about her, she could see Theo’s passion for modern design reflected in his furnishings and décor. A framed Andy Warhol poster of a young Elizabeth Taylor hung above the mantelpiece and an awful lot of primary colours jostled for dominance in the room. The simple elegance of the Danish teak furniture was complemented by his eclectic possessions: a tan leather landline, an orange mushroom lamp and two red and black mini trampoline-like objects either side of his wooden-clad stereo system.

  ‘What do you think of the spider chairs then?’ Theo asked, launching himself into the nearest trampoline. The criss-cross of web-like elastic that stretched inside the black metal circular frame moulded to his body as he landed. ‘They’re surprisingly comfortable and were a snip at two-fifty.’

  The G-Plan-style furniture and pop art she could appreciate. The chairs – not so much, despite their quirkiness. Problem was, you had to look hard through the clutter to see the brilliance of design beneath. Her fingers were clenching and relaxing in an effort not to close the books lying open on the ceramic-tile-covered coffee table or to pick up the empty crisp packets.

  Theo noticed.

  ‘Is the mess making you uneasy?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘It’s very … cosy.’

  ‘Good, that’s what I think too. It’s where I live, not a show home. It reflects my personality …’

  He left the statement hanging there. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. She got it. Lisa’s visit aside, her house was sterile, her desk at work was sterile, bloody hell – after six months without a boyfriend, she was sterile.

  ‘Right, I promised you dinner but I didn’t promise I would make it. I’m going to ring for a Chinese. You said you weren’t a fussy eater.’

  ‘Not at all. Shall we set the table? I’m starving.’

  ‘If we must. And if I can find it,’ Theo mumbled.

  Theo passed the crispy seaweed as Maisie struggled with the revelation he didn’t possess two matching plates. Or two matching anythings, come to that. Even more horrifying was this was deliberate. He liked bold colours, offbeat items and clever design. But assembling them randomly, she was bemused to discover, was his idea of interior décor. The table was a mishmash of crockery styles and colours, including the large ceramic cabbage-leaf-shaped bowl containing the sweet and sour pork balls.

  ‘Bordallo Pinheiro,’ he said, as she ran her fingers over the bumpy surface, tracing a line down the stalk. ‘A master of the rustic and the unusual. I don’t like all his stuff, but I do hanker after the pineapple pitcher if I ever have a spare hundred lying around.’

  It wasn’t something that would grace her table but she got it. ‘So you like this because it’s tactile and a break from the traditional bowl shape?’

  ‘Yeah and I adore cabbage.’ He grinned. ‘Should have put the crispy seaweed in it really – if I wanted to be pedantic. Talking of ceramics, Arthur tells me you’ve only got one Mayhew sister to track down?’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ she sighed, her heart heavier than it should be. ‘Cynthia died a long time ago.’

  Maisie knew in her heart the tea set was unlikely to ever be reunited. She’d spent hours online looking for matches and – after learning Cynthia lived and died near Bury St Edmunds – had popped down to Bury several times to scour local charity shops and antique emporiums on the microscopic off-chance she’d stumble across her pieces.

  None of the sisters had talked much about Cynthia but Maisie had finally broached the subject with Irene the previous weekend, as they played cards and Maisie studiously avoided looking at Naked Man. He had a tendency to leap out of his seat when he won a hand and Maisie was seated directly opposite.

  ‘Poor Cynth was only twenty-three,’ Irene told her. ‘Dating some lad from the airfield when she was diagnosed with cancer, but Father warned him off. Told him she wouldn’t have much of an existence and he should cut his losses. Bloody interfering old bugger. I think the young man would have stuck by her and she could have had a half-decent life. Instead she sort of pulled out of the world and sat on the sidelines, watching it play out for others. People nowadays lead completely normal lives with ileostomies. Makes me want to spit feathers.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ Maisie said to Irene, amazed that three of the sisters had never married. Irene’s own marriage to the never talked about Mr Cooper had been short-lived. Only Essie had been lucky in love but even her life was cast in shadow.

  ‘These things are discussed more now,’ Irene said. ‘Everything is splashed over the telly and then that Jeremy Kyle does a show about it. But going back fifty years you drew your front blinds and kept your business to yourself – excuse the pun.’ She’d cackled and coughed in equal measure, as Maisie sat squirming uncomfortably in the red vinyl wing chair. ‘So Cynth devoted her life to her damn cats. Don’t suppose they cared about her bodily functions as long as she chucked food at them. Seven of the little blighters she had at the end. Talk about cat lady – she left the rescue centre everything …’

  Maisie relayed the conversation to Theo and sighed. ‘I may have to accept my quest is over.’

  ‘Yeah, my research drew a blank too. Meredith’s set is quite the mystery but you can use odd plates to replace the missing ones.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Some of us like things that match,’ she said, comfortable enough with this easy-going man to pull his tatty denim leg. She looked pointedly at the items on the table.

  ‘Some of us place more importance on sentiment and artistic merit than making sure everything in our life conforms. All my possessions have memories attached to them and therefore an emotional significance, or they are items I simply love and must have. Pretty much my guiding criteria for everything in my life.’ He gave her a funny look that she couldn’t quite decipher and then carried on talking. ‘The Pinheiro was my grandmother’s, as were some of the plates. Sometimes friends buy me quirky pieces and I’m always on the lookout for odd bits and bobs at boot fairs or artisan markets. It doesn’t matter who the manufacturer is, how old it is or, to some extent, the price. What matters most is that I like it.’

  Despite finding the concept charming, the idea of uneven-sized plates stacked inside a kitchen cupboard was almost enough to bring Maisie out in hives, but she paused to consider his words.

  ‘I wish I was more like you,’ she said. ‘Not worried about what people thought – flinging on the first thing that came to hand in the morning—’

  ‘Oi, are you implying my dress sense is random?’

  She tipped her head and gave him a knowing stare.

  ‘Yeah, fair enough,’ he conceded.

  ‘And I love that you surround yourself with an eclectic group of friends: Johnny, Arthur and, I hope, me?’

  ‘Of course you’re my friend. I find you fascinating,’ and he broke into a David Attenborough voice. ‘And here we see the Maisie in her natural habitat. Watch as she fusses about her nest – not a twig out of place. But later, out in the wild, she becomes restless due to the disorder around her. Her feathers are ruffled and she paces endlessly in the undergrowth …’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ Her tummy rolled and not just because the sweet and sour sauce smelled heavenly. ‘Can we do this again?’ she asked, hopefully.

  ‘Oh, a second date,’ Theo teased, helping himself to the last of the beef chow mein.

  ‘Stop it with the dates. You’ll upset Johnny if he thinks his right-hand man and left-hand woman are conducting some sort of love affair in the back office.’ She rolled her eyes.

  Theo’s eyes flicked briefly up from the forkful of noodles making their way mouth-ward. ‘It’s fine, there aren’t any no dating policies at Gildersleeve’s.’

  ‘Well, there should be,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s all very well while everything in the garden is rosy, but when it all goes bottoms up, the fallout is immense. Believe me – I speak from experience.’

  ‘Right, well that’s me told then …’ Theo mumbled to himself.

  And t
hen she blushed as she realised he was possibly already one half of a staff couple.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Who’s the guy hanging about in Saleroom Two?’ Maisie asked, as she sauntered into the back office the following morning. Sighing inwardly, she lifted a bundle of papers and a dirty coffee mug from her desk and placed them firmly on Theo’s teetering pile of carelessly abandoned belongings.

  Johnny leaped up from his desk, his chair smacking the wall behind.

  ‘You’re here at last. Thank all that is good and light,’ he said. ‘We have been graced by a visitation from some televisual fellows.’ He looked even more flamboyant than usual in an iridescent peacock-feathered waistcoat and a red velvet tie. And she could swear he’d dabbed some rouge on his plump cheeks. Either that or his burgundy tweed trousers were too tight.

  ‘No one told me they were coming,’ she sniffed, thinking she would have made considerably more effort if she’d known. Her pale green cotton summer dress might be suitable for the weather, but with no public on site that day, and intermittent access to her own bathroom, she hadn’t worried too much about accessorising.

  ‘More to the point, my little genius marketing whiz, no one told me,’ Johnny replied. ‘I confronted Theodore this morning, and he gave me a shrug and informed me it was, and I quote, “no biggie”. Of course I rushed immediately homeward and reassessed my wardrobe for the day. I don’t want them thinking Gildersleeve’s is some provincial indecorous establishment. Imagine – I didn’t even have a handkerchief about my person.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me they’re about to whisk Theo off for more filming? We really could do with him here whilst the builders are in.’ She slumped into her chair.

  ‘They are researching possible filming locations for the next Wot a Lot! series, and as Theodore has proved such an exceptional hit with the female contingent of the audience, they thought we were worth investigating. I can only thank the heavens and the deities that reside therein that we got you on board when we did. In a few short months you’ve smartened up Gildersleeve’s beyond my wildest imaginings.’