The Unlikely Life of Maisie Meadows

by Jenni Keer

  ‘Are you going to invite us in, Arthur? Or are we having this party on the doorstep?’

  The four of them congregated in Arthur’s small kitchen and it was as dated as his living room: orange beechwood cabinets, brown and cream floral blinds, and Tupperware containers on every surface. The black vinyl-seated kitchen chairs were strewn with laundry and floral threadbare tea towels were draped over the oven handle but it was a cheery room. There was a vase of freshly cut flowers on the windowsill, probably from his stunning front garden, their delicate floral scent jostling with the faint whiff of burnt toast.

  Not expecting the extra two guests, Arthur rummaged for more plates and everyone helped to set out the buffet food on the yellow and black Formica table in the corner. In pride of place stood a hastily iced fruit cake from Essie.

  Maisie’s inner events organiser had won out in the supermarket. They’d purchased balloons, candles, a bottle of fizz, pretty napkins and a bag of party poppers. Theo, amazed by her organisational skills, had insisted on paying for everything – probably feeling guilty that he’d not noticed Arthur’s birthday in the two years he’d known him as an employee and friend.

  There was a satisfying pop of the cork from the Cava and they toasted Essie and Arthur’s landmark birthdays before devouring their fill from the buffet.

  ‘This is the best birthday I’ve had in many a year,’ Arthur said, licking icing sugar from his lips. ‘Probably since my Pam passed away.’

  ‘Maisie told me you’d lost her. I’m sorry. She was a kind lady,’ Essie said.

  ‘She was,’ Arthur confirmed. ‘I still talk to her, you know, tell her about my day, ask her advice … Pathetic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Essie. ‘I still bake for our Frank. Can’t seem to get out the habit. You’ve no idea how much I throw away. But it sort of helps. Keeps me busy.’

  ‘Arthur adores cake, don’t you?’ Maisie said, unleashing her inner Emma again and getting a stern Mr Knightley look from Theo.

  ‘Then he’ll have to come and visit me now we’ve re-established contact, won’t he?’ she said, turning to Arthur. ‘You’ll be helping me out. I can’t bear the waste. Plus, we have so much to catch up on after all these years. I can’t believe we were both still living in Tattlesham and haven’t bumped into each other more. But then I often think you’re more anonymous in a bustling town than a quiet backwater – everyone so protective of their forty square foot of land that they scurry into their houses and shut their front door on their little kingdom without so much as a How Do You Do?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Arthur said.

  Maisie caught the lingering glance between the two old friends. My work here is done, she thought to herself.

  Chapter 45

  After a couple of hours of chatter and merriment, Theo and Maisie discreetly left Essie and Arthur alone. Theo invited her back to his.

  ‘Do you think they’ve even noticed we’ve gone?’ she asked.

  Theo chuckled. ‘It’s kinda sweet. Gives you hope.’

  ‘Hope?’

  ‘Yeah, that everything in life comes together in the end, whatever obstacles are thrown at you along the way.’

  He opened the door to his living-cum-dining room, which was distinctly less cluttered than when she last visited.

  ‘Ooh, had a tidy-up?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s this neat freak at work and she’s like an earworm, telling me things are easier to find if they have a proper place. Drives me nuts but it’s like trying to run away from the wind.’

  ‘And are they? Easier to find?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He still tossed his front door keys onto the sofa though, she noticed, as they slid down the arm and into the gap next to the seat cushion.

  ‘Where do you put all your auction purchases? The house seems less cluttered than before, when by rights it should be chock-a-block with late-twentieth-century nostalgia.’

  ‘Ah, well, since I’ve been doing more entertaining …’ there was a little knife wound to her heart as Maisie realised he was referring to Ella ‘… I’ve needed more space. Ella suggested the garage, actually. Seeing as I never quite get around to putting my car in there. I even dragged some stuff down from the bedrooms. Enough room to swing a Houdini hamster around by his stumpy little tail up there now. Let me show you my treasure trove.’

  They stood together in his suburban garage as she surveyed an Aladdin’s cave of retro collectables: G Plan furniture, boxes of LPs and various vintage household items, framed prints stacked against a wall and a stylish sage-green enamelled appliance that resembled a small Dalek with droopy weapon attachments.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ she asked, pointing to the curious machine.

  ‘A Nineteen-Fifties Hamilton Beach 40DM Triplehead milkshake machine – obviously. I’ve even got the stainless steel cups, erm … somewhere.’

  ‘Oh yeah – the 40DM model. Silly me. Does it still work?’

  ‘Makes the best milkshake this side of the twenty-first century.’ He wiggled his eyebrows.

  ‘And a jukebox? And all those framed posters? What are you going to do with all this stuff?’

  ‘Nothing. I just like it.’ He shrugged, reaching for a Specials LP. ‘Gotta admit – it’s kinda cool.’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I see the appeal of the post-war era. Great period for design and innovation. I might start to collect some pieces myself. I love vintage kitchenalia.’

  ‘But it would have to match, right?’ Theo smiled.

  ‘Naturally. Monochrome or red, and it absolutely can’t upstage Verity’s tea set.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about those marks,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose they might spell a word – like an anagram? I know craftsmen and artists have had fun in the past with symbolism, hidden messages, puzzle boxes and the like.’

  ‘I did work out what they all represented,’ she said, reaching for her phone and scrolling through the gallery for a screenshot of her results. ‘Six letters for each cup, saucer and tea plate: T, I, Y, E, R and U, or possibly V – the alphabet has one symbol for both. Great for Scrabble perhaps but not much help to me.’

  He was looking over her shoulder, the warmth of his breath and a waft of his pine-scented soap giving Maisie more pricklings than the tea set ever had.

  Saying the letters over to herself, they suddenly fell into place. Her body went totally rigid for a second and she had a much-longed-for answer to one of her burning questions.

  ‘Of course – Verity!’ she said. ‘Irene referred to it as Verity’s set when we first met but Essie was adamant there was no one in their family by that name. Does that mean this mysterious lady commissioned it? Or it was the name of the artist and she popped her name on the bottom – like a puzzle?’

  Theo frowned. ‘Possibly, although I’ve not seen someone split their name up into individual letters before … but it’s a pretty name. It derives from the old Latin word “veritas” – meaning truth. Your run-of-the-mill Eighties set gets curiouser by the day.’

  If only he knew the half of it.

  Maisie decided it was difficult being super lovely to someone when they had something you wanted – rather like heartily congratulating someone for winning an award when you were on the shortlist – although she doubted she was ever on Theo’s shortlist, but still. She was determined not to let jealousy spoil her relationship with Ella.

  The shy girl with the hidden talent for fabric design really was starting to bloom – clearly Theo’s input. Still often head down, or with the left side of her face tilted slightly away from people, she engaged more with her colleagues. And although Maisie didn’t have Theo’s easy-going way with her, the two girls were forming a tentative friendship.

  Maisie was in the Tattlesham Community Centre car park, about to attend the still-life class. It promised to cater for all abilities – a bonus because she suspected her years of splodging paint about in hidden rooms was rather childish and she was keen to refine her hob
by. Her love of colour and design had never been in doubt but her eye for still life or portraiture was questionable. She could still remember the teacher at school holding her drawing of a majestic and graceful Black Beauty aloft and asking, ‘But what is it, Maisie? A cat or a poodle?’

  When Maisie undertook something, she liked it to be done properly. People always wrongly assumed if she was a competent graphic designer she could draw. She most definitely could not. Perhaps if she became a better artist she would be more confident showing people other than Theo and Lisa the paintings she produced so recklessly during her quiet evenings.

  A middle-aged couple walked past the window of Maisie’s car, hand in hand, and carrying sketch pads and pencil cases. She waited a further five minutes for Ella but she was a no-show so she collected the leather document wallet containing her bits and pieces and made for the double doors in the industrial-looking brickwork building. Her hand went up to the handle at exactly the same time as a long-haired, unshaven lad dressed completely in black appeared beside her. He was barely twenty if he was a day.

  ‘After you,’ he said, holding the door.

  ‘Thanks. Are you here for the still-life art class?’ she asked, as she slipped through and into reception.

  ‘Totes,’ he replied. ‘Because I’m, like, the teacher.’

  Despite the shock she was older than him, the class was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Ella snuck silently into the back of the room at the last minute and Maisie moved to join her. Despite the youthful Tristan predictably enthusing about line, shadow and form, Maisie’s pathetic effort at a simple apple was uninspiring. It was all very well learning to use a 4B but the complete lack of colour in her little sketch left her feeling flat. Especially when compared to Ella’s triumphant drawing. She could see the object in front of her clearly but when her hand tried to execute the image there was a serious breakdown of communication. It was no good. She simply couldn’t do it but Tristan was eternally optimistic.

  He leaned over her and took the pencil from her fingers. ‘Soft, small lines,’ he purred. ‘Don’t commit to the paper. Feel your way around the curves and then stand back and see where the line needs to be.’ With a few deft strokes of the pencil her apple looked less like a meteorite and more like an edible fruit – even if it was difficult to be specific about which one.

  After the class, Maisie waited outside for Ella, who had stayed back for a quick chat with Tristan. She was clearly weighing up her options, much as Maisie had suggested to Theo, and if the admiring glances Tristan was throwing her earlier were anything to go by, the lucky girl now had two potential suitors. When Ella finally appeared at the door, a pink flush to her face and her long, loose hair about her shoulders, Maisie decided to broach the subject of Theo with her. Working out where he was coming from was like playing blind man’s buff. She thought she’d sussed him, stumbled around to reach out and was then metaphorically poked from behind. She was spinning in circles without direction.

  ‘How do you feel about Theo as a romantic prospect?’ she asked, as they sauntered towards their respective cars. Was Ella interested in the man or not? If not, she knew someone who most definitely was. The night was warm and it was still light, but it wouldn’t be long until those glorious evenings – bathed in the low, setting sun – would start to get shorter again. ‘Hypothetically, of course,’ she added.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Ella gushed, coming to a halt and grasping at Maisie’s arm. ‘He’s wonderful. Have you noticed his sincere and mesmerising eyes? And he’s so kind, especially to people on the sidelines – like Arthur and me. He is going to be the most thoughtful and amazing boyfriend,’ she said. ‘Plus, he’s got a cute bum and very toned legs.’ She gave a shy smile.

  ‘Right.’ Maisie kicked at a loose stone in her disappointment. ‘And you don’t think workplace relationships are a bad idea?’

  ‘I think love is a very precious thing and you should grab it when it comes along, wherever you find it. He’s been a bit down recently, misreading signs and getting himself in a stew, but the more I think about it, all that’s needed is a conversation where both people are honest about their feelings. There is so much room for misunderstanding when people skirt around the issue. Sometimes it takes someone to be bold and lay their heart on the line. Not that I’m one to talk. I’ve spent a lifetime hiding in the shadows.’

  ‘But it’s lovely to see you finally peeping out from them,’ Maisie said.

  ‘That’s down to people like you. Friends are so important and Theo’s helped me step away from destructive relationships – I’m not close to my mother. He’s right – you should choose the people you want to be with and not waste your time on those you feel obligated to.’

  All very well, reflected Maisie, unless the person you wanted to be with was falling in love with someone else.

  The following day, the Gildersleeve’s staff were rushing around more than usual because both Theo and Johnny were off site – so naturally it was the day everything went wrong. The builders had encountered delays with vital deliveries, one of the porters had back issues and couldn’t lift anything, the ladies’ toilet was blocked and everyone was looking to Maisie to steer the ship. By lunchtime she had the mother of all headaches.

  ‘Arthur mentioned a shabby Forties upholstered cocktail chair was dropped off a while ago – they don’t have arms so it wouldn’t need much fabric. It’s in Saleroom One. Want to come and have a look with me?’ Maisie offered Ella. ‘I need to clear my head, even if it only involves the short walk over to the barns. I’ve been so busy I’ve forgotten to photograph some items dropped off this morning.’

  ‘Ooh, yes please,’ she said and they walked over to the saleroom together.

  The chair, Ella announced after sitting in it, was perfect and she noted the lot number.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked Maisie, holding up a Gothic-inspired lamp where the plastic skull was the shade and the vertebrae formed the lamp stem.

  Maisie looked up from where she was squatting to get a good angle of an embroidered fire screen.

  ‘It’s a bedside lamp. Not to my taste but maybe one for the guy who bought the coffin.’

  Ella nodded and continued to inspect it as Maisie snapped away. Peering at Ella through the camera lens, she took a photo of the girl, holding the lamp, her face full of wonder.

  The photograph was perfect. Ella looked beautiful, giving an unguarded smile that made her gentle brown eyes come alive. She was stunning: long lashes, a blush of pink across her apple cheeks and glossy chestnut hair framing her delicate face.

  It was only later, after Ella had gone home, and Maisie was in the back office uploading her other photographs that she came across the picture again. She manipulated the image, cropping it slightly, but there was no need for filters or adjustments. The builders kept popping in to ask her questions she didn’t know the answers to, and Arthur said there’d been an accident in Saleroom Two and a Royal Doulton figurine had ‘come a cropper’.

  ‘Okay, I’ll notify the customer,’ she said, aware she was now running late for her evening out with Zoe – they were making the final pans for the big family meal that Sunday. On top of everything at work, the pressure of pulling off the perfect meal was immense and it was all her brain could focus on. The photo of Ella and the unusual lamp was still on her phone so she hastily posted it to Gildersleeve’s various social media platforms, adding a LookingForSomethingaBitDifferent hashtag and pressed the blue tweet button for it to go live. She turned her phone to silent and headed out the door to meet her sister.

  Skipping into work the following morning, Maisie was pulled aside by a worried-looking Johnny. His brow was more furrowed than a recently ploughed field.

  ‘Oh, dah-ling, I fear you may have incurred the wrath of our most un-wrathlike Theodore. I do not think I can recall ever seeing him so tempestuous. He’s positively a force twelve. My advice is to hastily right the horrendous wrong and apologise, although it may be a case of latching
the stable door long after the mighty stallion has bolted into the wilderness.’

  Maisie hung her handbag over the back of her chair and frowned. Not sure what she’d done to incur Theo’s wrath, at least she now understood the anxious face of the accounts lady as she passed through into the back office.

  ‘Careless, dear Maisie, but I’m certain not intended. Least said, soonest mended. Although speedily deleted, soonest mended would be preferable.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I can’t think—’

  ‘Delete it immediately,’ Theo shouted, storming into the office and throwing back the office door so hard it bounced off the rubber stop and nearly swung back into his face. Only the quick raising of his arm stopped him from getting a face-full of door. ‘How dare you post a picture of a member of my staff without asking their permission and then add such a hurtful hashtag. Ella rang me in tears last night, and will certainly not be in the office today, if ever again.’

  Chapter 46

  A horrible churning sensation began inside Maisie. Slowly at first, like an engine turning over, it gained momentum and began to invade her whole body. She knew in her heart she should have double-checked Ella was okay with her post but it was such a stunning shot, and her colleague had been gaining so much confidence recently. What harm could it do?

  ‘Don’t stand there gawping. Remove it. I would have done it myself if I knew how. Every minute it’s on there, it’s attracting more attention. For God’s sake, Maisie, you’ve really overstepped the line here.’

  Opening up the laptop and sinking into her seat, the true horror of what she’d done unfolded before her eyes. Never post in haste, Gareth taught her at Wickerman’s after a campaign with the OneDrinkAndImYours hashtag for a new beer had rightly led to a huge backlash from irate women across the nation. Social media at its worst – people swooping on innocent posts and tearing them to shreds. Initially assuming Theo’s reaction was disproportionate to her crime, and seeing a healthy number of retweets and likes, she suddenly realised the enormity of her actions.