The next morning, she pressed her fingers into the tops of her shoulders as she listened to Harriet’s mobile start ringing. She was a bit tender from Molly’s magic massage fingers. ‘Did you have fun yesterday?’ she asked when Harriet picked up.
‘It was everything I hoped for! We saw two exhibitions at the Natural History Museum and then popped into the V&A, though we’ll go back there, I’m sure. We made it to Harrods food hall and then had a late lunch in Soho. Then mussels for dinner at Belgo.’
That was more than Sophie usually did in a week. Maybe she’d take the children to explore a new footpath today. Before her treatment, though, in case she needed all the lymphs she could get for the walk. ‘You’re definitely making the most of London.’
‘I always loved living here,’ Harriet explained. ‘I feel like a Londoner even though I wasn’t born here.’
‘Oh? Where were you born?’
‘Not far away. In Epping. Essex.’
‘You don’t have the Essex accent,’ Sophie said. ‘Though is that really Essex?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway, the forest is pretty there. I’m from West Ruislip,’ Sophie went on. ‘We’re at opposite ends of—’
‘The Central line,’ said Harriet.
‘Maybe we’ve stood next to each other at the same station and didn’t know it.’
‘That’s not likely, statistically, given the number of people who use the Tube. At best we’ve breathed the same nanodust particles. Twelve million per minute according to TFL’s data. By the way, I meant to tell you to turn on the air purifiers. They’re very quiet. You won’t even know they’re running.’
‘But this is the countryside,’ Sophie said. ‘What are you purifying?’
Harriet laughed. ‘The countryside. How can you stand the smell? Dung. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘I suppose you’ve got special purifiers that blow nanodust particles around the house, just to get that authentic London feel, eh?’
‘I’d take particulate matter over dung any day,’ said Harriet.
When she’d hung up with Harriet, she said to Dan, ‘I hope they weren’t too surprised by Spot.’
He had his feet propped up on one of the chairs at the enormous farm table. Katie and Oliver were on the sofas in the conservatory. The TV in there was on but the volume was low. She didn’t know where Harriet’s family spent most of their time, but this was already the heart of the house for them.
At first Sophie wasn’t sure he’d heard her. That happened a lot, but then Dan looked up from his phone. ‘You didn’t tell them about Spot?’
‘Of course I bloody didn’t! They might not have swapped.’
Dan chuckled. ‘Good thinking.’
Sophie revelled in the compliment.
‘Mum,’ Katie called from the sofa, ‘could we ring Carlos to see how Spot is doing?’
Sophie’s glance darted to Dan. He wasn’t crazy about the snake. But his eyes stayed on his phone.
‘It’s only been a day, Katie. Let’s give her a chance to miss you.’
‘But I miss her!’
‘It’s not like she’s going to talk on the phone, is she? Leave it.’
‘But Mum!’ Katie whined. ‘Why can’t you just ring Carlos?’
‘I said leave it, Katie.’ Her glance darted again towards Dan. ‘We’ll ring tomorrow and ask Carlos to text you some photos. Now, enough.’
She never liked disciplining the children, but it usually fell to her. Not that Dan wasn’t a hands-on father, but his long hours at the office meant that she was the one who was with them most.
That’s why this holiday was going to be such bliss. It had been ages since they’d spent so much time all together with no distractions.
Sophie was pouring a second bowl of cereal for herself when Oliver said, ‘Someone’s in the garden.’
‘He’s probably a neighbour who’s lost his cow or something,’ said Dan. He ambled into the conservatory. Sophie followed. Soon they were all peering through the French doors.
‘He looks like a soldier with that uniform,’ Katie said.
Dan flung open the doors. ‘Hey, hello!’
The man gave a cheery wave.
Dan and Sophie made their way towards the man. The dewy grass felt good on Sophie’s bare feet. ‘Can I help you?’ Dan called.
‘Sorry if I disturbed you! I’m just looking things over for the fundraiser.’
‘The what?’ Dan asked.
‘The fundraiser. For the Scouts. I’ve been dealing with Harriet about it?’ His eyes darted to Sophie. ‘She did say it was all right to come today.’
Now Sophie saw that his uniform wasn’t armed forces at all. That’s right. Harriet had mentioned the Boy Scouts event.
‘Sorry,’ she told him. ‘They’re away. We’re just staying in their house. Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee? We’ve just made some. Have you had breakfast?’
‘Soph, let the man do his job.’
‘Oh, sorry, yes of course.’
The man answered with a kindly smile. ‘No, thank you. I’ll be out of your way in no time. Just seeing where everything’s going to go. You know, be prepared and all that. Don’t mind me.’ He waved to the children, who were watching him from the doorway.
‘Should I ring Harriet?’ Sophie wondered when they’d returned to the conservatory.
‘No need, it’s taken care of,’ said Dan. ‘We don’t want her to think we can’t handle things here. It sounds like she’s got it all organised. Don’t worry yourself, okay? Now, I need to make a few phone calls. Call me if he needs anything, though.’
‘I’ll let you know if he decides he wants a cup of tea.’ She smirked, but Dan was already on his way down the hall towards James’s office.
Sophie didn’t mean to eavesdrop, she really didn’t, but Dan wasn’t making any effort to keep his phone call private. He could have at least closed the door.
‘I don’t want Jeremy covering my clients,’ she heard him say. ‘I told you, Laxmi, I can do whatever’s needed. You were to ring me as soon as anything came in.’
In the kitchen, Sophie busied herself with a few dirty dishes, but she soon lost interest in the washing-up. Something about the way he was speaking – level, almost robotic – made her nervous for Laxmi.
‘I’m always on my mobile,’ Dan said. ‘Are you trying to tell me what’s best for my clients? I’m sorry, I mistook you for the assistant and me for the solicitor. Do you think I don’t know what’s best? Well, do you? Am I some trainee, Laxmi, who needs his boss looking over his shoulder, dotting all his Is and crossing his Ts?’ His voice rose. ‘Don’t you dare let Jeremy near my files, or I swear to God you won’t have a job when I get back. Do you understand me? You work for me. Tell me you understand me, Laxmi!’
Sophie had never heard Dan shout like that at anyone other than her before. It sounded so nasty. Nasty and disrespectful. It shot such dread into her heart that she found it hard to breathe.
She crept to the office to knock on the door frame. ‘Dan, is everything all right?’
He put his hand over his mobile. ‘It’s fine, darling. Laxmi’s out getting coffee. I think the entire police force might be driving by with their sirens on. Just making sure she can hear me. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’
Then, more quietly to Laxmi, he said, ‘Did you get that, Laxmi? Are we all clear? Good girl.’
Chapter 7
Saturday
Although there was no rule, it seemed like Harriet’s turn to ring Sophie. Maybe she should establish that formally, just so there were no misunderstandings. Harriet didn’t want any misunderstandings with Sophie. She felt very warm towards the woman, and wondered if they were becoming friends. Then she wondered if she should establish that formally, too.
Sophie made her laugh, and didn’t seem to take herself too seriously. Harriet took everything seriously, but she admired informality in others.
It had been quite a while since she’d had a new friend. Eleven ye
ars and seven months. That’s when she’d started at her law firm. New friend-making options narrowed outside of work. They’d squeezed to a pinpoint when she moved to the village. With an hour and a half return commute to Oxford, there wasn’t time for extracurricular relationship-building. A few people in the village had been civil, like Bea from the tea shop, and the butcher, but they weren’t falling over themselves to be her bestie. Only Persephone made the effort, but they were already friendly thanks to James, so she wasn’t a new datapoint.
‘Some of your spices are out of date,’ she told Sophie. ‘I could replace them for you.’
‘Hello to you, too,’ Sophie answered.
‘Yes, hello. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. I had a lymphatic drainage massage yesterday at the spa.’
‘How are they today? Your lymphatics?’
‘Well-drained, I think. I was definitely a puddle after. Do you go to that spa a lot?’
‘Six times a year,’ Harriet said. ‘Does that qualify as a lot?’
‘I’ve been to a spa about three times in my life, so yes, compared to me.’
‘Why haven’t you gone more often if you enjoy it? Can you afford it?’
When Sophie hesitated, Harriet figured she must be tallying up the annual cost.
‘Disposable income-wise, I mean,’ Harriet clarified, to help Sophie with her calculation.
‘Well, um, yes, we’ve got plenty. Although it’s Dan’s, really. I don’t work, so I shouldn’t be wasting it.’
Harriet paused to slot her answers into the right order. ‘But Sophie, just because he gets the pay cheque doesn’t mean you don’t work. You’ve got a full-time job looking after your children. A live-in nanny averages two thousand pounds or more a month in London. Plus room and board. You do that job.’
‘Not as much now that they’re older,’ said Sophie. ‘Although I seem to be carting them around to more activities all the time. I can handle that, since I don’t have a job. I just do some volunteer work in the Salvation Army kitchen. It’s nothing special, peeling hard-boiled eggs or chopping onions, whatever the cooks need on the day. Do you have any idea how much chopped onion goes into their lunches?’
Harriet admitted that she’d never thought about it.
‘I also stuff envelopes for a few of the charity appeals.’
‘Right,’ said Harriet. ‘That’s …’
‘That’s Mondays and Wednesdays,’ Sophie went on. ‘Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays I’m a stockroom assistant for the cancer charity shop, you know, just getting donated clothes ready for sale. Fridays there’s the food bank.’
‘Sophie, then you are working,’ Harriet said.
‘Oh no, it’s only volunteering.’ She laughed. ‘I haven’t got any real responsibility. I’d be hopeless at a proper job. I didn’t even get the volunteer work myself, Dan did. He’s always finding worthwhile things for me to do. Except in summer, obviously, and term breaks when the children are off. But that doesn’t count as a job because I love it.’
What silliness. ‘Just because I love being a solicitor doesn’t mean it’s not a job. If you work then you should get paid. That’s the deal. If an employer tried paying you in enjoyment he’d be taken to a tribunal.’
Harriet didn’t like hearing stay-at-home parents talking like this. Couldn’t they see that they simply enjoyed an alternative method of accounting? ‘Your pay is an internal transfer, that’s all, for looking after the children, the house, Dan. And you don’t get time off. Dan couldn’t have the life he does without you. He’s lucky he’s got you to mind the children. You’re more reliable than anyone he could hire. And as for wasting money, what’s wasteful about looking after your health? Or at least your drainage.’
Sophie laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m going to book more massages when I get back to London. Maybe I’ll ask for a course of treatments for my birthday.’
‘When is that? How old are you?’ She’d guess mid-thirties.
‘Forty-one, and not till October. When’s yours?’
‘That’s too long to wait. You should book a course as soon as you get back.’
‘When’s your birthday?’ Sophie repeated.
Harriet hadn’t forgotten the question. ‘Two weeks from tomorrow.’
‘Are you going to celebrate?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Harriet. She hadn’t celebrated her birthday since she was twenty-five. Then it was only because her parents threw a surprise party for her. She gave strict orders, before they’d even cut the cake, that that wasn’t ever to happen again.
People made too much of birthdays, especially the ‘big’ ones. The date of one’s birth was no more momentous than the date before or after it. A birthday was simply the point at which one person was born within one of earth’s twenty-four-hour rotations (out of something like 350,000, as it happened). In other words, not worth the breath it took to blow up the balloons.
‘I love my birthday,’ said Sophie. ‘You might change your mind.’
Harriet doubted that, when she got the sweats at the very idea of talking to any more people than could fit comfortably in the back of a taxi.
‘The Scout leader was here to look at the garden, by the way,’ Sophie added.
‘Good. He was scheduled to.’ She was glad to move away from birthdays.
‘Is there anything I should do for that?’
‘No, I’ve arranged it all,’ Harriet told her. Her mind raced over the plan. ‘The organiser will be there on Monday for the initial assessment, although the Scout leader should have fed back. He won’t need access to the house, and I’ve sent him a schematic for the outside. The vendors have all got their deadlines for delivery. I’m sorry about that, but everything should be taken care of with no disruption for you.’
‘No problem. So how are you enjoying London?’
‘I love being here, though James doesn’t.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry! Do make everything comfortable for yourselves in the house. If there’s anything you need, just say.’
‘It’s not the house. It’s him. He hates the city, which is problematic because he needs to love this holiday.’
‘I guess he needs the break. I know how you feel. Dan hasn’t had a holiday in three years.’
Sophie was missing the point, but that wasn’t her fault when Harriet hadn’t told her the point. The urge to share this information surprised her. On the one hand, she barely knew Sophie. She wasn’t in the habit of bringing strangers into her confidence, especially about something so personal. But it would feel really good to have someone to talk to. Usually that was James. There were advantages in talking to an outside party. Should she?
But then Sophie added, ‘I really hope Dan can relax, too. So far he’s been on his phone a lot.’
The moment was gone. ‘That’s understandable when he’s away from his clients. The work doesn’t stop, much as we’d like it to.’ She thought of her own office. She’d promised she would only ring once, next Friday, to check in. In her opinion, Dan should have made the same commitment to his family. ‘Are you sure I can’t replace your out-of-date spices?’
‘What do you mean by out of date?’ Sophie asked. ‘It’s oregano, not chicken. I’m sure they’re fine, but knock yourself out if you want. You must be sure to give me your bank details though, for anything you buy.’
Harriet promised before they said goodbye. Then she turned to James and said, ‘We’re winning. In the house swap.’
‘It’s not a competition, dear heart.’
Pssh, as if. ‘We’re still winning.’
Carlos rang the doorbell just after breakfast. At least he didn’t let himself in with his keys this time.
‘Do you want a drink?’ James prompted from the kitchen when she’d answered the door.
‘Oh, yes. Do you want a drink?’ Harriet repeated.
‘Sure, thank you, a tea would be nice.’ He followed her back to the kitchen. ‘Have you heard from Sophie and Dan?’
�
�I’ve just been on the phone to Sophie.’ Harriet flicked on the kettle.
‘Is she having fun?’
‘Yes.’ She added a teabag to one of the mugs from the cabinet. At least they were all together in one place now. Sophie had had them scattered everywhere: mixed in with glasses, piled on top of dishes, even in the drawers where most of the pots and pans had been.
Harriet didn’t say anything else, so Carlos didn’t take long to drink his tea. Then he disappeared upstairs to do whatever one did to amuse a python.
She had to bite down a sigh when Billie came into the kitchen. ‘You are not wearing that today.’
James gave her a look but didn’t say anything.
‘Quite obviously, Mum, I am.’ Once she’d poured herself some coffee, she hitched up the back of her faded cut-off denim shorts. ‘You’re the one who’s always saying I should get my legs out more. See? They’re out.’
‘I meant in something pretty. How long have you had those tatty old things?’ She could almost forgive the shorts, which were too long for Billie’s slim legs, if she’d wear a nice top instead of that stretched-out old rainbow t-shirt (also faded). ‘You’re such a lovely girl. I just wish you’d put in some effort. You will change before we go into town, won’t you?’
‘No, Mum, I won’t, actually. I’m sorry, for the millionth time, that I’m not the fashion model you want me to be, but this is what I like to wear. I don’t criticise your clothes.’
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Harriet knew they were perfectly fine. Better than fine. Stylish, even. She’d set out every single outfit, from the shoes to the top, before she’d packed. And repacked.
Billie didn’t even give her the courtesy of an answer. Instead she started flicking around on her blasted phone.
Their daughter could creep under her skin and lodge herself there like nobody else. Even James didn’t unsettle her the way Billie could.
Harriet’s heart slivered a little more every time she thought about the way they’d been getting on lately. Which she couldn’t help but do whenever they were in the same room.
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 7
