Home

by Penny Parkes

  ‘I’m not a complete heathen!’ Anna replied, neglecting to mention that her only nod to etiquette had been turning pages with her right hand and eating Camembert with her left. Thinking about it now, she wondered whether she had officially taken leave of her senses – perhaps it was the first unequivocal sign of madness? Her usual deference for great literature the one enduring factor in a life where libraries had always been her solace and her sanctuary.

  ‘We only ask because we care,’ Kate boomeranged back around. ‘You haven’t let anyone see so much as a synopsis.’

  ‘I promise you, when I’m finished, you’ll be the first to read it,’ Anna said, quietly wondering whether at some point she’d actually have to write a bloody book just to shut her friends up. There were worse motivators to put pen to paper, she conceded. And certainly they wouldn’t consider her constant questing to keep moving an acceptable life plan – ‘plan’ in itself being too strong a word for the geographic chaos of her life.

  ‘Now, tell me about the honeymoon at least, if I can’t persuade you to be excitable about tulle and gypsophila.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Is that some pervy sex thing that’s passed me by again?’

  Anna laughed, loving the ease with which they found their feet together. ‘I think it’s a tiny white flower you shove in your hair.’ She paused. ‘Unless I’m behind the times too.’

  ‘God, we’re just useless aren’t we? I mean, we’re bright, educated women. Not hideously disfigured. Why do I feel so constantly out of step with the world around me?’ Kate’s perfect browline furrowed. ‘And I always seem to come round to the fact that I just don’t care enough.’

  Anna faltered. ‘About getting married?’

  ‘No, no, I mean – well, maybe? I want to be married if that counts? I just keep thinking of the library I could fill with what we’re spending on canapés and nonsense.’ She grinned. ‘But then I tell myself we’re making memories and you can’t put a price on those.’ She paused. ‘Although about seventy-five quid a head seems to be the going rate.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Anna said. ‘Just as well I’m not getting married. I could only have six people at my wedding before going broke,’ she joked. She didn’t clarify that there were only six people she’d actually want to invite; it seemed a little too pity-inducing when she knew full well that Kate and Duncan’s special day would be celebrated by dozens of their friends and family.

  ‘About that, actually…’ Kate hesitated and suddenly Anna felt exactly like the fool she undoubtedly was. Of course there was a reason that Kate had been so insistent that they meet, catch up, ‘talk properly before I’m all dressed up like a meringue.’

  ‘So he’s definitely coming?’ Anna said, taking the high road, making it easier. If not for herself.

  Kate nodded. ‘We could hardly not invite the groom’s brother, Pod. I mean, I think he’s a reprehensible human being for what he did to you, but what could I do?’

  ‘We could kill him?’ Anna suggested, laughter masking the edge to her voice. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t considered it.

  ‘Nah,’ said Kate. ‘You’d look rubbish in orange and you’d get all twitchy if you couldn’t move house every five seconds. Besides,’ she breathed out, as though girding herself, ‘he seems to be doing a perfectly decent job of that on his own.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anna quietly. There was no need to explain. ‘Well then, I’ll smile and wave and hope that he has the good sense to stay away from the bar on your big day.’

  Kate nodded. It was all any of them could wish for, really. ‘Wear a killer dress though, yes? I mean, surely he should be forced to see what he’s missing out on?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘It’ll be the trusty jersey dress, as per usual. Take me as you find me.’ With the added benefit that it rolled up small and didn’t crease, but Kate didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Hmmm. Well, if I’m going to have to take part in some patriarchal ceremony just to get married quarters in College and a trip to the Seychelles, maybe you should tiptoe out of your comfort zone too? I could lend you something?’

  ‘You have enough to think about,’ Anna hedged.

  ‘As a favour to me?’ Kate countered. ‘I mean, it’s bad enough you won’t be my bridesmaid. Surely I can impose some measure of my discomfort on you too?’

  ‘Remind me again why you have to be uncomfortable on your wedding day?’ Anna asked.

  Kate pulled her into another of her heartfelt hugs. ‘I’m not entirely sure. But I cannot deny that my legs look amazing in heels – who knew?’

  ‘Apart from everyone else?’ Anna teased her, tucking a wayward curl back behind her friend’s ear. ‘Just promise me you’re not going to straighten your hair, or Duncan won’t even recognise you as you walk down the aisle.’

  Kate coloured slightly. ‘Well I’m not going to promise to obey and nobody’s giving me away like an old suitcase, if that helps?’

  Anna just smiled. Words eluded her; it confused and intrigued her in equal measure that her staunchly feminist friend was taking vows at all. It had seemed like the one thing they had both always agreed on – they didn’t need to belong to anyone.

  ‘Don’t judge me, Pod,’ Kate whispered so quietly that Anna could barely hear her above the rustle of grass and the dogs’ joyful panting. ‘God help me, I love him. And I want to be his wife.’ She turned to hold Anna’s gaze and the conflict was written all over her face – how to choose between principles and love, ideals and convention.

  ‘And tomorrow you will be,’ Anna replied, leaning forward in a rare display of affection and kissing Kate lightly on one cheek. ‘And I will be there to sign the register and raise a glass to the new Mrs Howard.’ She swallowed hard; nobody said unconditional support would be easy.

  Kate laughed. ‘I love him, Pod, but I’m not giving up my name or my doctorate. I’ll still be the Dr Porter you know and love.’

  Anna nodded in relief, the lump in her throat making it hard to say anything. And really, what else could she actually say?

  Tomorrow was just another day, another challenge, another rite of passage that Anna herself would never experience. And of course, there would be Max to contend with – another gem in the day to look forward to.

  Chapter 3

  Oxford, 2019

  With both dogs nicely tired and drying by the Aga, Anna made herself a cup of coffee, still jumping at the violent spurt of steam from the slightly overstated Ferrari of coffee machines. Typically, she would just about master its quirks and foibles the day before she left. It was ever thus.

  Her phone trilled beside her on the kitchen counter.

  ‘Can you talk?’ It was Emily.

  ‘Morning. You’re up bright and early,’ Anna replied, deftly adding just a small swirl of cream as she hit speakerphone.

  ‘How’s it going? Any more visits from Fraser Junior?’ There was a hint of concern in Emily’s voice. It was highly irregular for a client’s friends or family to randomly let themselves in while a house-sitter was in residence.

  Anna sighed, glancing over at the kitchen table where this morning’s note had been propped against the sugar bowl while she was out with Kate and the dogs. It wasn’t so much that Andrew Fraser was a nuisance, but that Anna never felt that she could properly relax. Although that could also have something to do with the looming nuptials tomorrow and being back on her old stomping ground. Every knock at the door, ring of the phone, key in the lock made her jumpy and it wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed; another reason she sought out anonymous isolation.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll get used to the idea of me being here soon. I mean, his parents obviously trust me enough to give me free rein in their home and with their gorgeous dogs. I’m not quite sure what his problem is really,’ Anna said resignedly.

  ‘Some people are just uncomfortable with the idea of a house-sitter, you know? I mean, it’s none of his business technically, but I can’t do much more to appease him from here,’ Emily said.

 
‘More?’ Anna missed nothing, and she heard her friend’s sharp intake of breath as she realised her misstep.

  ‘It’s nothing. I mean, nothing really. He just phoned a few times midweek. Threatened to make a formal complaint. But we’ve talked him down. It’s not going to be a problem.’

  Emily was firm with the reassurances, but for Anna it was too little too late. They both knew only too well how her livelihood depended on the quality of her reviews. She could live or die professionally by the number of little yellow stars next to her name on the website. Her stellar rating to date was a point of both pride and practicality. Anna was one of the very few house-sitters on the books to be booked up months and months in advance and she liked it that way. No time to hesitate or consider her options.

  ‘What did he say?’

  There was silence for a moment as Emily clearly considered her words carefully. ‘That you were difficult to deal with and stand-offish.’

  ‘I was stand-offish? He let himself in and wandered around upstairs while I was having a shower! What a bloody cheek.’ She paused. ‘Is he going to be a problem, Ems?’

  ‘I hope not. I may have rather dropped him in it with his mother when she called. Maybe he’ll listen to her? She’s kind of formidable. And in the meantime, lock the bathroom door, yes? We don’t want any more “accidental” interruptions.’ Her tone was firm, Emily herself rather formidable when she chose to be.

  Anna pushed open the French windows and, with the warmth of the Aga behind her, gazed out over the beautiful lawns and landscape that framed the manor house. The spires of Christ Church were on the horizon and the morning mist had evaporated as the temperatures climbed. Had growing up in a home like this been wasted on Andrew Fraser? It was a source of constant amazement to Anna just how much people took for granted, or considered their due.

  ‘Listen, while I’ve got you, are you quite sure you won’t reconsider the Anderson job? They’re terribly keen to get it all sorted even though it’s not until Christmas.’

  ‘Remind me again?’ Anna asked, the Rolodex of houses and names in her head whirring; a blur of Georgian townhouses, Regency villas and ‘architect-designed’ nouveau pads all over the world that were on the cards in the months to come. ‘Was that the one with the flowers?’

  ‘Orchids,’ Emily said. ‘A world of difference apparently. But they really like your profile.’

  ‘That’s lovely, but honestly, Em. I don’t so much have green fingers as murderous thumbs. I can water a few spider plants and make a good fist of a veg patch but humidity-controlled conservatories are way out of my comfort zone. What if they came back to find all their prized plants limp and frazzled?’

  Emily laughed. ‘They don’t mind that you haven’t got experience; they just want someone trustworthy and responsible. They’ve offered a few days to get you and the orchids acclimatised?’

  Anna frowned; that in itself made a pleasant change from the bungled handover she’d received here. ‘Look, Ems, you know my rules. Under-promise and over-deliver. I can’t in all conscience take on a job I’m ill-equipped to handle.’

  ‘Okay, well, it doesn’t hurt to ask occasionally. Just in case your principles are slipping.’ Emily laughed. ‘And I suppose asking you about the feature in The Telegraph is—’

  ‘Wasting your breath,’ Anna finished for her. She knew that house-sitting was a growth industry, catching the public’s imagination in recent months in a way nobody could have foreseen. It was something about the life of the nomad that appealed to everyone perhaps, even if they weren’t necessarily brave enough to take the leap themselves. Trying on a different life for size, possibly one that would never be attainable otherwise. But it wasn’t all stunning architecture and luscious interiors; it took a special sort of soul to keep on moving on.

  ‘It’s only that most of my sitters are part-time. A few weeks or months a year at most. You’re my one and only,’ Emily said.

  ‘That might be the case, but it doesn’t mean I want my face wrapped around cod and chips, Em,’ Anna said firmly.

  It wasn’t as though Anna lived off-grid – just because she didn’t have a permanent address didn’t mean she was out of the loop. She practically ran her life online, but a newspaper feature felt just too public, too exposing and unmanageable. Anna liked to keep her online presence carefully curated. With a mobile phone and an email address she could be anywhere and nobody would be any the wiser… emails, e-vites, text messages all reached her easily enough.

  Unless, of course, someone felt the need to send you a fully embossed wedding invitation complete with scented lavender sprigs… Then, well then, she’d had a little explaining to do. The concept of poste restante reducing even Kate to disbelieving silence for a moment or two.

  It was almost as though the mechanics of her life confused her friends: like her ability to travel light and never, ever unpack. But it was probably for the best that they didn’t understand the lack of credit card at her disposal – simply budgeting to live within her means – as apparently ‘credit’ required a postcode where they could track you down if needed! Even Anna’s habit of picking up her mail care of a nominated Post Office could throw her friends completely.

  Emily may not technically count as a friend – they’d barely met after all – but Anna talked to her more often than anyone else in her life and at least Emily knew where to find her on any given day. Explanations were unnecessary. For the most part.

  ‘Okay. I’ll let them know. And, Anna? Try and enjoy the wedding, yes? It’s why you’re there, after all.’

  Anna hung up the phone and stared across towards her alma mater with unseeing eyes. The notion of enjoying the wedding hadn’t even crossed her mind; she’d been stuck in endurance mode. Glancing at her watch, she decided to change gear. Easier said than done of course, but for the first time in a long time, it seemed worth the effort.

  * * *

  After an hour of bathroom ablutions the next morning involving razors, leave-in conditioners and some kind of face mask that promised to be ‘cruel to be kind’ – she’d actually felt her pores tightening, she thought with a shudder – Anna could remember only too well why she refused to espouse this level of grooming on a daily basis. She couldn’t help but wonder how many talented female brains were limited from reaching their full potential because of hair – styling it, colouring it, removing it… Was hair in fact a key limiting factor in smashing the proverbial glass ceiling, she thought, and not for the first time.

  A hammering at the front door stopped her in her tracks. Thoughts immediately turning to Andrew Fraser and her current state of undress, even before logic prevailed and with it the disconcerting realisation that Andrew Fraser didn’t bother to knock. Tightening the belt on her dressing gown, she pushed open the window overlooking the front courtyard. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Delivery, darlin’!’

  She glanced briefly at the comforting brown-liveried van on the driveway. ‘Can you leave it on the doorstep?’ she replied. ‘Does it need a signature?’

  ‘Well that depends, I suppose.’ The delivery man stepped back in order to locate the source of her voice, smiling at the turban slipping from her still-dripping wet hair. ‘If you’re Anna Wilson, I can just pop it inside the porch for you, love. If you trust me to do the honours?’ He waved his hand in the air as though signing a name.

  ‘That would be great,’ she replied, even as the thought crossed her mind as to how many people actually knew she was here, let alone wanted to send her a parcel. ‘What is it?’ she called down impulsively and the delivery man grinned.

  ‘Not for me to say, but you know I’ve been doing this a few years now and my money would be on a posh frock. In tissue paper. It kind of rustles – that’s always the giveaway.’ He glanced at his clipboard and winked. ‘Lucky girl. From the insurance value alone, that has to be one posh frock. Are you sure you just want me to leave it?’

  Anna nodded, knowing she’d be down those stairs before his van had even le
ft the drive. ‘It’s fine.’

  She pulled the window closed, holding her breath for a second as it wobbled ominously in its Crittall frame and wondering when Veronica Fraser had last thrown it open with such abandon.

  Kate. It had to be from Kate, she realised, as she dashed down the stairs and quickly pulled the rectangular dress box inside, feeling its weight, knowing its worth, and wondering why she was even surprised. Surely the fact that Kate had taken her refusal to be a bridesmaid with such calm acquiescence should have alerted her. Kate never took no for an answer, and judging by the decadent swathes of bluebell silk nestled in the tissue paper, her wedding day would be no different.

  See you in the vestry. Don’t be late – we’re doing this together or not at all! Much love Kx

  Anna swallowed hard, touched and panicked in equal measure.

  The fact that staunchly feminist Kate was getting married at all was a wonder; the fact that she refused to do it without her best friend’s support should come as no revelation.

  Old friends were indeed the best friends; but even old friends didn’t always know the full picture. Or indeed how big an ask it was for Anna to step into even the periphery of the bridal limelight.

  Her phone beeped beside her and the text message made Anna smile. Kate had thought of everything.

  Get yourself in that dress and over here, Anna Wilson, or you can explain to Duncan why he’s standing there like a plum at midday. Love you, darling. No excuses, okay? I’ll hold your hand. Well, not during the vows obviously, although that’s always an option… Kxx

  Chapter 4

  Oxford, 2019

  Anna’s cheeks had begun to ache with the effort of smiling long before the ceremony was over. Standing at the front of the church, even wearing the admittedly beautiful dress, was absolutely the last way she had wanted to celebrate her best friend’s marriage. She’d had high hopes for a discreet pew at the back where she could snivel unapologetically into a hanky. She’d known it would be an emotional day.