Home

by Penny Parkes

  Maybe, she thought by way of distracting herself, this was what Oscar’s bedroom looked like too? Had Henry lovingly painted his name on the bedroom door; did he curl up at night and read him a story? She would find out, she realised, with a nervous intake of breath, when she went to visit next month. She could still hardly believe that she’d suggested it. Something about that peregrine falcon in London had made her long for such strength and beauty in her own actions – although ideally without collateral avian casualties.

  Well, at least Arthur couldn’t fault that she was following his advice to seize the day. The postgrad prospectuses in her handbag alone carried a ring of progress about them. No regrets for not exploring this sooner; she simply hadn’t been ready.

  But she might be now.

  Anna paused, noticing that each bed was adorned with a much-loved teddy bear from the Hundred Acre Wood. Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and Eeyore sitting confidently on each pillow, as though to mark ownership. Despite herself, Anna couldn’t help but wonder about the child allocated the doleful Eeyore though, and whether this was a prescient marker for her future mental health. And, also, why each slightly mangled bear wasn’t allowed to go on holiday too.

  Nitpicking.

  Determined to find fault with this family home. This home where the rooms were still stylish and modern, but without detriment to comfort or ease. Indeed, bizarrely, the clutter seemed to add to, rather than detract from, the welcoming palette of sand, teal and eau-de-nil in the sitting room.

  Aspirational.

  It was a word that was bandied about all too often on the Home Network website. And yet, to Anna, it had lost all meaning. Too often, it was coupled with thread counts and wet rooms and marble-countered kitchens stuffed with unused appliances.

  An aspirational life.

  What did that even mean? Was she supposed to long for the luxury that had left Liza so lonely and insecure in Dittisham? Or the promise of inherited wealth that made Andrew Fraser so dissatisfied and entitled? While the Henrys and Callies and Annabels of this world in fact offered so much more, just by being themselves? Who they were, rather than what they could flaunt to the world?

  And yet, hadn’t she herself spent the last decade leapfrogging from one decadent bolthole to another, drawn like a moth to a flame by the promise of well-stocked libraries, waterfall showers and overstuffed sofas?

  She looked out into the garden, framed by smart bifold doors covered in sticky handprints. The landscaped garden was again a scene of casual disorder: a plastic sand tray studded with dinosaurs in danger of drowning in the small lake of rainwater that filled the quarried trenches; a set of tiny deck chairs arranged in a huddle, as though for miniature pensioners on a day out at the beach… And then there was Anna’s personal favourite: a wooden playhouse with window boxes stuffed to the gills with flowering plants and scented herbs.

  These children were loved.

  These children were adored.

  She picked up a tiny jewellery box, cardboard carefully adorned with painted macaroni, a heart picked out in glossy red poster paint, smudged by tiny fingers, and sighed, her mind chasing itself in loops of contradictions and judgements.

  She had never owned anything as precious as this small box and she felt an overwhelming surge of emotion that she couldn’t identify. Envy? Perhaps. Or maybe simply the hollow recognition of missed opportunities.

  As a child.

  But also – dare she even think it? – as an adult. She shuddered at the very implication.

  She was here to observe.

  And with that thought, the memory returned. The moment she had clicked on this placement, filled with certitude and conviction that it was the right place to be. The right time to be looking beyond her own carefully curated corridor of placements that always, always fell into the beautiful yet shallow category.

  She could almost physically recall the sense of urgency that she had felt as she read the outline from Mrs Loseley, the sudden and uncharacteristic desire to peek behind the curtain and dare to see how families – real families in Middle England – lived their day-to-day. God knows, Anna herself had spent the last three decades between extremes: she’d wanted to know what normal – what ordinary – felt like. Looked like.

  Not her own early childhood of scarcities and fear, nor those she visited with untold privilege and wealth, but how those parents in the world in between managed their lives: prioritising their children, their families and more often than not, going without… These were the families where a week in Devon or Cornwall was the height of their summer extravagances, carefully saved for. These were families where the children’s happiness was the only currency that mattered.

  Anna replaced the jewellery box tenderly, reverently.

  Two weeks. Two weeks to gain a little insight into the life in between. Not her own childhood. Nor the borrowed luxury with which she had so effectively distracted herself. But a little reality, or at least one kind of the many.

  She thought of Callie, of how her life might be so different were she to grow up in a home where she was truly heard and supported. She dared to think of herself.

  So many what ifs and maybes.

  So many versions of the truth.

  She sat down on the sofa, the cushions squashing beneath her, and picked up a large stuffed elephant, its sumptuous softness dented in places by tiny arms and insistent fingers. With the weight of him against her chest, she allowed herself to imagine, for a moment, a life like this.

  Chapter 48

  Chipping Norton, 2019

  ‘How many fresh starts can one person have?’ Anna asked, barely giving Kate time to get out of her car that Friday. Jittery with caffeine and a long few days alone with her thoughts, Anna’s urgent need for an answer seemed to override any decorum.

  ‘Well hello to you too, darling girl!’ Kate laughed, her tanned face radiant and serene, despite the mammoth flight from the Seychelles and her return to work. Married life obviously suited her.

  ‘Sorry,’ Anna said, duly chastened, yet still looking expectantly at her best friend, waiting for an answer.

  Heaving her weekend bag onto her shoulder – all Anna’s attempts over the years to advocate the freedom of travelling light falling on deaf ears – Kate looked around. ‘Do you mean here?’ she clarified.

  ‘Here, anywhere. You know, in general,’ Anna said. ‘Seriously, though, how many times can you have a do-over without just seeming like the biggest flake in the world?’

  ‘Umm, Flakes.’ Kate grinned. ‘I could actually murder some chocolate—’ She broke off in her teasing, suddenly seeming to realise that Anna needed a serious answer. ‘I think,’ she said, looping her arm through Anna’s and looking around the cul-de-sac, ‘however many times you need. I don’t think it’s a finite thing, Anna. In the same way that I don’t believe there’s only one Mr Right for each person, or just one chance to make a first impression. I think,’ she paused, furrowing her brow in an attempt to get the words right, ‘that if you’re honest and authentic and keep grafting, then you get as many shots as you need.’

  Anna nodded, considering. ‘And the flakiness?’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I actually think it’s braver to admit to making a mistake and make a change, than it is to stay stuck in a situation that isn’t working. Whether it’s a job, or a relationship, or even a family.’ Kate watched Anna’s face carefully to gauge her reaction. ‘And I’m thinking that, maybe you, Anna, deserve a few on account. A few U-turns, a few false starts? So what? Who are you trying to impress? You have only yourself to answer to, so maybe it’s okay if you stumble around a bit…’

  ‘Trial and error?’

  ‘Better than error then trial,’ Kate said, the riposte instinctive. The comfort, though, in their long-standing jokes, from their shared history, was never to be underestimated.

  ‘I’ll do my best, but there’s form in the family,’ Anna said, shrugging off the host of challenging feelings that instantly crowded in wh
enever she so much as referred to her parents. So many questions about what her DNA might be carrying, waiting for the right time to blow up her existence more effectively than TNT. Lousy parenting, criminal tendencies, addictive personalities? Harder to quantify than blue eyes and brown hair, but nonetheless a possibility.

  ‘Before we dive in to the whole nature versus nurture debate, can I have a pee and a cup of tea?’ Kate asked apologetically. ‘And since, by the look on your face, you’ve been up all night going batshit crazy, maybe I should be the one to tackle the kettle. Oh, and—’ she turned and reached into the passenger footwell, balancing a precarious foil package on the palm of her hand. ‘Alex sends his love and his signature pineapple upside-down cake. He thought it might make you smile, apparently.’ Kate handed it over with a knowing look. ‘He does like a bit of nostalgia, my little brother.’

  ‘I knew I liked you Porters for a reason,’ Anna replied, truly touched, her smile genuine and her relief at Kate’s reassuring presence almost overwhelming.

  ‘Well, why wouldn’t you? We are fabulous,’ Kate said easily, her eyes widening as they stepped inside. ‘Jesus, this place is huge. Can you even imagine having this much space in Oxford?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘You’d have to sell your firstborn to afford it, which kind of negates the point of a family house then, right? Actually, I think the husband commutes in from here. It’s all a trade-off isn’t it, once kids get involved.’

  Kate wandered around, having seemingly forgotten the urgent call of her bladder. ‘How on earth do they keep everything so organised though? I mean – for God’s sake – the Lego bricks are colour-coded.’

  Anna pulled an awkward face. ‘Yeah, uh, that was me actually. Couldn’t sleep.’

  Kate turned her head slowly, with the focus and poise of an eagle owl alighting on her prey. ‘You stayed up all night, sorting someone else’s Lego? Oh, honey…’

  ‘Not all night,’ Anna protested. ‘And besides, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. It’s strangely soothing, like meditation, but you know, actually useful.’

  Kate shrugged. ‘Well I suppose it’s less addictive than Valium.’

  ‘And cheaper than vodka.’

  Kate stepped forward and pulled Anna into a hug. ‘God I’ve missed you, you tiny eejit. Can we please agree that a month is far too long?’

  ‘Agreed,’ muttered Anna into her jumper. ‘No more honeymoons for you, okay?’

  ‘Ah shit.’ Kate sighed. ‘I forgot to bring the wedding photos. I’m so sorry. I’ve got a few of the island on my phone but all the fancy ones from the wedding photographer are sitting by my front door.’

  ‘Useless girl,’ Anna breathed, choosing to stay in her friend’s embrace and hide the instinctive sigh of relief from her reprieve. It had been the only cloud on the horizon of their long weekend together: the necessity to relive every moment of one of the worst days of Anna’s life, thanks to Andrew Fraser.

  ‘Oh,’ Kate pulled away, ‘and I have news. Try not to gloat, but Max got sacked. Duncan’s furious with him, but I can’t help a little schadenfreude on this one. You’ll never guess why.’

  Anna blinked, waiting for the glee to kick in at his demise, yet strangely feeling nothing bar a mild intrigue. ‘I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’d been drinking and he passed a colleague’s work off as his own?’

  Kate nodded happily. ‘Long time coming, but still, it has to be sweet?’

  ‘Is it weird that I just can’t bring myself to care all that much?’ Anna said, pulling an embarrassed face. Max-bashing was one of their favourite rituals. Max’s various dumpings, demotions, and even the first signs of his receding hairline had all brought a little vicarious entertainment over the years. Yet this one – arguably the most salient hiccup in his otherwise gilded existence – left Anna cold.

  ‘Mate! I am so proud of you. If you can’t get excited about a little reckoning then I’m happy to say that you finally have closure. Maybe it was seeing him at the wedding? Was it the apology – I know it was long overdue…’ Kate slowly petered out, waiting for a response from Anna. A word, a sign, anything really to show that she was engaged in the conversation.

  Instead Anna simply shrugged. So much had happened since she’d seen Max at Kate’s wedding, she’d honestly almost forgotten about it. And all the ups and downs of the last month had seemingly reconfigured the filing system in her brain.

  All these years, constantly moving around, everything running smoothly, she’d returned to those old thoughts and grievances again and again, a well-worn groove in the vinyl of her life. Yet all the upheaval and soul-searching since that night at Gravesend Manor, all the abrupt changes in plans and the people she’d met, were now front and centre in her mind’s eye.

  Fresh, new experiences and hopes, finally, at long last, eclipsing the old.

  ‘Poor Max. His mum will be furious,’ Anna said eventually. ‘Now, about that cup of tea?’

  * * *

  ‘This place is amazing, like it’s built with families in mind and the world here revolves around them,’ Kate said, standing at the bifold doors with a mug of milky tea in her hand and staring out across the gardens, rooftops and fields beyond. There was a cheering soundtrack of children laughing and splashing in their paddling pool next door, while a small yappy terrier attempted, by all accounts, to join them. Across the way, you could hear two other neighbours talking about delphiniums over their fences, a little local gossip thrown in for good measure.

  ‘Maybe,’ Anna said. ‘It’s exactly what I wanted when I was growing up, for sure. But now? I don’t know – it feels a bit full-on, doesn’t it? Everyone so sociable, so friendly. Three of the neighbours already introduced themselves. One of them had muffins, Kate. In a basket. We’re going to yoga on Tuesday, God help me.’

  Kate frowned. ‘But isn’t that what you do, as you move around? You always seem to be gathering new friends, new acquaintances, getting the lie of the land?’

  ‘It’s exactly what I do.’ Anna nodded, frowning. ‘And that’s why I can’t quite put my finger on why this feels different.’

  Kate slurped her tea, deep in thought. ‘If you asked my mum she’d probably have some fancy anthropological reason, but if you’re asking me – well, I reckon it’s because this feels real. It isn’t some fancy apartment in Chelsea, or a brownstone in Brooklyn, or even that shiny uber-glazed place down by the sea the other week. This isn’t a rarefied life. This is just life. A nice one, don’t get me wrong, but it’s all so ordinary isn’t it?’ She paused for a second, weighing her options. ‘And, if I didn’t know better, Pea Pod, I would hazard a guess that it’s exactly the reason you chose it.’

  She reached out a hand, their fingers only inches apart. ‘Maybe you had a point when we spoke last week – maybe you are finally ready to think about the kind of life you want. Realistically. Not through the portal of Home Network’s fancy clients.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Anna mumbled.

  ‘And maybe,’ Kate ploughed on, ‘it’s a good thing to look beyond the smoke and mirrors of a place like this. Beyond the muffin baskets and yoga?’ She put her hands on Anna’s shoulders and turned her to face eastwards, towards the town. ‘Somewhere in there, a man is leaving his wife’ – another small turn – ‘and another wife is cheating on her husband.’ Another turn. ‘A woman is crying because she can’t handle her toddlers and her job, and another is crying because she can’t get pregnant.’ Ten more degrees towards the sun. ‘There’s a couple celebrating their engagement, and another one thrilled with a longed-for promotion.’ Kate let go and shrugged. ‘There’s probably a few people shagging, or dying, or bored out of their skulls too—’

  ‘Although hopefully not at the same time,’ Anna cut in drily. ‘I get it, I do.’

  ‘Do you, though, Pod? Do you see that there is no such thing as a straightforward life? It’s not all about where you are. Life happens anyway. The good and the bad. I just want yours to be filled with lovely people and a fulfill
ing job – whatever that may be. Wherever you land.’

  Anna nodded, the depth of Kate’s emotions almost tangible in the echoing kitchen.

  ‘You only get one pass at this, Anna Wilson. I think you have to start making it count.’

  Anna smiled and Kate hesitated, thrown for a second. ‘Are you mocking my attempt to be your Yoda?’

  ‘Nope,’ Anna said, the air flowing freely into her lungs for the first time in a long time, without the constrictions that held her together so often. ‘It’s just that you’re pushing against an open door.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since last week. Or actually since about twenty-four hours ago.’ Anna mirrored Kate’s actions, turning her towards the lengthy table strewn with her scrapbooks and travel journals and photographs. ‘I wasn’t just doing Lego all week, you know. I’ve been doing this. I’ve been taking stock.’

  Chapter 49

  Chipping Norton, 2019

  ‘You know,’ Kate said as she twirled spaghetti around her fork, as she continued to flick through Anna’s journal of last spring in the Hamptons with the other hand, ‘I have a confession to make. And possibly an apology.’ She deftly transferred the laden fork to her mouth without flicking the pesto anywhere; a feat that Anna had yet to manage herself despite their ritual pasta consumption.

  ‘All these years,’ Kate continued, turning page after page of handwritten notes, interspersed with sketches and doodles, postcards and souvenirs slotted and pasted into place, ‘I thought you were just dodging reality, mooching around, and then you show me this.’

  She sat back in the chair and stared at Anna, unblinking and appraising. ‘I never knew you were really seeing life, experiencing the places you stayed. These notes, these journals – I just never knew.’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I think you were probably right the first time, to be honest. I’m kidding myself by calling it research, aren’t I? Research of what? For what? Surely it’s only research if it has a purpose in mind?’