‘And Olivia is hoping to go back to work so that’s probably my chief fundraiser and committee member out of the loop.’
‘Really?’
Heather nodded.
‘I’ll pray for help.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Heather although in her heart she wasn’t entirely sure that she had quite the faith that her husband had. She felt that leafleting the town might prove to be more productive.
Chapter 8
On the Friday morning, Amy was busy getting her cleaning gear out of the kitchen cupboard at The Beeches when Bex came into the utility room toting the laundry basket. ‘I’ve got to ask,’ said Bex, dumping the basket on the floor in front of the washing machine, ‘how did the date go?’
‘Didn’t Belinda tell you?’
‘No. I meant to ask her yesterday but I forgot.’
‘It was a total disaster. The git didn’t even buy me a drink.’
‘No! The rotter.’
‘And boring. Honestly, Bex, he’s the dullest bloke on the planet and he didn’t shut up. Not once.’
‘No? You’re well out of that one.’
‘Yeah but it’s an hour I’ll never get back.’
‘You stuck him for an hour?’ Bex was incredulous. She didn’t have Amy down as the tolerant type.
‘No, about thirty minutes but I’m counting the time to walk to the pub and back too.’
‘That bad.’
‘Awful,’ said Amy gloomily.
‘Are you going to try again?’
‘Dunno.’
‘There have to be some good blokes out there. They can’t all be dreary bores, can they?’
‘They’d better not be. If they are, I’ll be having words with the dating site. Hey, before I forget, has your Megan said anything to you about a school panto? Ash says he wants to be in it.’
‘She’s mentioned it – said she might try out for it. She said a new teacher’s formed a drama group and she and Ash have signed up.’
‘And you’re OK with that?’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ve got exams this year; they ought to be concentrating on those not poncing about on stage. Do you know what’s involved?’
‘Not much. The drama group is going to meet after school on a Wednesday and they’re going to be performing Cinderella some time at the end of the term.’
‘Cinderella? As long as they don’t cast my Ash as an ugly sister.’
‘Why not? It’s a great part, lots of humour and one-liners.’
‘And getting the piss ripped out of him for dressing up as a girl.’
Bex slammed shut the washing machine and straightened up. ‘But isn’t dressing up all part and parcel of acting?’ She pressed the button to start the cycle. ‘Besides, the school wouldn’t allow the kids to be mean to him.’
‘Like they didn’t allow Lily Breckenridge to have a right go at your Megan.’
‘That was different.’
Amy raised her eyebrows and stared at Bex. ‘Really – and I’m still not sure I want my Ash getting all arty-farty. And if they make him drag up I don’t want no one thinking he’s gay.’
‘They won’t. As I said, dressing up is all part of it.’
Amy sighed. ‘I suppose. And I suppose I can’t stop him. Kids, eh?’ She tucked the tin of spray polish under one arm, picked up the glass cleaner and some cloths with one hand and the vacuum with the other and headed through the kitchen to the stairs.
*
Olivia was standing behind the reception desk at the hotel trying to look calm but inside she was a mass of nerves. This was the day – she’d worked a whole week and at some point she would find out if the job was hers or if they were going to let her go. Her head told her that if she’d been useless she’d have already been shown the door, but her heart said that, useless or not, she’d provided an extra pair of hands for no extra cost beyond supplying her with a free lunch each day.
And over and above being apprehensive about her job, her mind was buzzing with everything she had to do before the process of moving into their new house began the next day. God, she wondered. What on earth had possessed her to think she could cope with a move and a new job? She must have been off her trolley.
The reception was quiet. The guests who were booking out had gone, the phone was silent, Amanda was in the back office cross-checking room service and minibar bills and Olivia was at a loose end. She tried to put out of her mind all the things she might be getting on with if she were at home but then gave up the unequal struggle, pulled a sheet of hotel notepaper towards her and started making a list.
Put freezer bag ice blocks in freezer – she didn’t want anything to defrost between getting it out of one freezer and transferring it to the new one.
Check new freezer is plugged in and switched on – there was an integrated one in her new kitchen but was it working?
First van load, beds, bedding, food, essential kitchen equipment.
Make up beds.
Olivia tapped her teeth with the end of the pen. This wasn’t rocket science. Did she really need a list at all? Was she being over-controlling, over-organised? The boxes she’d packed so far were all clearly labelled with the contents, and which room they were destined for in the new house. Her kids could read, they were grown-ups… why was she worrying that it would all go horribly wrong? She ought to trust them and delegate. If she got this job, she told herself, she was going to have to learn to delegate the running of the house a whole lot more. She crumpled up her list and chucked it in the bin.
She saw Mr Jameson walking down the hotel’s main staircase. Her heart rate hit the roof. Was this crunch time? Was he coming to hand her her cards or the job? He approached the desk.
‘Olivia.’
‘Yes, Mr Jameson.’
‘Would you come to my office? Ask Amanda to man the desk for a moment.’
‘Yes, Mr Jameson.’
Feeling almost faint with nerves, Olivia did as she was told then followed her boss up the wide, shallow stairs to his office.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
Olivia took a seat. Surely if it was going to be good news he’d have just told her outright? Shaken her hand, said welcome to the team or something along those lines? What was all this about? She made up her mind she was about to be shown the door. And maybe it was for the best given everything else she had to cope with at the moment. She’d look for another job when she’d got the move sorted.
Mr Jameson pushed a piece of paper across his desk. What was this – a P45?
‘If you’d like to sign this, please.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a contract.’
‘What for?’
Mr Jameson frowned and stared at her. ‘You do want the job, don’t you? You haven’t changed your mind about working for us?’
‘The job? I’ve got it?’
‘Yes, of course. Do you honestly think we’d have kept you for the full week if you weren’t an asset to the hotel? Especially in a front-of-house post?’
Olivia felt utterly foolish – her face flared. ‘I’m sorry. I was assuming the worst.’
‘Well, don’t. I have to say I doubted your self-confidence when you demanded a trial but your faith in yourself wasn’t misplaced.’
‘I had doubts too. But I decided I had nothing to lose.’
‘And quite a lot to gain.’
Olivia nodded.
Mr Jameson stretched across the desk and handed her a pen. ‘If you sign in the places marked with a cross.’
Olivia shuffled her chair forward a few inches so she could lean on the desk, scanned the contract – all straightforward at first glance – and signed and dated in the relevant boxes.
She handed the pen and the contract back and Mr Jameson scribbled his signature on the pages too. Then he picked up a name tag with ‘Olivia’ written on it. ‘Welcome to the team,’ he said as he handed it to her. ‘First shift, flying solo, Monday afternoon. And you’ll get back pay fro
m when you started.’
That was good about the back pay – the extra money would be useful. But… Monday afternoon. She decided she’d make supper for Nigel and Zac before she left for work – then they’d only have to heat it up. But what were the chances that they’d carry on sorting out the house without her and if they did, what, she wondered, were the chances of that all going smoothly? Now Zac was off drugs he was far less of a nightmare to live with – his mood swings had largely settled down, he was much less of a git but he was still a teenager and he and his father were still circling each other working out who was the alpha male. Some days Olivia almost expected them to clash antlers.
She shoved her worries about her domestic arrangements away. Mr Jameson didn’t need to have the least inkling about her home life. ‘Thank you, Mr Jameson. I can’t wait to start. However, before I do, can I make a suggestion?’
Mr Jameson steepled his fingers. ‘About what?’
‘The music you subject people to when they get put on hold.’
‘What about it?’
‘Have you listened to it?’
‘Er… no.’
‘Then I suggest you do. It is appalling.’
A smile twitched on her boss’s lips. ‘And in its place – if it’s so bad? Please, not the Four Seasons.’
‘Lord, no. Maybe some Elgar, or another British composer? Frankly, anything would be better that what is on offer presently.’
‘Thank you, Olivia. I’ll have a think.’
Chapter 9
Olivia waited until Nigel had poured himself a large gin and had sat down before she broke the news.
‘I got the job. I start on Monday.’
‘Huh?’ He was reaching for the remote when the implications of what she’d just said hit him. ‘But we’re moving house tomorrow! You can’t have forgotten.’ He switched on the news.
Olivia glanced at the twenty-odd boxes stacked in the corner of the sitting room, the twenty-odd boxes she’d packed as opposed to the two boxes in the garage that had been filled by Nigel. She thought about the countless trips to the dump, to local charity shops, about the endless sorting and decisions made – what to keep, what to chuck… No, she hadn’t forgotten about the move.
‘So? We’ve got the weekend.’
‘And what about the unpacking, the getting straight?’ Nigel took a gulp of his gin.
‘We,’ she emphasised the word deliberately, ‘will have to do it in our free time – evenings and weekends.’
Nigel sighed heavily. ‘You don’t have to work, Ol. Olivia,’ he corrected hastily. He’d called her Ol for over thirty years and hadn’t realised how much she hated the diminutive until she’d completely lost her temper when the truth about his gambling had come out. It was proving to be a hard habit to break – almost as hard as quitting gambling.
‘It’s nineteen grand a year, Nigel.’
‘Is that all?’
Olivia felt deflated. She thought he’d be more pleased. She whipped the remote out of his hand and muted the TV.
‘Hey.’
‘It’s nineteen grand a year, Nigel. Nineteen grand that isn’t already accounted for like every penny you earn is, what with the rest of your debts, trying to sort out a pension, Zac’s fees…’
‘But I’m worried about you taking too much on. A full-time job on top of everything else is a big commitment.’
‘Then you and Zac will have to help out around the house and help lighten my load.’
‘But, Ol… Olivia, I work crucifying hours and it’s not fair.’
Olivia thought that other men managed to help. She wouldn’t expect him to do much regularly but even a bit would make a big difference. She sighed.
‘And if it gets too much, you can always jack it in. I mean, it’s not a massive wage, is it?’
Not compared to what Nigel earned, no. But it would make a big difference to them, to those life’s little luxuries that she so missed.
But she didn’t have time to argue the toss with Nigel; she had the rest of the kitchen to sort before Nigel went to the station to collect Jade and before her other two children arrived in their cars. Once that had happened, Olivia promptly despatched Mike, her eldest, back into town to collect fish and chips for everyone so she didn’t have to worry about catering for her tribe. While he was doing that, and with the kitchen cupboards now empty, she and Tamsin began to take all the curtains down which Zac folded up and shoved into packing cases. Nigel was detailed to cart other boxes down from upstairs and stack them by the front door but with every journey Olivia became increasingly aware of the worried looks he was giving her. What she didn’t know was whether he was worried she was taking on too much, or if he was worried about the impact on his own cushy home life. Much as Olivia wanted to believe the former, she suspected it was the latter.
‘Don’t the new people want these?’ said Tamsin as she balanced precariously on a chair and unhooked another pair of curtains from their gliders. Beneath her Olivia supported the weight of the fabric.
‘They said they don’t want anything – no lampshades, no fittings, nothing.’
‘Carpets?’ asked Tamsin.
‘If they don’t they can deal with them.’
Tamsin took out the last hook and let the curtain fall into her mother’s waiting arms.
‘Oof,’ said Olivia.
‘What are the new people like?’
‘No idea – the estate agent has dealt with them. I’ve been right out of the loop. But they’re moving here from London; that’s all I know.’
‘They’re going to find this place quiet.’
‘Maybe that’s what they want.’
Tamsin looked down at her mother from her perch on the chair. ‘Mum, we haven’t even got a cinema.’
‘There’s one in Cattebury.’
‘This place is a dump,’ agreed Zac.
‘No, it’s not,’ said Olivia.
But the debate on the pros and cons of Little Woodford was curtailed by the arrival of Mike with a pile of steaming white paper parcels smelling strongly of fish and vinegar. Oscar, aware that something odd was going on, had been cowering under the kitchen table but the smell of the food was enough to lure him out, tail wagging and a hopeful expression on his face. He was immediately made a fuss of as the family gathered in the kitchen and ate directly off the paper to save on washing up. Everyone talked at once, catching up on each other’s news, commenting on the state of the world, arguing about politics, religion… everything. It was just like old times, thought Olivia, but then a sob threatened to erupt. She stood up and went to the sink so that she had her back to everyone as she brought herself under control. At the new house they might just squeeze everyone into the ground floor but she wouldn’t be able to have them all to stay. No more big family parties, no big family Christmas… Moving out of The Grange was going to mean more than the end of an era, it was going to mean the fragmentation of her family.
At ten thirty, Olivia insisted everyone went to bed to get an early night.
‘Tomorrow is going to be a long day,’ she reminded them.
And so it proved to be.
*
Olivia was up and making tea for herself at six as she was worried about everything that had to be done before the van had to be returned to the hire company by the Sunday afternoon deadline.
As she made a pot of tea Mike stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed.
‘Pour me a cup too, please, Mum,’ he said, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.
‘Sleep well?’ she asked as she got another mug out of the cupboard.
Mike nodded. ‘And I am planning on being so dog-tired tonight that I won’t worry that my bed will be a mattress on the floor here.’
‘I’m sorry you’ll be stuck here on your own, but I think the sitting room is going to be so full of boxes it’ll be impossible to even try to squeeze you in to the new place. And that reminds me,’ said Olivia. ‘I need to make sure we keep a set of Allen keys out to
dismantle and reassemble all the beds.’
‘What are we doing with the ones you can’t take with you?’
Olivia handed her eldest child his tea. ‘They’re being stored in the garage here till Monday when a charity is picking up all the furniture we haven’t got room for.’
‘So, most of it then.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘It’s not funny.’
By ten o’clock the first of the van loads had been delivered to the new house and there were piles of boxes in the kitchen-diner, the sitting room and in all three bedrooms upstairs. Tamsin and Jade were busy unpacking the bedding while Zac and his mother wrestled with bed frames, the Allen keys and mattresses and made two double beds and a single, for Olivia and Nigel, the two girls and Zac to sleep in that night. As planned, Mike would be on a mattress on the floor of the old house. By lunchtime the beds had been made, and made up, and Olivia was busy trying to find places – and failing – for the contents of the first box of kitchen equipment, while Zac had been co-opted by his father and Mike to help with the heavy gear still to be transported, and Tamsin and Jade were rehanging some of the curtains. Most of them were in desperate need of altering, or being cut down to fit, but they would provide some privacy in the immediate future because, as they all had noted, with the houses on the estate being so close together, there was precious little of that particular commodity to be had. There was hardly a room in the house that didn’t seem to be overlooked by a neighbour’s window.
As fast as Olivia’s team emptied the boxes and flattened them, Nigel and the boys arrived with more and more belongings.
‘How are we doing?’ asked Olivia as the men carried in the sofa to the sitting room. In the old house it had looked quite normal, but in this house it looked ridiculously large and, Olivia wondered, with a certain amount of desperation, if the other, matching sofa would be able to fit in too. She put her back against one of the arms and shoved it right against the wall of the sitting room. Maybe… maybe there was enough space for the other one. And if not…?
‘Coo-ee.’
The Bells of Little Woodford Page 7
