The Starter Home

by Bryony Fraser

  ‘Alright, Scooby-Doo,’ I heard Kat say, which made many of her colleagues chuckle. The meeting room stayed silent to listen to Chuck’s shouts and curses as he was carried out of the building; there was a beat of complete silence, and then everyone started clapping again, with shock and relief and embarrassment stirring even the KSTW suits to clap along. Eventually, the clapping subsided and people started drifting out of the room, chattering and still laughing. The suits began packing themselves up and the woman at the table walked to the front of the room, talked quietly to Kat, shook her hand, then gave her a hug. Kat smiled at her, watched everyone file out of the room, then turned towards the camera and gave us a huge thumbs up.

  We heard her footsteps before we saw her – our own door flew open, and there she was, beaming and jumping up and down.

  ‘Oh my god, we did it, we did it, we did it!’ she was singing.

  ‘What just happened? What did you do?’ Esther was calling, but Ava was squeezing me from behind and rocking me back and forth.

  After more singing and calling and rocking and hugging, Kat got us all to sit down again. ‘I knew all along that he was a bastard, Zo. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. But I suspected for ages that he was up to more than simply trying to put his—’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Esther. ‘We all know where he was trying to put his. Carry on.’

  ‘Exactly. But I didn’t know precisely where his scumminess would end. He was so gross, and I couldn’t work out how to get rid of him. It was really pissing me off for a long time: he’d schedule lots of evening meetings with me, one-to-one discussions that revealed quite how useless he was at his job. Christ knows how he got it. Then, a couple of months ago, he called me into his office for some “consultation”, and he left his screen open on his email while he went to pour us some prosecco to “inspire us”.’

  ‘Ewww,’ we said, simultaneously.

  ‘I know. So on his screen was this whole email exchange with KSTW about them possibly buying us, and he was saying he could offer all these redundancies and this great package in exchange for a huge bonus and stock options for him.’

  ‘Classic sleazeball,’ Ava said.

  ‘Right? But what he didn’t realise was that a) almost everyone here, besides him, is good at their job and is an integral part of the business, and b) I now had the contact details of the KSTW partner who was in discussion about the whole thing. So. I made my own proposal instead.’

  ‘Kat!’ I gasped.

  ‘Brilliant, yeah? And we had a lot of back and forth emailing, our KSTW partner and me and a few other staff here, and we decided that we’d let Chuck make his presentation before I made mine. I had to keep him sweet, not let him know we knew anything. That night at the bar, half the team were here pulling all the info we’d need for our presentation off the systems. I was terrified that Chuck would go back to the office and catch them at it. That’s the only reason I was out with him. As if I would touch him with a ten-foot pole!’

  We sat, agape, as we began to understand quite how brilliant our youngest sister was. ‘You really can take care of yourself,’ I said. Kat smiled cockily. ‘But why couldn’t you tell us? Why the hell would you let us worry, and let me think that he was going to hurt you like he’d hurt me?’

  Kat stopped smiling. ‘I’m sorry, sis. I’m really sorry for that. But I realised pretty much straight away that he wasn’t Liz’s ex – I do know you, remember – and I knew that if any of you knew what I was up to, and what was going to happen to him, there’s no way – no offence, Zo – but there’s no way you wouldn’t give that away when you saw him. And your slightly nuts but touchingly overprotective behaviour was the perfect distraction; he would never guess I was up to something if my sisters were so worried that he was going to hurt me.’ She laughed at an idea that seemed, to her, beyond absurd. ‘I’m sorry, Zo. I’m sorry if I added to the stress of Jack and your moving and … I meant it when I said you could trust me. That I would be ok.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you will be too, sis. Wherever you go in the world, you’re going to be great. And wherever you are, I – we – will always be looking out for you. We’d never let you get hurt like that again. Ok?’ She patted me on the head, filled our bags up with croissants and Danish pastries, then began herding us back outside to reception. ‘Right. Haven’t we all got jobs to go to?’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Esther said, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss Kat.

  I shook my head and marvelled.

  Sheer sugar rush must have carried me to school, and I had absolutely no memory of the lessons I taught that afternoon. All I could think of was Kat’s gift to me.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  With Christmas looming, it was beginning to feel like the season of joy was sponsored by Dignitas this year. It seemed ridiculous to get a tree when I was the only one who cared about it in the flat, but I couldn’t bear the thought of three and a half more weeks in the Saddest Home In The World, bereft of decoration or Christmas furnishings. Jack was never a fan of the season – although in his defence, I didn’t have to listen to looped Christmas songs every hour of my working day for six weeks before the day itself – but I’d convinced him over the years to add at least a wreath. In the end, I picked a three-foot-tall tree; I could put it on the table, by the window, and it wouldn’t be in anyone’s (Jack’s) way. It was even just about possible to get on the bus with it.

  Upstairs Jan caught up with me in the street and offered to help me inside with it: it had taken me thirty sweaty minutes and a tangled fumble in the doorway of Homebase – the only Christmas action I’d be getting this year – to get it this far already. In the shared hallway, I lowered the tree to the floor to adjust my grip, and noticed that our front door wasn’t quite closed. I could hear voices from inside – Jack and Iffy.

  ‘It’s not leaving London. It’s those guys, the people in the US offices. They work in such a different way to me, and the culture there is so different too. It’s as if their sole aim is to be able to retire at forty, once they’ve pushed away all friends and family. Seriously, anyone who’s married there just remarries once they’ve made their money, rebooting with a younger partner who can give them the kids they never had time for before. It’s bloody grim.’

  ‘So what’s the alternative, you’ll stay here forever?’

  ‘That’s not the worst thing in the world. People do seem to quite like London, you know. It has stuff going for it.’

  ‘There’s a mini Waitrose just round the corner.’

  ‘Exactly. You wouldn’t get that in New York.’

  ‘It’d be all “pizza slices” and “cheesecake”.’

  ‘Exactly. But … they’re offering me a great deal. I wanted to expand the shop. I wanted to take it to new places … If you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be in this situation, with a company offering me this money and this opportunity, I’d never have believed you, but now I’ve got this offer to work in New York … Iffy, this is amazing.’

  ‘I know, man. And I also know the mini Waitrose isn’t the only thing you’ll miss about London.’

  There was a heavy sigh. ‘What am I supposed to do? Wait around here in case she changes her mind? She won’t change her mind. I know her. I think. I mostly know her. I used to know her.’

  ‘I don’t think the alternative to waiting for your ex-wife to change her mind is “move to New York”.’

  ‘She’s not my ex-wife.’

  ‘Yet.’

  I heard Jack sigh. ‘Normally, no. But in this case it is the alternative. Would I necessarily choose this otherwise? Collaborating with people I don’t want to work with? In a professional culture that’s alien to everything I believe in?’

  ‘Ok, ok, you’ve convinced me, this sounds amazing for you.’

  Jack laughed. ‘It’s not amazing. But I think it’s best for me. It’ll take my mind off things. And in a few years, who knows? Maybe I’ll move back and focus on the original shop. Maybe I’ll eve
n be able to open one in Europe.’

  ‘Which is what you actually want to do?’

  There was a silence. ‘But this is the offer on the table right now, Iffy. If there’s one thing this last year has taught me, you can’t always get what you want.’

  ‘Mick Jagger taught me that ages ago.’

  ‘What?’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘Jack, please tell me you’re joking. You do know that’s a Rolling Stones song, don’t you?’

  ‘No. I don’t really like the Stones. Oh yeah, and also, I’m not in my mid-fifties.’

  Another silence, in which I could picture Iffy struggling for words. ‘You don’t need to like the Rolling Stones to know one of the most famous songs in pop culture.’

  ‘Clearly I do.’

  ‘Oh my Jesus Christ.’

  Laughter floated through the open door, followed by the sound of Iffy throwing something at Jack and Jack throwing it back. In their noise and bustle I jumped when Upstairs Jan coughed softly behind me in the hallway, still half carrying the Christmas tree.

  ‘Can I go now?’

  I whispered my thanks to her, balanced the tree against the front door, then stepped outside so I could come noisily back in and Jack wouldn’t know I’d heard anything.

  I’d never thought that I was forcing him to leave. I thought he’d wanted to go. So now I was not only forcing him from his marriage and his house, but from his country too. Awesome. I couldn’t wait to collect my humanitarian award.

  I banged open the main door, then scraped the tree through our front door to announce my presence. But when I turned around, I saw that the flat was swathed with baubles and fairy lights, the windows were frosted with foamed snowflakes, and the mantelpiece had a huge evergreen display. Over it all sprouted an eight-foot tree, onto which Jack was hanging striped candy canes.

  ‘Have I bumped my head somewhere?’ I asked Iffy.

  He laughed and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering loudly, ‘Hi, Iffy. How are you? I’m great, thanks, Zoe, it’s really good to see you too.’

  ‘Sorry. Hi. Hello, Iffy!’ I called. ‘Jack, what is this? I thought you hated these Christmas festivities.’

  He rubbed his head. ‘I do. Well, not hate. I was just thinking how much effort you always used to put into Christmas—’

  ‘I’m still alive, Jack.’

  ‘Yes, the effort you always still put into Christmas. And I’ve never really appreciated it. And … I don’t know when I’m going to get a British Christmas again, all puddings and shabby tinsel and choristers on Radio 4.’ He gave a small gesture – half shrug, half displaying his hard work. ‘So I thought I’d do this.’

  ‘Is that … is that Bing Crosby playing right now?’

  ‘In for a penny, I always say.’

  ‘And are those mince pies I can smell?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And you’re sure I haven’t had a head injury? I’m not actually freezing to death in a snow bank somewhere right now, and this is a hallucination in my final moments?’ He gave a bigger shrug. ‘Oh well. There are worse ways to go, I guess.’

  Iffy brought out three steaming mugs of mulled wine a moment later, and we stayed up until midnight drinking and rating various M&S Christmas snacks. I understood what Jack might miss when he moved to New York.

  A few nights later I was blu-tacking the 400th snowflake onto Esther’s windows when she appeared behind me, reflected in the glass, carrying a cardboard box with a bow on top. She’d invited me over after school for the annual test of her own mince pies, an offer I was never going to turn down. William was with his dad in the kitchen, doing some taste testing of his own from the sounds of it.

  ‘Are you in the mood for an early Christmas present?’ she asked.

  I leapt down from the chair and held out my hands, then drew them back, hesitant. ‘Wait. Is it just another Christmas-themed task to do somewhere around your house? I’ve fallen for that once already.’

  She laughed and handed the gift-wrapped box over. ‘This is from Kat and Ava too.’

  Inside the box was a mass of white tissue paper that reminded me of the evening before the wedding. And beneath it all …

  ‘What? How …’

  Nestled in soft paper, chain gleaming, leather unmarked, undamaged, perfect: my bag.

  ‘The three of us all chipped in to have it cleaned up and repaired. That’s your main Christmas present though, so you might just get some socks or something from us on the big day. I just got it back today. And you get it now, because we all agreed you’d want it over Christmas. Don’t forget to send a photo of your happy face to our sisters – they wanted to see your face too.’

  ‘Es! This is amazing!’ I hugged it to me, feeling the butter-soft leather against my face again, smelling its beautiful old smell.

  ‘Some things are too good to throw away, you know. You have to do everything you can to fix them, if they were that good to begin with. If they matter that much to you.’

  I gave her a hug.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She looked at me. ‘You’re alright, little sis. It’s going to be ok, you know.’

  I looked back at her and she gave me a wink before leaving the room. She was right, though – maybe good things did deserve looking after.

  ‘Well, this looks festive!’ the estate agent chortled as he came in, leather folder in hand.

  I’d booked the estate agent after Benni had asked what was happening with the flat when Jack and I both went abroad. I’d pulled a face and started slowly shrugging, and Benni had squealed and said, ‘Darling! You must get this sorted out now,’ and then added gently, ‘It’s better if you start getting all this stuff between you organised, Zoe.’

  Jack sat on the sofa while I showed Ian around: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, lounge. Windows, doors, wifi, storage. It was impossible not to feel like the notes Ian was making were about us, as he went around the flat valuing what our home was worth. Awkward silence, terrible body language, sleeping in separate beds; tick, tick, tick. I took deep breaths as I watched him boiling down more than three years of living here into abbreviations and shorthand, ready for someone to take our place, to maybe do better here than we’d done.

  ‘Of course, with both of you leaving the country so soon, it may be easier for you to let it for a while, create some income there, and you can always sell at a later date when the market … suits you.’

  Our home, reduced to a monthly percentage for Ian. And when the market suits you was clearly shorthand for when the first of you finds someone else to shack up with. I pictured Jack, picking up the phone to let me know he’d met someone new and needed the money from the old flat. Our final tie would be cut.

  Ian wrote down our valuation figures, told us to drop off the keys whenever we liked and he would get the photos done and begin viewings immediately. He gave us one more look – Jack, slumped on the sofa; me, folded up in the armchair in the corner – and waved at us. ‘Ok, folks, thanks very much. Give us a call when you’re ready, ok? Happy Christmas.’ He let himself out. I looked around at the lights and baubles and wondered when I’d ever be ready to make that call.

  Jack lifted his feet onto the coffee table. ‘I suppose that was as painless as it could be. Do you want to give him a call tomorrow?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘We’ll both need to sign the contract.’ He nudged the pile of paperwork Ian had left, and I thought of the other paperwork ahead of us, a decree nisi and a decree absolute, all the bonds between us being signed away.

  I shrugged. ‘I’ll do it now, if you like. Best to just get on with it, I guess.’ I’d be in Berlin in a month. I didn’t need to worry about this flat. ‘When can a tenant move in?’

  Jack rubbed his beard with his hands. ‘Gillett have given me a ticket for New Year’s Eve. So I guess it just depends on when you’re off.’

  ‘I can stay at Mum and Dad’s whenever. We might as well get someone in here sooner rather than later.�
�

  He nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

  I called Ian and told him I’d drop off the keys and the forms that afternoon. I wasn’t ready, but it had to be done.

  It was already five minutes after I should have left to meet Benni, Gina and the twins, but I couldn’t find my favourite top anywhere. I thought it was in the laundry and I could give it a quick steam in the bathroom, but I couldn’t find it there, in the wardrobe, or in my drawers.

  Jack looked up from his laptop. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing – I just can’t find my top. The blue one with the gold bits? I feel like I’m going mad.’

  ‘Sorry, Zo, that’s my fault – it’s on the drying rack, on the hanger. I just did a load yesterday. It’ll be dry by now.’

  In the corner, on the rack, was yesterday’s clean laundry; only I hadn’t thought to check there because it wasn’t my load of laundry. I stared at it.

  ‘Is it ok? Oh Christ, did I wreck it?’

  I slipped the t-shirt on over my vest top. ‘No, that’s great. Thanks. See you later!’ I grabbed my coat and bag without looking at Jack again, and was out the door before either of us had a chance to say anything else.

  A week before Christmas, I finally plucked up the courage to ask Jack what he was doing for the festive period. I hadn’t wanted to give him the impression that he owed me that information, or to remind him of Christmases past, with my family.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.’ I suppressed a squeak of dismay. ‘I guess I’ll probably go up to Dad’s. He’s having Christine’s relatives over, but she reckons she can squeeze me in if needs be.’ It was so exactly like Jack’s dad and Christine that I couldn’t even tease Jack about how terribly Tiny Tim he sounded. ‘You?’

  ‘Mum and Dad’s. I think we’re all going to be there this year.’ Almost all, I thought. You won’t be. ‘Esther’s convinced Mum to let her do the Christmas trifle. I reckon Mum will probably have a spare hidden, just in case.’