The Trouble with Great Aunt Milly

by Alice Ross

  From the sofa he congratulated himself on his growing list of achievements. In less than a month he’d lost his job, been jilted at the altar, racked up a heap of debt and broken his leg. Quite a list by anybody’s standards. And how should he celebrate this bizarre victory? By having a drink of course. He glanced over to the whisky bottle on the sideboard. The mechanics of how to bring it over to the sofa on crutches failed him. Well, sod it. He’d go to the sideboard. And if need be, he’d stay there all night.

  *

  James had stared at the computer screen for hours, trawling through pages of veterinary jobs in Australia. But he’d still failed to decide where he wanted to be or what he wanted to do. City or outback? Small animals or large? Sydney, Brisbane or Perth?

  He didn’t have a clue.

  He couldn’t focus.

  His heart wasn’t in it.

  He needed a break.

  He flicked off the computer and picked up the phone.

  *

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘Broken my leg.’

  ‘Jesus, Matt, you don’t do things by half, do you?’ puffed James. ‘How’re you managing?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ muttered Matt, resisting the urge to admit he wasn’t managing at all.

  ‘You sound terrible. Why don’t I come up at the weekend? See if there’s anything I can do to help?’

  Matt opened his mouth to protest but the words jammed in his throat. The idea of someone looking after him for a change was really quite appealing.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ exclaimed James the moment he walked into the normally pristine apartment. ‘What happened to your cleaner?’

  Matt contorted his features into a rueful expression. ‘Had to let her go. Wasn’t up to Francesca’s standards.’ The reality being that he could no longer afford a cleaner and had sacked the poor woman the same week Francesca disappeared.

  ‘You’ll have to get another one. You can’t live like this for the next six months.’

  Matt didn’t reply. James was right. He couldn’t live like this for the next six months. The place was a tip - the archetypal bachelor pad. But that fact provided no solace because Matt wasn’t the archetypal bachelor. He’d always preferred things clean, tidy and ordered, and enjoyed nothing better than slipping between fresh, clean sheets. The sheets on his bed now were neither fresh nor clean. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d been changed. How to execute such a procedure with crutches was baffling to say the least. Not that he’d had the energy or the motivation to even think about attempting such tasks. In order to block out the depressing sequence of events that had become his life recently, he’d spent the days since returning from hospital in a mild drunken stupor.

  ‘And you look like shit,’ remarked James. ‘When did you last have a decent meal?’

  Matt scratched his head. He had no idea.

  ‘You can’t go on like this. You need someone in to help. A housekeeper or whatever they call themselves these days. I’ll get on to it right away.’

  Matt balked – if James arranged hired staff, who would pay for them? He certainly couldn’t. His limited funds were already exiting his bank account at lightning speed. And he couldn’t bring himself to admit to his brother that he’d been sacked.

  ‘Look, there’s really no need,’ he protested. ‘I just need to … to get my act together. I’m still getting used to these bloody crutches and-’

  His words fell on deaf ears. James was already on his phone.

  In no time at all, James had tidied up the flat and ordered Matt to have a lie-down. Matt didn’t need persuading. Not only was he exhausted, but he had no wish to be involved in James’ housekeeper search. Three suitable candidates had already been proposed and were trotting round to the apartment that afternoon for interview. Matt couldn’t face them. What was the point? Not only could he not afford them, but he also had no desire to have a stranger poking around, invading his space. He hadn’t the heart or the energy to tell James, who was obviously fixed on the idea. No, the easiest thing to do was to wait until James left on Monday, then cancel the arrangement. With that reassuring thought in mind, he climbed between his not-so-fresh sheets and fell asleep.

  ‘I’ve found the perfect woman for the job,’ announced James, as Matt hobbled into the living room later that evening. ‘She’s called Olga. She’s from Poland. And she’s starting tomorrow.’

  Matt’s mouth dropped open. Shit! He hadn’t expected things to move so quickly. How the hell was he going to pay for Olga from Poland? These agencies charged the earth. And, besides the undoubtedly astronomical cost, he didn’t want Olga from bloody Poland in the apartment. Or anybody from bloody Poland in the apartment. Or anybody from any-bloody-where in the apartment. He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery.

  ‘Look James, I know you mean well and everything, but the thing is, I’m a bit strapped for cash what with the wedding and all. And I really don’t have-’

  ‘I’m paying for her. After all you’ve been through recently, it’s the least I can do.’

  Matt managed an appreciative smile. ‘Look, that’s really kind. And don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. Honestly. But I really don’t want-’

  ‘Besides,’ chuckled James. ‘If you don’t let her come, you know what the alternative is, don’t you?’

  Matt stared at him blankly.

  ‘Mum!’

  *

  Anya von Hutterhausen’s head spun. She needed to carry on pushing her plan forward. Time was of the essence. But for some reason she found her mind constantly straying to Jakov. He’d called her again this week - to enquire after her health and invite her to the cinema. This time she hadn’t dithered about deliberating. She’d accepted the invitation immediately. But why? What was she doing? What, frankly, was the point? And, more worryingly, why had she stood for an hour yesterday discreetly observing Imogen conduct a Pilates class? She could only conclude that it was her hormones. Pregnancy affected them in strange ways. But surely this was stranger than most.

  *

  Following his recent ignominious experience of eastern-European women, Matt couldn’t summon an ounce of enthusiasm for his brother’s scheme. The arrival of Olga from Poland filled him with dread, her very name conjuring up images of female shot-putters with moustaches and hairy armpits.

  James, conversely, was bursting with enthusiasm and had already agreed a timetable with the agency: Olga would start work at ten o’clock in the morning for two hours. During that time she would carry out general household tasks and prepare Matt’s lunch. She would then do whatever shopping was required and return to the apartment at six in the evening for one hour to make dinner.

  Matt did his best to feign interest as James explained the plan to him. ‘Sounds great,’ he muttered. And it did: the perfect solution to a temporary mobility problem. But all Matt wanted was to be left alone. The notion of some hirsute bossy foreigner attempting to organise him with her two words of English made him nauseous. No, as soon as James left, he’d phone the agency and cancel the arrangement. In the meantime, he’d keep well out of Olga’s way: lock himself in the bedroom with his companion, Mr Whisky, whose presence, thanks to Mr Xing’s ever-expanding delivery service, could always be relied upon.

  *

  Walking into the surgery that morning, James experienced a surge of relief the moment he spotted Mandy behind the desk. Never had he been more grateful to see anyone in his entire life. At least now, with her back from honeymoon, the terrible atmosphere in the practice would be diffused.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Mathews,’ he said. ‘How was St Lucia? Damp, cold, horrible?’

  Mandy giggled. ‘Amazing. I couldn’t fault a thing. Although I have to confess, when Eric showed me the tickets I thought it was a joke.’

  ‘I thought you might be ever so slightly surprised. We were all sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘So I gather. Anyway, tell me - what exciting things have I missed here? Any juicy goss?’


  Not much, James considered reporting. Other than me being propositioned by a semi-clad Anya and very nearly sleeping with Alex Corr.

  ‘Er, no. Nothing,’ he lied. Now was neither the time nor the place to impart such juicy nuggets. And besides, he hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to impart them. ‘Although there was one thing …’

  ‘Tell me. Now.’

  ‘Mrs Emerson’s cat had a tooth out.’

  Mandy rolled her eyes. ‘Well, remind me never to go to St Lucia again. I wouldn’t want to miss another event like that.’

  ‘I’ll tell your husband you said that,’ he sniggered, turning around and heading towards his consulting room. ‘When he’s planning your first anniversary trip over there.’

  ‘You dare and you’re dead,’ threatened Mandy. ‘Oh, and by the way, speaking of my husband, we’re having a little get-together at the house on Saturday evening. Eric’s arranged a large screen and Alex is compiling a presentation of all the wedding photos. And … before you say anything, they’re not your normal run-of-the-mill boring pictures. They’re hilarious. I can’t wait for you to see them.’

  At the mention of Alex, James stopped in his tracks. His blood ran cold. Shit. How was he going to get out of this?

  ‘You will come won’t you? About seven-ish?’

  He forced the corners of his lips upwards before spinning round to face her. ‘Of course, I’ll come. It sounds … great.’

  Chapter 21

  Matt had seen nothing of housekeeper, Olga, in the three days she’d been coming to the apartment. While she went about her tasks, he kept to his room. And on the day she’d cleaned his room – and changed his sheets – he’d tucked himself away in the corner of the balcony, reading the newspaper. Still, he had to admit he was impressed - both at the way she respected his privacy, and at her diligence. The place had never looked so good: surfaces gleamed, floors shone, cushions were plumped, rubbish was removed, the fridge was stocked and meals were cooked. In fact, to say “meals were cooked” was something of an understatement. Mouth-watering, taste-bud tantalising, gastronomic delights were created, would be more accurate. And each day he couldn’t wait to find out exactly what had been created. The minute he heard her leave, he’d hare - as quickly as his crutches allowed – up to the kitchen to discover what delicacies awaited him. Savouring not only the food, but the novelty of eating something that hadn’t been delivered in a plastic carton, he hadn’t yet called the agency to cancel her services. He’d leave it a little longer, he decided - until the end of the week.

  Shuffling into the kitchen this evening, something on the bench caught his eye – a book entitled Problems of Philosophy. Intrigued, he picked it up and flicked through it. Neat little annotations had been pencilled in the margins. He was impressed. If this was Olga’s, then her level of English must be excellent. Not that that made a jot of difference to anything. A fantastic cook and bi-lingual philosopher she might be, but he’d still prefer her not to be in his apartment every day. No, he’d leave it a few more days then cancel the arrangement. Definitely.

  *

  A heavy feeling of foreboding accompanied James to Mandy and Eric’s house that evening. Had he the choice, he would’ve elected to smear himself in cold treacle than face Alex again. With the exception of spotting her in the park with Piers a few days ago, he’d neither seen nor spoken to her since their “clearing the air” chat. This evening, though, they wouldn’t be able to avoid one another.

  Mandy opened the door to him in cut-off jeans, a zebra-print T-shirt, and her wedding veil.

  ‘Sorry,’ she giggled. ‘Couldn’t resist. Anyway, come on in. Everyone’s here. Well, everyone apart from Anya. Is something up with her? She’s been in a really foul mood this week.’

  ‘I’ve, um, no idea,’ he mumbled, as he stepped inside. Then, swiftly changing the subject, ‘That veil is such a good look. You should wear it to work next week.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Alex?’ tittered Mandy, as Alex’s head appeared round the corner. ‘James thinks I should wear my veil to work next week.’

  A slight flush touched Alex’s cheeks as her eyes briefly met his. Immediately she looked away, focussing on Mandy. ‘Well, he’s right. Better be careful though: you might set a new trend. Everybody might want one.’

  Mandy snorted with laughter. ‘Can you just see it? All the women in the village trotting along to Kinks ‘n’ Kurls with veils. Ha! Wait until I tell Janine. She’ll think it’s hilarious.’ And in a flash she was gone.

  Neither James nor Alex moved.

  ‘How-’ they both said at the same time.

  He managed a weak smile. ‘You go first.’

  ‘No, you – please.’

  ‘I was, um, just going to ask how you are,’ he said, wishing he didn’t sound a complete loser.

  A faint smile touched her lips. ‘I’m fine, thank you. You?’

  ‘Great. Never better.’

  ‘Right. Well, that’s … good.’

  Another awkward silence ensued.

  ‘Mandy’s really pleased with the photos, by the way,’ he blurted out. ‘She hasn’t stopped raving about them all wee-’

  ‘Alex, darling. There you are.’

  The hairs on James’ neck sprang to alert as Piers appeared.

  ‘Do come along, sweetheart. Everyone’s taken their seats. Oh, hello. Jamie isn’t it?’

  James’ blood began simmering. ‘That’s right,’ he grinned. ‘Nice to see you again, Peter.’

  Piers shot him an icy glare before taking Alex’s arm and steering her away.

  Great start, mused James. And I haven’t even made it past the hall. Joking aside though, he felt sick. Could he concoct some excuse and leave before the ‘show’ started?

  Seemingly not.

  ‘Come on,’ tutted Mandy, yanking him into the room. ‘Hurry up and grab a seat. We’re ready to go.’

  James opted for a wooden deckchair in the back row of the makeshift cinema. Despite an uninterrupted view of the screen, he saw nothing of the photos. His eyes were glued to Piers and Alex at the front. With mounting rage, he observed how Piers draped his arm casually around the back of Alex’s chair, periodically whispering in her ear and pecking her on the cheek every time someone complimented her work. By the end of the show he’d worked himself into such a lather that it was all he could do not to pick up his chair and smash it over Pier’s ever-expanding head. He didn’t. Instead, despite all his best efforts, he found himself part of a group which included the man himself – and Alex. How the hell had that happened? He suspected Eric might be to blame.

  ‘So,’ said Eric. ‘A little bird tells me you two are heading off to Canada soon.’

  ‘We certainly are,’ said Piers, slipping a proprietorial arm around Alex’s waist. ‘Can’t wait, can we, sweetheart?’

  Alex said nothing, smiling fleetingly as she raised her wine glass to her lips.

  ‘Too good an opportunity to miss,’ asserted Piers. ‘This country is going to the dogs. I’d recommend everyone make a sharp exit while they can.’

  ‘You’re preaching to the converted here,’ chuckled Eric. ‘James is already thinking of heading off to Oz.’

  ‘Oh? Where exactly?’

  James balked. He really, really, really didn’t want to have this conversation. He flicked a look at Alex. She was gazing at him intensely. Colour began rising in his cheeks. He had to say something. And he had to say it quickly. ‘Sydney,’ he blurted out.

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Piers, evidently unimpressed. ‘You’ve found a job there, I take it?’

  Sod off. ‘Yes actually, I have,’ he heard himself saying. ‘In a large practice. The largest in the country actually. I’ll be heading it up … for two years.’

  His announcement complete, he stole another look at Alex. Her expression was completely blank.

  ‘Well,’ puffed Piers. ‘It rather looks like we’re all on the move.’

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘It rather does, doesn’t it?’

/>   *

  Anya von Hutterhausen was fed up. She and Jakov had spent a very pleasant evening at the cinema. He’d even held her hand during the film. Anya wasn’t used to hand-holding. It was not an activity in which she’d previously engaged. Once she’d got used to it though, it had been rather … pleasant. After the film they’d gone for a drink. Then, at the end of the evening, he’d walked her to her car and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  But reflecting on the evening only made her more miserable. There was no point to any of it. And that wasn’t her only problem. After her humiliation at the wedding, she’d abandoned all plans to seduce James. Just as well given they couldn’t bear to be in the same room.

  So where did that leave her? In a miserable job, too mortified to speak to her business partner, and acting like a stupid teenager with a man who, unbeknown to him, was the father of her unborn child, and who was having A Proper Relationship with another woman.

  What a fabulous position to find oneself in. Well done Anya von Hutterhausen.

  *

  Over the next four days Matt enjoyed more of Olga’s delicious repasts. And now that his taste buds had been reawakened, his appetite had returned with a vengeance. By lunchtime he was starving. The moment he heard her leave, he shuffled up to the kitchen where he discovered a plate of pesto chicken quesadillas. Wriggling onto the stool, he wasted no time tucking in.

  Until he heard the door again.

  And someone marching up the hall.

  His heart began hammering. Was it Francesca?

  But it wasn’t Francesca. It was a small slim woman with short spiky brown hair and enormous dark eyes. She bowled into the kitchen and came to an abrupt standstill.