Make Do and Mend in Applewell

by Lilac Mills

  He didn’t know about his wife, but he felt like a kid getting out of school early. It was like he was truanting, sneaking out without the children. He probably shouldn’t feel that way, but he couldn’t help it. He loved his children more than life itself, but he wasn’t averse to having his wife to himself, while supping a child-free pint.

  His mum, predictably, had brought little gifts for the children: colouring books and crayons for the two younger ones, and a notepad and gel pens for Sabrina. Henry guessed it might keep them quiet for all of ten minutes.

  ‘Go on, get off with you,’ his mum said, shooing them out of the door. Henry sped through it, towing a slightly reluctant Lottie behind, who was still trying to explain about teeth-brushing routines and favourite stories.

  ‘Mum knows all that,’ Henry said. ‘They’ll be fine.’

  He was beginning to wonder why Lottie had been so anxious to go out, when she was now clearly so anxious to stay in. Didn’t she think his mother could cope with three children? It wasn’t as if she’d not done it before.

  Finally, though, Henry managed to hustle Lottie down the road and into the heart of the village. With each step further away from their house he could see her visibly relax. He was relaxed too, although part of his mind was still on the interview next week, and he assumed that Lottie’s was half on the children. Nobody told you that being a parent meant you’d never have a worry-free moment ever again. But he was determined to enjoy the evening, and the first thing he did when they stepped inside the Busy Bumble was to head straight to the bar and order them both a drink.

  ‘This is more like it,’ he said, after taking a long swig and smacking his lips.

  Lottie giggled, wiping his upper lip with her thumb. ‘Foam moustache,’ she told him.

  ‘I know how to attract the ladies,’ Henry joked. ‘If you want to find a seat, I’ll grab us a couple of menus.’

  ‘Awright, Henry? Long time, no see.’ Henry turned to see Donald Mousel at his elbow.

  ‘It certainly is,’ Henry agreed.

  ‘Them kids keeping you busy?’

  ‘As always. And how are you?’

  ‘Can’t grumble,’ Donald said, and then went on to do precisely that, with Henry nodding and smiling in the appropriate places, or shaking his head and commiserating in others. He was eventually able to escape and join Lottie.

  She was busy chatting to the couple on the next table, Nessa Millbrook and George Nightingale, him of the hoarding fame, although nobody ever mentioned it. Personally Henry didn’t have an issue with owning a garage full of stuff. If it wasn’t for the fact that the shed was Lottie’s domain, Henry would probably have escaped to his on a more regular basis. He could also see the attraction of an allotment for the very same reason – as somewhere to disappear off to for hours on end, doing a bit of digging, then hiding in the potting shed with a copy of Motor Weekly and a sneaky hip flask full of sherry.

  Nessa smiled at him as he sat down. ‘Eleri was telling me about how Lottie is going to help her renovate some old pieces of furniture for the cafe. Your wife is so clever.’ Nessa beamed at George. ‘And so is George – he repainted all the cupboards in my kitchen. I’m useless at things like that. I can’t even hang a mirror straight.’

  Henry was immensely proud of Lottie. ‘Has she told you about the boat we got from John Porter?’ he asked. ‘She’s only gone and turned it into a bed for Robin. You ought to see it! She’s done a fantastic job. Lottie’ – he nudged her – ‘show Nessa and George the photos.’

  Lottie was blushing, but she did as she was asked and scrolled through her phone to show them. She was pleased at the praise, but he could see she was embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

  ‘You are very clever,’ George said, and Lottie beamed.

  ‘You haven’t got any ideas what I could do with an old door, have you?’ she asked.

  ‘Hang it?’ Nessa suggested with a smirk.

  Lottie pulled a face at the woman’s teasing. ‘We don’t need it – we’ve got enough doors of our own, and it’s not in good enough condition to sell. Henry brought it home for me.’

  Henry could feel Nessa’s eyes on him.

  ‘You men are a strange lot,’ she said. ‘My George tried to woo me by painting my kitchen cupboard doors. I know I haven’t lived in Applewell for very long and I might be missing something, but is it a thing for the men around here to present their women with doors, rather than jewellery or tickets to the theatre?’

  Lottie giggled. ‘It certainly appears to be that way although, to be honest, I don’t get to wear jewellery very often, and I’m not too keen on the theatre.’

  ‘Hey, I thought I was being nice,’ Henry protested.

  ‘You were, darling.’ She patted him on the knee.

  George cleared his throat. ‘I’m sure I could find a use for it,’ he said, and visibly shrank in his seat when Nessa sent him a ferocious glare.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t, George Nightingale. We don’t need a door, and when we do need one, we’ll just go and buy one. You’re not starting that again.’

  George looked sheepish, but he gave Lottie a little smile. Lottie smiled back.

  Their meals arrived and as Henry and Lottie tucked in, the conversation between the two tables ceased. But as he ate, Henry’s thoughts turned once more to the issue of redundancy and the possibility of a job with a new company. He knew he wasn’t living in the moment, but he couldn’t help it. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that this job was his for the taking, he was still worried he wouldn’t get it.

  Another worry was the amount this meal was costing. The Busy Bumble was inexpensive, but it was still money they could do without spending, if only Lottie knew it. But that was where the problem lay – he didn’t want Lottie to know it.

  Not for the first time he wondered why he was so adamant about not telling his wife he’d been made redundant again. And not for the first time he came to the conclusion he didn’t want her to think he was a failure. Losing one job was unfortunate; losing two in the space of six months was careless. Deep down, he knew how unfair he was being on himself, but he couldn’t help it. The thought kept circling in his mind that he wanted to be able to tell her he’d stepped from one job to another almost seamlessly, and that he could provide for the family. He hated that she’d had to make do with so little for so long, even with him being in steady employment; what depths would she have to plumb to keep the family afloat if he failed to find another?

  She’d done an absolutely fantastic job on the old boat, and it looked spectacular in Robin’s room, but there was a part of him that wished she hadn’t had to do it, that she should have been able to just go into a shop and buy one. He didn’t want her to have to scrimp and save. He wanted her to be able to afford whatever she liked.

  He knew it was ridiculous, and unless you were mega-wealthy no one could simply afford anything and everything they wanted; compromises always had to be made. But he thought Lottie took compromise to the extreme. Take this latest bartering thing, for instance. She was doing work for someone else in order for a third person to provide them with soft furnishings for their home. Was this what his family had been reduced to?

  ‘Penny for them,’ Lottie asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You looked as though you were away with the fairies,’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’ He put his knife and fork down, realising he’d cleared his plate without having tasted a thing. Bloody hell, what a waste. He’d polished off his meal without really being aware of what he was eating. It was a bit like when you drove home from work along a familiar road, and when you got there you couldn’t remember a thing about the journey. It felt like that, only worse because he had to pay for this. He hadn’t even enjoyed it, and for a moment he struggled to remember what it was he’d ordered. Ah yes, he’d fancied steak, but he’d gone for the cheapest thing on the menu, which was scampi and chips.

 
He was still somewhat distracted by the time they got home, and he prayed Lottie hadn’t noticed, but knowing his wife she most certainly had. If she asked him again if anything was wrong, he’d blame it on work problems. He wouldn’t exactly be lying, would he?

  After Lottie gave Meryl a peck on the cheek and thanked her, she went upstairs to check on the children, while Henry saw his mum out.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ Meryl asked.

  ‘Yes, thanks, it was lovely.’

  ‘What did you have to eat?’

  ‘Scampi and chips.’

  ‘I’d have thought you would have gone for steak, like you usually do.’

  ‘I fancied a change.’

  ‘Are you all right, Henry, love? You don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ His answer was rather tetchy so he tried to soften it with a smile.

  His mother didn’t seem convinced by his performance, and neither was he. He wasn’t fine; but he would be. He just needed to get this interview out of the way and be offered the job, and then he’d be totally fine.

  But nothing was totally fine, as he discovered after he and Lottie went to bed. Recalling the events of the other night, Henry was feeling a bit frisky. He wasn’t sure if it was despite his worry about his job or whether it was because of it, but he wanted to feel a deeper connection to Lottie, so he snuggled up closer and put his arm around her.

  Lottie uttered a little noise, almost as though she was asleep, but he knew she couldn’t possibly be because he’d watched her get into bed mere seconds before him. He kissed her shoulder and his hand travelled lower over her stomach, heading south.

  ‘Mmmph,’ she muttered, shrugging him off.

  Surprised, he moved away, inching across the bed until he reached the other side. After their love-making the other night and the way she’d insisted on a date night this evening, he’d hoped they would carry things to the logical conclusion. But Lottie clearly wasn’t interested.

  She was probably tired, he reasoned. And full from the meal. And she’d had two halves of lager. Early mornings didn’t help, either.

  But even as he thought those things, he was conscious that something was awry in their marriage and it was all because of him. He’d hardly been datey this evening, had he? So he couldn’t blame her for rejecting his advances. All he hoped was that everything would be resolved once he’d secured another job.

  Chapter 15

  Lottie

  ‘A door?’ Natalie Sharp scoffed as Lottie approached the school gates the following Monday morning. ‘You’re seriously going to waste your time on that?’

  Lottie had uploaded a photo of the door onto Instagram as part of her before and after collection, as she usually did but, after seeing the scorn on Natalie’s face, she wondered why she’d bothered. The woman was right: Lottie was also beginning to think it was a waste of time. Still, the boat-bed had received loads of likes and several comments – not one of them from Natalie, though.

  ‘She’s seriously going to waste her time renovating the kiddies’ corner in Eleri’s cafe,’ Delia piped up, sarcastically. ‘It’s nice to be paid for doing something you love, isn’t it?’

  Lottie widened her eyes at her friend and as soon as Natalie, with a sneer on her face, moved out of earshot, Lottie asked, ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Natalie stuck-up Sharp hates her job. It’s something to do with having to deal with patients and their germs. I’ve heard she wants to pack it in and become a lady of leisure, but she likes having an income of her own so she can buy what she wants without her hubby complaining. Don’t let her get to you – she’s just jealous.’

  ‘I’m not bothered about her,’ Lottie said.

  ‘So why the frown?’

  ‘Men, kids, chores… the usual.’

  ‘This is me you’re talking to. Men, kids and chores have been part of our lives since we met, but you don’t usually look so down about it.’

  Delia was right. They’d met at the local mother and baby group not long after Sabrina and Mick were born, both of them new mums and both of them struggling with breastfeeding and sleep deprivation. Men, kids and chores were nothing new.

  Lottie stared into the distance, wondering where she should begin, or even if she should begin at all. She’d already chewed Delia’s ear off once about her suspicion that Henry was having an affair, and Delia had talked her down. And for a few days afterwards Lottie had been convinced she’d been jumping to silly conclusions, but since Thursday evening when Henry had gone outside to take a phone call and his mood had changed on a sixpence, plus him being distant and reserved when they were out for a meal, his mind on something – someone? – else, her suspicions had reared their ugly little heads again.

  It wasn’t unusual for him to have work phone calls when he was at home – but unless the kids were making a noise, he usually just answered regardless of whether she was in earshot or not. It wasn’t like him to go outside to take it. It was as if he hadn’t wanted her to hear who he was talking to. And then there was that odd change of mood…

  She may not have found any evidence he was having an affair, but that didn’t mean to say he wasn’t. All it meant was that he was being very cautious, and she wasn’t looking hard enough.

  She hadn’t forgotten the daft door he’d brought home for her, either. Actually, it wasn’t that daft, after all; she’d spent some time on the internet and she knew what she was going to do with it. She didn’t want to keep it herself, but she was going to convert it into a coat rack combined with an oversized photo frame – using each of the sections where the panes of glass had gone to hold one photo. Turned on its side, and with hooks on the bottom and a shelf on the top, it would make a fantastic piece for a decent-sized hall. She already had paint she could use, and there were a few knobs and hooks somewhere in the shed, together with a piece of wood that would make a perfect shelf. Upcycling it would cost her nothing but her time.

  But that was where the issue lay. Look at her now, thinking about renovating doors instead of thinking about her marriage. If this was what Henry had wanted to achieve by bringing someone else’s discarded items into her life, then it looked like he was succeeding. Which was something else that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her heart feel heavy: the more distracted she was – as if she wasn’t distracted enough by having three children under the age of ten – she supposed he reasoned the less attention she’d pay to his comings and goings, his moodiness, and his unusual behaviour.

  If Delia had described those exact same things to her with regards to Stephen, Lottie would have thought Stephen was having an affair. That it was Henry who was behaving in this manner shouldn’t affect her powers of deduction, or her common sense.

  ‘You still believe Henry is playing away, don’t you?’ Delia asked astutely.

  Lottie worried at her bottom lip. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I thought you’d decided you were overreacting?’

  She gave herself a mental shake. There was no point in discussing things any further with her friend, and certainly not with Henry, until she had concrete proof. She was probably just being oversensitive and silly. It didn’t prevent her from being unable to shake her suspicions, but that was something she’d have to deal with on her own.

  ‘I am, I know I am. It’s just me being silly,’ Lottie said, chewing at her lip.

  ‘Do you fancy a day out?’ Delia asked suddenly, her eyes lighting up. ‘That’ll cheer you up.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Remember I told you we were going to the Winter Fayre at Penygraig Castle tomorrow? Stephen can’t make it, so it’s just me and Tyrone. Unless you want to come too? Kids under five go free, so it won’t cost you anything. Please say yes – I don’t fancy going on my own and if we don’t go it’ll be such a waste. There’s a Santa’s grotto…?’ Delia waggled her eyebrows.

  ‘And that’s supposed to entice me?’ Lottie smiled.

  ‘Just imagine the kids’ faces! It’s th
e other side of Builth Wells and will take about an hour and a half to get there, so if we leave at about eight thirty we can be there for ten and come away about four o’clock. I think six hours is probably enough.’

  Lottie thought hard. She could arrange for the two older ones to go to the school’s breakfast club at eight, and she could always ask Henry if he could finish early and pick them up from school. If that wasn’t possible, there were other favours she could call in, or she could ask Henry’s mother. It was definitely doable, and the more she thought about it the more she found she was looking forward to a day out – and she knew Morgan would simply adore looking around the castle and seeing Santa. Not to mention all the stalls where she might be able to pick up some of those last-minute presents she still needed to get. It would be a wonderful start to the festive season and hopefully would get her in the mood. Delia was right, though, six hours would be enough, especially with over an hour spent travelling each way. The little ones would be exhausted, but as long as she took the pushchair for Morgan, he could get in it when he was tired. A change of scene would do her good.

  ‘If you’re sure, we’d love to come. Thank you so much for asking us.’

  Feeling better than she had done all weekend, Lottie gave Morgan a resounding kiss before he dashed off into the nursery, and she hurried home to start work on the door. The sooner she got it done, the sooner she could advertise it and maybe get a few pounds for it.

  But at the back of her mind, doubt and suspicion continued to linger. Was this going to be the last Christmas they’d have together as a family? The thought terrified her, but now it had lodged in her head she couldn’t seem to drive it out, and the more she tried to dismiss it, the more she figured Henry just might be holding off until after Christmas before he admitted he was having an affair and was going to leave her. After all, he wouldn’t be so horrible as to spoil Christmas for the kids, would he?

  Naturally her thoughts moved on to imagining a life without Henry in it. He’d be an ex-husband, nothing more to her than the children’s father. Would he still want to be involved in their lives? The moment she thought it, she realised how daft she was being: he loved his children unconditionally. But what about this other woman of his? Would she want to be involved, too?