by Nancy Barone
‘Hello, Sam,’ I said civilly, while inside I wanted to rip him apart. But I realised that that would make me resemble him – unable to communicate and basically feral.
I stepped past him and turned expectantly to him. ‘May I go through or have you got company?’
He blushed, then stuttered. ‘K-Karen! Sarah’s mum is here to collect her things!’
I was shown into the bedroom, which reeked of more alcohol, and there I stopped dead in my tracks. Karen, I presume, had pulled out all of Sarah’s clothes and shoes onto the unmade bed and was trying them on, admiring herself in the finger-smudged and greasy mirror. So gambling had not been Sam’s only flaw.
I turned to him. ‘Have your friend box everything and mail it to my home. I’ll let Sarah decide what to do with her stuff.’
And with that, I turned on my heel, the three trolleys bumping along behind me, hoping I’d scraped the walls in the process.
*
‘Ew!’ Sarah said while we were waiting for the girls to come out of the ladies’ room at Wetherspoons when I told her why I had come back empty-handed. ‘I never believed they were only work colleagues. They deserve each other.’
Good girl, I thought to myself.
Instead of going home to do some more decluttering, we spent the rest of the day wandering through Lemon Street Market, browsing over the artwork and artisanal vases. There was a beautiful pale turquoise ceramic dish that would look great in the entrance hall of my new home.
I gifted Sarah of a few outfits, which she tried to resist out of pride, but I gently took her to one side. ‘Sarah. I’m your mother. I’m here for you. Now try some stuff on while I hang on to the girls. We’ll be right here if you need me.’
At that, she blushed and kissed my cheek before she went back into the stall. ‘Thanks, Mum. I don’t know what I would do without you.’
I smiled. ‘Go. These two are getting tired.’
I took the girls to the food stalls and picked up some cheeses and focaccia bread along with some sun-dried tomatoes as a light dinner for when we got back to Wyllow Cove.
All in all, we’d managed to get through today, and would do the same tomorrow as well.
*
Later that night, my doorbell rang while I was getting ready for bed. It was Mags, my best friend and colleague at Lady magazine who covered fashion.
She dropped a bottle of Prosecco into my hands.
‘Isn’t it a bit too late for booze, even for us?’ I quipped.
‘Haven’t you heard, then?’ she said as she trudged through the entrance hall to the back of the house.
‘Heard what?’ I echoed, following her.
‘Hilary is leaving, effective immediately!’
‘Hilary? Our Hilary, as in our editor-in-chief?’
‘The one.’
‘Oh my God. We’ve been together since we started out!’
‘And you’ll never guess who’s taking her place.’
‘Anna Wintour?’ I offered and she snickered. ‘Yeah, I wish. Octavia Hounslow.’
I pursed my lips in thought, but the name didn’t ring a bell.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Does Your Home mean nothing to you?’
‘My home?’
‘No, Natalia – the magazine Your Home.’
‘Oh!’
‘Yeah. She used to contribute with a column called Girl Power – and now she’s suddenly our boss. I can only surmise as to how she got this gig.’
‘Don’t be crass,’ I said. ‘If she worked at Your Home she must be good.’
I pulled down a couple of flutes from my cupboard as she popped the cork. I poured and we took a long swig. ‘Ah,’ she said, smacking her lips. ‘Better already. More, please.’
I obliged, my mind racing, wishing she’d get on with it. To be over at that hour, even if she was a fellow villager, there had to be more news. And knowing Maggie as I did, the booze could have either been celebratory or consolatory.
‘Apparently, Octavia wants to zing up our rag a bit. Meaning everyone forty and over is getting the boot. Unless they can provide a very good reason for being there.’
I gasped. ‘She can’t do that. That’s ageist, let alone downright illegal!’
Maggie sighed. ‘She’s put a different spin on it, of course, but that’s what it’s basically down to. You know – out with the old…’
‘But we’ve been writing for Lady forever!’
‘Exactly. She thinks it’s time for a change – to bring the younger generations in.’
I was dead. Absolutely, positively dead. While Maggie had alimony to support her, I didn’t, as my settlement had been the house. Which was no good unless I could capitalise on it.
Karma already working its wonders on me for kicking Neil out, I wondered? But he’d cheated on me. What was I supposed to have done? Or, more to the point, what was I supposed to do now? All I had income-wise was my measly column, which was why I’d decided to take on a lodger in the first place, but to think that now my job was actually in danger simply because I was quickly approaching The Big Four-Oh? Like a bolt of lightning on a clear blue day.
Damn these power-obsessed twenty-something-year-olds. Why couldn’t they just let women mature without fearing the worst? As if we already didn’t have to contend with: wrinkles, spare tyres and bloody bingo wings.
‘So what are we going to do?’ she asked, swerving unsteadily, and I suddenly realised she had already had quite a lot to drink before she even got here. I put a hand at her back and shrugged. ‘We try to keep our columns, whatever it takes.’
She groaned. ‘What do I know about fashion compared to someone half my age?’
‘Everything,’ I said loyally.
‘Christ, I need a time machine.’
‘Chin up, Mags,’ I said. ‘Your best is yet to come. Think of all those ladies twice our age who are still leading the game.’
‘Yeah, well, sometimes I feel like their grandmother.’
I knew exactly what she was talking about, of course, but I wasn’t about to allow her the pity party. This was a time to stay chipper and be optimistic.
I shrugged. ‘We’ll send our résumés out.’
‘Did you not hear? The world is being invaded by twenty-year-old workaholics! Whatever happened to them partying, and lazing around on Mum and Dad’s sofa? When did they suddenly become productive enough to take our place? This cannot be happening!’
‘Take it easy, Maggie. There’s a thousand things we can still do.’
She opened her arms wide, her drink sloshing dangerously around the rim. ‘Like what?’
‘If worse comes to worst, you can open your own accounting business like you trained for. Go freelance.’
‘Freelance? But I’m not that adventurous. I need stability.’
I took a swig of my own drink. It tasted horrible now, after the bad news. ‘Stability? I think that ship has sailed, Maggie. Look around you,’ I said.
Because it was all at stake now. Stability, jobs, relationships, marriages. Everything was subject to change and no amount of resisting would ward it off.
‘Do you think we’re going to be poor?’ she slurred drunkenly.
Well, I most certainly already was. ‘Of course not, Maggie. We’ll be fine. Would you like something to eat to soak up the booze?’ I asked.
‘No, I just want to sleep. Could you drive me home, Nat?’
‘Of course, Mags.’
When I’d sufficiently reassured her and driven her back to her home in the village, I came back and went to bed.
Only I was up half the night, staring out into the darkness, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks, wondering what to do. If Octavia Hounslow was already firing forty-year-olds, it wouldn’t be long before it was my turn. If I panicked, I was screwed, so I tried to stay calm and think about nice things. And so I thought of Connor Wright.
*
The next morning, with a sour aftertaste burning my throat, my head about to explode and my
ears ringing, I – no, wait. It wasn’t my ears. It was the bloody doorbell. I peeled my eyelids open and found my way downstairs. Sarah was still fast asleep on the sofa.
In the hall, I bumped my head against the doorjamb as I completely missed the doorway.
‘Ow, ow, ow…’ I moaned as I finally made it to the front door and opened it a crack. Who would hike all the way up here to Smuggler’s Rest so early in the morning?
Standing there, with a gazillion-watt smile and a white and blue chequered shirt and holding a toolbox was, you guessed it, my lodger. Connor Wright. Even more gorgeous than I remembered. Bloody hell, what with Sarah and the twins, I’d forgotten he was moving in today. I clutched my aching head as huge silver spots did the hustle before my eyes.
‘Hi – are you all right?’ he asked as I crumpled against the wall, my head spinning, or splitting open, whichever came first. ‘What happened?’
‘Head… door…’ I groaned.
He put his toolbox down and lifted my face to inspect my forehead. ‘Hang on a second,’ he said, half-walking, half-carrying me back into the kitchen where he sat me down and reached into the refrigerator for an ice pack.
‘Ouch,’ I moaned as he gently placed it against my bruised skin. Up close, even in my confused state, I could see his five o’clock shadow despite the early hour. And yep – his skin was still flawless.
‘It’s just a bruise. But you are going to have a bit of a bump later.’
‘Thank you,’ I managed, pulling down on my hem, suddenly aware I was practically starkers except for my flimsy nightie and a cardi. ‘Did you bring your things?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Great. I’ll go… get the contract and the keys,’ I said. ‘Throw some clothes on…’
‘Of course, let me help you up.’
I let him pull me up gently and together we headed for the hall again. ‘What’s that?’ I asked, eyeing a box he’d put down.
He grinned and twinkle, twinkle went those eyes again. ‘A new kettle.’
It was my turn to grin, thinking of how nice it would look in my next home. ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.’
He shrugged. ‘I wanted to contribute.’
And that was when Sarah stumbled in, dressed in her Charlie Brown PJ shorts and T-shirt.
‘Wha’s goin’ on?’ she moaned, stopping short at the sight of a stranger in the house.
‘Honey, this is our new lodger, Connor Wright.’
Sarah stared at him, and then at me. ‘What? When did you decide this?’
Connor looked back and forth between the two of us. ‘Sorry, I came at a bad time…’
‘No, no, not at all,’ I assured him. ‘This is Sarah, my daughter.’
‘Oh! Right. Hi.’ He leaned over and offered his hand with that polite yet knicker-melting grin. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Why had he looked so surprised? Did he think I was too young to have such a mature daughter? *punches fist into sky*
‘I need coffee,’ she declared briskly, grabbing the box with a picture of a kettle off the floor, still not in her best mood. ‘It’s about time you bought a new one, Mum. That old thing had been here since I was ten.’
Connor smiled but said nothing.
‘Coffee?’ she offered him, remembering her manners.
He nodded. ‘Sure, thanks. I’ll, uh, go get the rest of my stuff from the car, then.’
‘Make yourself at home,’ I said. ‘I’ve put out some clean towels for you, and I’ve already made your bed.’
‘Thank you,’ he called over his shoulder as he sauntered down to his SUV.
Sarah, more operational than me without the bump on her head, started to make toast and coffee as I ambled back into the lounge to retrieve her housecoat. After all, we couldn’t just stand around in our smalls with a man in the house now, could we?
‘So it’s okay if I go up?’ he called from the hall.
‘Of course, make yourself at home,’ I answered, listening to his light step on the staircase as he hummed a somewhat familiar tune I couldn’t quite place.
‘Make yourself at home?’ Sarah hissed. ‘Where the hell did you find him? And why, above all?’
I sighed. Here we were, already. ‘I need the money, Sarah. This house is too expensive to maintain on one salary.’
‘But you know how tiny Wyllow Cove is – everyone’s still talking about the divorce and you’ve already got a new man in the house? I’m fed up with all the gossip, Mum.’
‘First of all, I’ve never cared what everyone else thinks. It was your father who wanted to impress everyone and anyone.’
She could not argue with that. But my argument was not with her. ‘And in any case, Sarah, you’ll be here to guard your mother’s virtue – and the jewellery.’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Mum, I’m just looking out for you. What will Dad think? You’ve already thrown his stuff out—’
‘Stop right there,’ I said. ‘First of all, I didn’t just throw his stuff out. I told him I was decluttering, and to come get it before the pick-up lorry came. If he chose to ignore me, it’s certainly not my fault.’
‘But, Mum, he was only hoping you’d change your mind…’
I turned to look at her. ‘Change my mind? We’ve been divorced for six months, Sarah. Plus he lives with someone else now.’
Sarah lowered her head. ‘I know, Mum. But Dad still loves you.’
‘Yes,’ I snorted. ‘He loves me so much he’s gone and found a twenty-year-old bimbo on the side. I’m just sorry I only found out recently.’
She eyed me carefully. ‘You… didn’t know?’
And then it dawned on me. ‘You did?’
She shrugged. ‘Sort of.’
‘Well.’
‘Mum – I’m sorry. I was hoping he’d stop. I didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘Sweetheart, no worries. I know you only want me to be happy.’
‘I do, Mum. But that—’ she said, pointing upstairs ‘—is possibly the biggest mistake that you have ever made in your life. What the hell has got into you?’
I sighed. As much as I loved my eldest, she was a photocopy of Neil. Lizzie, on the other hand, was a bit more free-spirited like me.
‘Nothing. I just needed a change.’
Sarah snorted. ‘He’ll change you, all right. He’ll take you to bed and then break your heart.’
‘Sarah! That is not the way to talk to your mother. He is just a lodger, nothing more. Plus, I’m stronger now than I ever have been. And you will be, too. Just give yourself some time.’
‘I only hope you won’t regret it.’
I looked at my daughter and wondered how long it would take for her to understand that there was a difference between looking out for your mother and interfering in her new life. Assuming I had a new life. Because unless I shifted this mausoleum and found a way to save my column, there would be no new life.
‘I’m done,’ Connor said from the bottom of the stairs as if to announce himself before entering the kitchen.
‘Here, let me help you with that,’ he said to Sarah as the kettle boiled.
‘That’s all right, I can manage, thank you,’ she answered, banging cupboard doors open and shut.
Ouch. It was already not looking good. I could only hope that his presence would cheer her up a bit and that we could all become friends. After all, he was a nice bloke, with a ready smile that was contagious. I knew, because I couldn’t help smiling back. Or maybe it was just me.
‘That really is a nice garden,’ he said, looking across the orangery out to the green expanse. Luckily it had been raining a lot in the past few weeks, because a green thumb, I did not have.
‘Oh? Oh, yes, thank you. As I mentioned in the ad, it needs a little work. My fences are a disaster and I haven’t been to the garden centre yet. Would you, uhm, like a tour before we…?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure.’
Saved by the bluebells. I was glad to get him out of Sarah’s line of fire, if only
for a moment.
I pushed down on the handle of the back door, which suddenly came off in my hand.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry about that! I must get it fixed.’
‘I can do that for you. I’m pretty good with my hands. Have you got a screwdriver?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry? Oh, you don’t have to—’
‘I want to,’ he insisted. ‘Wyllow Cove seems like a lovely, safe village, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry, don’t you think?’
‘I think.’
I ducked back into the kitchen where I opened the top drawer and handed him the screwdriver while Sarah shot me a baleful look.
‘Can I help in any way?’ I asked him.
He was studying the door handle. ‘It’s just a couple of screws loose, nothing more. Can you hold this straight while I screw it back in?’
‘Sure,’ I said, putting all my strength into it, trying not to stare at his lovely face only inches away from mine on the other side of the glass. The man truly did not have any pores to speak of, and his face was a mixture of youthful yet very manly beauty. Just how old was he? Twenty-five, twenty-six, tops? Only eight years older than my youngest daughter. Shame on you, Natalia Amore.
‘Done,’ he said, dusting off his hands.
‘Okay, quick garden tour it is, then,’ I said. ‘Follow me.’
And out we went, where I nattered on and on about the messy borders, the fences that needed replacing and the tall grass and the tree branches that had fallen down last winter that I’d neglected to remove. As much as I loved the outdoors, since I’d have to let my lovely cleaner go, I just had no time for the outside anymore.
‘Gorgeous oak tree,’ he said, looking up as we reached the bottom of the one-hundred-foot garden.
I smiled. ‘Yes, it’s over three hundred years old and sturdy as they come.’
He smiled back, apparently enjoying the sound of the breeze as it whispered through the highest branches. It was going to be a warm summer. I could already tell.
Once inside again, I became even more aware of his presence that had been diluted outside, but back in the kitchen, however huge it was, I had no excuse but to look him in the eye. All under Sarah’s critical glare.
