by Maeve Haran
‘How about a hotel?’
‘In India she would stay in a hotel in a palace on a lake. Here it is Travelodge or Premier Inn. You can see my problem.’
Laura was about to point out that London was full of grand hotels from Claridge’s to the Savoy which could rival even palaces on lakes, but they would of course be ruinously expensive. She wondered if her son Sam could find a nice Airbnb with charm and character for the imposing guest. But maybe that would add insult to injury?
‘Do you want some help clearing the room? I could find somewhere for the boxes out the back, I expect,’ Laura offered.
‘Mrs Minchin, you are very kind lady. If my wife could only regain former bossiness, all would be better. She is suffering a decline with overdose of chocolate digestive biscuits and many episodes of Gogglebox. I think it is all that is coming between her and total collapse.’
‘Oh dear, as bad as that? I wonder what on earth we can do?’
With her usual efficiency Ella had already started browsing places for Laura to live on Rightmove and was truly appalled about how much you had to pay for a flat like a box without even a pocket-handkerchief of a garden attached. She had obviously done really well with her auction purchase. Maybe that would be the answer for Laura too, though there were obvious risks attached, since ‘Buyer Beware’ applied and you could never be 100 per cent sure what you were getting. Still, it had worked for her. She looked out of her window as an egret – a small white heron with a plume of feathers on its head – landed on her bird table and helped itself to the sunflower seeds intended for the humble blackbirds and robins. How wonderful it was to be so near the river. Her moment of peace was brutally interrupted by a sudden pounding on the front door.
She skipped down the steep stairs, ignoring the voice of her daughter Julia in her head pointing out their impracticality for anyone over sixty, to find that it was Julia herself at the front door.
‘Julia darling!’ she greeted her daughter. ‘How lovely to see you! Would you like something to drink? Cup of tea? Glass of wine?’
‘That is absolutely typical of you, Mum,’ Julia reposted furiously, her pretty face made ugly by anger. ‘Offering me a glass of wine when you know I’m driving. But then I suppose it’s nothing compared to the fact that you almost killed my son!’
Ella had been wondering what Harry would have recounted to his mother about the driving debacle. Thank God she didn’t seem to have worked out about the insurance, not that that made Ella feel a whole lot better. She was still eaten up with guilt at having let her precious grandson drive uninsured.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, nothing actually happened!’ she was tempted to point out to her furious daughter, but the thought that something could have happened stopped her. It was strange how you felt more responsible for your grandchildren than you had for your own children. With her two daughters, Julia and Cory, in the car, Ella had bowled along listening to rock music without a care in the world. Maybe it was the memory that when she’d been growing up herself they hadn’t even had seat belts.
‘Of course, I blame that ridiculous car. I don’t know what you were thinking turning yourself into some ludicrous granny racer. You’ve got no idea how pathetic you look at your age with a car like that.’
‘I like my car,’ Ella insisted. ‘I have earned it after years of driving old estate cars packed to the gunwales with my children’s gear.’
‘Well, my son won’t be driving in it, I can tell you that now.’
‘It was your son who asked me to take him out because you were too busy,’ Ella reminded her reasonably. ‘Look, Julia, I am really sorry about what happened with Harry. As it happens, I think you’re right. It might be better if I don’t take him out again.’ She didn’t expand that the reason was because she was worried about the memory lapses that were beginning to seriously concern her.
She probably ought to do something about it, but didn’t think she could face it. What if it turned out to be something really serious?
She thought of phoning her younger daughter, Cory. Cory would be sympathetic without implying it was somehow her fault. Julia would no doubt raise the spectre of too much alcohol being responsible, probably insist she gave it up. The trouble was, while Julia had plenty of time to interfere, Cory was busy working.
She’d have to decide what to do for herself. And it certainly wouldn’t involve giving up chilled Sauvignon!
Laura stood in front of her bedroom mirror trying to decide what to wear. Calum had invited her for a drink at six o’clock in a local wine bar considerably more upmarket than The Grecian Grove. She wondered about the significance of this. People who didn’t know each other very well usually met for six o’clock drinks since it gave you the option to continue for the rest of the evening or make some excuse that you had something on later. Yet her relationship with Calum had been more intimate than that. Not so intimate that they’d been to bed together – that was still too scary for Laura after breaking up so recently from Simon – but she had thought they were on the way to being close. Certainly her friends had got that impression.
And then he’d gone quiet. Maybe it had all been too fast for him. After all, the way they’d met – at a group for people recovering from marriage break-up – had hardly been the best of beginnings. Two recently damaged people seeking solace in each other perhaps before they were ready? But Calum had seemed perfectly balanced and rational. Not the kind of man to rush headlong into heartache. She had willed herself not to read too much into seeing him, but still the green shoot of hope had begun to poke through her pain.
Best not to make any assumptions and just go and chat to him. No doubt he would fill her in. He was a nice man, that was why she’d been drawn to him. She was sure of that.
He was already waiting for her with a bottle of chilled Picpoul – he must have remembered she liked it – in the window of the wine bar.
‘Laura.’ He stood up and greeted her with a slow smile. She’d forgotten how tall and broad he was, as if his suit was almost struggling to contain him. ‘You look lovely.’ He kissed her on the cheek. She could see herself in the mirrored wall behind him and was relieved that she did indeed look pretty. The warm peachy shade of her fluffy cardigan always suited her. ‘How are you? What happened with the job interview you were going for?’
Laura sat down as he poured her wine. ‘They quite liked me, I think. But the job would have meant a lot of travel and, to be honest, what with everything that’s been happening, I didn’t feel that was for me.’ She didn’t add that one of the reasons was wanting to be around for her son and grandson, since, as it turned out, neither of them were going to need her.
‘How about you?’ she smiled at him gently, not wanting to pry.
‘You’re probably wondering why you haven’t heard from me lately.’
Laura shrugged. ‘I imagine you had your reasons.’
He looked suddenly at a loss. ‘It’s my wife, Kate. Ever since the divorce she’s been interested in me again. She says I’ve learned a lot at Relationship Recovery.’
‘And what do you think?’ Laura kept her voice as devoid of disappointment as she could.
‘I don’t know. To be honest, I’m totally confused. It hadn’t been me who wanted the marriage to end so I would have thought I’d be thrilled, in spite of all the things we’d said to one another. But since I met you . . .’ His voice trailed off and then he looked at her steadily. ‘I had hoped there might be something genuinely between us. Well, the chance of something.’
They sipped their drinks, neither knowing what to say. Laura had been so hurt by her husband’s affair, and even more devastated by discovering that Suki was pregnant, even though it had ended sadly in a stillbirth and, as far as she knew, they had then parted. She didn’t know whether she could deal with this. Besides, she didn’t really know what he was offering.
‘Calum, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to work this out for yourself. Maybe we rushed into this too soon.’
/> He reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘I have worked it out. I’ve told her our marriage ended when she walked out on me.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘I’m only interested in you, Laura.’
Relief and the longing for love leaped in Laura, drowning out the small voice of doubt.
She leaned across the table and kissed him.
Ella was actually glad to have the task of flat-hunting with Laura as she was really missing the allotment. She knew her friends thought she was weird to care so much, but it was the people she was missing, and more than that, she was coming to realize, it was also the structure it had brought to her life. In spite of having a husband and two daughters, the truth was, Ella had been a borderline workaholic. She had always disguised this fact by telling herself how important she felt her work as a lawyer had been, but actually she’d enjoyed everything about work – the sense of purpose, the company of colleagues, she’d even enjoyed the travel into town. Maybe in some strange way the little community of the allotment, even though it was made up of very different characters from those at her well-paid employment, had given her a similar framework, a reason to get up in the morning.
And without it her life seemed oddly empty.
She needed a new challenge and for the moment helping Laura would have to be it. Besides, she was quite worried about her friend. Laura had based her whole life on husband and family and now she’d lost Simon and her children were leaving as well. Add that to the loss of the home she’d taken such pride in, and Laura was the one who really needed support.
Ella had thought her friend mad to work in a supermarket. It had seemed almost demeaning for a woman of her intelligence, but somehow the loss of the allotment was showing her that everything was more complex than it seemed. LateExpress gave Laura a much needed framework to live by, and as far as she could tell, an odd kind of friendship.
Good for her. Now, if Ella could help find her somewhere nice to live, maybe things would start to look up.
She went back to the enjoyable job of browsing flats. The wonder of the internet meant she could see twenty at a sitting, with floor plans (in Ella’s view the most essential tool for the house-hunter) and for the posher properties there was even a 360-degree video tour.
After an hour or so she was beginning to feel discouraged. The prices for ground-floor flats with gardens situated in anywhere Ella considered the known world were way beyond the budget Laura had quoted her.
She went downstairs to make herself a coffee and realized tomorrow was the day for the bins. She’d better put them out now as the binmen arrived at a godforsaken hour and waited for no man – or woman.
It was amazing how much recycling she managed to generate for one person, including rather a distressing number of bottles.
She gathered them into discreet paper carrier bags which she collected for the purpose and opened her front door.
To Ella’s horror her keys were the first thing she noticed. They were still in the lock. She removed them instantly, feeling really stupid. Thank goodness Julia wasn’t around or it wouldn’t just be Claudia’s dad who was for the care home. It would be Ella too.
Sal studied the layout for next month’s magazine and realized her mind was elsewhere. In Surrey to be precise.
She was genuinely shocked with herself. How could she have arrived at this advanced stage of her life and still be fantasizing about men? Especially one particular man she’d only just met, and with whom she already had a professional relationship? Not that professional relationships had deterred her in the past. In fact, she’d often felt an illicit thrill in imagining the important men she’d worked with coming to her flat in North Ken and removing their pin-striped suits before engaging in extremely unprofessional conduct.
A message buzzed on her phone, putting an end to these inappropriate memories.
To her amazement it was from Lou Maynard.
My daughter has booked me into a slice of olde England called Igden Manor. Didn’t you say your friend lives nearby? Why don’t you come down at the weekend? You can have your own cottage. Every cliché available . . . croquet, hollyhocks, even a ghost dating from one of your Henrys . . . Lou.
Sal found she was smiling. It would be great to see Claudia without having to stay with her and disapproving Don. She knew it was weird but she always preferred the independence of hotels to her friends’ houses. Something to do with an en suite bathroom and a twenty-four-hour minibar.
Sounds great, she messaged back. And then panic struck her. What were Lou’s intentions? He’d been sensitive in stressing that she’d have her own cottage, but what if the question of sex came up? How could she, a one-breasted recovering cancer patient, even think of taking her clothes off in front of a man ever again?
Maybe she’d better make an excuse and back out.
‘So I said, Mr O’B, stop standing there like a tart at a christening and get off your backside for a change . . .’
Claudia listened, stunned. Her mother, who always claimed she hated swearing, was sitting at the kitchen table sharing a pot of tea and a plate of shortbread fingers with the new carer and Olivia seemed to be finding her absolutely hilarious. Normally Claudia would have been happy that her mother seemed to have accepted the woman, but what about her father? The whole point of paying Mrs O’Brien was for her to help with his personal hygiene and entertaining him.
‘I’ll just go and see how Dad’s getting on,’ she commented caustically.
‘Yes, why don’t you, dear?’ was Olivia’s bland and carefree reply. ‘He’s probably not even dressed yet. He’s started watching the racing on that wretched device of his, still in his dressing gown.’
She saw the swift look of complicity pass between them at the general uselessness of the male gender and felt furious for her father’s sake. Wasn’t the bloody woman here to get him dressed, for God’s sake?
She knocked on the door of the shed.
‘Come in,’ replied a tremulous voice. She pushed open the door and stopped in shock. Her father seemed even older and more reduced since she’d last seen him, as if he wanted to slip beneath the rug on the sofa and never emerge. There wasn’t even the usual spark of delight at seeing her she had come to expect.
‘Hi, Dad, not dressed yet, slugabed! Can I give you a hand?’ It struck her that her father might not really like her helping him with his personal care, that affection and intimacy were different things. ‘Or would you prefer I got Mrs O’Brien?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he replied quickly and swung his thin legs off the sofa. ‘Just catching up on Kempton Park races from yesterday.’
Claudia turned away, hating to see her beloved father so unsteady on his feet.
‘Just pass me my stick, could you, darling?’
‘Can I get your clothes for you?’
Len grinned, a trace of her beloved dad emerging. ‘I think I’ll just wear what I had on yesterday. I took them off in here as a matter of fact. Don’t think I’m likely to bump into Lauren Bacall and bowl her over with my careless charm in Minsley.’
Claudia chuckled. ‘Shall I come back in ten minutes? Cup of tea?’
He nodded, beginning to look more himself. Why hadn’t her mother or that bloody woman thought of taking him one?
She stomped back into the kitchen.
‘My father would like a cup of tea.’ Mrs O’Brien got to her feet, but not before she’d shot a quick glance at Olivia. Claudia sat down in her place. ‘Right, Ma. I think what we need with Dad is a rota. You don’t have to show him – in fact, it’d be much better if you didn’t – but he needs a clear structure to be followed every day. It doesn’t have to be that busy, he’d hate that, but it needs some clear points, starting with getting him dressed in the morning.’
‘Claudia,’ her mother said, lifting her chin mutinously. ‘May I remind you this is my house?’
‘Of course, Ma,’ Claudia replied soothingly, and then with a little more steel in her tone, ‘but then Don and I are meeting mos
t of the costs of the carer.’
Mrs O’Brien sniffed loudly and disappeared towards the shed carrying a cup of tea on a small tray. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Warren, I won’t be long and we can make a start on sorting out that airing cupboard.’
Claudia’s heart sank.
Clearly her first impression had been right. Her mother had co-opted the carer.
Laura sat dreamily looking out of the bus window. Calum hadn’t stayed last night because she’d been concerned about Sam, but they’d decided that next time they went out she would stay over at his place.
Planning ahead might seem a little practical rather than romantic but it would give her a chance to wear her best lingerie, or even buy some new stuff, and get herself ready for making love to the first man other than Simon in twenty-five years.
The thought was wonderful but terrifying. Ever since she’d been married Laura had always felt like the Carrie Fisher character in When Harry Met Sally who says to her husband, ‘Promise me I’ll never be out there again.’ And here she was, out there. And scared.
There was a palpable air of excitement among the tins of beans and onion bhaji sandwiches at LateExpress, crowned by the stunning presence of Mrs A, fully dressed in a sari rather than her usual pink quilted dressing gown.
‘Her mother is arriving tomorrow,’ hissed Mr A. ‘She is getting into practice at rising early.’
As Laura was on the late shift today and it was almost midday, she tried to repress a smile.
‘Where will her mother be staying? Upstairs with you?’ Laura tried to picture the terrifying-sounding visitor in their small box room and signally failed.
‘We have reserved room at the White Swan Hotel, not even a mile from where we are standing,’ Mr A replied proudly. ‘We are sure my mother-in-law will be happy with an establishment with such a romantic-sounding name.’
‘Have you actually visited it?’ Laura enquired, picturing the rather shabby hotel with its peeling white stucco she often drove past when giving Sam lifts here and there.
