Cupid's Way

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘He was only trying to help,’ Mavis said, enunciating each word carefully.

  ‘It was my idea, actually,’ Tim said, trying to hide a bashful grin. ‘The Zac thing. But I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling very community-spirited when I suggested it. I was just bloody angry.’

  ‘Well, anyway. I think we could all get behind this cooperative thing, don’t you?’

  Tim nodded eagerly, but Mavis stuck up her wrinkly hand.

  ‘Permission to speak, Captain?’

  ‘Permission granted.’ Evie smiled as her gran pulled herself to her feet and adopted the posture of a bolshy army cadet. Her smile slipped off her face, however, as soon as her gran spoke.

  ‘Sorry to be the one to point this out, but how the hell are we going to raise enough money to buy every house in Cupid’s Way? And even if we could, why would the council sell it to us instead? Do you really think a company as ruthless as Dynamite Construction is going to let that happen?’

  *

  Even though her gran had spoken the truth, Evie couldn’t get the idea of the cooperative out of her head. As soon as they got back to Cupid’s Way she pulled out her tablet computer and looked up “housing cooperative Milton Keynes”. It was just as Tim had described it, give or take a few details. Spencer Street – a gorgeous Victorian terrace made up of two rows of former railway houses – had been saved from demolition back in 1976. As she read, Evie became more and more excited. The similarities between the two sites were clear – they both had communal gardens, with Spencer Street’s also housing chickens and a duck pond and an organic vegetable plot. Both streets were founded on a strong sense of community spirit, with stunning architecture and quirky, cheerful colour provided by the independently-minded residents.

  Evie devoured all the information she could find, only leaving the computer long enough to find a folder and paper in her still unpacked luggage. Immersed as she was in pictures of bunting-clad parties and cute little painted bench seats and window boxes, it took a while for the commotion downstairs to filter into her consciousness. When she heard the front door slam and footsteps stomping up the stairs, Evie finally looked up from her new project.

  ‘I’m not interested. I don’t even want to read it. Just leave me alone.’

  This was clearly her gran talking, but her voice was unlike Evie had ever heard it before. She looked out into the narrow corridor. Mavis was slamming the door to the bedroom she and Frank shared, all but smashing him in the face with it as she did so. Frank recoiled, and when he turned and saw Evie his face was ashen.

  ‘Gramps, what’s going on?’

  He shook his head and moved away, heading for the stairs. Evie followed him, sending a glance towards the bedroom where the sound of angry sobbing had started up behind them.

  ‘Leave her,’ Frank instructed. ‘You can’t talk to her when she’s like this. You have to let her calm down.’

  Evie, having been in enough rows in her lifetime to know that sometimes being left to “calm down” was the last thing a woman wanted – and was more likely to interpret it as not caring than being given space – wrinkled her nose in confusion. Torn between wanting to quiz her granddad about the cause of the argument and wanting to go and comfort her sobbing gran, she hovered on the bottom step, unsure.

  Frank left her there and escaped to the kitchen. Moments later Evie heard the back door close softly and knew the option to quiz her granddad had now been removed. Most likely he’d go for a walk to cool off, then do some vigorous digging in the allotment, before coming home with a box of chocolates and an apologetic smile. It had always been so, and Evie often envied her grandparents their easy way of bickering and making up.

  She climbed the stairs and raised her hand to tentatively knock on her gran’s door.

  ‘Mmm … mmm,’ came the response, which Evie decided to interpret as ‘Come in.’

  Expecting to see her gran huddled on the bed in a puddle of tears, Evie was surprised to find her sitting at a kidney-shaped dressing table rubbing thick white cream onto her face. She crossed the room and draped her arm around her gran’s thin shoulders, then looked into the mirror at their two faces side by side. Mavis grinned, her teeth looking oddly yellow against the bright white of the unctuous cream.

  ‘Gone off in a huff, has he? Never could stomach a row.’

  Evie gave her gran an exasperated glare. She pulled up a stool covered in daisy-patterned fabric and perched by her side.

  ‘He seemed really upset, actually. And if anyone was huffing it was you.’

  ‘Na. He’s probably propping up the bar of the Dog and Bull right now as we speak, going on about “her indoors” being unreasonable. The manager of that old fleapit’s heard it all before.’

  ‘Were you?’ said Evie. ‘Being unreasonable, I mean?’

  Mavis shrugged. She picked up a clod of cotton wool and began to wipe the cream off her face. ‘Probably. But that’s my prerogative. His job is to be the voice of reason, mine is to be emotional.’ She regarded Evie’s confused face and sighed. ‘Evie, you’re young and naive. You think love is all about passion and excitement, about finding someone attractive and having stuff in common and wanting to be together.’

  Evie lowered her chin to her neck. ‘And you’re saying it isn’t?’

  ‘Well, a bit. Maybe. But in the main, when you’re married it’s more about finding roles you’re comfortable with and staying in them. Then each person feels safe and secure and knows what’s what. It’s when one of you steps out of your roles that the trouble starts. And that’s a fact.’

  Evie considered this, watching her gran smooth another layer of cream onto her face. Without its covering of powdery make-up, Mavis’s skin actually looked younger and more vibrant. Or maybe that was just because she was taking off a layer of wrinkles with her vigorous scrubbing.

  ‘Okay,’ Mavis said, dabbing something blue and sweet-smelling in dots around her eyes, ‘let’s look at an example. Suppose a man has always taken on the role of the long-suffering husband. For years he’s rolled his eyes affectionately at all his wife’s little idiosyncrasies and patted her on the head and generally taken no notice at all.’

  ‘And she’s happy with this, is she? She doesn’t feel patronised at all?’

  ‘Go with me, Evie. I’m trying to make a point here. Okay, so one day the husband suddenly, with no warning, decides to change his role and become annoyed by his wife.’

  ‘Who is, let’s face it, kind of annoying,’ Evie put in.

  Mavis nodded in concession. ‘Perhaps. But now she’s faced with how annoying she is, whereas before she’s been protected from it. For years and years and years. Now her husband tuts and huffs and gets irritated with her, and tells all their friends how dizzy and stupid she is, or how prickly and naggy. Their whole relationship falls apart.’

  ‘I’m guessing that where you’re going with this is that the fault of the falling apart thing lies with the person who changed. Am I right?’

  ‘Spot on,’ Mavis said. She reached for yet another pot of cream – this one bright green and not so sweet-smelling. ‘So, there you have it.’

  Evie squeezed her brows together, trying to process what the hell her gran was trying to say.

  ‘Hold on now,’ she said slowly, ‘isn’t the real problem in their relationship the fact that the wife is dizzy and stupid, or indeed prickly and naggy?’

  ‘No!’ Mavis regarded Evie with narrowed eyes, her hand suspended mid-air with a dollop of green gloop on the end of one finger. ‘Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been listening to some words, but not many of them made sense,’ Evie said, grinning.

  Mavis reached down and planted the gloop on the end of Evie’s nose. She said, ‘It will one day, my lovely. You mark my words.’

  ‘So, is this about what’s happened to you and Gramps?’ Evie got up from the low stool and stretching.

  ‘Oh, crikey, not at all.’

  Evie stood off to
the side and glared at her gran in confusion. The older woman was now reapplying her thick make-up in layers, and Evie wondered what the entire exercise had been for.

  ‘So …’ she said, shaking her head from side to side. ‘What exactly are we talking about here?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Mavis, painting on an eyebrow with a thick brown crayon. ‘I had imagined you might be interested in why I was so upset. Did Frank not tell you about the letter?’

  Sometimes, Evie thought as she settled herself down on her grandparents’ shiny satin bedspread, it was better to just listen and not ask any questions. She lay back and looked at the ceiling. Her gran finished her make-up and came over to sit on the pillow. Her voice was no longer blithe and airy.

  ‘We’ve had another letter from Dynamite Construction. They’ve increased their offer for the houses. Frank wants to sell up, Evie. And I just don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  Chapter 20

  Over the weekend the weather seemed to mirror the mood in Cupid’s Way. Low skies were weighted down with scudding clouds and a chilling wind blew the south gate entirely off its hinges. The incessant sheet of drizzle clearly wasn’t the only reason everyone stayed put in their own little houses, refusing even to pass the time of day. Evie worked on the allotment with Frank, planting carrots and parsnips and making bamboo wigwams for a purpose that would presumably become clear in time. Frank’s answers to her questions were short and delivered in a monotone that just about broke her heart. After a while, Evie gave up talking completely.

  Every so often she’d look across at Sarah’s house and wonder whether she should knock. Or she’d turn her attention to the Peacocks’, trying to imagine the state of play in their three-into-one house. Zac passed by early on Sunday morning, carrying a bag of cement on his shoulder, and told Evie he was filling in the foundations at number six. Evie wondered again whether his mother knew anything about Zac’s antics with the Roman relics. When she mentioned the new offer letter, Zac clapped her on the back and told her not to worry.

  ‘Dynamite won’t be getting their hands on this place anytime soon,’ he said. ‘Don’t you worry.’

  But Evie couldn’t help worrying, and now the very spirit seemed to have been sucked out of Cupid’s Way. Frank and Mavis still weren’t speaking, and twice Evie had seen Tim walk straight past Sarah’s house without even glancing in the direction of her front door. It was bad news all round.

  By Monday morning she was desperate to find a way to bring them all together again. But when the opportunity came along, it wasn’t exactly what she had hoped for.

  Or then again, maybe it was.

  Cissy and Pip had called round early doors with a meat-free casserole – they’d been away for the weekend and wanted to thank Frank for keeping up with the digging. Evie filled them in on the latest developments, and told them about the idea for a cooperative, to which they responded with surprising enthusiasm.

  ‘I know someone who used to live in Spencer Street,’ Cissy said, beaming. ‘I’ll look her up, get the low-down.’

  Evie was so relieved to find someone with a ready smile, she gave Cissy a hug. ‘Really? That’s fantastic. It looks like an amazing place.’

  Cissy nodded, twirling her long blonde plait. ‘I remember her telling me she’d moved into this vegetarian community, it was a while back now. But she lived there for about two years. She loved it.’

  ‘I don’t think they have to be vegetarian,’ Evie said. ‘I mean, it won’t be a requirement if people want to live here. If we get the idea off the ground, that is.’

  Which was looking less likely by the day, Evie thought. Yesterday Frank had come back from the pub with stories of how Bob Peacock had been bragging about the flashy holiday he was going to pay for with his compensation. Evie couldn’t bear the look of defeat on her gran’s face, or the atmosphere of tension between them.

  Cissy was regarding Evie with interest. ‘Don’t you have some kind of connection with that Dynamite guy?’ she said.

  Evie nodded. It was one way of putting it.

  ‘Well, there you go.’ Cissy nudged her in the ribs and grinned. ‘Use your feminine charms on him. See if you can’t get him interested in the cooperative idea.’

  ‘Ha! I don’t think that would work. Nice idea, though.’

  ‘How do you know? He seemed like a reasonable enough guy at that meeting at the community centre. And from what Sarah’s been telling me,’ Cissy added with a wink, ‘he’s got a pretty big soft spot for you.’

  Evie glared across the gardens towards Sarah’s house. Had she, now? ‘Well, he might have had a soft spot initially, but I think it’s hardened up some recently.’ Like a calloused wart.

  Pip grabbed Cissy’s arm and tugged her down onto the path. ‘Take no notice of her, Evie. She thinks everything can be solved with a bit of fairy dust and magic.’

  ‘If only it could,’ Evie murmured, watching them stroll back towards the allotment. She shivered in the nippy breeze and pulled the door closed. A voice at her back said,

  ‘Maybe it can.’

  Evie wheeled around and found her gran standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘You overheard that, I suppose?’

  Mavis nodded.

  ‘And I’m guessing you think Cissy’s got a point. That I should go and talk to Michael, see if I can – what did she say – “use my feminine charms”?’

  ‘Evie, I would gladly sleep with the man myself if it meant keeping hold of my house, but I don’t imagine he’d be that up for it. With you, however …’

  Evie clapped her hand to her mouth, shocked into silence. But when she looked again at her gran she saw she was smiling mischievously. ‘Gran, you are incorrigible. You’d pimp out your own granddaughter to a man you can’t stand?’

  ‘No, of course not. In fact, I forbid you to so much as kiss the hateful man. But … Oh, I don’t know. Would it hurt to talk to him? Would it hurt to have one last try?’

  Trying to buy some time to think, Evie looked past her gran to the wall of photographs and prints. She noticed a clumping of holiday snaps in the far corner of the room, and then she realised why these frames had been shoved together. There was a new arrival. Sitting about two feet from the ceiling, half in the light from the lamp on the sideboard, was the photograph of Tommy. It was mounted in a navy frame, and sat at a slight angle, as though hung inexpertly and possibly in a hurry so no one would notice.

  Evie raised her hand to point to the photo, but Mavis pressed her arm back down to her side.

  ‘Evie,’ she said. ‘Sometimes we just do what we have to do.’

  Blinking back her tears, Evie nodded, but by the time she’d collected herself to reach out for a hug, her gran was back in the kitchen clattering cups and whistling under her breath. Evie took a deep breath and looked at the photo again.

  Maybe it was worth a try. After all, things couldn’t really get any worse, could they?

  *

  The drive into Bristol was far too quick, and before she knew it, Evie was standing in front of the offices of Dynamite Construction Incorporated in one of the city’s well-to-do areas of commerce. She remembered Michael pointing out his office the day they sat having coffee on the other side of the river. None of this had seemed so serious back then. She’d kind of assumed it would all blow over, the way these things often did. Since that day she’d given up her job, found out about her gran’s tragic secret, moved back to her childhood home and discovered feelings for Michael that were stubbornly resistant.

  But this was the hardest challenge yet. She stood on the pavement looking up at the mirrored glass and wondered if he would even agree to see her. Maybe he wouldn’t be here – he could be up in Edinburgh or flying around the world doing his thing. Being important. Trying to figure out which scenario would make her happiest, Evie pushed open the glass door and walked inside.

  An ice-blonde receptionist perched behind a marble desk greeted Evie warmly. She didn’t bat a fake-lash
-encrusted eyelid when Evie asked to see Mr Andrews, calling through to his office on a state of the art console. Evie couldn’t hear Michael’s response, but she figured it was positive because the receptionist pointed her in the direction of a pair of glass lifts and instructed her to get off at the sixth floor. Evie obeyed, wiping her palms on the side of her linen jacket every couple of steps.

  In the lift, she checked her hair and make-up, despite having told herself over and over on the way into town that she wasn’t going to worry about that sort of thing. Michael would either listen to her or he wouldn’t, and the shade of her lipstick or the exact smoothness of her hair should have little impact either way. Still, it was reassuring to note that she looked pretty good today. In her bag she carried the folder with all her notes on the cooperative idea, and she’d rehearsed her speech at least five times in the car. She ran over it again now, mouthing the words into the mirror, tipping her head a little to test out her entreating expression. Then she realised that everyone in the offices she passed on the other side of the atrium could see her through the glass walls of the lift, and probably thought she was some kind of nutcase.

  Michael was waiting for her when she exited the lift. He held out his hand and Evie shook it. She suppressed a nervous giggle – the formality of the situation seemed ridiculous suddenly – but Michael’s serious expression and the imposing surroundings soon knocked the hilarity out of her.

  ‘Please, sit,’ Michael said, closing the door behind them. His office was just as she’d expected – large and minimalist, with polished concrete floors and distressed wooden furniture. It screamed good taste, just like the man himself. Evie swallowed and took her position in the chair Michael indicated. She slotted her bag between her legs, wishing she’d worn the one and only skirt she’d brought with her from Manchester. When she finally got around to doing some job hunting she’d have to buy something suitable to wear for an interview, but for now dark blue jeans and navy heels were as smart as she could manage.

  ‘So.’ Michael pulled up a chair alongside hers and relaxed into it, lacing his fingers loosely in his lap. There were no signs of tension from him, or for that matter of the electrical charge Evie had picked up the last time she saw him. She tried to tell herself it would be for the best if he’d lost interest completely, and also that she couldn’t really blame him. But she still registered a twinge of disappointment at his casual manner.