Going Dutch

by Katie Fforde

  Now, Jo put the radio on and they travelled the thirty odd miles mostly in silence.

  ‘They're not going to be there, are they?' asked Dora, as they drove through the village. Suddenly anxious herself, she was on the alert in case she saw anyone she knew and had to duck. She still wasn't ready to go back, she realised, and didn't know if Jo was either.

  ‘I insisted that they shouldn't be,' said Jo. 'I don't want to have to be polite when I see what she's done to my home. I can't believe she got rid of the wallpaper in the spare room. It was terribly expensive! It was toile de Jouy – you know? It's a French thing. There are little drawings of people ploughing and tending their sheep usually. But this was modern. It was a city, with road-menders and diggers and even a man throwing up in the gutter.' She made a noise very like a growl.

  ‘Oh, there's Mrs Thing!' said Dora in alarm. She hunched clown in her seat before allowing her head to rise enough for her to see. 'It's OK, she hasn't spotted me.' Dora felt herself go hot and cold.

  ‘Mrs Who?'

  ‘I don't know her name, but she came up to me in the shop and told me I was a very selfish young woman.’

  Jo tutted supportively. 'Take no notice. Here we are. Hop out and open the gate, will you?’

  Chapter Eleven

  As requested, Dora hopped and Jo drove in. The climbing rose up the side of the house was just coming into bloom and summer shimmered on the threshold, about to descend into her full glory.

  Jo noticed the rose and wondered, as she always did, why yellow roses were always the first to bloom. Then she noticed a planter. It was a miniature wheelbarrow full of brightly coloured primulas, egg-yellow, shocking pink and mauve. Jo loved old fashioned polyanthus, with their wonderful, old-fashioned names, and there was a bank under a hedge that was starred with wild primroses in the spring, but she didn't like these artificial hybrids. She wasn't keen on miniature wheelbarrows, either.

  ‘Come on, let's go in,' she said to Dora after a moment, and then got out of the car.

  There was an arrangement of silk flowers on the hall table. Jo had always had something real there, even if it was only twigs with a few optimistic buds. Of course, silk flowers could be very pretty and they didn't need atten tion, they didn't drop or die or run out of water. She glanced at the mixture of blooms, which wouldn't have been flowering together naturally, and passed on.

  ‘Let's go into the kitchen.’

  As she stood on the threshold she was overcome with despair. All the feelings of loss and abandonment that she thought she'd got over came welling up as she saw theroom that had been the heart of her home. It had changed from a farmhouse-style centre of comfort and pleasure to a hotpotch of styles that was more like a showroom than a working kitchen.

  The table under the window was made of stainless steel, with two spindly-legged chairs under it. It was round and tiny, only big enough for a couple. Jo had had a solid pine table, scarred by the years and used for everything, for rolling out pastry, for sticking and pasting, for Karen's and often Dora's homework. Her favourite sort of dinner party happened there too.

  Now she turned to where once her Rayburn had been the source of so much warmth and nourishment ever since they'd moved into the house, over twenty years ago. It had been replaced by a range cooker, but one disguised as a real range. It had matt-black doors and there were covers to the burners; Jo half expected to see fake flames flickering through a mica panel, like something on a stage set. Over the top of this black and silver monster were stencils of cornflowers and poppies.

  ‘I suppose stencils have come in again,' said Dora, peering at them closely. 'They're not very well done. I wonder if she did the cupboard doors as well?’

  The cupboard doors were also decorated with some sort of paint effect. 'I think that's dragging,' said Jo. 'I remember reading about it.'

  ‘It's awful,' said Dora. 'If the Floosie did it, she's not very handy with a paintbrush.'

  ‘No,' said Jo. 'Dora, would you mind if I went outside for a moment? I need to get my head together. I think coming back was a bit of a mistake. Why don't you rummage round in the attic and see if you can find those tapes of you and Karen?’

  Jo sat on a bench in the garden, the back part of which was as yet unchanged. Reality had hit her in the face and she needed to recover. When she'd first left Philip and gone to live on the barge she'd felt in charge, pro-active, but although she knew she was leaving the home she'd created over the years and the husband she'd had for nearly thirty, she hadn't really taken in that those things were gone for ever.

  ‘I should have stayed,' she muttered. 'I shouldn't have left my house. I made it.' Every stick of furniture she had either bought or restored or loved into usefulness. Now her kitchen table was exchanged for a spindly metal monstrosity and her lovely Rayburn, nurturer of every thing from people to kittens, was replaced by a fake version of itself. It was horrible.

  A tear slid down her cheek and as she brushed it away she forced herself out of her pit of grief. This was not the way forward; she couldn't afford the indulgence. She'd done her weeping, her raging, now she had to live.

  She took a deep breath, got up and went to find Dora.

  *

  Jo found her in the sitting room. French windows looked out onto the garden via a large paved area. The garden beyond was beginning to look glorious.

  Dora remembered that Jo used to spend a lot of time gardening and thought she probably had very mixed feelings looking at it now.

  ‘Nice patio furniture,' said Dora.

  ‘Yes. Shall we take it? We could put it on deck. It would be nice to have something to sit on.'

  ‘Would it go in the car?'

  ‘Probably not, and you're right, we can't take anything I haven't arranged to take.'

  ‘I never said that!' Dora protested.

  ‘I know, but you thought it. Let's go and find my clothes. He knows I'm taking those. Also the biggest saucepan and my omelette pan. They'd be useful for the trip to Holland… for whoever is going. Did you find those tapes?'

  ‘Yes, they're in my bag. And you mustn't forget Karen's certificate, although you could definitely take more than that,' said Dora, relieved that Jo wasn't going to do what would feel very like stealing.

  ‘I'll get it now. It's in a file in that little bureau.' Jo crossed the room to the little piece of furniture she had saved for ages to buy. 'I've no idea why Philip couldn't find it.' She opened the front of the desk and a lot of bits of paper fell out. Jo made herself laugh – it was better than crying. 'See! Perfectly easy – put my hand right on it.’

  To Dora's amazement, Jo did have her hand on a pale mauve folder with 'Valuable Documents' written on it.

  ‘I hate to think I'm not being supportive,' said Dora, 'but I think I might not have found that straightaway.' Chuckling, Jo extracted Karen's certificate.

  ‘I'll take that for you,' said Dora, who still had her bag slung round her neck.

  ‘Thank you. Now, let's go and find a drink of water. I'm suddenly dreadfully thirsty.'

  ‘It's probably stress,' said Dora.

  ‘It's summer!' said Jo, not wanting to acknowledge her feelings even if Dora was meaning to be kind.

  They went into the kitchen and Jo found glasses and filled them from the big American-style fridge that had a water dispenser.

  ‘We would have loved this when we were little, Karen and me,' said Dora, doing the same. 'Oh look, it does crushed ice. We could have played cocktail bars.'

  ‘I like cocktails,' said Jo. 'Do you want some more water?'

  ‘I'm fine for now.'

  ‘Come on then, let's hit the bedroom.’

  *

  Dora had no way of knowing how much had changed when they got upstairs but judging by Jo's expression the bed hadn't been covered in fluffy toys when she had had it.

  ‘So what do they do when they want to get in at night? Take them all off, I suppose,' said Jo. 'I wonder what Philip thinks about all this?’

  Dora
found herself wandering over to the dressing table, which was antique and very pretty. 'Was this yours?'

  ‘Yes. It was my mother's. I will take it back when I've got a house. It's got glass on it, and so shouldn't get damaged if the Floosie spills her nail varnish. Golly, I've changed since I last looked in a decent mirror.' Jo laughed. 'I need a haircut!’

  Dora came up behind her. 'I remember me and Karen going through your make-up, trying it on. Were you furious?'

  ‘I don't remember if I ever found out. You couldn't have done much damage with it.'

  ‘There was a lipstick that got broken.’

  Jo laughed again. 'Oh yes. Very bright red. It stayed on the towels forever. I had to dye them in the end.’

  Dora was abashed. 'I'm so sorry! What a pain!'

  ‘Not at all. I was into dyeing at the time. Right, now, which cupboard did he say?' She opened one of the fitted cupboards, then another, until they were all open. 'Well, they're not here. Where are they?' She took out a hanger with a rectangle of black leather hanging on it. 'The Floosie must be tiny.'

  ‘Haven't you met her?’

  Jo shook her head. 'Philip wanted to show me a picture on his phone, but I didn't want to look. He said she's justlike I was when young. I didn't want to see the difference to how I am now.'

  ‘You're lovely now.'

  ‘I was never that size,' she said, putting the rectangle back. 'OK, let's go and see if my clothes are in the spare room. Oh,' she said a moment or two later when they had crossed the landing. 'This is so boring. I had such lovely paper in here, it was quirky and fun. Now it's just -chintzy. I don't know why, but I never like having matching wallpaper, curtains and bed linen and this has got just too many roses.'

  ‘I'm not sure I'm that keen, either,' said Dora. 'In fact, Samantha – is that her name? – seems to have quite retro tastes. Are these your clothes, do you think? In these bin liners?’

  Jo appeared to take her possessions being stuffed into bags like so much jumble quite calmly. She opened one. 'Yes. I must say, as I had taken all my winter clothes, I do think she could have left these in the wardrobe.’

  Dora pulled out a sundress. 'They're awfully crushed. Is there an ironing board on the boat?'

  ‘Don't think so. I haven't really needed one up until now. I used to have a wonderful woman who did my ironing for me. She was brilliant at it and did it all in about five minutes.' She lapsed into silence and when she spoke again she sounded tired. 'Still, I suppose you wouldn't really want to see the first wife's clothes hanging there every time you open a cupboard door.'

  ‘You're being awfully reasonable,' said Dora. 'I'd go ballistic if I found all my clothes scrunched up into rubbish bags!’

  Jo sighed. 'I'm trying very hard not to go ballistic. It doesn't achieve much. Now, let's go through these to make sure I'm not filling the boat with clothes I can't get into.

  ‘I should have done this years ago,' she went on a few minutes later, pulling off a cotton sweater that was definitely too tight. 'I haven't worn that for years.’

  Dora picked up the jumper. 'This is really nice.'

  ‘Do you want it? Help yourself. I'm always very flattered when Karen takes my things, although they are usually my cashmere jumpers.' She paused suddenly. 'I might not be able to afford cashmere jumpers soon.'

  ‘Why not?'

  ‘Well, Philip's bound to stop being so generous eventually. He's still feeling guilty, but that'll wear off. I'll have to earn my own living. I really hope I can earn enough from restoring collectables and antiques.' She hugged a striped Breton top to her. 'Philip bought me this from France, years and years ago. I couldn't convince him that horizontal stripes weren't a good idea for a woman of my shape.'

  ‘Put it on! I think it might look nice! Or does it remind you of the good old days?' Dora bit her lip, afraid that she'd been lacking in tact.

  Jo pulled off the T-shirt she'd been wearing. 'I'm not at all sure,' she said through the top as she pulled it down.

  ‘It does suit you, really it does. It sort of nips you in at the waist.'

  ‘Does it?' Jo considered her reflection. 'Mm, perhaps you're right. Let's put the clothes I'm taking in this bag and the ones that need disposing of in that one.'

  ‘That's such lovely fabric,' said Dora, looking at a wrap around skirt.

  ‘Does anyone wear skirts like this these days?' asked Jo. 'It would make lovely cushions.'

  ‘Have you got a sewing machine?'

  ‘Yes I have actually, in the attic. I don't think Philip would mind if I took that. It is mine, after all.'

  ‘Let's go and look, then we can make cushions out of the clothes you don't want to keep and sell them.’

  Jo laughed. 'It would take a lot of cushions to buy a cashmere sweater.'

  ‘Never mind! Many a little makes a lottle – or something.'

  ‘I think you mean "many a mickle macks a muckle",' said-Jo, starting to giggle.

  ‘Do I?' Dora giggled too and picked up a pair of linen trousers. 'I think you should wear these.'

  ‘I think one leg should wear them, though I'm not sure what the other leg would wear, they're tiny. In fact, they're Karen's. You have them.’

  Dora was struggling into them when they heard a car pull up on the gravel outside. Jo rushed to the window.

  ‘Oh no! It's Philip and – Samantha! What are they doing here so early?'

  ‘Oh God, I've got stuck in these trousers!' said Dora, trying in vain to pull them off. 'How old was Karen when she had these?'

  ‘I told him we'd be here this morning. He promised he'd keep away until twelve though he'd said I could have a whole day to begin with. He is the limit! Shall we run out through the back?'

  ‘I can't run anywhere!' declared Dora. 'I'm hobbled by these wretched trousers. I can't pull them up or down!'

  ‘I'll have to find something to cut them with. Here -there's a manicure set. It's bound to have scissors.’

  The tiny scissors made no impression on the cloth.

  ‘Oh God, this is so awful,' said Dora. 'My circulation is being cut off. They'll have to amputate my legs, let alone the trousers.’

  Jo felt a bubble of laughter rising and fought it down. 'There'll be some better scissors in the kitchen. I'll run down and get them.' They both heard the front door open. 'Too late. They're here now.’

  Both women stood, Dora swaying slightly in an effort to keep her balance, listening. They heard the sounds of things being tossed on the hall table, keys jangling, the door shutting, and then, a moment later, a female voice.

  ‘Where is she, then?’

  The voice was tense and a little on the shrill side.

  ‘She must be upstairs,' said Philip. 'Jo!' he called up the stairs. 'Are you there?’

  After a quick glance at Dora, frantically struggling again, Jo went out on to the landing so she could talk to Philip. To her irrational relief, his companion had gone into another room. 'Yes. I thought you'd arranged to be out. Until twelve. I was going to have a whole day, then a morning, now it's only about an hour!'

  ‘Samantha forgot something. It is her home, she can come and go as she wants.' He sounded angrier than the pre-arranged presence of his ex-wife in his house really warranted.

  ‘Dora's here,' said Jo, staying calm. 'We need some scissors.’

  A small scream was heard from the kitchen. 'She's cutting up my clothes! Philip! Do something!'

  ‘Jo! How dare you?' demanded Philip, one foot on the bottom step.

  Jo looked down at him, unable to credit what she was hearing. 'I'm not cutting up anything – except a pair of Karen's old trousers. No, don't come up. I'll come and get some scissors out of the kitchen.’

  She went downstairs and met her husband's new love drinking a glass of water. She was very young, moderately pretty, with long bare legs shown off to their best advantage by a miniskirt. Jo had to concede Samantha didlook a little like she had done when she was that age. Samantha undoubtedly drank many litres of water a day. Ha
d she been a friend of Karen's, Jo probably would have liked her, but as her own replacement in Philip's bed, liking was impossible. Maturity was the only advantage she had in this situation and Jo did her best to sound grown up. 'Hello,' she said, holding out her hand. 'You must be Samantha. I'm Joanna.'

  ‘But everyone calls her Jo,' said Philip, coming up behind them.

  Jo ignored him. 'Would you mind if I found a pair of scissors from the kitchen? My friend is upstairs. She tried on a pair of my – our – daughter's trousers and she can't get them off or on.' She smiled, still trying to keep up her role as a benign headmistress on speech day – terribly polite and terribly patronising.

  Philip and the Floosie exchanged glances but didn't move as she went to the drawer where she had always kept the scissors. Thankfully, they were still there. She picked them up and they felt familiar in her hand. She'd made cardboard castles, Romeo and Juliet's balcony, model theatres, produced any amount of Christmas cards and cut enough wrapping paper to encircle the earth, all with those faithful scissors. Now she had to ask to borrow them.

  She cleared her throat. 'Excuse me,' she said to Samantha, who was blocking her way.

  Samantha wouldn't move. 'What are you going to do with those scissors?' she demanded.

  ‘I told you, rescue my friend from a very tenacious pair of linen trousers.'

  ‘You're not going up there!' said Samantha, highly agitated. 'I've read about people like you, taking revenge. I don't know what you might do! My clothes are all designer labels. I don't want you cutting them to pieces.’

  It seemed to Jo that the younger woman was on the verge of hysteria. 'Why would I want to do a thing like that?'

  ‘Because you're jealous! I've taken your husband!’

  Jo took a deep breath. There was no doubt that she was the injured party, but she was not going to spend time placating this young woman and as Philip would doubtless object if Jo threw water over her, she'd have to try and cool her off by other means. Thanking God for her part in a WI play many years ago, Jo got into her role.