When the front door had slammed behind her, the house had shuddered and then seemed to settle, quietly and steadily, as if reminding itself that dramas were an aberration and not part of a regular pattern. Leo climbed to the top of the house, to tidy the children’s bedrooms, and then descended all the way down to the basement kitchen, collecting laundry and used mugs as he went, until he reached the washing and drying machines, those symbols of cleanliness and order. In seventeenth-century Holland, he remembered from A-level History of Art, cleanliness had been seen not just as a virtue, but as a symbol of social harmony and prosperity. There was no reason why a load of his own family’s laundry, washed, ironed and restored to its relevant shelves and drawers by him, shouldn’t have an equally congenial effect on all of them. When Ashley had been pregnant, or having her two brief, impatient spells of maternity leave – ‘I can’t pretend that I’m not itching to get back to work, however much I’m thrilled to be a mum,’ she’d said frequently – he had been an excellent house husband, after all. Susie had wanted to pay for a nanny, but Leo had put his foot down, insisting on their need and ability to manage alone, just the three or subsequently four of them, and had been rewarded by the grateful gleam in Ashley’s eyes. He could resume the role that had, temporarily anyway, suited them very well. He could at least try. Whatever he managed would be a first step, at least, towards reclaiming control of their lives and ultimately – grandly – their destiny.
It was a comfort to think that he and Ashley were both simultaneously reclaiming authority over their working and domestic schedules. Here he was, stuffing socks and T-shirts into the washing machine, with Fred having his morning sleep upstairs and the prospect of a buggy walk to collect Maisie from nursery school, followed by a commendable lunch of leftover chicken casserole. And there was Ashley, at work after a fine morning walk to get there, with a healthy packed lunch in her work bag and a firm intention to speak to Cara and Dan at the end of the day, in order to explain their changed domestic circumstances and her intentions for her professional future. By the time she got home, the children would be bathed, fed (tomato soup and cheese toasts, possibly), and even if supper wasn’t started, the kitchen would be tidy and welcoming. He felt a small surge of elation. If this was contributing, then maybe it was going to be more fulfilling than he had dared to hope.
He straightened up. Above his head, Fred was abruptly awake and bellowing, rocking his cot so that the headboard banged against the wall. There was a distinct mark on the wall already, which threatened to develop, any minute, into a crack in the plaster. It was obviously necessary to move the cot away from any wall, at once. It was also necessary to put washing powder into the machine, select the right programme for reasons of economy and ecology, and switch it on. Leo hesitated for a moment, his hands full of a tangle of Maisie’s tights. The banging upstairs intensified, culminating in a crash. And then there was silence. Leo dropped the tights and ran.
‘Pa!’ Grace said, holding her telephone to her ear.
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Well, I am. I haven’t spoken to you for ages.’
‘Days.’
‘And it’s the afternoon.’
‘Where are you?’ Jasper said.
‘In the studio.’
‘So you’re back.’
‘Back?’
‘From Barlaston,’ Jasper said. ‘From – the new house.’
Grace cast a glance at Michelle and Ben’s studiously turned backs. Then she crossed to the studio door and let herself out on to the iron landing at the top of the outside staircase.
‘I’m outside now,’ she said, ‘and it’s freezing.’
‘Gracie,’ Jasper said, ‘I’m ringing to see if you’re OK.’
Grace screwed up her eyes. In the yard below her, a gaggle of schoolchildren were being herded from the factory towards the pottery café. In the school holidays, you couldn’t move for children painting pottery in the café, pottery that then had to be labelled and fired and labelled again. It had been Susie’s idea, fifteen years ago – long before everyone else had thought of it – children putting their names, their handprints, their mother’s names on—
‘Grace?’
‘Pa,’ Grace said, ‘I’m fine. I really am.’
‘But Barlaston …’
‘I think it’ll work. I think he’ll agree to live there, even with builders in. He’s not really bothered about comfort.’
Jasper made an exasperated sound. ‘I don’t care what bothers him or doesn’t. You know what I want.’
‘Yes. Ma told me.’
‘I don’t want you exploited, either. Making you show him round the house is exploitation.’
‘I offered to,’ Grace said.
‘She shouldn’t have let you.’
‘It’s easier for me, I’m a bit distanced. I’m not his daughter.’
‘You’re mine,’ Jasper said, ‘and I’m worried about you. You don’t sound right to me.’
Grace turned to face the wall of the studio. It was a little less windy with her back to the yard. ‘I’m tired, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I’m not used to having anyone else in the flat.’
‘He shouldn’t still be there.’
‘Pa, please.’
‘I’m coming up to Stoke. I’m going to sort it.’
‘No!’ Grace shouted.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want it sorted. I mean, I don’t want you to sort anything. I’ll sort it my own way.’
‘Don’t you want help?’ Jasper said.
Grace leaned her forehead against the brick wall of the studio. It was cold and rough and impersonal. ‘I don’t want any more dramas,’ she said.
‘I won’t make a drama. You know me, I don’t do drama. But I draw the line at having you exploited in all this nonsense.’
Grace closed her eyes. She said, without thinking, ‘I’m not being exploited. I’m just – trying to work out who I am.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t mean that. I didn’t mean that, Pa. I just mean, please can I do things my own way?’
‘Even if it means other people bullying you?’
‘They’re not.’
‘Oh God, Grace,’ Jasper said, suddenly weary, ‘have it your own way. Reject help. Tell me I shouldn’t have rung.’
‘I like you ringing,’ Grace said lamely.
‘I haven’t seen you for weeks.’
‘Only about three.’
‘Grace, what is going on?’
Grace took her forehead away from the wall and rubbed it. She said, ‘We’re really busy. I mean, exceptionally, for this time of year. Usually it goes completely dead after Christmas.’
‘I didn’t mean that. As well you know.’
‘I’m OK,’ Grace said. ‘And I’ll be down to London soon.’
Jasper said sharply, ‘When you’ve finished doing your mother’s bidding.’
There was a sudden surprised silence.
‘Gosh,’ Grace said. ‘That wasn’t like you.’
Jasper took a breath. He said, ‘Perhaps you should pay more attention.’
‘To you?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘If you and Ma are fighting,’ Grace said, ‘it’s none of my business.’
‘I see.’
‘Pa, I have to go. I’ve got work to do.’
Jasper sighed. ‘Sorry, Gracie.’
‘Me too. Sorry, Pa.’
‘Will you ring me? If I can do anything?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘Bye, darling.’
‘Bye, Pa.’
Grace clicked her phone off and dropped it into her pocket. Then she opened the door to the studio. Michelle was standing by the kettle, her weight on one hip, holding the Valentine’s mug that she had appropriated for her own use – ‘Be prepared,’ she said, ‘that’s my motto’ – a single teabag held between finger and thumb.
She looked at Grace. ‘Lover boy?’
; ‘What?’
‘On the phone. Was that hot Jeff?’
Grace took a chair at the central table with its back to the rest of the room. ‘It was my dad,’ she said. ‘If it’s any of your business.’
Ashley decided that she would not talk to Cara and Dan in the boardroom. That would look altogether too elaborate. It would be better to sit at the meeting table, where buyers and other visitors were welcomed, in the alcove flanked by shelves of pottery grouped by design, and with a view out to the south and to the river. There were high stools around this table, which lent the area informality, and a whiteboard on the wall which gave the sales figures in the shops for the week, divided by coloured marker into three columns – the actual sales, the target sales, and the sales compared with the same week in the previous year. Ashley knew those figures by heart, as she did every week. Dan had already said that he was not interested in seeing any more minus signs.
Ashley had made coffee in the Italian screwtop device which Cara and Dan said made the best coffee. Ashley suspected they said that because the process was more laborious and therefore, in their opinion, more authentic. Dan had refused an office request for an espresso machine, pointing out that the building had an excellent café on the ground floor, but he had imported an electric ring to sit beside the office kettle all the same, to enable the coffee pot to be used. Ashley told herself that she would not even comment on that, let alone allow herself to get steamed up about it. Dan and Cara were a pain about coffee, as they were about anything to do with food and drink, and Ashley just had to accept that, in the same way she had had to accept having a mother who was late for every school sports day – if indeed she made it at all – and having a lovely-natured, supportive husband who, it seemed, was without significant personal ambition. They all were as they were. And just at this moment, she was determined to focus on raising her personal profile in the company.
Cara and Dan arrived simultaneously from their separate desks, and put their BlackBerries down next to the coffee pot.
Dan said, nodding at it, ‘Thank you for that, Ash.’
Cara looked at Ashley’s mug. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘Green tea.’
‘Are you detoxing or something?’
‘No. Just trying not to overload the system. Now that life is going to be rather different.’
Cara made a face, misunderstanding her. ‘Oh, I do hope not.’
‘I didn’t mean him. I meant at home.’
‘Wow,’ Cara said. ‘What’s happened?’
Dan poured coffee into two small mugs from the A for Apple range. He pushed one towards Cara and glanced at Ashley. ‘A good thing, from the look of you.’
Ashley said proudly, ‘We’ve sacked Cheryl.’
‘Great,’ Dan said.
Cara paused with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. ‘You always said she was lazy about everything except dolling herself up.’
‘It was the children, really. She was feeding them such rubbish, all packet stuff and sugar. One of the reasons we took her on was that she said she could cook. Well, she didn’t, and so Leo fired her, and we’re going for a totally new regime.’
Cara took a sip of her coffee and put the mug down. ‘Like what?’
‘Leo,’ Ashley said carefully, ‘is going to be a full-time house husband. He’s going to look after the children, and cook, and do the laundry. He suggested it. He said it was what he wanted to do.’
‘Good for Leo,’ Dan said. His tone was faintly hearty, as if he knew he should applaud Leo’s choice, but couldn’t quite believe in it.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Cara said, ‘if that’s what he wants. Wonderful for the children—’
‘And me.’
‘Yes, of course. And you.’
‘Because,’ Ashley said, looking down at her tea, ‘it sort of … frees me, doesn’t it?’
‘Frees you?’
‘Yes,’ Ashley said. She looked straight at her sister. ‘It frees me up to have a much greater commitment to the company. And if I have a greater commitment, then it follows that I should have a greater say.’
There was a small silence. Dan made as if to say something, and Cara reached across to squeeze his forearm to restrain him.
She said to her sister, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ Ashley said, ‘that I’ll have more headspace. For marketing. More time to analyse the website. More time to spend on the data from the Collectors’ Club. More attention to give to advertising and partnerships with other companies. Increasing the number of catalogues from four to eight, say, with two or three around Christmas.’
‘All good,’ Daniel said, too quickly.
‘But?’ Cara said.
‘But?’
‘You implied that all this increased application on your part should somehow be recognized …’
‘Yes,’ Ashley said.
‘We do recognize—’ Dan began. Cara tightened her grip on his arm. She said, ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that you and Ma don’t regard me as equal. And I think you should. Merchandizing and marketing should be equal.’
‘In – in standing?’
‘And remuneration,’ Ashley said.
‘Ash, we get paid the same—’
‘But there’s two of you. And no children.’
‘We can’t compensate you for having chosen to have children.’
‘No,’ Ashley said. ‘But you can recognize that I am as professional as you two and Ma. I am as crucial to this company. And what I do for the company – and even more, what I will do, now that Leo has made this amazing offer – should be acknowledged, both in how I’m treated in the company and what I’m paid.’
‘But Ash—’
‘This is a family company,’ Ashley said. ‘The money it gives Ma and Pa is pretty ad hoc. I don’t mind that, but I do mind being treated as a lesser contributor than you two. Especially now.’
Daniel looked at Cara. He said, slightly impatiently, ‘May I speak, please?’
She took her hand away. ‘Of course.’
‘Ashley,’ he said, ‘we can’t magic marketing into more than it is.’
She held his gaze. She said, ‘I’m not asking that. I’m just telling you that I’ll be adding value.’
‘Could you—’
‘Listen,’ Ashley said. ‘The brand used to depend on Ma and Pa’s home life, didn’t it? When we were little. All those photoshoots of us eating toast and catching tadpoles and doing the Christmas tree. Well, Ma doesn’t really have a home life now, does she, whatever she says? So it could be my home life instead – mine and Leo’s and the children’s. Our lives are very much like an updated version of how we used to live, and that’s crucial to customers, you know it is.’
Cara said carefully, ‘Are you insisting, Ash? On something that should be a joint decision?’
‘No,’ Ashley said. ‘I’m just emphasizing how valuable I am. Forty thousand online mailshots increase sales about three per cent. Double the mailshots, using Maisie and Fred, thus keeping it in the family as we’ve always done, and we’ll double the increase. The Collectors’ Club will go wild – so many of them are grandparents. I’m just pointing out to you that you need me, and I want that recognized.’
‘By paying you more?’
‘By at least having a discussion about payment. For all of us.’
‘Including Grace?’
‘Of course.’
‘Now? While business is so—’
‘Now,’ Ashley said.
Cara sat back on her stool. She didn’t look at Daniel. ‘Wow. There’s so much to think about.’
‘No, there isn’t,’ Ashley said. ‘I’ve made it perfectly plain. It isn’t at all complicated, and it completely chimes with the brand ethic.’
Cara glanced at Daniel. She said, ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Oh?’
‘I meant—’ she said, and stopped. Then she said, ‘Ash, we were discussing something
else, Dan and me. We were talking about another shift of emphasis – something that would actually sit very well with what you were saying.’ She pushed her coffee mug away. ‘What Dan and I were discussing was, in fact, a bit of a change in direction for … for Ma.’
There was a note on the kitchen counter in Grace’s flat, in Morris’s curiously feminine hand. It merely said that he was out and would not be back till late. He would not be there for supper. He had signed the note with a flourishing M and a kiss, and left it under a jar of fig mustard that it would never have occurred to Grace to buy.
She sighed, and dropped her bag on the floor. Of course, she had given keys to Morris, and then Susie had given him some cash, and it was not up to Grace to monitor how he spent that cash. It was irritating not to know where he was, in the same way that it would have been irritating to have a wayward teenager in the flat who one was fundamentally responsible for, while acknowledging the need for them to have a degree of independence. It was a relief not to have Morris there all evening, shuffling about the sitting room in his blue socks, but at the same time it was mildly agitating not knowing where he was, what he was doing, or when he would be back.
She ran water into a glass and drank it, then filled the glass a second time and carried it into the sitting room. The room was tidy, but to judge by the dented cushions had recently been occupied. Grace told herself not to be neurotic about how many people had been in her flat, or to speculate as to what they might have been doing there, and sat down on her sofa with the remote control in one hand and her glass of water in the other. She would watch whatever came up on the screen, until her brain was sufficiently relaxed to be of use to her.
She was no sooner seated than the buzzer to the street door of the flats sounded. Heaving herself to her feet, Grace put her water and the remote control on the coffee table and padded over to her front door, and the small security screen set into the wall beside it. The screen showed Jeff, in jeans and a leather jacket, holding a bunch of flowers.
Grace leant on the wall beside the screen.
‘Go away,’ she said into the speaker.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to see you.’
Balancing Act Page 10
