More often than not, out of sheer loneliness, she would let her mother persuade her to come to Sunday lunch. Anything to get out of the flat.
‘Bring some ice-cream,’ Maureen would say.
And Charley would sigh, huffing and puffing that she didn’t really have time, knowing she did. So she began to keep a couple of pounds aside each week for ice-cream ingredients, as well as one or two pounds extra to save up towards repaying her parents. It would take years, she knew. But she would pay them back.
The bankruptcy was being taken care of by the Official Receiver. It was just a matter of time and survival until it was dissolved in a year’s time.
In the meantime, she would wander down to the Saturday market, buy some fruit and knock up a batch of strawberry or raspberry ice-cream. Punnets of in-season strawberries and raspberries were relatively cheap. The tiny ice box in the top of her fridge could hold only two slim Tupperware boxes, but that was all she needed.
Soon she had begun to grow bored with the plainer recipes, lovely as they tasted. So one Saturday afternoon in the middle of June, she had opened up the hallway cupboard and stared at the cardboard boxes filling most of the space there.
She had already opened up the recipe book box but that wasn’t what she was interested in now. Instead she picked up another box and took it into the kitchen. Placing it on the small counter, she ripped off the packaging tape and opened up the cardboard flaps.
She stared down for a long time before reaching in and grabbing one of the clear bottles. She knew which one it was before she had even read the label. It was rosewater. She slowly unscrewed the top before inhaling the sweet scent. Charley knew instinctively that a few drops of this would add a subtle new flavour to her raspberry ice-cream.
She carefully pulled out a tall bottle of elderflower cordial. In the past she had mixed it with sparkling water to make a refreshing summer drink. Elderflowers, she knew, had a natural affinity with gooseberries. Now it would add new depth to a refreshing sorbet.
Charley’s hand twitched to grab the next bottle but she stopped herself, carefully folding the cardboard back over the bottle tops and replacing the box in the hallway closet. The other ingredients would wait until next week. She wanted to pace herself and keep the excitement building within her.
When she returned from the market later that morning, Charley was laden with fresh raspberries and gooseberries. It was the height of the season when all the summer fruit was at its cheapest.
It took her the rest of the day to whip up two separate ice-creams. The raspberry and rosewater mix was creamy and rich, dotted with dark pink. The gooseberry and elderflower sorbet was light and refreshing, a delicate pale green that was perfect for summer.
Whilst the desserts set in the freezer, Charley opened up one of the still-empty kitchen cupboards. She carefully placed the bottles of rosewater and elderflower inside.
Half an hour later, she peeled off the Tupperware lids and tested both the mixtures. She checked the texture and colour of each ice-cream before leaning down to inhale their scents.
The two desserts smelled fresh in their own different ways, one exotic and one comforting. How extraordinary to realise that she did not need her wonderful machine in order to turn out beautiful ice-creams. That she had had just as much fun making them in her tiny, grotty little kitchen as she’d had in her £30,000 emporium.
Charley inhaled the ice-cream scents one more time and realised what they had triggered, the feelings they evoked. They smelt like home.
Chapter Thirty-two
SAMANTHA WAS READY for her hot date. She was waxed, exfoliated, moisturised, painted and shining. It had taken many hours to make her beauty look this natural.
She was wearing a mini-skirt and a top with a wide neckline, which would gradually slip off her shoulder during the evening to reveal the new underwear beneath.
All this and she had cooked too.
Well, she had opened the packets, put them on her own baking trays and hidden all the evidence in the bin. As far as Richard was concerned, she would be a domestic goddess.
Especially when he tasted Charley’s ice-cream, which Samantha was going to pass off as her own. She checked the time and brought out the block of passion fruit sorbet. It needed about twenty minutes to soften up properly, so she placed it on the side.
The chicken and roasted vegetables smelt delicious. Everything was ready and primed, including Samantha. The only thing missing was Richard. Where the hell was he?
At that moment, her phone bleeped with a text. She groaned. Dinner would be burnt to a crisp if he was going to be late. She headed into the lounge and stared at the screen.
Sorry, she read. Going to have to cancel. One of the kids is sick. Will call soon.
She stared at it in a daze. Couldn’t his wife deal with the children? Why the hell did he have to do anything? How dare he treat her like this?
She considered calling him but knew it would turn into an argument and she couldn’t risk that. Best to play it cool.
That’s fine, she replied. No worries. See you soon, I hope.
She was pleased. The reply was cool, a grown-up response. He would be the one to suffer. He was the one who would be upset tonight. Not her.
She padded back into kitchen and switched off the oven.
Then she picked up the box containing the ice-cream and threw it against the wall, screaming as she did so.
Caroline came out of the bathroom and went down the stairs, somewhat pleased to find her daughter still sitting on the bottom step. Flora might be on the naughty step but at least she had remained on it.
It had been a stressful morning and Caroline’s daily score was already in the negative. She had never confessed to Jeff or any of her friends about her scoring system. Jeff was always telling her to relax, but it was all very well for him, she thought. He didn’t carry the full weight of their parental responsibility on his shoulders.
So Caroline had come up with her perfect ten-point system. A point added for every educational outing, play session and spell of fresh air. A point deducted for each half hour of television watched, or Disney Princess magazine read. Food was also included in the running total. The one day that Flora had eaten at McDonald’s with Jeff for a treat, the score had been minus twenty.
Each night before going to sleep, Caroline would consider the daily score and think up new ways to get the score back to ten. She knew she was placing too much pressure on herself, but when Flora went to school, she told herself, she would relax a bit. Even take on a part-time job during school hours perhaps. In a small way, she was looking forward to being her own person again.
The money would come in handy as well. She had already given up talking to Jeff about it. The last time she had mentioned his Christmas bonus, he had snapped, ‘And what if I don’t get a bonus? Have you seen the news? It’s not exactly boom time in the City at the moment.’
Perhaps the part-time job would help to make him feel a bit more secure. She had already seen a few advertised on-line that looked encouraging.
Caroline patted her daughter’s head as she passed by her on the stairs. Perhaps she was being a little harsh on Flora. It was only a small tear to the cover of her book.
When Caroline came back down again perhaps they could play her favourite board game. Flora was a competitive child, which would stand her in good stead at her new school.
She went back into the bathroom. Five minutes had nearly passed. She took a deep breath before looking at the white plastic stick in the sink.
There was no mistaking the blue line. Caroline was pregnant.
Julie was tired. The hotline had been manic because the whole network had crashed the previous night. Then some idiot had reversed into her car in the car park and driven off, leaving a massive dent in the boot but no note.
On top of everything, the puppy had whined and howled like a banshee for at least an hour last night after she had gone to bed. Eventually she had shouted at Nick to go d
own to the kitchen and sort the dog out. It was about time he learnt that his actions had consequences. She didn’t like the puppy, but it was a living, breathing thing. It needed taking care of.
Julie was determined to get things sorted over the weekend. She couldn’t go on like this. She just wanted to go home each night and relax, preferably before a decent night’s sleep.
She parked her car in the driveway, noting that Nick’s was missing. Perhaps he had listened to his mother for once and taken the puppy out somewhere. The poor thing hadn’t left her house since it had arrived. It was shut in the kitchen most of the time. Luckily, Julie’s kitchen was nothing like Charley’s former modern masterpiece. Interior design had never been a priority for her.
She went inside, relishing the peace and stillness. Until she heard a small noise from the back of the house. A whimper. Julie walked through the house and took a deep breath before opening the kitchen door. The puppy looked up and wagged its tail.
Julie sighed and put down her handbag on the counter, just as her phone rang with a text. It was from Nick.
Gotta job up north, she read. See you in a month or so.
She stared at the screen for a few seconds before calling Nick’s number. But it rang out. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her.
She sent a text back. What about the bloody puppy?!!!
But after five minutes there was still no reply.
She glanced down at the dog who was watching her with his big, black eyes. ‘Now what?’ she asked.
The puppy began to waddle around the kitchen floor. Julie watched him in a daze, realising that she would have to take responsibility for rehoming him. The puppy continued to stagger round and round before coming to a sudden halt. He swiftly squatted, before Julie could understand what was happening. A second later he was up and trotting into the hallway, leaving a small but stinky pile behind him.
Julie sighed. ‘You and every other male in my life,’ she muttered.
Chapter Thirty-three
CHARLEY HAD FINALLY confessed that she was making ice-cream again and the girls had insisted she bring some over to Julie’s house at the weekend.
She was trying out her brown bread ice-cream. It was a rich vanilla base dotted with crunchy clusters of caramelized brown bread. The name might not have sounded great but the taste was like cookies and cream. It was certainly going down well with the girls.
‘I’d better not have any more,’ said Samantha, pushing away her bowl. ‘Richard’s popping by later and I don’t want my stomach to be all bloated.’
‘What’s the point in worrying what you look like?’ said Julie, between mouthfuls. ‘He’s married, isn’t he? He won’t care if you’re twenty stone.’
Samantha tried to look wounded. ‘It’s not just about the sex.’
Julie snorted and almost choked on her ice-cream. ‘Of course it’s about the sex. Do you ever spend the whole night together? Go out in public?’
Samantha took a deep breath. She knew the girls wouldn’t understand how special her relationship with Richard was. But soon they would realise. Soon everyone would know how much he loved her.
Besides, he had sent her a huge bouquet after cancelling their last date. She had accepted his grovelling apologies but kept him at arm’s length, in ice-queen mode. He was now desperate to see her, so she had decided she would allow him to later that afternoon and let him beg some more.
The puppy gambolled into the lounge at that point. Julie scowled at the focus of her current bad mood. Then she looked at Caroline.
‘Can you ask around at school and the playgroups for me?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want him going to a rescue centre. I think it’s best he goes to a family home.’
‘Of course,’ said Caroline. ‘What have you been feeding him?’
‘I think Nick picked up whatever was on special offer at the supermarket,’ said Julie with a shrug.
Her friend frowned. ‘You’ve got to be careful, especially with puppies’ sensitive stomachs. What did the breeder recommend?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Didn’t Nick say?’
‘He didn’t even say it was from a breeder.’
‘Right,’ said Caroline, tapping the keys of her iPhone.
Charley stared, realising she had never even thought that she could be capable of phone envy until that time.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Samantha.
‘Seeing which is the best food for puppies.’ After a short while, she found the answer. ‘This website recommends turkey with rice.’
Julie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘For a dog? He’s going to be eating better than me.’
Caroline ignored her. ‘The rice is very good for puppies’ delicate stomachs,’ she read. ‘Plus they need lots of protein for growth. Look, all the measurements are laid out week by week so you don’t over- or underfeed the puppy. How many weeks old is he?’
Julie stared at her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What did the vet say?’
‘What vet?’
Caroline was visibly shocked. ‘A puppy needs injections. I think it’s around the three-month mark. You can’t take him out for a walk until he’s properly protected against disease and infection.’
Julie was about to retort that she had no desire to take the puppy out anywhere. That would be Nick’s job when he returned. Instead she just sighed. What did everyone else see in the dog that she didn’t?
‘What are you going to call it?’ asked Samantha, trying to move her feet away from sharp canine teeth.
Julie looked blank. She hadn’t named the puppy because then he would begin to become a proper presence in her life, something to care about. And she didn’t want that.
‘It’s got to have a name,’ said Charley. ‘What about Andrex?’
‘Or Scooby-Doo?’ said Caroline.
‘You must be joking,’ muttered Julie.
‘I know,’ said Caroline, with a sigh. ‘Blame it on the hormones. I’m pregnant.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ squealed everyone else, rushing over to give her a hug.
She nodded, a little tearfully. ‘I’m feeling permanently sick, but hopefully my blood pressure won’t rocket like it did when I had Flora.’
‘I tell you what would help,’ said Julie with a smile, ‘a nice family pet to take your mind off the stress.’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Nice try, but a puppy and morning sickness is not a good mix.’
Julie sighed.
‘What about Fluffy?’ asked Samantha.
‘It’s got to be a proper name,’ said Julie. ‘I couldn’t bear something like Pluto or Digby.’
‘I know!’ said Caroline, picking up her iPhone once more and showing them The Times newspaper app. ‘And he looks exactly like him!’
She pointed to a story about the London Mayor. They all looked at the picture of Boris Johnson and then back at the puppy. It was a perfect fit.
‘Boris it is!’ declared Charley, before sweeping up the puppy in her arms. ‘What do you say, eh, Boris? Do you like your name?’
The puppy’s tail thumped at all the excitement.
‘He likes it!’ said Caroline.
And so it was official. Of the four women, Julie was the only one not smiling.
A while later, they were getting back into the car to leave. Caroline sat in the driver’s seat and glanced across at Samantha, who was tapping into her mobile.
‘There’s a woman at work who might want a puppy,’ she said. ‘I’ll text her.’
‘Don’t send it!’ said Caroline, trying to snatch the phone out of her hands.
Charley leant forward from the back seat. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’
Caroline glanced back at the house but thankfully the front door was closed. ‘That puppy could be the best thing ever to happen to Julie.’
‘But she hates it.’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Only because she thinks it will hurt her, like the men in her life have. But dog
s aren’t like that. They’re faithful and loyal. When was the last time she was given unconditional love?’
‘Know the feeling,’ muttered Charley, before shaking her head. ‘Sorry. Not about me today. Other people have problems too. Got it.’
Mike’s words of criticism were haunting her day and night.
‘We’ll just keep telling Julie that we’re putting the word around,’ said Caroline. ‘But we won’t, okay?’
‘What if she doesn’t get used to the dog?’ asked Charley.
‘If she’s still fed up when he’s six months old, then we’ll rehome him otherwise it’s not fair on the puppy,’ said Caroline. ‘But I think we should give Julie time.’
And so the pact was made.
Chapter Thirty-four
IT WAS LATE on Sunday afternoon and the sun was glinting on the trout. And the squirrel. Thankfully the badger had been returned to wherever it had come from.
Charley’s mother had cooked Sunday lunch for the whole family. The warm weather had helped them through it.
Charley’s nieces were playing with the garden hose in the garden, soaking themselves and everything else in sight. Her twin sisters were on the patio arguing. Aunty Peggy was drunk on sherry, and her mother was in the kitchen trying to burn something.
Teatime and all was well in the land of the Summers family.
Charley handed her father his cup of tea.
‘Thanks, love.’
They sat together in silence for a while as she watched him slot together a wooden frame and tried not to think about what was going to fill it.
She had always found his workshop a comforting place, despite the glassy-eyed audience. The windows were open and they were alone together. Birdsong filtered through from the garden. The sound of sandpaper smoothing down a piece of timber was oddly soothing.
For the first time in a long while she felt herself relax.
‘Charlotte! Daddy!’ her mother called down the garden. ‘Teatime!’
‘I’ve heard rumour of home-made carrot cake,’ said Dad.
The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan Page 13
