by Clare Ashton
“Caroline?”
The woman was handing notes to the stall holder and didn’t hear initially.
“Caroline? Could I have a word?”
She heard then and the change in her demeanour was notable to say the least. “Maggie.” The Tory council woman stepped back and put her hand to her heart. “You gave me a surprise.”
“Sorry. I wondered, do you have time for a chat?”
Caroline stared, clearly disturbed by Maggie’s approach, but she straightened herself, twitching the blazer with her shoulders, and held a shopping bag defensively in front of her.
“If it’s not convenient,” Maggie started.
“No, I have time. Richard,” she hesitated glancing around, “isn’t visiting this evening and I’m eating alone, so I’m in no hurry.”
It was strange to hear her husband’s name uttered with familiarity by another woman, but nothing worse than that, and for once Maggie was heartened by her own balanced response.
“How about I buy you a coffee?” Maggie suggested.
Caroline stood stiffly, chin too prominent for ease. “If you like. Thank you.”
“Let’s go to the Garden Café,” Maggie suggested, wondering at how awkward Caroline seemed.
The woman’s agitation didn’t lessen while Maggie bought the drinks. As Maggie waited at the counter, Caroline sat down in the middle of the conservatory, on the edge of her seat, back straight and shoulders square as if preparing to face a firing squad with dignity.
Maggie passed a black coffee down to Caroline, the woman’s anxiety not alleviated for a moment, and Maggie took a seat and sipped at her indulgent Mocha.
“I need a favour,” Maggie ventured, realising with shame, given her attitude and behaviour over many months, how little this woman owed her that.
“I’m listening,” Caroline said, chin aloft.
“I need advice on planning permission.”
Caroline’s mouth dropped open.
“It’s for a conversion of an historical site,” Maggie continued. “I may as well tell you; it’s the church and courtyard that I’m referring to.”
Caroline seemed set in stone, her mouth still open.
“The vicar suggested you might be useful.”
There was no change in the other woman’s response. Now even Maggie was unnerved by Caroline’s reaction. Was it really that much to ask? Did she despise Maggie that much?
“Is it too much of an imposition?” Maggie said, cautiously.
“What did you say?” Caroline gasped.
“I know it’s cheeky of me, all things considered.” Maggie had hardly been helpful, refusing to make the divorce public and forcing Richard and Caroline into secrecy. And God knows everyone knew of Maggie’s political polemics against the woman. “But I need planning advice and I’d value your expertise.”
“Oh.” Caroline covered her mouth. If Maggie was in any doubt about the expression Caroline hid, then the woman’s eyes gave her away. They brimmed with tears and her entire face twitched with emotion.
“I thought,” Caroline stuttered. “I thought you were going to tell me to stay away from Richard.”
“No. No, I’ve no intention of talking about him.”
“Oh, thank God.” Caroline sniffed back tears in a fashion most unlike her. “Thank God.”
Maggie had never seen Caroline anything but contained and composed. It was unnerving.
“I’m sorry.” Caroline gulped. “You have every right to tell me to keep away.”
“I have no plans to. He hasn’t been a husband for a long time, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”
This was too much for Caroline. Her face crumpled with grief and her body shook, overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry,” she kept saying.
“It’s fine,” Maggie reassured her. “I’m….” She didn’t know what she was.
Caroline reached into her bag for a white handkerchief, either new or perfectly ironed. She quietly blew her nose and dabbed her eyes, checking for smudges of makeup.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve barely been holding it together.” She rushed out her words before swallowing in between sentences. “I’ve been close to breaking point, putting Malcom in the home and his constant struggles there. I don’t know what I’d do without Richard.”
Caroline’s forehead crinkled again and she breathed heavily trying to control herself. It was a feeling that if anyone could sympathise with, it was Maggie. Empathy flooded through her. She put down her drink and reached out, pulling Caroline close.
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Maggie said, her voice shaking and all her own woes amplifying her response. “I’m not going to take him away.”
Caroline clasped Maggie tight. It was the fierce grip of a woman overwhelmed and fighting to keep everything inside while at the same time desperate to reach out for consolation.
“He’s there for you, Caroline,” Maggie whispered. “I don’t doubt that.”
Caroline held on, her body shuddering with release, and only after her breathing became regular did Maggie let go. Caroline sat back stiffly and dabbed her eyes, while Maggie did the same. And after they’d sniffed, blown their noses, shuffled, rearranged their coats, skirts or trousers, they stared at each other – two middle-aged women beleaguered by family and life, their mascara streaming and faces blotchy with tears. They burst out laughing. For all their differences, Caroline was very much a woman like Maggie.
Caroline took a sip of her coffee and smiled. “How can I help?”
Maggie opened her mouth to explain then hesitated. “I don’t know if this is going to sound like the foolish fancy of desperate left-wing mother.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
“The church and courtyard that’s for sale, I believe has some interest,” Maggie tried not to look as if she was drinking curdled milk, “from a luxury developer.”
“I’ve heard the same. I’m no longer on the planning committee, but I’ve heard rumours.”
“Well, I want to offer the church a different proposal.” Maggie’s confidence was waning.
“Go on. I’m not a fan of the current plans, so please go on.”
Maggie searched Caroline’s face. She seemed only good humoured and receptive.
“OK,” Maggie sighed. “Is it viable to turn the courtyard into a multiple occupancy development? I’m thinking family flats, small studios, perhaps micro dwellings – a mix of housing for a range of families with a high percentage of affordable housing. It’s something that’s severely lacking in Ludbury and I think it’s obscene to invest in luxury developments when housing is so scarce.”
Caroline frowned a little, as if slipping into work mode. “As long as the conversion is a sympathetic design, I don’t see a problem. The luxury single dwelling would face the same issues. But the planning board will consider the increase in population on the site and concomitant increase in traffic. I doubt they’d approve any extension to parking.”
“Actually I wouldn’t plan any. The idea comes from wanting to save the historic site and keep it open to residents and the public. The old gardens could be managed as an allotment. The orchard could be maintained as communal gardens to the courtyard. Parking would be restricted as it is now and a number of pool cars and bikes may be a possible option for residents.”
Caroline nodded. “That will go down well in general. Anything environmentally sensitive will be popular with the council. It is Tory run and environmental concerns are rising up our agenda but the Greens have a significant representation.”
“We’re investigating ground-source heating and solar energy.”
“The latter might be troublesome with the aesthetics of the building, although the board are generally more amenable than they were.”
“OK,” said Maggie. “Good to know.”
“And the church building itself and graveyard?”
“I’m not sure yet. That’s more difficult. The maintenance overhead for that kind of
building is significant. And the easiest option is a single dwelling, but that’s what troubles me.” Maggie frowned. “A building which has been central to town life for centuries doesn’t belong in private hands.”
“I agree,” Caroline said.
And not for the first time, Maggie was surprised by how in tune they were.
Caroline smiled as if reading her thoughts. “We may not have the same political allegiances, but I suspect we’re similar in many ways.”
“You might not agree when I tell you how it will be financed.”
“Really?”
“A co-op,” Maggie challenged, “of young people and other residents.”
Caroline frowned. “I have no issue with that. Everyone needs a home and responsible groups of young people should be encouraged. We can’t deny there’s a housing crisis, even though we may disagree on some of the causes.” Then she smiled. “I am not a radical politician, Maggie. So much of our news and politics is dominated by extremes – the media sensationalising everything as outrageous for sales and views – and we forget most people have moderate beliefs.”
Maggie considered and found herself nodding in agreement. “Yes, it is easy to forget these days.”
“I think we’ve forgotten how to talk to each other as human beings.” Caroline spread her arms wide. “Look what can be achieved when people talk face-to-face rather than shouting at a preconception. Please forgive me, but I had a very different expectation of you today.”
“Me too,” Maggie sighed.
“But when do people meet? And where?” Caroline said with a shrug of despair. “No-one goes to church anymore.”
“No-one even goes to the bloody pub,” Maggie added, and they both laughed. “They’ve closed down the youth centre.”
“And the library.” Caroline raised a hand. “Yes, austerity,” she acknowledged. “I won’t deny there’ve been painful cuts and there are consequences.”
“So where do people go? Where caters to everyone young and old?”
Caroline looked around where they sat. “I think the café is as close as we get.”
They both caught sight of the vicar striding towards them, a towering glass of hot chocolate and marshmallows in her hand.
“Good evening ladies,” she hailed.
“Are you in need of your spirits reviving?” Maggie said, eyeing the indulgent drink, then kicked herself for slipping into spiritual puns.
“I am indeed.” The vicar smiled. She seemed tired. “The good Lord is always there, but there’s no harm in that extra lift that cocoa can achieve.”
“Will you join us?” Maggie invited.
“I would love to. In fact I have a proposition for you, Mrs Goodman.”
“You’re propositioning me?” Maggie said with a grin. And again. Why did she have to be smutty whenever she encountered the vicar? Would she ever outgrow her school-girl temptation to be naughty under the gaze of the god-fearing?
Thankfully the vicar sat down with a smile, and for a woman devoted to God she didn’t half have a wicked one.
“I’ve been talking with the bishop as it happens,” the vicar started, “and he’s also concerned about the church site after it’s sold, particularly access to the graveyard and the community services. Of course, some services will be transferred to St Laurence, but not all. Do you have anything in your latest plans to support community use of the church building itself?”
Maggie shook her head. “Not yet. We’ve been focussing on the courtyard.”
“Actually, we were just talking about the lack of central meeting places,” Caroline added. “I’d hate to see the church go.”
“You see,” the vicar started, “because of our conversation, the bishop wants to hear the concerns of locals and alternative proposals for the site, before the finance department go further with the sale. I think he’d be particularly receptive to your plans if they included continued use of the church.”
Maggie sat back. The mix of hope and despair was excruciating. The project, even at this preliminary stage, was overwhelming and there was no way current funds would extend to a public building and maintenance.
“You need investment, Maggie,” Caroline said.
Maggie eyed her suspiciously. “Are you suggesting a company?”
“In the short term.”
“So Ludbury Church, sponsored by McDonalds?”
Caroline smiled. “Not exactly. I do have some ideas though. We need to make the church maintenance sustainable by providing services that pay for it. But the purchase needs to be funded somehow.”
Maggie ground her teeth at the prospect of corporate ownership of the public and spiritual site.
“Not all companies are evil,” Caroline said. “Let me look into it? I’m keen to help with this.”
“I’m prepared to listen,” Maggie conceded at last.
“Good,” said the vicar with a beaming smile. “I will arrange a date with the bishop. I hope you will both help publicise the meeting?”
“Of course,” Maggie and Caroline chorused, and they laughed at their identical response.
Maggie looked around their small table, at a woman whose religion she’d never follow and another who belonged to a party she’d thought diametrically opposed to hers. Maggie Goodman was making plans with a woman of the cloth and a Tory. Hell must have truly frozen over.
Maggie walked home, turning over the possibilities in her head and chuckling. She even caught herself humming. Maybe there was something to be said about reaching out and she returned home more receptive to establishing an entente cordiale with whoever might be interested, even Juliette.
As she put her key in the front door, a voice shrieked from the neighbouring garden.
“He’s back in the marital home then. But not with his wife. I suppose she avoids him when his women are round. Look at them flirting in the garden.”
Maggie almost shouted out, “Who’s she? The cat’s mother?” then groaned. It was one of those tiny things which made her feel one hundred and five. Then she growled. Trust Mrs Petty to piss on her fire. And who the hell was her blasted neighbour talking about? She’d only just left Caroline at the Garden Café. It wouldn’t be her.
Maggie kicked at the bottom of the door and went inside. She was welcomed by the sight of her mahogany table covered with courtyard plans and blueprints, studied intently by Eli, Selene and Dean.
“Evening, Mrs Goodman,” Dean said with his jovial smile. “You’ve got quite a project here.”
“Good evening,” she replied with genuine pleasure. “How are things looking?”
“It’s an exciting project. Always tricky with a listed building, but we’ve plenty of experience of that in Ludbury. We’re meeting with a surveyor tomorrow to discuss some of the options.”
“Good,” Maggie said.
“We can do this, Mum,” Eli said, and she couldn’t help be charmed by her son’s enthusiasm. He looked to Selene for approbation, gently slipping his arm around her waist. He was very protective of her, Maggie noticed, always physically reassuring her. It was a mature quality she’d not seen in him before.
“It’s very exciting, Maggie,” Selene said. “My mother thinks so too.”
“Ah,” Maggie said, always a little defensive at the mention of Juliette. “Good. Yes. Good.”
Maggie sauntered through the sitting area and dropped her bag on a sofa, smiling at Celia dozing on another.
Richard was indeed in the garden. He’d taken out two deckchairs and was facing the river with a companion. He was wearing his Panama hat, of which he was inordinately proud, and was brandishing a cut-glass tumbler of whiskey. Maggie ambled outside trying to ascertain his company and the reason for Richard’s good spirits. He was rattling away about something with much enthusiasm. Then his companion laughed and Maggie stopped.
It was unmistakably Juliette. Her former lover pushed herself up so that Maggie could see her raven hair above the back the chair. Maggie edged closer, transfixed by the biz
arre sight of her husband happily in the company of the love and heart-break of her life. Maggie couldn’t make out their conversation, but the way they laughed and threw comments back and forth, Richard’s warm deep voice then Juliette’s tumble of words like a vivacious stream were unmistakably cordial.
“I told you it wasn’t the floozy.”
Maggie’s whole body knotted with tension as Mrs Petty’s shrill voice cut through the moment.
“It’s despicable. Who’s he with now?”
Richard and Juliette twitched round in the direction of next door, their profiles in view. Juliette put her hand to her mouth as if to amplify her voice. “It’s none of your fucking business,” she shouted. And that it was delivered in an elegant French accent made it even more perfect.
Richard guffawed loudly. He laughed so much he almost fell from his chair. He raised his glass and Juliette smiled, chinking her tumbler against his.
“Here’s to a beautiful friendship,” Richard said, and Maggie could see the warmth in their faces.
The moment made Maggie’s heart full with so many feelings she couldn’t name or separate them. It was a glimpse of a perfect life – Maggie’s family around her, the future daughter-in-law eager to move nearby, her son maturing while still as playful and doting as ever. Richard, her greatest friend, and Juliette, her most ardent lover, were content in her circle. She clutched her heart as it lurched with realisation.
This is what she craved. It was what she’d always craved. It seemed frustratingly within reach yet forever unattainable, a surreal vision of what might have been.
“Maggie?” Juliette was peering back at her with concern, the mirth of her conversation with Ricard fading from her face. “Are you all right?”
Juliette rose from the deckchair with a fluid grace and walked towards Maggie. Her feet were bare in the grass, so reminiscent of their lazy days in the park long ago, and it was impossible for Maggie not to respond to her.
“What’s wrong?” Juliette whispered. She reached for Maggie’s cheek, the tips of her fingers stroking her skin. Maggie closed her eyes and Juliette’s faint touch stirred deep inside, exciting memories and sensations decades old but as vigorous as youth. The sensation consumed her body and overpowered her mind with sweet rapture.
