The Forever House: A feel-good summer page-turner

by Veronica Henry

  ‘Will you be all right?’ asked Alexander. ‘I need to go and see the lads in the dressing room. They’re on in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Of course!’

  Sally was entranced by the whole scene, and didn’t feel intimidated in the least. After the sinister undertones of the Kitten Club, the Milk Bar seemed tame. Everyone was just out to have a good time.

  ‘So you’re the Willoughbys’ housekeeper?’ Diana was surveying her without a smile. She had awfully thin, over-arched eyebrows, which made her look supercilious.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been with them about a month.’

  Diana gave a sniff. ‘None of our housekeepers ever looked like you.’

  ‘Housekeepers don’t all look the same, Diana,’ said Phoebe. ‘And Sally is a lifesaver. Hunter’s Moon is transformed. Even Daddy’s a bit in love with her.’

  ‘Even?’ Diana looked at Phoebe sharply.

  ‘It’s a turn of phrase,’ sighed Phoebe.

  Annie was making faces at Diana behind her back and Sally wanted to laugh, but she didn’t want to goad the girl. She could see she was possessive and a bit drunk. She didn’t want to cause any trouble.

  When the Lucky Charms finally came on to much applause after a long wait, the excitement levels in the little club went through the roof. The band were dressed in matching buttoned up jackets and tight black trousers, and they rollicked their way through cover versions of the Kinks and the Rolling Stones. Alexander was grinning from ear to ear and pulled Sally on to the dance floor. She wasn’t a bad dancer, but it didn’t really matter anyway as the dance floor was so crowded there was little room to move.

  ‘I’m trying to get them to write their own material,’ he shouted over the music. ‘That’s where the big money will be, if they can write their own hits.’

  ‘They’re fabulous!’

  ‘I could book them out every night for a year. But they won’t make the big time unless they take the plunge. They won’t listen to me, though.’

  ‘Maybe they’re quite happy? Less pressure?’ Sally looked around the club. It must be great, making people smile and dance and have fun. She turned to find Diana looming over her.

  ‘Bugger off, Mrs Danvers,’ she said. ‘It’s my turn now.’

  Sally melted away, but not before she’d seen the look of despair on Alexander’s face as Diana threw her arms in the air and started to gyrate in front of him, totally oblivious to anyone around her.

  It was after midnight before the band finally packed up and they left the Milk Bar. Outside, Soho was mysteriously quiet, like a party girl who has finally run out of steam. Sally shivered in the cold night air. It was freezing, coming out of the sweaty heat of the club.

  ‘Pile in, everyone,’ said Alexander. ‘Quick, before D notices.’

  It was too late. Diana came bursting out of the exit.

  ‘Wait for me,’ she said. ‘You are coming back to mine?’

  ‘No,’ said Alexander. ‘We have to get back home, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh.’ Diana’s face fell. ‘Well, can I come back with you?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ Alexander braced himself.

  Diana’s face crumpled and for a second Sally felt sorry for her. It was quite humiliating, but she had set herself up for it.

  ‘You bastard,’ she hissed. ‘You’re just using me. You’re just a sponger, Alexander Willoughby.’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ murmured Phoebe. ‘He does use people.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Annie, who was gripped by the drama. ‘Some people want to be used. Diana definitely does.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to give me a lift home. You have to. How else am I going to get back?’

  Alexander sighed. ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll have to go in the front,’ said Diana. ‘I’ve got the longest legs.’

  Phoebe, Annie and Sally squeezed into the back. Sally could see Annie poking the back of Diana’s chair with her foot every now and again. She nudged her with her elbow to stop, but she could see why she was doing it and, as ever with Annie, she tried not to laugh.

  The Mini raced back along Piccadilly, around Hyde Park Corner, down through Knightsbridge. Diana was pawing at Alexander, who was trying his best to be polite and not shrug her off, but in the end he couldn’t stand it.

  ‘D, I can’t drive properly with you doing that.’

  Diana folded her arms and tucked her chin into her neck, sulking. She knew her time was up.

  The car headed out on to the Cromwell Road before veering right past the slumbering Natural History Museum. Sally recognised her surroundings, and her heart sank a little as they drove past the entrance to Russell Gardens. She imagined Barbara fast asleep, snoring away. Thank goodness she had got away.

  Two minutes later they pulled up outside Diana’s flat, which was on the ground floor of a gracious white Regency terrace with thick white pillars outside.

  It must have been here that Alexander had been making his way from or to the night she found him in the gutter, Sally realised, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked at it in awe as Diana scrambled out of the front seat.

  ‘Thanks for nothing,’ she snarled at Alexander, slamming the door.

  ‘She is so rude,’ said Phoebe. ‘Which just goes to show, money doesn’t buy you manners.’

  ‘It must be why Beetle won’t ditch her, though,’ added Annie. ‘She reels him in with her money.’

  Sally frowned, puzzled. Surely the Willoughbys had enough money of their own not to have their heads turned by someone else’s? Although then she remembered the bills and the bank statements that kept arriving. Maybe there wasn’t as much money as there seemed to be.

  ‘I’m not interested in D’s money,’ protested Alexander. ‘Anyway, she’s as tight as a tick. She never pays for her own drinks. I do keep trying to get rid of her but she won’t get the message. I don’t know why I get involved with women. I really don’t.’

  ‘We’re not all like that, I don’t suppose,’ ventured Sally.

  Alexander started the car back up and spun the Mini round so it was facing the way they came.

  ‘Yes, but the sensible ones are boring. Maybe there’s a part of me that likes all the complications.’

  ‘Well, that’s your own fault, then,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘At least Saturday Night Theatre’s finished,’ said Annie, waspish and owlish with tiredness. ‘Can I get some sleep now?’

  She fell asleep leaning against Sally’s shoulder. As the Mini bowled home through the darkness, she felt her own eyes closing. And she thought – it’s funny, I feel part of this family, even though I’m not.

  When they got back home, the lights were still blazing and Dai and Margot were in the kitchen. The record player was on and there were several empty glasses on the table.

  ‘Darlings! Let’s have martinis,’ said Margot.

  ‘It’s two o’clock in the morning.’ Sally looked shocked.

  ‘Who cares?’ Margot unscrewed the lid of a bottle of Vermouth. ‘Where’s the gin? I wrote three chapters today and I’m celebrating.’

  Sally saw that the chicken casserole she’d left Margot and Dai was untouched.

  ‘You haven’t eaten.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Margot. ‘We forgot. Let’s have it now. Come to think of it, I’m starving.’

  So Sally heated up the casserole and served it out in bowls, and Margot sloshed gin and Vermouth into mismatched glasses.

  ‘I don’t think you should have one, Annie,’ whispered Sally.

  But Annie grabbed a glass anyway. ‘It’s part of my training plan,’ she said.

  Then Margot put ‘Something Stupid’ by Frank and Nancy Sinatra on the record player and handed Dai a wooden spoon to use as a microphone.

  ‘Come on.’

  And the two of them stood together by the Aga and sang along, slightly out of tune, but very charmingly, and pretending to gaze into each other’s eyes, and suddenly Sally could see who Dai and
Margot were and how much they loved each other really, even when she was being a bitch and he was being a grump.

  Alexander had his hands over his ears. ‘Make it stop,’ he pleaded, but he was laughing.

  It was noticeable, thought Sally, how the Willoughbys all came together when their parents were happy.

  Later, as they went up the stairs to bed, Alexander grabbed Sally’s hand.

  ‘Come and talk to me,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to sleep now. It’s almost dawn. There’s almost no point in going to bed.’

  Sally wasn’t sure what to do or say. Did he mean for her to go into his room? Yes, because that’s where he was heading, looking over his shoulder to see if she was following.

  26

  1967

  Sally sat gingerly on the end of his bed as Alexander stretched out on it and lit a cigarette. He threw her a pillow, and she tucked it behind her back and leaned against the wall. She liked his room. His bedcover was tartan, and the walls were dark red and covered in posters of bands and film stars. His curtains were wide open to the soft velvet night, the sky sprinkled with silver pinprick stars. They sat there in silence for a moment. It felt incredibly intimate. Sally felt as if they were alone in the world.

  ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me,’ he said eventually. ‘With girls, I mean. I seem to get myself into sticky situations but it’s not as bad as it looks.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Sally, wondering why he minded what she thought.

  ‘That’s it now,’ he said. ‘I’m going celibate. Till the end of the year. I can’t take any more drama.’

  Sally fiddled with her watch, winding it up, because she really didn’t know what to say. This was all too awkward for words. She changed the subject quickly.

  ‘Your parents seemed really happy tonight.’

  ‘Oh, they’re like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. Either madly in love or at each other’s throats. We’re used to it.’

  Sally went quiet. She thought about her own mum and dad. Their marriage couldn’t have been further from the Willoughbys’.

  ‘My mum and dad weren’t like yours at all. They never went to parties. Or even drank much. Maybe the odd sherry at Sunday lunch or Christmas.’

  Her parents had worked hard to give Sally and her two brothers what they needed. They trusted each other and were kind. But something had come between them: something dark and dangerous. Something that had destroyed everything.

  Perhaps it was because she was tired, perhaps it was the martini, but suddenly Sally felt overwhelmed by the memories. She sighed.

  ‘I really miss my dad.’

  Alexander stubbed out his cigarette and scooted down the bed to sit next to her. ‘Of course you do. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting. It must be awful.’

  ‘It’s not just that. I miss my mum too and I need to go and see her.’

  He took her hand in his fingers. ‘I’ll take you home to see your mum, if you like.’

  ‘It’s awful and I feel so guilty, but I can’t face it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t face going back. And remembering.’ She needed to tell him. She put a hand on her chest and took a deep breath. ‘He didn’t just die, my dad.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He – he hanged himself.’

  Alexander looked horrified. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Jesus. Why?’

  Sally gave a despairing sigh. ‘Money. Stupid bloody money. And none of us had any idea. We knew it was tough keeping the shop going, but he didn’t tell anyone how close to the bone it was. Not my brothers. Or even Mum. He just sat there, worrying and worrying that it was all going to be taken away.’

  ‘Poor bloke.’

  ‘And he kept getting letters from the bank and he hid them all, because we found them after he died . . .’ She stopped, took in a deep breath, and gulped. ‘And one afternoon, Mum found him in the garage. He’d got a rope and tied it to the rafter . . .’

  ‘Oh you poor baby.’

  ‘I was at school when it happened. When I came home the ambulance was outside the front door. My mum was just standing there . . .’

  She would never forget the terror she had felt: the combination of wild hope and utter despair as she ran to see what was happening, who it was. Even in her panic she didn’t imagine something so devastating; so terrible. She had thought appendicitis or a broken arm. She would never forget the look on her mother’s face as their eyes met. Standing on the pavement with her flowery pinny on, her socks pulled halfway up her legs and her slippers on, her preferred uniform when cooking tea.

  Alexander was staring at her.

  ‘You’re so brave.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Yes, you are. After everything you’ve been through, you come here and make our lives . . . a million times better.’

  ‘You’ve made my life better too. All of you. I love it here.’

  ‘Well, we all love you, Sally Huxtable.’ He crooked his arm round her neck and gave her a playful hug.

  She laughed. ‘Just think, if I hadn’t found you in the gutter, I’d still be in that awful flat.’

  ‘Instead you’re in a mad house. Lucky you.’ Alexander jumped up. ‘I’ll put some music on. That’ll cheer you up.’

  ‘Won’t you wake everyone?’

  ‘I play records all night. No one can hear. What’s your favourite band?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You must have a favourite band.’

  ‘I haven’t.’ She tried to think. ‘OK then. The Monkees.’

  ‘I think you need educating.’ He took a record out of its sleeve and put it on his turntable. ‘Have you heard of David Bowie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s going to be the next big thing, I can tell you. I got an early copy.’

  They listened to a ridiculous song called The Laughing Gnome, which made them laugh as they played it over and over and over again and sang along, and Sally forgot her sadness.

  ‘That’s what music’s for,’ said Alexander. ‘No one can live without music.’

  Sally woke a couple of hours later, freezing cold. Alexander was curled up on the bed next to her where he had fallen asleep too. The turntable was still going round and round. She slipped off the bed, tugged the eiderdown and tucked it over him so he wouldn’t get cold, and ran up to her own bedroom, hoping that none of the other Willoughbys would spot her leaving and get the wrong idea.

  She got to her room unnoticed and slid under the covers, shivering. Away from the distraction of Alexander she lay there, unable to sleep, going over that awful time, wondering if anyone could have done anything any differently.

  Looking back, her dad hadn’t been right for a while. Her mum had had her fears, but she’d kept them quiet. She’d put on a brave face for all of them, but she’d known about his dark moments, his never-ending worry about the shop. And, in hindsight, Sally could remember him withdrawing, his face haunted by what she now knew was a pernicious anxiety that pulled him down to somewhere he couldn’t climb out of. And there were the rages – never directed at his wife or his children, but uncontrollable outbursts. A hole kicked in the kitchen door, a teapot hurled across the room. It had all got too much for him, the doctor said – but what? That was what no one could understand. He had a good business, a lovely wife, loving children, a nice house.

  For twelve months afterwards, they all pulled together, Beverley and the boys and Sally. They didn’t speak much about what had happened. Beverley worked her fingers to the bone managing it all. Running the shop and the house and keeping the boys in order. And Sally took her mum to visit her dad’s grave every Sunday, even though Sally herself was furious with her dad for leaving her mum in the lurch like that. What kind of a husband did that, even if things were looking bleak?

  Her mum couldn’t ever sleep. She even got up for a cigarette in the middle of the night, She never got over finding her husband. It haunted her day and night. If only she�
��d gone to look for him earlier, she used to say. She’d had a feeling . . .

  Sally had remained as stoic as she could throughout it all, and was as much help as she could be, taking over her mother’s role when her mother didn’t feel up to it. She had a naturally caring nature, and she worried about her brothers, and she was supremely capable, more than able to juggle schoolwork and housework. She took it on the chin when her exam results were not as good as expected, although after all that had happened no one expected brilliance. She ploughed on with her trademark optimism and cheerfulness, determined to make it all right.

  She could have coped with the loss of her father. But there was worse to come. Their mother had never told them the extent of the debts their father had run up: the debts she was still struggling to pay off, the debts that had been responsible for his breakdown. She had remained tight-lipped, never complaining, never letting on. Eight months after their father died, the truth was finally uncovered. She’d taken out a massive mortgage on the house to cover their debt. And now the bank wanted it back.

  It was losing the house that finally broke Sally’s heart. She’d been able to hold it together while those familiar four walls were around them. Watching their things being taken out of their solid, comfortable red-brick home with its stained glass fanlight, and the cherry red front door being closed with an ominous finality, left her with a sense of desolation she almost couldn’t bear. Her bedroom with the pink roses on the wall. The living room with the big fireplace, and the bay window where the Christmas tree used to go. The kitchen, which always smelled of something delicious, the kettle always on. It had been a house of constant noise and endless food, only really quiet from midnight, when their mother turned the last light out, to four in the morning, when the two boys got up to sort out the day’s deliveries.

  The Huxtables were homeless. There was no choice but to move in over the butcher’s shop in the high street, which they rented – as long as they paid the rent, no one could take that away. The first floor had been used for storage: icy cold, no heating or water or electricity. And there were two attic rooms. They would manage. They all pulled together and fixed the place up. The toilet was outside – there was nothing much they could do about that - but they managed to get carpets and curtains and furniture upstairs and to make it into a makeshift home.