Add a couple of corsets and some flickering gaslight and the Happy Home for Ladies might as well be the Bennets’ house.
I won’t be saying any of that to June, obviously.
Maggie is in the middle of talking about the symbolism of Darcy’s home when we all start to notice that Dot’s not paying attention. Instead, she’s glaring into the hallway. ‘What are you doing here?’ she finally says.
‘Am I late?’ Terence holds up a worn hardback. ‘It’s book club, right? This was Patricia’s favourite.’
‘Very late. And Patricia didn’t have a favourite,’ Dot declares. ‘She loved them all the same. You can’t stay, so don’t bother sitting.’
‘What’s the big deal, Dot? This isn’t a women-only club, is it? Because we’re not allowed to have those, you know. House rules, right, Sophie?’
Sophie titters.
‘You can see very clearly that Nick is here,’ Dot says, ‘so it’s not women only. It is, however, my club. You might not have any appreciation of ownership, but I do. Terence, leave. Please.’
‘Come on, Dot,’ he says. ‘Can’t you drop it?’
‘Please.’ There’s real sadness in her voice.
Terence shrugs. ‘I hope you change your mind one day. It has been long enough. It’s not fair.’
‘Don’t you dare try to tell me what’s fair,’ she says. ‘You of all people. Now go.’
When the door has closed, I ask, ‘Dot, please tell us, what is going on with you two?’
We’re not about to let her brush us off as easily as she seems to be able to do to Terence. Not when something is so obviously upsetting her.
Maybe she’s tired of keeping it all inside. Or maybe she’s just tired of us pestering her. Either way, finally she does tell us why she’s been acting so strangely since Terence turned up here.
‘It’s still so hurtful that I can’t ever forgive him,’ she starts. ‘You know that Patricia, his wife, and I were best friends. Since we were six years old. She was like my sister. Better than a sister, because we didn’t have to compete over things. Or so I thought.’
Dot tells us that she and Patricia met Terence at the same time. But it wasn’t Patricia who fell head over heels for him. It was Dot.
‘Terence?’ I say. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound so surprised, but Terence?’
She laughs. ‘He’s nothing now like he used to be. He was fun, and nice, and handsome. He’s always been smart, if a bit of a smart-arse.’
He and Dot were going strong, but then she got her job at the boy’s school in Oxford. ‘It’s only three hours by car, but neither of us had one. The trains from Ipswich were expensive. It sounds so trivial now, that something like that would have kept us apart, but I was just starting my career and Terence wasn’t rich. The distance didn’t seem like it would be a problem, given how we felt about each other.’
‘So Patricia moved in on him?’ I say. What a cow. And she looks like such a nice woman in the painting.
Dot shakes her head. ‘It was the other way around. Terence admits that it was he who first had feelings for Patricia. This was a year or more after I’d moved. We saw each other when we could, during half-term and summer and sometimes on a weekend. But it wasn’t like being in the same place all the time. He didn’t tell me when things started to change. Of course, he wouldn’t. I could tell something was wrong, but what could I do? I wasn’t about to leave my job just because I thought my boyfriend was going off me. It was Patricia who finally told me. It sounds strange to call her a good friend when she ended up with my boyfriend, but at least she told me face-to-face. By then it was getting serious between them. I was devastated.’ She shrugs. ‘I don’t blame Patricia. Believe it or not, Terence could be charming then. I blame him for shifting his affections like that. Then she got pregnant and they got married.’
‘But it was the sixties,’ I say. ‘She could have had other options. She could have raised the baby herself.’
‘Oh, no,’ says Dot. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted Patricia to have to go through that. Besides, I knew she loved Terence. Maybe I made the wrong decision, but eventually I forgave Patricia. It’s him I’ve always hated.’
‘But Dot, don’t you think you’d feel better if you could get over it?’ Laney asks. ‘It must take a lot of energy to hate someone. You could be using that to be happy instead.’
Dot smiles at Laney. ‘If only it were as easy as deciding to do it. I wanted him to suffer like I did. That’s petty of me, I know.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘We can’t help the way we feel. Your feelings are valid, whatever they are.’ I can tell that Nick is watching me, but I keep my eyes trained on Dot as we all try to make her feel better. I’m not sure if we’re helping. It’s hard to change emotions.
Mr Campbell is waiting in the corridor for Sophie when we finish book club.
‘Hi, Billy,’ she says, beaming. ‘Sorry, that went on longer than I thought.’
‘That’s all right,’ he says, holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘I didn’t have any other pressing engagements. Certainly none as nice as this.’ He gallantly offers Sophie his arm and, without daring to look at Dot, they head for the garden. Even in her flat shoes she’s as tall as him, and the top of his head shines from the recessed lighting. He’s more George Bush than Clooney, but he does seem very nice. I wouldn’t dare say that to a tight-lipped Dot, though.
‘Did she tell you what she’s done now?’ Dot asks me. ‘The DIY club has become the DIY and gardening club. She’s expanded their remit. They’re doing flowers!’
‘Well, the borders could do with some TLC. Maybe it needs to be a more formally organised thing.’
‘But we've always done it,’ she says.
‘And you still can. There’s nothing stopping you.’
She harrumphs at that. ‘Apparently, Terence is putting together a garden design. I know him. He’ll have a fit if any of us dares go off-plan. Well, I’ve got news for him. They can cut the grass and pull all the weeds they want. We'll be doing our own flowers, to our own plan, and they will be gorgeous, like they always are.’
She starts muttering to Laney about aphids on their agapanthus.
Good lord. It’s shaping up to be the Great British Plant Off around here, but with none of the witty puns or comforting nans. These nans are cutthroat.
Then the sight of Tamsyn makes me do a double take. She’s sitting in one of the wingback chairs by the door. She doesn’t even willingly come in during work hours. What’s she doing here now?
Clearly, Nick’s not expecting to see her, either. His eyes dart between Tamsyn and me. It’s a very guilty look.
‘Nicky!’ she says, leaping up.
‘What are you still doing here?’ he asks.
‘I went the pub after work. I told you, remember? Everyone’s still there, but I’m wiped out. Take me home, Nicky?’ she whines.
But Nick doesn’t answer right away. His questioning gaze searches my face.
I turn away from them.
‘Sure, come on,’ he finally says.
I feel such a tug of sadness as I hear them leave together.
I know I could reel Nick back in to me. Telling him I’m not angry anymore would probably be enough.
It’s torture watching them together. They’re so cosy, so intimate that I want to scream, but I cannot – will not – lie, even if it is the only way to keep Tamsyn’s claws out of him. I can’t betray myself like that. My feelings are perfectly valid. If I overrule them to hang on to a bloke, then what does that say about me? I’ll still be miserable, plus a traitor to myself.
I can thank Mum for my principles. And I’m not being snarky. I mean that. She might have bashed the life out of most of my decisions, but she also taught me to stick to what I believe in. She was one of the most principled people I knew. It’s nice to have something good rub off from her.
Tomorrow is Saturday, visitor’s day, and with all the new residents, it’ll be even more hectic than
usual. So instead of going home after lunch, I’m still here, making as much ahead of time as I can. Plus, I’ve had Sophie in here distracting me with her menu demands again. She wanted to debate whether kale or broccoli would win, nutritionally, in a vegetable fight club.
‘I’ve also been thinking about our meals,’ she’d said once we’d exhausted the veggie cage fight conversation. ‘Now that we’ve expanded, shouldn’t we expand our meals too?’
‘But I’m cooking nearly twice as much.’
‘I don’t mean volume, Phoebe. I mean your dishes. They should be more manly now that you’re not only cooking for women.’
I had to check her expression to see if she was kidding. ‘More manly. What, like stewed bear? Bull’s bollocks soup? Meat with a side of screwdrivers? Sophie, what’s manly food? There’s no such thing.’
‘Less salady,’ she said. ‘And not so much lentil.’
This, coming from Sophie! It had Terence’s fingerprints all over it, so we bickered about that for a while, delaying me further.
I guess that’s why Tamsyn and Nick don’t expect me to still be in here when they start talking in the dining room. I don’t mean to be eavesdropping. It’s not my fault that they’re sitting at the table closest to the kitchen door. They’re only making idle conversation anyway. So far, so boring. That is, until Nick mentions me.
‘God, Nicky, you’d better do something about that,’ Tamsyn says. ‘It’s bad enough that she’s acting like a lovesick teenager.’
‘She is not.’
‘You’re blind,’ says Tamsyn. ‘She is and, honestly, it’s pathetic. You've got to put her out of her misery.’
There’s silence. Only the ringing in my ears. I don’t want to hear any more. I feel vomity enough as it is. So maybe I should stop pressing my ear to the door.
‘If you don’t,’ she says, ‘then I’m going to tell her about us. For all our sakes. She has to find out sooner or later anyway.’
‘Don’t you dare, Tamsyn, I mean it,’ Nick nearly shouts. ‘I’ve told you, I will never forgive you if you say a word to her. There will be no us if you do. Stop smiling, it’s no joke. I will never speak to you again.’
‘Then do it,’ Tamsyn says with a laugh in her voice. ‘And you know you’re bluffing. You don’t want me out of your life. You love me too much.’
With a shaky hand, I set the chopping knife down so that I don’t accidentally stab myself. Humiliation? Fury? Misery? Take your pick, it’s all there.
Us, she said. Nick and Tamsyn are an us. He loves her.
Tamsyn is right. I am being pathetic, though not only for the reason she thinks. If she knew that Nick’s also been cheating on her, she wouldn’t be so calm.
Though maybe she’s ignoring what she suspects too. I have been, just because I wanted so badly for Nick and I to be an ‘us’. Love really is blind. It has only cost me every shred of my self-esteem. Because I did suspect that there was something between them. It’s my own fault that I’ve conveniently ignored that so that I could justify a relationship with him. I was that desperate to be with him that I’ve been living in la-la land ever since, as in la-la-la-la I don’t hear the truth.
Nick is a total wanker for playing both me and Tamsyn. And I am pathetic for letting him, when in my heart of hearts, I’ve known better all along.
Chapter 23
It’s awards day – arguably the most important day in my entire career, achievement-wise – and instead of being excited I’ve got this cloud hanging over me, fat with humiliation and gloom, blotting out all the brightness.
When I told June about what Tamsyn had said, she loyally offered to sack them both for me. For what, though? There’s no HR rule against bringing one’s personal life to work. Or even for two-timing. There should be one, though, for making a colleague cry into her dishcloths for days on end.
Even though I hate the idea that Tamsyn thinks I’m pathetic, I can’t deny that she’s right. More than she even knows, given how I’ve trailed after Nick since day one, long before she turned up. She’s only judging recent events, and she doesn’t know the half of that, thank goodness. I feel awful enough as it is. I couldn’t face having her tell me off for sleeping with her boyfriend too.
So, I’m taking Mum’s advice, putting on my happy face, and my best dress, and I’ll accept that award as if my heart was in it.
The rest of the house is excited enough to make up for me anyway, and I can’t blame them. They might get regular outings to Ipswich, to the cinema if there’s something big-screen-worthy that they want to see, or to shows or for shopping at Christmas. But getting to go all the way to London is a real treat. And some are a lot keener than I imagined they’d be.
I brought Maggie’s meal up to her as usual this morning. While the other women were trying on dresses and doing each other’s hair or, in Dot’s case, plotting a tragic accident for Terence, Maggie was in her room, calmly reading. I have to admire her ability to exist above all the melee of the mundane. ‘I know you wanted your usual,’ I said, holding the tray in front of me, ‘and you’ve got it. But I also brought you a slice of spelt toast. Sophie says we should be eating less wheat.’ I wasn’t sure how trendy grains fit into her idea of manly food. She claims that because it’s an ancient grain, it’s what cavemen used to eat.
‘I think Sophie should worry about herself and leave the rest of us to eat what we like,’ Maggie said. ‘Thank you, I’ll try it.’
I was just about to go when Maggie cleared her throat. ‘Congratulations on your award, Phoebe.’
She said my name! My actual name, not just my job title. ‘Thank you, Maggie. It was so nice of everyone to nominate me.’
‘What time will you leave for the ceremony?’
‘Around three, I guess, in case there’s traffic. It doesn’t start till six. Nick’s driving us.’
She nodded, rubbing her flower brooch.
‘Would you… Would you like to come, Maggie? There’s plenty of room in the minibus. Only if you want to.’
Then she smiled broadly. ‘I’d like that, thank you. I always found that one should have as many familiar faces as possible in the audience when receiving an award. It can be daunting otherwise. I’ll be ready at three.’
Everyone is already in the hall when June and I emerge from the downstairs loo in a cloud of hairspray. She’s done my make-up – demure drag queen, which apparently photographs well – and blow-dried my hair to swingy perfection. I even let her take me shopping for a dress that I have to admit, I love. It’s got a boat neckline (I’m told) and a nipped in middle that gives me a waist.
‘Wow, gorgeous!’ Sophie says when she sees me. ‘You should dress like that more often.’
‘It’s not very practical for the kitchen,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll stick to my whites at work, but thank you.’
I can feel my cheeks go hot over all the compliments, and this is only in front of my friends. What will I be like when I have to accept the award onstage with strangers looking at me?
Then Nick pitches in his opinion and completely stalls my mood. I don’t want to hear that I’m beautiful from him. I did once, but not now that I’m so pathetic.
I give him my best put-down glare.
If there was another way to get everyone to London comfortably, he wouldn’t be taking us in the minibus, either. But it seemed selfish to make my elders trudge across station platforms or maybe even stand on the train just because I don’t want to be around Nick. He actually had the cheek to act hurt when I told him I don’t want him to come into the ceremony. And he still denies that there’s anything between him and Tamsyn. Even though I heard it straight from their lips.
That word: pathetic. It keeps ricocheting around my brain, painfully bumping against everything else in my life. Whenever I have to talk to Nick now, I wonder whether I sound pathetic. Is it in what I say? Or the way I say it? Or maybe there’s some kind of pitiful look that I’m giving off. It’s too humiliating to think about, yet I can’t stop.
Fragile doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel around him. He can’t very well blame me for not wanting him there when I get my award.
Despite the occasion, the mood is subdued as we make our way to London in the minibus. I suppose having Maggie with us could be making everyone less silly than usual. She is still frightfully proper, though she does smile more now. It’s probably just me giving off the killjoy vibes.
Finally, Nick pulls up in front of the hotel. Naturally, the women want to know why he’s not coming into the ceremony when it becomes clear that he’s only dropping us off.
I’m just about to stutter some lame excuse, when he says, ‘I’d love to, but I have to meet my mum now. I hardly ever get to London, with working on the weekends, so it has been ages since she has seen me. When I found out about the award I thought I’d better take the chance. You understand. I’ll be here, though, to drive you back when you’re finished. Good luck, Phoebe! I’ll be thinking about you.’
I smile tightly. Just when it seems he can’t get any saintlier in the women’s eyes, he adds Good Son to his credits.
‘I’ve been here before!’ Laney cries as we step into the opulent foyer where the organisers are handing out name badges. ‘I came for a charity ball.’ She smiles at the memory. ‘It was called the Snowball. So magical. Everyone was glamorous and there were even princesses, and such beautiful dancing and dinner and champagne and I wore a pale blue silk dress with silver diamante shoes.’ Then she glances down at her dress, which is a very nice deep blue. ‘But this isn’t...’ She looks around.
The Not So Perfect Plan to Save Friendship House: An uplifting romantic comedy Page 21
