by Caron Allan
So I’ve been getting back into things again. Planning. Talking to people. Going to ring Madison now, and Steve a bit later. I have neglected my social duties since Lill’s accident. And I must order some flowers for Madison as a little thank you for all the babysitting she’s done.
Wednesday September 30th—3.20pm
Had a lovely chat with Madison. Not that she had much to say, her life is dreary and uneventful to say the least. And it seems Neville will need a firmer push in her direction, as when I asked oh-so-casually if she’d seen him, she said “only when I go to church.”
I didn’t realise she went to church. She said quite a few people from the village do go, it’s a rural thing. She says he does an excellent sermon—not too long, not too radical, lots of ‘peace on earth and goodwill to our neighbours’, feel-good type stuff. So perhaps I ought to go along. After all I have some standing in the community, it’s my job to offer support and show goodwill. Obviously one should do one’s duty and people do look up to one as the nearest thing they’ve got to a lady of the manor. Hmm. I shall think about it.
Anyway, so that’s the only time she sees him. She said he occasionally shakes her hand outside the church when he’s seeing everyone off after the service. She thinks he holds her hand just that little tighter and for longer than he does other people’s, but it’s not exactly a grand passion, is it? It’s all so frustrating. I had more or less assumed that having given him her mobile number and given him the ‘green light’ that he would have begun to bombard her with romantic messages until she fell at his feet. But no. Once again it’s like the old adage: if you want something done, you’d better do it yourself.
So I shall arrange another little dinner—nothing too complicated or intimidating—just us two and them two, and I shall ensure that Matt and I leave them alone quite a bit while Matt ‘helps’ me with the wine and serving food etc. that’s bound to be sufficient opportunity even for a nitwit like Neville to get a move on. I hope!
Then I spoke to Steve and he gave me some shocking news—he is moving house—already. He is moving into Tyrone’s house in Gloucester. And he’s selling the handbag business! He’s says it’s been wonderful, and far more successful than he could have ever anticipated, but that it’s all too big, too pressured, it’s not fun anymore, and he wants to get out and do something else. Something meaningful, he says. I think he misses being a vicar, all that caring for the flock thing. He has told me he will repay my business loan to him, with substantial interest added. Like I care, I feel so sad—as if I’ll never see him again. But obviously I’m trying to be pleased for him, too.
He’s got a degree in Psychology. Perhaps he should consider training as a counsellor or therapist or something? There must be oodles of people in the situation he was in just eighteen months ago, or people who are confused about their sexuality, stuck in pointless jobs and toxic (great word) relationships, and just finding life in general not worth living.
Anyway, whatever he does, I know he’ll be great, because he’s a good, caring person. Though I suppose once he’s moved, we’ll only hear from him from time to time, it just won’t be the same in the village without him. He said he’d still make the odd handbag for his own personal enjoyment or as a gift for a friend, but the joy just went right out of it once he had to churn out a thousand a week. And I can see how that could happen. Dear Steve, what a nice man.
I’ve been wondering what to do for Billy’s fourth birthday which is on the 14th. I suppose we could have a little party for her and her nursery school pals, although I’m wondering about something a bit more exciting, just not sure what.
Thursday October 1st—11.10pm
Tom’s got two more teeth! No fuss, no bother, no grizzling or runny nose or sleepless night, just two tiny little white shiny teeth at the top in the middle in perfect opposition to their counterparts at the bottom.
And he’s not afraid to use them! He leaned forward and gnashed at my apple this morning when I was cuddling him on my lap. Then he was disgusted because he hadn’t broken through the apple’s peel to the yummy juicy stuff inside. I managed to keep him entertained for the vital twenty seconds it took for me to bite him off a chunk and pull the peel off. That boy already has a colossal appetite—which worries me when Sid wanders past, his vest and ancient jeans clearly straining to hold back his belly.
Lill is home. It’s so good to have her back with us and I think she’s already fed up with being fussed over and offered endless cups of tea. She ran a finger across the hall table and sniffed in disapproval. I pity Jacqueline over the next few days.
Lill’s lost loads of weight while she’s been in hospital, but although she looks younger, she looks harder, tougher, somehow less approachable. I kissed her hello and lingered in the background for a while but all I really wanted was to be off out of the way. I know I need to talk to her, to apologise at the very least for the way my actions put her in danger, but I’m afraid it will be an emotional scene for me, and I admit I’m scared she will be really angry with me; maybe more than angry, maybe she will scream at me that she hates me and never wants to see me again. So obviously I can’t do that in front of everyone. Clearly I need to wait to catch her alone, and at the moment, what with Sid, the children, Matt and Jacqueline not leaving her side for a second, that is just not going to happen. But it is eating away at me.
I suggested turning the dining room into a bedroom temporarily, because she won’t want to muck about going up and down the stairs with that cast on her leg for the next few weeks. And it’s not as if we use the room all the time, we all mainly eat in the kitchen. The idea was embraced whole-heartedly, so Matt and Sid moved all the furniture around, taking the table and dining chairs into the family room, and bringing the bed downstairs with much swearing and grumbling about not knocking the wallpaper. Paddy and Billy struggled down the stairs with a pillow each and thought they’d ‘helped’. Bless.
She’ll still have to go upstairs for a shower but at least that will only be once a day or every other day if she feels like slobbing it; this just makes life a little easier for her.
Then, this afternoon, the police stopped by. Again. It was the same pair who came a couple of weeks ago, ostensibly to check whether Lill had remembered anything else to help them catch her hit-and-run driver.
I had to show the officers into the kitchen as that was where Lill was comfortably propped up in an armchair, directing Jacqueline somewhat in the manner of an elderly, temperamental European conductor directing a small nervous ‘off-Broadway’ orchestra. As soon as the policemen saw there was baking going on, the whole game changed and it became less about gaining new insights to help them catch a dangerous criminal and more about stringing out the interview until everything was out of the oven and those much anticipated words, “How about a nice cup of tea and something to go with it?” had been uttered.
Even once they’d eaten and drunk their fill, Jacqueline, under Lill’s guidance, had filled an old ice-cream tub with cherry scones and Chelsea buns and pressed them on the Sergeant with the words, “There’s a little bit of butter and some homemade jam in a little box tucked in the corner, too.” Talk about humanitarian aid gone mad.
Oh dear. I’m worried that a) we’ve set a precedent oft to be repeated; or b) we’ll be charged with attempting to corrupt a police officer (or two) in pursuit of his (or their) duty. Couldn’t get out of my head the image of Lill being dragged away in handcuffs whilst the arresting copper was wiping crumbs off his jacket as he informed her of her rights. Almost burst out laughing in front of them.
Later, in my obsessive way, I wondered if they’d really come about Lill’s accident, or if there was another, covert reason for their visit.
I must try to shake off this paranoia. My guilty conscience keeps prodding me and whispering “you won’t get away with it; they’re on to you, they’re closing in”. I just can’t shake this certainty that sooner or later, someone will find out what I’ve done.
I appe
ased my conscience somewhat by going for a walk and putting some flowers on Henrietta’s grave. I pulled up a few weeds and kicked the pink gravel back into the confines of the gravestone and surround. Then I sat on the bench to enjoy what was left of the sunny afternoon.
Tom was snoozing in his pushchair, worn out from all the new things he’d been trying out his new teeth on. He really is getting big—growing like a weed. To think he is already nine months old. Incredible!
I heard a sound behind me and looked round to see Neville meandering out of the church. I must say he seems to take his Christian duties very seriously, which I heartily applaud, much more so than poor old Steve who really tried to keep away from the church as much as possible. Neville, from what I hear and I’ve observed, seems to be there all the time, every day. I do hope that doesn’t mean he’ll be overly religious and rigid in his (as yet unattempted) romance with Madison; after all, one wants to think there will be a bit of manly passion lurking beneath that awful grey shirt and elderly tweed jacket.
Last time he caught me sitting in the churchyard, I practically ran away, so I couldn’t blame him for approaching me rather as one ventures toward a shy woodland creature apt to vanish before one’s very eyes at the merest snap of a twig.
“Afternoon,” he called with a jolly grin. I smiled. After a brief hesitation he sat down on the bench, leaving a good couple of feet between us. He indicated my sleeping offspring.
“Little one asleep then.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I nodded and smiled again, feeling idiotic. There was a long silence. His expression was that of a man out of his depth and at the end of his supply of conversational gambits. I decided it was my duty to help him out.
“Busy day?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Not really.”
“Oh,” I said. I’m such a wit, I don’t know how I do it! Silence again. He now looked like a man searching through his pockets for his last pound coin.
“Um, what’s her name?” he asked, nodding at Tom again.
“Tom,” I said.
“Ah. I see. Er—a little—um…”
“Boy,” I agreed.
“Thinking of having little—um—Tom christened?” he queried.
I stared at him. OMG, I thought, somewhat inappropriately. I blushed like a fourteen-year-old. Never fear, though, improvisation is always close at hand.
“Actually we thought we’d invite you to dinner to—um—make some—um—arrangements.” I thought wildly for a moment then added, as if offering an inducement, “Madison will be there too, she’s going to be Tom’s Godmother.”
“Ah,” he said, raising one eyebrow in excitement. “Well. um, perhaps you could just let me know when you want me to turn up, et cetera, and I shall be able to make a note in my diary upon returning to the manse.”
“Of course,” I said, frantically wracking my brain to remember what day it was today, then adding a couple of days for good measure. “We were thinking of Saturday if that is convenient? Obviously I realise it’s a little short notice, so we can change it if that’s no good for you.”
“Saturday? That’s the 3rd, I think. Let me see,” he rummaged under his frock and eventually fished out a phone. He checked the calendar on it. “Well, let me see, today is the 1st, so yes, that makes it the 3rd on Saturday.”
I nodded as if I’d known all along. I smiled at him. “Is that all right? I know it’s rather soon…”
“Perfectly all right, thank you,” he said, and wrestled his phone back into his trouser pocket, beaming at me with unalloyed pleasure. I felt called upon to expand on the situation, so said.
“As I said, I know it’s a bit short notice, but I’m afraid time rather runs away with me with the children.”
“Ah! Indeed, tempus edax rerum!” he said and gave a hearty laugh. Inwardly I groaned. Oh no, God, please, no Latin!
“Oh—er?” I said out loud, adopting an expression of polite interest.
“Sorry. Haha! Time devours all things. Parents of young children often complain about the way time races by. Something I hope to experience for myself someday. Being a parent, I mean, not forgetting what day it is, I do that already.” He directed a cheeky grin at me.
I then nodded, and said sagely, “Yes, tempus certainly does fugit when you’ve got a baby.” He nodded, though couldn’t quite disguise his slight surprise. Before I was forced to think of anything else intelligent to say, he said goodbye and left.
I wondered if Madison knows he wants to have children? I remembered I had so many things to acquaint her with—not just that I planned for her to marry Neville, but also that she was about to become Godmother to my infant son.
And speaking of people who weren’t aware of things, I rushed home to tell my husband that we are having a dinner party on Saturday and that we have got to get our son Christened. All in the name of match-making. Then all I had to do was break the news to Lill and Jacqueline.
Friday October 2nd—1.45pm
Just been having a chat with Lill about Billy’s birthday. We agreed that with her in plaster, it might not be the best idea to have a party for Billy at home. Not that Lill wasn’t perfectly happy to try, but I don’t want to burden her when she’s supposed to be recuperating. And I feel I’ve taken enough advantage of her with the preparations for our dinner tomorrow evening with Nev and Madison. I don’t fancy one of those parties for kids at a fast food place, even though the advantage is that there is no cooking or cleaning up to do.
So, we’ve come up with the idea of a couple of days away in London, with shopping and sightseeing etc. Billy so enjoyed our shopping trip to Gloucester. We won’t do anything too strenuous, after all, she will only just be four. When I went online, I found there was a fashion show on the day after her birthday, so that will be perfect! I’m sure Billy would love it, and if she gets bored or fidgety, we can just leave and do something else. I’m really excited—it will be as much of a treat for me as Billy!
Saturday October 3rd—7.15pm
This is going to be just perfect. I’m on a high. Sid and Lill have gone to the pub in the village to have drinks with Jacqueline’s mum and dad, so it’s just Matt and I, and the children. Hopefully Neville will be sufficiently lured in by this happy domestic scene, and this will encourage him to ‘make a move’ on Madison, as Matt so delightfully puts it.
Matt’s just finishing off the bedtime story, and I have set the table, opened and left the wine to breathe, and quickly whacked a little bowl of flowers on the table.
Dinner—courtesy of Lill—is almost ready. I just need to run and check my make-up and hair, then get the starters out of the fridge. Neville and Madison should be here any minute.
Later: 1am
What a great evening. Everything went swimmingly. The dinner was perfect—so foolproof even I couldn’t mess it up.
The children slept like the little angels they are, apart from Tom waking up for a nappy change. Matt went up and did the honours, then proudly carried the newly-fragrant little one down to see our guests. Madison immediately wanted to hold him, and he held out his arms to her for a cuddle, crowing loudly.
We had just finished eating, so I felt it was the perfect moment for Matt and I to clear the table and ‘tidy up’ in the kitchen. Which involved sitting at the table with a glass of wine for ten minutes or so, in order to give Neville and Madison a little time alone together—with Tom playing Cupid.
When we went back to join them at the table for liqueurs, Tom was snoozing softly on Neville’s shoulder and Neville was looking positively proud of his newly-discovered parenting ability—and Madison, aww, she was just glowing with happiness.
Matt took Nev, still carrying Tom, upstairs so they could put him back to bed, then they stood chatting quietly upstairs. I heard them go into the room Billy and Paddy share. It seemed like ages before they came down. But when they did, Nev was like a man who has had his eyes opened to the sudden possibilities of life.
Madison and I talked abou
t the Christening. We’d set a date early on in the evening, it’s to be in a week, Saturday 10th. I know it’s a bit short notice but I think all the important people in our and Tom’s lives should be able to make it. It’s all a bit of a rush, but there didn’t seem any reason to wait, and in our little village, there wasn’t exactly a huge waiting list for availability. Madison is excited and thrilled to be his Godmother. Hopefully she will have to spend a lot of time with Nev in preparation.
We’re going into Gloucester on Wednesday, Madison and I, shopping for a christening gown. Poor Tom. I suspect he will be as happy amongst all the frills and lace as his grandfather will be in a button-up shirt and tie.
We chatted until almost midnight. Nev is quite a funny chap actually—I really like him now I’m getting to know him better—shy, yes, and inclined to hide behind his posh education—but he knows how to tell a story. I think he just needs a little more confidence. At one point he actually held Madison’s hand for a moment. She went bright pink.
When she was ready to leave, he walked her home. I am desperate to know if he finally plucked up the courage to ask her out.
Wednesday October 7th—9.20pm
I have to admit that not only did I have a great time with Madison, but I spent rather a lot of money too.
I now have a gorgeous outfit for myself, Paddy and Billy, a lovely new waistcoat and tie for Matt to wear, as I know he will baulk at buying a whole new suit for the Christening, but at least this will spice it up a bit. And—thank God—a really smart little outfit for Tom—not too girly and frilly, but still a bit nicer than his usual pull-on stretchy leggings and jumper. So from that point of view, I’m pretty pleased with myself.
