The Old House on the Corner (17 page)

‘He won’t have the opportunity. I’ll be gone too. I shall leave straight after you. My sister lives in High Barnet. I’ll stay with her while I look for a new position.’ She made a face. ‘I won’t be able to ask Mr Rees-James for a reference.’

‘
I’ll
give you a reference. You’ve been a wonderful nanny. I just wish we could have become friends.’

‘So do I. I shouldn’t have been so brusque with you. I’ve been in trouble before for getting too impatient with mothers.’

‘Well, that’s water under the bridge now.’

‘What about the other Mrs Rees-James?’

‘She might object, but I’m sure we’re much stronger than she is.’ They both laughed.

It had all proved incredibly easy. Midge left, she had an appointment at the hairdressers. As soon as she’d gone, Sarah and Nanny Harper loaded the Renault with as much stuff as it would take, a van arrived and took the rest, and everything was dumped on the floor of number one Victoria Square.

Sarah’s feeling of elation diminished considerably as soon as the van had driven away. The pram, the bikes, and the bigger toys had been left in the hall – she should have asked the man to put them in the garage, but she’d forgotten she had one and now it was too late. The lounge and kitchen were so full of cardboard boxes and plastic bags there was literally no room to move. Alastair’s carrycot with the baby in it had been dumped on the floor. The curtains she’d bought were still in plastic bags, there were pictures and a mirror to be hung.
She had no idea where to start. The bedding and nightclothes would have to be found before they went to bed. She remembered she hadn’t got an electric kettle. Where did you switch on the hot water?

Then Alastair started to scream, Jack demanded Jason, Tiffany had mislaid her precious Oliver and bags and boxes had to be emptied until he was found, leaving the floor in an even worse mess.

Sarah limply reached for the nearest box. It contained all the things off her dressing table. Leaving Alastair to scream, she took it upstairs and put it in the big bedroom where she would sleep on the new double bed and felt a sense of achievement. One thing done! Downstairs again, she picked up another box: the children’s books. She carried them up to Tiffany’s room to sort out later.

Alastair was getting on her nerves. Tiffany was jumping up and down on the new pale lemon settee and Sarah wondered if it perhaps wasn’t an impractical colour to have bought. Jack was grizzling.

Perhaps Alastair was hungry. She went cold. Where on earth were his bottle, the tin of formula, and the little jars of baby food?

She collapsed on to a pale lemon armchair, determined not to cry or lose her temper, not to give in and somehow,
somehow
to manage.

9
JULY
2001

When Sarah opened her eyes and looked at her watch she was astonished to see it was almost eight o’clock. She’d slept the whole night through, Alastair too. She got up immediately to make sure Tiffany and Jack hadn’t gone wandering off, but both were fast asleep. Alistair looked quite content, his chubby legs splayed and the soles of his feet pressed together, making a perfect diamond. She felt a rush of love that almost choked her and was confident that she would enjoy having the children to herself, get to know them properly, and be a good mother.

Downstairs, she made tea and sank on to the settee, already full of smudges from the children’s dirty fingers, but she didn’t care. The sun was shining in a perfectly blue sky, the room looked relatively tidy, and she felt at one with the world.

I’ve done it, she thought. I’ve had an awful lot of help, but I’ve still done it. Despite the upset, the chaos, the lack of sleep, she hadn’t once considered giving up. Yesterday, the Irishwoman from next door, Marie, had invited them to lunch and shown her how to stop Alastair from crying. It didn’t always work, she’d said, but it was worth a try. Today, Marie was going to give a hand with the washing and explain how to use the machine. On Saturday, Frank Williams from Three Farthings had taken her shopping, while his wife,
Rachel, had looked after the children. Then Frank helped put up the curtains and other stuff. The next day, Rachel had been rather horrid. Sarah couldn’t understand why. She’d seemed so nice and kind before.

For the first time since moving, she thought about Jason – Jack had cried for him a few times, but the name had barely registered on her brain before it vanished because she’d had so much to do. Now she thought about him properly and was surprised that she hadn’t missed him at all, as if he was part of the life she’d left behind and he didn’t belong in this one.

Thinking of Jason reminded her that Alex was coming home today and would find the children had gone. Sarah felt uneasy. Although he didn’t know her address, he would eventually find it, of that she felt convinced. But he couldn’t just come and take the children away. Could he?

The sun seemed to dim slightly, as Sarah realized she hadn’t done with Alex Rees-James, not yet.

When Gareth came downstairs, he found his in-laws hadn’t bothered to clean up before they’d left the night before – actually, it had been early morning, well past midnight. The kitchen was heaped with dirty dishes, there were lager bottles, mugs, and plates of half-eaten snacks on the living-room floor. Debbie had already left for work, having made no attempt to clear up. Well, she needn’t think
he
was going to touch it. He glared at Tabitha, who was licking greasy gravy off a plate that had been left on the kitchen table and poured him a saucer of leftover lager.

Why the hell had they moved? he thought bitterly. Things had been going quite smoothly when they’d lived in the flat. Debbie had always been extravagant, but
since they’d come to Victoria Square, she’d been spending money as if there was no tomorrow and her relatives seemed determined to eat him out of house and home.

The phone rang. He considered not answering, but picked it up in case it was important, and was glad that he had when the caller turned out to be his mother.

‘Hello, son, I was just wondering if you were all right. You didn’t ring yesterday …’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Oh, hell, Mum, I forgot.’ He always rang his mum on Sundays. ‘It’s just that the Hamiltons were here and it completely slipped me mind.’

‘Never mind, son. As long as you’re all right. It’s just that you know I always worry about you.’

‘I know, Mum, and I’m dead sorry.’ He imagined her sitting in the little terraced house in Wallasey where he’d grown up, a look of anxiety on her tired face. She’d never been in very good health. There was something wrong with her heart, but it hadn’t stopped her from working all the hours God sent to help him through university. His father had died when Gareth, an only child, was ten. ‘How are you, Mum?’ he asked.

‘Fine, son, absolutely fine.’ She would swear she felt fine on her deathbed. ‘How’s Debbie?’

‘OK.’ He didn’t want to talk about Debbie. ‘Why don’t you come over for the day next Sunday? You still haven’t seen the new house.’

‘I don’t know, luv,’ she said cautiously. ‘Will Debbie’s family be there?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He understood her caution. The widow Joyce and her tribe ignored her. They weren’t being rude, it was just that they only had time for each other. Gareth, having married into the clan, had been
vetted, judged acceptable, and was now considered a Hamilton, while his mother was regarded as an outsider.

‘Joyce Hamilton always makes me feel as if I’m not your mother any more, that she’s taken over. I feel in the way.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ He felt like crying.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t moan. Anyroad, son, I’ll let you get on, otherwise you’ll be late for work. Tara, Gareth. Look after yourself.’

She always said that. ‘Bye, Mum. I love you,’ he said with a catch in his voice.

‘I love you too, son.’

Gareth slowly put down the receiver. He was neglecting his mum and it wasn’t fair. He was earning pots of money, but none of it was spent on her, yet it was she who’d been responsible for him getting a degree, which made earning pots of money possible. Mind you, he’d need to earn mountains to pay back all he owed and keep Debbie in the manner to which she had so quickly become accustomed.

He searched through the Yellow Pages for a florist and ordered two dozen red roses to be sent to Mrs Ellen Moran, and felt a bit better. Only a bit. It was
him
his mother wanted, not flowers.

The post had come while he’d been on the phone. He picked up the pile of envelopes and began to sift through them. They were either circulars wanting to sell him something, or bills, some marked with a stern ‘Overdue’. He paused over one envelope addressed to Mrs D. Moran. He hadn’t known Debbie had a Goldfish card. He tore open the envelope and saw that, in June, she had purchased goods to the value of £754.13. It wasn’t quite as bad as he’d expected, until he noticed that the amount
still outstanding was nearly four thousand pounds. He wanted to kill her.

Victoria had just started emptying the last of the drawers when she remembered Anna Burrows had invited her for coffee at eleven o’clock. She wallowed in the ancient bathtub for half an hour, washed her hair, dried it, and looked for something nice to wear. Anna was always beautifully dressed and mightn’t appreciate her visitor turning up in jeans and one of Granddad’s old shirts.

She put on a navy-blue blouse, a white skirt, and high-heeled sandals. Normally, Victoria never wore high heels because they made her fall over, but these had been bought for a wedding when she’d wanted to look smart, although she’d had to take them off when the dancing started. She should be able to get as far as Clematis Cottage without falling flat on her face.

Before leaving, she turned on the computer to see if there were any emails and found one from Parker Inc, asking if she’d let them know what time her plane would land on Sunday so someone could meet her at Kennedy airport. The same someone, whose name was Nancy Tucker, would put her up in her apartment until she found a place of her own. It finished by saying how much they were looking forward to having her work with them.

They sounded incredibly friendly. She emailed back immediately, giving the time of her arrival and thanking them for their help, then made her way to Clematis Cottage, wobbling slightly on the high heels.

Mr Burrows let her in after the doorbell had played a racy little tune she didn’t recognize. ‘That’s nice,’ she remarked. ‘The tune, that is.’

‘So everyone ses,’ he grumbled. ‘Although it’s not the one I’d’ve chosen meself.’

‘What would you have chosen?’

‘
The Red Flag
.’

‘I know that. “
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, we’ll keep the red flag flying here
”’ Victoria sang, not very tunefully.

Mr Burrows looked at her with respect. ‘How come you know that?’

‘Me granddad used to sing it, much to Gran’s annoyance. She was a Conservative and he was Labour and they argued all the time, although she was terribly sad he wasn’t alive when Labour got elected in nineteen ninety-seven.’

‘And what’s your own politics, luv? That’s if you don’t mind me asking.’

‘I don’t mind a bit. I’m a Green,’ Victoria said proudly.

He gave her another look of respect. ‘Well, at least you thought for yourself. I like that.’

‘Ernie,’ Mrs Burrows called from somewhere inside. ‘Are you going to keep Victoria to yourself all morning?’

‘Sorry, luv. Go on in the parlour, Victoria. I’ve been ordered to make coffee. Do you take milk and sugar?’

‘Both, please, two sugars.’

‘I never used to worry about my figure when I was young,’ Anna said when Victoria went in. ‘You look just right, neither fat nor thin.’ She patted the chair beside her. ‘Sit down, dear. Now, I want you to tell me all about yourself, from the day you were born, until you got out of bed this morning. I won’t interrupt once, I promise.’

I must stop this, Rachel told herself as she stood by the
window of Three Farthings on yet another glorious day, and saw Victoria enter the Burrows’s bungalow. People will start to notice I’m always in the window, spying on them, a sort of female Peeping Tom. She had intended to call on Victoria herself later that morning to invite her back for coffee, but now it was too late.

If only she hadn’t been so unpleasant to Sarah Rees-James the day before! When she’d woken that morning, very early, she’d realized she must be mad to think a girl like that would have an affair with a paunchy, balding man more than twice her age. She’d been hoping Tiffany would come demanding a drink as she’d done the last two days, and she could take her home and patch things up with Sarah, apologize for being short-tempered, claim she’d had a bad headache or something.

But Tiffany hadn’t come and now she and Danny Jordan were kicking a football against the garage doors and Sarah and Danny’s mother had been in and out of each other’s houses all morning. It looked as if Mrs Jordan was helping Sarah with the washing.

I
could have done that, Rachel thought, if I hadn’t been such a fool. Now she was stuck in the house by herself, Frank and James having gone to work, and Kirsty to see friends. The beds were made, the breakfast dishes washed, the house tidied, and she had nothing to do except stand by the window and watch other people lead their lives.

Perhaps she should go into town, buy something: a new frock, for instance. It was ages since she’d had a new frock. But it wouldn’t help her find friends and, at this moment in time, a desperately unhappy Rachel needed friends more than anything else on earth.

Five minutes later, she was knocking on the door of number seven Victoria Square, having remembered she
hadn’t introduced herself to the Cartwrights. She’d ask if they were coming to the barbecue, it was a perfect excuse.

The door was opened by Mrs Cartwright. She wore a red, satin dressing gown, the belt pulled tightly around her slim waist. Her face was flushed, her dark hair tousled, and she was smiling, as if something marvellous had just had happened.

‘Oh, dear!’ Rachel said in a voice that sounded too loud and terribly false. ‘I hope I didn’t get you out of bed. My name is Rachel Williams. I live over there.’ She vaguely waved her hand. ‘I thought you’d like this.’ She pushed a pot plant at the woman, so suddenly that she didn’t take it quickly enough, and the pot fell, smashing to pieces and spilling soil all over the step.