Monday 20th
November
'I suppose, if we're
going down to the cottage this afternoon, I had better let you get up and make
us brunch,' Hilary Carrington teased.
‘Maybe not quite yet, though…’
‘Jezebel!’ sighed
Tom.
‘You’re the one who
said you were more comfortable on your back, due to your poor old knees,’
Hilary reminded him. ‘I’m just being
considerate!’
She laughed and
leaned forward to kiss her husband.
'What is the time
now, my love?' Tom asked, a little while later.
Hilary glanced at her
alarm clock.
'Goodness me!
It's eleven forty-five!' She giggled. 'They do warn you that
everything takes a little longer to do as you get older, don't they,
darling?'
'They do.' He
grinned. 'I never thought that would be a benefit of aging, though!'
It was Hilary's
birthday, her fifty-eighth, and it had begun much as her previous seven
birthdays had done; really rather naughtily.
After Tom had dressed
and gone down to the kitchen, she swept her cosy dressing down around her
shoulders, climbed out of bed and peeped out of the window. Golden autumn
sunlight flooded the back garden of Andromeda House, picking out the bright
colours of the cotoneaster berries and shimmering birch leaves, the jewel tones
of the rainbow chard in the vegetable garden and blousy blooms of her
hydrangeas. It looked quite lovely, even in its faded foliage. Not
for the first time, she felt a pang of regret at the momentous decision she and
Tom had made that spring. It lingered as she drifted around the bedroom, choosing
her clothes for the day and making the bed, remembering how he had decorated this
room for her, ready for the start of their married life.
She trotted down the
graceful staircase and into the kitchen, hearing Tom whistling to himself as
their belated breakfast sizzled on the stove.
'I was going to bring
it up to you, my love,' Tom said.
Hilary noticed a
tray, neatly set with a clean, white cloth and the last of the summer's roses
in a bud vase.
'You are a dreadful
old romantic!' She slipped her arms around his waist. 'I'm very
lucky, aren't I?'
'I'm glad you realise
it, my lass,' Tom laughed. He neglected his cooking for a few seconds to
kiss her. ‘In all honesty, though, aren’t I the luckier one? All I’ve had to do so far this morning is lie
back and think of Yorkshire!’
'I'm serious,' said
Hilary. 'Meeting Catherine and thinking what a struggle it must be for
her, bringing her daughters up on her own, has made me appreciate how few
responsibilities I actually have.'
‘But no-one could
accuse you of neglecting those you do – or those you chose to take on. Thanks to you, your Jessica has a start in
life few other young women can hope for, if she uses it wisely, and as for your
generosity to my tribe…’
‘They’re my tribe
too, thanks to you!’
Tom’s daughter Ruth
was now the mother of two children who she and husband Alec had named Freya and
Odin, a striking break from the Appleby tradition of respectable biblical names
for their offspring. Younger son Daniel
and Sally Archer had married in the spring; elder son Joseph and his Danish partner
Kirsten looked to have settled down too, opting to stay on her side of the
North Sea following the Brexit vote.
Hilary was fond of
them all but, if shy, thoughtful Daniel was her favourite, Tom seemed to
forgive her for it.
'I know what you mean
about Catherine,’ he said. ‘It must have been a terrible loss. You
have to admire how she's battling on, considering it wasn’t so long ago.
We've been pretty lucky at the Project, haven’t we, getting young Ashley on
board and landing Catherine as a volunteer too?
Though I expect she'll be off to pastures new, soon enough.'
'You know Martin's
thinking about cutting his hours?'
'He mentioned it to
me last week. I think he was sounding me out, to see if I could step in.’ Tom attended to his pans for a moment.
‘Do you think you
might?’
‘I ought to give it
some serious thought. The painting and decorating side of things isn't
getting any easier and Driving out Demons
is doing no more to set academia alight than Vessels of Damnation.' He looked over his shoulder at
Hilary. 'Were you thinking Catherine could use those hours?'
'I'm sure she could,’
Hilary answered. ‘But you are right
about the decorating, darling. You will have to stop soon. It’s kind of the Co-op to keep you on but you
keep telling me you’re worried you slow the others down. If you took on
Martin's couple of days, perhaps Catherine could have some of my time?'
'You are going to cut
down?'
'To three days, I
think. I'm not sure fewer would allow me to stay properly up-to-date and
cover enough appointments to be useful.'
'That's what Martin
was thinking. He didn’t think he could
make two work. It'll still leave him and Parveen looking for one day's
childcare for the little one. He didn't think they could balance the
books if one of them stopped completely and didn’t want the children looked
after by other folks as much as they’d have to be if they both went back full
time.'
'I couldn't see
Parveen as a stay-at-home mum. She’s too
committed to her work for that, much as she adores the girls.'
'I think the idea may
have been for Mart to try his hand at being a stay-at-home dad, only with
mortgage rates on the twitch...'
'It's a worrying time
for the youngsters, isn't it?' Hilary sighed. 'I do wish there was
more we could do to help them.'
'That was rather the
point of moving, wasn't it? You have
helped them, more than they probably appreciate.'
'It was supposed to
allow us to slow down too. I didn't mean to go back to full time, but
when Toby asked so he could spend more time learning with Danika...'
'It was the right
thing for everyone, back then,’ Tom reassured her. ‘We won't have any full-timers, if you two
both cut down, though. I wonder what the
Management Committee will make of that?
They’ve never quite taken to the co-operative model, you know. I’ve an idea they tend to think of you as the
manager!’
Hilary laughed at
that.
'We're lucky to have
any paid staff at all and they know it. Of course, our volunteers are all
very lovely too!' She sidled up behind
him and squeezed his bottom.
'You're only after me
for my sautéed mushrooms, Ms Carrington...'
Hilary enjoyed her
sautéed mushrooms and the rest of her brunch, chatting with Tom about their
plans for the little garden at the cottage and revising - again - her
colour-scheme for the interior. They had
needed much less than half of the profits from the sale of Andromeda House to
buy it and, even after honouring Hilary’s niece’s claim to half of the
property, there had been enough left for a sensible nest egg and gifts to Tom’s
children.
'We're so fortunate
that Jessica can help us find homes for some of Mother's furniture,' Hilary
continued, picturing several chunky items of Victoriana that would overwhelm
their new home if not rehoused elsewhere. 'She doesn't think they're
terribly valuable, but if she has a customer who finds them to their taste, it
would be nice to spare them from the tip.
Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing how our little love nest is coming
on – let’s get along now!’
Hilary had started
referring to her prospective new home as ‘the cottage’ soon after she and Tom
had decided it was the one. Strictly speaking, it was a two-bedroom, Victorian,
end-of-terrace house but with leaded windows and enough charming, if
delipidated, original features that her description didn’t seem
pretentious. It would be a foolhardy
friend who referred to it as Hilary’s ‘retirement home’, although they had
ensured it was adaptation-friendly, should the need ever arise. Not quite pretty enough, nor close enough to
the historic city centre to be listed, they had been allowed to put
photovoltaic panels on the rear of the roof and commission a few changes to the
internal lay-out, all of which were now complete, along with the central
heating and rewiring, and much making good of plaster. All that remained was the decoration of a
couple of key rooms and, had Hilary not vacillated between pure brilliant white
and something softer for the living room, and been similarly reluctant to
commit to a pastel shade for their bedroom, that too would have been done. In the meantime, they occupied Andromeda House as tenants. Patrick and Henry, the proprietors in
waiting, were happy with this arrangement while the unpopular months of late
autumn passed, but had expressed the hope of being ‘in before Christmas’ to
catch any potential New Year bookings.
Tom seemed to have a
couple of last-minute chores to attend to, but they were underway before
one. Hilary drove. She knew the route well now, no longer caught
out by one-way systems and with a savvy traffic-dodging short-cut avoiding the
motorway. The sun was off the front of
the house now, but the little patio outside the French windows would be sunny
and sheltered, even in autumn and winter.
If the Co-op crew hadn’t drunk it all, she could make Tom and herself a
mug of hot chocolate and they could sit outside and plan the lay out their new
garden, deciding where it would be best to site the vegetable beds, chickens
and bee hives. She wasn’t sure if the
creatures would be happy if housed too close to the railway line, which ran at
the foot of the long, if narrow, plot.
Unusually, parking
was a problem, even for Hilary’s little Fiat.
‘How annoying – all
of the neighbours must have visitors!’
‘I expect there’s an
event on at the school down the hill, my love.’
Hilary got out of the
car and walked briskly along the pavement and up the front path, keys in
hand. She had almost made up her mind
that pure, brilliant white might be a little harsh for the living room, when
the door in front of her opened and she was almost hit in the face by what
seemed to be a small tree.
‘Surprise!’ It was Sally Archer, armed with a bouquet of enormous
chrysanthemums, in an array of glorious autumnal tones.
‘Happy birthday,
Hilary!’ added Daniel Appleby, peering around the flowers. ‘Dad said you would probably come up today,
so we decided to help you celebrate.’
‘How very sweet of
you both.’ Hilary smiled, took the
flowers and kissed her stepson and, standing on tiptoe, his wife.
‘It’s not just us –
it’s all the gang,’ Sally said. ‘Look!’
Hilary stepped across
the threshold to find herself surrounded by many of Tom’s construction industry
colleagues. A spectacularly tuneless
rendition of Happy Birthday to You led
by Sally in an indeterminate key, followed.
There were soft drinks and crispy nibbles. There was a pale blue cake with white icing
roses. There were also step-ladders,
dust sheets and a range of emulsion paints.
Hilary’s initial anxiety about her casual choice of clothing and
under-stated make-up faded. There was
work to do.
‘The gloss is dry,
and a plain white mist and first coat,’ Sally explained. ‘We wanted to get the rest done for you
before today, as a small token of our thanks for what you’ve done for us, but
Tom said you weren’t sure which colour to choose. If you pick one now, we can finish off this
room and upstairs, then you can finally move in.’
Somehow, seeing the
house full of friends and set up for a party, even if it wasn’t quite as she
liked to do such things, finally reconciled Hilary to her decision. Dithering about colour-schemes had become,
she had to admit, a stalling tactic to delay the day when she had to leave Andromeda House behind.
‘I have to say, it
does look nice and bright painted white.’
‘Is that what we
should use for the top coat?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
Hilary was in decisive mode.
‘And, I think the pale lilac for the bedroom.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘I suspect Tom may want to add a few little
flourishes later!’
He smiled. ‘It would be my pleasure, dearest Hilary.’
Johnno launched into
a merciless lampooning of his mate’s soppiness, but the banter was cut short by
a rattle at the door knocker.
‘More helpers?’ asked
Hilary. ‘We’ll all be getting in each
other’s way, if we aren’t careful.’
However, these
visitors weren’t dressed down for decorating; Vaughan and Jim’s workaday attire
was for gardening.
‘Whatever have you
got there?’ asked Hilary, spotting what appeared to be a long, leafless stick
protruding from a large pot.
‘A little something
from your old home,’ Vaughan explained.
‘It’s a pear, a maiden whip which I managed to graft from that old tree
in your garden. I still haven’t succeeded
in identifying the cultivar and, I must confess, I personally don’t think the
fruit is a patch on a good Commis,
but Tom said it was of more sentimental than culinary value, so here we are!’
‘You could say
that!’ Hilary kissed her old
friend. ‘How awfully clever of you.’
She led the gardeners
through to the kitchen and out into her back garden. Tom put the kettle on for more tea.
‘You’ve got smashing
little place here, haven’t you?’ Jim remarked.
‘Yes, we have.’
It was true. It really was a charming small house, the
like of which most young couples in the area couldn’t dare dream of owning, and
the garden, with its south-facing aspect and established borders, promised to
be a little patch of paradise. The
prospect of more time to enjoy it was one to relish. Hilary shared her plan to reduce her working
hours with Vaughan as they planted the precious sapling in a sheltered spot.
‘If you and Martin,
as experienced advisers at the top of our pay scale, are both planning to cut
back, that will bring us very close to enough funds for a full-time, more
junior post,’ he observed, brushing the soil from his hands. ‘I would be careful not to raise Catherine’s
hopes of a part-time opportunity, in case that’s what the committee prefer to
do. We may also find that Deepak would
appreciate an extra day, or Ashley might fancy full-time. I don’t know if she sought part-time for a
reason or if it was simply what was available.’
Hilary sighed. ‘I know we can’t simply share the hours out
among ourselves, but Tom gave up his paid hours when money was tight; it would
be really rather unfair not to let him have some back!’ Hilary had started to imagine a future where
they worked together for a few days each week, and played together for the
rest. ‘I don’t know Catherine’s
circumstances, but I would be surprised if some temporary paid work, even if
it’s just a month or so around Christmas, wouldn’t help her immensely. She must be claiming UC or a JSA top-up or something,
to have been mandated to do that dreadful course. I don’t like to ask, in case it seems nosy.’
‘She may have other
funds, of course, or a little capital,’ Vaughan suggested. ‘Although Toby asked me to keep some petty
cash by for her bus fares, she hasn’t requested for anything. I hope I’m not so intimidating that she
doesn’t dare ask!’
Hilary laughed. The idea that anyone would be intimidated by
kindly, old Vaughan was simply too silly.
Perhaps he had a point and Catherine was more financially secure than
she had assumed. Whatever the situation,
someone was going to get at least a couple of days’ work a week in the New
Year. Hilary had a new home to settle
into.
‘Time for tea!’ she
said. ‘And you must help me eat up my
cake, or I’ll ruin my figure!’
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