Blowing It (13 page)

‘Couple of thousand?’ she suggested.

‘
Eleven
and a
half
thousand! That’s all!’ Mary-Jane shrieked.

‘
All?
God, that’s mad!’ It was crazy, no question. Clover could add a swimming pool to the house in the sun for that. If she ever got the house in the sun. She was back on France again this week, if Sean and finances ever allowed for it. Or maybe she should just do what her parents were doing, sell up the Richmond house and take off, dragging her daughters round the world like universal wanderers. There were people who’d say that would be the best education, rather than being deskbound doing worksheets and test papers in this outer-London exam hothouse. Clover was very confused. All she wished, right now, was that she and Sean had the kind of all-time certain-of-each-other relationship that her parents had. Was it too late now? Had something between them been messed up for ever when he’d cheated on her that time after Elsa was born or should we all be allowed one mistake before the slate is indelibly sullied? She wouldn’t run that one past Mary-Jane. It would be all round the school by Thursday week if she did.

‘The new nanny’s a dream. We’re thrilled.’ Mary-Jane was still in chat-mode. ‘She says she doesn’t mind how many she has in the house, because the more you’ve got the more they entertain each other. I’ll take advantage of that while she’s still young and keen. I was wondering if you’d like her to pick up Sophia and Elsa on Thursday and they can come for
tea
with Jakey and Poll? What do you think? It’s not a ballet or gym day, is it? Or is it violin? Extra maths?’

‘No, no it’s not. It’s … for once, not anything. That’d be great, thanks! And it means I can go down to my folks for the afternoon. They’ve got the first estate agent coming round to have a look at the house, see what kind of money they’re looking at. I wouldn’t mind being there.’

‘Oh you should definitely be there,’ Mary-Anne agreed. ‘Make sure they’re not getting ripped off. And you of course, too. I mean, it’s your inheritance they’re cashing in, isn’t it? It’s not just theirs?’ Mary-Jane laughed. ‘You want to get in there, girl, stake your claim!’

She sounded like Sean, Clover thought. Why did they think it was all about money?

Clover’s phone trilled and she quickly checked the caller ID: Sean.

‘Where are you, darling? Collecting Sophia?’ Sean sounded his usual, no-problem self.

‘Yeah – I’m outside the school right now,’ she replied. ‘Sophia’s just coming out, with Polly as usual. Are you definitely not back tonight? Are you sure you can’t make it home?’

He was in Manchester, sorting a problem with the banqueting company that had been booked for a bicentenary event for an ancient wool guild.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ Sean said. ‘I’d love to but it’s a problem that needs a hands-on approach. There are
still
people who’d rather see a face than a fax. Now if we had a nanny … you could come up here for a couple of days, join me. Think about it.’

His voice went seductive, quieter. She could imagine him in an office, keeping his voice down to talk intimately to her. ‘… swish hotel, a spa, just you and me and a bottle of Cristal and no little girls barging in wanting another glass of water. Like I said, think about it. In fact, you don’t need to: why not come anyway? Come now – get your mum to drive up and stay overnight with the girls, why not?’

Sean’s obvious eagerness made Clover immediately tingly with longing, tempered by embarrassment that every passing school parent, clucking on their way to their cars about lunch eaten, sports triumphs scored and maths marks gained, was looking at her and knowing she was indulging in adult talk in child-hours. She put a hand to her hot face, flustered by Sean’s spontaneous suggestion and the promise of a night of hot, child-free sex.

‘Sean, I’d love to, you know I would, but I can’t just drop everything …’

Sean chuckled. ‘It’s not everything I want you to drop. Just your best silk knickers. Come on, Clover,’ he coaxed her, ‘for me? Just a forty-minute shuttle flight away? You could be here by seven. I’ll chill the fizz, ready for you.’

Clover dithered. ‘Well … no, be sensible, Sean,
really
. Elsa’s got ballet and it’s Sophia’s night for violin practice …’

‘OK.’ He sighed. ‘I know which bit of No means No. Don’t say I didn’t ask though, darlin’, will you?’ And he was gone.

What was that supposed to mean? Clover gave Sophia a hello hug, took her lunchbox from her and led her safely across the road and into the Touareg. It sounded like a threat. Very much like, ‘If you don’t want me, I’ll find someone who does.’ Or was she imagining things?

Quickly, she climbed into the car then took out her mobile again, calling Sean back. Perhaps she could race off and be with him, just for a mad, lust-filled night. She should, in fact. Wasn’t she forever reading about the dire consequences of letting a marriage slide into a slough of stale routine? If they were ever to break up, she mustn’t let it be through her negligence.

His phone was now switched off. Bugger. She started the car and considered the options. She could keep ringing, or she could simply catch a plane and go and bank on him having switched it back on by the time she got there. Except she didn’t actually know (how careless was this?) which hotel he was staying in. It could be that she landed at the airport and his phone was still off and she’d end up spending a miserable night alone in some dismal runway hotel. Or she could do the sensible thing and stay at home, taking care of her daughters as
she’d
originally planned. After all, it was mid-week. How irresponsible and selfish would running out on them be? And if she went this time, was she supposed to race off round the country every time he was feeling a bit lonely, randy, generally loose-endish? Bordering on tears, for she now so much wanted to go, she stabbed at the phone again; still nothing.

‘Clover?’ Mary-Jane startled her, rapping on the car window. Clover wound it down.

‘I just wondered,’ Mary-Jane said, ‘as it’s such a lovely day, Polly and I were thinking, why don’t I do us all a barbecue in my garden later? I’ve got to take Jakey to Tumble Tots but any time after that. The kids have got the water-slide set up. What do you think?’ Polly was bouncing up and down beside her mum, grinning and excited.

‘Well … I was thinking of …’ What to say? The truth? She was crazily desperate to get to Manchester for a night of the rare kind of uninhibited passion that you don’t often get
post
-babies? She longed to dally with her husband in a vast bath full of bubbles and scented oils, drinking champagne?

‘Oh Mum, please let’s! I want to go to Polly’s!
Please!
’

And that was the thing when you had children; you had to put them first, didn’t you? If there was a manual that came with childbirth, that would be the first instruction, right there on page one.

‘OK, we’ll do that,’ Clover agreed. ‘I’ve got a chocolate cake I can bring for pud, with strawberries and ice-cream.’

Sean was a grown-up; he could wait. The children couldn’t. There’d be another time.

She hoped.

NINE

‘I THINK ROOM
by room is going to be the best way,’ Lottie said, as she, Susie and Clover settled round the kitchen table with coffee and cake to fortify themselves for the daunting task ahead. The agent was booked in for Thursday for a preliminary lookaround and a guess at a valuation, and although there was obviously no chance of having even a single room completely clear and perfect by then, Lottie at least wanted to be able to assure him that she was ready for the challenge.

‘I really need to get an idea of what can be thrown away before I start on getting the place ready for buyers to look at properly. Maybe I should have put the agent off till it’s ready for viewing. He might take off a hundred thousand on grounds of clutter overload.’

‘No, no – they know what they’re looking for. They can see beyond the … er … evidence of long-term residence. But what you really need is
that
Life Laundry
woman,’ Susie suggested. ‘She’d be far more ruthless than we will. You’d be down to a bed, a sofa and a photo album by the time she’d finished with you. She might let you keep your wedding dress, preserved in framed Perspex!’

‘Oh no, you couldn’t get her in!’ Clover shuddered. ‘She lines up everything you possess outside the house and makes you get rid of absolutely all of it, even if you cry and plead. It would be too awful to see the house stripped bare like that.’

She knew it was an exaggeration, but these two had to be discouraged. Susie was so far into minimalism that she only ever wore one colour at a time, accessorized by a single stunning jewellery piece. Today she was in cocoa brown with a bracelet that was a hunk of plain beaten gold, a good five inches wide. If she took over and got into Lottie’s head, Lottie would be exuberantly setting fire to the equivalent of a warehouse-load of possessions. Clover was there to make sure Lottie didn’t get swayed into thinking that the results of living in a place for thirty-something years added up to no more than a heap of expendable junk.

Lottie and Susie exchanged glances; this was getting them nowhere. Clover, who Lottie had thought she could count on for advice about how best to present the house to potential buyers, had been brought in to be helpful, not to scupper the whole enterprise. She was the one with the interior
design
experience, after all. Since she’d arrived she’d done nothing but sigh a lot and look sorrowful.

‘This is a lovely cake, Clover,’ Susie ventured, using the kind of careful voice that goes down well when encouraging small, reluctant children who hang back at birthday parties. ‘You must have used espresso coffee in it. Am I right?’

Clover brightened. ‘I did! I’m so glad you can tell! Hardly anyone can. When it says “coffee” in a recipe, most people just mix up a bit of Nescafé. I like it with more bite.’

‘It’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Lottie agreed. ‘Your cakes always are. I don’t know where you got the baking gene from, because it certainly wasn’t me. Can I keep some for Mac and Al? They’re down by the paddock, doing something weird to the marrows with paintbrushes. I think they said it’s artificial insemination, but that doesn’t sound right.’

‘Yes, of course, Mum – keep it all! I wasn’t going to take it home again with me. There’s plenty more in my cupboard for the girls.’

Lottie didn’t doubt it. Clover was a prodigious cake-maker. A comfort-baker, she’d have to say. Well, you’d need comfort, being married to Sean. Not a man you could call reliable or entirely trustworthy. Lottie tried but mostly failed to forget that he’d cheated on her daughter when she, newly post-natal, was at her most vulnerable and had the cheek to brush it off as ‘just a stupid blip’. He was
always
sliding out of the door and revving up the BMW for a fast getaway. And did he ever take time off work? Clover only seemed to see him on the occasional evening and Sunday. If he left to live with someone else, she’d barely notice the difference. Perhaps he already had. Lottie couldn’t stop herself wondering, now it had crossed her mind, if he actually had another home and family somewhere else, the way some cats (and apparently some men) did. No wonder Clover said he was always tired. But presumably the other woman didn’t go in for a lot of cake – otherwise he’d be an awful lot fatter as well.

‘Look – how about starting at the top and working our way down with a big notebook?’ Susie suggested. ‘Do you actually use all the top-floor rooms, Lottie?’

‘Sorrel has her hovel up there,’ Lottie said. ‘I think we’d better leave that for her to sort out.’

‘Oh Mum, she’ll never do that!’ Clover laughed. ‘I bet she puts a lock on the door and won’t let anyone in.’

‘Well, she’ll just
have
to let them in,’ Lottie pointed out. ‘How can buyers be expected to make an offer if they can’t see the whole place? They might think we’re hiding a massive outbreak of death watch beetle or a mad old family retainer or something!’

Clover sipped her coffee and said nothing. There didn’t seem any point. Her parents had obviously
made
up their minds and were going full steam ahead with the house sale. They did this, this kind of spontaneous stuff, and too often the consequences hadn’t been pretty. When she was fifteen they went off to Heal’s to buy a sofa but came back as the new and hyper-excited owners of the Flaming Cow restaurant in Fulham. That must have been about the time they made Sorrel as well, probably that very night as a celebration. A few weeks or months on from now, when they’d sold this house and realized they’d got nowhere to live, they were really going to regret it. This house was the big, beating heart of the whole family. If they’d just talk to her – the two of them, not with this know-nothing Susie woman hanging about – if they’d just slow down a bit and give it a bit more time, maybe they’d come round to the idea of investing in a lovely little place out in the Dordogne, perhaps quite a big place where all the family could meet up for holidays and celebrations. That way, they’d have somewhere to go when they got all wanderlusty and yet still keep this as a family base.

‘What about Christmas?’ Clover, inspired, suddenly blurted out. ‘Where will we all go for Christmas? We always come here, all of us. Sophia and Elsa really love it. They so look forward to the huge tree in the hall and the fires being lit and all the candlelight and shadows. It’s so perfect, it’s almost classic
Victorian
.’

‘Which is older than the house is.’ Susie sounded
crisp
. ‘And do you actually mean you’d miss the freezing cold, the scabies and the massive child mortality of those times? Are you sure?’ Susie went on, her perfect eyebrows arched. Clover scowled at her. OK, she knew she might sound a tad immature to an outsider, but really, what did it have to do with Susie? What did she, a woman whose Christmas venue of choice was a Maldives spa where the only decorations were petals in the bathwater, know about their family traditions and the comforts of a snug, safe home?

‘We could come over to you in Richmond!’ Lottie suggested brightly. ‘You make your house look completely wonderful. I always think it’s a bit of a waste when on the big day itself you all leave it and trail over here. And you’ve got enough room for everyone.’