Out of Step (8 page)

The more Nell admitted prospective buyers (PBs) to her old parental home, the more she worried that no one could possibly want it. It was now March, and it had been for sale for a month without even the sniff of a taker. She was beginning to develop an appreciation of house-purchaser-speak, and could now translate most of the comments carelessly dropped by the affectedly casual strangers who trailed round after her estate agent, Mr Block.

Kevin Block was a curious mixture of the pompous and the innocently upbeat, and lavished positive appreciation on every part of the house. ‘Spacious kitchen,’ he would announce. ‘Great potential for modernisation.’

‘Oh,’ the PB’s wife would say. ‘Not fitted then?’ (
I can’t believe people still live like this!
)

‘Front dining room,’ enthused Mr Block, ‘with hatch to kitchen, and gas fire with original period tiled surround. Quite a selling point that!’

PB himself: ‘Really?
(That’d be the first thing I’d rip out.
)

PB’s wife: ‘What a good thing you haven’t had it decorated. Much better to let the buyer do it up in their own taste.’
(You naive fool! You could have covered over all those cracks and that damp patch.
)

Mr Block: ‘Lovely views of the garden from the lounge at the back. It’s been particularly well maintained, I think you’ll agree?’

PB: ‘Mmm. You’d need a heavy-duty mower here, that’s for sure.’
(No way! More like a concrete mixer.
)

After a while, Nell ceased to follow them upstairs but
stood in the hall mouthing the commonest remarks like a mantra to keep herself amused. ‘Only one bathroom then?’ ‘Is the roof fully lined?’ ‘Are all the light bulbs included? Ha ha!’ ‘No fitted carpets? Oh dear, that brings the price down a bit then.’ ‘Oh well, of course we’re used to built-in wardrobes.’

To entertain herself further, she wrote out an honest description of the house –
Large, ugly, detached, unmodernised, 1930s 4-bedroom house, with 3 naff stained-glass windows, ostentatious double garage, and 100ft long high-maintenance garden. Situated in upwardly mobile area, close to local shops (selling ‘antiques’ but no food). On bus route to centre of boring Boxcombe. Would suit nostalgic, style-challenged Fat Cat, or sad, undiscerning DIY enthusiast with long-suffering partner
.

She gave it to Mr Block who read it through slowly and carefully. ‘Just as well you’re not in my profession,’ he said seriously. ‘You’d have a lot to learn.’

‘You’d have a lot to learn!’
Nell mimicked his prissy voice on the phone to Elly, and they both dissolved into giggles. ‘How can anybody be so totally humourless?’

‘No luck so far then?’

‘No. Another couple are coming tomorrow evening. I suppose sooner or later someone is going to be deluded enough to want it.’

‘Could take years,’ Elly said soberly.

‘Thanks! You are so encouraging.’

But the young man and woman who arrived with Mr Block at 6 p.m. the following evening were clearly impressed. ‘It’s so rare to find a place that hasn’t been the victim of
refurbishment,’
the man said, stressing the word as though it were the ultimate crime. ‘We’ve been trying to find a genuine period house like this for far too long, haven’t we, darling?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the woman said eagerly. ‘And that fireplace in the dining room is quite marvellous, isn’t it? They
certainly
knew
about tiles in those days.’ Nell stared at them in fascination.

‘You see,’ the man said, ‘we’re getting married soon.’ He said it with exaggerated modesty, as though he might be going to add, ‘although I say so as shouldn’t.’

‘And we want our first house to be perfect,’ the woman said, laying her hand on his arm and smiling up at him girlishly.

‘Ah well,’ Mr Block said, ‘wonderful, wonderful! Look no further!’ He rubbed his hands together in a frenzy of enthusiasm that Nell considered a bit over the top, until she realised why. Of course – first-time buyers – no chain! She allowed a modicum of optimism to be released into her bloodstream, and begin to diffuse… Maybe the fates were about to be kind.

Cassie Hayhoe felt as though everyone was conspiring against her, especially Rob. She was sure he had sabotaged the sale of the cottage on purpose; his story of a broken chain was too convenient for words.

She wanted the divorce – of course she did. What was the point of being married to someone you despised, a man who never asked you how you were or how you felt; who never noticed anything about you; never
encouraged
you? But she worried about how she would cope. She supposed she would have to get a job, but her secretarial skills were all but forgotten, and the chance opportunity she’d had years ago to present a clothes show on television was very much a thing of the past. If only she hadn’t fallen out with that stupid producer woman, she might have been asked back … Cassie sighed deeply. At thirty-three she was still young, but … She examined herself critically in the bathroom mirror. A cross, pinched face looked back at her. She tried smiling, but it didn’t come naturally to her and appeared more like a rictus, so she snapped it off again quickly.

I’m not well, she thought. I can’t cope with the children. I can’t bear the loneliness. I’ve lost all my confidence, so how will I ever get a job? And anyway, how can I work with Rosie still at home, and Josh finishing school so early? God! Sometimes I wish they were grown up and off my hands altogether … I don’t know what to
do
. I need help. I think I must be about to have a nervous breakdown.

She managed to get a cancellation appointment at the health centre for late that afternoon, and trailed off there with both children in tow. Sitting in the waiting room, she tried half-heartedly to keep them from annoying the other patients. She sat Josh on her knee, but Rosie wanted to sit there too and they began, as ever, to whine and hit each other. Cassie thought: Why do I have to have such difficult children? It’s so unfair!

‘Stop that, Rosie!’ she said sharply, knowing that this would precipitate a major sulk, but unable to do anything about it. The child’s lower lip trembled. She stumped over to the children’s play corner and began throwing the toys about. Josh was fidgeting on Cassie’s lap, playing with her silk scarf and pulling it too tight around her neck. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said to him. ‘Rosie? That’s naughty. You’ll break it!’

She looked round rather desperately, hoping that someone else would step in, but most of the people also waiting were elderly and they looked uniformly disapproving, hitching their feet and handbags stiffly out of Rosie’s way as she shuffled round the waiting room on her bottom with a wooden toy train, having as many accidents as possible. Josh wriggled off Cassie’s lap apparently to go and interfere, but just at that moment another boy of about his own age came in with his mother. To Cassie’s relief, Josh went over to talk to him. The young woman sat down next to Cassie.

‘Bin waiting long?’ she asked her. She was short and
plump, with cropped pink hair, and dressed entirely in black leather.

Cassie was too exhausted to be critical. ‘About ten minutes.’

‘It’s always bad. Dunno why they bother wif an appointments system. It’s a joke, innit?’

‘Seems so.’

Cassie saw with relief that the extra child seemed to have diverted her two away from their inveterate squabbling. They even appeared to be playing a game together. Twenty minutes went by. Every now and again the woman beside her went over and sorted her boy out, keeping Josh and Rosie in order at the same time.

‘Thanks,’ Cassie said, looking up briefly.

‘No bovver,’ the woman said. ‘I’m good wif kids. I’d like to set meself up as a childminder. I know I could make a go of it an’ earn enough for meself and Gav to live off, but I haven’t got nowhere to do it, so I can’t get started. You don’t know a place, do you? Trouble is, I can’t pay any rent until I’ve earned enough dosh. Hopeless innit?’ Her brief smile was surprisingly endearing. Cassie felt an uncharacteristic urge to confide in her.

‘I’m in a difficult position too,’ she said. ‘I’m not well, and I desperately need a nanny for these two, but my husband’s walked out on us, so I can’t possibly afford to pay for one.’

‘You got a job though?’

‘Not now.’

‘But you got a house?’

‘Oh yes, a large one. Too large really; the children and I rattle about in it, now Rob’s gone.’ She could hear herself manufacturing a sob story to match the one the woman was telling her. It didn’t strike her as dishonest, just polite; a way to reach across the divisions of class and privilege to say: I understand how you feel. We’re both wronged women fighting against the odds.

‘Well then,’ the woman said, hopefully. ‘Now c’rect me if I’m wrong, but you’ve gotta big house and you need a childminder, right? And I’ve got nowhere to live, and I
am
a childminder, yeah?’

‘Well… yes.’

‘So, you get my drift?’

‘Well…’

‘How about you let me and Gav have a room in your house rent free? Then weekdays when Gav and your boy’s at school, I can mind free or four kids (including your youngest for nuffink, of course) and make a bob or two, which wif income support’ll pay for our keep. Then we’ve got a roof and food, and you’ve got your kids looked after, and the house ain’t so big no more! I’d need me weekends off, but that’s all. Me name’s Mic, by the way. So, what d’you say?’

‘Well…’ It was perfectly logical, Cassie had to admit that … ‘But I don’t know anything about you,’ she prevaricated.

‘Well, I’m not going to nick the silver if that’s what’s bovvering you,’ Mic said. ‘I wouldn’t be that stupid. And I don’t do drugs or nuffink – well, only ciggies.’

‘No, of course not. I didn’t mean –’

‘Tell you what,’ Mic said, ‘we’re OK where we are for a bit, so you have a fink about it, yeah?’

‘Yes… all right, I will.’

‘Michaela Potton and Gavin,’ the receptionist called out. ‘To Dr White please.’

‘Looks like our doctor’s quicker’n yours, dunnit?’ Mic said, getting up. ‘So, give us your phone number, OK? I’ll leave it a week, and then ring you. You can always say no.’

‘All right,’ Cassie said, delving into her handbag. ‘I’ve got some stickers with my name and address somewhere … Yes, here’s one.’ She gave it to Mic.

‘Cheers. Come on then, Gav. Let’s get your ears sorted.’ And off they went.

When she got home with the prescription she’d gone for, Cassie worried about giving Mic the sticker. I’m just not thinking straight. My health must be even worse than I thought. I won’t tell Rob; he’d say I was mad to have done it. What if she’s a thief? She now knows I’m a woman living alone in a big house. She mentioned silver – perhaps she’s part of a gang? She’s got my phone number too. What if she plagues me with nuisance calls asking for money, or keeps coming round and pestering me? What
was
I thinking of?

She knew the answer to that one really. She was desperate to get Josh and Rosie off her back, but also determined that Rob shouldn’t have them. At least Mic would be here with me, she thought, if I took her on. I could keep an eye on things. I don’t reckon I’m that bad a judge of character either. My instincts tell me she’s OK. And we could convert the attic room (the one Rob used to use as a workshop) for her child-minding. It hasn’t been lived in since we came here, but it’s big enough and light enough, and we could get the heating connected up again. Then she could have the back bedroom for herself and Gavin, and the guest bathroom, so I wouldn’t have to meet them first thing in the morning. I suppose if Gavin and Josh got on really well, he could always share Josh’s room eventually. I’d have to insist that she only smokes in her own room though. I can’t have the whole house stinking of it.

Rob would strongly disapprove, Cassie knew this, and the knowledge encouraged her to do it just to spite him.

Oh, what the hell! she thought. Let’s give her a try. I could use some company in the evenings. Of course she’s not really my sort of person, so we won’t have much in common, but she’ll be better than nobody.

When the young couple came again to see Nell’s house, this time in daylight, she began to get really optimistic
that everything might work out. If they were prepared to approach her asking price, then she would be able to buy Bottom Cottage without the hassle of finding a mortgage. She blessed her parents for having had the foresight and prudence to have paid theirs off before they died. She knew how lucky she was. She said as much to Anna at swimming.

‘Jammy bastard,’ Ann said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get shot of mine, so I’ll never be able to give up work. What a treadmill!’

They did a few more lengths, and then Nell stopped and waited for her. ‘How’s the Boss then?’ she asked.

‘Lovely,’ Anna said. ‘When I
see
him, that is, which isn’t nearly often enough. It’s been a long winter. Thank God it will soon be summer.’

‘And the love nest?’

‘Brilliant,’ Anna said at once. ‘It’s right out in the country and very small and compact, but everything fits into its own place, and the setting and views are amazing. Mind you, we don’t have much time for looking at the scenery!’

Nell raised an eyebrow. ‘And you still aren’t going to tell me where it is?’

‘Sorry,’ Anna said. ‘Can’t. The Boss wants it to be kept a secret from absolutely everybody.’

‘That’s a bit paranoid, isn’t it? Is he afraid of his wife?’

‘He’s not afraid of
anyone,’
Anna scoffed, ‘but he does like a quiet life.’

Nell didn’t think much of this, but kept silent. It sounded to her as though the secret hideaway might well be a caravan, and she did wonder whether Anna had banked on a cottage and was disappointed. Perhaps the Boss wasn’t as rich as she had hoped. Maybe it would all fall through. She didn’t think Anna was the sort who would hang about for long with anyone fiscally challenged.

Nell wondered whether her young couple were well off. It was hard to tell. Presumably they wouldn’t have come to see it twice if her house was outside their price range. A week went by, with her keeping her fingers crossed, and then a day later they made a good offer, and her jubilation overflowed.