The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan (11 page)

Charley began to tremble
in her embrace. She never wanted to leave this hug.

‘Now who’s going to take your father his morning coffee?’ carried on Maureen. ‘You know I won’t go near that workshop of his.’

Charley smiled through the tears. ‘I’m only ten minutes down the road.’

Her mother released her grip and stroked Charley’s hair. ‘You’ll be all right.’

She nodded hard, trying to convince them both.

‘Is someone going
to get me a cup of tea or shall I just expire from thirst?’ Everyone looked up to see Granny standing in the doorway. ‘What’s going on in here? Maureen, why are you a bitter, sobbing heap?’

Granny was tiny but wasn’t a woman to be messed with.

Elizabeth, Victoria’s twin, rolled her eyes. ‘Charlotte’s just a bit upset, that’s all.’

‘Nothing to be upset about,’ barked Granny, coming to stand
in front of them. ‘So you got yourself in a bit of a state . . . are you going to let that man ruin your life?’

Charley shook her head, more out of fear than honesty.

‘Then turn that frown upside down, my girl. I’ll have that cuppa in your new abode.’

Charley opened her mouth wide in horror. She’d had no intention of letting her family see the ghastly flat, especially her mother and grandmother.

But Granny wasn’t about to take no for an answer. ‘You’ve got a kettle, haven’t you? Maureen, pack the tea bags and milk. And some decent biscuits. The good ones that you’ve been keeping back, not them economy packs you’ve been dishing up. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

The procession of cars left Little Grove and made its way into Lower Grove. A short while later they were all parked in front
of Hill View Court flats.

‘Bloody hell,’ Charley heard Victoria mutter as they got out.

‘Mummy said a bad word,’ said one of her young nieces.

‘Quite right,’ said Granny, taking her great-granddaughter’s hand. ‘But this is your Aunty Charlotte’s new home, so let’s be nice about it. We should all be grateful for having a roof over our heads in this day and age.’

Charley put the key into the
front door and stepped into the flat.

‘The hall’s on the small side,’ she said over her shoulder, bracing herself for the inevitable guffaws. But they never came.

‘Never seen the point of hallways,’ said Granny, striding past. ‘Waste of good space, if you ask me.’

Charley showed them into the bedroom. ‘It’s a bit musty.’

‘Nothing that a good airing won’t cure,’ said her mother, opening a window.

They all peered into the kitchen. ‘It’s tiny,’ Charley told them.

Her mother ran a finger along the worktop. ‘You don’t need a lot of space. It’s only you.’

Finally they went into the lounge.

‘Quite cosy,’ said her father, sucking on his pipe. ‘It’ll save you a fortune on heating because you’re insulated by all the flats around you.’

They were being so kind, so positive, that Charley could
feel the sobs welling up inside her. She hid her face as she followed her mother back into the kitchen.

‘You can keep the coffee and tea bags,’ Maureen told her. ‘I’ll take most of the mugs back with me, but I bought you some washing up liquid and a few other bits.’

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Charley, leaning against the counter. ‘And it’s true. The flat is horrible.’

‘You need to
start somewhere,’ said Maureen with a shrug.

Charley’s father and brother-in-law brought in the mattress that had been strapped on to the top of Dad’s Volvo. This was followed by an ancient armchair, a portable television, a small nest of tables and a chest of drawers for the bedroom.

‘Feels more like a home now it’s got furniture in it,’ said Granny, sitting down on the only chair.

Charley
realised this was true. With the family sprawled across the lounge, plus her suitcases and boxes beginning to fill the hallway and bedroom, it felt less empty. Less bleak.

Her twin sisters sidled up to her.

‘I know we’ve given you a lot of grief about the money,’ said Victoria.

‘And we’re still really cross about that,’ added Elizabeth.

‘I know,’ said Charley, with a sigh.

‘But you got yourself
a job,’ said Elizabeth.

‘And this place,’ said Victoria, with a small shudder.

‘So we just want to say, you know, that we can see you’re doing your best and we’re proud of you.’

‘You are?’ Charley’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Thanks.’

She let them embrace her, grateful for having such a supportive family. But all too soon they began to wend their way home.

‘I’ll be over next week to see how
you’re getting on,’ said Granny, giving Charley a stiff hug. ‘Make sure you eat properly. I’ll not have you wasting away.’

‘Victoria’s left you a spare telephone,’ said her father, attempting to appear normal though his watery eyes betrayed him. ‘It’s plugged in and ready to go. Give us a ring tonight, so we can get the number.’

‘Your dad’s switched on the fridge but it’s not cold enough yet
so I’ve left you some dinner in the cool bag.’ Charley’s mother kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thirty minutes in the oven should do. Drop the bag off when you’re next round. I’ll need it for the church picnic next month.’

She squeezed the air out of Charley’s lungs with a massive hug before leaving.

Finally, Charley was alone. She stood trembling in the hallway for a minute before getting busy. She
avoided the kitchen, deciding to concentrate on the bedroom first.

The inside of the wardrobe and chest of drawers needed wiping and then drying before she could start to unpack. She realised that she had far too many clothes for an average wardrobe, most of which were unnecessary in her new circumstances. When was she going to wear an evening gown again? Or any of her beautiful high heels?

In the end, she unpacked her jeans, t-shirts and casual tops and left all her smarter clothes in two suitcases, which she then placed at the back of the wardrobe. She unpacked her flip-flops and trainers, leaving all her expensive heels in a black bin liner, which she placed at the bottom of the wardrobe next to the suitcases.

She glanced at the bag which held her fancy underwear. These weren’t
bras to wear under t-shirts, or sensible cotton pants. This was silky, sometimes flammable, underwear, that she had worn only for Steve. Gulping back tears, Charley carried the bag out of the flat and shoved it down the communal bin chute.

Back in the lounge, Charley slumped into the armchair and looked around her. The flat was riddled with damp, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the
bathroom was a kaleidoscope of yellow and black. There really was no place like home.

But it was hers, sort of. She had sole ownership of the remote control at any rate. Later on, she could read for an hour in the bath, if she could face those mirrored tiles. She could even hog the whole of the mattress, instead of lying perched on the edge whilst her husband lay diagonally across the middle,
snoring loudly.

The thought of Steve put a stop to any further positive thoughts. What was he doing now? And with whom? Was he snuggled up with whatshername somewhere? Or down the pub, laughing with his mates, having forgotten his wife?

Charley hugged her knees into her chest, wishing they were back in their lovely house, before all the trouble had started. The only thing she wanted to do right
at that moment was to switch on her ice-cream maker and start mixing batches of strawberry sorbet or chocolate pecan mix. But that wasn’t possible. Charley suddenly felt very alone.

Her mobile tinkled into life. She thought it would be her mother, reminding her about the cool bag. But she was wrong. It was Julie.

Hope you’ve unpacked already!
she read.
Don’t forget we’re coming over on Friday
night for a housewarming. Keep smiling!

Later that evening she also received a text from Caroline, as well as one from her mother about the cool bag.

Charley allowed herself a small smile. She wasn’t entirely alone. She still had her friends and family.

AT LEAST IT
had only been a short working week, thought Charley as she drove to her last cleaning job on Friday afternoon. Though that meant only four days’ wages too, which made the amount of money in her purse seem perilously paltry.

But for now, she only had one more house to clean. Just get through the afternoon, she told herself, and then it was the weekend. Of course, that
meant too much time spent in her ghastly flat. It still felt alien to her, and certainly not like ‘home’. She was scared to be living alone for the first time in her life, and frightened by the weight of responsibility that it brought.

Charley got out of the car and hurried up to the front door of the large house. She took shelter from the April shower that had begun and tugged the old-fashioned
bell pull. She waited for someone to come to the door. And then she waited some more.

She glanced around the grounds. The driveway was bordered by an overgrown lawn. Box hedges had grown out of shape. Weeds filled the flowerbeds. Nature had run amok.

She was about to ring the bell again when the heavy oak door began to open, revealing a tiny old lady. She was about four foot tall and her frailty
was further emphasised by faux auburn hair which was obviously a wig.

‘Hi. I’m Charlotte. I’m your new cleaner.’

‘Hello, dear,’ said the pensioner. ‘I’m Mrs Wilberforce.’

Charley stepped into the hall and straight back in time. The house was lovely. Or at least it had been eighty years ago. And that looked to be the last time anyone had dusted. If nature had run amok outside, dust and dirt
had overtaken the inside of the house. Everywhere she looked, thick cobwebs stretched across from picture frames to the ceiling, from the grandfather clock to the floor. Most surfaces were thick with dust and there was a smell of mould and decay in the air.

Charley followed Mrs Wilberforce’s slow progress through the entrance hall to the doorway at the far end.

‘Have you ever had a cleaner before?’
asked Charley, assuming she knew the answer to the question.

‘Yes, but Irene retired last month. Been with us thirty years.’

And not done a decent day’s work in all that time, thought Charley.

‘Where would you like me to start?’

‘I thought you could do the drawing room today. And then the kitchen next week.’

Charley frowned. ‘But that’s only one room. Are you sure you don’t want me to do
more than that this week?’

Mrs Wilberforce shook her head. ‘I don’t want to wear you out, my dear. That was all Irene could ever manage. You’re only here for two hours. Shall I show you around?’

Charley thought it was the kind of tour they should include at Universal Studios. ‘Step right up, folks. The new haunted mansion ride has just opened. Admission includes free cobwebs and moths to take
home with you. Scary chamber music for an additional charge.’

She shook her head in dismay. How did anyone live like this? Why weren’t her family getting this nice lady into a sunny bungalow?

‘Have you a large family?’ she asked.

‘No. Since my husband Ernest passed away there’s just my son now. He’s a hairdresser living in London. Very busy, of course, so he can’t come down here very often.’

Back in the hallway, Charley was shown the cleaning materials, such as they were. A tin of scouring powder, one of furniture wax and a couple of rags.

As she went back into the drawing room and surveyed the damage, Charley thought that Mrs Wilberforce was really very sweet. The room was a large one overlooking the garden. Some battered sofas and armchairs were positioned around the large fireplace.
Various pieces of china were on display on occasional tables. It was a good thing that this was the only room to be cleaned today. It would take all of two hours to get it into a reasonable state.

Charley felt her lips press together and her back straighten. She was experiencing a feeling she hadn’t felt in any of her cleaning jobs so far: determination to do a good and thorough job. Normally
she just wanted to get by without breaking down into hysterical tears, but this afternoon she was going to make a difference to someone’s life. She didn’t care how long it took. This nice little old lady was going to sit in a clean, dust-free drawing room tonight.

Charley mentally rolled up her sleeves as she appraised the room before deciding to start on a little table by the door. She carefully
removed the photo frames and pill boxes from the top and placed them on the carpet.

She went back into the kitchen and dampened one of the rags, before wringing it almost dry. Back in the drawing room, she wiped the table top. A stripe of beautiful walnut veneer appeared. Then another. Once all the dust was clear, she buffed the table top using the furniture wax. Her arms were already beginning
to ache but she kept going as the table began to gleam. Who needed aerobics and hand weights when you could tone your arms by polishing furniture instead?

Once the ornamental frames and boxes were also cleaned, Charley placed them back on the table and looked at her handiwork. The table shone out in a room full of dust. She allowed herself a small sigh of satisfaction, before moving on to the
next piece.

An hour had flown by when Mrs Wilberforce pottered in.

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘How super!’

She beamed with delight as she stared at all the wooden furniture, now gleaming and full of colour.

But with an hour to go, Charley still had to dust the paintings, take down the china plates from the walls and wash them, as well as vacuum the carpet. If she had enough time, she also
wanted to clean the windows.

‘You’ve worked so hard, my dear,’ said Mrs Wilberforce. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve just made one for the new gardener.’

Charley followed her into the kitchen and watched it being poured out of an ancient teapot.

The back door suddenly opened and there, filling the doorway, was a figure from her past.

Mike Shearer had been in the same year at school as Charley,
from the first day at primary school right through to the age of sixteen. He hadn’t been one of the trendy boys like Steve, exuding cocky confidence and flirting with the girls. Instead Mike had chosen to stay on the periphery and quietly watch the action. Like Charley, he had also stayed in the village, carving a career for himself as a gardener.