A Perfect Home (13 page)

‘Isn't there another book you'd like me to read?' she asked Emily.

‘No, I like this story. Granny gave it to me.'

Suddenly Claire remembered her mother. She hadn't heard from her for days. Somehow she had failed to notice the lack of her usual phone calls. Images of her mother lying unconscious (or worse) in her flat flashed through her mind. Maybe she'd had a fall, a stroke, a heart attack – all three! Claire immediately picked up the nearest phone and dialled Elizabeth's number.

‘You haven't listened to me read yet,' said Oliver, appearing with his school book.

‘Cuddle!' demanded Ben from his room.

‘What about Katy?' Emily was out of bed and tugging at Claire's arm.

The phone rang and rang. Claire quickly made a plan in her head. She'd have to put the children into the car and drive the fifty miles to her mother's. Should she call an ambulance first? Should she call the police?

‘Hello,' said Elizabeth.

‘Thank goodness,' said Claire, ‘I thought something terrible had happened. I was worried about you.'

‘Why would you be worried about me?'

‘You haven't phoned for ages.'

‘I can't be phoning you all the time, Claire. I have got a life to lead you know.'

‘Oh.' Claire was surprised by her indignant tone.

‘Anyway you haven't answered any of my texts.'

‘You've sent texts?'

‘Lots of them,' replied Elizabeth, ‘and you haven't answered a single one.'

‘I didn't know you had a mobile phone.' Her mother always shunned the idea whenever Claire had suggested it might be useful for her to have one.

‘I bought it last week. I don't live in the dark ages, you know.'

‘Oh,' said Claire again. ‘I haven't looked at my mobile for days. It needs charging and I haven't got round to it.'

‘Sounds like you're the one living in the dark ages, Claire!'

‘Are you all right?' she asked. Her mother sounded different. Unusually animated.

‘I had a little accident in the car but everything is sorted out now,' said Elizabeth.

‘An accident? Are you OK?'

‘Absolutely fine. Look, darling, I'm just going out so I can't talk for long.' Claire wondered where she could be going; she never went out in the evenings. ‘I texted you to ask if you would like to join me for a week in a cottage in Cornwall at the end of next month.'

‘Well,' said Claire dubiously, ‘William is very busy. I don't think he'll have time to get away.'

‘When is William not busy?' said her mother blithely. ‘I mean you and the children. I've booked a lovely cottage online and I'll be going anyway.'

‘You've booked it online?' Elizabeth had always refused to have anything to do with computers; just another instrument of the capitalist male, she said.

‘No need to sound so amazed. I bought a laptop when I got my new phone. It's wonderful. I've been surfing all over the web. I'll send you an email with the details. You can Googlemap it. Email me back if you want to come. I must go now or I'll be late.'

‘Late for what?' she asked, but Elizabeth had already gone.

Claire stood looking into the receiver. What had happened to her mother? She didn't sound herself at all – she sounded happy.

Chapter Twelve

‘Colourful hand-made cushions and woven wool throws casually adorn an abundance of comfortable sofas and armchairs.'

‘Oh, my dear, don't you live in the back of beyond
. Lovely
roses. Shame we couldn't have had a shot of them around the door, but it's not very Christmassy, is it?'

Celia Howard wafted into the hallway. Cool, white linen draped itself elegantly around her long limbs, large amber beads emphasised her slender neck. She seemed to tower above Claire despite her flat shoes. Her hair was a thick swirl of blonde, effortlessly pinned up on her head. Claire noted with envy her high cheekbones. It was hard to determine her age. Maybe in her late forties? Probably older.

‘
Lovely, lovely, lovely,
' she exclaimed, following Claire and Ben through to the kitchen. ‘Stefan has captured its charm
so
perfectly. Oh, look at all the Emily Love cushions on the chairs.
Absolutely divine
.'

‘Tea? Coffee?'

‘Camomile is perfect for me. Now we need to be quick. As I said, I'm on such a tight schedule.'

Sunlight poured into the conservatory as Celia perched on a white wicker chair beside a pot of white geraniums. Claire served the camomile tea in porcelain cups with slabs of lemon cake.

Celia got out her tape machine. ‘I want you to tell me your story: how you found the house, what it was like, what you have done to it, where you've sourced your furnishings and paint et cetera, and a little bit about Emily Love and how you got started.'

She turned on the recorder and Claire began hesitantly. As she talked, she began to feel as though she were telling a made-up story, some sort of renovation fairytale.

Had it really happened?
Claire wondered as she told Cecilia about moving into the house on a stormy winter's day and waking up the following morning to find a small stream flowing through the living room and that the porch had been blown away in the night. She and William had lived in a single room for six months. Claire told Cecilia about the meals she cooked on a camping stove and the dishes she had to wash up in a bucket. As soon as they came home from work Claire and William would change into old jeans and jumpers and within minutes William would be up a ladder hacking or hammering and Claire would be wheeling rubble to a skip or sanding down skirting boards. They had been a team, working together to make a home. Claire's voice trailed off as she tried to remember when that had changed.

‘It all sounds beautifully romantic,' Celia sighed. ‘Just the kind of article our readers
love
. Young couple restore old falling-down house, fill it with gorgeous things and children, start a small successful business using reclaimed vintage fabric. So “in” right now, glamorous recycling. Perfect. Inspirational.
I love it
. Thank you so much again, you've been wonderful.'

‘I think I've made it sound much more romantic than it really was. It has been hard work,' said Claire. ‘Miserable sometimes, if I'm honest.'

‘I'm sure it has been, but no one needs to know that.' Celia squeezed Claire's hand across the table. ‘Lovely looking lemon cake but I just can't at the moment.' She patted her perfectly flat stomach.

Ben was sitting in the corner dressed only in a T-shirt, having removed his pants, shorts, and nappy. Lemon cake crumbs were scattered around him and he was happily driving a toy fire engine backwards and forwards across them.

‘Isn't he adorable?' said Celia doubtfully. ‘How do you manage to keep it clean?'

‘The house?' asked Claire, not certain if she might have meant Ben. ‘It's a never-ending challenge.'

‘It really is heavenly. I can tell why Stefan was so enthusiastic.'

‘Was he?' Claire felt her mouth go dry and her heart start to beat hard in her chest.

‘Oh yes. He
loved
it and you certainly seemed to make quite an impression on him too.' A surge of excitement swept through Claire. Celia finished her tea. ‘Such a
delicious
man. I can't keep track of his love life though. Different women all the time.' She laughed. ‘Now I really must go.'

Claire's heart felt as though it had sunk into the floor.
Different women all the time?
She tried to pull herself together. So he had a complicated love life? He had all but said the same to her. She had made an impression on him – wasn't that what she'd wanted to hear? She should be happy. Why did she feel so flat?

Closing the door behind Celia she leant against it, suddenly tired.

‘Mummy.' Ben pulled her skirt.

Claire realised that Stefan probably never had any intention of getting in touch with her. Why would he when he had so many women to choose from?

‘Wee wee on the floor.' Ben pulled harder.

How could she have been so naïve? Of course he would never be interested in a scatty housewife buried in the back of beyond.

‘It's wet, Mummy.'

Anyway she was married to William. She was perfectly happy.

‘And poo.'

It was time to forget Stefan. Move on. Get over it. What was Ben saying? She let him pull her back into the conservatory where she immediately saw the puddle and the poo and the cake crumbs, all nicely smeared together by a little hand.

‘Ben!'

The phone rang. Claire went into the study to answer it.

‘Hi, it's Sally.' She sounded as dejected as Claire felt.

‘Are you OK?'

‘I'm all right.' Sally didn't sound all right at all. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to come back to mine for a cup of tea after we've picked up the children? I can only offer stale malted milk biscuits and I've run out of milk so it will have to be UHT.'

‘You're not doing a very good job of selling it to me, Sally.'

‘Stop being so fussy and tell me if you'll come round.'

‘I can't,' Claire said. ‘I've just remembered the wood for the summer house is being delivered at half past four.'

‘Oh.' Sally sounded crestfallen.

‘You come here.' Claire absentmindedly clicked on send and receive on the computer beside her. At the ping of new emails Claire looked down at the screen.

‘Are you sure you're not too busy?' asked Sally.

Dear Claire,

I'm sorry to have not been in touch sooner …

‘Not at all,' said Claire, excitement building as she spoke.

‘To be honest, I've got myself into a bit of a state …' Claire tried to concentrate on what Sally was saying.

… I was away for a few days.

‘… I just need to talk to someone …'

Am I too late to order that apron for my sister? Can you send it or shall I pick it up?

Stefan

‘… I don't know what to do.'

P.S. I thought you'd like to see the attached photographs from the shoot.

‘It's fine to come here, Sally. Could you do me a big favour and pick up Oliver and Emily as well? There's just something I need to do before you come.'

As she put down the phone she wanted to laugh out loud. She was suddenly ridiculously happy. She picked up Ben and danced him around the study. He squealed with delight. That was all she had wanted, wasn't it? Just an email; some indication that Stefan was thinking about her. Surely that was enough. What did it matter about the other women? It wasn't as if she wanted to have a relationship with him.

Something smelled horrible. Claire remembered the wee and poo in the conservatory. Ben's hand was covered in it and now it was all over her too. She quickly ran around collecting disinfectant and kitchen towels, washed Ben's hands, changed her clothes, and wiped up the mess. Then she went back into the study.

Taking a deep breath she clicked on the paperclip at the top of the message. A little gasp of delight escaped from her as the attachment opened. The pictures were beautiful, the colours so intense and warm that each room looked as if it were bathed in a rosy glow. There was a lovely picture of the three children around the Christmas tree, all of them looking pleased with their elaborately wrapped empty boxes; a gorgeous one of Emily eating mince pies at the kitchen table. No one would ever believe it wasn't really Christmas. Claire's favourite was a wide shot with the fire glowing in the fireplace in one corner and the children creeping down the stairs, the Emily Love stockings, bulging with brightly wrapped presents, hanging above the mantelpiece.

The last one was of Claire in her workshop bending over the fabric, pretending to cut it out. She hardly recognized herself. Her hair hung heavily over one shoulder and her skin looked clear and soft and radiant. Lips slightly smiling, eyes just glancing to one side. Looking at the photographer. Looking at Stefan. Claire usually hated seeing pictures of herself. She always looked pale, her cheeks too chubby, her smile too big, or not there at all, but in this picture even she thought she looked beautiful. Stefan had made her look beautiful.

Claire pressed reply.

Dear Stefan,

Thank you for the pictures. They are wonderful. The apron could be ready by this weekend. I can send it or if you'd like to collect it you'd be very welcome.

Claire x

She hesitated, took away the x, and then pressed send.

Minutes passed and Claire stared at the screen. Just as she was about to give up:

I'll try and rearrange my plans this weekend. It would be lovely to see you again.

S.

Lovely
… She realized she was grinning to herself.

Just then, Oliver banged on the window in front of her. The freckled faces of Sally's boys peered over his shoulder. Claire leant forward and opened the window.

‘When will tea be ready?' Oliver asked. ‘We're starving.'

‘Soon,' she said. She hadn't even thought about what to make for tea.

‘Can we eat apples from the tree?'

‘No, they're not ripe yet.'

‘What will we do then?' he whined.

‘There's lemon cake in the conservatory. Share it with the others. I just need to send an email.'

‘Can we really eat cake?' he said, surprised. Claire was usually very strict about eating before tea.

‘Yes, really.' She was already sitting back down at the computer.

‘You're the best mum in the world,' he said, running off to get to the kitchen before she changed her mind.

‘I love you too,' she called after him without looking up. She quickly pressed reply. She could hear Sally in the kitchen.

Dear Stefan,

It would be lovely to see you too. I'll get the fairy cakes this time.