A Perfect Home (28 page)

‘I'd just like to show her how much she means to me,' he said. ‘Show the world how I feel about her.'

‘Give her time,' Claire said again. ‘It's not been long since she met you. She'll need to learn to trust again after all these years.'

From where they sat she saw her mother and the children on the beach below. Buster barked and got up to go and join them.

‘Your mother is worried about you,' said Brian. ‘She thinks you might be going through a rough patch.'

‘If what you said just now is right, then things will get better.' Claire stood up and waved at the little group below.

‘I can understand if you don't want to talk about it,' said Brian. He stood up and put a hand on her arm. ‘But don't give up hope.'

Together they slowly walked down the steps on to the sand. Ben ran over to Brian and threw his arms around his leg.

‘I found a shell,' he said proudly, holding out his hand.

‘We saw a seal,' shouted Oliver excitedly behind him.

‘I saw two,' called Emily.

Elizabeth gave Claire a hug. ‘It's so lovely having you all here.'

‘It's lovely to be here,' said Claire, hugging her back.

The four days passed quickly – playing with the children on the beach; walking on the headland; drinking endless cups of tea, gin and tonics and glasses of wine with Elizabeth and Brian on the terrace; laughing at Brian's funny stories. The children loved him. He gave them rides on his motorbike – Emily and Ben in the sidecar, Oliver proudly on the back. Brian drove them slowly up and down the lane while they called and waved to Claire and Elizabeth as though they were on a fun-fair ride. Ben was constantly demanding his attention and Brian was happy to give it to him. He took Oliver and Emily bird-watching on the cliff tops and they all went out on a boat trip, joined by a school of dolphins swimming along beside them in the waves.

Buster was an endless source of fun, never tiring of chasing a stick or jumping in and out of the tide, chasing the three children. Brian and Elizabeth cooked together in the evenings, slicing vegetables and stirring pots side by side, creating lovely meals ‘to fill you out a bit', as Elizabeth said to Claire.

Claire had never seen her mother so happy, so good-natured. Gone was the constant underlying note of bitterness in her voice; gone her unrelenting cynicism and suspicion of life. She was cheerful, lighter in her tone and attitude, relaxed and full of fun. She played cricket on the beach with the children and had bedtime games of Monopoly with Oliver and Emily, cheating disgracefully, then denying it outrageously when found out.

To Claire it was like the family holidays she'd dreamed of as a child. Happy days together on a beach in the sun, rather than the quietly tense times the three of them had spent looking at prehistoric burial mounds or stone circles – her father's great passion. He would take endless photographs and measurements for a book he never even started to write. They rented musty caravans and spent nights in dark guesthouses eating tinned grapefruit for breakfast and sleeping on scratchy nylon sheets.

As an adult, Claire could still feel mild depression sweep over her as they sped past Stonehenge on the A344. It always seemed strange that her father had settled in California, so far away from his beloved ancient British sites. After he left they never had any holidays. Had it been because of lack of money? Maybe Elizabeth had simply lacked the inclination.

Claire felt sad as she and the children hugged Brian and Elizabeth goodbye at the end of their visit. The children begged her to let them stay until the end of the week and cried as she bundled them into the car. Claire felt like crying too and longed to stay, but the thought of explaining to a pursed-lipped Mrs Wenham why Oliver and Emily were starting the new school term late kept her firm in her resolve to head for home.

Claire got in the car and drove away, beeping the horn and waving until the little cottage was out of sight.

‘She's doing what?' William exclaimed when Claire got home and told him her mother was moving to France with Brian. ‘Does she really know this man? He could be anyone!'

‘He's lovely,' said Claire, the happiness she'd found in Cornwall slowly ebbing away as she faced her husband across the kitchen.

‘You hear about men like him, Seducing old women, making them sell their houses, and then going off with all their money.'

‘I don't think he's like that,' she said, sighing. ‘He's just a nice man. I could tell how happy they were together.'

‘Well, I wouldn't trust him,' said William. ‘Just you wait and see. She'll be left heartbroken and penniless. And what about the children?'

‘What about them?' asked Claire, trying not to get cross.

‘What about their inheritance if it all disappears in your mother's mad adventures?'

‘Why do you have to be so cynical?'

‘I'm not cynical,' he replied. ‘It's you and your mother who seem to be naïvely taken in by this complete stranger.'

‘You'll have to meet him and then you'll see how nice he is.'

‘I hope your mother doesn't think we'll have the time or money to be constantly going back and forth to France.' He noisily opened cupboards looking for a jar of coffee.

‘We must have run out,' said Claire, suddenly feeling tired after the long drive home.

‘We're low on a lot of things,' said William making himself a cup of tea.

‘Are we?' she said, inwardly fuming at William's inability to find time to shop himself while she was away. ‘The children liked him a lot.'

‘Who?'

‘Brian.'

‘I hope you didn't leave them alone with him, Claire. As I said, you've no idea who he is.'

Claire got up and decided to check her emails.

Already there were Christmas orders from shops wanting new Emily Love stock, a lot of website mail orders, the usual junk, but nothing else. Claire stared blankly at the screen until William shouted from the kitchen that they were out of milk now too.

Chapter Twenty-five

‘A comfortable home that's always welcoming. Claire has created the perfect environment for her family and friends to enjoy.'

Oliver and Emily returned to the competent care of Mrs Wenham and Ben went back to nursery to give Claire more time to work. She was frantically busy but even the hectic after-school schedules and the demands of Emily Love didn't stop her thinking about Stefan.

The summer turned to autumn. The days were shorter and the hedgerows started to turn brown, shed their leaves, and slowly rot. The new season made Claire even more depressed. The damp October cold made her summer memories seem remote. She put away her thin cotton skirts and dresses and got out jumpers, trousers, and long boots that Stefan had never seen her wear.

She bought new clothes to make herself feel better. A red velvet coat, a tight tweed pencil skirt, a knitted dress. A new underwear shop opened in town and Claire let herself be measured and cosseted by the shop assistant who brought her an endless succession of bras to try. The cheery woman talked on and on about the supportive benefits of each one, tightening, lifting, and adjusting.

‘This one gives you the most fantastic cleavage. Your husband will love it!'

Claire looked in the mirror and wondered which one Stefan would most like to find as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt.

As she waited to pay for the bra she'd finally chosen her fingers stroked the pale peach silk and delicate embroidery, a tiny tear of pearl nestled in-between the two softly padded cups. At the last minute she bought the matching knickers as well.

‘Hubby will be pleased when he sees you in these,' said the shop assistant as she wrapped them in crisp white tissue and slid them into a bag adorned with golden cherubs. The bra and knickers stayed unworn, still wrapped, in the at the back of Claire's underwear drawer for a long time.

‘What are we doing about your birthday?' asked Sally, as they sat enjoying
après
school-run cappuccinos in the hotel lounge in town. Sitting in front of a warm log fire, on soft suede sofas, they were flicking through the hotel's glossy magazines. Now Sally had started her retail management course at the local college, Claire hardly ever saw her.

Although it was good to catch up, Claire was only half-engaged in conversation. She was looking through the latest copy of
Idyllic Homes
, looking at the names of the photographers in the articles, searching for Stefan's name.

‘Earth to Planet Claire?'

Sally waved a magazine in front of Claire's face.

‘Sorry. What did you say?'

‘I said, what are we going to do for your birthday?' Sally repeated her words slowly.

‘I don't feel like doing anything much,' Claire knew she sounded flat but these days she found it hard to sound enthusiastic.

‘Well what about me? Don't I deserve a night out? I've worked really hard these first few months on my course and I've already lost two stone.'

It was true that in the last two months Sally had transformed herself from dishevelled housewife and mother into a svelte and sexy mature student. Running and a strict diet regime had done wonders for her figure. Her toned thighs were now clad in skin-tight denim, tucked into a pair of knee-high black leather boots. A cashmere jumper showed off her newly discovered waist. Lately she'd started dating a blond and brooding twenty-two year old called Josh.

‘I thought you were having enough nights out with your toy boy,' Claire raised her eyebrows.

‘I know,' Sally said. ‘But I miss having a good old chat. There's only so much conversation you can have with someone fifteen years younger than you.'

‘I didn't think it was the conversation you were interested in.'

‘Well, I wouldn't like to waste too much time talking when there are so many other things to do with Josh.' She winked at Claire and laughed. ‘If you know what I mean.'

‘You certainly didn't waste any time finding ways to fill those lonely nights when Gareth has the boys,' Claire said. She couldn't help but feel slightly envious.

‘I never realised there was so much fun to be had as a single woman. Maybe Sweet Betty did me a favour in the end.' Sally hesitated and glanced at Claire. ‘But being married is good too – if it's not Gareth that you're married to, obviously. Things are all right now between you and William aren't they?'

‘Fine,' Claire replied, looking back down at the magazine on her lap.

‘Good,' Sally said. ‘Now, what about your birthday? It's only three weeks away. Let's do something fun to celebrate instead of the usual fireworks with the kids on the village green. You're only thirty-six once after all. We could book a table in a restaurant – get some of the other mums together as well.'

‘OK,' Claire flicked absentmindedly through the pages of
Idyllic Homes
. Suddenly there was Stefan's name blazing out at her from the glossy pages. She stopped breathing. A full-page photograph of a neatly proportioned red brick Victorian house.
An exquisitely renovated former rectory, elegantly furnished with period pieces with a modern twist
. She turned to the first page of the feature: a picture of a sumptuously decorated living room; all cream, beige, and chocolate. A long-limbed red-head sat on a chaise lounge, one arm draped along its velvet back, her slim legs crossed, a cream silk shirt casually unbuttoned to reveal a hint of cleavage. She was smiling confidently at the camera. She was smiling at Stefan. Claire skimmed through the text.

“This house is very special,” says Jilly, who combines running a four-star restaurant, a successful interior design business, and life as a busy mother. “We feel really at home living here.”

Claire immediately hated Jilly. She wondered if Stefan had invited her to share cakes and champagne cocktails with him. She wondered if her unnaturally full lips had kissed Stefan's, if her slender arms had wrapped themselves around him, and if his hands had wandered underneath that luxurious shirt.

‘Are you listening to me at all?'

Claire looked up to see Sally staring at her.

‘If you would rather read magazines than organise your birthday party, that's fine. I'll just have to organise it for you.'

Sally booked a large table for thirteen at the hotel's restaurant for the night of Claire's birthday. Excitement fizzed amongst the mothers at the school gate. Outfits were planned, hairdresser's appointments booked. Claire bought a new olive-green silk dress and high-heeled gold shoes in an effort to get as excited as everyone else. The outfit would do for Christmas day as well. Elizabeth and Brian had invited them for Christmas in France, but William had already arranged the usual visit from his parents.

Claire had to work most evenings after the children had gone to bed. She cut out cushions, aprons, lavender hearts, and bunting till the early hours of the morning. She packed up orders and wrote out invoices. The children needed to be taken to Cubs, swimming, ballet, judo, and violin classes after school. She endlessly tidied the house, cooked meals, and ironed clothes. She had so much to do that she felt as if she was wading through thick mud, struggling to get somewhere, but sinking deeper with every step.

‘You'll wear yourself out if you don't stop working so hard,' her mother warned, when she called from France. ‘I hope William is helping out with the children and doing his bit around the house.'

‘He's working a lot as well,' said Claire. ‘He's home late every night and he's finishing off the inside of his summer house at weekends.'

‘Just try to make sure William realises how hard you're working too. He's not the only one with a demanding job.'

‘I'll be fine,' said Claire ‘It's only this mad rush up to Christmas.'

Claire felt as though each day was hurtling her faster and faster towards her birthday. It wasn't being older that she dreaded, but the thought of so many more years to come. Years of school runs, cleaning, cooking, shopping, William. She tried to remember if it had been enough for her before – before Stefan came and ripped opened the box where she had kept her needs and wants and emotions so neatly packed away. Now they were out and running wild, refusing to be put back in the box again.