Out of Step (4 page)

‘Easy,’ Anna said, breaking into a grin. ‘The solution’s obvious – seduce the man, and get the house thrown in for free!’

Nell laughed. ‘We can’t all be like you, you know.’

‘Let’s swim,’ Anna said. ‘Watch me scupper one of the selfish squad!’ She launched herself on her back and
headed off towards a swimmer notorious for hogging his lane, doing a fast crawl and
never
giving way. Nell had to admire her nerve. She swam behind her, doing breaststroke so she could see the outcome, and watched in amusement as the two swimmers powered their way towards each other. Anna, doing backstroke and unable to see ahead, had clear right of way, but the man had his head well down, only breathing every third or fourth stroke… Then, at the last minute, he saw her and grudgingly altered course. Anna reached the far end and briefly raised a fist in triumph.

Nell thought, She’s the sort of person who always gets what she wants. I’m not like that.

When the telephone rang, and it was Rob Hayhoe, Nell’s first impulse was to look at the calendar to see if Elly had won her bet. She had missed by two days! Nell smiled to herself.

‘I was wondering if you had anything smaller?’ he was saying.

‘Oh, well, I’m not sure… no, I don’t think so. I’m afraid original drawings don’t come in a variety of handy sizes like shoes.’ Hell! she thought. Why am I being so rude?

‘No, of course not. It’s just that forty pounds seemed a lo–’

‘Forty?’

‘Yes. That’s what your friend said you wanted.’

‘Typical Elly! I’m so sorry.’ Nell took a breath. ‘Look can we start again? I was hoping for about twenty, but since it’s of your cottage, and I had no right of way down your lane in the first place, shall we call it fifteen?’

‘Fair enough,’ his voice sounded amused. ‘Including delivery?’

A chance to see inside Bottom Cottage! ‘If you want.’ Nell was careful to keep her voice casual. ‘I could bring it over this evening, if you like.’

‘Proper job,’ he said. ‘See you about six thirtyish?’

‘Right.’

Nell decided not to wear make-up. It would make her look as though she thought this was some special deal. But she did brush her hair carefully and put on a clean jersey.

He met her at the door, and stood aside to let her in. ‘What a lovely place this is!’ she exclaimed, putting her drawing down on the table. ‘Do you mind if…?’

‘By all means. Let me show you round.’ He led the way, switching on the lights. ‘Sitting room’s through here …’
Decent size – three windows – oak beams – open fireplace – but no books
… ‘Then back into the kitchen again, utility room off here, and then the woodburning stove over there, and the back door into the garden …’
Sink under window overlooking estuary – cheerful children’s clutter – open staircase – photographs of two babies in increasing sizes – still no books
. ‘Then up there is a bathroom and two bedrooms, the southern one of which I also use as my study.’

‘A room of one’s own,’ Nell murmured.

‘Virginia Woolf? I think I’ve got
To the Lighthouse
. In case you’re wondering, I do have books, in fact I read a lot, but I keep them all upstairs as a precaution against extra high spring tides.’

‘Oooohh,’ Nell said, before she could stop herself.

‘Sorry?’

‘No, it’s nothing.’ She was dying to be shown upstairs as well, but he made no move to take her. Never mind, downstairs was even better than she’d imagined.

‘I’ve written you a cheque,’ he said, handing it over in an envelope. ‘It’s a very good drawing. My son, Josh, insisted I should buy it!’

‘Thanks,’ taking it rather awkwardly, and putting it straight into her pocket. ‘How old is Josh?’

‘He’s five, and Rosie, my daughter, is three.’

‘They must love it here!’

‘When they are here.’ He made a wry face.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …’ She stopped in confusion.

He looked impassive. ‘You’re not a bit like your friend, are you?’

‘You mean I’m not beautifully dressed and sophisticated and glamorous?’

‘God forbid! No, I meant you’re not… brittle.’

Nell was uncertain how to take this. ‘No, I bounce on impact,’ she said flippantly, and then felt stupid. ‘Well, best be off, I suppose.’

He saw her to her car, and as she was about to drive away he bent down to the window. ‘Feel free to drive down here any time,’ he said. ‘If you fancy doing any more drawings, that is.’

‘Thank you. I might just do that.’ She moved off, conscious of his gaze, and didn’t stop until she had got up to the top road. Then she undid her seatbelt so that she could fish the envelope out of her jeans pocket. She broke it open and took the cheque out. It was made out to Eleanor Chant in rather spidery writing, and it was for twenty-five pounds.

‘Told you so!’ Elly said excitedly on the phone that evening. ‘I said he fancied you, didn’t I?’

‘Pretty flimsy evidence,’ Nell objected.

‘Not at all. Did he pay the full whack?’

‘That reminds me – I’ve a bone to pick with you about that. Who said anything about forty pounds?’

‘Why not? I thought it was a bit cheap, actually. People take you at your own valuation, you know. The more you ask, the more they think it’s worth!’

‘Maybe in London, yes.’

‘Everywhere! You’re as bad as Sibyl. God knows how you and she ever make any money at all from that shop. So, when are you seeing him again?’

‘No idea.’

‘He must have asked you?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Nell. Didn’t he say
anything?’

‘Well, it seems I’m now allowed to drive down his precious lane, but strictly for drawing purposes only.’

‘Thought so,’ Elly said in tones of satisfaction. ‘He’s just a bit shy. That type always are. You hate pushy men anyway, don’t you? I should just take it as it comes.’

‘I’ve no intention of “taking it” anywhere,’ Nell said crisply.

But the following Saturday was one of those unexpectedly warm November days when a late high-pressure system gets blocked in over the British Isles, and hangs there motionless, allowing the inhabitants below it one last chance to sit comfortably out of doors before the sequential lows of winter begin to sweep in from the west. On such a day it was impossible to remain cooped up in Boxcombe.

I’ll just drive down the lane to Bottom Cottage and walk along the river a bit, Nell, who wasn’t working, told herself. And maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Rob’s children. I’d be interested to know what they’re like, and see if they’re as spoilt as Elly says, but I’m not going to knock at the door or anything. Although perhaps I should return the extra ten pounds he gave me.

But when she arrived at Rob’s turnaround, his Land Rover wasn’t there. It hadn’t occurred to Nell that he might be out and she felt rather foolish, realising that of course she’d intended him to see her all along, and had hoped that he might invite her in again. Instead she set off upstream.

The morning mist had all cleared, and a bright sun shone through the overhead branches of the trees along the river bank, picking out any of the golden foliage that was still attached. Nell shuffled her feet through the bulk of dead leaves on the ground, kicking them up in
satisfying puffs and watching them settle again lightly like shoals of tawny flatfish. The tide was going out, and the revealed mudflats were smooth and innocent of footprints. She had the world to herself. Unless Rob was inside all along? She turned abruptly and retraced her steps, going straight up to the cottage and knocking on the front door. Silence. He definitely wasn’t there.

Well, if he’s not here, she thought, he can’t object to my exploring a bit, can he?

She walked round the east side of the cottage, through the dormant vegetable garden, past decaying skeletons of the runner beans and sunflowers, until she came to the back, and the mossy green strip that did service as a lawn. Then she leant against the dry-stone wall just above the river, and examined the flotsam and jetsam displayed along the top of it. There were plastic fishing floats, water-sculpted stones, and bits of gribbled driftwood which (when floating on the sea) had been bored into interesting labyrinths by a species of marine crustacean. She picked them up and turned them over in her hands, examining them. They were exactly the sort of treasures she herself might have collected. She glanced up at the cottage and saw a pair of binoculars hanging by Rob’s study window.

‘And …’ she said aloud, ‘and he keeps his books upstairs…’

‘Look,’ Cassandra Hayhoe said to her husband on Saturday morning, as he was about to take the children away to spend the weekend with him. ‘Look, before you go there’s something we’ve got to discuss.’

‘What?’ Rob really didn’t want to know.

‘It’s about money.’

‘When isn’t it?’

‘You’ve got a flaming nerve,’ Cassie said sharply. ‘You’re living on charity, you know. You should be bloody grateful.’

‘Get to the point,’ Rob said wearily.

‘Right, I will. It’s this: my parents want their loan repaying. They don’t see why they should’ve paid a hefty deposit on this house when you’re going on living in the cottage like a pig in muck as if nothing’s happened!’

‘You mean
you
don’t see why.’

‘I
mean
, they lent us the money for this house in good faith, so that you, me and the children could live in a half-decent place
together
. You know perfectly well what the agreement was – that you’d sell the cottage once we’d moved in here.’

‘You shouldn’t have chucked me out then, should you? Where else was I supposed to go but back to the cottage?’

‘That’s your problem.’

‘I think not. I never wanted to move to Boxcombe in the first place, remember? Now if you’d only made a reasonable effort to acclimatise yourself to the cott –’

‘How
dare
you?’ Cassie shouted. ‘Nobody in their right mind would live in that dump, let alone bring up children down there!’

‘Might be a trifle hard to sell then,’ Rob pointed out.

‘Oh, piss off!’ Cassie snapped. ‘You think you’re so bloody clever. Just you wait until my solicitors get hold of you. We’ll have been separated the two years next month, don’t forget, and if you think this divorce is going to be
amicable
, you’ve got another think coming!’

‘Never crossed my mind,’ Rob said.

As he drove thankfully away with his two children, he knew he would soon have to do something about Bottom Cottage. There was no other way he would be able to repay that poxy loan. Not that Cassie’s parents actually
needed
it back…

‘Daddy?’ Josh asked. ‘Why do you and Mummy keep shouting?’

Rob was conscience-stricken. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we don’t like each other very much at the moment.’

‘Like Rosie and me, you mean?’

‘No, not really. You mustn’t worry about it.’

Maybe Cassie’s right, he thought. If I could bring myself to put Bottom Cottage on the market (and quite honestly I’d rather lose a leg), then it’s entirely possible that no one would want to buy it, and even if they did, it might prove difficult to get a mortgage on it, and how many cash buyers are there about these days? Well, if that turns out to be the case, so much the better! But whatever happens, I’m not having a bloody ‘For Sale’ sign up. The last thing I want is crowds of sightseers using it as a good excuse for a Sunday snoop.

As he turned the Land Rover on to the top road, he saw a blue Citroën coming towards him. Was it. …? He took his foot off the accelerator momentarily. Yes it was. Had she been to the cottage to see him? He glanced in his rear-view mirror. She didn’t appear to be stopping.

‘I want you to go
fast,’
Josh ordered.

‘Rothie wants a wee …’ Rosie said.

‘We’re nearly home,’ Rob said, putting his foot down. ‘Just hold on, OK?’

He thought: Pity. If it wasn’t for the divorce, and the children, and money worries, and God knows what else, I wouldn’t mind … Just bad timing, I suppose.

‘Hell!’ Nell said aloud to herself. ‘That was him, surely.’ Is he …? No, his brake lights aren’t on. He probably hasn’t seen me. Why did I have to go over there so early? I am
so
stupid. He’s probably been collecting his children for the weekend. Why didn’t I think of that? I wonder where they live. If only I’d gone an hour later I’d have bumped into them. Oh well, it’s too late now. Then she thought, I bet he
did
see me. So maybe the fact that he didn’t stop, means something.

It was getting too cold these days to do any sketching out of doors. Nell enrolled in a life class instead, and
spent each Thursday evening struggling contentedly with proportions and flesh tones. By December, when she thought she had put Rob Hayhoe and his cottage firmly behind her, she began to go round the estate agents in Boxcombe in her lunch hour, in a tentative search for a second-best house. It was on the third of such forays that she saw it. She recognised the photograph at once, even though it was partly obscured by a ‘Sold Subject to Contract’ sticker. It was Bottom Cottage. She went inside and asked for the particulars.

‘Never known a house move so fast,’ the agent said. ‘Virtually sold in the first week.’

‘So I’m definitely too late?’ Nell asked. ‘There’s absolutely no chance?’

‘Well, of course sales do occasionally fall through,’ he admitted, ‘but I think this one is unlikely to. The client was over the moon about it – made an offer virtually at once. God knows why – I wouldn’t be seen dead down there, but it’s bread and butter, isn’t it? Can’t complain.’ Nell’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away. ‘Do you a nice bungalow with a conservatory?’ he called after her. She didn’t reply. Instead she caught a bus and went home. She looked up Rob’s number in the phone book.

‘Rob Hayhoe, hello.’

‘Hello. This is Nell Chant, the one who drew –’

‘Of course. I recognise your voice. Hello, Nell, do you need an accountant?’

‘What?’ Nell couldn’t concentrate on anything but the cottage.

‘It’s what I do during the day.’

‘Oh … I see … No. I’ve just found out that you’re selling Bottom Cottage; have as good as sold it, in fact.’