Paradise Fields (3 page)

Adrian kissed Nel's cheek. ‘She'll be pleased to see you. She was struggling with a Christmas wreath last time I saw her.'

‘Oh, I'd love to help her with that! In fact, next year, if there is a next year for the market, I might make them. They're such fun to do.'

Adrian picked up his mistletoe. ‘For you perhaps. Now I've got to carry this all round Tesco's.'

Nel took it from him. ‘I'll bring it round with the card.'

‘If you didn't spend so much time doing favours for people, you'd have more time to go out with me,' said Simon, who never quite understood her ability to be so friendly with everybody.

‘I love going out with you, Simon. You know that.' She took a breath. ‘Look, why don't you come over to me this evening? I'll cook us something – or better still, buy some fish and chips – and we can rent a video. Have a bottle of wine.' This invitation took a bit of effort to make. Simon didn't really understand the concept of ‘slobbing out', and Nel still felt she had to tidy the house before his visits. Still, with luck the meeting wouldn't go on too long, and she'd have time.

‘Are you allowed fish and chips on your diet, Nel?'

‘It's Christmas! Or nearly. Do you want to come or not?'

‘Actually, I've got things of my own I should sort out. I'll take you out for Sunday lunch tomorrow, instead.'

‘Lovely. Somewhere not too fattening, please.'

‘I thought you said it was Christmas.'

‘It is and it isn't,' said Nel, wondering if Simon would ever understand about dieting, or if, like slobbing out, it was beyond him. Extremely fit himself, and able to eat anything, he just thought people were overweight because they ate too much. Only people who suffered from it realised there was more to it than that. Seeing someone she knew turn away from the cheese stall, which sold among other products a local cheese known affectionately as Tom's Old Socks, she hailed him.

‘Here, Ted! Have you got your luverly mistletoe yet? Roll up, roll up, buy your mistletoe here.'

‘Hi, Nel. Give me a sprig then. Keep the missus happy. Good market, eh?'

‘Excellent. But it should be even better next year, when we're official.'

‘So we don't know what's going to happen to the old place then?' He indicated the house, rambling and huge, which overlooked the fields. ‘I mean, Sir Gerald's heir and his wife may object to having a market on their front lawn, so to speak.'

‘It's not their front lawn, and there's no reason why they should object. The market is a thing of beauty and a joy for ever. Anyway, if they were likely to be worried, they should have come back from America sooner.'

‘So you haven't heard anything about what they're going to do with it, then?'

‘No,' if you discounted the ugly rumour about the fields, a bit of gossip she was not going to spread. ‘But there's no real reason why I should. I worked for Sir Gerald, but his son doesn't have to tell me his plans. I imagine it will cost a fortune to put back in order.'

‘At least a million, I reckon. Apparently the old boy just moved from room to room, as each one began to leak.'

Nel sighed, finding the conversation depressing. ‘Let's hope they've got plenty of money then.'

‘Well, can't stand here gossiping, I've still got to buy the wife a present. Any hints, Nel?'

‘Diamonds always work for me,' she said seriously. He laughed, as he was supposed to. ‘She'll be bloody lucky!'

‘I hope she is!'

‘
CHRISTMAS IS SUCH
a bloody nuisance sometimes!' said Nel. ‘I mean, this is a fine time to find out that Paradise Fields has had planning permission granted on it for years. When there's no one around to do anything about it! It's unbelievable! I mean, I was sure the hospice owned those fields. God! The market has even been paying them rent for it! The thought of executive homes on them is unbearable!'

Vivian, who was just as upset as Nel but was being a little more philosophical about it, said, ‘That's probably why they reapplied now, hoping everyone would be too busy to notice.'

Vivian was watching Nel decorate a Christmas cake with little figures Nel had moulded herself. Nel's mind being elsewhere, she kept making mistakes. From above them came the distant throb of music which announced there was a boy home. She didn't know which one, because although they constantly argued about the relative merits of breakbeat versus drum ‘n' bass, she couldn't distinguish between them.

‘So why is Christmas a nuisance? I thought you loved doing all this stuff,' said Fleur, indicating the table covered with fondant icing and biscuit cutters.

‘Not the cake, sweetheart, I meant the fact that this has come up when every office in the country has closed
down for a fortnight. I stormed in to see the solicitors to find out who this Gideon Freebody person was, only to be told there wouldn't be anyone in the office until after the New Year.'

‘Oh.' Fleur picked up a bit of scarlet icing that a moment before had been Father Christmas's hat, and began turning it into a rose.

‘It's a pain,' said Vivian, ‘but I shouldn't think it's serious. No one else is going to be doing anything either. Do we know who first applied for planning permission?'

Nel shook her head. ‘I talked to Fenella about it and she said anyone can apply for planning permission anywhere. You could apply for it in my garden.'

‘That's awful!'

‘I know. I keep telling myself not to panic, but until I know what the situation is, I can't stop thinking about it. You should have seen the plans, Viv! They want to cram untold numbers of houses in. I couldn't believe it. I still can't. Although I feel I would have known if it was Hunstanton land. I worked for Sir Gerald for years! And Michael's away too.'

‘Who's Michael?' asked Fleur, trying to find a suitable place for her life-size rose on a snow scene.

‘Our finance man at the hospice. He's a lawyer or an accountant – something boring like that. He should know all about it.'

‘It's not just that we'd lose everything we've done to make it possible for the children to have access to the river,' said Vivian to Fleur, ‘it's such an important area for wildlife, too. I simply can't believe someone has planned to build on it without any of us knowing. God knows how many creatures would lose their habitat if it went through.'

Even after knowing her such a long time, Nel was still often surprised by Vivian. She combined enormous glamour with a fondness for earthy activities like keeping bees, rambling, and birdwatching on remote islands. It was because she didn't look as if she did anything more muddy than shopping that Nel tended to forget about her trips to the Galapagos, treks across the rainforest and nature conservation holidays.

‘Have you noticed that we're just assuming the hospice doesn't own the land, after all?' said Nel. ‘Why is that, do you think?'

Vivian shrugged. ‘It's because it's sod's law that official people are always right. The bank has never made a mistake; you always are overdrawn. Do you mind if I put the kettle on?'

‘No, I'd love a cup of tea, but I do wish you two would stop picking. I don't mind you eating the rejects, but that was a perfectly good snowman you've just put in your mouth, Fleur.'

‘So, how's the diet going, Mum?' asked Fleur, bored with icing and water meadows. She picked up a gadget Nel hadn't seen before and proceeded to iron her hair with it. In a little while she was going to London on the coach. Knowing her mother was worried about this, she was spending some quality time with her and Vivian before she left.

‘It doesn't go, it sticks. I lose a little, gain a little, and end up the same.'

‘I don't know why you bother,' said Vivian. Tall and well built, with creamy skin and flashing green eyes, she ate what she liked.

‘It's all right for you, you can afford not to think about what you put into your mouth. Which is just as well,'
Nel went on, ‘considering how much sugar you've been eating.'

‘But you're lovely, Nel. Isn't she, Fleur?'

‘Mm. Cuddly and mummyish.'

Not really liking this epithet, Nel said, ‘If I was six foot six, I would be the perfect weight. Sadly, or happily, even, I'm not. Besides, it's all about self-respect and keeping your standards up.'

‘It's Simon, isn't it?' said Vivian. ‘Because he's so skinny, he thinks you should be too.'

Nel blushed. ‘No, it's for me!' She didn't want the subject of Simon to come up.

‘Have you got cellulite then?' asked Fleur. She had stopped ironing her hair and was now smoothing her trousers over her hips. ‘You know, orange-peel skin?'

‘I know what cellulite is, Fleur, and I don't think orange peel quite covers it.'

‘What do you mean?' asked Fleur and Vivian together.

Nel considered. ‘Well, it's more, say – imagine if you had an ice-cream scoop, and lobbed gobbets of mashed potato at the top of my thighs. That'd give some idea of what we're talking about. Orange peel is just too small a scale.'

There was a horrified silence, and then Nel's daughter and friend both inspected her trouser-covered legs to check if this was true. Nel was slightly prone to exaggeration.

‘What about your bum?' asked Fleur.

‘One of life's small mercies,' said Nel, ‘is that I can't see my bum. I expect that's covered with mashed potato, too.'

Vivian, having spotted nothing untoward beneath
Nel's black bootleg jeans, shook her head. ‘What does Simon say about it? In my experience only paedophiles and closet gays like very skinny women. Real men like flesh.'

‘Simon hasn't seen my flesh. At least, not that bit.'

‘What?' Vivian shrieked in shocked amazement. ‘You mean you haven't slept with him? But you've been going out for over six months!'

Fleur gulped, obviously undecided as to which was weirder, her mother having sex at all, or the thought of going out with someone that long and not sleeping with them.

‘I know, but Simon's been very considerate, and doesn't push me.'

‘That's not considerate! That's a low sex-drive!' Vivian, who wore a column of ex-engagement rings on her right hand, was the acknowledged expert.

‘No, it's not. It's me. I just find it hard to think about sleeping with another man.'

‘What do you mean, “another man”?' said Fleur brutally. ‘Dad's been dead for years!'

‘You mean there's been no one since Mark died?'

Nel shook her head. She was older than both of her companions: why did they make her feel so naïve?

‘So, Mum, what's your number?'

‘What do you mean? My telephone number? If you don't know that by now, poppet, you can't possibly go to London on the coach.'

‘Derr! I mean your number, the number of men you've slept with.'

‘Oh,' Nel murmured.

‘Well,' Vivian admitted, ‘I was trying to think of mine the other night, when I couldn't sleep, and realised I
could hardly count that far without a calculator. Yours can't be as bad as that.'

‘Well, no.' In some ways, it was worse.

‘So, what is it? More than the fingers of both hands?' Fleur persisted. Now she'd accepted her mother as being sexual, she wanted the details.

‘You mean more than ten? Nope.'

‘One hand then?' suggested Vivian.

‘Not that either, really.'

‘Then what do you mean?' They both spoke together.

She thought they might as well know the worst. ‘Darlings, I can count my sexual partners on the
thumb
of one hand. I don't need my fingers at all.'

Both the other women needed a moment to work out what this meant.

‘Oh, that's so sweet!' said Fleur.

‘It's seriously strange,' said Vivian. ‘And probably unhealthy. You should rectify the situation immediately.'

‘Well, I'll tell Simon what you said.'

‘Simon—' Vivian started to say, and although Fleur didn't so much as glance at her godmother, Nel knew they were both thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn't have to be Simon,' Vivian finished.

‘Yes, it does! We're going out! Who else would I sleep with?'

‘What about that man who kissed you in the market?' said Fleur.

Nel blushed. She'd had exactly the same thought herself. ‘I couldn't. I couldn't sleep with anyone I wasn't totally committed to.'

‘Or fancied the pants off,' said Vivian.

‘I don't fancy people like you do! I need love,
commitment, time, all those things. Anyway,' she added, wondering if she'd ever feel sufficiently passionate again, ‘I'm not showing my mashed potato thighs to anyone. The moment my prospective partner saw them, he'd make his excuses and leave.'

‘Nonsense! Physical appearance is only part of it,' said Vivian. ‘Get yourself laid, girl!'

‘Sometimes I wonder why I chose you to be godmother to my daughter.'

‘Honestly, Mum, she's right. People take sex far too seriously.'

Nel's mother's heart sank. ‘I hope you take it seriously, darling.'

‘Don't start! I know all about sexually transmitted diseases and everything. And I have not slept with Jamie, so don't get your knickers in a twist.'

Nel, who'd had a hard job accepting that her daughter was no longer a virgin and indeed already had a higher number than she had herself, subsided. Accepting what you can't change was an important lesson in life, and Fleur seemed to have been put on earth to teach Nel
all
the important lessons in life.

‘What you need is some sort of body-confidence-building course,' said Vivian.

‘It sounds like the gym to me, and let's not go there!'

‘Well, I never do,' agreed Vivian, ‘far too boring. Although some of the men are cute. No, I meant some sort of therapy. “I am a beautiful woman and all men find me sexually attractive,”' she intoned.