Читать книгу New Beginnings - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 12

Chapter 6

Two hours later, Christie arrived home, starving and elated. Walking through the front door, she was overwhelmed by the unmistakable smell of over-fried onions and burning beefburgers. Her appetite instantly became a thing of the past. There was only one person she knew who could cook something so simple so badly.

‘Mel!’

Her sister was oblivious to everything as she jigged in front of the grill, a wooden spoon her microphone, swishing her apron can-can style over her jeans and wailing like a banshee. She had never let her family’s frequent criticisms of her voice put her off belting out a good song.

‘Mel!’ Christie shouted again, this time grabbing the oven gloves from her sister’s shoulder and swatting them at her waist.

Mel jumped round, the alarm on her face giving way to a grin. ‘For God’s sake, woman. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’ She turned to the iPod dock and lowered the volume, eager for Christie’s news. ‘What happened? Tell all. What did he want?’

‘Hang on a minute.’ Christie slowed her down. ‘Where are the kids? I asked you to give them a decent meal, not a few charred scraps.’

‘They’ll love it. It’s not as bad as it looks. Really. Fred won’t even notice because his mate Olly’s here.’ Mel flipped an unpleasantly blackened burger and thrust it back under the grill. ‘They’re outside on the trampoline and Libby’s in her room, comme toujours.’

At that moment, Libby skulked into the kitchen and presented herself to Christie for a hallo kiss. She stared at the hamburgers and wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeuch – what is that?’

‘Libby!’ Christie sympathised but had to draw the line at insolence. ‘Don’t be so rude. Mel’s very kind to come over so that I could go out. Why don’t you help by laying the table?’

Looking as if every movement was a huge effort, Libby took the knives and forks from the drawer and flung them in the direction of the mats before banging down four glasses.

‘I’m sure it’ll be delicious,’ Christie said, as encouragement.

‘Yeah, right.’ Clearly sensing that her mother agreed with her, Libby added, ‘Thanks, Auntie Mel. Laters.’ Before anyone could say anything else, she slipped out of the room and upstairs.

Mel was unperturbed. ‘What do you think of these?’ She lifted a foot, rotating her ankle to show off a pair of pale grey ankle boots.

‘Very practical,’ Christie observed caustically, before pulling out a stool and settling herself in a position where she could supervise the last of Mel’s culinary efforts, which was to open a tin of baked beans. But she couldn’t contain herself any longer. ‘Right. Want to hear my news?’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Mel sang, anticipation written across her face. ‘Please. Every possible scenario has gone through my mind since you left this morning from the white slave trade to Jack Bradbury falling madly in love with you and proposing. I can’t bear it another minute. Tell me!’ She shouted the last two words.

‘He only wants me to test as a replacement for Gilly Lancaster on Good Evening Britain.’ Christie’s voice rose to a shriek of excitement as Mel flung her arms round her, squeezing her till she could hardly breathe, the baked beans forgotten.

‘I knew it! You’ll be the best presenter ever and I’ll make it as your brilliant personal stylist.’ Mel was laughing. ‘Let’s celebrate. I snuck a little something into the fridge just in case.’ She opened its door and pulled out a bottle. Christie watched her, touched by her sister’s support. Then, while Christie went to the cupboard for two glasses, ignoring the temptation of her secret cigarette stash, Mel set about opening the cava. Just as the cork shot into the air, there was a tap at the door.

‘Is this a private celebration? Or can anyone join in?’

Afterwards, Christie would remember the apparent dislocation of Mel’s jaw as her eyes took in the outdoor type standing at the back door. He was wearing khaki fatigues topped by a checked shirt, open at the neck and with rolled-up sleeves Tall with dark curly hair, square-jawed with high cheekbones and wide brown eyes, he was a dead ringer for one of those rugged models in the mail-order catalogues that kept dropping through the letterbox.

‘Richard! Come in.’ Christie waved a champagne glass at him. ‘Meet Mel, my sister. We don’t normally drink so early but this is special.’

‘She’s about to take the world of TV by storm.’ Mel was exultant as she put her hand on Christie’s shoulder.

‘How exciting! Don’t let me stop you.’ Richard hesitated, then stepped into the kitchen. ‘I’ve come for Olly. Sorry I’m early but I finished work so I thought I’d come straight over.’

‘Mel, could you go and see what those boys are up to?’ Christie asked, and Mel, giving her sister a knowing look, obligingly disappeared into the garden. ‘Won’t you have a drink while they have supper? It’s just about ready.’

When he accepted, she led the way into the sitting room. The last thing she wanted was the embarrassment of him witnessing the burned offering that Mel was about to serve up to his son.

Olly and Fred had been number-one friends ever since Fred had come home from school and told her he had felt sorry for a new boy standing alone in the playground and had asked him to play. Her heart had swollen with pride at this evidence of her son’s generous spirit. Since then, she had occasionally seen Richard at the school gates where she was aware he had set several mums’ hearts beating faster. And with some reason, she thought, as he made himself comfortable on the sofa. A good-looking man with an air of mystery was bound to arouse interest. So far, school-gate gossip had it that he was divorced and had been in the army before recently setting up his own company, some sort of outward-bound executive-training business outside Aylesbury. Olly seemed to shuffle happily between Richard and his ex-wife, who also lived locally but was seen less often.

She caught him looking out of the window at the garden, still bright in the sunshine. For a moment he seemed lost in a daydream but, abruptly, he snapped back into the present. ‘So, can I ask how you’re planning to take the world of TV by storm? Sounds intriguing.’ He put his glass on the coffee-table, before leaning back and waiting for her to speak.

Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, wishing she’d had time to change back into her usual uniform of jeans and top, she gave an awkward laugh. ‘I’m afraid Mel was exaggerating. As usual. I’ve just been invited to try out for a presenting job. It probably won’t come to anything.’

‘Why on earth not? Be positive.’ He lifted his drink and toasted her. ‘Here’s to your success.’

She smiled back. ‘Thanks. To positivity!’ And raised her glass.

At that moment there was a shout as two small boys raced into the room, skidding on the large rug. ‘Dad, I’m Jenson Button and I’ve beaten Lewis Hamilton – that’s Fred!’ Olly squealed to a halt in front of his father, narrowly avoiding Richard’s raised glass. His tow-coloured hair was threaded with leaves, his hands and flushed cheeks streaked with mud, his eyes bright with excitement. Bits of grass clung to his sweatshirt.

‘No, you’re not. My McLaren’s much faster than yours.’ Just as dishevelled, Fred ran a circuit of the room and disappeared again in the direction of Mel’s shout of ‘Supper!’

‘Easy.’ Richard ruffled his son’s hair, sending a couple of leaves spiralling to the floor. ‘I don’t want you to break anything. Remember, this isn’t our house where things aren’t so precious.’

Looking round the room, Christie looked for something precious. Apart from Nick’s photo, there was nothing except the pieces of wonky pottery that Libby had made at school and presented to her with such pride. Seeing it through Richard’s eyes, she was suddenly aware of how makeshift the room looked. The furniture – the ancient three-piece, the coffee-table, two battered armchairs, the TV cabinet, a large free-standing bookcase – seemed small, worn and lost in this generous space.

‘Is Mummy back yet?’ Olly asked his father, with such hope that Christie had to fight the urge to hug him.

‘Not yet.’ Richard squeezed his son’s shoulder. ‘We’ll ring her when we get home, though. Promise.’

Satisfied with the answer, Olly careered after Fred with a screech of brakes and a roar of engine noise.

‘Caro’s in Brussels,’ Richard explained to Christie. ‘She’s a translator and is there more often than not these days.’

‘Single-parenting’s difficult, isn’t it?’ Christie sympathised.

‘Actually, I don’t find it that bad,’ he contradicted her, with an apologetic smile. ‘My work’s pretty flexible.’

‘I don’t think I really know what you do.’

‘I put overgrown schoolboys masquerading as company execs through team-building experiences. It’s actually great fun and they really get something out of it. So do the women who, I’m happy to report, are very resilient. The farmland and woods we use are a paradise for kids. Fred must come over. In fact, Olly and I are camping out on Saturday night. Do you think Fred’d fancy that?’

‘He’d love it. If you’re sure.’

‘Completely. Two boys are much easier than one. It’ll be fun.’

Christie smiled. She’d welcome the opportunity for a bit of bonding time alone with Libby. Her daughter was busy embarking on the terrible teens with gusto and Christie wanted to narrow what sometimes seemed an ever-widening gap between them. Meanwhile, Fred would benefit from being with a substitute father-figure for once. The close adults in his life were all women, with the exception of Maureen’s Ted – and he didn’t really count. ‘Yes, that would be great.’

‘That’s settled, then. Now tell me about your job.’ He sat back again to concentrate on what she had to say.

Basking in his interest, Christie began to describe her lunch. The high that had accompanied her home from the Ivy returned and Richard was soon laughing with her, clearly astonished when she described Julia’s presence. ‘God! She sounds a bit full-on.’

‘She probably goes there all the time.’ But Christie felt less breezy than she sounded. ‘But her being so near did make me feel a bit uncomfortable.’

‘Isn’t she the one who was all over the papers at the end of last year? I dimly remember reading about her.’

‘That’s her. One of her clients was staying with her and she found his body. He was on his own in her pool and must have slipped. A terrible thing.’

‘Apart from that, how much do you know about her?’ He seemed concerned.

‘No more than necessary, and she’s certainly not what I’m used to. But then again, everything I’m doing at the moment is not what I’m used to. I’m glad to have someone experienced on my side.’

‘This might be teaching my grandmother to suck eggs, but wouldn’t it be an idea to find out a little bit more?’

She was exasperated. ‘If you met her, you’d see immediately what a shrewd woman she is. Whatever the press may have said about her doesn’t make her a bad agent.’

‘Well, do you trust her?’ he asked, as if making a point.

‘Oh, God, yes.’ She thought about it, then said firmly, ‘I would never have gone with her if I’d had any doubts.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this. Of course you wouldn’t.’

She could see he thought he’d overstepped the mark. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. Really. I know how crazy it sounds. She involves herself far more than I was expecting, but she’s done some great things for me already so I can’t complain. She’ll probably lose interest eventually.’

But Julia’s unexpected appearance in the restaurant had set one or two alarm bells ringing in her mind although she couldn’t put her finger on why. Had it been coincidence? Or did Julia not trust her to do the right thing on her own? Christie was used to making her own decisions and didn’t want to be manipulated or controlled by anyone.

‘There you go again. What happened to positivity? She’s lucky to have you.’ Richard was smiling as he stood up. ‘I’d better take that urchin home. But you must let me know what happens.’

‘I will.’ Christie took him back to the kitchen where Libby was scraping the food from her plate into the bin. Mel looked at Christie and shrugged. Not my fault.

Libby glanced up before putting her plate in the dishwasher. Then she planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘Got to phone Jasmine. I’ll be down later.’ Christie recognised the teen-speak for ‘I’ll be down in a couple of hours when I’ve rinsed the phone bill’ but she didn’t rise to it.

When Richard and Olly had left, and Fred had gone to watch a Simpsons DVD, Mel and Christie sat together at the kitchen table.

‘You might have warned me,’ Mel complained. ‘I’d have dressed up if I’d known he was going to be here.’

‘Who? Richard?’

‘Yes!’ Mel’s voice was loud with disbelief. ‘You know – the tall dark handsome apparently single bloke who has just left the house. Don’t play the little innocent.’

Christie laughed. ‘Oh, stop. It’s only Richard. A really nice dad, that’s all.’ She paused, then said, ‘And, anyway, I’m out of the habit of thinking like that about men. There isn’t a switch I can just turn on when I want to.’

‘Well, try harder. Tune your radar in. Or I’ll have to come over more often and make a play for him myself.’ Mel rubbed at a splodge of tomato ketchup on her T-shirt. ‘I’m sorry about supper. Libby hated it.’ She looked downcast, upset to think she might be falling out of favour with her adored niece. ‘I’m worried she’ll be hungry.’

‘Don’t. She’ll be fine. You’re fantastic to come and cover for me and that’s all that matters. They like it so much better than when Mum comes.’

‘Are you surprised? Elisabeth!’ Mel mimicked Maureen exactly, brightening as she did so. ‘Eat everything on your plate or you’ll have it for lunch tomorrow and I’ll keep on giving it to you for every meal until it’s finished. For the rest of your life, if necessary.’

They both burst out laughing at their mother’s renowned insistence on the proper way of doing things – it was often the butt of their jokes. Then, changing the subject, Christie told the story of her lunch for the second time.

‘Wow!’ said Mel, when she’d finished. ‘That Jack sounds a complete prick. You must be starving. But I bet you get the job. How will you manage it with the kids, though?’

This was the one question Christie had been deliberately ignoring. Her children had always come first but this job would be an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Things would have to change. ‘I am worried about that. No self-respecting nanny would want to look after a couple of kids for only a few hours a day and, anyway, that would be incredibly expensive. However nice the salary, I’m still paying off that enormous bloody bank loan.’ She hesitated. ‘You haven’t told Mum, have you?’

‘Of course not.’ Mel was indignant.

‘Thanks. Nick would kill me if he knew I’d even told you. It’s sometimes so difficult having to cope with all the stuff that he dealt with. I so wish he was here to help. He’d know what was best for the kids.’

‘Why don’t you ask Mum?’

‘To help out? Do you think she would? I could afford to pay her something. Or do you think she’d feel patronised?’

‘Patronage or pin money – either way, you’re in trouble. But . . .’

‘That’s Mum!’ they shouted together, and laughed.

‘Well, I’ll be picked up by a driver every day . . .’ she ignored her sister’s whoop of glee ‘. . . about midday, so I could mostly get them up and to school. I’d be in the office at lunchtime and driven home about eight thirty so I’d only need her to be around for a few hours after school. The show goes off-air for most of the Christmas holidays and then my stint’s almost over. I’ll ring her, tell her about today and then drop a hint or two.’

‘Well, you know you can count on me, if I’m not working.’ Mel stretched across the table and grasped Christie’s hand in a sudden burst of sisterliness.

‘Thanks. I know.’ Christie squeezed back, not wanting to admit how nervous she was feeling. If she got the job, what would she be letting herself in for? At the same time, she had to acknowledge that her overriding feeling was excitement, as if she was emerging from the shadows into a brave new world where she could be herself again, doing her very best for her family, and where absolutely anything could happen. What a long way she had come since Nick and she had first fallen in love. When he’d made his un expected proposal of marriage, neither of them could have known what a difficult journey would lie ahead. Those heady days could never be repeated but at least they were safe in her memory for ever.

The drive to the Highlands took two days. They stopped off in the Lakes for a romantic night in Keswick before embarking on the final leg to Nick’s parents’ house. Ma and Pa. Ma was slim and upright, wearing a good tweed skirt, thick stockings and sensible shoes. She had a voice that was used to the draughts and space of old country houses and she could use her cut-glass tones to great effect when shouting for Pa in the garden. The two Labradors, Blackie and Scottie, adored her and never left her side. Pa was a gentler soul. He liked the garden and his greenhouse, and Antiques Roadshow.

The house was imposing from a distance: turreted and hewn from granite. But, close up, it was quietly falling into disrepair. Pa had bought it when he retired from his law firm in order to give his wife, who was rather further up the social scale than he was, the reward he felt she needed for marrying him in the first place. Nick’s parents had done very well over the years with her inheritance and his hard graft, which had taken him from legal assistant to senior partner. He’d invested well but, in their final days, clearly didn’t feel like spending anything on repair bills or heating. The house was as cold as the granite it was built from.

As they parked outside the front of the house, Ma and Pa, Blackie and Scottie came out to meet them.

‘Nick, my boy. Good to see you, old chap.’ Pa pumped Nick’s arm. ‘And this must be Christie. Welcome, welcome. Good of you to come.’ He shook her hand too. ‘This is my wife, Elisabeth.’

Christie’s hand was taken in a firm but cold handshake. ‘I’m so excited to be here,’ she enthused. ‘What a glorious spot.’ Spot? What was she saying? Calling it a spot was like calling Balmoral a mobile home. She stood and took in the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. Only two houses, way in the distance, and the narrow potholed road on which they’d travelled. The rest she described later to Mel as ‘Scenery! There’s just loads and loads of scenery. And sheep. And that’s it.’

‘Thank you,’ Elisabeth said, without apparently moving any part of her face. ‘Do come in. I hope you’ll be warm enough.’

‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Christie followed her, dying to see what was offered inside. But she wasn’t fine. She was frozen. The fire lit in the library where they had tea and Dundee cake was barely glowing. She could almost see her breath on the air. No wonder Nick had packed for the Arctic. Later he showed her to her bedroom. It had a pretty view of the scenery, heather-sprigged wallpaper and a very high but single bed.

‘Are we not allowed to sleep together?’ she asked, taken aback.

‘Ma doesn’t approve. But it’s much more fun this way. I can come and warm you up a bit later, if you like! Shall I run you a bath? Your lips are going blue.’

She punched his arm.

The bathroom was a perfect example of early-Victorian plumbing. The enormous, stained bath stood on lion feet. Nick turned on the large brass taps only for there to be a time delay before icy water eventually came through. Ten minutes later, only a couple of inches covered the bottom but at least the water had got hotter and the steam seemed rather exotic so Christie did the best she could to enjoy it while Nick sat on the closed loo lid holding a big but balding bath towel for her. While she went to get dressed, Nick jumped into her water. As she put on as many layers as she’d brought with her, she wondered if anyone would notice that she was wearing two pairs of tights.

Supper was also in the library, where a small card table had been set up and laid by the fire. Elisabeth tottered in and out with bowls of cabbage, carrots and mash and finally a leg of lamb. Nick carved while Pa poured very generous glasses of Scotch for them all. The evening was memorable, and as Christie got to know Ma and Pa, she found them funny and kind. Elisabeth took a little time to weigh her up, but after a couple of hours she picked up her glass and made a toast: ‘To Christie and Nicholas. We’re happy to have you here with us.’

‘What was that about?’ whispered Christie, as Nick walked her up the stairs to her bedroom.

‘I think it’s her way of saying she likes you. Which is good because I like you too.’ They stopped outside her bedroom door. ‘And so does Pa. I can tell.’ To her astonishment, he dropped on to one knee. ‘Darling Christie, I like you so much I would like to marry you. Would that be all right? I love you.’

‘Oh, my God. Yes! Yes, please!’ Christie was giddy with happiness.

He stood up and just about managed to pick her up and carry her over the threshold of her room. And, funnily enough, she didn’t feel the cold once that night.