WHEN FLEUR HEARD about the meeting, she insisted on taking her mother shopping.
‘I know you’re really busy, I know you’re getting people signed up for the market, and to buy these plots of land, blah, blah, blah, but if you’re going to wow them at the meeting you can’t turn up in that navy blue number which makes you look like Mary Poppins without the good bits.’
‘You only want me to go shopping so I’ll bring my credit card and you’re at a loose end because Jamie’s gone back.’ Normally, Nel loved buying size ten clothes and shopping with Fleur was always fun, but she wasn’t in the mood for girly trips to town at the moment. ‘He is a nice boy, isn’t he?’
‘Careful, Mum, you’ll make me go off him.’
‘Well, not that nice, obviously,’ said Nel hurriedly. ‘He has dreadful taste in music.’
‘You don’t care what sort of music he listens to, but I’m glad you’re not freaking about him coming from London any more. So, shopping?’
‘I told Florence and Viv I didn’t have time to go shopping. And I haven’t. You’ll have to buy whatever it is you’re after with your own money.’
‘Well, I do need a pair of jeans rather badly, but honestly, Mum, this is for you. If Jake is going to be there you have to look gorgeous.’
‘I am not interested in Jake. Any slight interest I may have had in him has long gone.’ This wasn’t remotely true, but she felt if she said it enough times it might one day become so. Besides, she was getting used to lying; she could even do it without blushing.
‘Derr! That is so not the point! You want to make him sorry he did whatever he did to make you stop liking him!’
‘But he did that before he met me, sweetheart. I told you. Simon brought round that bit of paper, and when I spoke to him about it at the wine bar, he didn’t deny anything. He’s a no-good rotten scoundrel.’
‘Well, I like him. He’s not patronising or bossy.’ She mouthed, ‘Like Simon.’ She added aloud, ‘And Viv agrees with me.’
‘Not now, she doesn’t. Not now she knows what a black-hearted devil he is.’
‘You do have some quaint expressions, Ma, but trust me on this one. Even if you genuinely don’t like him any more’ – Fleur’s raised eyebrows indicated how much she believed in that particular myth – ‘you want to make him sorry.’
‘Darling, I don’t play those sort of games.’
‘Bollocks,’ Fleur said bluntly. ‘I’m far more experienced with all this than you are. Now, pick me up after school and we’ll hit the shops. I finish at two.’
Realising she was vanquished, not so much by her daughter’s bullying but by her own need to spend a little time being frivolous, Nel muttered for a few minutes about how in her day she had to stay at school all day, whether she had lessons or not, and Fleur muttered back that it was not her day now.
Nel rang Viv to confess that she would be taking an afternoon off from her labours, having told herself that if Viv sounded remotely disapproving, she wouldn’t go.
‘Good idea! You can’t work every minute God sends, and Mum is right. You will feel much more confident about the meeting if you’re looking fab.’
‘I do feel a bit guilty. A whole afternoon. I could visit two point four potential farmers’ market stallholders in that time. The rent from them is going to be much more important to the hospice when we lose our fields.’
‘You can still have some time off. Besides, I’m going to be ringing a few of Mum’s old friends, tell them she’s been in hospital etc., and I shall just throw into the conversation about the hospice. Several of them are on the crochet squares team. What would they do with their time if there was no hospice to support?’
‘Support an animal charity, I expect, or something that won’t ask them to buy bits of old field they can’t even use.’ Nel paused, and Viv knew what she was thinking.
‘Look, I know you think that Jake slept with you for all the wrong reasons.’
‘There are no right reasons, Viv. Whatever his motives were they were bad.’
‘Rubbish! What about desire! That’s perfectly acceptable.’
‘Desire is too nice a word for it. It was lust.’
‘Even so, there’s nothing wrong with honest lust—’
‘Except there was nothing honest about it!’
‘You don’t know that. And one day you’ll be able to think of the experience as lovely, just for itself, with no pain or bitterness.’
Nel considered this for a few seconds. ‘I might think that if it was lust, or desire or whatever, but I won’t think that if I believe what happened happened because he wanted to subdue me. God! I’d rather be seduced for my money! At least that’s a positive thing.’
‘Except you haven’t got any money.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Well, I think you’re wrong. I think he wanted you as much as you wanted him.’
Nel thought for a heart-churning second. ‘Possibly.’
‘And you had a really good time, didn’t you? It was fantastic?’
‘Yes. But what about that whole morning-after pill fiasco? That was pretty dreadful.’
‘Not really. It worked, didn’t it? The pill? You’re not pregnant. I’m not saying you’re going to feel fine about it immediately. But, one day, you’ll look at that time you spent together as something really nice that happened to you.’ Viv paused. ‘After all, if Simon is all you’ve got in mind, you may never have sex again.’
‘Viv!’ wailed Nel. ‘I’m going now.’
‘Good. Don’t forget your credit card, and don’t worry about how much you spend. That’s what credit cards are for. Oh, and can we have something a little more exciting than our normal black or navy blue? I know you think you’re the size of a house, but no one else agrees with you.’
Fleur’s first requirement on hitting Cheltenham was to eat. ‘You need energy for shopping, Ma. If you’re hungry you just grab anything. I know a little place.’
It was a good choice. Owner-run, it did home-made soup, wonderful salads, and, Fleur pointed out, it had a licence. ‘Have a glass of wine, Mum. Go on.’
‘But I haven’t eaten all day! It’ll go straight to my head. I am driving.’
‘A spritzer then, and we’ll share it. You need a bit of alcohol to make you try new colours and things. Viv gave me strict orders that you’re not to come back with black or navy.’
‘That leaves me with bottle green or brown, then,’ said Nel. ‘Or possibly dark grey.’
Fleur grimaced hideously and then smiled at the waitress. ‘Two soups and a Caesar salad to share, please.’
While they were eating soup and bread and butter, and picking at the salad, Fleur regarded her mother with her head on one side. It made Nel nervous.
‘I’m not having a makeover. Don’t even suggest it! We haven’t time for one thing. And if you bully me too much I won’t buy you anything.’
‘I was just thinking a slightly brighter lipstick. That brown colour you wear is OK, but it doesn’t exactly make a statement.’
‘It’s not brown! It’s soft rose! And it’s only on my lips! It’s my mouth that makes the statements!’
Fleur made a face and tore off another hunk of bread.
‘The trouble is,’ said Nel as they contemplated the racks of clothes, ‘I can’t tell what I like when there are so many of them. In a charity shop, you usually only like one thing, and it either fits or it doesn’t. I get confused when faced with rows and rows of jackets all the same. Like a fox in a hen house, I don’t know which one to kill.’
Fleur gave her mother a frown and a shake of her head, in acknowledgement of her insanity. ‘There aren’t rows and rows! Just a couple in each size!’
‘And there’s another thing! Fancy spending’ – she looked at a label in horror – ‘all that money, only to find someone else wearing the same thing. In a size eight.’
‘You won’t, Mum,’ said Fleur with confidence. ‘No one who’s a size eight would wear anything like that. Unless they’re really old and sad.’
Nel looked anxiously round to make sure no one really old and sad was within earshot. ‘Honestly, Fleur!’
‘And I don’t think you should wear it either. Come with me, over here.’
‘Darling!’ Nel braked hard. ‘This label charges nearly a hundred pounds for a T-shirt!’
‘They have a sale! Like always! Now stop being difficult.’
‘You’re so bossy.’
‘Well, one of us has to be. Now, what about that?’
Forced by Fleur to go through the torture of trying it on, Nel emerged onto the shop floor uncertain of how she felt.
It was a sort of long cardigan coat made of merino wool and hung beautifully. It was designed to go over a skirt, but Fleur pushed that aside with disdain. ‘I know we’re trying to get you out of black trousers, but they do look good with that.’
‘But is it smart enough for a meeting?’
By now the shop assistant was on the case, and, to Nel’s slight annoyance, firmly on Fleur’s side. ‘Absolutely! It will take you anywhere, that coat. You’ll live in it once you get used to it. It’s elegant, practical, smart, warm and slimming.’
‘And does it also provide tasty snacks and dog-sitting services?’ asked Nel sarcastically, aware she was beginning to feel wonderful in it.
‘If you let the dogs near that, I’ll kill you!’ said Fleur. ‘It’s gorgeous. But do you love it?’
Fleur, who had enough clothes to supply a whole town’s worth of charity shops, had a strict rule. If she didn’t love it, she didn’t buy it. Nel tended to buy things if they vaguely fitted and she could afford them, not caring to fly in the face of coincidence. Viv was constantly threatening to go through her wardrobe and throw half of it out.
Nel sighed. ‘Yes, I do, actually. I don’t want to take it off.’
‘Excellent! Now, what to go with it?’
‘I thought you said black trousers looked OK!’
Fleur sighed. ‘Not those black trousers! You need better ones!’
Reluctantly Nel agreed with her. Besides, the trousers she was now wearing, and wore almost like a uniform, were inextricably connected with Jake. She remembered him taking them off with hideous regularity. If the memories weren’t triggered every time she went to the loo, it would definitely make the getting-over process a whole lot easier.
Fleur convinced Nel to go to the cosmetics department. ‘Look, there’s a really good free gift if you buy two products.’
‘Darling, I don’t need two products! I’ve already spent a small fortune on clothes I can’t strictly justify. I don’t need make-up as well.’
‘You do, you know. That eye-shadow is a bit blah. Makes you look old. I don’t think you should wear it.’
‘But you’re always stealing it!’
‘You’ve always taught us to share, Mum, and I just think you need another one, to go on top. Give you a bit of shape. Now let’s see what we’ve got.’
Nel, who liked bargains as much as anyone, did concede that there were quite a lot of useful little bottles and tubes in the make-up bag they gave you if you spent a week’s housekeeping on an eye-shadow and some tinted moisturiser.
‘You have got lovely skin,’ said the saleswoman, who was reassuringly old, but, more disconcertingly, wearing white lipstick. ‘This is just what you need to even out the skin tones and give you a lovely natural look. See how easily it blends in. Now, what you need with that . . .’
Ten minutes later, Fleur and Nel left the counter, bearing two very attractive carrier bags, and no end of cures for fine lines (the word ‘wrinkle’ being totally non-PC in the beauty world), enlarged pores and broken veins.
‘I can’t believe I have just spent so much money. Nor that I’ve just taken beauty advice from someone who wears white lipstick. I must be even more mad than I realised. Just because she said I had nice skin!’
‘She was really generous with the free gifts, though, and that’s a lovely shade . . .’
‘I don’t mind sharing, but it lives in my house, OK?’
‘OK. Now, cup of tea? Or shall we go home?’
‘Home. I have tea at home, and a sample of lemon cake someone gave me.’
‘Oh, excellent.’
When Simon rang to ask her out for a drink she didn’t like to admit she was too tired, having spent the afternoon shopping, so she said yes. She would have much preferred to watch back numbers of Sex and the City with Fleur, who had them all on video. As she put on the new eye-shadow, and evened out her skin tones, she wondered if this was a sign she should definitely tell Simon she couldn’t see him any more. Except she might need Simon. Did she want to end up a lonely old lady? It was one thing preferring to spend an evening with Fleur when Fleur was there. Would old episodes of Sex and the City seem so appealing when she was watching them on her own and had no one to comment on the clothes with?
Also, could she cope with any more upset just now? Simon might well be devastated, especially when he’d done so much work for her. Did she want to put him through what Jake had put her through? Certainly not! Simon was a kind and honest man. When she’d got over this emotional blip with Jake, she’d recognise him for what he was, and possibly agree to marry him.
While she was tweaking her fringe and borrowing Fleur’s hair wax for blondes, she remembered what Viv had said about men, when Fleur had asked her why she had never married. ‘Men are like elephants, practically my favourite thing. But you wouldn’t want to own one.’
‘Do I want to own one?’ she asked, peering into the mirror, trying to see if her pores really did look refined with their new make-up, or if they were as coarse as ever, swearing and drinking tea out of the saucer.
‘You’re looking tired, Nel,’ Simon said when they were seated at too small a table on rather uncomfortable chairs.
Nel’s hackles rose, possibly visibly. ‘Well, I shouldn’t be! I’ve got new make-up on which is supposed to bring out my sparkle.’
‘New make-up doesn’t do anything for lack of sleep, or stress, pickle.’ He took hold of her hand and squeezed it gently.
Nel regarded him. It was nice of him to be concerned. She was tired and stressed, and, no, different make-up couldn’t really be expected to change anything. She should value his caring nature. Instead she felt slightly suffocated by it.
‘I think you need to do less. Why don’t you concentrate on the farmers’ market, and give up with this hospice nonsense . . . I don’t mean nonsense!’ he added quickly. ‘I mean, the hospice is terribly important. But you can’t really do much about the building scheme. And if the hospice land gets sold, well, think of the lovely new building you could get with the money.’
Nel couldn’t remember telling Simon all this. She supposed she must have at some time, or how would he know? But there was no harm in him knowing. None of the information was confidential, was it?
‘I see what you mean. We are facing huge opposition. But I have a feeling that the new hospice wouldn’t get built. That the money would just disappear into people’s pockets.’ She didn’t say Jake Demerand’s, or Chris Mowbray’s pocket, but she thought it.
‘I don’t think you should worry about that. After all, you’re not responsible for the hospice. You’re only one committee member. I really think you should cut down on your good works, Nel. I know they were what got you through when Mark died, but you’re over him now. You don’t have to cut your heart out for every good cause now.’
For a brief, wild moment, it was as if Simon had a hidden agenda. Nel dismissed this as early-onset paranoia and wished she could tell Simon that he was a good cause in a way, that he took up her time too, time when she could be relaxing with her daughter. She smiled. The grip on her hand became tighter.
‘Darling, I wish you’d let me look after you more.’
‘Simon! You look after me brilliantly! You’re always fixing things for me, sorting out the car, stuff like that.’
‘But I’d like to do it on a more full-time basis. I want to marry you, Nel. I think you know that.’ He released her hand and raised his own. ‘No, I know what you’re going to say! You’re going to say, “Wait until the children have left home,” but they have, nearly. I don’t want to wait any longer, I want to marry you now, while we’ve still got time ahead of us.’
Rather desperately, Nel tried to lighten the mood. ‘We’re not that old! We’ve got a few more years before we’re likely to shuffle off this mortal coil! Or at least, I have.’
‘Trust you to make a joke of it, but I’m serious. I love you and I want to marry you. Now. Soon.’ Then, to Nel’s growing horror, he put his hand in his pocket and produced a box. ‘I know all girls appreciate a romantic gesture. This is a little something I picked up in Cirencester the other day. Try it on.’
It not only fitted, it looked fabulous. It was a huge oval aquamarine, surrounded by tiny diamonds. Nel stared down at it, momentarily hypnotised by the sight of it on her wedding finger. Mark hadn’t been able to afford diamonds, and her engagement ring had been lovely, but semi-precious, and she had stopped wearing it years ago, when she realised it couldn’t take the battering being a wife and mother gave it. Suddenly her hand looked complete, the narrow gold band enhanced by the larger ring. So why did she think back to the moment when Mark had pulled a screwed-up paper bag from his pocket and given her a ring that was initially so big she had to pack her finger with sticking plaster and cotton wool to keep it on? It had cost more to make smaller than it did to buy. Would Mark feel she was being disloyal if she married again?
Dismissing this fleeting nonsense, she said, ‘Simon, I couldn’t possibly get engaged to you without talking to the children.’
‘Would they talk to you if they were getting engaged?’
‘Probably not, but it’s not the same. I’m their mother—’
‘Which means you don’t have to answer to them.’
‘Yes, I do! They’re still young! They still live at home! I can’t just get married, change their lives completely, without consulting them!’
‘Obviously, you’d have to tell them, but not ask their permission. They’re young adults, they’ve got their own lives to lead. They can’t dictate what you do.’
‘No! Of course not. And they wouldn’t dream of doing that, or trying to do that. But I would have to give them plenty of warning. I couldn’t just go home with a dirty great rock on my hand.’ She looked at it. ‘Although it is glorious.’
‘Don’t wear it immediately then. Give them a chance to get used to the idea, and then wear your ring.’ He smiled, and when he did, the corners of his eyes crinkled attractively. His smile was one of the things that made Nel say yes when he first asked her out. She’d rejected many other invitations prior to his. At the time she’d seen it as a sign that she was ready for another relationship.
‘After all,’ he said now. ‘It’s not going to affect your children all that much. We don’t need to move house, or anything. I could move in with you. There’d be plenty of room for us both, especially when the children do leave home.’
A terrifying sense of suffocation flashed through Nel. She tried hard to dismiss it. She was only being neurotic because she was so stressed. Simon would keep her safe. Simon wouldn’t sleep with her because he wanted her influence. He wouldn’t take advantage of her age or desperation, or the fact she was a sensual woman who had suppressed her sensuality for years. He probably didn’t know that; she’d only just discovered it herself. She was so confused. Would she be mad to turn down Simon and all he represented because she’d been mad enough to fall in love with Jake?
‘Don’t answer now. Think about it. Talk it over with the boys – not Fleur straightaway. She’s so indulged she’s bound to be against it.’
As always, Nel prickled at the merest hint of criticism of her children. She made herself calm down. Fleur was indulged. Only that afternoon she had bought her some very expensive jeans for no reason other than she loved her, and had appreciated her help buying clothes. The trouble was, Fleur was easy to indulge. She was always so delighted, so grateful and so loving. Which was how she knew she wasn’t spoilt, Nel always thought. Spoilt children were never pleased, never happy with anything they were given. It was, she convinced herself, the vital difference.
‘I don’t think Fleur would be against anything which would make me happy,’ she said.
‘Not consciously, but she wouldn’t like sharing you with me. She wouldn’t get the amount of attention you give her now. Viv too. She’d feel she would lose you as a friend if you married me – or anyone. So just think about it, don’t talk about it. But keep the ring, and look at it from time to time. It’s a symbol of all the good things I can give you.’
Nel looked down at the ring, part entranced by its sparkliness, part horrified at what it implied. Horrified that she was seriously considering accepting Simon’s offer. She didn’t love him, there was no doubt about that – at least she didn’t feel about him the way she felt about Jake. He didn’t preoccupy her, and make her lose track of herself; being with him didn’t make her feel all overexcited. But neither did he make her doubt herself, and her judgement. He might not set her on fire, but she knew where she was with him – something that certainly couldn’t be said for Jake.
Before Jake had come along and confused everything, she’d been perfectly happy with Simon, hadn’t she? What if Jake had just temporarily muddled things? What if, by turning down Simon, she’d actually be turning down a very comfortable, companionable future? It wasn’t as if Jake was likely to offer the same commitment. She took a deep breath.
‘All right. I’ll think about it. But I’m not saying yes, Simon, not until I’ve thought things through. And, as you say, I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment. I’ll need to wait until I’ve got a time slot for thinking.’ She smiled, to point up her little joke, which sounded extremely pathetic.
‘You don’t need to think too hard. After all, if you married me, you wouldn’t have so much on your plate, would you?’
‘Well, no.’
Rather frantically she tried to think of what Simon would remove from her area of responsibility. Car servicing, possibly paperwork, tax forms, DIY and house maintenance. It seemed a lot, and she smiled, suppressing thoughts of what work he would create: proper cooking all the time, washing, ironing, extra house cleaning, tidiness. Would they even each other out? And would watching war documentaries rather than makeover programmes be a sacrifice she could willingly make?
It would be a familiar sacrifice. Mark had been addicted to any programme involving war, war machines, or re-enactments of battles fought long ago. And she could always get another television and watch it in another room.
‘Promise me you’ll think about it, and not spend so much time thinking about things you can’t change?’
‘OK, Simon, I will,’ she said softly, knowing that a large proportion of her warm feelings for him came from gratitude that he wasn’t pressing her for an answer.