Elevator Pitch (Callaghan Green #11)

1. Marie

CHAPTER 1

MARIE

I didn’t quite remember why we’d come to the decision to sell the house, or exactly how. There was a strong chance gin had been involved, at least on my part, and Grant had recently developed a taste for stupidly deep chiantis, so that was possibly a factor.

But in the cold light of day, we still agreed it was right. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say it was because of the cold light of day. The following day began an enduring cold snap and our boiler decided now would be a great time to give up the battle of heating a five storey, eight-bedroomed, ridiculously large London detached building that currently had only two people rambling round it. Fantastic idea? Damned straight.

That was us both being pragmatic. That was me putting my emotions in a box and not letting them be a factor, because this was the home where we’d brought, sometimes dragged, occasionally carried, our seven children. Every room contained memories, most rooms contained something that our youngest son, Seph, had not yet taken with him to his own home.

Therein lay the problem.

All seven kids were now in their thirties and forties. It had been more than a decade since any of them had lived here.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t going to play merry-hell when they found out we were selling it.

“Boiler’s fixed.” My husband of several decades, who was now into his seventh decade of being on this earth, wiped his hands on his trousers as if he’d fixed it himself.

He hadn’t. He was as practical as an empty fountain pen, bless him, but he liked to pretend he was capable of manly stuff like fixing boilers and doing a bit of plumbing.

My favourite attempt had been a blocked U-bend. He’d unscrewed it, cleared out the gunk that was causing the difficulties, then tipped the gunk down the sink before screwing the U-bend back on.

Hadn’t been one of his finest moments.

“Helpful.” I sat down at the kitchen table where we usually ate breakfast and I had my morning coffee. “The estate agent called. They have a very interested buyer already.”

Grant frowned. “You only had the conversation with them last week.”

“I know. Apparently they have a waiting list of buyers and their specifications. The buyer they told me about is looking for something ready to move into and is in a hurry. He’s in Boston for another two weeks and then is moving over here to take up a new post in one of the hospitals.” My estate agent was chatty and liked to give details, which was both lovely and also a very good sign for me to not disclose too much to them.

“Are we doing it then? Selling this?” He looked around the kitchen as if he’d never seen it before.

“I think so. We have the apartment. We don’t need this house anymore.” Need and want were two separate things, and I could want to keep on a huge, vast piece of property and all the memories it contained, but it was a ghost-ship. The building that had been home to nine of us, plus the occasional friend or cousin, felt cold and echoey now it was just Grant and me.

“We don’t. The kids are going to be pissed though.” He rinsed his hands and then poured himself a glass of red wine. “Seph will kick up a stink.”

“I don’t think he’ll be the only one. I’m prepared for Ava to make an offer on it, although we won’t accept it.” I’d considered a few scenarios in the last week and I didn’t think Ava would be the only one who wanted to keep hold of the house.

“Why not?’ He sat down opposite me, both of us now in our usual seats.

“They need to move on. Max’s house and Seph’s are both big enough to have everyone round, and most weekends there’s a least one of our kids at the Oxford house.” Which was where I preferred them because the grandkids could gallop around outside rather than causing havoc indoors. I was a great believer in kids climbing trees and inventing strange games, not the least because it tired them out, and there was nothing lovelier than a sleeping grandchild.

Grant shrugged. “I kind of understand it. When are we going to tell them?”

“This weekend. I think we should demand they come round on Saturday and we tell them together. Then we can deal with the fallout that evening and head on holiday on Sunday. The rest of the fallout they can manage themselves.”

Grant stared at me, a look that I was going to interpret as adoration for my genius plan.

“Maybe you should give their other halves the heads-up.”

“Really?”

His grin was the same one he’d been flashing me since the first day we’d met. “No. One of them will let it slip and then we’ll have more issues. Are Callum and Wren here this weekend?”

My pretend favourite child – because having favourites would be wrong - and his wife, plus their three kids lived on the farm next to our home in Oxfordshire. They both did some work with the universities but were in the city less than our other offspring.

“They are. Can’t remember why but they’re staying with Seph and Georgia.” I hadn’t been listening when Callum was telling me because I’d reached a critical point in my book and didn’t want to put it down. “Callum can be Seph’s emotional support blanket.”

“Very true.” He looked around the room again. “Remember when we bought this place?”

“Like it was yesterday. The most ridiculous and crazy time of my life.” I still wasn’t sure how I'd ended up meeting someone and moving to a different country for them in the space of a week.

“It was good, wasn’t it?” He nodded approvingly. “I’ll miss this place.”

“If you’re being sentimental, we can keep it.”

“No. It’s time another family lived here and added to its story. We’re here less and less and this is a house that should be lived in.” Another nod, and then a good drink of wine.

I was surprised, really, that he was being so sentimental about it. Grant was pragmatic whereas I was the more mawkish of the two of us, which wasn’t saying much.

“You can announce it to the children then.” Swift move for me there.

“No. Absolutely not. The kids take things much better from you. Send them a message now and let them know there’s a gathering of the fruit of my loins after rugby on Saturday. See what they respond.” He tapped the table. “Those words. Fruit of my loins.”

Our children utterly loved my text messages. They liked to think I was completely incompetent with technology and that their dad and I had no idea about modern life because we were too old.

We let them think that because it meant we could choose to remain oblivious to some of the things they’d done as younger adults. It also meant we could get away with not doing some of the things we didn’t want to, as they’d think we were too incompetent to manage, just like half of them had tried with loading the dishwasher when they were teenagers.

And Grant, he was responsible for half the things I sent, even though we pretended he didn’t have a clue what was going on in our group messages.

“Want to predict who mentions bleach first when I put that?”

He nodded. “Seph. Although I still need the bleach from when I walked into his room and found him tied to the headboard. That was not the finest hour for either of us.”

“Does Georgia know that story?” Georgia was Seph’s wife, although it was still something of a mystery exactly how he’d managed to find someone sensible and intelligent to marry him, let alone take a chance on his genes and breed.

“She will next time I see her.” Grant grinned evilly. He got along well with all of his children-in-law, but particularly Georgia and would say that Rose, her daughter, was his favourite grandchild even though I told him he wasn’t really allowed to have favourites. Although of course we kind of did – they just changed on a daily, or even hourly, basis.

I opened up the app on my phone we used for group messages and went to the one for just the actual children.

Max, Jackson, Claire, Callum, Seph, Payton and Ava.

Our little legacy.

Me: Your father and I would like to call a gathering of the fruit of his loins tomorrow after rugby. Just yourselves please.

It took about thirty seconds for one of them to respond even though they were all meant to be working.

Seph: Need more info than that else I’ll have to start breathing into a paper bag.

Me: No one is ill. Although I’m not sure you (Seph) don’t require an intervention.

Seph: No intervention required. I’m just trying to work out what’s happened with the photocopier.

Max: Is it broken?

Seph: That would be why I’m trying to fix it.

Max: What the fuck have you done now?

Seph: Nothing. It was like this when I came in. I’ve been trying to google what’s wrong with it since about nine this morning.

Max: I thought you had a meeting on the Young case?

Seph: It got cancelled. Their son’s had to go to hospital with a burst appendix.

Max: Nasty. What’s up with the photocopier?

Claire: I think it was Eliza. She was messing with it last night. Sorry.

Max: Your children are feral. Until they’ve been wrangled, can you keep them out of the building?

Claire: I wasn’t going to mention it, but she was in the photocopying room with Lucy so I’m suspecting something sticky has been inserted somewhere.

That was my cue to come in.

Me: Something sticky being inserted somewhere’s definitely what caused all of these problems.

There was no response for another minute. I doubted it was because they were working.

“Good comment,” Grant said, having moved so he could read everything over my shoulder.

Max: We’ve had fruit of dad’s loins and sticky things being inserted. I’ve just been to the photocopying room and Seph’s not there, so I’m wondering if he’s gone looking for bleach.

Me: Possibly. We didn’t plan to have twins. I am sorry about that.

Seph: I’m starting to feel like I should find a new family. All this abuse can get to a person, you know.

Max: [Sends GIF of a dog walking away with a knapsack on his back]

Claire: That’s the saddest thing I’ve seen since Killian took away Orla’s monkey.

Seph: Why did he take monkey away?

Claire: Because she vomited over it and it needed washing. He’s on daddy day care duty today so I’m not holding out much hope she’ll have monkey back when she gets home from school. World War Seven could break out later.

Max: I thought we were up to World War Six?

Claire: That happened two nights ago. We’re over that now.

Max: Did Killian survive in one piece?

Claire: Almost. Marie, what’s this about on Saturday and why just us?

Me: Your father wants to see the fruit of his loins all together before we go on holiday.

Claire: He usually prefers to see the grandkids. We’re rotten meat now they’ve come along.

Max: You did produce four of them.

Claire: I’m not the only one.

Claire: Seriously, are you both okay?

Me: Both fighting fit and in the prime of our lives. Looking forward to two weeks of uninterrupted bliss, with no last minute requests to look after sick children or pick something or someone up. Or finding Seph in the fridge.

Claire: When was Seph in the fridge?

Seph: There was an explanation!!!!

Me: Three nights ago. And the explanation isn’t good, is it, Joseph?

Max: You’ve been first-named…

Seph: Georgia banned chocolate.

Claire: Rose was eating some yesterday. Was it contraband?

Me: Georgia has banned Seph from eating too much sugar because she thinks it’s making him hyperactive.

Claire: That’s a point. Could be worth an experiment. How’s it gone so far?

Me: We won’t know. He’s stealing chocolates, yoghurts, biscuits and cake from us instead. Be warned. Lock your fridges. He’s still got keys to every one of your houses.

I adored my youngest son, but I also adored teasing him and he knew that everyone secretly adored him, apart from maybe Max, who adored him in a different way.

Seph: Even Rose thinks it’s unfair. She’s campaigning for me to have chocolate allowed.

Max: Do you think Georgia’s disappointed that you’ve lost your abs? The middle age spread’s hitting you hard.

Seph: I’m thirty-seven. That’s not middle aged.

Me: We had seven children by that age. We felt elderly until you all moved out. Now we have a new lease of life – if you get what I mean. Wink.

Claire: You can use an emoticon for that, Marie. You know, the little faces.

I knew damn well what emoticons were but this was much more fun.

Me: I can use the aubergine one just fine. In fact, your dad says I can use the aubergine one very well.

Seph: Bleach, please.

Claire: No work is going to get done today. They’re all congregating in my office now and Seph is even sat with his arse on my desk which is not making me happy, and they’re all wondering why we’re coming round without grandchildren tomorrow. Which also begs the question of what we’re doing with our own offspring.

Me: We have some news. It isn’t to do with health or anything upsetting, but we know it’s going to unsettle some of you more than others.

Max: Seph, bring tissues for yourself.

Max: The kids can come to ours with a responsible adult. Vic says she’ll do a garden party for them but could she have two or three responsible adults?

Callum: Wren will be there.

Jackson: Van says she’ll be there with wine.

Seph: Georgia says now there’s wine she’ll be there too, but can Rose count as a responsible adult?

Claire: She’s more responsible than Killian. K says he’ll be there, and Nick and Katie want in too.

The organisation continued, along with the sense of pride because our children had somehow managed to turn out as functional human beings, even if they weren’t entirely balanced. I put the messages on mute and debated starting a new book. The latest in a police procedural series I liked had just been published and I was really looking forward to finding out if the two detectives would finally resolve the UST.

My kids would have no idea I knew what that stood for.

Before I could make a decision, my phone rang. My friendly estate agent was breathing rather heavily on the other end.

“Mrs Callaghan, I have an update from the surgeon I mentioned. He wants to view tomorrow virtually and then he’s looking to make an offer, including for some of the furnishings.”

I’d been half expecting this. “Tomorrow morning is fine. I can do the tour with you, if he wants.” Because this house had secret cupboards and a history that deserved to be passed on. There was even a hidden staircase that Max had discovered before promptly falling down it.

“Let me confirm a time. I’m going to suggest eleven our time, if that’s okay. It’ll be six his.” The agent sounded more excited than Seph when he discovered chocolate.

“Fine with me. I’ll get tidying.” Although two people didn’t make much mess in a house this size.

I hung up, looking at Grant who’d been listening to my side of the conversation. “Looks like it’s happening.” Sadness waved over me. “I’ve loved having this house as a home.”

“I’ve said it several times; we don’t have to move.” He stood up, stretching his back.

I shook my head. “It’s time. It’s time for a new era.”

“I don’t disagree. I’m going to watch the boys play rugby tomorrow, so I’ll come back with them. Are we feeding them?”

“No. I think they’ll end up with a barbecue at Max’s if Killian and Nick are there.” Killian was Claire’s husband. They’d first been involved when she was eighteen and at university and he was Max’s best friend. It’d been kept secret when they were younger, and they’d finally gotten together a few years ago. Nick was his brother, and between them they ran a security firm. I had a lot of time for Killian and Nick O’Hara and adored Nick’s wife, Katie and their kids.

“We’ll go there with them then. Save cooking.” Grant topped up his wine. “And we can wind the kids up so they’re hell when they get them home.”

“That’s evil.”

“That’s revenge.”

The video tour went as well as I’d expected it to. Doctor Collins was a surgeon, currently working in New York and moving over here because of a transfer and a promotion. I didn’t need to know any more information but he was exactly as I expected a surgeon to be, slightly aloof and arrogant, which I assumed you needed to be to cut into a living person’s flesh with the confidence you could fix them.

He asked questions I would’ve expected, including what furniture we could leave. There were some pieces I knew the kids would want, and some that would be moved to the house in Oxford or the London apartment we had and that would be our base now when we were in the capital. He also wanted our timescale and how fast our conveyancer could work as he was time pressured, moving here with his wife and son and wanting his son settled for September when the schools returned.

The call ended, a further exchange that the surgeon’s wife led on around what we could leave and when I could confirm it, and whether she could send an interior decorator round as soon as we’d exchanged contracts.

I sat down in the chair on the second floor that looked out over the street. It was the same chair where I’d cuddled Callum when he’d had a nightmare, nursed Payton and Seph and Ava. The same chair I’d sat in listening to teenage woes and worries and then adult trial and tribulations.

The chair would need a new home. I doubted the new occupiers would want to keep it.

I would keep hold of the memories.