Chapter Sixteen Sweet Dreams （Are Made of This）
I think I read that three of the top ten most stressful things you can do are: start a business, start a relationship and move house. Well, expanding a business, defeating a competitor and rescuing a relationship while trying to move house must also count. Death is also on that list and there is a danger I might murder my mother and best friend right now for reasons I will come to shortly. I get the keys to my new apartment soon and with everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot about it until a letter from the solicitors arrived to formalize the completion date. We’ve also redrafted the second-stage bid with all our new ideas and informed the bank that we’re through to the next stage. Having done all I can for Mercury, I’m looking forward to a day focusing on my new house. It’s a nice distraction and also a perfect way to show Michael that he’s part of my future. We’re still slightly tender around each other but I’m really trying.
‘I’m going to look for some new furniture,’ I tell him. ‘Would you like to come and help me pick out a sofa? After all, you’ll be sitting on it as much as I will.’
That last bit was so obviously added to make a point, but he laughs and tells me he’d be delighted to.
‘Unless you’d rather take Patty,’ he adds.
I most definitely would not rather take Patty right now. She’s unemployed again after a sampling stand-off with my mum. As if I don’t have enough on my plate. In the middle of this week, I found two very unwelcome visitors hammering on the door just as I’d filled the bath and was about to spend the evening relaxing.
‘This woman is an absolute nightmare,’ said Patty as she barged through my door with my mother hot on her heels. ‘She got me fired.’
‘I had a right to, you were doing it all wrong and besides, I got you that job in the first place,’ replied Mum.
I thought longingly about the hot, scented bubbly water upstairs knowing that I’d be waving it goodbye in a few hours as it flowed down the plughole, flat and cold.
‘You didn’t get me the job. You just suggested it. I got it for myself by absolutely nailing the interview,’ continued Patty. ‘They probably recognized my natural ability to engage the public and my love of food.’
‘They could hardly miss that,’ sniped Mum. I scolded her with a big frown.
‘So I started today and there was a brand new summer puddings range. I had to ensure everyone got the chance to taste them,’ explained Patty, ‘but that was near impossible because SOMEONE went up and down the aisle at least three times until she’d finished the plateful all by herself.’
‘There was plenty left,’ protested Mum.
‘Only because I kept some hidden until you’d gone.’
‘I knew you’d done that!’ said Mum. ‘I watched you from behind the crumpet aisle. I saw you’d got some underneath the counter. I thought you were taking them home.’
‘That still didn’t give you any right to hijack my trolley and yell out to everyone I had a hidden stash.’
‘They had a right to know,’ Mum said.
‘She caused a riot,’ continued Patty. ‘Then, no sooner had we got the summer puddings sorted, she starts telling the customers that I’m doing it all wrong.’
‘She did soup in the morning,’ Mum told me, horrified. ‘I mean everyone knows soup is for lunchtimes or evenings when busy professionals are passing through.’
‘I can sample things when I like,’ replied Patty, ‘and at least I knew you wouldn’t be stealing all the soup or the beer.’
‘You see?’ said Mum. ‘She’s sampling things I don’t like just to annoy me.’
I had no idea how on earth I was ever going to arbitrate an amicable settlement here. Patty had entered Mum’s sacred domain and I couldn’t see it ending well.
‘Then there was the Irish Cream,’ Patty says. ‘Were you aware that for most of the morning your mother props up the sampling trolley, downing little cup after little cup of booze?’
‘You can’t talk,’ said Mum, and I had to agree on that one. ‘You’re not supposed to drink the samples and I saw you from behind the teacakes.’
‘Did you spend your entire day hiding in the bread aisle spying on Patty?’ I asked. ‘Peering through the Krispy Kreme iced rings like a masked superhero.’
‘This is serious.’ Mum frowned. ‘Mornings are biscuits, cakes and cocktails or drinks for ladies. That’s how it should be and demonstrators shouldn’t scoff everything.’
‘She complained about me,’ Patty protested. ‘And now, thanks to her, it’s not my job anymore. I’ve been asked not to go in again.’
‘Mum,’ I sighed.
She struggled to find a look that says triumphant and apologetic at the same time. I told Patty how sorry I was but Mum just left the house murmuring that she was right and Patty was wrong. I felt guilt and despair that this didn’t work out for my friend.
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it to end this way,’ I told Patty. ‘She’s stubborn but wouldn’t do anyone any real harm.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said at the time. ‘I’ve got another interview next week. But I’m free at the weekend if you fancy doing something?’
‘I’m busy,’ I replied too quickly, ‘with Michael.’
So it’s a bloody good job he said yes to this, and no, I certainly don’t want to go sofa shopping with Patty.
It’s Sunday and Michael’s picked me up. I’m really looking forward to having somewhere of my own to come back to each evening. I’ve lived in other people’s houses for nearly eighteen months now and whereas I wasn’t ready to settle anywhere when my divorce first happened, I now know who I am and how I want to live. I have a vision of the type of furniture I want to buy. When I was married there was always a compromise. I love the overstuffed soft fabric sofas that swallow you up and hug you when you lie on them — my ex liked the more sensible firm-seated stain-proof leather. Of course we always went with his choice as it’s hard to argue against practicality. At least I managed to persuade him to go for tan leather rather than the black he wanted. What is it about men and black leather? As we drive along, I drop a few hints that this will definitely not be on my shopping list.
We drive out to a rather fancy furniture emporium on the borders of Cheshire. I am determined that I will not shop anywhere with one of those perpetual half-price sales. The more people protest that I’m getting a bargain, the more I’m sure that I’m definitely not. Michael has washed the car and we’ve both dressed up a little more than we’d normally do for a shopping trip.
‘I thought we could go out to lunch afterwards,’ he tells me. ‘There’s a pub not far away with a good reputation.’
I smile at him — he’s taken the hand I offered in apology and lightly embraced it. I positively skip out of the car when we pull up outside the store and, taking Michael’s arm, I walk tall ready to design my future home. After all, it will be the place the photographers will come when we win International Business of the Year for our Formentera venture. Perhaps Michael will be in that picture, too.
The store is huge and as much as I love shopping, I can’t imagine what it must be like for the assistants in furniture shops. For many years they used hard-sell techniques so we customers avoided their advances like a fox running from the hounds. Nowadays they’re keen to tell us that they won’t hassle us but they’re there when they need us. If no one needs them, they hang around not even allowed to sit down on the sofas. I hate it when people come into our shop and say they’re ‘just looking’. I can usually tell what type of holiday they need and if they’d just let me help I could have them happy and on the way to their perfect destination. If they don’t ask, they’ll probably end up arguing and settling for something fairly average. I determine to keep the assistants busy today and ask for lots of help. We make our way through the dining section into living rooms.
‘When I was a kid,’ says Michael out of nowhere, ‘I dreamt of being locked in a big department store overnight — especially at Christmas. I was going to hide in one of the wardrobes until closing time and then I’d come out. I’d get biscuits and chocolates from the food department, build a big Scalextric from the toy department and then fall asleep in a king-sized bed. If we ever walked through the furniture department, I’d be on the lookout for the perfect wardrobe.’
‘Sounds like a film script — Adventures in Macy’s — or something like that. I need a wardrobe. We’ll go up after sofas and see if there’s one big enough for you.’
‘It wouldn’t work here — they don’t sell Scalextric.’
We reach the sofas and I spot an assistant deciding whether or not to come over and talk to us. I smile at him and approach him directly.
‘Could we have some help, please?’
The way his face lights up, I could have just told him he’d won the lottery. I explain the new duplex in the converted mansion house, describing the high ceilings and big windows.
‘I want something that makes you sigh with delight every time you sit on it.’
‘And it has to be wine proof I’m guessing,’ he adds, showing remarkable intuition. After all, he’s only just met me.
I protest that I’m as sober as a judge (honestly) then follow him past the leather into the velvet section. I stroke the wonderful fabric, almost purring with delight. This is exactly what I’m looking for. My ex would never have allowed this in the house. The assistant tells me I can have any design in this fabric but suggests a very plush corner unit.
‘This needs a large room to do it justice,’ he says, ‘but by the sounds of it, that’s exactly what you have.’
I think I do, but fortunately the ever-practical Michael has brought the room dimensions with him. He checks them and tells me I certainly do have the space for it. I think I’ve actually started salivating over this sofa imagining Michael lying down one side and me on the other with my head in his lap. As if reading my mind he takes one side and puts his feet up, patting the space beside him. I look at the assistant briefly and he tells me to go for it. I take my side and lie back. I kick off my shoes and let out a relaxed sigh — I guess this is the one then. Still sitting on the sofa we pick up the swatch book and flick through the colours. There are lots of pale colours verging on neutral and although I envisaged a pale minimalist look for the new place, there are some beautiful shades here. Bold colours for a brave new start. There’s a gorgeous teal that takes my eye — it would be so different and when the photographers do come round, the teal will complement my chestnut hair perfectly. I can’t admit to the guys that I’m choosing a sofa colour to match my hair though, can I?
‘That’s the one,’ Michael suddenly says. ‘Opulent, indulgent and rather sexy. Like someone we know.’
He’s picked a deep damson which is all of those things. I love it and I’m all a-flutter with the added flattery. I nod in agreement — it is beautiful.
‘It would also probably hide the wine stains better than the teal,’ adds the assistant.
Sold to the lady with no shoes on.
Having made the first decision rather easily, we have a wander around the rest of the store. We have to find that wardrobe after all. I don’t see anything I like but Michael still indulges me by getting into a couple, trying them out for size while pretending to be checking the build quality. He peeks out of one and waves me over.
‘You could fit in this one, too,’ he whispers. ‘They’ll never find us.’
I drag him out telling him I want the lunch he’s promised me. We walk through the rest of the store arm in arm passing the bed and mattress department. Michael pauses, looking at the signage that tells us that a mattress should be replaced every eight years.
‘I should think about doing that,’ he says. ‘I can’t think when mine was last replaced, certainly more than eight years ago. My back’s been aching of late.’
‘Ugh, then you definitely need to buy a new one,’ I tell him, in truth thinking more about him sharing it with his ex-wife than the state of his spinal health. ‘I insist.’
He sits on the edge of a few. ‘Too soft,’ he says, then, ‘far too hard.’
Finally, just like Goldilocks, he finds one that’s just right. He lies back.
‘I like this one. It really supports your back without being rock hard. Come and try.’
I join him bouncing on the edge and then lying down. I say, ‘Yep, you’d get a good night’s sleep on this but I already have a bed in storage.’
‘Michael, how lovely to see you.’ A high-pitched voice causes us both to bolt upright like naughty school kids caught having a snog. A glamorous-looking woman — probably older than me but working hard not to show it — is smiling at us, or more likely, him. Her lipstick colour matches her nails and it’s a very flattering colour but I imagine she won’t be happy when she looks in the mirror and finds it across her teeth too. She looks me up and down.
‘And moving on too, I’m so pleased for you.’
She tilts her head sympathetically then moves away, whispering to her friend who throws a look back at us.
‘Who and what was that?’ I ask, getting up. Michael just shakes his head and promises to tell me when we get to the pub.
The car journey is slightly awkward as I’m wondering whether she was an old flame or maybe even a fairly recent one. As much as I try not to ruin the fabulous morning we’ve had, I can’t think of any other topic of conversation, so sit quietly gazing out of the window. Fortunately, the pub isn’t far away and within twenty minutes we’re there and seated. Michael nurses his ginger ale while I take a sip of sauvignon blanc and wait for him to start.
‘Sarah wasn’t the first who thought that a widower would be a good target,’ he says without looking up at me. ‘She was one of the “casserole crowd” when Jenny died. Neighbours I’d never even met suddenly emerged bringing pots of stew and trays of lasagne telling me I had to eat.’
‘I didn’t bring you any food.’
‘Thank heavens for that.’ He laughs and I pretend to be hurt. ‘It sounds really ungrateful but I didn’t want them there. They all came armed with a bit of homespun advice too — honestly, I couldn’t escape from it. There was always someone or other telling me “you have to move on” or “Jenny wouldn’t want to see you starving yourself”. How the hell did they know what she’d have wanted? Christine there was one of the worst. She also used to do a bit of tidying up and I’m ashamed to say I just let her. It was far easier than arguing.’
He swirls his ginger ale like a whisky and looks up at me for the first time in his confession. ‘Then one night, I was just settling down to watch the news and the doorbell goes. It was Christine with a bottle of wine in one hand and a beef casserole in the other. She was looking all made-up and I just presumed she’d been out somewhere.’
‘Oh you poor na?ve man,’ I say, knowing what’s coming next.
‘I remember feeling obliged to invite her in and the smell of her perfume as she walked past me into the house. It was so strong I think I choked on it.
‘I put out some glasses and cutlery then poured us each a glass. She knew where Jenny kept the crockery, so I assumed she would be serving the food and left her to it. To be honest, I just wanted the meal over with as soon as possible. She took a while, so I went into the kitchen to see where the food was and there was something different about her. It took me a while but then I realized she’d let her hair down and was doing all that swishy stuff with it. She walked over to me and took a glass of wine. I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up mine and took a huge mouthful. She stroked my hand and told me we’d have the beef afterwards, when I’d worked up an appetite.’
I snort my wine. This is the worst seduction scene I’ve ever heard and I wasn’t even involved.
‘A bonk for a bourguignon,’ I say, channelling Patty. ‘It seems a fair deal to me.’
‘It wasn’t funny at the time.’ Michael laughs. ‘I felt this panic rising in me. I couldn’t think how I was going to get out of it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but there was no way at all I was attracted to her. I told her it was too soon, I wasn’t ready to move on. After that I became referred to as “Poor Michael, you know — the one whose wife died”.’
The food arrives and we both focus our attentions on dividing out the condiments: tartare sauce for his fish cakes and a French dressing for my salad. We sit quietly and I wonder why he’s told me all of this now. He could have just said she was a neighbour.
‘So I know what it feels like to be rushed into something when you’re not completely sure,’ he adds quietly, looking directly at me. ‘Even if we’ve taken some time to get where we are, I will wait for you.’
I stop eating and take both his hands across the table. ‘Is that what you think — that I’m not sure?’
‘I can’t tell. I did try to ask if you wanted me to stay the night but even I knew it was a clumsy effort. I knew I’d made a mess of it.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ I tell him. ‘I panicked. And this may sound stupid but it’s been a while for me. Plus I’m not really that comfortable being at Patty’s, or staying at yours with all the memories it holds — especially the bed.’
Michael shakes his head and grips my hands tighter.
‘Is that why you want me to get a new mattress?’
I nod, grimacing.
‘We’re as bad as each other.’ He sighs. ‘If I have to change every stick of furniture in the house to make you feel comfortable then I will and we’ll start today going back to that shop and getting a new bed to go with the new mattress.’
I feel a surge of affection and admiration for this man and the honesty flowing from him.
‘Thank you,’ I say as he lifts my hands one at a time and kisses them gently. ‘I’ve been really nervous.’
‘Well it’s been a while for me too,’ he says. ‘So I might have forgotten how to do it anyway.’
I giggle. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out when I get this new flat, won’t we.’
He clinks his glass against mine. ‘Roll on removal day.’