The Daughter-in-Law, page 3
‘We take it in turns, though.’ Edie drained her glass, enjoying the oaky sharpness of the Chardonnay, preferring not to think too hard about Ana’s string of conquests, her enjoyment of her freedom. ‘One good thing about the non-breastfeeding thing is that Paul can do his bit.’ In her jeans pocket her phone buzzed with a message. She pulled out the mobile and looked at the screen. ‘See.’ She waved the phone in her friend’s direction. ‘He’s wondering when I’ll be back. Supper’s been ready for half an hour.’ She placed her glass down. ‘I have to go.’
* * *
The walk home was short. As she crossed the main road into Barnsbury, the air was perfumed with the distinctive scent of charcoal smoke and barbecuing meat with an undertow of exhaust. She loved London in the summer. Her phone buzzed again. She took it out to find a text – not from Paul this time, but from Daniel.
Can we make it half an hour later next week. I’ve a meeting that may run on. D x
She felt that beat of excitement that always came with a communication from him, with the anticipation of their next meeting. She stopped for a second, so she could reply before she got home.
Of course. Can’t wait.’
Not long to go. Whatever Ana thought, she wanted the affair to continue.
3
Hope jumped at the sound of an incoming text.
She was finalizing the menu for Mrs Carswell, a particularly fussy client, whose dinner party was designed to impress a contact flying in from America with her husband. She had enjoyed the to-ing and fro-ing between them until they had settled on something they were both happy with and had promised to send the menu over that evening so the final decision could be confirmed. She was relishing the idea of cooking everything. They’d agreed on a starter of grilled lobster tails with lemon and herb butter, beef Wellington or fillet of sea bass with a vegetarian option of caper crusted spiced cauliflower steak, followed by apricot panna cotta or chocolate mousse and raspberry coulis, a selection of cheeses and homemade chocolate truffles. Tempted to ignore the phone but unable to, she flipped it over to see who was calling. Paul.
‘Mum?’
At the sound of his anxiety, she saved the document she was working on. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m sorry, but Edie’s held up at work and can’t get to nursery in time to pick up Betty. Please could you do it? I’ll come and get her as soon as I can get away.’
‘Okay. I’ll leave now and see you later.’ What else could she say?
When Betty had been enrolled in a nearby nursery, Hope had been delighted. She had never particularly longed to be a grandmother. Grandchildren meant old age: something she’d been running from as hard as she could. And she certainly didn’t want to be called ‘Granny’. But… As soon as she met Betty in the neonatal ward, there’d been a special place in her heart for the child. When she held her for the first time, and gazed down at Betty’s perfect little face, a burst of love ran through her and she was lost. She was pleased to be near enough to be able to help out.
She checked her smartwatch. If she walked quickly, she could be at the nursery in twenty minutes, on time and ticking off some of those bloody 10,000 steps.
* * *
By the time she arrived, there were only a few toddlers in the playground with the nursery workers. She spotted Betty over by the sandpit. After a second, the little girl looked up to see her grandmother waiting by the gate. Her face lit up and she raced over, calling, ‘Gwanny! Gwanny!’ She was such a pretty little thing: button nose, lively blue eyes, dressed in a pink-spotted blue tunic and pink tights.
Hope’s heart soared at the enthusiastic greeting. She squatted as Betty barrelled into her and they hugged. She stood up with Betty still clinging to her. The few mothers still there smiled at the two of them.
‘See you tomorrow, Betty,’ said one of the staff. ‘Have you got your castle?’
‘Me down.’
Hope let her go and Betty dashed back to the sandpit to collect a blue-painted assembly of loo rolls and small cereal boxes that she proudly presented to Hope. ‘Elsa house.’
‘Does Elsa live here?’
Betty nodded furiously. ‘Yes.’
‘Of course she does.’ If Hope had watched Frozen and Frozen 2 once, she had watched them a thousand times.
How could Edie bear to miss this part of the day? Hope didn’t understand her daughter-in-law’s devotion to her career at this point in her children’s lives. She had waited until Paul was in school before she began working towards where she was now. Not quite the same of course, but still… the principle was there. Edie seemed to rely on her and Paul more and more as her maternity leave came to its end. She wouldn’t mind if Edie asked her directly to pick up Betty from nursery or from a friend’s, or to take her a packed lunch that she’d forgotten. But every time the requests came through Paul. Was that because her daughter-in-law felt guilty? Unlikely. Edie seemed to think that being a private chef didn’t count as work. At least, not when compared with being a family law barrister.
‘Come on, Betty,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to the park.’
* * *
Paul picked Betty up from hers at six. He dashed in, still in his work overalls, sawdust in his hair. Even though he was long grown up, she still felt that familiar pull of love and pride on seeing him.
‘Sorry, Mum. Can’t stop. Edie will have Betty’s supper ready.’ He took the cardboard castle with a grimace. ‘Another one. Thanks a lot for picking her up. You’re a saviour.’
‘That’s okay. I’ve given her some supper already.’
His face changed.
Hope read what he was thinking. ‘Don’t worry, I was very careful. No additives. Just a quick mac cheese and veg. All organic.’
He rolled his eyes. Hope had done the wrong thing. Again. ‘Oh, Mum! I’ve told you a thousand times. Edie won’t be happy.’
‘The poor child was starving and she loved it.’ It was her best defence. Had she not fed her, Betty would have had to wait ages for a lentil stew or some other offering from the repertoire of the perfect modern mother. She sometimes thought Edie tried too hard, as though doing everything a certain way would transform her into the multi-tasking mother of the year.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. And she was. The last thing she wanted was to upset Edie. But wasn’t it a grandmother’s earned indulgence to spoil her grandchildren? A bit of macaroni wasn’t going to do any lasting harm.
‘You have to respect the way we choose to bring up our kids, Mum. Things are different now.’ He sounded just like Edie.
‘I do. I just didn’t think giving her supper early would be such a major deal.’ Honestly, modern parenting! Everything seemed so much more straightforward when she’d had Paul, and he’d survived.
The two of them had left in a flurry as soon as Betty’s bright pink helmet was on and she was strapped into the seat on the back of Paul’s bike. With a wave and a backwards call, they were off. Hope could barely watch as he cycled towards the traffic on the main road. Only once he texted to let her know they were home safely did she begin to relax again.
* * *
That night, Hope sat in her office upstairs refining the menu options and shopping lists for the Carswells, a glass of flinty Sauvignon within easy reach, a fig-scented candle flickering on the mantlepiece. Mrs Carswell had been especially picky over the choice of dishes and accompaniments but, if she liked what she got, she would undoubtedly bring new business by recommending Hope and her business partner Vita to her other well-heeled friends. So it was worth putting in the extra effort. Hope didn’t usually drink on her own but, with the menu agreed, she deserved a treat. What was living alone about if you couldn’t do that from time to time? And anyway, spontaneity was always better than habit.
She emailed the finalized menu including all the accompaniments and estimated costs to Vita for a last once-over. Her friend had said she’d look out for her email, so while she waited for Vita’s go-ahead, Hope printed off a copy for herself and straightened up her office. ‘Tidy office, tidy mind’ was something she lived by and which she regarded as key for their business, Booking the Cooks.
Just as she was finishing off, the doorbell rang. Nine o’clock. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She pocketed her mobile, took the Carswells’ menu and left the office, shutting the door behind her. Vita would phone soon, she was sure.
She could see the indistinct silhouette of a figure through the stained glass in her front door. Keeping it on the latch (having seen one too many TV crime dramas), she opened it and peered round.
‘Serendipity! I’ve just emailed you.’ She took off the latch and pulled the door wide to let Vita in. This took a minute, as her friend had to haul her sit-up-and-beg bicycle into the hallway. Hope was always pleased to see her.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Vita took a supermarket receipt from the big wicker basket at the front to stick between the end of the handlebars and the wall. ‘I’ve lost the bloody lock and I couldn’t bear it to be stolen.’
‘Of course not. Am I expecting you?’ It was unlike Hope to forget an arrangement.
‘No.’ Her friend looked windswept, flushed from her ride. ‘I was waiting for the email, but John was driving me mad, so I thought I’d just come round for a bit.’ She adjusted the waistband of her wide grey linen trousers and straightened the loose green top until she was comfortable. Very different from the vintage floral tea dress, picked up for a song from one of the stalls in Camden Passage, that Hope wore.
Hope was used to Vita and John’s relationship. Time and again, she had heard Vita out after a row had blown up over something petty, or when one had rubbed the other up the wrong way. But these were the stresses that could be found in any marriage. Vita and John actually had one of the most stable relationships she knew. They understood each other and never ran out of things to say. Just, every now and then, one of them blew.
She only had to think of her own marriage, long over, to remember what that was like. She thought of Martin now with a frustrated affection that she’d developed once the pain of the split had diminished. His younger second family was a cause for some amusement to her. He was still changing nappies in his fifties. Then all those teen rows. Much rather him than her.
‘Nothing serious?’ she asked all the same.
Vita laughed as she followed Hope downstairs into her kitchen. ‘Nah. He was going on and on about how I always put too much water in the kettle. Then it turned into a gripe about my not putting the plastic into the right recycling bin. Can you imagine? I thought I’d leave him to simmer down.’
‘Drink?’
‘Once we’ve sent off this menu. Let me have a look. Have you thought about who’ll do it?’
‘I will, I think. It’s important to the Carswells so I want to make sure it’s perfect.’
‘Don’t micromanage. That’s your weak spot. Use one of the girls.’ Vita sometimes had to remind Hope to use their small freelance team of cooks more. Hope’s love of cooking meant she would happily cater for every job they were offered had she but the energy and time.
‘I know it is. Even so. Here.’ Hope slid the menu across the kitchen island to her. ‘Have a look. At the bottom there’s the usual estimate of cost to us against the charge for the job.’
Vita pulled out a stool, perched on it and skimmed over the piece of paper. ‘Looks great.’
‘Good. I’ll ask Jean or Marie to help me.’ She named their two best home cooks. ‘Let me just send it. Help yourself to a glass of white. Once I’m done, we can put the world to rights.’
Hope had two kitchens in the basement: the open plan, where they were, at the back of the house that led into the garden for her private use; the other in the street side of the basement, a state-of-the-art professional kitchen insisted on by Health and Safety. Vita knew both as well as, if not better than, her own. They had spent hours together down there, cooking, testing, tasting, preparing to launch their business on a world where getting a private chef was the new going out: all the advantages without the hassles of finding babysitters, arguing over who would drive, cooking or washing up. All with the guarantee of a restaurant-standard meal. Hope, Vita and their team did it all, including the clearing away afterwards. That’s how they sold themselves, with great results. Hope was proud of how the business had expanded.
After her relationship with Liam (the last online date she’d vowed ever to have) had ended by mutual agreement, she couldn’t imagine herself settling down with anyone else again. The thought of getting to know someone new in all those intimate ways was too daunting, so she had thrown herself into the business with even greater gusto than before. The two of them had gone on to add a new service: seven cooked meals delivered to the home, freezer-ready. After that, there’d been a small cookery school which Hope ran two days a week from home. It was full on, but fun, and made possible by the small team of freelance home cooks they employed to help them.
Hope ran up to the office and sent off the email.
By the time she returned, Vita had found the bottle of Sauvignon and had poured herself a glass.
After topping up her own, Hope fetched a storage jar out of her larder. ‘You must try one of these. Cheese and pistachio biscuits. I’ve added chilli for a bit of kick. I’m not sure if it’s too much.’ She put a few of them in a bowl, the delicious nutty cheesy smell making her hungry, and took them with everything else out to the table outside on the terrace. They sat at it, overlooking the garden where purple and white allium heads bobbed between roses as swathes of zinnias, Amaranthus, rudbeckia and anything else Hope could find a space for held their heads up to the dying sun. The crowds of colour lifted her spirit and gave her such pleasure over the summer months. The scent of roses drifted in the air. There was the creak of wicker as they sat down.
‘So.’ Hope started. ‘What’s going on?’
‘More of the same. What about you?’ Vita was always more interested in hearing about other people than talking about herself.
‘I was sailing along until Paul called, and I had to pick up Betty from nursery.’
‘Again? Why this time?’
‘Apparently, Edie had a meeting. She’s getting ready to go back to work. It’s not that I mind doing it. I really don’t,’ she added quickly.
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much…’ Vita smiled. They had spent hours discussing Hope’s daughter-in-law.
‘No, really. I’d just like Edie to call me herself. I don’t understand why she leaves Paul to deal with me.’
‘Paxos was okay, though, wasn’t it? You haven’t really told me.’ She picked up her glass of wine.
Hope laughed. ‘Er… no. I told you I sprained my ankle?’
Vita nodded.
‘They were sweet, of course. After all, it was hardly my fault. But it meant Edie didn’t have the rest she was hoping for. Looking after those kids is properly exhausting. The trouble with trying to help her is that she makes me so nervous. Then I try too hard and make everything worse. I know I’m getting it wrong but I don’t know how to get it right.’
‘She is their mum,’ pointed out Vita. ‘That’s what mums are meant to do. Why have kids otherwise?’ Spoken by a woman who had brought up four children up without help and happily survived to tell the tale.
‘Not if you’ve brought Granny along to help out. It was meant to be a last hurrah before she goes back to work.’
‘Why you and not her own mother?’
‘She doesn’t seem to have much of a relationship with her. I’ve no idea why they’re not closer and I wouldn’t ask.’
Vita thought for a moment. She popped a cheese biscuit into her mouth and gave a small moan of appreciation as she began to eat. Then her eyes widened and she quickly swallowed. ‘Christ! Those chillies are hot.’
‘Ha!’ Hope quickly poured Vita another glass of wine. ‘Sorry. I wondered if they might be a bit much.’ She took a bite of one herself, relishing the buttery cheesy crumble and then the hit of chilli exploding in her mouth.
‘You must have a mouth like asbestos if you can eat those.’ Vita waved her hand in front of her open mouth.
‘I’ll get you a glass of milk.’ Hope stood up.
‘And spoil the wine? No need. I’ll get over it.’ She waved Hope back down into her seat. ‘So, things aren’t any better between you and Edie?’
‘It’s not that they’re bad exactly. We’re just not on the same wavelength. And things have got worse since the children were born. At first I thought it must be because she was grieving her father. He died just before Betty was born so he never met her. Paul says her relationship with her mother is distant at best. I felt so sorry for her but, even then, she brushed off my condolences and offers of help. What can I do? She obviously doesn’t really like me but she’s Paul’s wife so I have to be discreet and diplomatic.’
Vita laughed. ‘Like that’s going to happen!’
‘Well, I can try, even if it doesn’t come easy. I have to – for Paul’s sake.’
And she had tried. Truth be told, when she’d first met Edie, when Paul had first brought her round, they had got off to a bad start. Within minutes he announced that they were engaged, getting married within the next few months. Despite their evident happiness, she hadn’t been able to disguise her shock. Why the rush? Was Edie pregnant? But she hadn’t dared ask and, as it turned out, that was not the case. Hope had always imagined that she would get to know the girl Paul chose to marry before he took that step. She had imagined a friendship between them, or at least a bond arising from their mutual love of Paul.
In the past, various girlfriends had come and gone, some of whom she’d met, some of whom she’d heard mentioned and no doubt some she’d never heard of at all. But this… this was a whirlwind romance. Having recovered from the announcement, she had produced champagne and tried to talk wedding, but any venue she mentioned was dismissed; any florist, the same. The few friends she mentioned inviting who knew Paul well were rejected – this was to be small and intimate with their friends only. It didn’t take long for Hope to realize her suggestions weren’t welcome. She understood their desire to do things in their own way, of course she did. But it was the brisk, impersonal way that Edie explained it all to her that irked Hope. For the first time in her relationship with her son, she found herself way out of step. Until then, he had always been interested (or polite enough to look interested) in what she had to say, and she felt a sharp nip of resentment that she was losing her son to a woman who didn’t like her.
* * *
The walk home was short. As she crossed the main road into Barnsbury, the air was perfumed with the distinctive scent of charcoal smoke and barbecuing meat with an undertow of exhaust. She loved London in the summer. Her phone buzzed again. She took it out to find a text – not from Paul this time, but from Daniel.
Can we make it half an hour later next week. I’ve a meeting that may run on. D x
She felt that beat of excitement that always came with a communication from him, with the anticipation of their next meeting. She stopped for a second, so she could reply before she got home.
Of course. Can’t wait.’
Not long to go. Whatever Ana thought, she wanted the affair to continue.
3
Hope jumped at the sound of an incoming text.
She was finalizing the menu for Mrs Carswell, a particularly fussy client, whose dinner party was designed to impress a contact flying in from America with her husband. She had enjoyed the to-ing and fro-ing between them until they had settled on something they were both happy with and had promised to send the menu over that evening so the final decision could be confirmed. She was relishing the idea of cooking everything. They’d agreed on a starter of grilled lobster tails with lemon and herb butter, beef Wellington or fillet of sea bass with a vegetarian option of caper crusted spiced cauliflower steak, followed by apricot panna cotta or chocolate mousse and raspberry coulis, a selection of cheeses and homemade chocolate truffles. Tempted to ignore the phone but unable to, she flipped it over to see who was calling. Paul.
‘Mum?’
At the sound of his anxiety, she saved the document she was working on. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m sorry, but Edie’s held up at work and can’t get to nursery in time to pick up Betty. Please could you do it? I’ll come and get her as soon as I can get away.’
‘Okay. I’ll leave now and see you later.’ What else could she say?
When Betty had been enrolled in a nearby nursery, Hope had been delighted. She had never particularly longed to be a grandmother. Grandchildren meant old age: something she’d been running from as hard as she could. And she certainly didn’t want to be called ‘Granny’. But… As soon as she met Betty in the neonatal ward, there’d been a special place in her heart for the child. When she held her for the first time, and gazed down at Betty’s perfect little face, a burst of love ran through her and she was lost. She was pleased to be near enough to be able to help out.
She checked her smartwatch. If she walked quickly, she could be at the nursery in twenty minutes, on time and ticking off some of those bloody 10,000 steps.
* * *
By the time she arrived, there were only a few toddlers in the playground with the nursery workers. She spotted Betty over by the sandpit. After a second, the little girl looked up to see her grandmother waiting by the gate. Her face lit up and she raced over, calling, ‘Gwanny! Gwanny!’ She was such a pretty little thing: button nose, lively blue eyes, dressed in a pink-spotted blue tunic and pink tights.
Hope’s heart soared at the enthusiastic greeting. She squatted as Betty barrelled into her and they hugged. She stood up with Betty still clinging to her. The few mothers still there smiled at the two of them.
‘See you tomorrow, Betty,’ said one of the staff. ‘Have you got your castle?’
‘Me down.’
Hope let her go and Betty dashed back to the sandpit to collect a blue-painted assembly of loo rolls and small cereal boxes that she proudly presented to Hope. ‘Elsa house.’
‘Does Elsa live here?’
Betty nodded furiously. ‘Yes.’
‘Of course she does.’ If Hope had watched Frozen and Frozen 2 once, she had watched them a thousand times.
How could Edie bear to miss this part of the day? Hope didn’t understand her daughter-in-law’s devotion to her career at this point in her children’s lives. She had waited until Paul was in school before she began working towards where she was now. Not quite the same of course, but still… the principle was there. Edie seemed to rely on her and Paul more and more as her maternity leave came to its end. She wouldn’t mind if Edie asked her directly to pick up Betty from nursery or from a friend’s, or to take her a packed lunch that she’d forgotten. But every time the requests came through Paul. Was that because her daughter-in-law felt guilty? Unlikely. Edie seemed to think that being a private chef didn’t count as work. At least, not when compared with being a family law barrister.
‘Come on, Betty,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to the park.’
* * *
Paul picked Betty up from hers at six. He dashed in, still in his work overalls, sawdust in his hair. Even though he was long grown up, she still felt that familiar pull of love and pride on seeing him.
‘Sorry, Mum. Can’t stop. Edie will have Betty’s supper ready.’ He took the cardboard castle with a grimace. ‘Another one. Thanks a lot for picking her up. You’re a saviour.’
‘That’s okay. I’ve given her some supper already.’
His face changed.
Hope read what he was thinking. ‘Don’t worry, I was very careful. No additives. Just a quick mac cheese and veg. All organic.’
He rolled his eyes. Hope had done the wrong thing. Again. ‘Oh, Mum! I’ve told you a thousand times. Edie won’t be happy.’
‘The poor child was starving and she loved it.’ It was her best defence. Had she not fed her, Betty would have had to wait ages for a lentil stew or some other offering from the repertoire of the perfect modern mother. She sometimes thought Edie tried too hard, as though doing everything a certain way would transform her into the multi-tasking mother of the year.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. And she was. The last thing she wanted was to upset Edie. But wasn’t it a grandmother’s earned indulgence to spoil her grandchildren? A bit of macaroni wasn’t going to do any lasting harm.
‘You have to respect the way we choose to bring up our kids, Mum. Things are different now.’ He sounded just like Edie.
‘I do. I just didn’t think giving her supper early would be such a major deal.’ Honestly, modern parenting! Everything seemed so much more straightforward when she’d had Paul, and he’d survived.
The two of them had left in a flurry as soon as Betty’s bright pink helmet was on and she was strapped into the seat on the back of Paul’s bike. With a wave and a backwards call, they were off. Hope could barely watch as he cycled towards the traffic on the main road. Only once he texted to let her know they were home safely did she begin to relax again.
* * *
That night, Hope sat in her office upstairs refining the menu options and shopping lists for the Carswells, a glass of flinty Sauvignon within easy reach, a fig-scented candle flickering on the mantlepiece. Mrs Carswell had been especially picky over the choice of dishes and accompaniments but, if she liked what she got, she would undoubtedly bring new business by recommending Hope and her business partner Vita to her other well-heeled friends. So it was worth putting in the extra effort. Hope didn’t usually drink on her own but, with the menu agreed, she deserved a treat. What was living alone about if you couldn’t do that from time to time? And anyway, spontaneity was always better than habit.
She emailed the finalized menu including all the accompaniments and estimated costs to Vita for a last once-over. Her friend had said she’d look out for her email, so while she waited for Vita’s go-ahead, Hope printed off a copy for herself and straightened up her office. ‘Tidy office, tidy mind’ was something she lived by and which she regarded as key for their business, Booking the Cooks.
Just as she was finishing off, the doorbell rang. Nine o’clock. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She pocketed her mobile, took the Carswells’ menu and left the office, shutting the door behind her. Vita would phone soon, she was sure.
She could see the indistinct silhouette of a figure through the stained glass in her front door. Keeping it on the latch (having seen one too many TV crime dramas), she opened it and peered round.
‘Serendipity! I’ve just emailed you.’ She took off the latch and pulled the door wide to let Vita in. This took a minute, as her friend had to haul her sit-up-and-beg bicycle into the hallway. Hope was always pleased to see her.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Vita took a supermarket receipt from the big wicker basket at the front to stick between the end of the handlebars and the wall. ‘I’ve lost the bloody lock and I couldn’t bear it to be stolen.’
‘Of course not. Am I expecting you?’ It was unlike Hope to forget an arrangement.
‘No.’ Her friend looked windswept, flushed from her ride. ‘I was waiting for the email, but John was driving me mad, so I thought I’d just come round for a bit.’ She adjusted the waistband of her wide grey linen trousers and straightened the loose green top until she was comfortable. Very different from the vintage floral tea dress, picked up for a song from one of the stalls in Camden Passage, that Hope wore.
Hope was used to Vita and John’s relationship. Time and again, she had heard Vita out after a row had blown up over something petty, or when one had rubbed the other up the wrong way. But these were the stresses that could be found in any marriage. Vita and John actually had one of the most stable relationships she knew. They understood each other and never ran out of things to say. Just, every now and then, one of them blew.
She only had to think of her own marriage, long over, to remember what that was like. She thought of Martin now with a frustrated affection that she’d developed once the pain of the split had diminished. His younger second family was a cause for some amusement to her. He was still changing nappies in his fifties. Then all those teen rows. Much rather him than her.
‘Nothing serious?’ she asked all the same.
Vita laughed as she followed Hope downstairs into her kitchen. ‘Nah. He was going on and on about how I always put too much water in the kettle. Then it turned into a gripe about my not putting the plastic into the right recycling bin. Can you imagine? I thought I’d leave him to simmer down.’
‘Drink?’
‘Once we’ve sent off this menu. Let me have a look. Have you thought about who’ll do it?’
‘I will, I think. It’s important to the Carswells so I want to make sure it’s perfect.’
‘Don’t micromanage. That’s your weak spot. Use one of the girls.’ Vita sometimes had to remind Hope to use their small freelance team of cooks more. Hope’s love of cooking meant she would happily cater for every job they were offered had she but the energy and time.
‘I know it is. Even so. Here.’ Hope slid the menu across the kitchen island to her. ‘Have a look. At the bottom there’s the usual estimate of cost to us against the charge for the job.’
Vita pulled out a stool, perched on it and skimmed over the piece of paper. ‘Looks great.’
‘Good. I’ll ask Jean or Marie to help me.’ She named their two best home cooks. ‘Let me just send it. Help yourself to a glass of white. Once I’m done, we can put the world to rights.’
Hope had two kitchens in the basement: the open plan, where they were, at the back of the house that led into the garden for her private use; the other in the street side of the basement, a state-of-the-art professional kitchen insisted on by Health and Safety. Vita knew both as well as, if not better than, her own. They had spent hours together down there, cooking, testing, tasting, preparing to launch their business on a world where getting a private chef was the new going out: all the advantages without the hassles of finding babysitters, arguing over who would drive, cooking or washing up. All with the guarantee of a restaurant-standard meal. Hope, Vita and their team did it all, including the clearing away afterwards. That’s how they sold themselves, with great results. Hope was proud of how the business had expanded.
After her relationship with Liam (the last online date she’d vowed ever to have) had ended by mutual agreement, she couldn’t imagine herself settling down with anyone else again. The thought of getting to know someone new in all those intimate ways was too daunting, so she had thrown herself into the business with even greater gusto than before. The two of them had gone on to add a new service: seven cooked meals delivered to the home, freezer-ready. After that, there’d been a small cookery school which Hope ran two days a week from home. It was full on, but fun, and made possible by the small team of freelance home cooks they employed to help them.
Hope ran up to the office and sent off the email.
By the time she returned, Vita had found the bottle of Sauvignon and had poured herself a glass.
After topping up her own, Hope fetched a storage jar out of her larder. ‘You must try one of these. Cheese and pistachio biscuits. I’ve added chilli for a bit of kick. I’m not sure if it’s too much.’ She put a few of them in a bowl, the delicious nutty cheesy smell making her hungry, and took them with everything else out to the table outside on the terrace. They sat at it, overlooking the garden where purple and white allium heads bobbed between roses as swathes of zinnias, Amaranthus, rudbeckia and anything else Hope could find a space for held their heads up to the dying sun. The crowds of colour lifted her spirit and gave her such pleasure over the summer months. The scent of roses drifted in the air. There was the creak of wicker as they sat down.
‘So.’ Hope started. ‘What’s going on?’
‘More of the same. What about you?’ Vita was always more interested in hearing about other people than talking about herself.
‘I was sailing along until Paul called, and I had to pick up Betty from nursery.’
‘Again? Why this time?’
‘Apparently, Edie had a meeting. She’s getting ready to go back to work. It’s not that I mind doing it. I really don’t,’ she added quickly.
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much…’ Vita smiled. They had spent hours discussing Hope’s daughter-in-law.
‘No, really. I’d just like Edie to call me herself. I don’t understand why she leaves Paul to deal with me.’
‘Paxos was okay, though, wasn’t it? You haven’t really told me.’ She picked up her glass of wine.
Hope laughed. ‘Er… no. I told you I sprained my ankle?’
Vita nodded.
‘They were sweet, of course. After all, it was hardly my fault. But it meant Edie didn’t have the rest she was hoping for. Looking after those kids is properly exhausting. The trouble with trying to help her is that she makes me so nervous. Then I try too hard and make everything worse. I know I’m getting it wrong but I don’t know how to get it right.’
‘She is their mum,’ pointed out Vita. ‘That’s what mums are meant to do. Why have kids otherwise?’ Spoken by a woman who had brought up four children up without help and happily survived to tell the tale.
‘Not if you’ve brought Granny along to help out. It was meant to be a last hurrah before she goes back to work.’
‘Why you and not her own mother?’
‘She doesn’t seem to have much of a relationship with her. I’ve no idea why they’re not closer and I wouldn’t ask.’
Vita thought for a moment. She popped a cheese biscuit into her mouth and gave a small moan of appreciation as she began to eat. Then her eyes widened and she quickly swallowed. ‘Christ! Those chillies are hot.’
‘Ha!’ Hope quickly poured Vita another glass of wine. ‘Sorry. I wondered if they might be a bit much.’ She took a bite of one herself, relishing the buttery cheesy crumble and then the hit of chilli exploding in her mouth.
‘You must have a mouth like asbestos if you can eat those.’ Vita waved her hand in front of her open mouth.
‘I’ll get you a glass of milk.’ Hope stood up.
‘And spoil the wine? No need. I’ll get over it.’ She waved Hope back down into her seat. ‘So, things aren’t any better between you and Edie?’
‘It’s not that they’re bad exactly. We’re just not on the same wavelength. And things have got worse since the children were born. At first I thought it must be because she was grieving her father. He died just before Betty was born so he never met her. Paul says her relationship with her mother is distant at best. I felt so sorry for her but, even then, she brushed off my condolences and offers of help. What can I do? She obviously doesn’t really like me but she’s Paul’s wife so I have to be discreet and diplomatic.’
Vita laughed. ‘Like that’s going to happen!’
‘Well, I can try, even if it doesn’t come easy. I have to – for Paul’s sake.’
And she had tried. Truth be told, when she’d first met Edie, when Paul had first brought her round, they had got off to a bad start. Within minutes he announced that they were engaged, getting married within the next few months. Despite their evident happiness, she hadn’t been able to disguise her shock. Why the rush? Was Edie pregnant? But she hadn’t dared ask and, as it turned out, that was not the case. Hope had always imagined that she would get to know the girl Paul chose to marry before he took that step. She had imagined a friendship between them, or at least a bond arising from their mutual love of Paul.
In the past, various girlfriends had come and gone, some of whom she’d met, some of whom she’d heard mentioned and no doubt some she’d never heard of at all. But this… this was a whirlwind romance. Having recovered from the announcement, she had produced champagne and tried to talk wedding, but any venue she mentioned was dismissed; any florist, the same. The few friends she mentioned inviting who knew Paul well were rejected – this was to be small and intimate with their friends only. It didn’t take long for Hope to realize her suggestions weren’t welcome. She understood their desire to do things in their own way, of course she did. But it was the brisk, impersonal way that Edie explained it all to her that irked Hope. For the first time in her relationship with her son, she found herself way out of step. Until then, he had always been interested (or polite enough to look interested) in what she had to say, and she felt a sharp nip of resentment that she was losing her son to a woman who didn’t like her.
