The Impulse Purchase, page 8
‘This is very sudden. Even for you.’
‘Yep,’ said Cherry. ‘But has my gut ever failed me?’
Howard had to admit it hadn’t. So far.
‘This is a different ball game though, Cherry.’
‘I can do it. I know I can.’
She felt elated. When had she got so bad-ass?
The minute Alan had told her about Gillian, that’s when. It didn’t bear thinking about. If she could give them precious time together, it was worth it. She briefed Howard, making it clear she wanted the purchase to go through as quickly as possible.
As they talked, the minute hand crept towards midday. Wisteria House was no longer hers. She felt a momentary pang, but it was OK. She had made the most of her nest egg and put herself first, just as her mother had wanted.
She laughed as she saw the Reverend Matt scuttle out of the garden with a full basket. He raised his hand in greeting as he rushed past.
‘I’ve got some lovely bits and pieces,’ he told her through the open car window. ‘But best not be found grubbing about in the flower beds by the new owners.’
Cherry laughed. ‘Well, I know Mum would be delighted you’ve got some cuttings.’
The Reverend nodded. ‘I hope we’ll see you again soon, Cherry. I feel as if you’re a part of this village.’
She wondered if she should tell him what she had done, but decided not to just yet. She couldn’t tell him before she told Mike.
‘I’m sure you will,’ she said, and started up the engine.
She drove back slowly past the pub. A thrill went through her at the sight of it, the thatch golden in the midday sun. A pair of wood pigeons high up in a tree cooed their approval, and the old sign swung back and forth gently in the breeze.
Rushbrook was her village. The Swan was her pub. This was her future.
10
The ingredients were all laid out on the island, in little glass bowls. Bird’s eye chillies. Galangal. Lemongrass. Kaffir lime leaves. Shallots. Garlic. Turmeric. Bright reds and yellows and oranges, all ready to go into the wok. And standing by were coconut cream, fish sauce, palm sugar and a massive pile of raw king prawns. And a mound of jasmine rice.
Mike took the making of his Thai green curry very seriously. It was always their restorative meal after a late night or a strenuous weekend. Their recovery ritual. Everything was meticulously measured and would be carefully ground to a paste in his pestle and mortar. It was his own recipe, developed over the years with tweaks and adjustments to reach the exact blend of sweet, sour, bitter and spicy. Now he had perfected it, not a grain or a drop was altered. It was written in stone. Or rather, written in his artist’s italics with a thick black pen on a sheet of paper. This was pinned to the back wall of the kitchen, which was covered from floor to ceiling in cork board, and where all their recipes hung, whether snipped out of newspapers and magazines, photocopied out of books, written out on the backs of envelopes or scrawled on a scrap of paper.
And amidst the recipes were Polaroids they’d taken whenever a particularly spectacular dish had been created: a rib of beef, a towering pavlova or a groaning cheese board. It was almost a diary of their life: the meals they cooked for family and friends, or sometimes just each other.
Until today, this kitchen had always made Cherry feel happy.
But today as she walked back in, it felt different, in the way that places do when something momentous has happened. It didn’t feel as if she belonged here any more. She almost felt like an intruder, excluded from a plan that had been made without her, as she remembered what she had witnessed.
Mike looked up from dicing his chillies as she came in, and for a moment their eyes met and normality hung fragile in the air between them. She realised she had the power to keep that normality. She could forget what she had seen and heard. But she would be living a lie. She would be condoning Mike’s behaviour. She would be compromising herself for the remainder of their life together.
‘Hey!’
Mike reached out for a bottle of Riesling on the island and poured her a glass. She never had to ask. He was good at all that – very attentive. Or was he covering up for something with his attentiveness? No, she thought. This was usual behaviour for Mike, not guilt. It was funny, once someone had transgressed, how you started judging them on everything.
She sipped her wine, enjoying the cold hint of petrol on her tongue. A wine buyer, she thought – she’d need a decent wine buyer for The Swan. She wanted a great list: adventurous but not overpriced. Again, Maggie would know someone.
Mike tipped his chillies into a big mixing bowl and reached for the lemongrass. He looked over at her.
‘So? What’s going on?’ He gave a light laugh. ‘What have you been up to? I was about to send out a search party.’
She took another gulp of wine before speaking.
‘I had a bit of a moment today. A light bulb moment, as they say. It made me realise something.’ She tried to find the right words. ‘I want to come first for once.’
Mike chuckled. ‘But you do come first. Always.’
Cherry shook her head. ‘No. I don’t. Not really. I know I’m the big boss. That I’m in control. That everyone in the family looks to me. But I have never done anything for me. Ever.’
‘I don’t understand. I mean, what about this house, for a start? It’s got your name written through it like a stick of rock.’
‘Yes. Because I put my heart and soul into it. But it wasn’t for me. We bought it because of you. And your job. Not because I wanted it.’
Mike looked flummoxed.
‘I had no idea you felt like this.’
‘I didn’t know that’s how I felt, until today.’
‘So what happened? What was the big turning point?’ He crushed the lemongrass under the blade of a big knife with rather too much force. ‘The light bulb.’
‘I went to Mum’s grave. It was like she was there, talking to me – you know I don’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife or anything, but I could hear her voice, telling me to do something for me. And then I went to the pub and Alan . . .’ Her voice broke. She couldn’t bear talking about it. ‘Gillian’s not good. It’s spread. She hasn’t got long.’
‘Oh no. Well, that is awful.’ Mike’s expression exuded sympathy. ‘Poor bugger. How’s he going to manage?’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ said Cherry, and she gave him a bright smile. ‘That was the light bulb. I’ve bought The Swan.’
Mike laughed, tripping the knife blade merrily through the crushed lemongrass. Bang bang bang bang bang. ‘Ha ha ha,’ he said.
‘Seriously.’
The chopping stopped.
People don’t ‘visibly pale’, thought Cherry. They visibly redden. Mike’s face flushed pink with panic.
‘What do you mean? You can’t just buy a pub on the spur of the moment.’
‘Turns out you can.’ Cherry felt a thrill of pure exhilaration. ‘We’ve agreed a price. I’ve instructed Howard. I’m taking over straight away so Alan can go and look after Gillian. I mean, yes, it’s a gentleman’s agreement at the moment, but we go back years. I’d trust Alan with my life.’
Mike put his knife down.
‘Cherry. We need to talk this through.’
‘No, we don’t. This is what I want.’
‘You’ve done this on impulse. You were probably upset about Wisteria going, after all these years. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.’
Cherry took a breath in. ‘That might be what it looks like. But it all gelled this morning. It all came together. Just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘I love Rushbrook. I can’t bear the thought of not being part of it now Wisteria’s gone. I love The Swan. I love Alan. And if you remember, Maggie and I looked into buying a restaurant a few years ago, so I know what I’m letting myself in for. And turning things round is what I do. I know what that pub could be like. Everything it used to be and more. Warm and welcoming and cosy and a bit quirky and eccentric with amazing food and an electric atmosphere . . .’
Mike shook his head as if by shaking it hard enough he could make her words go away.
‘Cherry, I’m in no doubt you could make it look amazing. But I don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me first. We’ve always been a team. We’ve always gone into everything together.’
This was the moment when she had to tell him what she’d seen. She had to come clean.
‘Ah, well, we’re not in this together. This is my thing. It leaves you free to do whatever you want.’ She spread out her hands. ‘Anneka Harding, for example.’
Silence. She lifted her glass to her lips and stared at him as she took another glug. He licked his lips, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.
‘Anneka Harding?’ He said the name as if he’d never heard of it.
She swirled the Riesling round her glass. ‘I saw you, Mike. I saw you with her in your study.’
He looked completely blank. He scratched his head for a moment as if that might help jog his memory.
‘I remember chatting to her. Saying thank you. For her extremely generous present. Cherry, what is this?’
‘She had your finger in her mouth.’
He looked startled. ‘What?’
She would have laughed at the expression on his face, under any other circumstances.
‘She had your finger in her mouth and she was trying to lure you to LA.’
‘Were you spying?’ He sounded outraged, as if this was far more transgressive.
‘I came to find you but you were far too wrapped up in her to notice me. So I left you to it.’
She could see Mike assessing his predicament, trying to figure out damage limitation. ‘Cherry, I honestly have no recollection. I’d probably had a few drinks by then.’
‘Well, I’m not making it up.’
‘It didn’t mean anything.’
‘How do you know, if you can’t remember?’
‘Because . . . she doesn’t mean anything. Anneka. She’s nothing to me.’
He looked terribly flustered. Was it guilt?
‘Really? You seemed very close.’
‘We were once. She was one of my most gifted students. I was very proud of her and what she achieved. And she was very grateful to me. So I guess we had a bit of a . . .’ He searched for the right word. ‘Bond. But that’s it. Cherry, please don’t make this into something it isn’t. That’s not like you.’
No, thought Cherry. It’s not. She was the mistress of turning the other cheek. Not causing a fuss. Minding her own business. She had never been a drama queen, or possessive. So making a stand like this was a big deal.
She shrugged. ‘Well, seeing you together like that, so close, it made me think. And then when I realised Alan’s situation, I just thought . . . go for it, Cherry, if it’s what you want. And it is what I want. A challenge, and something that makes me feel as if I matter.’
Mike put his hands to his head and screwed his eyes up, breathing deeply as he processed what she was saying. Then he looked up.
‘Cherry, this is awful. I’m so sorry if you got the wrong end of the stick. I thought we were going to go travelling together. See the world. Expand our horizons. This would be a terrible mistake. Don’t risk everything we’ve got because of a misunderstanding. And I don’t mean the money. I don’t care about the money. I mean us.’
Cherry hesitated. Maybe she’d imagined the scenario between Mike and Anneka? Maybe she was nuts? Maybe what she’d done was nuts? At her age, most women were settling for Pilates and a pension, not taking on a run-down country pub.
‘I understand you feel sentimental about letting Wisteria go, and leaving Rushbrook,’ Mike carried on, his voice soothing. ‘It’s a big wrench. But nothing stays the same, you know that. You have to move on.’
‘Why?’ asked Cherry, finding her mettle. ‘Why do people say that? Why do you have to move on, if you don’t want to and you don’t need to? I love Rushbrook. I want it to be part of my life.’
‘We spoke about this when we decided not to keep Wisteria House. You said you were ready to let go.’
Cherry walked over to one of the high stools that lined the island and sat down. Her head was starting to throb. The early start, the big day yesterday, the decision. And now, its defence. It was catching up with her.
‘I want to do something for me. Something that has my name on it. Something that makes a difference to people’s lives. Something I can be proud of.’
‘But you’ve got loads of things to be proud of. The family, for a start. Aren’t you proud of them?’
‘Yes, of course!’
‘And this house? You must be proud of this house. No one wanted to touch it with a barge pole and look at it now. You’ve been in magazines, Cherry.’
It sounded churlish to say that it didn’t matter a jot. She’d just wanted to create a beautiful house for them all to enjoy, and she’d done it. When it was finished, Maggie had organised a photo shoot, and the house had been in a variety of interior design magazines – the classic before-and-after story, the renovation journey. Yes, it had been lovely to see it all spread out: the beautiful hall with the floorboards painstakingly restored and polished, the staircase with the black-and-cream striped runner like a mint humbug, hot pink silk curtains billowing in front of the landing window. She’d kept the strong architectural lines of the original house but added little surprises with colour and texture: beaten copper work surfaces in the kitchen, geometric wallpaper in the downstairs loo.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to be remembered for tarting a house up. Anyone can do that.’ She knew they couldn’t, of course. It was bloody difficult to manage a team of workmen to come in on budget and hit their deadline. But it wasn’t enough. She itched for more. ‘Call it my swan song, if you like.’
‘But you can’t run a pub from here. It’s a full-time job.’
‘No, I know. I’ll be staying in the boathouse.’
Mike’s eyebrows shot up as he took in this new departure.
‘The boathouse? Are you telling me . . . are we . . . over? Is this the end?’
‘No. Of course not—’
‘Just because Anneka Harding put my finger in her mouth?’
‘So you do remember?’
Mike shut his eyes, sighing. ‘Vaguely.’
Cherry felt a resurgence of the outrage she had felt, watching the pair of them. Mike had just stood there.
‘I didn’t see you object. I didn’t hear you saying Anneka, please take my finger out of your mouth. It made my stomach churn.’
Mike flailed for the right answer.
‘It was one of those silly things. A slightly drunken moment. I didn’t want to be rude or to upset her, not after she’d come all the way from LA. And given me that painting. Do you know how much it’s worth?’ Mike looked desperate. ‘Cherry, I’m so sorry. I promise you, I have no intention of going to LA or probably ever speaking to her again. I mean, I hadn’t seen her for twenty years. She means nothing to me. I guess I mean something to her, but . . .’
He looked to be on the verge of tears.
‘Please. You’re taking this too far. It was . . .’ He couldn’t find the right words. He slumped onto a bar stool and put his head in his hands. ‘One of those stupid moments that looks like more than it is,’ he managed finally.
Cherry thought for a moment. Maybe what he was saying was true. But it didn’t change the fact that it had flipped a switch for her.
‘OK. Maybe. But it still made me realise that it’s time I did something for me. That’s all.’
She was surprised by the despair in his face as he looked up.
‘I would never stop you doing something you wanted. You know that. But buying a pub? I can’t think of a better way of losing a lot of money in the shortest amount of time possible.’
‘So it’s about the money?’
‘No! I don’t care about the money. But I don’t want to see you lose your inheritance. I don’t want to see you throwing it all down the drain.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I don’t think your mother would want that either.’
Cherry drew herself up. ‘That’s a cheap shot.’
‘It’s not meant to be.’
‘I think she’d have more faith in me, for a start.’
‘I have faith in you. You know I think the world of you. But pubs are notoriously tricky to make profitable. You know that.’
‘I think I could make a go of it.’
‘Have you looked at the books?’ Mike persisted.
‘I’m paying for the real estate. Not the business. Alan admitted it’s worth nothing.’
Mike held up his hands.
‘And he’s an experienced landlord. If he couldn’t make it work . . . ’
Cherry didn’t reply.
‘Surely you can see why I’m worried?’ Mike persisted.
‘He’s been under a lot of strain, with Gillian. I can make it work. I know I can.’
Mike gave a weary shrug.
‘You’ve obviously made up your mind.’
‘I think it’s a viable proposition. And I’m really excited about it. It’s the first time I’ve felt really excited for a long time.’
He looked at her, wounded. ‘I was excited about us doing things together. Having proper time to spend with you at last. Don’t rush into this, Cherry. Call Howard. Tell him you need to think it over.’
Cherry felt exasperated. Was he being obtuse on purpose?
‘The whole point is I need to go ahead now. So Alan and Gillian can go away.’
‘But what about us?’
Cherry put her face in her hands. Everything had seemed so clear on the drive home. So perfect and logical. She ran back over it. Nothing had changed, except Mike’s objection. She supposed it was a shock to him. She needed to get him onside. She certainly wasn’t going to go back on her word. But she hated arguing with him. It was unusual for them to disagree. She couldn’t remember the last time they had. But they were both strong characters, and now that they were locking horns, someone was going to have to back down.
