What Women Want, Women of a Dangerous Age: 2-Book Collection

‘Mum, come on. If we’re quick, we can get back in time for you to go out in the new dinghy. The tide’s just right.’ Matt pulled at her arm.

‘Hang on, hang on.’ She laughed. ‘Give me a chance to say hello to Em. How are you, darling?’

‘She’s got a boyfriend,’ Matt mocked in a sing-song voice.

‘Shut up, Matt. It’s not true, Mum.’ Emma hugged her tight.

‘Yes, you have. You’re always down at the beach with him.’ He managed to dodge the slap aimed at him.

‘Stop it, you two, I’ve only just got here.’ Ellen walked between them to prevent any further disagreement. ‘Hello, Mary.’ She embraced her mother-in-law. ‘Not too exhausted?’

‘You know we always love having them. And you look as though you’ve benefited from the break.’

‘Look at your hair, Mum. You look like M in the James Bond films.’

‘Thanks so much, Matt. She’s only about twenty years older than me. Don’t you like it?’

‘Very much indeed. Makes you look younger, whatever Matt says.’ Mary led the way to her battered old Peugeot estate and they all piled in, shouting greetings to Tilly and Rex, the excited pair of springer spaniels bouncing around in the back. They drove down the familiar high-hedged narrow lanes, non-stop chatter from the rear seat, arriving at the Neill’s family home, a large nineteenth-century stone farmhouse close to a small hamlet in the Percuil valley. During the school holidays, the house was Holiday Central, alive with cousins and their friends who dashed in and out, snatching up and dropping off riding kit, surfboards, wetsuits, swimsuits, towels, tennis rackets, car keys, bicycles, and distributing sand wherever they went. The two dogs followed the crowd, wagging and barking with excitement. Mary was immune to the hubbub, enjoying having the young life around her. Bob, Simon’s father, hid himself in their private sitting room whenever it got too much. Simon’s brother and sister, Pete and Julia, lounged around the garden with their partners, coming in to contribute to a meal, get a book or a drink, or give the youngest children a lift somewhere. The atmosphere was the same relaxed chaos that it had been every summer Ellen could remember being there.

By the evening, Ellen had been out in the dinghy without capsizing it, helped with supper and caught up with snippets of what Emma and Matt had been doing over the last weeks. She was helping with the washing-up when Mary said, ‘Darling, you didn’t eat much at supper. Are you all right?’

‘Just because I normally eat like a horse, I know. No, I’m trying to lose a few pounds. Oliver’s persuaded me it would be a good thing.’ His name slipped out without her thinking and there it lay between them, large and glaringly obvious. Her prayers that Mary wouldn’t notice went unanswered.

‘Who? I don’t remember hearing that name before, do I?’ She put a plate back in the sink and stopped to scrutinise Ellen. ‘I knew there was something different about you, apart from the new hair, of course.’ Two and two made four with no effort at all.

‘You’re such a beady old thing,’ Ellen protested. ‘OK. Hands up. I was going to tell you but I was waiting for the right moment.’

‘Seems like you’ve just found it.’ Mary put a hand on Ellen’s arm. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve been expecting this for years. Can’t think why it took so long. Anyway, I couldn’t have wished for a lovelier daughter-in-law.’

As they washed and dried, Ellen poured out the whole story, grateful that they were having the conversation at a moment when they didn’t need to look each other in the eye – exactly as she’d engineer an awkward conversation with Matt or Emma. She told Mary everything, feeling only a smidgeon of guilt when she omitted to include the minor detail of the rent payment. When she’d finished there was a short silence while Mary peeled off her rubber gloves.

‘It all sounds a bit of a whirlwind.’ She hesitated over her choice of words, obviously not wanting to give the impression that she disapproved. ‘Are you sure you know him well enough to make such a commitment so soon?’

‘I know more every day. And the more I know, the more I like.’ Ellen brushed aside any potential objections, as she’d promised Oliver she would. If she let a chink of doubt appear in her armour, Mary would pounce, then worry away until it was much larger. ‘I know you’re concerned for Matt and Em, but so am I. I won’t do anything to hurt them. Promise.’

‘What are you promising?’ Matt stuck his head round the door. ‘Hurry up. I want to beat you at Scrabble.’

‘Why? Has the TV broken?’ Matt was usually impossible to prise away from the screen.

‘Ha ha! No, but Em and Lucy are watching some stupid film. What were you promising?’ Like his grandmother, Matt had a nose for what he wasn’t meant to know. There was no point in trying to fudge because he’d just go on until he’d succeeded in worming a satisfactory reply out of her.

‘I was just promising that you’d like a new friend of mine.’

‘Why? Who is she?’

‘She’s a he. And he supports Arsenal.’ At least, she was sure he could be persuaded to, in the interest of good relations.

‘A he!’ Matt yelled, as if a male friend was the last thing he’d expect his mother to have.

‘Yes. He liked the paintings in the gallery and we’ve made friends. You’ll like him.’

‘He’s not a boyfriend, is he?’ The disgusted emphasis put on the word ‘boyfriend’ was enough to warn Ellen not to say more. As was Mary’s sharp elbow in the ribs.

‘No, no. Don’t be silly.’ Time to change the subject. ‘Come on, then. Scrabble it is. But you know I’m unbeatable.’

The challenge was enough to put everything else right out of Matt’s head. ‘No, you’re not,’ he objected. ‘I won at least the last two times.’

That’s boys for you, thought Ellen and she clenched her fist Andy Murray-style. ‘OK, then. Bring it on.’

‘You won’t beat me, you know. Let battle commence.’ With the gauntlet thrown, he dashed down the corridor to the living room, Ellen in hot pursuit.

*

By the end of the week, Ellen was exhausted and ready for home. She’d played all the games in the toy cupboard with varying degrees of success – Scattergories, Monopoly, Articulate, The Nasty Horse Racing Game and Cribbage – all old favourites that were brought out every year. She’d walked the cliff path, straining up the steep bits, legs aching, but relishing the open spaces, the wind in her face and the time alone. She’d played tennis (badly), golf (even worse), been out in the dinghy, and even been persuaded to catch fresh mackerel for a barbecue supper. She’d visited her two artists: one had already been snapped up by a gallery in Bristol but the other was interested in her proposals. They’d been through the work he had in his studio, selecting the best of the figurative oils that had so readily captured her imagination with their clever use of space and composition, and their suggestions of half-told stories. They agreed he would paint another four over the following few months so there would be enough for a coherent exhibition in the back room of the gallery next spring.

Most importantly, she had had time to catch up with her children and re-forge her relationships with them – if not always in exactly the way she would have liked. Matt was still the boy she had waved off on the train at the beginning of the holiday. He remained a child of wild enthusiasms, with the charm of his father and a love of physical activity, cleaving to the band of male cousins and their friends as if he’d never been away from them. Seeing the gusto with which he joined in with everything they did, however challenging for a boy of thirteen, always made her smile. She knew his older cousins would watch out for him whatever they got up to. However, there was something about Emma that had changed during her three weeks away. Watching her with the others, Ellen could see how she hung on the words of Josh, a blond surfie who’d become a regular in the house. Whether or not he was the ‘boyfriend’ Matt had mentioned was unclear, but the lingering glances she had given him from under her eyelashes whenever he spoke, the alacrity with which she followed him about, made it obvious that she might not object if such a relationship were suggested.

Whenever Ellen tried to talk to her about Josh, Emma had avoided the conversation by either having something else to do or somewhere to rush off to. In fact, she spent as little time with her mother as she could, as if embarrassed by her presence. There was no doubt she was growing up fast, thought Ellen, wistfully. She wondered how Kate had coped with Megan at the same stage. Although Josh seemed nice enough, Ellen could see that his evident lack of reciprocal interest meant Emma might get hurt. All Ellen wanted to do was to help cushion the blow. This new lack of communication between them also meant that she didn’t have a chance to talk to her daughter about Oliver either but, after a few days of being there, it hadn’t seemed appropriate. Mary’s measured reaction had confirmed the need to be more circumspect about him. As she relaxed into the holiday, enjoying not having to worry about her appearance and letting the diet slide for the week, she decided to wait until they returned to London. Better not to rock the boat just yet.

Chapter 14

Ellen jumped off the Truro–London train, hefting her case down the steps to the platform. Joining the slew of people who were rushing towards the barrier, she craned her neck to see Oliver. The last time they’d talked, he’d said he couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer than he had to so he’d be waiting for her at the barrier.

She knew Oliver was hurt she hadn’t spoken to the children about him. He interpreted her silence as a lack of commitment to him. However hard she tried, she couldn’t get him to understand the situation from Emma and Matt’s point of view, which to her was what mattered.

‘If you loved me as much as I do you, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling them about me,’ he complained. Or ‘If you were as proud of me as I am of you, you would be bursting to tell them.’ And then, ‘If you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, you wouldn’t hesitate.’

Hearing him say those things, she had wavered again. But she had found necessary strength in being with Simon’s family. Despite her intentions, she’d been so busy that there was little time to dwell on Oliver. But once she was on the train home, she’d realised how much she was looking forward to seeing him again. They had spoken every day while she was away and every day she had struggled to explain how she was trying to sort out the confusion in her head, but he just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why she had veered from their original plan. But being sucked into family life again, seeing fifteen-year-old Emma’s new vulnerability, Ellen’s priorities had shifted back to where they’d been for the last ten years. The familiar realities of Cornwall meant their seven-week affair had taken on the strange insubstantiality of a dream. If she didn’t know better, she could almost believe she had imagined the whole thing. Every night, lying with her eyes shut, she had tried to conjure Oliver’s face onto the back of her lids, but she could never hold it there. No sooner had she pieced his features together than they floated apart again. The intensity of their passion was just as elusive. She could remember what they had done together but it was more like an out-of-body experience, watching herself having the hottest sex of her life but without being able to call up the emotions that went with it. Without the reality of his presence, she had slipped back into her perennial role of daughter-in-law and mother, where she always came second.

Suddenly there he was. Ellen’s heart did a somersault. He pushed his way through the crowd to her and almost swept her off her feet, so big was the bear hug, so intense the kiss. ‘God! I’ve been longing to do that.’ His smile was broad. ‘I can’t wait to get you home. The car’s this way.’ He took her case and led her out of the station. ‘So, was it a success?’ The words tumbled from his mouth with the excitement of seeing her again.

She tucked her arm into his, happy to be able to touch him again. ‘Terrific. The kids are on great form, having the usual brilliant time with their cousins. They were glad to see the back of me for another week!’

‘I’m sure they weren’t.’

‘Not really. But they were definitely pleased not to be coming back to London just yet. I wish you could have come with me.’

‘But there was something I wanted to do here. I had the idea a few weeks ago and your being away gave me the perfect opportunity.’

‘Why won’t you tell me what it was?’ He had been peculiarly mysterious about what he’d been doing in her absence. She hoped he was about to surprise her with news of a job.

‘Wait and see.’

During the journey home, she regaled him with descriptions of the artists she had met, where they lived and the pieces she’d seen. Uncle Sidney had rarely expanded his existing stable of artists except by recommendation but she had soon developed a nose for the sort of pictures that the gallery could sell and believed that by widening their roster they would attract new customers. Oliver didn’t offer much conversation in return but listened, occasionally asking the odd question, his hand on her knee whenever he could put it there safely.

Her stories were only interrupted by his swearing whenever a light changed against them or thudding his fist on the steering-wheel when another driver got in his way. Ellen pretended not to notice these squalls of unnecessary temper and just carried on talking.

When they arrived home, Oliver switched off the engine and turned to her, taking her face in both hands and kissing her deeply.