The New Neighbours (16 page)

As he waited to turn out into Dartmouth Road, he saw Mrs Peters sitting in her window and he gave her a wave. Paul liked Madge Peters. He admired her courage, living alone at her age, and occasionally, when asked, she had given him the benefit of her wisdom.

Perhaps he should go and talk his worries through with her, Paul thought. She had a cool way of looking at things and considered all the options with a detached view that allowed Paul to get things into perspective.

He had not discussed his move to Johnson Fountain with anyone but Alison until it was an accomplished thing. Perhaps he should have, he thought now, as he drew out into the traffic, for when he had told Madge about it, he had been aware that she was not as delighted with the move as everyone else seemed to be. Of course she had not said she thought he was wrong in so many words, but she'd expressed surprise, and said, “It all sounds very exciting, Paul, I do hope it will all work out for the best.” And for a moment the shine went off the enterprise.

Although Paul was early, he had little time in the office to himself. Mr Fountain arrived soon after.

“Ah, Paul, I'm glad you're here. Come into my office will you?”

Paul set aside the survey report he was working on and followed the senior partner into his office.

“Sit down, Paul,” he said and seated himself behind the desk. “I expect you've some idea why I asked for a meeting this morning, haven't you?”

Paul had already decided to play the innocent and make James Fountain spell it out to him. “Not really, Mr Fountain, unless it was about the house at Over Stretton we're selling for your friends. I was over there yesterday showing some people round, and Mrs Standen said that she was disappointed there hadn't been more viewings.”

James Fountain gave a short laugh. “No, it wasn't that, though I'm not surprised to hear Margaret Standen was after you. She expected to sell that house immediately, but it's overpriced; they want far too much for it. I've told them so, both of them, but of course they know better than we do. No, Paul it isn't the Standens' house I want to talk to you about, though their situation is indicative of the problems we face at the moment.” He looked across at Paul, and Paul held his gaze, saying nothing.

“You know yourself the market is down at present. Very little is moving except at the very cheapest and the most expensive ends of the range. People can't believe that their houses haven't gone up in value, and if they don't need to move they're staying put in the hope of an upturn, and this of course affects us.”

Paul shifted uneasily in his chair. Here it comes, he thought, I'm out! As if he had read Paul's mind, James Fountain smiled a quick smile and said, “Don't worry, Paul, I'm not giving you the boot. I'm delighted with the work you've been doing, but what I'm afraid I am saying is that we have had to shelve our expansion plans.”

He went on to explain that there would be no new office opening in Belmouth, no new associate partners, and little chance of bonuses at the end of the year, but Paul hardly heard him, he was so relieved that he still had a job.

“So, you understand, Paul, that things will have to stay pretty much as they are for the foreseeable future.”

Paul gave himself a mental shake and forced a smile to his lips. “Yes, of course, Mr Fountain, I quite understand.”

“Unless you want to try your luck for a partnership somewhere else?” James Fountain raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Then, of course, although we don't want to lose you, we should have to let you go.”

Paul shook his head. “No, thank you, Mr Fountain, I'd like to continue working here. Things may improve during the summer.”

“Indeed, they may,” agreed Mr Fountain, with a thin smile, “but I don't think we should count on it. I'm sure no one is expecting an upturn in the market in the short term.”

“Was he hoping I would resign, do you think?” Paul asked Alison when he relayed the interview over the supper table.

“I don't know,” she replied, “but you didn't, that's the main thing.” She reached out and took Paul's hand. “Look at it this way, Paul. Your still earning more than you were with Freddie. You still have a job in one of the biggest firms in the area. We're all right. We don't need you to be a partner, nice as it would have been. We can manage as we always have done. We've done OK so far, haven't we?”

Paul returned the clasp of her hand. “You're right, of course. Let's face it, this morning when I went into work I thought I might be coming home to tell you that I'd been made redundant.”

“Ah, yes, well, that's another thing. You should have told me. If you are worried about anything like that, for God's sake don't keep it to yourself. OK?”

Paul smiled ruefully. “OK, I promise. Another time I'll tell you.”

“Let's hope there won't be another time,” Alison said with feeling. A comfortable silence enveloped them for a few moments and the Alison said, “I saw Mike Callow in the gardens today. He seemed to be fairly low. He says Caroline won't let him have the children to stay. It's sad, isn't it? He was pushing Harry on the swing, and you could see he was really missing his own kids.”

“They're not Harriet's age,” said Paul.

“No, I know,” agreed Alison. “But that doesn't stop him missing them. Can you imagine only seeing Jon and Harriet on alternate weekends?”

Paul shook his head. “Doesn't bear thinking about,” he said.

“Tell you something else, while I was in the gardens with Harriet, I was watching the workmen at number seven. They seem to be doing a lot of work on that house. There was tremendous banging and hammering. They put a huge skip outside. It takes up the whole of their side of the drive.”

“I bet that pleases old Mother Colby!” laughed Paul.

“I didn't see her,” Alison said, “but Shirley Redwood was cleaning her car the other side. She says David has met the new owner. He's called Nick Richmond and is very nice. His daughter is called Madeleine and she's going to live there with some other friends from college. I said to Mike, I hope some of them might want babysitting work.”

“Doubt if they will,” said Paul. “Students go out drinking in the evenings, then come home rowdy and drunk.”

“Paul!” Alison cried in disgust. “You're as bad as Sheila Colby. You've no idea what they'll be like. At least give them a chance.”

As they lay together in bed later on, Alison thought over what Paul had told her about his job. She snuggled closely against him and said softly, “I really wish you'd told me about the problems at work.”

Paul grunted. “Hhmm.”

“No, I mean it. Listen—are you quite happy staying there now the job isn't what you thought it was? I mean if you wanted to tell them to stuff it because they hadn't kept their end of the bargain, you could, you know. We'd manage somehow. I could always get a job.”

Paul reached his arm round her, holding her even more closely against him. “Darling, I'm sorry, I should have told you. I just didn't want to worry you, that was all. I'm quite happy to stay at Johnsons. If I hang on in there, I should be in line for the partnership when the market turns the corner. It will in the end, just later rather than sooner, that's all. We can easily manage without you getting a job. I really don't want you to work while the children are so young.”

“I know, and I agree, one of us should be at home for them, but it doesn't necessarily have to be me, does it?”

She felt Paul's incredulity in every line of his body, and then he relaxed and laughed. “Make me into a house husband, would you?”

Alison laughed too. “Not unless I have to, but we can keep the idea up our sleeves, can't we?”

“Doesn't fit into my sleeve,” Paul said with feeling, and they both laughed.

It'll be all right, Paul thought, still smiling, We'll cope, we did before, and at least I've got Alison. Unconsciously his arm tightened round her now sleeping form. He remembered what she'd said about Mike Callow missing his children, and thought that he must be missing having a woman he loved beside him too. Poor old Mike, he thought, and despite his worries Paul drifted into sleep feeling a comfortable content.

Madeleine Richmond closed the door of number seven, Dartmouth Circle, The Madhouse, and let the silence settle round her. She leaned for a moment against the front door, her eyes closed, listening to thequiet peace and privacy of her first “own home”. The others were not due back for a couple of days and she felt a surge of proprietorial pleasure at being the first to live in the new house, entirely and completely her own person; answerable to no one. All the responsibilities of the house were hers, but her pleasure at being in charge of herself and her life far outweighed any worries she had about those responsibilities. She felt she was on the edge of something new and exciting, that over the horizon, only just out of sight was something amazing, and she only had to stand on tiptoe to get her first glimpse.

“No more cash from me, Maddo,” her father had said. “You get your rents in and you'll be better off than when you were on the allowance I was giving you last year, even after you've paid all your outgoings. Don't forget all the bills are in your name, so it's up to you, girl, to get it all sorted.”

Maddo and a friend from home, who was in need of some extra cash, had spent three weeks painting and decorating the altered house. They hired a skip and filled it with all the rubbish Ned had left in the garden and the garage, so that though the garden was not exactly a garden yet, and Madeleine had plans for that, at least it was no longer the tip it had been, and the garage now actually had room for a car.

She and her mother had combed the second-hand shops for furniture, sturdier pieces than the flat-packed conti-board items offered in the DIY shops, pieces they hoped would stand up to life among students. They had adapted old curtains and made new ones where necessary, and Maddo's pride in her new house was in direct proportion to the effort she'd put into it herself.

Her parents had helped her move in, carried boxes and bags up to the bedroom on the top floor that Madeleine had chosen for her own, and now they were gone.

She opened her eyes and walked down the corridor to the downstairs bedroom, Ben's, a simply furnished as yet uncluttered room, waiting for him to make his mark on it, to make it truly Ben's room. Newly painted like the whole interior of the house, it bore little resemblance to the damp-smelling study belonging to Ned Short. The windows looked out at the wilderness that was still the garden, but they were new and without the overlay of grime that had covered their predecessors. Maddo opened the door to the downstairs cloakroom and then moved on to the walk-in cupboard under the stairs, now occupied by a shower cubicle, a washing machine and a tumble dryer. Maddo smiled at her mother's insistence that the house should be equipped with these last.

“They must have somewhere to wash and dry clothes, Nick,” Clare had said. “With five of them in the house there's no way they can dry everything in the bathroom or over radiators.”

“Perfectly good launderette in Dartmouth Road,” Nick pointed out.

“But quite apart from the inconvenience of having to cart everything to the launderette,” Clare said, “in the long run it's cheaper to pay for the electricity here in the house.”

“Cheaper for them, maybe,” grumbled Nick, but he had acquired a second-hand washer and reconditioned dryer, both in reasonable condition, and had them plumbed in, as Madeleine had known he would once her mother's aid was enlisted.

Closing the door on what her father had nicknamed “ the extravagances” she went upstairs. The kitchen, newly fitted and pristine, with gleaming surfaces, awaited the arrival of its cooks and bottlewashers. A box of groceries stood on the floor ready to be stowed in Maddo's private cupboard and on Maddo's shelf in the fridge. She put the kettle on for a cup of coffee and continued her tour of the house.

Dean's room had been created by chopping off the end of the living room. It, too, stood waiting for its occupant. The sun streamed through the window, a shaft of light with dancing dust motes. Up the second flight of stairs was the refurbished bathroom and the three girls' bedrooms. Standing in her own bedroom doorway, Maddo hugged herself.

“Right,” she announced to the empty room, “cup of coffee and then time to get settled in before Dan comes round.”

Madeleine had been going out with Dan for several months. He was tall, broad and handsome, built like the rugby player he was, with dark hair, dark eyes and a flashing smile. Madeleine loved him dearly and though she knew that most of her friends found him attractive, and he was always eyeing up the talent, she was determined they should stay together. Their relationship was often stormy, but it tended to be Dan who did the storming, usually when he'd had a pint too many, but he seldom stayed away long and Madeleine was always there when he came back.

“Don't know how you put up with him,” Cirelle had often said in disgust, and there were times when Maddo wondered herself, but the thought of him not being there filled her with such imagined loneliness, that she always took him back.

She had been afraid there might be a row when she told him about the house. He was about to start on his last year at the college and was well established in a gloomy flat above an office not far from the cathedral, which he'd shared with two mates since their second year. This didn't mean, however, that he might not jump at the chance to move in to a more modern, rejuvenated house much nearer the college. Luckily for Madeleine, he didn't show any inclination to do so, because one of the stipulations her father had made when agreeing to buy her the house, was that she did not share it with a live-in boyfriend.

“I don't mind it being a mixed household,” Nick had said, “but life could get much too complicated if you start actually living with someone. If the relationship goes wrong, you're in trouble. You must have a place to escape to, your own space round you.”