‘I know! They both exude joy! It’s bliss.’
‘This food is bliss,’ said Xander, awkward but making an effort.
‘You are so welcome, darling!’ said Sheila.
‘But we must work out how we’re going to arrange things. We must pay you rent and contribute to housekeeping, cook meals sometimes.’
‘But I love cooking for people,’ said Sheila, in case Hattie and Xander had missed this about her. ‘Appreciative people. Malcolm doesn’t really like my cooking. He only likes school food, not spice and nothing fancy in the vegetable line. Which means he eats peas and carrots and sometimes green beans.’
‘Oh.’
‘And as we have lots of veg in the garden it seems a shame. I’ll have some bread. It’s just possible I may have had too much to drink already.’
‘We could have some water. Xan? Could you get us some?’
Xander got up good-naturedly. ‘There are about three different kinds of sparkling water in the fridge.’
‘Anything will be fine,’ said Sheila. ‘I’ve got over-excited having cheery company.’
‘And we’re very happy too. But you must let me contribute financially.’
Sheila remained very resistant to the thought that Hattie might pay rent and so, after much haggling,it was agreed Hattie would help Sheila in the garden and Xander would take over the lawn mowing. It wasn’t proper remuneration, Hattie knew, but it was the best deal she could get and privately she was grateful not to be spending any of her precious deposit money.
The days leading up to the wedding went quickly. Hattie had a lot of work on and she tried to fit in as much gardening for Sheila as she could.
Sheila seemed to be very busy with her daughter’s upcoming ceremony although actually Fiona and Nick had it all worked out. Sheila was insistent that the village hall, which had only just become a wedding venue and where they were having the reception (or ‘bun fight’, as Sheila called it), should be decorated with flowers from her garden. Although her garden was full of flowers, she felt there wouldn’t be enough sweet peas. Hattie was happy to dig holes and put up wigwams for support although she and Sheila accepted they were pushing it a bit to expect many of them to be out in time. Hattie found getting her hands in the soil soothing when her own house hunting was going badly. There was simply nothing in her budget that made her heart sing. She was as bad as her clients.
Hattie went past Mary’s house once. The ‘For Sale’ sign now had ‘Sold Subject to Contract’ on it. She could probably have used her contacts to find out who was buying it but she didn’t want to. It was all too painful. Somehow her not being able to buy the house had become linked with things going wrong with Luke and the thought that she had let so much slip through her fingers was too painful to dwell on.
The next day she went down to see Mary, who was very pleased to see her.
‘I’m really quite content being here,’ she said when Hattie asked. ‘I didn’t realise the chef who was cooking was a substitute and the food has improved a lot. And my first impressions of the staff were right: they are all very kind. I’ve also found a wonderful woman who is a botanist. We have very interesting conversations. But it is far away from you and all my friends. The more elderly among them find it hard to visit me.’
‘Is Clive looking into moving you somewhere nearer?’ Hattie asked.
‘Like the care home I had picked out for myself, you mean? He says he is. But apparently my house has to be sold before that can happen.’
‘He should have sold it to me, then,’ said Hattie.
Mary nodded. ‘He’s a bit too clever for his clogs sometimes, that young man. Apparently he’s negotiating to sell it to a developer.’
Hattie sighed. ‘Well, it’ll get a good price if they can get planning permission. I doubt that they could, frankly.’
‘Couldn’t you find out? A woman in your position?’
Hattie smiled ruefully. ‘I could possibly find out how likely they are to get planning, but will it change anything?’
Mary put her hand on Hattie’s.
‘And we want the very best price for the house, don’t we?’ Hattie went on. ‘If I can’t have it, you should get millions!’
Mary laughed. ‘And there’s no good crying over spilt milk, not at this stage. Now tell me, are you enjoying living with Sheila?’
‘I am. We all rub along together pretty well. Even though Malcolm came back from his golf trip unexpectedly early, he has learnt to tolerate me. He and Xander have quite long conversations about motor racing – of at least three sentences.’
Mary laughed obligingly.
‘And one night when Sheila was out, I made him scrambled eggs, and he loved the way I did them.’
