We are the Glampions!
Daisy Tate
Cold Feet Meets Carry on Camping in this camptastic debut novel, perfect for anyone who ever had to put up their tent in a gale…This is Part Four is a series of four e-serial stories.Is friendship meant to last forever? Charlotte Mayfield hopes so. Especially as she’s throwing some luxury glamping into the mix.After fifteen years of trying to be the perfect wife, maybe Charlotte’s best friends from uni – Freya, Emily and Izzy – can still glimpse the woman she’d once set out to be.Freya is up for it. Could a powwow with her yesteryear besties helps her knock some sense into her useless husband?Emily’s hiding her own crisis from her parents, colleagues and now, her mates. Can a weekend under canvas get her to open up?Izzy’s back from a decade abroad with an unexpected addition, her nine-year-old daughter Flora. She’s also keeping another big secret, one that’s brought her home for good. Will a year of yurts mend two decades of hurts – or are some things, like shower blocks, burnt sausages and no wi-fi, best left in the past…
The Happy Glampers
Part Four
We are the Glampions!
DAISY TATE
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2019 by HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Daisy Tate 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover illustration © Jacqueline Bissett
Emojis © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
Daisy Tate asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © August 2019 ISBN: 9780008312992
Version: 2019-07-18
Table of Contents
Cover (#uec91f0ef-c958-5b67-ba0b-9dc5d78e4a2b)
Title Page (#u55a314b6-afbc-5b94-ba73-29de16021f7e)
Copyright (#u0d919d8b-7256-5adf-b253-2812e41bd4e6)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Acknowledgements
Charlotte’s Lemon Drizzle Cake (#litres_trial_promo)
Haven’t read how it all started? Find out in the other glamptabulous instalments available to buy now! (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter 1 (#u8206736f-8d55-549d-a0ab-69d4b11cc73a)
CHARLOTTE MAYFIELD: Good luck Izzy! We know we promised not to text after you and Emms left this morning but Luna and I wanted you to know we think you’re amazing. Luna also wants to triple check that Emily has downloaded Moana and Point Break for you and to assure you she’s done the ‘Crazy for Swayze’ dance several times. Apparently it was a good luck thing back in Hawaii?
FREYA: Throwing my bushel of luck into the ring, such as it is. A bit of pre-Easter mania at the shop (thank god it’s come early this year). Regan has violin concert at school when you will be ‘going nuclear’. She wanted me to tell you she is dedicating her ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ solo to you. Felix says Dumbledore is happy to hang out with Bonzer if you ever need a break from four-footed friends. Monty sends his love. Apparently the house they’re working on is coming along blue blazes so he might be coming home to see the kids this weekend. And me. Obvs. Big love Izz!
EMMS: Is Regan a violin prodigy? ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ at thirteen!!!!! My parents should’ve given birth to her.
FREYA: My bad. It’s ‘Flight of the Valkyries’. Just as powerful, Izzy! I can perfectly picture you wearing a set of Viking horns in the Chemo Suite.
IZZY: Perfect Valentine’s Day gear. Maybe I’ll score!
CHARLOTTE: Hi Mummy!!!! It’s me. We’re making lemon drizzle! Done the dance seven times so far. Seven more to go! xoxoxo Booboo
CHARLOTTE: Apologies if she wasn’t meant to see that. Just nipped to the pantry to get some fondant. Will be more careful.
IZZY: Luna’s heard it all before. Not to worry.
EMILY: Izz just done blood tests etc., and is at gift shop stocking up on Heat and Grazia (exact same gossip as last month when she had scans, dunno why she bothers). Doctors didn’t like the sound of her never-ending cough/temp. If bloods are bad I’m betting it gets called off.
FREYA: Noooooo!!!!!!!! I thought she’d shaken that off. Hasn’t she bought herself a proper winter coat yet?
EMILY: She was being an idiot and kept going to work. And no to the coat because ‘in her head ‘almost March means spring’. Again. Total moron.
IZZY: Just because I’m in the gift shop doesn’t mean I can’t read this.
FREYA: Sorry, Izz. Hope all goes well. Sending lots of love.
CHARLOTTE: Shall I hold off on telling Luna if it’s cancelled?
EMILY: That child is hard as nails. She can take it. Izzy, however, may not.
IZZY: Ta very much, Emms. You’re a dumbass.
EMILY: No you are.
CHARLOTTE: You’re both wonderful. Either way, we’ll be here waiting for you with bells on unless it’s around 5 as have to nip out and pick up Pops from a friend’s. xx C
‘Your cough sounds revolting.’
‘Love you too, Emms.’
‘Ow! Don’t pull my hair.’
‘Don’t slap me!’
Cough. Cough.
‘They’re not going to be happy with your bloods today.’
Izzy flicked Emily’s arm. ‘Quit being so freaking negative. As the one with cancer I am familiar with how this works.’
Emily flicked her back. ‘It’s not the same this time. You’ve seen the scans. So don’t act stupid.’
‘You’re stupid.’
Flick.
‘No you are.’
Flick.
‘Ladies? Is everything all right here?’
Charlotte and Luna sat back and admired their handiwork. One extra-large, extra-squidgy lemon drizzle cake decorated with a blue wave (fondant), a surfer (Lego) and a pig (Moana Adventure Collection).
‘Do you think she’ll like it?’
Charlotte pulled Luna in for a one-armed squeeze. ‘I think she’ll love it.’
‘What if she can’t eat it?’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll give it a try. It’ll keep for a couple of days if she’s not up to it today. We’ll make her a fresh one if it takes longer than that.’
Charlotte had, of course, prepared for that option. Since the New Year’s revelation that Izzy suspected her breast cancer had returned, Charlotte’s bedside reading had shifted from book club to cancer survivor memoirs. She’d steered away from the books where the women died in the end as she wasn’t quite up to facing that option. She’d also become a bit of a voyeur on the breast cancer patients’ forums as Izzy point-blank refused to enter ‘that sort of community’. Between that, looking after Luna, Poppy, and doing the odd farm-shop consultancy, she’d barely had time to obsess over CheekyLawGirl’s Instagram updates on Baby Mayfield.
Sorry.
Olive.
She only wished the children would stop calling the infant ‘the pit of despair’. It was difficult to keep a straight face.
‘Charlotte?’ Luna moved the pig so that it, too, was riding on the surfboard.
‘Yes, love?’
‘Thanks for letting us move into the house.’
‘Of course, darling. We love having you here, Poppy and me. Jack, too, of course. When he’s home.’
Luna gently patted her on the arm as if the tables had suddenly switched and that the whole reason they’d moved in was for Charlotte’s benefit. She flashed Charlotte a bright smile. ‘I’m going to check Mummy’s vomit bins are ready.’
Charlotte tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat as Luna and her billow of hair ‘Crazy for Swayze’ danced into Oli’s repurposed office. Jack had been furious when they’d cleared it out for Izzy (no stairs, en suite, very practical for a woman going through chemotherapy). She knew it was difficult but, quite frankly, cancer trumped philandering fathers who wanted their almost ex-wives to sell the family home.
As it was, Charlotte was still wrapping her head round the fact that Luna was the seasoned caretaker of the two of them. Luna had been eight when Izzy had gone through her first round. She would’ve been seven, but Izzy had delayed the treatment so that she could send Luna to a surf camp. Wouldn’t go in the end, Izzy told them with palpable pride. Luna had insisted on staying and helping the local hospice workers. Saw me through the worst of it. Helped remind me what I was doing it all for.
Charlotte thought of her own mother’s quick and fatal journey through lung cancer. Into hospital one day with what they thought was pneumonia, and, bar the cigarette breaks, out eight days later in a casket. Swift, brutal, and utterly of her own making. A line of thought that suggested Charlotte had yet to forgive her mother for looking after herself so poorly.
Anyway.
She briskly set about tidying up the kitchen for another round of cakes. She was experimenting with some gluten-free Italian-style Easter cakes to try out at Sittingstone. Lady V had begun loudly expressing her doubts as to whether or not ‘the girl’ would be returning from her maternity. Charlotte was confident she would, but the last person she’d leave in the lurch was Lady Venetia. Particularly with Oliver dropping increasingly persistent hints that his mate would buy the house any time. The new house he’d upgraded to must have cost much more than anticipated. Shame. It looked as if Oli would have to work that little bit harder for a bonus this year.
With things as they were – Izzy’s treatment finally under way, Poppy settling into the local grammar school and Jack back to his fractious why is this all happening to me self – she wasn’t going anywhere. She hadn’t been blind to the spike in film and game downloads on the family Apple account during his ‘Dad weekends’. Or the rather expensive noise-cancelling headsets. All of which, at Hazel the Lawyer’s recommendation, she documented in a little notebook. She was particularly proud of the graph she’d made to monitor Oli’s hint-dropping about the house. It seemed to spike with each of CheekyLawGirl’s mentions of #desperateforananny or #MaternityLeaveForever.
There was, it turned out, a pinch of time in every day for Instagram.
A picture of several women holding up infants and Buck’s Fizzes slid into view. #BabiesWhoBrunch.
As if on cue, a text from Oliver pinged in. Hello, love. Any chance you’d join me for lunch at The Four Feathers next week? Would love a bit of a catch-up. x Oli
The Four Feathers? Oliver only took her there when he’d well and truly stuffed something up. Goodness. He really must want to free up some cash. She was about to answer that she was very busy, but thank you for the kind offer, when the crunch of gravel on the drive drew her attention.
Izzy’s van with Emily at the wheel and a raging Izzy in the passenger seat pulled to a halt.
Oh, dear.
‘Darling! Your mother’s back a bit early. What do you say we put that posy of sweet peas in her room after all?’
Freya Burns-West
15 Canter Lane
Balham, London SWX 14XB
9 April
Dr William Clarke
Headmaster’s Office
Thamesbank Comprehensive School
11–27 Oakbank Road
Barnes
London SW13
Dear Dr Clarke,
Please accept this letter as confirmation that my son, Felix Burns-West, and daughter, Regan Burns-West will not be attending Thamesbank Comprehensive this coming autumn.
We would like to thank you for the excellent level of education they have received during their time with you. If it is possible to pick up their academic records on the last day of term rather than having them posted, I would be most grateful. Apologies for any confusion regarding addresses. Monty and I are still very much married. Business has kept him in the West Country for the past term.
If a set of records could also be forwarded on to Cottleston School (address below) so that Felix’s admission records will be complete when the new term begins, I would be grateful.
Thank you for putting the children at your school first. Felix and Regan have formed some incredible friendships and, of course, we are grateful for the academic foundation upon which the rest of their scholastic journey will depend.
Yours
Freya Burns-West
FELIX’S NEW SCHOOL:
Cottleston School
Cottleston Square
Bristol BS10
AVON
TO: NHS GREYSTONE HOSPITAL TRUST, HR
FROM: Dr Emily Cheung
RE: Osteopath Consultancy Snafu
To Whom It May Concern in this Vast NHS Beast of a Machine Because There Was No Human Name on the Job Offer
Yes please. I would like to accept the Surgical Osteopathy Consultancy with the title of Consultant Osteopath. (Can we blame typos or autocorrect for the position offered in your email: Sultan Osteopath?)
(Apologies for any misinterpretation of the term ‘suck it’ in previous communication. In certain Chinese cultures, it is a very good thing, particularly when in reference to fish heads.)
Special interests include hips, knees, feet, ankles and lumbar spine pain. I also am looking into sciatica but best not to make a thing out of it just yet. And yes. The hours of nine to five (Dolly Parton withstanding) sound most excellent.
Yours
Dr E Cheung
NB: My preference is to remain Dr Cheung on all relevant paperwork. My parents didn’t immigrate halfway round the world to write home about their daughter, Miss Cheung. I think you’ll agree it lacks gravitas.
TO: Devon Surf Co
FROM: Isabella Yeats
RE: Administrative Error
Dear Ashley (and Kai – Aloha Kai, if you’re reading this),
Thank you for the (second) letter and follow-up phone message confirming my appointment as Surf Instructor at your new venture within the National Trust. I know it sounds like a lie, but the dog did genuinely eat your first letter!
I’m afraid I’ve hit a little blip in the health department and am stuck here in Sussex for the next couple of months, so a recce isn’t possible over the bank holiday weekend as I’d thought.
As previously mentioned, my daughter is in school until 8 July. I’m not sure how much they actually learn in those last couple of weeks (LOL), but I do know she is looking forward to participating in her first-ever British school sports day (she is a gifted runner) which is on 7 July. Is there any chance the June start date could be a bit more … elastic?
Oh – and don’t worry about explaining British terminology like flat/apartment and holiday/vacation. I was raised here so am well versed in British colloquialisms as well as Hawaiian.
Yours sincerely,
Izzy Yeats
Surfer
Dear Headmaster Lindley,
Please accept my apologies for writing to you on informal notepaper. I’m afraid I am ‘between’ printers at present. I was terrifically embarrassed upon hearing about my son, Jack Mayfield’s, role in that dreadful prank. More than embarrassed, frankly. I am truly ashamed to have raised such an unkind young man.
Though you are generous in saying that boys will be boys, it is absolutely no excuse for tying another student to a lavatory in a disused outbuilding. It was a cruel, cruel thing to do.
Obviously, we are well beyond the days of corporal punishment, but I agree that working in the dining room throughout half-term for the overseas boarders would be a better option than mucking out the horses in the stables. As you noted, he’s a bit obsessed with horses right now and would more than likely see it as a reward rather than a punishment. If his riding privileges could also be revoked I would be most grateful.
Jack’s father is tricky to reach at this time as he is balancing work with the arrival of his new daughter. I can be reached at all times on my mobile.
Please note, for future communications I will be using my maiden name, Bunce.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Mayfield née Bunce
Freya Burns-West
15 Canter Lane
Balham,
London SW12
2 May
Camden Market
Shop Letting Unit
Camden
London NW1
Dear Barry
I never thought this day would come! As per your instruction, please accept this letter as three months’ notice on my shop, Tee-Boned (why did I ever think that was a good idea?).
If there is any way the committee could allow me a bit of leeway and ‘forgive’ the balance on the final month’s rent (July), I’d be eternally grateful. (Still waiting to make my millions! Ha ha.)
As it is prime market space, perhaps some pop-ups could fill the void if you don’t find a permanent vendor? I hear the hubcap chap is branching out into lightbulb art?!?!
As you know, Monty has taken up his brother’s offer to work full time. As such, the children and I will be moving to Bristol when this school term finishes (end of June, the cheeky blighters!), so if any post could please be forwarded to the address below, I would be grateful.
Thank you for many years of happiness at Camden Markets. It is an extraordinary venue. Perhaps I’ll be applying for a pop-up over the Christmas hols with my new venture: Animal Accents (name still a work in progress! LOL).
Oh! And many thanks for the pistachio/jagger/ayurvedic fudge. Who knew I could feel so Zen after a palm sugar rush?
All the best, yours sincerely, big hugs etc., etc.,
Freya
EMILY: Thanks for coming up to the Dragon Boat thing with me and my parents, Izz. You showed real chutzpah as the Senior Sultan Osteopath would say. My parents were impressed with how well Luna uses chopsticks. GO TO THE EFFING DOCTOR IF YOUR RASH PERSISTS. NOT NORMAL.
IZZY: Have lotion. Will apply.
EMILY: Hey ladies – any chance you could nag Izzy about going to the doctor? Maybe Lady V could bully her into it next time Luna and Bonzer go for Sittingstone playdate? Charlotte: How did interview go? Everyone: LMIRL before Freya heads to Bristol.
IZZY: Why are you convinced I can’t see the messages you send about me? You’re not typing them in invisible ink, doofus.
EMILY: You’re a doofus.
FREYA: You both are. Izzy – go to the doctor. Charlotte, the Surrey farm-shop launch you oversaw sounded epic. Soz couldn’t make it. Packing up fifteen years’ worth of things that spark joy is a bitch!
TO: Oliver Mayfield
FROM: Charlotte Bunce
CC: Hazel Pryce
RE: Lunch at Four Feathers
Dear Oliver,
After discussion with my lawyer, Hazel Pryce, I will meet for lunch on one condition: No talk of the house.
Sincerely,
Charlotte Bunce
17 June
TO: Devon Surf Co
FROM: Isabella Yeats
Aloha Kai!
Thanks so much for talking admin into delaying my start date. I appreciate you can’t offer the same instructor’s fee as before seeing as I’ll be on shore duty, but staying in the geodome will more than make up for it. Result, my friend. MAHOLO TO THE HIGHEST!!! Thanks for pulling strings. I promise to give your clients their money’s worth. Can’t believe I haven’t seen you since that last blow-out on Maui. What was it … seven years ago? Eight? Sounds as though returning to the UK with your woman was a good call. Your set-up looks pukka.
Right. Gotta go see Looney in a school play. They’re doing Fiddler on the Roof and Looney’s playing Tevye!!!
Might need to beg for some work in the autumn as things gone a bit woo-woo at this end.
Aloha, my friend x (you remember it means hello and goodbye, right? Or is that wo-mansplaining?) ;-)
PS – You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a medical clinic or anything nearby. A hospital? Asking for a friend. LOL
TO: Monty
FROM: Wifey
MONTS! WE DID IT!! WE HAVE A BUYER FOR THE HOUSE!!!! BRING ON BRISTOL LIFE!!! Xoxoxooxxooxoxox
Dear Headmaster Lindley,
Please accept my heartfelt apologies for my son’s behaviour.
However painful it is to admit, I agree that expelling Jack is the only course of action.
His father, Oliver Mayfield, will be collecting him at the end of the week, as discussed. Using drugs, even soft ones like marijuana, is entirely unacceptable. I suspect disruption to Jack’s home life hasn’t been helpful in offering him the sense of security any child (teenager) requires. He may have mentioned the sale of the family home, which, of course, I am not offering as an excuse, merely an explanation as to why he may be acting up.
I shall be writing to the other parents as well and accepting full responsibility for my son’s actions. They would very likely not have taken the drugs if he had not supplied them.
Please note, for future communications I will be available on my mobile telephone. I’d appreciate any written communication to be held until I am able to provide you with a new forwarding address. As mentioned, we are in the process of selling the house and have not yet bought a new property.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Bunce
27 June
TO: Devon Surf Co
FROM: Isabella Yeats
Aloha Kai!
Really really sorry, buddy. Things are ()@£%&£)( complicated. ’Fraid I’m going to have to leave you in the lurch. I can send word out on the surf web that there’s a kick-ass job going. Would still like to help out at some juncture. Good news is, I’m moving closer. Bristol! Any possibility of keeping me in mind for the autumn?
Aloha on the other end. x Izz
Chapter 2 (#u8206736f-8d55-549d-a0ab-69d4b11cc73a)
‘Darling, you wouldn’t mind doing us another, would you?’ Lady Venetia held her empty martini glass in front of her face and grinned through it. ‘Just to top me up before I head down to the kennels.’
Charlotte didn’t think Lady V needed another martini but, as their Sunday Sundowners would be drawing to a close …
‘You know, dear …’ Lady V accepted her fresh martini with a demi-bow of the head, as if it were she and not Charlotte who was the recipient of great largesse. ‘I think you’ve ruined me for ever.’
‘What do you mean?’ Charlotte hovered above her usual perch, a rather fetching eggshell blue courting chair, until it was indicated that she’d done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.
‘I know the gehl will work out just fine, but it won’t be the same, will it?’
Charlotte tried to explain that Lucy was every bit as dab a hand at the cakes as she was, but Lady Venetia wasn’t having it.
‘She’s young and not terribly interesting.’ Lady V gave her fingers a bit of a flick as if the matter was settled. Poor Lucy. ‘She doesn’t seem to see things the way you do. It’s little wonder those Bristolians snapped you up for their new venture, precocious talent that you are.’ Lady V laughed, but there was no mistaking the strain it took her to do so.
Charlotte looked down at her lap, still shy of basking in the light of a well-deserved compliment. In all honesty, she was still in shock. And not a little terrified. She’d just signed a two-year contract with one of the country’s most prominent visual merchandizers. They were building seven brand-new motorway service stations, all modelled on the farm-to-fork aesthetic she’d developed at Sittingstone. Boutique rustique, they called her style. Loved it, apparently. Her new boss had been flexible about the start date, but the first shop would be opening in late September. In keeping with the harvest, said the man eating out-of-season raspberries at the morning meeting. Freya would’ve had him for breakfast.
Lady V tapped the side of her glass with an olive to draw Charlotte’s attention back to her. ‘I wanted you to know it’s been a comfort having you keeping an eye on things here. I shall miss our Sunday evening business chats. They save me from my increasingly tedious son.’
Charlotte smiled. Their ‘business chats’ were very rarely about business. Lady Venetia, she had long suspected, was actually just lonely.
Her mentor recrossed her legs and arched a solitary eyebrow. ‘Did you know the boy’s begun a campaign to put wolves on the farm?’ She cackled. ‘Mind you. With any luck it’ll put short shrift to Esmé. She is ridiculous, isn’t she? Side with me, won’t you? Isn’t my son’s wife a dreadful bore?’ She brightened, her face aglow with a fresh idea, then – just as quickly – whatever it was that had cheered her passed. ‘You won’t forget me, will you darling?’
The lump in Charlotte’s throat quadrupled. ‘Of course not. You’re my mentor, my inspiration …’ She debated for a nanosecond over whether to say the next word then threw caution to the wind, ‘You’re my friend. I will never forget you.’
Mollified, Venetia threw her the most heartfelt smile they’d ever shared. ‘Darling, come.’ She patted the sofa. ‘Sit by me.’
Charlotte joined her, surprised at how papery and soft Lady Venetia’s hands were. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Perfectly, it’s just that … saying goodbye to you is a bit like sending my favourite child out into the big wide world.’ She dropped Charlotte’s hand and drained her martini.
Charlotte couldn’t meet her eye. She didn’t know if she’d ever been paid such a high compliment.
Life, after all, had cornered her into choosing this new path.
Hazel the Lawyer had put it quite simply. Charlotte could either be entirely dependent upon Oliver until the children were eighteen (living in the house, bickering about which schools were right for which child, endlessly debating who cared for which child when), or she could take the reins of her own life right now and get on with things.
After a rather painful lunch with Oliver, she’d chosen the latter.
‘How’s your friend receiving the treatment getting on?’ Venetia’s tone suggested Izzy had been receiving weekly facials instead of chemotherapy. ‘And that fabulous child of hers?’
Charlotte didn’t take offence that Lady V never asked after her own children. Everyone had a child they adored, and in Lady V’s case it was most definitely Luna.
‘I think all of the skipping about with schools has been a bit much, but hopefully the move to Bristol for Izzy’s new treatment will be a good thing.’ It was strange to be breezily discussing an experimental treatment that could kill Izzy as easily as it could cure her. Then again, what choice did Izzy have? The first round of chemotherapy had had no impact on her tumour at all. It had taken some doing, but Emily had finally convinced her that moving to Bristol where they were trialling some intensive new treatments was the best course of action.
Lady V cut into her silent musings. ‘Did you know Izzy sold her surfing company to one of those child television stars? You know the one I mean. He played an adorable child prodigy lawyer but grew up to look like a thug and –’ she made a pinging noise – ‘career over.’
Charlotte did know that. She’d sold it to pay her hospital bills in Hawaii.
‘And her little one will be staying at your new place in Bristol?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Izzy says she has some sort of job lined up in Devon come autumn, but it all sounded rather vague. I thought I’d check into getting Luna registered at Poppy’s new school just in case.’
‘She’s always welcome to rattle round Sittingstone with me. Especially if she learns how to make martinis as well as you do.’
Before Charlotte could come up with an appropriate response, Lady V rose from the sofa. ‘Be careful how you tread, darling. Make sure Izzy has some proper plans in place – legal forms and such – in case things don’t pan out for her. Some friends,’ her tone turned ominous, ‘remain a mystery on purpose.’
True, but, everyone had a set of cards they played close to their chest.
Charlotte thought of Rocco. The kiss they’d shared. The warmth that still flared inside her when she thought of the moment when he had held her in his arms. The scant contact they’d had since then. She’d sent a thank you card. He’d sent one back. She’d not come up with a reason to thank him for his thank you card without sounding ridiculous, so it appeared that was that.
He’d be letting the cows out to pasture soon. At least according to Countryfile. She’d taken to watching it on catch-up after her talks with Lady V. It was terribly informative.
‘What is it, darling? You look wistful.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘Don’t be obtuse. I can see with my wise old lady eyes you are lost in a romantic thought.’
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
Lady V gave a victorious laugh, then pulled Charlotte in for a brisk farewell hug and kiss at the door to kennels where they always bade one another adieu. ‘Why don’t you stop torturing yourself and ring him … your farmer.’
Charlotte flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.’ Venetia mimicked Charlotte, ‘Freya’s brother would have had those shelves up in less than an hour. The milk Freya’s brother’s cows produce is superb. And the butter. Did you know he’s been selling kilo upon kilo of butter?’
Charlotte flushed. ‘Well.’
Lady V’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘Well, indeed.’
‘Where are the kids tonight?’
Freya handed Emily a small vase, which she dutifully rolled into a sheet of newspaper and stuffed into a box. The vase certainly didn’t spark any joy in her, but … she lived on a futon in her parents’ basement so it wasn’t as if she had much room to argue.
‘Staying overnight with friends. They’re binge-socializing. Felix has been out three nights on the trot.’ Freya almost sounded proud.
For some reason it made Emily cranky.
She’d thought of Felix as a kindred spirit. Someone who merely tolerated human company. It looked like everyone was changing apart from her.
Other than her weekends in Sussex to see Izzy through her chemo (utterly worthless), Emily’s life had fallen into that same, tedious, endless cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. The nine-to-five consultancy job meant far too much free time. Free time she’d slavishly applied to Netflix, volunteering for surgical shifts at the hospital, and a rather consumptive obsession with the bonsai crab-apple tree her father had given her for Chinese New Year. With any luck it would flower soon.
Freya handed her a screwdriver set. ‘Don’t bother packing this. Monty’ll want it straight away. D’you mind popping it in that box over there?’
Emily dumped the screwdrivers into the box, then dug into a bag of vegetable crisps Freya had unearthed before immediately wishing she hadn’t. It was possible the crisps were potpourri. ‘Do you think Monty’s taking this whole carpenter thing a bit seriously?’
‘What do you mean?’ Freya snapped open another bin bag. Number thirty-nine by Emily’s last count.
‘You know. The whole falling on his sword thing.’ Freya tensed but Emily powered on. ‘Becoming a carpenter to show his love for you.’ She put on her earnest voice. ‘Moving into a church. It’s all a bit Jesus-y. Is he on a twelve-step programme or something?’
‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with twelve steps,’ Freya snapped defensively.
Emily guessed that was a yes, then. She said nothing as Freya ploughed on.
‘There’s a lot more going on than simply falling on a sword.’ She started ticking things off on her fingers. ‘A. He’s not sacrificing himself. He may have started working for his brother as a means of getting through this rough patch, but we made the decision to move as a family.’
‘I thought you said Cameron was a twat.’
‘He is, but …’ Freya glared at her then ticked off another finger. ‘B. Selling the house repays a substantial amount of Cameron’s generous assistance which means we only have to tolerate him lording it over Monty for another year or two rather than eternity. C? Monty’s working on the Hawkesbury development because he likes it. He’s an excellent carpenter. If you remember, he did most of the work on the kitchen.’ Freya flung her arm out and cracked her knuckles on a cupboard door that was sagging on its hinges. She shot Emily a look that dared her to say anything. ‘D, E, and F? They’ve deconsecrated the church, God is a myth created to bolster the patriarchal hierarchy and none of it matters anyway because you know as well as I do that Monty and I are agnostics.’
Emily tapped the side of her nose. ‘Best to keep that quiet when you move into the house of the lord.’
Freya scowled and swept some of her curls back from her forehead. Emily could see at least an inch of grey working its way into Freya’s hairline. It was the first time she’d known Freya not to have kept up with her appearance. Money must be extra tight if she was forgoing her trips to the hairdresser’s.
‘Anyway,’ Freya sniffed. ‘By doing the townhouses, Monty and Cam are preserving a “building at risk”, not a church.’
Oh, honestly.
‘When Prince went by symbol and Kanye wanted to be Ye, they were still Prince and Kanye. It’s a church, Freya. You’re going to be living in an as-yet-to-be-built townhouse in a church. With a massive loan hanging over your head. It’s hardly the philanthropic preservation of an old building. It’s survival. I thought the whole point of the move was to start being honest.’
Freya gave the tiniest of nods, a muscle twitching in her jaw as she flicked her hair back into submission. Again.
‘Like I said, Monty’s working on the townhouses. The bulk of his salary will go towards the situation with his brother. I’ll be building up my business in the artist’s co-operative—’
Emily cut her off. ‘Freya! If this whole thing is the fresh start you claim it is, you may as well start calling things by their actual names. Debts. Loans. Churches. What Monty is doing is virtually indentured servitude. What you’re doing is … I don’t even know what the name of it is. Madness? Insanity? I know you love him, but letting Monty put you all at risk a second time? Bonkers.’
Freya lashed out. ‘I’ve taken over the finances again. I’m dealing with all of the paperwork. I’m finding schools for the children. Giving up my shop. I’m changing everything so that our family can find a way to work to the best of all our abilities. I’m not kicking him out the door just because he cocked up. We both did.’
Emily gave Freya her best ‘I’m saying this because I’m your friend’ face. ‘It seems to me, you’re the only one making sacrifices to fix what Monty’s done.’
Freya lost her cool. ‘I thought you came over here to help, not rip me to shreds. The house is sold! The deal’s been made. I’m trying to keep my fucking family together, all right?’
Emily stuffed the healthy crisps/potpourri into the bin bag. Freya was right. It was her decision to make. Even if it was completely mental. ‘Hey. As long as you’re happy.’
‘I am happy,’ Freya ground out. ‘I have my husband back. The children are looking forward to us all living together again. Dumbledore’s excited.’
‘Who?’
‘Our dog!’ Freya shouted. ‘Dumbledore. You packed his poo bags about twenty minutes ago! Do you listen to anything I say at all?’ And then she burst into tears.
Uh-oh. This was unusual. There was obviously more going on here than Monty being an eejit with the joint account. Emily steeled herself and asked, ‘Want to talk about it?’
Freya sniffed and wiped her face on the sleeve of her T-shirt. A plain green one. ‘No.’ And then, ‘It’s all my fault.’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t not pay the bills. Monty’s a lovely man, but the ball is in his court on this one, lady.’
‘No, seriously. It actually is my fault. Or a lot my fault,’ she acquiesced when Emily tried to interrupt her. In a steadier voice she explained, ‘The business hasn’t been going well for ages. Instead of facing up to it or changing tack I’ve just been barrelling on hoping it will all come good. Monty’s been struggling to pay whatever he could with less and less and I guess, in his own fucked-up way, taking out all those credit cards and ignoring the mountain of debt was his way of making sure I didn’t have to worry about it so I could focus on the business.’ She swiped away a fresh wash of tears. ‘I was going to talk to him about making some changes a while back but then Mum died and …’ she threw up her hands. ‘Life.’
Emily nodded. It made more sense now. She still wasn’t sure miring them in massive debt was something she’d forgive quite so easily, but even with her heart of stone, she could see that the pair of them had been trying to do what they thought best. Poor Freya. And, she supposed, poor Monty. The phrase ‘clouded judgement’ sprang to mind. A mental pea-souper more like. ‘Is Monty still seeing the counsellor?’
Freya shook her head. ‘It took a couple of goes to find one who was a good fit. I’m seeing one too and, of course, we’ve still got a few more sessions with the debt therapist, but …’ Freya made a noise that was hard to read. Did she actually want out but felt duty bound to stand by her man?
‘A lot of people would’ve left him.’
‘I’m not a lot of people.’ Freya knotted the bin bag tightly and marched off towards the hallway.
Emily looked round the large open-plan kitchen/living space she knew Freya loved and tried to see things from her perspective. If she stayed in London she’d be facing a life of endless penury and, most likely, bankruptcy. Being a single mother would be exhausting. Freya’s art embodied joy and whimsy. She wouldn’t feel either of those things if she tried to press on through. She supposed she could always move back to Scotland. Her brother and father would be over the moon if she moved back.
Freya slammed the door shut then stomped back into the room.
Uh-oh. She had her lecture face on. Emily took a swig of lukewarm wine. It too had a tang of potpourri.
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