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Stoutly concealing her surprise, Sheila considered and then told her, ‘Yes, I think I do. I could have a couple of names and addresses for you when you came back, if you like. Are they for you, or…?’
‘Yes. I was looking round the kitchen this morning. Whether I keep on the house or not, it needs some work doing on it. I suppose during Dad’s illness I didn’t have time to notice how dreary it is. I dare say the place hasn’t been decorated since I was ten years old. It’s clean and tidy enough, but…’
Sheila, who had visited the house on many occasions, tactfully said nothing. Privately she had always thought the house cold and unwelcoming, and she was only too pleased to see Charlotte doing something about improving her surroundings. She had brought up her own family on the maxim that a healthy desire to present an attractive appearance to the outside world showed self-respect and pride in one’s own person.
The Volvo was reluctant to start again. Charlotte waited in exasperation for the petrol to stop flooding it before trying the ignition again. On the fourth attempt it started. She must do something about changing it, she told herself as she drove through the busy market-day streets, heading for the flat fen road that led to the small village where Sophy lived. The Volvo was proving irritatingly sluggish to drive, reminding her yet again that it was becoming increasingly unreliable.
As she drove through the flat fen countryside, she reflected that it was easy to tell which of the solitary substantial houses had been bought by newcomers and which had not. Those recently purchased had shiny coats of new paint, ’Victorian’ conservatories, bright new cars in the drives. She was beginning to develop the long-time country livers’ resistance to the influx of new blood, Charlotte thought wryly, and she tried to make herself see the other side of the picture. Men like Adam, for instance, who had brought new jobs to the area; improved attendances at local schools; improved facilities in the town.
Sophy lived in a small terraced cottage in a row that fronted the village street. All of them had long back gardens backing on to open fields, and, although the houses were small, they sold quickly, being snapped up by young couples looking for their first home.
Charlotte parked her car outside and got out.
As she opened the gate, Sophy came to the front door. The moment the twins saw Charlotte they tore past their mother to fling themselves enthusiastically at her.
Sophy looked tired, Charlotte acknowledged, studying the younger woman…too tired for a girl of her age. She had lost weight, and her jeans hung shapelessly on too thin hips. The twins, in contrast to their mother, looked lively and happy, their clothes clean and new.
Sophy adored her children and was a wonderful mother, but the strain of constantly worrying about money was beginning to tell on her, Charlotte noticed, after Sophy had invited her inside and then snapped sharply at her little boy as he started to ask for a biscuit.
Guiltily she flushed, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. ‘I don’t buy biscuits any more,’ she told Charlotte shakily. ‘They’re a luxury I can’t afford, but how can I make these two understand that? They go round to Mrs Meachim’s and she gives them biscuits and orange juice, and then I feel guilty because I can’t do the same thing. I’ve even started to stop them going round so often. I don’t want her to think—’ She broke off helplessly. ‘I’m glad you came to see me, Charlotte. I’ve definitely decided to put the house up for sale.’ Her shoulders slumped defeatedly. ‘The last thing I want to do is to move back in with Mum and Dad, but, no matter how carefully I try to budget, there just isn’t enough money to feed and clothe the three of us and run the house. As it is, I’m having to buy the twins’ clothes second-hand.’ She made a face. ‘I shouldn’t complain really. With all the new money coming into the area, one of the mothers at the playschool has organised an unofficial clothes pool for mums who’ve got children’s clothes that are too small but still have a lot of wear in them. I’ve got these two kitted out with the latest designer kids’ wear for next to nothing, but just occasionally it would be nice for them to have something new.
‘Katy came home from playschool crying the other day because one of the little girls had said she was wearing her dress.’ She made another face. ‘I know I can’t afford to be overly proud…’
Charlotte, who had been trying not to show her pity while Sophy spoke, said quietly, ‘Before you make a final decision about selling this place, I’ve got a proposition to put to you.’
