King Deceit

We Believe What We Want To Believe
1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62309-274-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

It is Spring in West London where Charley is in the throes of a mid-life divorce. Her daughter is at university and blames her mother for the divorce. Her widowed mother has just moved into a retirement home and is not happy. Her about-to-be ex-husband is still an unsettling influence. Her best friend is being supportive, but their relationship has changed. Then she meets Paul. As the Summer progresses Charley becomes aware that we believe what we want to believe.

Autoren/Hrsg.

King, Sandy

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE

Charley decided to ignore the phone ringing. She thought it was probably for Prue anyway so she continued rummaging impatiently in the bottom of her bedroom cupboard looking for her green and pink sandals. It stopped ringing, but then Prue called out, ‘Mum! Phone for you.’ Charley cursed and ran down the stairs, clipping on long silver earrings and wriggling into her pink linen jacket. Prue was standing in the hall holding out the phone and peering at herself in the large gilt mirror. She was in her usual white T-shirt, jeans and trainers and Charley wondered if she dared ask her to change into something smarter.

Charley took the phone, whispering, ‘Who is it?’

‘Grandmère, in France.’

‘Who?’

‘Dad’s mum, your about-to-be-ex-mother-in-law.’

Charley winced. ‘Oh God, please tell her I’m out.’

‘Can’t. Said you’re in.’

Charley pulled a face and took the telephone. ‘Suzanne, bonjour,’ she said, trying to fall in with Susan’s way of speaking Franglais. She had been so relieved when Richard’s parents, Susan and Peter, moved to south-west France and so amused when they re-invented themselves as Suzanne and Pierre.

‘I thought you might be at that funny on and off office job you do,’ Suzanne said with no preamble.

‘No, not today.’ Charley took a deep breath. ‘I’m a legal secretary and I do three days a week, but we are just dashing off to visit my mother, in the care home.’

‘Well, I’ve met that solicitor you work for and I thought he was very odd. But anyway, I’m phoning about Pierre’s seventieth birthday. We’re having a soirée and you’re all expected for the weekend. It’s obligatoire.’

‘What, all of us?’ Charley’s voice rose in panic.

‘Of course all of you. It’s an important family occasion. Une grande anniversaire. So there’s Prue and that boy, whose name I never remember, she is still seeing him, I suppose, and, of course, my darling Dickie and that frightful Carol person. And is there anyone you want to bring?’

‘No… er… no one, of course not.’

‘Well, I don’t know why you say of course not. It’s time you did have someone, you know, you’re not getting any younger and it’s not good for women to be on their own. Older women need lots of love and attention or it all goes to pot. Pierre and I were just saying the other evening, it would be much better for you if you had a nice man to bring. Plus agréable, don’t you think? Anyway, I’ll be in touch nearer the time with a list of things I want you to bring, just a few bits and pieces from Fortnum’s, that sort of thing. We’ve got about eight weeks so there’s no need to panic. Not that I do, of course. C for calm and S for smile, I always say. At least the weather will be hot by then so we’ll be mainly in the garden and I’ll get the pool cleaned. Don’t forget to bring a glamorous bikini, you’ve still got quite a good figure. I’ll see if I can rustle up a man for you at this end, but they’re all a bit past it, I find. Sad really. Anyway, darling, must press on. A bientôt.’ The phone went dead and Charley realised her knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly.

Prue was still examining her complexion in the mirror. ‘So what was that all about?’

‘A party. It’s your grandfather’s seventieth birthday in August so they’re having a party and she want us all to go. In fact, she insists that we all go.’

‘What? You and Dad and Carol and me and Luke?’

‘Apparently.’ Charley took the car keys out of the drawer in the hall table and opened the front door. ‘She’s got a bloody nerve. I can’t believe she expects me to go to France for a weekend when your father’s going to be there with Carol. It’s completely out of order. How dare she!’ Charley hustled Prue out of the front door and slammed it hard.

‘I think it’s cool,’ Prue said smiling. ‘Luke’s never been to France.’

‘Oh well, that’s alright then.’

Prue ignored her mother’s sarcasm and, still smiling, got into the car, a yellow convertible VW Beetle, which she coveted.

The traffic across West London was heavy for the time of day and Charley was not feeling any better when she turned into the drive of The Limes Residential Care Home in Richmond and braked hard to avoid an abandoned wheelchair. ‘Why are these places always called The Firs or The Cedars or The Beeches? What have trees got to do with it?’

Prue slid further down the passenger seat beside her and continued texting. ‘Dunno.’

Charley switched off the engine and turned to her. ‘Prue, we’re here. Please make an effort with Gran. You know how much she enjoys seeing you.’

‘Well, if she lived with us she’d see a lot more of me, wouldn’t she?’ Prue looked at the large white double-gabled house with its annexe and extensions and wondered how many old dears lived there. Beyond the ambulance bay, half hidden by a thick yew hedge, the drive dwindled to a gravel path which led round the side of the house to a well-kept garden with a croquet lawn and a deep terrace where the wheelchairs were lined up on a warmer day. Prue imagined groups of old folk having afternoon tea in the shade of the huge cedar tree. ‘And this place must cost a bomb.’

‘Well that’s not your problem, is it?’ said Charley, striding around the house ahead of her. Prue followed her mother, still looking at her phone.

It was the lull in the daily rhythm of meals between lunch and tea and still too early in the summer to sit outside. They found Gran in the conservatory, sitting very upright in a wing chair, a book and her blue plastic-rimmed glasses in her lap. She was asleep. A black and white cat lay stretched out in the sun under the window, overseen by a china cat of indeterminate breed on the window sill. The real cat sat up, yawned and, lifting a back leg over its head, started to lick its bottom.

‘Cats are so disgusting,’ Prue said, and Gran woke up.

Charley leaned over and kissed her mother on the forehead. ‘Hello, Mum, look who I’ve brought to see you. It’s Prue.’

‘I can see that,’ said Gran, smiling at Prue. ‘Where’s that nice young man of yours? Is he coming?’

Charley stiffened and looked at Prue. ‘I didn’t know you’d brought Luke here.’

‘There’s lots of things you don’t know, Mum,’ Prue said, and winked at her grandmother.

Gran chuckled. ‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ she said. ‘You look like you don’t know if you’re coming or going.’

Charley sat down and sent Prue to find another chair. ‘You’re looking well, Mum,’ she said. ‘Everything alright?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ she said rather stiffly.

‘That’s good.’

Prue came back with a footstool and perched on it close to Gran. ‘Luke said to say Hi.’

‘That’s nice of him. Has he painted your portrait yet? I asked him to do one for me, with him being an art student. Or does he only do that modern art, all lines and blobs, what’s it called again?’

‘Abstract?’

‘That’s right, abstract. Can’t make head nor tail of it myself, but I expect you can, dear.’ She stretched out a wrinkly hand and patted Prue’s knee. ‘I shouldn’t do that now, should I? You’re not a little girl any more.’

‘I don’t mind.’

Charley felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and glanced at it. ‘Damn. It’s the solicitor. ‘Hello, just a minute. I’m really sorry I’ve got to take this. Hold on, hello…’ She grabbed her bag and headed to the garden door. She walked to the end of the terrace and found a bench to sit on away from everyone. ‘Sorry, about that, I’m visiting my mother, in the care home. Is there a problem?’

As the solicitor rambled on about the divorce proceedings, household maintenance costs, council tax, maintenance for Prue, university grants and interim payments and the pros and cons of various arrangements, Charley’s mind wandered. She watched an elderly man in blazer and panama hat making very slow progress along the path from the vegetable garden. He leant on his walking frame and studied her. She looked away. It was all very well for Prue wanting Gran to live with them, old age was too far away for her to worry about, but for Charley suddenly finding herself living alone had seemed to bring the next stage in life so much closer. She started pacing up and down the terrace and Prue watched her.

Gran beckoned Prue to move closer. ‘Now she’s gone I want to ask you something. Do you think I should get my hair dyed?’ Her hand fluttered nervously around her straight white hair. ‘The hairdresser’s coming on Friday and I thought I might do something different. What do you think?’

‘Yeah, if that’s what you want, why not? Go for it.’

Her grandmother grinned at her. ‘I thought you’d say that.’

‘What does Mum think?’

‘No point asking her, she’d say I’m being silly at my age.’

Prue laughed. ‘So what if you are? It’s your hair.’

‘And I thought I might buy some new clothes. Will you take me shopping, dear, somewhere young? I’m sick of these old-lady clothes.’ She plucked at her tartan pleated skirt...