Page 20 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Clarissa came to collect my mother in all her triumphant glory the following day, marching through the now unlocked back door.

‘Oh no, she absolutely can’t stay here,’ she told us with barely a hello. ‘She’s terribly vulnerable.’

‘I’m not in the least vulnerable,’ my mother protested, sitting on a stool at the island, having coffee. ‘But I do see,’ she added quickly. ‘Age-wise, et cetera. I’m in that category.’

‘Exactly. And a new strain– well. Who knows how lethal that could be.’

‘Well, I bloody hope not, since my son’s got it,’ Ginnie put in furiously, turning from banging the kettle down on the Aga, but we both knew Clarissa was just being her aggravating self and I don’t believe Ginnie was truly worried.

Tom apparently had no symptoms. ‘Let’s hope Ed hasn’t got the lethal strain too, since they mix with the same crowd,’ she countered.

‘Now, girls, I’m sure Clarissa didn’t mean to scare anyone,’ admonished my mother smoothly.

‘I didn’t,’ Clarissa admitted truthfully. My sister did have some redeeming features and honesty was one of them– to the point of bluntness. ‘I’m sure it’s no problem for the young at all.’

She put her hands on her ample hips, her habitual stance; she was dressed, as usual, in old khaki trousers, a baggy grey T-shirt, weird sort of hiking boots and no make-up, clearly ready for the off.

The only time Clarissa ever asked Ginnie or me for advice was on the rare occasion she had to go somewhere smart.

Ginnie and I had been horrified when we’d all been to a cousin’s wedding and Clarissa had appeared in an enormous purple ceremonial robe with sleeves that came down to her knees.

‘What have you come as?’ Luke asked delightedly.

‘Ed brought it back from Kenya– it’s all right, isn’t it? It’s a coat. A tribal chief’s.’

‘Only if you’re a tribal chief in Kenya!’ Ginnie had spluttered.

‘Cultural appropriation,’ Luke had muttered naughtily.

‘Where’s your headdress?’ Lara had asked with interest, eyes innocent.

‘I thought that might be a bit much. He did bring one home, actually.’ Clarissa didn’t understand sarcasm and often missed a joke, having no concept of irony or nuance.

‘I’m going to take you shopping,’ Ginnie told her firmly.

‘I’m not having my bloody colours done again.’ Clarissa reared back in horror.

‘No, just shopping.’

Strangely, Clarissa had acquiesced: the one area of life she knew nothing about, and although I was interested, I did mine mostly online, but Ginnie was an expert. She’d rung me after the trip to London.

‘It was a bit like taking a child,’ she told me.

‘Honestly, Annabel, she was terrified. Luckily the woman at Harvey Nicks got the picture in a jiffy and only brought silk coats or palazzo pants into the changing room– I can’t get her into a dress.

And the colours were fine for her too, sort of beige or grey. She was happy with that. Sludge.’

Today, though, she’d reverted to the usual working ensemble we saw before us.

‘I’m all packed,’ my mother told her. ‘And the dogs are too.’ This meant their baskets and bowls and the collapsible cage were all neatly stacked by the back door. Clarissa eyed the pile beadily.

‘That cage is huge.’

‘It has to be, to accommodate all the baskets,’ Mum said.

‘Can’t some of them sleep in the same basket?’

‘Chippie and Latta do,’ my mother explained crisply, ‘but the others like their own beds.’

‘Which are quite large. Hence the size of the cage.’

I thought Lara was going to fly across the room and hit her, so I interjected quickly.

‘I thought you were going to convert the hen house, for during the day?’

‘I was, but we’ve been very busy with haymaking, plus, we didn’t know she was coming early.’

‘Well, it was your fucking idea,’ Lara’s face was pink.

‘Now, now,’ her grandmother chided gently.

‘Or a kennel?’ I said quickly. ‘Surely you’ve got one with a run.’

‘Yes, but my dogs are in it, obviously.’ Clarissa had two large Rhodesian Ridgebacks. Of course she did. She shrugged. ‘Anyway, we’ll just have to manage. Come on, let’s get going.’ She made towards the back door, leaving the rest of the family fuming.

‘How’s your tractor?’ Lara couldn’t resist.

Clarissa turned, surprised. ‘Oh, going very well, thanks Lara.’ She beamed gratefully at her niece.

Off they went, but not before Lara had hugged her granny hard and flounced off.

‘Ignore her,’ Ginnie told her daughter’s departing back. Lara didn’t reply, but banged the sitting-room door shut.

Back in London, I realized my building work had continued apace. I went upstairs to the very top and marvelled at what had been achieved in my absence.

‘It’s amazing!’ I told André as he proudly showed me around. ‘I had no idea we had such so much space up here!’

‘Ah, well, the dormers help. Give that extra few feet and a feeling of height. But yes, I’m pleased. They don’t always turn out so well, but your house worked.’

I liked that truthfulness. Whatever we all did, there were bound to be some mistakes, and I liked him for not saying every conversion he did was marvellous.

As we stood together, just the two of us, in the space that was to be Polly’s studio, with a little sink for her clay– she’d decided on a small bedroom and tiny shower, so this was all for her work– I decided to give it a go.

What Ted had suggested. A mild flirtation.

What had I got to lose? I took a deep breath.

Went to the French window to gaze at the view of the river beyond.

‘There’s a tribute band playing there on Tuesday night. I thought I might go.’

He came and stood beside me: followed my line of vision. ‘What, in Bishops Park?’

‘Yes, Polly told me. I thought it might be fun.’

‘Is she going too?’

‘Oh no, it isn’t her sort of thing, she’s more into club music. I’ll pop down on my own.’

‘Would you like some company?’

Ah. I turned to look at him. Unlike my sister, he was super fast on nuance. And so was I. ‘Why not, if you’re about?’

He laughed. ‘Well, I’ll certainly be about because I’ll be here all day, and Tuesday is supposed to be glorious, weather-wise. Let’s go when I’ve finished up here. I’ll nip home first and have a quick shower, I only live round the corner.’

I tried to shrug nonchalantly. Failed. ‘OK, you’re on.’ Clever Annabel. Totally unplanned, but now it sounded like his idea. ‘I’ll pack a picnic.’

‘Cool.’

I went downstairs, my heart pounding. Heavens.

Was it really as simple as that? I must tell Ted.

Forget the flicky flicky lark on some app, just casually suggest something pseudo innocent to someone you like and– bingo.

My palms were damp, though, and my hands a bit trembly as I made a coffee.

Was it a date? I mean, surely, yes. And OK, I’d asked him, but Hebe kept telling me that men were shy and that was often the way.

‘Get out there, Annie,’ she’d urge. ‘Just– I don’t know– approach a single parent, one that you know, one of the children’s friends, whatever.

If it doesn’t work you’ll never see them again– so what? ’

Except that we were no longer at the school gates, or even university meeting parents, and of course I would see André again.

For a few weeks, as he finished my loft, and so if the date was a disaster, it would be embarrassing.

On the other hand, if it was a success, it would be terrific to see him every day.

I took my coffee to my computer in the sitting room, trying not to spill it on the carpet due to the hand tremor.

And anyway, how could it be a disaster? Although I wasn’t sure I should have involved a picnic.

That all sounded a bit– you know– sprawled on a rug, somehow.

A bit intimate. Him suggesting a drink afterwards would have been better, and what if we were the only ones?

With a picnic? Really weird. So not only had I asked him on a date, I’d included a horizontal supper.

I gulped as I typed away, manoeuvring Antonia to Bristol, to meet her love interest, Giles, when he finally pitched up.

Oh well, I could laugh it off, I was sure.

If it all went tits up. That wasn’t a great image.

Me, propped on my elbows, supine on the rug.

I’d sit primly. Clasping my knees. No sprawling. I typed away, manically.

I didn’t tell the children what the plan was. I mean for heaven’s sake, of course I didn’t. It was gorgeous, naturally, that they were happy to live with me, but I was definitely entitled to a private life. And I certainly didn’t tell Hebe. I could just imagine her shrieks of glee.

Luke popped in for supper on Sunday, as he usually did and I now realized it was because he’d been down the road, to evensong.

He was eyeing me keenly over the toad in the hole and I wondered, bearing in mind where he’d been, if he could possibly know something.

Not about André, about the other one. Not that there was another one.

There wasn’t even one, as a matter of fact.

But since he’d come from church, I wondered if he knew what had happened this morning. No, of course he couldn’t.

That morning, at the eight a.m. communion service I sometimes went to instead of the ten o’clock if I had a deadline and was very busy, Ralph had asked me, as he’d said goodbye at the door, if I knew there was a church fair on Thursday? Near the Dove in Hammersmith, down by the river.

‘I didn’t,’ I said, surprised. ‘Was it in the email?’

Ralph sent a weekly email with church news and events. I used to delete it immediately but now I read it forensically.

‘No, because it’s not our church, it’s St Bart’s across the park. I wondered if you’d like to go. The vicar’s a mate of mine.’

I looked up into his greeny blue eyes: kind, but sort of nervous too, as Hebe had said. A bit embarrassed. Unusual, for Ralph. I realized in astonishment he was hitting on me.

‘I’d love to,’ I heard myself murmuring.