A Perfect Home (41 page)

‘Knock through into next door, do you mean?'

‘Yes,' said Claire. ‘We could use the new Emily Love tableware and the matching napkins and tablecloths and then we could promote what we have to sell in here.'

‘What sort of café?'

‘Like a teashop really. Cakes and muffins, tarts, chocolate brownies, I'm sure you can imagine the sort of thing.'

Sally groaned. ‘Too well!'

‘Plus a simple lunchtime menu, home-made from seasonal local produce.'

‘Claire, are you trying to torture me?' Sally wailed. ‘I'll never be able to concentrate on my job, let alone stick to my diet.' Claire ignored her; she knew Sally had developed a will of steel when it came to maintaining her hard-won slender figure.

‘We could find a really good bakery to supply it. I was even thinking about our own range of fairy cakes with pretty Emily Love-inspired designs in icing on the top.'

‘Coordinating cupcakes – now that is a fabulous idea.' Sally beamed at her. ‘Cushions and cakes – everything a woman could possibly want all in one place! My tutors in college would have been so impressed with you, Claire.'

‘But I'd need someone to run the cafe. We would never have enough time.'

Sally laughed. ‘You definitely couldn't trust me. I might fall off the wagon and eat more than I'd sell.'

‘What about Gareth?' asked Claire. ‘He's so fantastic in the kitchen now and he's always saying he'd like to leave his IT job to work freelance as a web designer.'

Sally sat up straighter on her stool. ‘It's sounding interesting but I can't see how the two things tie together.'

‘If he could manage the café through the mornings and at lunchtime – make the quiches, soup, a few nice salads, maybe a selection of paninis – we could get a couple of waitresses to work with him and take over in the afternoon so that he could develop his web-designing business at home.'

‘As long as the waitresses are elderly and toothless, I think it could be a very good idea. I wouldn't want Gareth working with any svelte young things in pinnies,' Sally warned. ‘I still have to keep an eye on him, you know.'

‘Don't be silly,' Claire laughed. ‘Gareth only has eyes for you and no wonder – you look a million dollars in those tight jeans. Gareth wouldn't be interested in waitresses – young or old.'

Sally looked delighted at the compliment and at the idea of working with Gareth. ‘What a team we could be!' she said. ‘Like the Three Musketeers. One for all and all for Emily Love.'

Claire laughed, ‘Shouldn't that be “cushions for all”?'

‘Talking of slogans, what do you want to call the café bit? It ought to have its own separate name.'

‘I have been thinking about a name,' said Claire.

‘Claire's Cupcakes?'

‘Nice,' she said, ‘but I think I've already found the one I like.'

‘I know, I know.' Sally bounced excitedly on her seat. ‘What about “The Flighty Tart”? Your mother-in-law would love that.' Claire had told her what William's mother had called her on the last occasion they had ever spoken. The two women burst out laughing. Claire laughed so much she spilt her tea on the credit card machine.

‘That name is appealing,' said Claire, popping the plastic cover off the machine and mopping at its internal mass of wires and chip pads, ‘but Emily has come up with a name for us. It's quite simple but it seems to say it all: “Emily Loves Cakes”.'

‘That sounds great,' said Sally. ‘As the wife of the potential café manager I'd like to endorse that name and propose a toast.' Sally raised her mug. ‘To Emily Loves Cakes.'

The two women clinked their Emily Love mugs together with a cheer that made Napoleon jump.

Chapter Thirty-seven

‘Teatime is always special in Claire's house.'

The café had been an instant success. Claire's regular customers loved the excuse to have a cup of tea and a cake in lovely surroundings and those in search of refreshments alone were often lured into the shop to be tempted by the gorgeous stock after they had enjoyed their coffee and cakes.

When Claire had taken over the lease, the café had been decorated with hacienda-style swirls of shiny yellow plaster and heavily varnished orange pine panelling. Claire ordered builders to hack off the lumpy plaster and, over one weekend, with the help of Sally, she painted the walls a soft cream and covered the varnished wood with palest duck-egg blue. She furnished it with a mixture of comfortable sofas and painted chairs grouped around tables covered with spotty tablecloths. The effect was fresh and pretty, the perfect backdrop for her cushions, tea cosies, and embroidered napkins.

Gareth had jumped at the chance of leaving his job and being able to cook every day. Two waitresses, vetted by Sally – not too young, too pretty, or too thin – wore brightly coloured Emily Love aprons over black tops and trousers as they served the pots of tea or freshly brewed coffee. Large glass domes on a wooden counter covered slices of moist sponge, rich fruit cake, lemon drizzle squares, and chocolate brownies. But most popular of all were the little cupcakes iced with tiny pink hearts and pretty birds and flowers in the distinctive Emily Love style.

Gareth kept lunch simple: home-made soup or fresh rolls with assorted fillings, which were advertised on a large chalkboard on the wall. His one stipulation on accepting the job was that he wouldn't make quiche.

‘Real men and all that,' he'd said. ‘I don't care if you call it a tart or a flan or a galette – I'll know it's a quiche and I just won't do it.'

It had been Gareth's idea to clear the overgrown garden at the back to make it into an outdoor eating area for warmer weather. After he and a few friends from the pub had hacked back the nettles and brambles, Claire employed a builder to pave the area with reclaimed flagstones and make raised flowerbeds around the edge. She bought up a collection of pretty wrought iron chairs and tables from a café in France that was closing down and hung old tin advertising signs and antique garden implements around the stone walls. Window boxes lined the windowsills and hanging baskets cascaded down either side of the doorway.

‘Wow,' Sally said, as she and Claire looked around them at the finished effect. ‘I know where I'll be spending my lunchtimes from now on.'

Claire smiled. ‘It does look lovely. Well done Gareth for coming up with the idea!'

‘Well done you.' Sally put her arm across Claire's shoulder. ‘You've come a long way from making bits of bunting in your spare room.'

‘I can hardly remember that time,' said Claire. ‘It seems like someone else's life. I feel like a different person now.'

The warm bank-holiday sun shone down on Claire as she planted a selection of herbs in the new café garden. The children were all at birthday parties and Claire was enjoying a few free hours to get jobs done at work. She hummed an Aretha Franklin tune to herself as she dug down into the soft moist soil.

‘Claire.'

Startled at the unexpected voice, she turned around to find William standing behind her.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump.' He wore a pink shirt, something he would never have worn in the past but it suited him, complementing the deep suntan he'd acquired on a recent holiday abroad. ‘I just wanted to have a word without the children being about.' The only time Claire ever saw William was when he picked up the children to take them for weekends with him at the house.

Claire stood up, shaking the dirt from her gardening gloves before taking them off.

‘Sit down then.' She pulled out a chair from one of the tables, offered it to him, and sat down opposite, placing the gloves on the table in between them.

William looked around him at the little walled garden. ‘You've made this really lovely.'

Surprised by the unexpected compliment, Claire smiled at her ex-husband. ‘You're looking well,' she said.

‘I am well.' He smiled back at her. ‘I suppose that's what I want to talk to you about. I wanted you to hear this from me, not from the children, or from,' he hesitated and looked down at his hands, clenched together, on the table in front of him, ‘or from my mother.'

‘You've met someone,' Claire said, surely the only reason her ex-mother-in-law would ever get in touch with her would be to gloat.

‘Yes,' said William still looking at his hands.

‘That's great,' said Claire smiling. She felt genuinely pleased for him. ‘I knew you wouldn't have gone on a Mediterranean holiday alone. Who is she?'

‘Vanessa.'

‘Vanessa,' Claire repeated the name slowly, suddenly feeling her congeniality sinking. ‘Your old Vanessa or have you found a new one?'

William looked irritated. ‘Please don't be flippant, Claire. I'm seeing Vanessa, my fiancée from before …' he paused.

‘From before me,' prompted Claire. ‘Yes.' His face turned slightly pink, Claire noticed that it clashed with his shirt. ‘She was very good to me after the …' again a pause, Claire resisted the urge to prompt him this time. ‘After everything that happened,' William finally said.

A hundred questions flew around Claire's head but most seemed too futile to ask.

‘My mother told her I was in hospital and she came to visit me a few times.' Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘Nothing happened, Claire. She was just a good friend to me until you and I divorced. Since then she's helped me get myself together, to really sort myself out, and we've realised we still have feelings for each other.'

‘I see,' said Claire.

‘I've come to tell you that she's moving in with me. Moving in to the house.'

They were silent for a while as Claire tried to work out why this news had made her feel so unsettled.

‘I'm hoping we'll get married next summer,' continued William. ‘It's not as if you and I were ever going to get back together or anything like that,' his voice trailed away.

‘I'm sure your mother is delighted.' Claire picked up a gardening glove and began to fiddle with its fingers, picking the crusty flakes of earth from the hardened suede. ‘Isn't this what she always wanted, Vanessa as her daughter-in-law, Vanessa living in that house instead of me?'

‘I don't care what my mother thinks. It's about what I want and what Vanessa wants. She makes me very happy and she loves the house – I'm just pleased we found each other again.'

‘How romantic.'

‘Are you being sarcastic?'

Claire smiled. ‘No, I'm not. I'm glad you're happy and I wish you all the best for your future.' And suddenly she realised that she meant it.

He returned the smile with a look of relief, and shrugged his shoulders to indicate there was nothing more to say.

‘Thank you for telling me,' said Claire.

William stood up. ‘I must go. Vanessa and I are seeing an architect this afternoon about that extension I want to do above the kitchen.'

‘Don't get too obsessive this time,' Claire said, standing up as well.

‘What do you mean?'

‘All I'm saying is that a house is only bricks and mortar. It's people that really make it a home.'

She reached up and gently kissed his cheek. He looked surprised and confused. As he walked out of the garden, Claire wondered if he would ever understand.

Chapter Thirty-eight

‘The sun-drenched rooms provides the perfect setting for collections of treasured finds and vintage ephemera.'

‘Do you really not mind?' Sally asked, arranging a new display of cushions on a little painted dresser.

Claire leant against the counter, opening the morning's post.

‘No, I don't. I'm pleased for William. The children met Vanessa at the weekend and they said she's nice. Ben loved her because she let him have two ice creams at the park but he says her bottom's not as big as mine – I'm not sure if he thought that was good or bad! Emily made things better by telling me that Vanessa's hair is grey at the roots and that she thinks she's got a face like a Shetland pony.'

‘Good for Emily,' laughed Sally. ‘I wish I had a daughter to be sensitive to my emotional needs. Now both the boys are at secondary school I think they've forgotten I even exist.'

‘Oliver is just the same; I'm just the person who keeps the fridge stocked, as far as he's concerned.'

‘But what about you?' Sally stopped midway through slotting a daisy cushion in beside a row of patchwork heart ones. ‘When are you going to find yourself a man and start having a bit of fun?'

‘I am having fun,' she said, a little annoyed. She enjoyed the shop and the café; she loved the flat, being with the children, the dog, and Macavity. ‘I don't need a man to make my life complete.'

Sally raised her eyebrows and turned back to the cushions. After a little while she said, ‘I always hoped you'd get back together with William.'

Claire laughed. ‘That was never very likely. I know you always thought that William was Mr Wonderful but looking back I realise how unhappy I had become. I felt like a little girl playing in the perfect doll's house, but I never seemed to get the rules of the game right. He thought he'd done it all for me, but in the end he'd boxed me in so much that I'd completely lost who I'd once been.'

Sally took all the cushions down and started rearranging them in a different order.

‘Did you ever hear what happened to that photographer man?' she asked.

‘No.' Claire ripped open an envelope and after staring at a brightly coloured piece of junk mail, scrunched it up and threw it in the bin.

‘Don't you ever wonder where he is?'

‘No,' said Claire again.

‘But don't you ever think …'

‘No, I don't.' Claire started tidying up around her. She picked up a pile of leaflets about their summer sale and banged them down hard on the counter. ‘I don't know what happened to him. I don't know where he is. I don't think about him and, to be quite honest, I don't care.'