A Year in the Château Read online

  Her friends, there was the rub. You could talk all you like about the attractions of city life, but the whole point of staying put was having your friends on hand, the people you had loved for years, who were there for you to have fun with at the drop of a hat. Unless . . .

  A fantastic idea had just presented itself.

  She rushed over to join him by the cooker.

  ‘Dom. I have just had the most brilliant brainwave! We don’t have to do this on our own.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Now it was her turn to pace the room.

  ‘Do you remember, years ago, when we were on that day trip to Sussex with Beth and Simon, and we broke into the grounds of that ruined stately home? We came up with a brilliant scheme. We said that when we were old, we should buy a big house and move in together, with all our friends. A kind of retirement party home, the opposite of nuclear coupledom. That’s what we should do!’

  Dominic frowned. ‘Move in with Beth and Simon? I’m not sure . . .’

  Beth and Simon were their official best friends, but she could tell by the look on Dom’s face that didn’t mean he wanted them to live together.

  ‘No point in finally getting rid of your children, only to find yourself saddled with a different, fake form of family,’ he muttered.

  ‘Not just them. We’d get the others in on it, too. Doug and Mary. Leo, of course. And Will, though that young wife of his might have other ideas. I’m sure we could persuade them. A dream of communal living – we’d all have our private quarters, of course, but it would be fantastic!’

  She could see him processing the idea, thinking his way through her list of their dearest friends. To her delight, his face was lighting up as he absorbed the possibilities.

  ‘I see . . . yes, I do see. Forget the sensibly sized village house, we could go properly grand. A wing each! I’m not sure Dougie would be on my dream list of housemates, but I agree we’d have to have Mary. Maybe we could get somewhere with a gatehouse and Doug could park himself there at a safe distance with his scholarly files. Do you know, I think you’re right. It would be fantastic!’

  And that was it. In one evening, they had conjured up a plan for the rest of their lives. Sailing off into the sunset, not just on a cruise or a middle-aged gap year, but a whole new way of living. Like the best-ever holiday without an end. Now they just had to persuade the others.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Simon stared at the screen of his computer and surreptitiously pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He was allowed to vape in the house, but it wasn’t the same; he missed the ritual of flipping open the packet, the flick of the lighter. He glanced down at the pack and met the gaze of an ashen-faced hospital patient, the photo strategically placed above a reminder that smoking causes nine out of ten lung cancers.

  He stuffed the pack back in his pocket and reached for his e-cig. Come to think of it, surely it was nearly time for lunch. Any excuse to get him away from his self-imposed confinement in the study where the only distraction came from watching passers-by in the street outside. A young woman with ripped jeans was pushing a buggy towards the park and a couple of builders wearing hi-vis vests were loitering outside the house opposite. Or maybe they were burglars; he’d heard that was the least conspicuous way to dress if you were thinking of breaking and entering. That would add a little drama to this suburban hell, to quote the Pet Shop Boys. He’d only realised how quiet the days could be since quitting his job and becoming a home bird. The lack of action was staggering.

  He pressed save and left the room to hunt out Beth. He found her in their bed, fully clothed under the covers, laptop balanced on her knees.

  ‘Why are you in bed – are you an invalid or something?’

  She looked at him over her recently acquired half-moon reading glasses.

  ‘No, I’m quite well, thank you. Just staying comfortable.’

  ‘I’m surprised you can concentrate. I find I fall asleep in bed. I was just wondering about lunch.’

  ‘Were you now? Can I remind you that I married you for better and for worse but never for lunch?’

  She was still getting used to having him around in the daytime, he knew. It was a bit like waiting for the last guest to leave the party. You’d enjoyed their company, but enough is enough.

  ‘That’s as may be, but there’s no point in both of us shuffling around the kitchen separately when we could sit down together in a civilised way. And I’ve just reached something of an impasse.’

  ‘Ah, I thought that might be it. Book not going too well?’

  ‘It’s challenging. As I knew it would be, but that’s fine. And better than being the bloody executive vice chairman.’

  He had been CEO of his ad agency for eight years, before being given what they’d called ‘a sideways promotion’. But in truth he’d been knocked off the top post into what he perceived as a non-job. A couple of months of that was enough to prompt his resignation, not entirely to Beth’s delight.

  She pushed the covers aside and got out of bed.

  ‘Come on then, let’s have some poached eggs. Anyway, National Divorce Day was last week so we’ve missed it for another year.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was such a thing.’

  ‘First working Monday after the Christmas holidays. Family pressure, the strain of keeping up festive appearances; it’s the most popular time for people to ring divorce lawyers, apparently.’

  ‘They should just soldier on, don’t you think? Still, what do I know? I’m lucky enough to have a wife who makes me lunch, so I know which side my bread’s buttered. With Marmite, please, lightly toasted, with the eggs.’

  He followed her down the stairs, grateful that he didn’t have to lunch alone.

  ‘One egg or two?’ Beth asked, adding a dash of vinegar to the pan of water. She was wearing a tunic thing that skimmed over her substantial bottom. Her tabard, as he called it, more suitable for archery than loungewear.

  ‘Two, please. I haven’t yet reached the full masochistic depths of self-denial. Bad enough giving up drinking – can’t believe we’ve still got another two weeks of abstain-uary left. I also can’t believe that word – who comes up with these ghastly terms?’

  ‘Don’t be ratty, just because you’re gagging for a pint.’

  ‘Negative. A glass of bubbles, maybe.’

  ‘We have to take the sensible long view: our bodies are temples, blah blah blah.’

  ‘So bleak,’ said Simon.

  Beth cut the root off a radish and handed it to him.

  ‘Here you go, a little calorie-free appetiser.’

  He ate it without interest.

  ‘I really thought, when I stopped working, it would be an exciting new beginning. That great feeling you get when you break up from school and you know you’ve got all that free time stretching ahead and you can do whatever you like.’

  ‘And now you’ve got the rest of your life, never mind six weeks’ annual leave.’

  ‘But instead, everything feels so . . . reduced. My world has shrunk to watching people walking down the street.’

  ‘And having lunch with your wife.’

  ‘Well, yes, that too – an unexpected bonus. I wasn’t counting on that when I threw in the towel.’

  At the time of his resignation, Beth was still working as a TV producer. That was before she got herself into trouble with a social media post in support of a journalist caught up in a gender pay gap case. Her dashed-off tweet about older female presenters getting the boot in favour of younger, better-paid and often male celebs was meant to be a throwaway comment, until a national newspaper picked up on it. And that was when she was called in to see the big bosses.

  ‘And yet here we both are, out on our ear – or should that be ears?’ She presented him with his eggs on a mean square of toast. ‘Eat it slowly, then you’ll feel more full.’

  They were on to coffee when Beth’s phone rang.

  ‘Miaow!’ she said as she answer
ed, smiling at Simon across the table.

  ‘Oh, I can’t guess who that is,’ he said. ‘It really is time you grew up, the pair of you.’

  It was the way Beth and Nicola always greeted each other, a throwback to their starter pets when, as young marrieds, they had both acquired a kitten from the same litter. The kittens had turned into cats and were duly supplanted by children, but it still amused them.

  ‘Can we meet for dinner tonight?’ Beth was repeating. ‘Yes, I think we can, let me just check with him indoors.’

  She looked at Simon enquiringly.

  ‘Spontaneity is my middle name,’ said Simon. ‘Anything to escape my lonely life in thrall to my muse.’

  ‘That’s a yes then,’ said Beth. ‘And yes to that gastro pub, although I don’t think we use that term anymore. But you’ve intrigued me now. What is this project of which you speak? Fair enough, we’ll find out tonight. Bye then, my pretty puss.’

  ‘What’s all that about then?’ Simon asked after she’d hung up.

  ‘No idea. Nicola says they’ve got an exciting proposition to discuss with us.’

  ‘Not salsa dancing, I hope. Or hot yoga.’

  Although he quite fancied the thought of salsa dancing with Nicola; it conjured up the thought of the flouncy skirt she’d worn during their travels across South America one long student summer a lifetime ago, when they were far too cool to do anything as naff as moving their bodies to a choreographed routine. They’d been a couple then, for a few months, before Dom came on the scene and Simon was kicked into touch. Luckily Beth had been around to offer comfort – and the rest was history.

  ‘Maybe they want us to go to a swingers’ club?’ he said. ‘That’s the sort of thing people of our age get up to, isn’t it, to keep the spark alive?’

  ‘Gross! Can you imagine?’ Beth pulled a face. ‘Anyway, I don’t think she was talking about a bit of titillation. Whatever they’re thinking of, she said it was potentially life-changing.’

  ‘Like an injury.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That phrase always makes my blood run cold. An accident resulting in life-changing injuries.’

  ‘You’re cheerful.’

  ‘That’s my other middle name.’

  *

  Simon and Beth arrived first at the pub, allowing them time to study the menu, which had moved over to ‘small plates’ since their last visit.

  ‘It’s an absolute con,’ said Simon. ‘It makes it all sound reasonably priced but by the time you’ve factored in three tiny saucers each, you might as well order one normal-sized portion of honest food.’

  Beth had accused him of becoming mean with money since he had stopped working, but he claimed he was just being careful.

  They were already tucking into the bread and olives when Dom and Nicola sat down beside them. Simon clocked Nicola’s denim-clad thighs with his usual pang of regret.

  ‘Your hair looks fab as usual,’ said Nicola as she embraced her old friend. ‘Why are you always so devastatingly cutting edge?’

  Beth tossed her sharp bob; she knew her hair was her finest asset. Dark and glossy, it always stayed in place. Strangers often accosted her in the street to compliment her on it.

  ‘You old flatterer,’ she said. ‘So, what is this news you want to share?’

  ‘Tell them, Dom,’ said Nicola.

  ‘I’m joining you all, in the ranks of old wasters,’ said Dominic. ‘No, that sounds too negative. I have decided it’s time to move on to the next golden stage of life. I’m handing in my notice.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Simon, with genuine pleasure. Like every status-conscious man, he was always happy to hear of others stepping off the career ladder. It was reassuring when your friends joined you in the murky waters of being a nobody.

  ‘Well done,’ said Beth, ‘you won’t regret it. Simon will share with you the delights of being free to lunch with your wife every day.’

  The women exchanged knowing glances.

  ‘Which brings us directly to the point,’ said Nicola. ‘We don’t want to become a bog-standard retired couple. We want to do something different.’

  ‘Don’t split up, please,’ said Beth. ‘How often have we agreed that it’s much better to stick with the devil you know.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Nicola, with a possessive hand on Dom’s knee.

  ‘We want you to join us in a new way of communal living,’ said Dominic.

  ‘That sounds earnest,’ said Simon. ‘Or maybe it sounds kinky. Do explain.’

  ‘We’ve thought about this really carefully – well, for twenty-four hours – and we know this is a completely fantastic idea,’ she said. ‘We – that is, you two and a few others, though we haven’t mentioned it to them yet. Anyway, we think we should all sell our houses and buy an enormous place in the country where we will live together happily ever after.’

  Simon and Beth looked at her blankly.

  ‘What, set up a commune?’ asked Simon. ‘Like a kibbutz? I thought that was a 1970s thing. Compiling washing-up rotas and taking it in turns to do the weeding. I don’t think so!’

  ‘No, no, not a commune,’ said Nicola. ‘We’re not talking about a free-for-all, only a very select few. This will be like the best-ever house party that goes on for the rest of our lives. Think about it: what do we really enjoy? Being with our friends, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Beth. ‘My very favourite thing is being with my friends.’

  ‘And whenever we’ve been on holiday together, think about how sad we all are at the end, because we miss each other so much when we go back to our normal lives. Well, now we wouldn’t have to.’

  She watched the idea taking root.

  ‘I can see the attraction,’ said Simon. ‘Always someone to take on for a game of backgammon. And watch the match with.’

  ‘We’d need two telly lounges,’ said Beth. ‘Costume dramas vs gritty crime.’

  ‘Try to get beyond the TV room,’ said Dominic impatiently. ‘Think of the library, the dining room, the massive terrace where we would sit out with our nightcaps enjoying stimulating conversation.’

  ‘Who else are you thinking of?’ Simon asked. ‘I mean, you’ve got to choose carefully.’

  ‘You’re already hooked, I can tell,’ said Nicola happily. ‘Dougie and Mary, Leo, Will and Fizz, we thought.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Nobody there to hate. And where will it be, our mansion?’

  ‘There’s the thrill,’ said Dominic. ‘Once we know we’re all in, we can begin the hunt.’

  The dinner of small plates was fruitful. Over goat’s cheese and cannellini beans, they enumerated all the things they wouldn’t miss about London. The crowds, the moped muggers, the whey-faced office slaves on the tube – the people they’d been until recently.

  ‘Trapped between their mortgages and their payslips,’ said Nicola. ‘Look at them all in here, drinking to forget how stressed they are. Whereas we know that all that really matters is family and friends. Love, in other words. And what’s more, we’re lucky enough to be able to do something about it.’

  *

  On the street afterwards, they hugged their goodbyes in the rain. Soon they wouldn’t have to do this, they said, they could be cosily hunkering down together around their shared fireplace, after another convivial dinner.

  Once at a safe distance, Beth and Simon fell into step, avoiding the slushy puddles.

  ‘So, now it’s just us, what do you really think?’ asked Beth.

  ‘I think it’s very exciting,’ said Simon. ‘For a start it would solve our mortgage problem. As you know, I’d hoped to hang around at work until they paid me off, but in the end I just couldn’t stand it – I have my pride! We can sell the house, pay off the debt and have enough left over to plough into the new place.’

  ‘That would be such a weight off my mind, too,’ said Beth.

  ‘And on a less prosaic note, it’s completely thrilling!’

  He jumped
over a puddle with a Fred Astaire twirl.

  ‘A complete change, a fresh new start – just the impetus I need to get properly going on my book.’

  He was imagining his oak desk transposed into a grand study, overlooking a lily-covered pond. They could even get a floating duck house, like that MP had claimed on his expenses. He’d always fancied that; much better than gazing out onto a street lined with cars that were better than his. And then there was one very obvious attraction: he’d be living with Nicola. Maybe in a different wing – they’d talked about having independent quarters – but he would see her every day.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Beth. ‘It’s so tempting with the way the world’s going to just escape and bury ourselves away with like-minded people. We can have our own piece of paradise and sod everyone else.’

  ‘You charmer.’

  ‘I know you feel the same. We’ve always agreed that hell is other people.’

  ‘So, let’s close the door and forget about them.’

  ‘Apart from one person, of course.’

  ‘I was waiting for that.’

  ‘I know she’s officially grown up and everything, but she still needs us.’

  Beth and Simon had always agreed they only wanted one child. They weren’t prepared to see their lives crumble into a morass of family-focused compromise, the way so many did. Although in retrospect, Beth wondered if Eva might have been a little more resilient if she’d had siblings to contend with. She was training to be a physician associate, on a post-graduate course that would propel her into a medical career where she would actually make a difference. (Unlike the less-worthy professions of her parents, was the unspoken comparison.) She lived in a flat they had indulgently bought for her, but called round regularly to share – in painstaking detail – the challenges of her study programme.

  ‘She can visit,’ said Simon. ‘It’s not like we’re moving to Australia. And we can visit her too. When her lodger moves out, we can reserve the spare room in her flat. It is our names on the deeds, after all.’