The Great Allotment Proposal. Jenny Oliver
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need a key to unlock the door, just a code punched into a panel that had been chipped into the Georgian stone.
‘Bloody hell.’ Annie’s boyfriend, Matt, stood in the centre of the hallway and looked all the way around him. ‘What have they done to this place?’
Gone was the sweeping wooden staircase that Emily had slid down in a bikini one summer to get Jack’s attention as he was talking to Wilf, in its place was a glass-panelled effort with silver handrails and two giant silver statue newel posts. Gone were the flagstones and the huge antique rugs and the marble fireplace next to which the giant Christmas tree had stood as the fire crackled. Now the hallway was carpeted in lime shag-pile and the walls and ceiling were painted black. They’d ripped out the cornicing and spray-painted silver skulls on the walls.
The front door opened and Matt’s teenage son, River, sloped in with their pug dog, Buster, and hovered behind Emily and Annie.
‘What happened to you?’ Matt asked, glancing round Annie to see him.
‘Nothing, I was on the phone,’ River mumbled. ‘Can I go to the loo?’
‘Yes,’ Emily said, mimicking his grumpy teenage voice, but he didn’t find it funny, staring back at her blankly. Pretending to be chastised, she waved her hand in the direction of the bathroom and he slouched off, the dog trotting behind him, the spotlights along the corridor changing colour from red to blue to green as he went.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Emily asked after he’d gone.
‘Girl trouble,’ Annie said. ‘He won’t talk about it.’
‘Ah, poor River.’ Emily did a sympathetic laugh.
‘Poor us, more like!’ Matt rolled his eyes as they walked through into the kitchen. ‘He’s a nightmare to live with.’
‘Don’t!’ Emily bashed him in the chest. ‘Young love is really hard.’
Matt just shook his head as if he’d had enough of it all and then whistled when he saw the kitchen. ‘Wow!’ he said, and went over to prod one of the huge leopard-print high stools bolted to the ground around a white island pod.
Emily put her hands over her eyes. ‘I know. It’s hideous,’ she said, remembering the open wooden shelves covered in Bernard’s paraphernalia from various trips abroad, the white pillar-box tiles, the Aga that they’d taken turns to see how long they could sit on as teenagers, the big wooden table covered with Bernard’s make-up equipment – tool-box style boxes filled with tubes of foundation, plastic pots of lipstick and glosses, tubes of mascara and leather pouches for brushes that were stained and marked from use. She remembered the first time he’d done her make up – the flick of the eyeliner, ‘Follow the line of the bottom lash and fill in the curl from the top’, the Russian Red on her lips, the tiny splodge of colour on the apple of her cheeks, ‘You could be in the pictures, my dear.’
She remembered when she started shadowing him on set. How he refused to admit that he needed any help, that it was starting to get a little bit much for him, but when the director of a small-time soap opera spotted Emily and asked her to audition for a role, Bernard was the first to jump in and say she was a make-up artist not an actress. It was only as she stared at this shiny, new kitchen, lamenting the loss of the old, that she realised he hadn’t perhaps needed her help as much as she had thought, but rather, perhaps he’d known how susceptible she would be to the film industry. The camera took quite a shine to the vivacious young blonde Emily and, of course, if it hadn’t nothing would have turned out the way it did.
‘They can’t have been allowed to do this?’ Annie said, pointing to where the original Georgian windows had been replaced by modern folding glass doors that opened out onto the garden.
Emily shook her head, ‘No I don’t think they were, but who’s going to enforce it? It’s overlooked by no one, they could do what they like. Wait till you see the bedrooms.’
River stalked back in, drying his hands on his jeans, ‘There are speakers in the ceiling of the toilet.’
‘There are speakers in the ceiling of every room,’ Emily said. ‘And the fireplace is now a video screen of a fire that you control on another wall panel. It’s ridiculous.’ She sashayed over to stand by River, who visibly blushed at the nearness of her and bent down to pick up Buster for protection. ‘I hear you’re having girl trouble,’ she said, scratching the dog’s head.
‘Emily—’ Annie cut in, but Emily waved her away.
River’s eyes had gone wide, like he couldn’t handle the confrontation. Buster yelped to get down.
‘Don’t look so terrified, darling,’ Emily said, taking the dog from him and plopping him back on the floor. ‘I’m just going to say, if it feels worth it don’t bloody blow it. Yes? Buy her something that she’ll like, apologise and tell her why you did whatever it is you did.’
Matt was standing by the leopard-print stool, Buster at his feet, one hand rubbing his forehead, clearly thinking Emily was making a mistake.
But to all their surprise, River said, ‘She won’t listen.’
‘Of course she won’t seem like she’s listening,’ Emily said. ‘But she is listening, trust me.’
‘Well she doesn’t seem like she’s listening.’
‘That’s because she wants you to try harder,’ Emily said, then she paused. ‘Actually, I have no idea what I’m talking about. My relationship history is terrible.’
River sniggered.
‘But…’ she paused. An image of Jack and her on the hay bale flashed into her mind. ‘I think women want to be fought for. I think we want to know that we’re worth it. But that might just be me,’ she laughed, then did a big, dramatic sigh and said, ‘Right, people, as much as I want to show you round all the other ghastly rooms in this house, I have to love you and leave you. You’re welcome to stay and have a nose, but I am needed at a very lavish charity ball at the Dorchester and I cannot go looking like this.’ She pointed down to her red cotton shorts and bright-blue mesh T-shirt.
Half an hour later, as Matt, Annie, River and the pug were exploring the second-floor bedrooms – one of which had been turned into a mini-gym and sauna – Emily came flying down the stairs wearing a backless, full-length, slinky turquoise gown. Her hair had been plaited into a complex series of knots, her make-up was so flawless and she looked so beautiful that they were all rendered speechless for moment.
‘OK?’ she asked, doing a mini side-to-side twirl.
Annie smiled and nodded as the two men next to her just stared. ‘You look amazing,’ she said.
Emily did a little clap of excitement, then peered out the window. ‘There’s my car,’ she said. ‘See you later. Have a swim in the pool if you like,’ she called out behind her. Then she was gone. And the three of them stood there, almost in shock. It was as if, with Emily there, they had been standing an inch above ground and suddenly, with her gone, they were all back down on the floor again.
It was still light outside when Emily came home. She’d left earlier than she might normally. The paparazzi on the red carpet had put her through the ringer. It was one big club; hurt one and you hurt them all, and they’d given her a vicious verbal beating for the earlier incident at the allotment. Then they’d shouted all sorts of nonsense to get her attention, none of it good. She knew the photos from the event would have her looking startled or purposely caught at odd, unflattering angles. She’d smiled as they snapped but knew it wasn’t the right smile – tight and unfocused, lacking her usual control.
She slipped her shoes off as she stood in the hallway of the manor and breathed in the cool silence as the moonlight cast its glow through the high Georgian windows. She was positive the house she