The Forever Home by Sue Watson
Chapter Twenty-Two
I arrived at the shop to be greeted by the lady who’d been in the day I applied for the job. No one had interviewed me, but this was a ‘training day’, which I think meant I was being tested. I was fine with that. The lady, Maureen, was the manager, and very kind and helpful. She talked me through working the till and showed me the stockroom, and how to price things. ‘Then there’s a stocktake at the end of each month,’ she explained. Later, she made us both a coffee, and we sat in the stockroom and chatted.
‘As soon as I saw you, I remembered it was Carly from The Forever Home,’ she said. ‘I told the owner, Mr Karliss, that you’ll be great for business.’
So that’s why there was no interview. ‘Oh, I’d better be good then, high expectations and all that,’ I said, smiling, a little uncomfortable at still being seen as the TV version of myself.
‘A lot of people who visit Looe still come because of The Forever Home show; they sometimes come into the shop, just to ask directions to the house,’ Maureen said. ‘In fact, I don’t think we’d still be open if it weren’t for the house.’ I got the feeling, reading between the lines, that business wasn’t good. There was a lot of stock, and all afternoon we’d only sold a couple of packs of paper serviettes.
I’d had this dream of opening a Forever Home shop, for those who came in search of the house. I could sell the lifestyle all over again, reliving the nostalgia of a family, sunshine, beaches, and home. The Forever Home was a great brand, with a unique aesthetic, and I’d wanted to bring it all back in a boutique of whitewashed walls, big open rooms, shades of white and pale blues, muted pastels, and the rather empty promise that ‘nothing bad happens when you live by the sea’. Thanks to Estelle, Mark had retained the merchandising rights to the programme, and I doubted Mark would share the rights with me, or even sell them to me, and if Erin got wind, she’d make damn sure I didn’t get anywhere near.
But working at the shop that first afternoon had reignited a dream. If I had my own shop, I could sell my paintings, and sculptures, just like the ones I made for the house. I’d fill the shop with pastel throws and cushions, ice cream shades of paint and candles that smelled like the sea.
After work, I walked back through the town, waving to one or two people I knew, then suddenly my phone pinged; it was Phoebe.
Hey Mum! I got tomorrow off. Yay! I’ll be with you in the afternoon. Can’t wait! Xxx
She’d said it would be the following week when she came home, and as delighted as I would be to see her the next day, that was when Ryan was supposed to be moving in. I’d have to ask him to move in a day later. I didn’t fancy explaining it to Phoebe, sure she wouldn’t understand or approve. And now I knew Ryan was in contact with Erin, I was also beginning to wonder whether I’d made the right decision.
The next time I saw him I would just come straight out and ask him about it. If I didn’t, I would constantly be questioning everything he said and did.
When I arrived home, I made a salad and ate it on the sofa facing the sea. I missed the noise and bustle of family life, but on evenings like this, the birds singing in the trees, daisies sprinkled across the lawn, the sea glass-like, I enjoyed the solitude.
After I’d eaten, I started sketching, and by the time I looked up, it was almost dark.
Suddenly into the dim silence, my phone began shrieking, making me start. I picked it up and saw an unknown number, so answered it.
‘Is that you? Is that Carly?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s me… Erin?’
I felt instantly unnerved; why the hell was she ringing me?
Before I had chance to ask, she blurted, ‘Are you sleeping with Mark?’
‘Mark?’ I asked, incredulous.
‘Yes – your ex-husband!’ She was tense and snappy.
‘Well, for a start, he isn’t my ex-husband, we’re still married.’
‘Only because you’re dragging your feet…’ she retorted.
‘I’m keen to move on, Mark’s the one who’s taking his time. You can ask my lawyer.’
There was silence and then she said: ‘He told me it was you who didn’t want to divorce…’ She sounded like she might cry then.
‘No, Erin,’ I said, ‘I want a divorce, and if Mark is telling you differently, then he’s telling you lies. In fact, he tells an awful lot of lies.’
‘Is he lying when he says he’s not with you now?’
‘No, he’s not with me.’ God alone knew who he was with though. Mark was clearly up to his old tricks.
‘Has he hidden his car down the road?’
I wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about.
‘He’s hidden his car so I won’t see it. He’s in there now, isn’t he?’
And all of a sudden, I realised what she meant. ‘Erin, are you outside my house?’
She didn’t answer, so I went to the front door, and looked at the CCTV monitor; a figure in black, hands dug in her pockets, head down, was pacing the front lawn.
Irritated by the intrusion into my evening, I opened the front door and she looked up and glared at me.
‘For God’s sake, Erin, why are you here? What are you doing?’
‘I know he’s here,’ she snapped, marching past me, her eyes darting everywhere. She walked down the hallway, then stopped and turned to look at me, anxiety etched on her face. I saw the fear in her eyes, and realised I wasn’t dealing with ‘the other woman’ any more, I was dealing with a vulnerable young girl.
I gestured for her to go through into the kitchen diner, suggesting she sit down, offering to make her some tea, but she shook her head like I’d just offered her poison. She perched on the very edge of the sofa, like she might run away any second.
‘Is he in bed waiting for me to leave, so you two can get back to it?’ The disgust on her face said it all, and I wondered for a moment if she might just run up the stairs to check.
‘Calm down, there are no estranged husbands in my bed,’ I said. ‘Go and have a look if you want to.’
She didn’t get up, but she didn’t decline the invitation either. She was really wound up and clearly had created a whole narrative around her anxiety.
I took a moment to look at her properly in the lamplight. Her hair looked unwashed, she was wearing a thin T-shirt and jeans; it was chilly out, so she must have been cold.
‘You don’t have a coat or cardigan with you?’ She must have run out into the night, jumped in her car and driven here. That’s what Mark Anderson did to women, he messed with their minds, made them do things they would never have dreamed of doing. Just to keep him. I knew, because in moments of madness I’d considered going out into the night, searching for him, my kids tucked in bed. I never did though.
I handed her a throw and she took it, without saying a word, and wrapped it around herself.
‘Did you drive here?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
‘How did you get here then? It’s a long walk.’
‘I like walking.’ She couldn’t look at me.
‘Erin, what’s all this about?’
‘I know he called you, earlier. I heard him on the phone.’ As she spoke, she was looking around impatiently, like she was waiting for him to pop up from behind a bookshelf.
‘He hasn’t called me today, it wasn’t me he was talking to,’ I said gently.
‘It would be different if we lived here,’ she sighed, as if she hadn’t heard what I’d said. ‘Mark would be content.’
‘Mark will never be content,’ I replied. ‘He’ll always be looking for the next adventure, the next house, the next… woman. And the only way you’ll keep him, if you really want to, is to accept that, and make your own life alongside him.’ I couldn’t believe I was giving bloody relationship advice to the woman who stole my husband. But I was speaking from experience, trying to save her from years of pain.
She shook her head vigorously. ‘I could never accept it. The thought of him touching… kissing… having sex with anyone makes me sick to the stomach,’ she hissed through gritted teeth.
‘Then leave him now, because that’s what you’re in for.’
She suddenly turned on me, fury in her eyes. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you Carly? Then you’d get him back and could keep the house and pretend to be the happy couple again.’
‘No, no, Erin, you’ve got this all wrong. I am glad Mark and I are over. He wasn’t good for me. And seeing you tonight, I genuinely believe that he isn’t good for you either. Look at you. You’re thin, pale, you look like you haven’t slept. You’re not well, Erin.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, just staring at me. ‘I just need you to get out of our lives. I need you to stop calling him up, pretending the bank accounts have been emptied, leaving messages begging him to get back with you, inviting him here then trying to get him into bed.’
I laughed at this, but the look on her face pulled me up short; she really believed it. ‘Erin, he’s telling you lies, that’s not true, any of it—’
‘I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to manipulate the situation – come between us. Mark says you’re like that. Well, just wait till I’m living here and you’ve been kicked out!’ She suddenly sounded mean, the fragile child replaced by a woman fighting for the father of her child. I wished she’d realise he wasn’t worth fighting for, but she didn’t want to hear it. She reminded me of how I used to be.
Gently, I explained, ‘I’m not going anywhere, Erin. This house belonged to my parents. I gave half of it to Mark as a gift many years ago. He’s returning it as part of the divorce settlement, and it will be back with me and the children. You’ll have no right to any of it.’
She seemed so taken aback by this, I knew Mark must have told her the house was his, all a big show for the new girlfriend. But this girlfriend wasn’t going to give up on anything easily – especially him.
‘Okay, well even if that is the case, Mark wouldn’t give up his half, because he knows how much I love this house,’ she said, sounding like the petulant child she’d always been.
Her audacity was quite startling, but I could see in her desperation, she was trying to convince herself as much as me.
‘I know what Mark wants, and he knows what I want. And I won’t be leaving here, Erin.’
She gave a mirthless laugh and looked around. ‘Mark wants to put a big, beautiful glass box on the back of this house. And he’s going to cover the lawn with trendy tiles and artificial grass. It’s going to look so modern and stunning.’ She leaned towards me, and said quietly, ‘I’ve seen the plans!’
I shrugged, like I didn’t care, but what she said bothered me, and the fact he was discussing this kind of detail with her made me wonder just who he was lying to.
‘I’d make some changes in here too,’ she was saying, looking around. ‘I mean, it’s all so old-fashioned, isn’t it? I’d take that stupid picture off the wall for a start.’ She gestured in the direction of a huge black and white photo of us all – me, Mark, the kids, running along the beach, the sunlight behind us.
‘It was used for the TV show,’ I said, refusing to rise to her comments. I’d kept the picture up, because it was part of the myth of The Andersons. I wasn’t going to be psycho about it and cut Mark’s face out of it. I wanted to keep the kids’ childhood alive, to reflect the good times.
‘Yeah, I remember the day it was taken,’ she said, tears forming in her eyes again.
‘Oh? I didn’t realise you were there.’
‘No one did. Except the director, who told me I couldn’t be in the photo. “Not family,” he kept saying.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,’ I sighed, ‘but in his defence, the director was probably told by Mark to get you out of shot.’ I didn’t want to hurt her, but she needed to face the truth that he wasn’t Mr Charming all the time.
‘You moved the sofa?’ she suddenly said. All the resentment gone, back to the fragile child again.
‘Yes, the forecast said there’s a good chance of a storm tonight.’ We were both sitting on the sofa, at either end, oceans apart, but looking at the same view.
‘I always loved watching the storms on the sofa,’ she said, sadly. ‘I wanted to live here.’ She turned to me. ‘Whenever I had a wish as a child – you know, a penny in a fountain, or before blowing out birthday candles – it was to be an Anderson.’
‘Well, looks like you’re going to get that wish, Erin.’
She was gazing ahead, not really listening. ‘It was always sunny, and you’d make picnics and we’d play on the beach. Mark would give us piggybacks. I never wanted to go home.’ She continued to stare out the window. ‘But… but it isn’t like I thought it would be. And sometimes I’m not sure I want to be an Anderson after all.’