Make Do and Mend in Applewell Read online

  Make Do and Mend in Applewell

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 Henry

  Chapter 2 Lottie

  Chapter 3 Henry

  Chapter 4 Lottie

  Chapter 5 Henry

  Chapter 6 Lottie

  Chapter 7 Henry

  Chapter 8 Lottie

  Chapter 9 Lottie

  Chapter 10 Henry

  Chapter 11 Lottie

  Chapter 12 Henry

  Chapter 13 Lottie

  Chapter 14 Henry

  Chapter 15 Lottie

  Chapter 16 Lottie

  Chapter 17 Henry

  Chapter 18 Lottie

  Chapter 19 Henry

  Chapter 20 Lottie

  Chapter 21 Henry

  Chapter 22 Lottie

  Chapter 23 Henry

  Chapter 24 Lottie

  Chapter 25 Henry

  Chapter 26 Lottie

  Chapter 27 Lottie

  Chapter 28 Henry

  Chapter 29 Lottie

  Chapter 30 Lottie

  Chapter 31 Henry

  Chapter 32 Lottie

  Chapter 33 Henry

  Chapter 34 Lottie

  Chapter 35 Henry

  Chapter 36 Lottie

  Epilogue Lottie

  Henry

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Lilac Mills

  Copyright

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Start of Content

  Chapter 1

  Henry

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am. Believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we have to let three salesmen go, and as it’s last in first out, regrettably, you are one of them.’ Paula from HR steepled her fingers under her chin and gave Henry a sympathetic smile, the kind that was more a compression of the lips than an actual smile. She tilted her head to the side, which was also supposed to portray empathy – as well as to encourage him to say something.

  Henry Hargreaves didn’t think Paula from HR regretted anything: he was just a number to her, and to the company he worked for. He hoped she’d never find out just how dispensable she herself was, but he suspected she probably would.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me? Any further information I can give you?’ False sympathy oozed from her voice.

  ‘When do I leave, and how much do I get?’ He knew he sounded brusque, but this was the second time in six months he’d been in this position, and his mind had gone numb. Redundancy had been the last thing he’d expected when he had been summoned to head office this morning. He’d guessed something was up because he’d been instructed to rearrange all of today’s appointments, and the head office of Baldwin Ltd was a three-hour drive there and back. They wouldn’t have asked him to attend a meeting at such notice if it wasn’t important, but he’d been thinking the reason for it was more along the lines of extending his territory. Andrew Mordant, who covered South West Wales – Henry’s area was Mid and West Wales – had tipped him the wink that he was leaving which, as far as Henry was concerned, would open up a whole new area for Henry to move into.

  Of course, it would involve considerably more travelling and he hadn’t been looking forward to that, but as long as he could return to the bosom of his family in the evening, he would have been prepared to put in the longer hours.

  ‘We are giving you one month’s notice but as for any redundancy payment… Unfortunately, you’ve only been with us for such a short period.’ Paula sent him another one of her sympathetic smiles, and Henry suddenly felt like crying. She handed him a letter. ‘This is your formal notification. Sorry,’ she repeated.

  Henry took it dully. He didn’t bother reading it – there wasn’t any point.

  What the hell was he going to say to Lottie?

  Dazed, he got to his feet, nodded at the HR manager and staggered outside on wooden legs.

  Twice in six months! Once was unfortunate and couldn’t be helped. Twice must mean there was something wrong with him. Wasn’t he doing his job properly? He’d taken over an established territory, the previous salesman having retired, so it wasn’t as though Henry had had to build everything up from scratch. Admittedly, sales hadn’t been as good as he’d hoped, but farming was a declining industry, especially animal husbandry.

  It was already the middle of November. In a little over a month he’d have no income. At least he’d had a bit of a payout from his previous employer, having worked for them for nearly thirteen years. And he’d been able to get another job fairly quickly, so that money was still sitting in their savings account. But it wasn’t going to last forever, though, was it? And what about the extension they were planning on? What about Christmas? What a crappy thing to do to someone at this time of year.

  Henry needed to go home and start looking for another job immediately. He knew from the last time that there were jobs out there – so maybe it would be for the best if he didn’t mention anything to his wife just yet? How much better would it sound if he could say, ‘Sorry, Lottie, I’ve been made redundant again, but don’t worry as I’ve found another job and I’m starting it next week.’ Besides, he didn’t want to spoil Christmas for her or the children, and he certainly didn’t want her fretting about being able to afford to buy Christmas presents.

  He got in his car, thankful it was his own vehicle and not a company car, and threw his briefcase in the back, before realising he still had the letter in his hand. Not wanting Lottie to see it, he reached behind, snagged the handle of the briefcase on the back seat and drew it towards him. After stuffing the letter inside, he started the engine and made his slow, steady way home across country.

  The familiar sights as he neared home set his teeth on edge. Applewell was a little village two miles from the sea in the depths of West Wales, surrounded by farmland and rolling hills. If the wind was in the right direction, which it nearly always was, you could smell ozone and salt in the air. It was beautiful, but Applewell meant home, and home meant Lottie and having to lie to her by omission.

  There was another reason he wasn’t looking forward to arriving home this evening, and that was the children. He loved them dearly and he’d lay down his life for them, but dear God they were hard work, and so noisy. He was exhausted, defeated and depressed, and not in the mood to be clambered over and shouted at.

  It would be teatime in about half an hour and he could picture the scene: Lottie in the kitchen cooking, trying to keep her eye on Morgan, their youngest at two and a half, while Sabrina, ten, and Robin, six, played havoc upstairs. The brother and sister argued continually, and after a day at work he sometimes found it draining.

  When he was about a mile or so outside the village, Henry pulled into a small lay-by and wound down the window. The air was chilly, a stiff breeze blowing past the car, and it was starting to get dark, the sky laden with heavy clouds. Cows lowing in a nearby field made him twist in his seat to stare at them through the bars of a metal gate. They were a typical herd of Welsh Blacks, hardy and with shaggy coats, and not easy to see in the encroaching darkness. The one closest to him was busily nosing a pile of hay which the farmer had left to supplement the meagre grass at this time of year. It was so quiet Henry thought he could hear the beast munching.

  A robin landed on the gate and chirped noisily, cross with the human intrusion into its territory, before darting away, allowing the silence to descend once more as a steady drizzle began to fall. He breathed in deeply, the air redolent with the scent of winter and a hint of cow, and he tried not to cry as he rested his head back on his seat and closed his eyes, wishing he could stay there forever, despite the increasing chill. An old poem came to mind, somethin
g about having the time to stop and stare at cows.

  It looked like he was going to have all the time in the world to stop and stare at them before too long, and his stomach turned over.

  He’d only just settled into this new job, and now he was going to have to look for another one. The thought of attending interviews, trying to sell himself all over again and persuade a stranger in a suit to employ him, made him feel sick. He didn’t mind selling – he was a salesman, for goodness’ sake, and good at it – but it was one thing selling a product, and quite another altogether to convince a potential employer you were good enough.

  For some reason Henry never did feel good enough. Sales, no matter what the product you were trying to shift, was often a precarious business when it came to the salesman’s income. He said salesman, but it was just as likely to be a saleswoman, and he was the first to admit that women were as good, if not better, at convincing people to buy stuff. Anyway, he was getting sidetracked from what was important, which was that traditionally nearly all sales jobs had a basic salary plus a commission. Therefore what you earned was reflected by what you sold. Henry knew his market inside out, but there were only so many companies out there selling animal feed, and he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for a suitable job to come up. Thoughts of having to learn the ins and outs of an entirely different product made him wince. He couldn’t imagine trying to sell photocopying paper, for instance, or medical supplies.

  He didn’t know how long he stayed in the lay-by watching the rain turn to snow on the windscreen and darkness descend outside, but eventually Henry knew he had to make a move. It didn’t look as though the snow was sticking, but weather conditions could change fast and he didn’t want to get caught out.

  Reflexively, he checked his phone, and saw there was a couple of texts from Lottie along the lines of, ‘Any idea when you’ll be home?’ and ‘I’ll put your tea in the oven, shall I?’

  Feeling guilty, he glanced at the clock on the dash. It was now gone six, but he’d be home in ten minutes, so he didn’t bother replying.

  As he drove through the village, he noticed that the majority of shops had closed for the day, despite the festive lights already shining in most of the window displays, although Sid, who owned the newsagent, would probably keep his shop open for some time yet. And of course the pub didn’t shut until late. He was tempted to drop in for a pint but thought about the money which he now couldn’t afford to spend, and decided he’d better not. For one thing he had to save the pennies, and, for another, if Lottie smelt alcohol on his breath she’d wonder what he’d been up to. He might go for a pint on a Friday evening or sometimes on a Saturday if the rugby was on, but never during the week, not unless they were on holiday, and he didn’t want her becoming suspicious and asking awkward questions.

  Their house lay on the outskirts of the village, easily walkable to the shops, but not in the thick of things where parking could become an issue in high summer. Although Applewell wasn’t right by the sea, many tourists popped into the village to stock up on supplies, or for a meal at the pub or a bite to eat in Eleri Jones’s cafe.

  Henry and Lottie’s house was on a small hill, with a drive leading up to it and views out towards the west. Unfortunately, it was too far away to catch sight of the sea, but they were within strolling distance of a small valley with a stream running through it which led down to a secluded cove. So far it had escaped the notice of most tourists, so it was almost as though the villagers had their own private beach.

  It was one of the many things he loved about Applewell; that, and the way everyone looked out for each other. There was definitely a lot to be said for village life, and if you wanted anything livelier, Aberystwyth was only a half-hour drive away to the north. Although it could hardly be called a metropolis, it was their nearest town and they could get most things there. In an ideal world he might even be able to get a job there, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

  Henry manoeuvred the car up the drive, which was a bit hairy in the icy conditions, and pulled up alongside the house. His heart sank again as he looked at it. Henry loved his house; what he didn’t love was the hefty mortgage that went with it. It was a four-bed detached house – the fourth bedroom was tiny – with white rendering and draughty windows. They’d bought it just before they’d got married and had lived in it ever since. It had been too big for just the two of them initially, but with the arrival of first one child, then a second and, to their immense surprise, a third, it now felt slightly claustrophobic. They were planning on extending the kitchen into the garden to create a large, open-plan family room, but it wasn’t going to be cheap – though it would be cheaper than moving. And it would be nice if Morgan could have a larger bedroom too, at some point, so they’d also planned on extending the upstairs, to create a new bedroom for themselves, with an en suite. The thought of having his own shower, and not having to vie to use the one in the family bathroom, usually lifted Henry’s spirits. But not this evening: all he could think about was how they were going to pay for it.

  Once again he considered and dismissed the thought of telling Lottie about his imminent redundancy. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself. He’d soon get another job.

  Henry extricated himself from the car, pulling his briefcase with him. It was battered and old, but he didn’t think shiny new things went down particularly well with his clientele – unless it was a tractor, or a piece of machinery which could be attached to a tractor. To fit in, he dressed like a farmer: waxed cotton jacket, old jeans, a pair of Wellington boots in the back of his car just in case he had to negotiate muddy, muck-strewn farmyards. He used a pair of old trainers for driving, only changing into his wellies when he got to where he was going. He even kept a flat cap on the parcel shelf for cold or rainy days, and a bobble hat for wintry ones like today. He also drove an older model four-by-four whose paintwork had seen better days. It was dusty and dirty, and that was just the way he liked it.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’ His youngest, Morgan, squealed, the minute he spotted his father walk into the kitchen. The little boy wriggled down from his chair and launched himself across the room, wrapping his arms around his father’s legs while trying to jump up and down at the same time, and almost headbutting him in the groin.

  Henry grimaced and tried to hold Morgan down before his manhood sustained a serious injury.

  Robin, their six-year-old, waved a spoon at him, a gobbet of red sauce splattering the wall next to him. Sabrina, their oldest at ten, merely rolled her eyes. Was it his imagination or were children growing up at a younger and younger age? He hadn’t thought ten was when teenage ennui began, but when it came to his daughter it clearly had. She was an interesting mix of child and teenager: one minute she was enjoying being carted around on his back as she played horses with him; the next she was doing the shrug and eye-roll thing, which teenagers everywhere seemed to have perfected.

  Shuffling forwards with Morgan still attached to him like a limpet, Henry gave Lottie a quick peck on the cheek. ‘It’s started to snow,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think it’s going to come to much.’ He hoped not, because if it did he wouldn’t be able to visit the customers who were booked in tomorrow.

  All three children had been having their tea, sitting at the cramped kitchen table, and Lottie was rinsing the pans she’d used to make the meal. It had been spaghetti bolognese, by the look of it.

  He felt guilty, because if he had been home in time, or at least had answered her text and told her he’d only be a few minutes, Lottie wouldn’t have gone ahead and fed the children, and they could all have eaten together as a family.

  ‘Have you had yours?’ he asked, and his wife shook her head, a lock of hair coming loose from the scruffy bun on the top of her head, the pencil she’d used to pin it up with wobbling around.

  She looked harassed, her cheeks a little pink from the heat of the stove, and she had a spot of paint on her cheek. He wondered what she’d been doing today, and he hoped th
at whatever it was, she’d had a much better day than he’d had.

  ‘I thought I’d wait and eat with you,’ she said, but they both knew that although she might put her plate on the table, she would be jumping up and down throughout the course of her meal to see to one or the other of the children. Sabrina wouldn’t be a bother, as she usually disappeared off to her room after she’d eaten, and possibly Robin would occupy himself in the living room without needing his mother constantly. It was Morgan who would demand her attention for one thing or another, from now until he went to bed. Even after he was tucked up under the duvet, he continually called down the stairs, wanting his nightlight on or off, or saying he was feeling thirsty, or needing the toilet. The list of things he required his mother to do was endless.

  Henry wrestled Morgan free and plonked him back on his seat. ‘Finish your tea,’ he instructed, and the little boy obediently picked up his spoon but made no move to dip it into his bowl.

  ‘Feed me, Daddy!’ he demanded, but Henry just pushed the bowl closer.