Anouska Knight - Since You've Been Gone

Martha smiled over the top of her Sunday Journal .

‘Do you want some ibuprofen?’ she asked, already setting the paper down. It was pointless stopping her, she’d only fuss until I’d swallowed a few painkillers. ‘Didn’t you sleep too well last night?’

‘No, I slept fine.’ Memories of my dream made me wonder what Martha might have heard through the night while Rob snored on. Change the subject . ‘It’s been a grueller in the shop this week. I’m probably just a bit highly strung. You know what it’s like, as soon as you stop, it all piles on top of you.’ One of the reasons I kept myself busy.

‘Yes, Martha was flapping when she couldn’t get hold of you Friday night. How come you were working so late?’ Rob said as he chewed his way through a sausage. It was difficult to look at Rob without smiling. He reminded me in some ways of Dave, a little obedient maybe, but loyal to the core and utterly dependable. They were the gentle giants in my life, but whilst Martha’s tolerance flexed for her husband, it didn’t stretch to Dave. I guess Rob slobbered less. Just.

‘I had to deliver to a gentlemen’s evening, over at Hawkeswood.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Rob mumbled, a forkful of hash browns meeting its doom.

‘I use the term gentlemen loosely. Dave has better manners.’

‘Hawkeswood’s the property tycoon’s place now isn’t it, Martha?’

Martha settled back behind paper. ‘Hmm?’

‘Hawkeswood. Didn’t you do something there years ago with Parry & Fitch?’

Martha loved to talk about her work. It was a shame Parry & Fitch Interiors had to scale back, but the UK property market had taken a big hit over the last few years and most people we knew had been affected in one way or another.

‘Did you, Marth? What did you do there? I only got as far as the games room and that was impressive.’

Martha had taken voluntary redundancy, slipping into her new life as a domestic goddess with ease. But all that extra time meant she’d stepped up her attempts at finishing the decorating at my place.

‘The games room was original while we were there. Did you see the Orangery at the back of the main house? The views over the countryside are a-ma-zing. Who are the current owners?’ she asked.

‘The property tycoon, like I said. What’s his name, Martha? Andrews or—’

‘Argyll,’ I helped, trying to reduce the stack of mushrooms.

‘That’s him, Argyll. He’s been in some scrapes the last few years. I work with a chap who used to be with Scargill’s. They represent his company … that’s them, Argyll Inc. He keeps Scargill’s in a steady stream of work.’ Rob shook his head and carried on his assault on the food.

Why did that not surprise me? ‘Is Fergal Argyll the head of the company?’ I asked, reaching for more coffee.

‘That’s him. Fergal Argyll. He’s the big dog. Worked the whole empire up from scratch and then nearly lost the lot. Do you remember, Martha?’

‘He seems to be doing OK now,’ I said. ‘What does he do exactly?’ I asked, struggling to understand how a man like Fergal Argyll would have built anything but a dodgy reputation.

Rob finally took a breather between mouthfuls. ‘They’re a property company. I’m not sure, but I think he started out in construction. Small scale, extensions, that sort of thing, and then I think he got lucky and bought a bit of land while the prices were good. If I remember correctly, these days Argyll Inc. shoot for large scale property investment, developments, that sort of thing. But as with most of the construction industry, they’ve had their pain over the last few years. Didn’t he marry into the aristocracy for good measure, Martha?’

Martha lifted her nose from the paper, and gave Rob a considered look.

‘The hunky playboy!’ Martha yelped. ‘You mean this guy?’ she said, shuffling through her paper. Martha split the paper open revealing a small thumbnail of the young Argyll and the ice maiden.

‘Yeah, that’s his son,’ I said, examining the picture. He was a handsome man, but there was a melancholy about him, and melancholy knew its own reflection. On the page opposite, computer-generated images of starter homes, soon to be built on recently sold forest land, made my stomach flip over.

‘Hel- lo Ciaran Argyll. He’s utterly gorgeous, Hol, don’t you think? A womaniser, but gorgeous. I can’t believe that they live around here !’

Charlie had worked tirelessly to protect the forests from sale.

‘Keep your knickers on, my love. I think your hormones are playing up.’

Martha swatted Rob with her paper.

‘Rob? I can’t eat any more. Please may I be excused?’ I asked wryly.

‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘You’re washing up.’

‘Er, you’re washing up, Rob. You made the mess, you ate it, you’re cleaning it. Hol and I are going to talk colour swatches.’ Martha lifted a handful of binders onto the table in front of her. Inwardly, I groaned. ‘So I was thinking, and feel free to say no, but—’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know what I’m going to say yet,’ she countered.

‘I do … you’re going to say, Holly, it’s nearly October, and then it will be Christmas and before you know it, your lounge and hall and wherever will have been left whitewashed for nearly three years, and —’ The look on Martha’s face was enough to stop me mid-flow. Damn it, why can’t you just leave this alone?

Six months after the accident, she’d talked me into letting her finish the bedroom for me. She’d made a beautiful job of it, all soft greys and dusky blues against the deep stain of our antique furniture. She’d made my bedroom look as though it belonged to a boutique hotel. The problem was, Charlie had never been in that boutique hotel with me, and so I couldn’t picture him in it. It wasn’t our bedroom any more, it was just mine. I couldn’t tell Martha that was the reason for fobbing off her offers to decorate the rest of the house for me when she was so desperate to. It would have devastated her that I felt that way about the room she’d already finished for me.

‘Look, Martha. I’d love you to come help me, but I’m absolutely rushed off my feet in the shop and—’

‘Well that’s what I was going to say!’ A smile filling her eyes again. ‘Rob has some time off before the baby’s due, but I’ve already sorted everything out. I’ve decorated the nursery, put the crib together, packed my hospital bag, written my birth plan, A and B actually. I’ve even vetted both of the nurseries we’re thinking of using.’

‘You’re thinking of nurseries?’ I said. ‘Already? When will the baby start nursery?’

‘When they’re three.’

‘Months? Are you going back to work?’

‘No, years. Well, I want to be prepared, Hol.’

I knew it. I’d always known it. My sister was a domestic android. ‘So, Rob can come and do some DIY-ing for you.’ I looked at Rob, who looked about as enthused as I was.

Lie, lie, lie .

‘You know what, Marth, I would really love that. But I kinda have a more pressing problem, if you guys wouldn’t mind helping me out?’ I knew how to reel Martha in. I had a childhood’s worth of practice under my belt. ‘The shop’s due an inspection some time in the new year, and it could really do with some TLC.’ Rob’s face dropped, he thought we were a team. ‘Nothing drastic, just a few maintenance issues, maybe a little painting. It’s just too big a job on my own. If you could spend a few days in the shop, Rob, I’d appreciate it.’

Martha didn’t look convinced, but then Martha’s sole wish was to do what she could for me and I was at least offering her an inch in place of her mile.