Paradise Fields Read Online Free PDF Page B

travelling, or just out, but she knew they would resent a man in their house, telling them what to do. Nel wasn’t sure she liked the idea either. She might have to make changes, and she didn’t want to. But Simon was kind, took her out for meals, and did the sort of jobs that were easier for taller, stronger people. Being on her own had made her very independent, and able to tackle most jobs around the house, but sometimes it was nice not to have to drag out the ladders, but simply hand over the appropriate tools instead.
    Her cosy kitchen had been partly built by her (in that she had put the flat-packs together herself). She had also created a wine rack out of a crate, and a useful cubby-hole for cleaning materials out of a painted wooden box which the Girl Guides had thrown out. It was cluttered, but that was how she liked it. A twelve-year-old Fleur had stencilled flowers round the ceiling, but fortunately they had now faded to an acceptable dimness. When it was tidy, which was hardly ever, it was extremely attractive. In fact, people would never get out of it, which was trying if Nel was cooking for a dinner party, and didn’t want to be watched. It was sunny in the mornings; and big enough for the family if everyone was in a good mood, and to entertain in (just about), provided people weren’t too formal. Fortunately, Nel didn’t know any formal people.
    Through the door was the sitting room. It had two sofas, an armchair, a fireplace and a television: too much furniture really, but the lavish number of table lamps, pictures and books made it snug in winter. And insummer, the window, which ran the width of the room and had a deep window-seat in front of it, filled the house with light. Of course, it too looked better when it wasn’t littered with newspapers, drinks cans, games machines and pet hairs, but when she lit the candles on the mantelpiece (in spite of Simon pointing out her habit was turning the ceiling black), it gave Nel a lot of pleasure.
    Upstairs there were four small bedrooms. Hers was almost full of the double bed she had shared with Mark, her husband. After his death, when the family had moved into the house, they had all shared it, clinging together in their grief, until, worn out with weeping, they decided it was time to get on with their lives.
    The kitchen floor clean (at least where it showed), Nel moved on to the sitting room and hoovered up the worst of the dog hairs. She didn’t really have the energy for entertaining, having spent all day icing Christmas cakes, but her last telephone conversation with Simon had ended badly. She had been annoyed with him for not reacting suitably when she rang him to tell him about planning permission being reapplied for on what she had always thought was land belonging to the hospice. He had said – rather sarcastically – that she could always lie down in front of the bulldozers. He had also made her worry, possibly unnecessarily, about her daughter. As Vivian had pointed out, Nel’s worrying gene was quite well developed enough without him agitating it. But to assuage her guilt, if he did come round, she would offer to cook him a meal.
    She dialled his number, hoping something had cropped up, and that he couldn’t come. It hadn’t.
    â€˜It’s not going to be anything exotic,’ Nel warned him,trying to put him off. ‘But the children are all out of the way, so we can have a bit of peace.’
    â€˜You should be able to have peace when they’re home, Nel. It’s a lovely house, or it would be if it wasn’t so full of their clutter. They’ve all got bedrooms. And they’re not really children any more.’
    There was a silence. Even if Nel had wanted Simon to move in, her non-interventionist child-rearing methods would have put him off. Fleur was due to go to university next autumn, like her brothers, and Nel was aware she’d have to make a decision about him soon. But now