A Perfect Home Read Free

your immaculate home to go back to when you leave here while I just have to live in this squalor all the time.’
    â€˜I like your house,’ said Claire. ‘It feels cosy. Sometimes I wish our house was a bit more like this.’ She gestured at the disarray around her. ‘I think William gets fussier every day. I certainly don’t dare leave my dirty linen lying around any more.’
    â€˜Quit moaning,’ said Sally. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’
    â€˜Talking of dirty linen, let’s get back to your website, Claire.’
    â€˜Don’t be so cheeky, Gareth,’ laughed Claire. ‘It’s not dirty linen, it’s vintage fabric.’
    â€˜And it’s uber fashionable at the moment,’ added Sally. ‘That’s why you should get it in a magazine.’
    Fifteen minutes later they’d made up a press release, attached a selection of pictures, and pinged it off to Idyllic Homes . Claire had practically forgotten all about it when Celia Howard, features editor for Idyllic Homes , phoned up two days later, saying her magazine adored the cushions (‘recycling fabric is so in right now’) but they also loved the look of the house.
    â€˜ Exquisite! ’ Celia had gushed. ‘We’d love to do a feature on your gorgeous house and your lovely little rural craft business. Our readers just adore that sort of thing.’
    William seemed quite pleased with the idea of showing off his home.
    â€˜I’ll have to finish grouting the tiles on the conservatory floor,’ he had said. ‘And then I’ll have to re-paint the hall. It’s covered in mucky handprints. You’ve got to stop the children touching the walls, Claire.’
    He was keen to be there on the day of the shoot, though Claire suspected that this was because he wanted to make sure the stylist didn’t damage any paintwork or scratch the floors.
    â€˜They’re not going to bang nails into the beams are they?’ he asked, as he touched up the paint on the banisters. He carefully dipped his brush in and out of a pot of Farrow & Ball Shaded White, dabbing at dots of missing paint. ‘There are enough holes and chips all over this house as it is.’
    â€˜I can’t see any holes or chips,’ said Claire, trying to squeeze past him with a pile of ironing. ‘It looks fine to me.’ She stroked his head affectionately as she passed; she liked the stubbly feel of his new hair cut. He pushed her hand away.
    â€˜That’s the trouble,’ William answered. ‘You just don’t notice the state this house is getting into.’
    Claire bit her lip. She couldn’t face an argument when she still had the tea to make and the children to bath. She continued up the stairs counting each tread as she did so. By the time she reached the top her threatened tears had passed.
    At last the shock of Celia Howard’s phone call began to lessen and Claire moved out from behind the sofa. She feared the raspberry stain was there for good and pushed the sofa back to hide it. As she did so she revealed something grey and lumpy which could only have been regurgitated by Macavity the cat. She didn’t know how long it had been there; it was encrusted onto the floor and in between the boards. On closer inspection it looked as though it contained at least half of what had once been a bat. Claire shuddered. She’d deal with it later, she thought, and moved the sofa at an angle to cover it.
    As she picked up the basket to wash the juice-splashed washing all over again, she thought about Celia’s last words ‘ Stress-free life’ ? She had no idea.
    Claire looked at the large clock on the kitchen wall – half past nine. The fish pie looked sad and dry on top of the pale blue Aga.
    Claire helped herself to a portion and ate it at the same time as writing a list of all the things she had to do before the magazine shoot. She