A Perfect Home Read Free Page B

He handed a bunch of yellow carnations to Claire and pulled loose his tie.
    â€˜I’d better go, Mum, William’s home.’ Claire put down the phone and smiled up at her husband, wondering how she could incorporate the carnations into the Christmas decor. ‘Thank you for the flowers. Glass of wine?’
    William was already opening a bottle of red, twisting the corkscrew down hard, before pulling out the cork with a muffled pop. He poured himself a large glass.
    â€˜Let me guess,’ he said nodding towards the phone. ‘Your mother – as usual.’
    â€˜She’s lonely, especially since she retired from teaching.’
    â€˜I’m not surprised she’s lonely.’ He sniffed at the fish pie. ‘Who’d want to be with someone so miserable?’
    â€˜Please don’t be cruel, William,’ she said, pouring water into a glass vase. ‘She hasn’t had it easy. It’s not like it is for your parents. They’ve have been lucky. They have each other and a lovely home and lots of things to keep them busy.’
    â€˜That’s right; you wouldn’t find my mother moping about finding fault with her life.’
    Claire held back the desire to say she was too busy finding fault with everybody else’s.
    â€˜Fish pie?’ she asked, putting on her brightest smile.
    â€˜I’ll have it later. What are these?’ He picked up a fairy cake.
    â€˜Raspberry buns. Do you want one?’
    He shook his head. ‘I’m going to put the new shelves up.’
    â€˜It’s nearly ten o’clock. Isn’t it a bit late? You might wake the children.’
    â€˜It’s all right for you at home all day, Claire, but I’ve got to get things done when I can if you want this house to look perfect.’ He collected the keys for his tool shed and headed for the back door.
    Claire wanted to say she didn’t want it to be perfect, didn’t need it to be perfect. She was happy with it how it was. If only William could sit back and enjoy it, enjoy his family. Enjoy her, like he used to before they had the children, before Jack had died. She started arranging the carnations in the vase. William stopped, his hand on the door handle, and turned to look at her, his eyes softening. He suddenly walked back across the room.
    â€˜Sorry, darling. I don’t mean to sound so irritable. It’s been a long hard day and having to go to B&Q was the final straw.’
    Claire reached up to kiss his cheek and wrapped her arms around him; the muscles in his back felt tense.
    â€˜I could give you a massage,’ she offered.
    â€˜Maybe later. Tell me how your day’s been?’
    â€˜You won’t believe what the magazine people want to do,’ she said, her cheek still pressed against his pinstriped shirt. ‘They’re going to come on –,’
    â€˜Isn’t that a bit tall for those flowers?’ he interrupted her mid flow. ‘I imagined you would put them in that Moorcroft vase my mother gave you for your birthday.’
    â€˜I think I might need that for the holly.’
    â€˜Holly?’ He disentangled himself from her embrace. ‘Why would you have holly at this time of year?’
    â€˜I was just trying to tell you.’ Claire bent down to search in the dresser cupboard for a tin to put the cakes into. ‘The magazine people are coming to photograph the house on Thursday and they want it to be a Christmas shoot. Christmas in July! I’m worried we’ll never get the house ready in time.’
    She turned around to an empty room. The thought struck her that William didn’t need to have an affair like her father had done – the house was already his mistress.
    â€˜Claire!’
    William was back. His face had turned the sort of blotchy red that she always knew meant trouble.
    â€˜What the hell has been going on in the living room? Did you know that the cat’s been sick and