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  Have another evening of vetting prospective boyfriends at Madison’s this evening. At least it will get me out of the house. Following some advice from me, she has ‘tweaked’ her profile and is now bombarded by requests for coffee or dinner or sex or all three. To be honest, I’m a bit miffed at all the attention she’s getting. What is this monster I’ve created? Anyway, I’ve got to go round and help her weed out the definite Nos, and probably most of the Maybes.

  Had another message from Mother just after lunch. Two in such a short space of time—it’s unheard of! She says Whisper has finished Uni, or college as the Americans call it—here college is where you end up if you are either too poor or too stupid to go to University—for the summer and so they are going to be travelling again. I suppose it’s too much to hope that they will stay away. But if they do pop in I will be stern and set ground rules from the very beginning. None of that mi casa, su casa crap.

  Also I forgot to say yesterday, Matt and Sid got a huge bonus from Cheningwold Castle due to the twin facts that they finished when they said they were going to finish and did such a wonderful job. The Earl himself decided to reward them with a) a further contract and b) a lovely lump sum over and above what was agreed. Both the boys are pleased as punch, which is nice as I know they both, but especially Matt, feel a bit like kept men and as if I’m the one who pays for everything. Which does not sit comfortably with their alpha-male-traditional mindset.

  Not that Matt is short of a bob or two, but all his ill-gotten gains from conning Japanese tourists into thinking they could buy the Angel Of The North, is hidden away in a sneaky little account somewhere in the Cayman Islands. His little nest egg, he calls it. If £1.6 million can be called ‘little’. But he doesn’t always have a lot of ready cash available—only what he has been able to earn with his lovely new landscaping business with his Dad—and of course poor Sid was ‘let go’ from his factory job two years ago and hasn’t found it easy to find another job since then. So I was only too happy to help them to set up the company, but that makes it all the more exciting when it begins to flourish due to their efforts and skill.

  But Matt came home with a huge bouquet of flowers for me—wonderful—it’s been years since anyone bought me flowers when it wasn’t a funeral! And Sid bought Lill some tiny little bottle; at first I thought it was perfume but it turned out to be some special kind of vanilla essence for her culinary needs. Personally I would have been a bit miffed, but she burst into tears and said “Oh Sid, you shouldn’t of,” and hugged him and kissed him!

  I suppose she does take her baking very seriously—maybe this vanilla is made from the distilled tears of angels or something. Anyway, it’s now in the ‘special’ cupboard—the top right-hand cupboard in the kitchen no one but Lill is permitted to open. Goodness knows what’s in there!

  Wednesday July 22nd—6.15am

  Oh dear! I feel terrible. When I wrote that bit last night about Lill’s special cupboard—well it just kept coming back to me all the evening. So when everyone was in bed asleep, I crept downstairs and…

  Well it’s not my fault! I’m bored and at the same time, so on edge, and frustrated with not being able to move on with my disposal of Monica—so I just couldn’t help myself. I need some safer direction to channel my energies…

  I had to take a little peek. So I opened the door of the ‘special cupboard’ and I took a look inside.

  And now I feel so guilty!

  What if she finds out? What if she is upset and cross? I feel like a naughty child. I didn’t touch anything, I only wanted a little look. So I opened the door, and everything just tumbled right out, and the little bottle of vanilla extract…

  And now the whole kitchen and garden room smells overwhelmingly of vanilla. I’ve tried to sweep up the tiny weeny fragments of glass, and I’ve tried to shove the undamaged bits and pieces back in the cupboard. White truffle oil? Surely she doesn’t fry stuff in that? But I can’t remember how everything was arranged… Oh God I just know she’s going to know what’s happened! I’ve wiped and washed and dried the worktop; I tiptoed outside with the bag of rubbish and carefully rearranged all our other rubbish to conceal the guilty bag. I sprayed pine-fresh air freshener all around the kitchen, hall garden room, even around the rubbish bin outside, which smelled overwhelmingly of vanilla, and between you and me, in that kind of dosage, it’s not the gentle, innocuous scent one expects.

  Have decided that today is the perfect day to go out for the whole day—I can’t bear the thought of facing Lill, and I’m hoping if I go out she’ll be far too busy to notice what I’ve done. I’m sure she will be able to read my mind or something. Either that or I will blush and fumble and in the end will blurt it all out in a desperate confession.

  So Billy and I are going to go off to Gloucester for the day for a lovely big, if rather impromptu, shopping trip. I’ve memorised the make etc of the vanilla extract. I only hope I can track it down in Gloucester—am really not up to trawling all the way to London. Billy is mildly interested, but certainly not as ecstatic as she will be when she’s older and can better appreciate all that is comprehended by those two wonderful words ‘shopping trip’.

  Oh God, what if I can’t get the vanilla extract? I’ll never be able to go home. I’ll become a homeless vagrant. I will have to sing at bus-stops.

  Later: 10.45pm

  What a day! Had a wonderful time with Billy—her first proper shopping trip. And saved my own bacon (I think—I hope!)

  Having sneakily searched on ‘vanilla extract’ on the internet before leaving the house, I was so relieved to find it in stock in the very first shop—though I must admit I was not expecting the price tag that came with it: £55 for a teeny little bottle of stuff to chuck into a cake mix! I mean I know it’s special stuff—as the assistant told me, ‘single source, Madam, flown here all the way from Madagascar’. In its own seat in Club Class, obviously. I’m all for knowing where something has come from—but not right down to the individual plant. Anyway, now all I need to do is carefully place this in the special cupboard then look innocent and unsuspicious. And never, ever go in the special cupboard again. Ever!

  The first thing Billy and I did, after stashing the vanilla in my bag and hoping no one would pick-pocket me for it, was to go and have some refreshments. So a couple of nice buttery croissants, and a pot of tea for me, and some warm milk for Billy, then I asked her what she wanted to see first. Was a bit disappointed when she said ‘Toys’. But I suppose she is only three and threequarters.

  So having breakfasted, off we trotted to the toyshop and we spent a happy half an hour poking through the non-pink choices for little girls—not a huge range. Why do toy manufacturers make everything pink for girls? Do they think it’s the only colour girls like, or their parents? Anyway, Billy is going through a zero-tolerance pink phase, and so we ignored all the designated girly stuff and got some rainbow coloured modelling clay and some crayons, a colouring book where only part of the picture or design is already done—it’s supposed to exercise your child’s imagination as they develop the picture as they choose. We obtained a few bits and pieces for the boys—Paddy and Tom not Sid and Matt. Billy has no interest in dolls at all, but she does love a nice teddy, and we found a little one that tucks neatly under her arm. This will have to be introduced to the other teddies when we get home to avoid the petty jealousies typical of cuddly toys, or any suspicion of favouritism. And we are still thinking about a suitable name.

  That out of the way, I looked at her and she looked at me and we wondered where to go next. We spied the welcoming glow of light from a department store. I took a deep breath and took Billy’s hand. This was it—the start of Billy’s Big Adventure. We stepped over the threshold.

  We had come in at the perfumery. Billy’s eyes grew rounder and wider as she looked around, taking in the fragrance on the air, the glittering, jewelled bottles endlessly arrayed according to brand, the bright lights, the muzak, the whole thing.

  I smiled down a
t her. And she gazed up at me with the dreamy, unfocused look of someone who has finally found her niche in life.

  “I know, Darling, I know.” I murmured softly, so as not to break the spell, and I squeezed her hand. We took a few steps forward to reach the Chanel stand. There were two seats. I took one and helped Billy settle into the other one. An assistant hurried over to—well—assist. I summoned three or four fragrances for Billy to ‘sample’, including that timeless all-rounder, Number 5.

  Billy wrinkled her nose. She was not impressed. She shook her head and said perfectly clearly, “nasty, thank you.” She hopped down. And off we went, to try out some others. Finally, we discovered some perfume with a delicate scent of flowers and Billy’s little face lit up with delight.

  “It’s not for playschool,” I said as I handed over my credit card. “Mainly because the other children might have allergies,” I clarified for the benefit of the bemused assistant.

  Next stop, the children’s wear section. Then jewellery, then lunch. By the time we sat down with our chicken salad, Billy was already wilting. It’s so much for a small person to take in on first outing. I decided we’d take our time over lunch, and Billy wanted to get her perfume out and have another little sniff. And we had a lovely girly chat. I had Billy’s favourite page from one of our old Vogue mags in my handbag and I handed it to her. She fell upon it and began to point out the main highlights to New Teddy, who is, apparently, a female bear with a penchant for accessories.

  Just before leaving to continue our shop, Billy decided to quickly take a peek at her new jacket and the two dresses. Then she looked at me and said firmly, “hat, please.”

  And of course she was right. A hat would top both outfits off perfectly. So we gathered our bits and pieces and toddled off to the hats.

  Then we ended on a high note, a few lovely new story books from the bookshop. We were just about to leave when Billy clasped my hand extra tightly and hauled me over to the Art and Design section in the bookstore. She sat on the floor, hauling out a big hardback copy of a book on fashion design. She began to leaf through the book, frantically seeking something I failed to divine. Tears began to form in her eyes and she gazed up at me as she closed the book.

  “What is it Darling? What are you looking for? Tell Mummy.”

  But she didn’t seem to know, or if she did, she lacked the words to tell me. We sought professional help. With Billy sitting on the settee to the side of the counter, and all three assistants scouring shelves and stockroom for anything to do with fashion, we were soon surrounded by heaps of books, that I guiltily realised would need to be re-shelved as soon as we’d gone.

  The staff didn’t mind a bit though, they had all fallen for Billy’s angelic face with its big dark eyes and fabulous clear baby-skin framed by masses of poofy hair, not to mention her air of knowing exactly what she wanted. They couldn’t do enough for her. And so book after book was proffered and examined by her. And book after book was found wanting.

  But at last, she found what she was looking for. It was a book on fashion design. It was aimed at students of women’s fashion, and contained step by step guides on industry specifications and requirements. She leafed through it and finally looked up at me with a radiant smile. The assistant who had brought the book to Billy sat back on her heels on the floor, regarding Billy much as the Magi must have regarded the baby Jesus in the stable.

  So then all I had to do was pay.

  On the way home, because Billy was now exhausted, she looked through the book from cover to cover, and I knew this was going to be our new bedtime reading. I don’t think there’s any doubt about the career path she will embark upon.

  What a wonderful day!

  Thursday July 23rd—3.10am

  I can’t sleep. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of the day, or if it’s because I got myself all keyed up to get up when everyone was asleep and slip that bottle of vanilla back into Lill’s cupboard.

  On my way downstairs I noticed a light on in Billy and Paddy’s bedroom—not just the little night-light that helps ward off bad dreams about their old life—but the main light was on. So slipping the vanilla into my bathrobe pocket, I peeked round the door. And there was Billy, sitting on the floor with her new book, and some pieces of paper and trying to draw a sleeve pattern piece.

  I chivvied her back into bed, trying to ignore the bottom lip sticking out as she fought back tears. I promised her we will draw and cut out some pattern pieces in the morning, reminding her it’s Saturday so there’s no playschool. I kissed her and put out the light.

  On my way down to the kitchen it occurred to me that I need to buy some fabric. Do three-and-threequarter-year-olds sew? I wouldn’t have thought they did, but she is a very unusual child. I suspect by the time she’s four she will be demanding a sewing machine. I can sew a bit, but I’m hardly an expert. Think I shall have to brush up my skills in order to help Billy to tap into whatever innate talent she clearly needs to develop.

  By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, I thought to myself, Steve! Because of course he was bound to have some scraps and remnants of fabric that he can let us have cheaply and the bright colours will appeal to Billy. We could make some bags and possibly some clothes for the teddies. Perfect.

  In the kitchen, as soon as I caught the still-lingering scent of vanilla, I had a momentary panic. Having not thought about it for a second since getting out of bed, now I was worried to death someone—ie Lill—would come in at the crucial moment. I stood in the middle of the room, holding my breath, listening. I thought I heard a creak on the stairs. I waited, the vanilla extract heavy in my pocket. Nothing happened.

  I opened the door of the Forbidden Cupboard. Guilt hung about my shoulders and I kept looking around me. The door squeaked, making me start, and again I glanced round. I drew the bottle out of my pocket and reaching up, set it on the shelf, trying to remember exactly how everything had been arranged.

  “What are you doing?”

  I almost screamed. I turned to glare at Sid, standing there in his limp dressing gown over his aged pyjamas.

  “For God’s sake, Sid! You scared me half to death!”

  He laughed and came over, peeking into the cupboard.

  “What are you up to?”

  I told him the whole story, relieved to finally get it off my chest. He put the kettle on. He was clearly amused by the sorry tale, and I ended with a pathetic plea, aware I was showing far more vulnerability than I was comfortable with.

  “You won’t tell, will you?”

  “No, Cressida, I won’t tell. More than my life’s worth. Lill’d definitely shoot the messenger as well as the perp. I’ve done it myself before. Had to pawn my drill once so I had enough money to put something back before she found me out. It’s expensive stuff. And she insists on the best. Not that I can tell the difference.”

  I agreed with that. And got out a couple more mugs to add to the two of us, who were most definitely the biggest mugs of all.

  “Did you get your drill back?”

  “Not yet. Money’s not tight, but I can’t find the pawn ticket. Usually if I lose something, I ask Lill to help me find it. But in this case…”

  I could see the problem. We sat down at the kitchen table with our mugs of tea, mine Chamomile, his Builder’s.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Sid said. And he examined the biscuit tin for home baking. He brought it over to the table and helped himself to three gigantic cookies. “I think we should break into the solicitor’s. You know, what done the conveyancing of Monica’s house,” he explained.

  The penny dropped.

  “Do we know who that was?” I asked.

  “I’ll ask me mate to find out and let us know,” Sid said. “Should be piece of cake. I’ll bet it was done on a shoestring. Them budget conveyancers always have cheap offices, should be a doddle to get into.”

  When I came back to bed half an hour later, I felt light and happy. All worries banished from my mind on the vanilla
extract front and now, a new possibility in my fight to get rid of Monica. As I write this I am falling asleep, but I feel so, so relieved of tension, am definitely happy.

  Sleep tight.

  OMG have just remembered—we’re going on holiday the DAY AFTER TOMORROW and I haven’t even started packing!

  Sunday July 26th—9.55pm

  What is there to say? I had so many misgivings about coming away for a week’s bucket-and-spade holiday with the children, but Matt was adamant we all needed the break—and he was so right. We’ve only been here since yesterday afternoon, but I feel so relaxed already. Oops, just spilt ice cream down my blouse! Yay!

  Tuesday July 28th—4pm

  Nothing to worry about apart from which take-away to get dinner from or whether to build sandcastles or look for shells. Heaven!

  The caravan—yes a caravan—never done this before—is really quite nice. I had no idea it would be so huge inside, nor so modern. The children love it, plus with no stairs, Tom can get absolutely everywhere—he’s even trying to get up onto the sofas from the carpet. Not long before he’ll be walking, I’m sure.

  The weather has not been the greatest so far, but at least it’s fairly warm, so even in the rain, Billy and Paddy have been on the beach every day in their swimming costumes, furiously digging moats and making sandcastles. We have acquired yet another collection of little flags and fish-shaped sand moulds. And a little windmill thingy on a stick. It’s been so much fun. I’ve laughed so much the last few days!

  Thursday July 30th—3.10pm

  Paddy can almost swim, but Billy is still a bit scared to get her shoulders wet. Tom is not fond of the cold splashy stuff that interferes with his crawling up and down.