Getting Organised

review.

Chapter 1

Abigail Morrison had never been an organised person. This revelation had occurred early in her life courtesy of her paternal grandmother, who had testily informed her (on her sixth birthday) that her dolls’ house demonstrated all the signs of being owned by a person with a disorganised mind ‘and we all know that these people never amount to much.’

Little surprise therefore that Abigail took this as Gospel, so afraid was she of her Grandmother, and went on to score average marks in her ‘O’ Levels thereby ensuring a place on a secretarial course rather than go on to her ‘A’ Levels and University, of which she was more than capable. She spent her early twenties in a series of uninspiring jobs until she met her new boss David Simpson who, intrigued by both her innocence and malleability, bedded and wedded her (in that order), before she had time to offer much in the form of protest.

Ten years later, she was somewhat bored with married life, frustrated that David had never shown any desire with regard to starting a family and, when pushed, said he had no interest in children whatsoever and hadn’t he made that clear when he married her?

Not being one to doubt the testimony of her superiors, she concurred with this and carried on the drudge of her daily life as her brain seemed to atrophy in a way that tends to happen in women whose whole existence is centred on their selfish husbands. Meanwhile, her life continued in an endless orbit of WI meetings, ladies’ lunches and work dinners.

On her thirty fifth birthday, just as she wondered if things could get any worse, they promptly did when David announced he was leaving her for his secretary (how predictable) who was pregnant with his child; probably the first time in his life he had done anything to surprise her.

At this point you would imagine that Abigail would have been finally spurred out of her complacency and sue him for every penny she could in the divorce court, but David managed to persuade her that discretion would be a preferable option, given the circumstances and the potential damage to his reputation. Consequently she agreed a settlement that, despite his insistence he was putting her needs first, felt as if she was being somewhat short-changed.

The amount of money she was left with made it impossible to continue living in the favoured commuting town which formed part of north Surrey, and so she moved out back towards her old haunts in Hampshire and found a small cottage which suited her nicely. She had an average size house with an above average size garden that had evidently seen better days. She spent the first few weeks in her new home decorating it from top to toe and stamping her character on it; pleased not to have to get approval from anyone when she painted the bathroom a beautiful shade of turquoise and one wall of her bedroom in purple.

Abigail was already proud of what she had managed to achieve in her new life; one that was so different from her old life that it was barely recognisable, but she felt that something was missing. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she knew that it was there, lurking in the recesses of her mind and telling her that she wasn’t good enough. Her own personal gremlin bounced around in her head at the most inopportune moments, mainly when she was feeling particularly pleased with herself and, it had the voice of her Grandmother, which didn’t come as much of a surprise to her given her upbringing.

Abigail often wondered what drove her Grandmother to being the kind of woman she was; maybe it was living through the war or losing her fiancé and perhaps having to marry out of necessity from a pool of men that was particularly small following the loss of so many lives in just six years. Abigail had never known her Grandfather, owing to the fact that he was twenty-five years older than her Grandmother and had died when Abigail’s mother was only fourteen years of age. This meant that her schooling was interrupted by the immediate need for her to go out and earn a living to support herself and Abigail’s Grandmother in the days before a welfare state had been introduced. Mrs Whitemead was a proud woman and had never expected to do a days work in her life once she was married, but the war had seen her learning skills she had never imagined would be needed, but which enabled her to take over the running of the grocery shop that had been owned by her husband and to offer her only child a job where she could keep an eye on her.

However, it turned out that Mrs Whitemead needed eyes in the back of her head to keep track of Anastasia’s flirting with the young men that came into the shop on errands for their own mothers. Anastasia was the kind of girl who was attractive to men simply because of her naivety about her attractiveness. This lack of self-awareness made her an easy catch, or so they thought. Mrs Whitemead was therefore more than a little surprised that Anastasia married the owner of the shoe shop just a short walk up the street. Whilst Eric Morrison may have been a man with a steady job and the makings of an excellent and loyal husband, he was not an ambitious man and Mrs Whitemead viewed this as a particularly serious fault. However as the nineteen sixties turned out to be the decade of free love and an era where far too much flesh was easily exposed, Mrs Whitemead had to acknowledge that Eric was perhaps an acceptable choice after all.

Anastasia meanwhile saw Eric as her passport to leaving a home dominated by the views and demands of one woman, namely her overbearing mother, and she had chosen Eric simply because he offered her a quiet and undemanding existence, which was something she had craved her entire life.

Anastasia had also hoped that her marriage to Eric would shield her from the domineering personality of her mother, but Mrs Whitemead was having none of it and had made it her business to comment on all aspects of Anastasia’s existence. Even the birth of Abigail, which could have been the perfect catalyst for a more harmonious relationship between the two women, failed to unite them into a closer relationship than one based on cautious civility by Anastasia, and self-importance from her mother. Anastasia seemed to shrink in the presence of her mother and bow to all her demands. Thus it wasn’t surprising that Mrs Whitemead was to have such a profound impact on the life of her only grandchild.

It was more surprising that a woman who had led a life of hard work and independence, not enjoyed by generations of women before her, could prove to be such a formidable obstacle in terms of Abigail’s self-esteem and happiness. From a very early age she learnt that her grandmother was a woman not to be argued or reasoned with and that her word was the last word. With her own mother unable or unwilling to set an example to Abigail, she soon fell into the familiar pattern of deferment that had dominated Anastasia’s life.

While it may have been in Abigail’s ability to rebel and forge her own way in life, it had never even occurred to her that this was an option. Instead she meekly followed her mother’s example and remained largely out of view, as to be noticed was usually an invitation for a big dose of criticism from her grandmother, which was seemingly impossible to avoid.

So it wasn’t surprising that, with a lack of a role model from her mother, a father who spent most of his time in his shop, (having never quite understood what exactly he was supposed to do with a daughter who wasn’t interested in football or cricket) and stayed in the background as a mildly interesting presence in her life, Abigail looked to her grandmother as the person to whom she had to answer in all matters of her life.

Mrs Whitemead of course made it absolutely clear that Abigail was a disappointment in every single aspect. She was neither pretty enough to marry well (remember Mrs Whitemead was a child of the twenties) nor intelligent enough to be an independent and successful businesswoman. She had of course decided this long before Abigail had even started school. Thus the seeds were sown in Abigail’s mind, from a very early age, that she wasn’t going to amount to much. With this constant drip-feeding of disappointment and low expectations, Abigail was hardly going to excel in any area of her life except one; she fulfilled Mrs Whitemead’s predictions that she would never be successful enough to get into university and would instead be suited merely for the most basic tasks of being a secretary, due to her lack of organisation. Hence Abigail’s enrolment at secretarial college and her subsequent low level roles in a number of small companies, came as no surprise to her grandmother. Despite this inauspicious start, one day she was thrown into the path of her future husband and David Simpson became the dominant force in her life

No wonder Mrs Whitemead thought that David was the perfect catch and he far exceeded any expectations that she could have had for Abigail in the marriage department. Most people would have realised by now that Mrs Whitemead was the worst form of snob, but of course Abigail had the disadvantage of never having a paternal grandmother with whom to compare her, due to her Father’s parents having died before she was born. With a naivety that would astound people today, she took her life to be pretty normal and her grandmother to be typical for her generation.

It came as no surprise therefore when, ten years after they had married and it all fell apart, Mrs Whitemead was the first to blame Abigail for not being the perfect wife and   her inability to keep her husband happy. She had no   doubt that David was completely blameless and that Abigail had failed in her one task as a wife; to run a happy and contented home which he would be happy to return to every night, rather than find his comfort in the arms of another woman.

Abigail had decided that there was no point in telling her grandmother that David had turned out to be a far from perfect husband, with a number of unsavoury habits, and had rapidly turned into the most boring person she could ever have chosen to marry. It was David who had insisted they spent most nights at home, unless there was an important work function or golf club dinner to attend. He always claimed that he worked hard enough during the week and needed to relax and take it easy at the weekend, but Abigail was sure that in reality he had so little imagination that, when faced with a life outside of work, he had simply no idea as to how to entertain himself other than to conform to the corporate stereotype by taking up golf as a way to further his career. His lack of imagination also extended to the bedroom; as a stay at home wife Abigail had plenty of time to read up on the latest sexual techniques listed in the magazines presented to her at the hairdresser’s and was more than happy to try out a few new manoeuvres herself, but David, when presented with these new options, physically recoiled in such a way that demonstrated he thought she was quite the pervert and ensured that their intermittent sex life dwindled even further.

If he thought this was a way of punishing her then he was sadly mistaken; Abigail knew that there was more to married life than she was experiencing and she wasn’t going to give up lightly. However before she could do anything more or even begin to think of marriage guidance, David delivered the final blow to their relationship and exited with his pregnant mistress. Not before he had persuaded her that it would be a good idea, following their divorce, to revert to her maiden name so as to cause her less distress at the memory of their union.

On this, Abigail was happy to oblige as a new start would not be as exciting with the baggage of her married surname and she threw it away with barely a second glance.

In fact her divorce was probably the most liberating and exciting thing to have happened in her life so far and she was ready to embrace this new chapter with open arms. The move to Hampshire, where no one knew her, so wouldn’t have any preconceptions, seemed to be the perfect way to start her new life and she was full of enthusiasm and hope, though what she was going to do with herself once she got there was a rather terrifying thought.

She had never lived on her own before or made her own decisions without them being criticised either by her husband or her grandmother. This new start was like the scariest roller-coaster ride in the world, but she was determined that she was going to do everything she could to enjoy it.

Chapter 2

Mabel Fraser stood up and stretched out slowly. While in her seventy-fifth year there was still plenty of life in her. She was careful to ensure that she took excellent care of herself, which explained why she was still happily pottering away in her rather substantial garden and enjoying the delights of her vegetable patch. Of course she used a gardener for the heavy work, but she was more than able to deal with most of the day to day stuff herself and enjoy the fruits of her labours. Second only to her love of gardening, was her love of cooking and Mabel took a huge amount of pleasure from turning the fruits and vegetables she had nurtured into delightful dishes, based on the sheer simplicity of what her garden offered up.

Having lived through the war Mabel was a pretty tough and resilient person. Her marriage to Gerald had been long and happy. They were both on the stage and had met in a production of ‘The Seagull’. She soon had Gerald begging her to marry him and was more than happy with her choice, which produced two sons and at the last count, three grandchildren. She was quite amazed that she could soon be looking at becoming a great grandmother and felt a twinge of sadness that Gerald wasn’t around to share this with her. He had been devoted and romantic, all the things she could ever have wished for in a husband, and her only regret was that he had passed away, too young, after a short illness ten years ago.

Fortunately Mabel had the great gift of being able to count her blessings, so rather than dwell on her life without Gerald she concentrated on making a new life for herself and had taken up a number of new hobbies; from watercolour paintings to learning Mandarin (the former proving to be far more successful than the latter).

In Mabel’s mind life was always there to be explored and she was never one for letting her age get in the way. In fact she was enjoying the chance to flirt with the young men in their sixties at her art classes and they seemed to respond with enthusiasm, so much so that Brian Britton’s wife had pitched up one evening and warned her off her husband, much to Mabel’s amusement.

Mabel had been very pleased when she saw that Abigail had moved into the small group of houses where she had lived for the past thirty years. It was nice to have someone new join her nearest neighbours and she felt that Abigail had something of an interesting aura about her, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what this might be. However it was always good to have someone new in the neighbourhood that she might take under her wing, and she instinctively felt that this was something that Abigail was sorely in need of. Being an outgoing and forthright person Mabel was somewhat perplexed by people like Abigail who seemed so meek and lacking ‘get up and go’. Plus, she would have to get her to do something about her handshake; nothing gave a bad first impression more than a limp wet hand being placed into yours and Mabel shuddered at the memory of her first meeting with Abigail when she had popped around to see her with a welcoming gift of a pot of coriander to place on her windowsill.

She had sunk back at the temerity of Abigail and wondered how she had lived a life that was so lacking in confidence, but that was a question for later. For the time being she would observe and be welcoming, in order to gain her trust, something that she felt could take a good deal of time and investment, but would in the end be worth every moment.

Some might have been of the opinion that Mabel was an interfering busybody, but in truth Mabel found people fascinating and loved to share her accumulation of a lifetime of experience of living on planet earth, which she deemed to be her legacy to mankind. She was proud to have lived through the Second World War (albeit as a fairly young child), the introduction of the welfare state and the swinging sixties with all the excitement which that entailed. Oh yes, Mabel was far from the boring provincial housewife. She had led an active life and wanted to ensure that the same held true for those that she took under her wing. It seemed in these times of abundance people were increasingly settling for lives half lived and she was determined to ensure that those people she chose to take an interest in would never fall into this category, but would instead discover a life of opportunity and fun. She felt instinctively that Abigail was the kind of person that was just waiting for something to happen and that made Mabel even more determined to help her in any way she could.

Chapter 3

Abigail surveyed her garden with mounting trepidation, mixed together with feelings of both horror and excitement. She had always wanted to grow her own vegetables but had been overruled by her ex-husband on the basis that vegetable plots would indicate an inability to afford items from the supermarket. What he did not realise was that Abigail was in fact a number of years ahead of her time and she watched in mesmerised fascination as celebrity chefs took up the mantle of ‘grow your own’ and longed to be doing just that. It was somewhat unfortunate that she was married to a man who sneered at people who got their hands dirty and wanted his vegetables vacuum packed and pre-prepared.

Of course, now she had a house of her own, she could indeed have that vegetable patch. Unfortunately, one of the first things she discovered on moving in was that the previous owners of her house had no interest in gardening at all and had turned it into a desert of paving slabs and gravel, much of which had now been overrun with weeds and which, during her two rain-soaked viewings, Abi had mistakenly thought was a large lawn due to the amount of green that she was observing through the kitchen window. The reality of course turned out to be rather different and Abigail wondered how long it would take her to transform the sizeable plot into something productive and where exactly one starts in a situation such as this.

Fortunately fate seemed to be on her side as she heard a knock at her front door and, happy to have an excuse to delay any major decisions, hastened to answer it.

Mabel was a little surprised at the warm welcome she received from the woman who opened the door to her, dressed in what was evidently her less than best attire; ripped jeans and faded t-shirts may be the fashion, but Mabel felt it was rather letting the side down to be seen by relative strangers dressed in such apparel and hoped that this wasn’t going to become a habit.

She was soon relieved to find the cause of this casual dress as Abigail invited her in for a cup of tea and some rather delicious home made biscuits.

‘Please excuse my less than appealing clothes Mabel, but I was planning to do some gardening.’ Abigail felt a need to explain herself in the presence of a woman who appeared so confident and gave off an air of someone who had accumulated years of knowledge about a good many things. She wondered if you could become confident simply through dressing correctly. Looking at Mabel she couldn’t imagine her slouching around the house in stained shirts or ripped trousers. Abi began to feel like a tramp next to her immaculately turned out neighbour. How was it that some people just looked ‘neat’ and others, like her, could spend all afternoon at the hairdresser and then, by the time they got home looked as if they had not bothered with their appearance at all? It seemed a little early in her relationship with Mabel to start asking such personal questions, but all the same, she really wanted to know, as maybe that would stop her feeling so inferior.

‘Ah gardening. At last! Just what this house needs. The last owners spent all their time commuting up and down to London and then doing nothing much at weekends. Probably far too tired after battling with the appalling train service we have down here. Anyone would think we lived in the Outer Hebrides from the way our train service takes so long and lets us down so often, not in North East Hampshire.’ Mabel realised she was digressing from the delights of talking about gardening, but Abigail didn’t seem remotely bothered by this.

‘The thing is I feel rather overwhelmed by the whole garden challenge.’ Continued Abigail rather more apologetically than she had first intended.

‘My dear that is completely understandable. The garden has been so neglected; why even someone with my knowledge would be finding it a challenge and I gather that you are perhaps a bit of a novice in the gardening department?’

Abigail blushed with embarrassment. All those years trying to be the perfect wife, yet she had learnt very little that was of use to her now. If only she had stood up for herself and insisted that she would take on the role of looking after the garden and had forced David to agree to a vegetable patch, she wouldn’t be sitting here now having to explain her lack of gardening skills to Mabel, who appeared to be the kind of woman that could turn her hand to anything.

‘I really want to have a vegetable patch. That is my priority, but I need to put in some raised beds, that I do know. What I don’t know is where to get the sleepers for the beds and a decent amount of topsoil. I feel such an amateur!’ Abigail’s frustration at her lack of gardening skills was plain for Mabel to see, but she wasn’t going to let her fall at the first hurdle.

‘Abigail.’ Began Mabel.

‘Oh please, call me Abi.’ Abigail had never been called Abi by anyone in her life. In fact her grandmother had expressly forbidden the use of this common nickname and so as usual she had got her way and Abigail remained Abigail up until now.

‘Of course. Abi. I can point you in the direction of a complete godsend in the name of Roger. He’s a lovely chap who lives a few miles away and is great for all the heavy work. He will give you a quote for the sleepers and the topsoil and get it all delivered to you promptly and for a good price – just mention my name. Plus he never leaves a mess, which believe me, in a job that involves loads of mud, is a rare and precious quality! The good thing, about all the houses in our cul-de-sac, is that there is side access to all the back gardens. I do not think you would want half a ton of mud and sleepers being traipsed through your house: Roger will be able to sort it all out and at least it doesn’t matter if you are here or not as he can just get on with it. He is totally trustworthy and will do a great job, or have me to answer to!’

‘Oh Mabel you are an angel’ Abi could feel herself warming to this woman who couldn’t be less like her grandmother if she had tried. Mabel was easy to talk to and Abi could tell that they were going to get on very well indeed.

Chapter 4

Serena Brown-Davis surveyed the perfectly cooked lemon meringue pie, which she had taken out of the oven a mere five minutes earlier and wondered if it would be too hot to eat. She knew that she really didn’t need to check it as she was a very good cook, having been a chalet girl in the 1980’s (after gaining a first class honours degree in French) and the perfect hostess for the many dinner parties which she had thrown on behalf of her husband and his city firm.

However it was impossible to resist the crisp top of the meringue which soon gave way to the soft whipped egg white and the dense feel of the lemon filling, before the knife broke through the crisp pastry below.

She could resist no longer and, taking the knife from its wooden block, sliced into the pie, marvelling at the way everything melded together as the blade made its way through her work of art. She placed the slice carefully on the plate, added a copious amount of extra thick double cream (what a shame she hadn’t bought any clotted cream this week) and then picked up a pastry fork in full anticipation of the delights that were about to dance over her taste buds.

Serena had the perfect life, or so it seemed to those around her. A talented student, she had been brought up to believe that the best thing she could do would be to support a good husband who would look after her   every need and Charles had certainly not let her down. As someone very respected in the world of International Banking, Charles was prone to bringing home colleagues and contacts who were both entertaining and demanding in terms of their culinary preferences. Serena, never one to baulk at a challenge, had spent the past twenty years honing her skills in a way which would leave even a potential Michelin starred chef struggling. No matter what their preference Serena would ensure she rose to the challenge, and boy how much easier had that become thanks to the rise of the internet which would enable her to quickly search for local and national dishes and ensure her guests felt completely at home, whilst she also introduced them to the delights of more traditional British fayre, though she had yet to persuade Charles to allow her to put either Haggis or Faggots on the menu.

What most astounded her about her guests was their obsession with traditional British puddings, whether it was apple pie, jam roly poly, treacle sponge or trifle. The only thing to exceed the puddings in praise was the accompanying custard (home made of course) and she often marvelled at the way her guests always had room for a second helping.

Even the rather chic and slightly skeletal wife of the president of the French arm of Charles’ company tucked into her rhubarb crumble with an enthusiasm that had been absent during the rest of the meal, including the 1998 Dom Perignon that Charles had opened to accompany the seafood canapés. She had gone on to confess to Serena that puddings were her weakness and she particularly loved the heartiness of the British ones, but steadfastly avoided them when at home in France for fear that she would no longer be able to fit into any of her Chanel suits.

Charles had always maintained that her cooking and expert   hostess skills were his secret weapons in terms of his career and it was hard to argue with this, as he had experienced an almost meteoric rise from his first day in his new management job to CEO in a mere fifteen years. As a result he was admired and held in awe by most of his peers and many an ambitious employee had since tried to emulate his success but had failed to match him in any way. What they hadn’t realised was that Charles had paid his dues by working in two other major banks before he arrived at Wingards, and had made some very good connections, which undoubtedly helped. At the age of 57 he had been CEO for ten years and the bank had continued to go from strength to strength and become one of the biggest players in the world market.

As a couple they were glamorous and devoted. They had two children: Martha aged twenty-five had inherited her Mother’s linguistic skills and had completed a degree in modern languages. She then surprised them all by announcing she wanted to change tack and spent another three years at University doing a degree in Oceanography, much to their amazement. Shortly afterwards, she had secured herself a grant to go and study the Great Barrier Reef and had lately been in Australia for a couple of months doing just that.

Alex, meanwhile, was no less ambitious and had completed a degree in mechanical engineering. He had chosen to spend some time in South America doing voluntary work and seemed to be loving every minute of it, if his texts