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Authors: Sue Watson
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tomorrow and get more, we’ll hire a big van and move it all... you will be able to keep your things,’ I said gently, ‘but for now just bring the precious stuff,’ I repeated, watching Tamsin gaze longingly at the stunning white Christmas decorations.
I ushered her through to the main sitting room. ‘My winter white seating,’ she said, lunging towards it like it was the crown jewels.
My heart sank, there was no way I could fit three white leather sofas in my van or my flat. ‘Perhaps we’ll leave those until we can organise a removal van?’ I suggested. ‘Let’s just take the personal stuff for now. We’ll start in the bedroom.’
I guided her up the fabulous staircase, expecting her to stamp her feet and refuse to go along with me, but she followed like a lamb. I was unsure of this bowed Tamsin who showed weakness and vulnerability, this was the side Simon must see, I thought. I was used to her being there, fighting our corner, acid-tongued and demanding; I kept taking sidelong glances wondering if the real Tamsin was still in there.
We reached the bedroom; I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. The bed throw was pure, baby-blue mohair, the walls a pale gold with several beautiful paintings. Her dressing table looked like the perfume counter at Harrods, and I wondered at the cost of all her designer candles dotted around the room – they were probably worth more than my second-hand van!
We were both standing in the doorway, it was as though she was scared to go in.
‘So what do you need to take?’ I asked again, rallying her.
‘Well... I need my diamond bracelet... and the platinum ring, it’s worth a fortune…’
‘Okay,’ I said calmly. I didn’t point out that the word I’d used was ‘need’ and no one ‘needed’ a diamond bracelet or platinum ring that wasn’t a wedding ring. I let it go – jewellery wouldn’t take up any space and if it made her happy.
‘What about photos, stuff from your wedding, the kids’ first shoes – all those things?’
She looked at me blankly; ‘Oh... yes...’
‘And your quilt? Pillows? A warm dressing gown?’
‘Don’t you have quilts in your guest room?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘Tamsin, I don’t even have a guest room.’
‘Oh I’m sorry – I forgot. Everyone has a guest room.’
‘No they don’t. Now what else do you need?’
‘I have to have my creams and serums, I will die without them.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘I will, I’m over forty - my skin will dry up and I’ll be like a wizened old husk in about two days. You have no idea how miraculous they are.’
I picked one up and saw the price on the base of the jar – I almost fainted – it would have to be ‘miraculous’ at £200 plus a pot.
Tamsin was wandering around aimlessly, clutching at a silk robe which probably cost what I paid for a month’s rent on the bakery.
‘Do you have anything warmer?’ I asked.
‘It’s Agent Provocateur.’
‘Does that mean it’s warm?’
‘No.’
‘Well then it’s no use where you’re going.’
‘I’m going to your flat, not the bloody Antarctic,’ she snapped, the old Tamsin coming through strong. I was almost relieved.
‘No but I can’t afford to have the heating on all day and night like you do.’
‘But it’s winter. It’s freezing, how on earth do you and Jacob cope?’
‘We put a jumper on, welcome to the real world love,’ I sighed.
She clearly didn’t want to envisage the horror that awaited her back at my flat it was all a little too real for our Tamsin. So she busied herself around the room.
‘I need this too,’ she said, reaching up and trying to take down one of the huge artworks.
‘You don’t really “need” it, do you? Besides, it won’t fit anywhere. Tamsin you just need your mementoes, warm clothes, towels and bedding for now.’
I stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a whole pile of towels. They were thick and fluffy and in every shade of grey to match the Italian
I ushered her through to the main sitting room. ‘My winter white seating,’ she said, lunging towards it like it was the crown jewels.
My heart sank, there was no way I could fit three white leather sofas in my van or my flat. ‘Perhaps we’ll leave those until we can organise a removal van?’ I suggested. ‘Let’s just take the personal stuff for now. We’ll start in the bedroom.’
I guided her up the fabulous staircase, expecting her to stamp her feet and refuse to go along with me, but she followed like a lamb. I was unsure of this bowed Tamsin who showed weakness and vulnerability, this was the side Simon must see, I thought. I was used to her being there, fighting our corner, acid-tongued and demanding; I kept taking sidelong glances wondering if the real Tamsin was still in there.
We reached the bedroom; I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. The bed throw was pure, baby-blue mohair, the walls a pale gold with several beautiful paintings. Her dressing table looked like the perfume counter at Harrods, and I wondered at the cost of all her designer candles dotted around the room – they were probably worth more than my second-hand van!
We were both standing in the doorway, it was as though she was scared to go in.
‘So what do you need to take?’ I asked again, rallying her.
‘Well... I need my diamond bracelet... and the platinum ring, it’s worth a fortune…’
‘Okay,’ I said calmly. I didn’t point out that the word I’d used was ‘need’ and no one ‘needed’ a diamond bracelet or platinum ring that wasn’t a wedding ring. I let it go – jewellery wouldn’t take up any space and if it made her happy.
‘What about photos, stuff from your wedding, the kids’ first shoes – all those things?’
She looked at me blankly; ‘Oh... yes...’
‘And your quilt? Pillows? A warm dressing gown?’
‘Don’t you have quilts in your guest room?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘Tamsin, I don’t even have a guest room.’
‘Oh I’m sorry – I forgot. Everyone has a guest room.’
‘No they don’t. Now what else do you need?’
‘I have to have my creams and serums, I will die without them.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘I will, I’m over forty - my skin will dry up and I’ll be like a wizened old husk in about two days. You have no idea how miraculous they are.’
I picked one up and saw the price on the base of the jar – I almost fainted – it would have to be ‘miraculous’ at £200 plus a pot.
Tamsin was wandering around aimlessly, clutching at a silk robe which probably cost what I paid for a month’s rent on the bakery.
‘Do you have anything warmer?’ I asked.
‘It’s Agent Provocateur.’
‘Does that mean it’s warm?’
‘No.’
‘Well then it’s no use where you’re going.’
‘I’m going to your flat, not the bloody Antarctic,’ she snapped, the old Tamsin coming through strong. I was almost relieved.
‘No but I can’t afford to have the heating on all day and night like you do.’
‘But it’s winter. It’s freezing, how on earth do you and Jacob cope?’
‘We put a jumper on, welcome to the real world love,’ I sighed.
She clearly didn’t want to envisage the horror that awaited her back at my flat it was all a little too real for our Tamsin. So she busied herself around the room.
‘I need this too,’ she said, reaching up and trying to take down one of the huge artworks.
‘You don’t really “need” it, do you? Besides, it won’t fit anywhere. Tamsin you just need your mementoes, warm clothes, towels and bedding for now.’
I stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a whole pile of towels. They were thick and fluffy and in every shade of grey to match the Italian
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