Trouble In Paradise

Neighbourhood Wars

There’s something about Mary Berry that inspires confidence, even if, like me, you can’t bake for toffee. So when our new neighbours moved in, she helped me out with a special welcome cake liberally sprinkled with rose petals.

The previous occupants of Pear Tree Cottage, Mr and Mrs Hyde, had made an art form out of keeping themselves to themselves so I had high hopes for a spot of neighbourly bonding and maybe even a playmate for young Jack. The two cottages are surrounded by cornfields – idyllic and rural, but it can get a bit lonely.

Squelching down the muddy bridle path with the precious cake, I remembered being a traumatised wreck

on moving day. So I wasn’t prepared for the pristine goddess who answered the door. She had the shiniest, swingiest blonde ponytail I’d ever seen and was dressed in a crisp white shirt and hug-me-tight jeans.

Painfully aware of the muddy paw prints on my dog-walking trousers, I started gabbling.

“I’m Lynn from next door. Nut Tree Cottage – the one like yours only we’re nuts instead of pears. I’ve just come to say hi – and here’s a cake.”

I thrust the rusty biscuit tin at her and grinned. I hoped it wasn’t true that people make up their mind about you in the first ten seconds. If so, I’d blown it.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Lynn. I’m Cassandra. Come in and meet Rupert. Young Henry’s off playing in the fields somewhere. You must excuse the mess, we’re in total chaos.”

The chaos looked pretty tidy to me. The living room resembled an up-market dentist’s waiting room with low white leather sofas against all the walls. What appeared to be a fluffy cushion suddenly leapt to its feet and yapped furiously.

“Of course, most of our stuff’s in storage until we’ve finished ripping out all the walls. It’s like living in the dark ages – I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to your place.”

I had a feeling she was going to be rather disappointed.

A tall man with a white sweater draped round his shoulders strolled in from the garden.

“Oh wonderful – our first visitor!” There was a confusion of noses as he kissed me on both cheeks. “I’m Rupert, the hunter-gatherer. And you are…?” “Lynn from next door.” “Rupert’s not around much,” said Cassandra, plonking the cake tin on a marble coffee table. “He’s a theatre designer so busy, busy.”

“Really? My husband, Ken’s a designer, too.” I was keen to find common ground.

“What does he design?” Rupert removed his glasses and raised an interested eyebrow. “Door handles.” He replaced his glasses. “And what do you do, Lynn?” Cassandra waved an elegant arm at the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable and tell us all about it.”

“I’ve just started a new business, as a matter of fact.” The sofa was lower and squeakier than I’d bargained for.

“Basically it’s a pet-minding business. The Furry Queen – that’s me! Business is booming!”

Not true. I had three gerbils and a tortoise on my books.

“Wonderful!” Cassandra patted my muddy thigh. “We usually go away for the whole of the summer so perhaps you could squeeze in our little Sweet Pea?”

The fluffy dog glared at me and bared her teeth.

“Oh yes – I’d love to have her.” (Definitely not true!)

“Now, I’ll get some plates and we’ll sample some of your delicious cake,” said Cassandra, drifting into the kitchen.

“I expect you’re going to miss the Jekylls,” remarked Rupert. “Such lovely people.”

“Who?” Realisation dawned. Oh no! We’d been writing MrAndMrsHyde on our former neighbours’ Christmas card for the last five years. No wonder they didn’t speak to us!

Cassandra handed round the cake. “This looks unusual – you clever thing!”

“Well, Ken and Jack love my homemade cakes,” I lied. “And what do you do, Cassandra?”

“I’m a gourmet cook.”

“It would REALLY HELP if we could TAKE DOWN a teeny FENCE PANEL or two”

I choked quietly on a rose petal. “Now, Lynn,” said Cassandra. “We don’t believe in beating about the bush. We’re totally upfront and tell it like it is.” “I’m like that too,” I lied. “In fact Rupert calls me the Truth Fairy – don’t you, darling?” Rupert nodded solemnly. “So it’s best if I come right out with this straight away.”

I was starting to worry now. Cassandra steepled her jewelled fingers under her chin.

“We’re planning an extension at the back of the house with an infinity pool and jacuzzi.” “Wow, sounds amazing!” “The thing is, Lynn, the farmer’s refusing us access across his land.” “No. Really? Not very neighbourly.” “Exactly. I’m glad we’ve got a meeting of minds over this.” “Absolutely.” I nodded indignantly. “Because it would really help us out if we could take down a teeny fence panel or two and access the lane across your garden.”

The power of speech seemed to have deserted me, so my tummy took over and did a massive growl, sending Sweet Pea into a frenzy.

“And while we’re all being totally upfront, Lynnie,” said Rupert, “your cake’s got a touch of greenfly.”

So how long does it take to build an infinity pool?” asked Ken. “Ages, I should think,” I said. We were sitting on our patio watching a digger trundle across the bottom of our garden. The muddy mayhem had only been going on for a couple of days and what used to be a neat lawn had already become an extension of next door’s

building site. Ken had been dead against the removal of the fence panels but Cassandra had worked her magic with a swish of her ponytail and a vague promise of hugely generous compensation.

“I really miss the Jekyll and Hyde days,” sighed Ken.

To be honest, I did too. Though since the arrival of Cassandra, honesty had been in short supply. The more upfront and open she was, the more I seemed to resort to lies and subterfuge.

“Darling, are you absolutely sure it’s fine for us to take down your fence panels?” she’d asked. “Obviously it’s the only way we’re going to get all our deliveries on site – but if you’re not OK with it, you must say so and we’ll just have to stay squashed into our teeny cottage.”

Well, what could I say? I’d heard too

many horror stories of people falling out with their neighbours.

“Cassandra, it’s fine,” kept coming out of my mouth whhile my nervous tummy told a differrent story.

“Let’s have a nicce peaceful snooze in the sun,” said Ken, squeezing my handd. “There’s nothing else due to cross the lawn for a bit.”

He’d overlooked the arrival of the zombies.

“Mum, is it OK if Henry comes to film Zombies In The Mud again?” Jack and his new friend from next door had struck up a relationship based on the living dead and a video camera.

“Why does it have to be in our garden, darling?”

“His dad says it’s the perfect setting for a post-apocalypse zombie film.”

And to think last summer I’d won a jar of chutney in the WI Beautiful Gardens competition.

After a thunderous delivery of ornamental rocks, Cassandra picked her way across our garden. She was sporting a green facepack, fluffy bathrobe and enormous rollers.

“Thank you so much for keeping an eye on Henry, Lynn. I’ve been run off my feet with all the building work. I hope they’ve been playing nicely.” “Yes, of course. No problem.” “What would I do without you? Oh goodness – whatever’s happened to Sweet Pea?”

The former snowy-white fluffball had been having the time of her life rolling in the mud.

Cassandra frowned. “It’s a pity no one noticed what she was up to. I can’t have her jumping on my white sofa now, can I?”

I found myself apologising and offering to bath Sweet Pea. Inside I was seething.

Cassandra gave me one of her hugs, making me feel mean for having uncharitable thoughts. “Now, Lynn, I’m so looking forward to you coming round for a little gourmet supper as a thank you for all your help. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“No. Nothing.” I started mentally going through my wardrobe.

“Oh that’s great. Obviously we can’t invite anyone round until the extension’s finished so we’re dining out with some close friends this evening. I wondered if you could have Henry for a sleepover?”

My tummy positively snarled.

I’ve been biting my tongue so hard it’s sore.” I was slumped in front of my dressing table mirror, half-heartedly daubing on blusher.

The evening of the celebratory gourmet supper had finally arrived. The building project had taken the best part of six months and I was left feeling like an irritable chewed rag.

Ken buttoned up his best Hawaiian shirt. “You should say what you think, Lynn. You’ve let Cassandra walk all over you for too long.”

I knew this was true.

“Yes, but we can’t fall out with the neighbours, can we? And everything about Cassandra is so amazingly glamorous – even her name. She makes me feel plain and puddingy. “Puddingy?” repeated Ken. “Did someone say pudding?” Jack erupted through the door and bounced ono the bed. “I hope you’re going to behave tonight,” I grumbled. “Cassandra says you can stay for a sleepover but there’s to be no squabbling.” “Casssandra always tells it like itt is,” chanted Ken, pulling a face. “No she doesn’t,” saaid Jack. “She’s ggot a great big secret, but Henry says I mustn’t tell.” “Whatever it is I’m sure Henry’s making it up,”” I said, but couldn’t helpp feelingg a flutter of interest.

The extension was a gleaming glass box gripping the back of quaint little Pear Tree Cottage like a greedy parasite.

“We’ll be dining beside the pool,” announced Cassandra, dressed in a draped Grecian gown, her gleaming ponytail caught up in a tangle of white jasmine. “And the munchkins can join us as a special treat.”

“I always eat with Mum and Dad,” said Jack, clearly unimpressed.

“Yes, but this is gourmet, sweetheart. I’m not talking chicken nuggets.”

“You’re going to be blown away by Cassandra’s cooking,” said Rupert, ushering us through the vast sparkling kitchen. It reminded me of the Snow Queen’s ice palace. A wall of bi-fold doors opened on to the pool area where a glass dining table was decorated with white roses, twinkly lights and candles.

“We’re all very informal,” said Cassandra. “Just check your name card before you sit down.”

“So how’s the pet minding business, Lynnie?” enquired Rupert, pulling out a chair for me. “Still booming?”

“Oh yes. My client base is getting bigger all the time.”

I’d just enrolled a very large rabbit so it wasn’t a total lie.

The starter arrived. It was an eggcup filled with fluorescent green foam.

“What’s the bubbly stuff?” asked Jack, poking it.

“Actually it’s gourmet nettle soup with brussel sprout foam.” Cassandra was tight-lipped.

“Sorry.” Jack looked mortified.

“Actually it’s GOURMET nettle soup with BRUSSEL SPROUT foam…”

Bless him – he’s used to his soup being bright red and coming out of a tin.

“Delicious, darling,” said Rupert and we all made enthusiastic noises. He turned to Ken. “Now I want to clear the air about door handles.”

Ken put down his teaspoon. “Right. In what way?” “Well you must be wondering why we didn’t commission you to design our door handles.” “Not really.” “I’ll tell you why. Quite honestly, we don’t have any doors.” “Seems reasonable,” nodded Ken. “Except the bi-folds and of course we wanted statement pieces for them,” chimed in Cassandra, clearing away the eggcups. “Your designs are wonderful, of course, but we do tend to go for cutting edge.” “I’ll bear it in mind.” Ken was scratching his head, as he tends to do when he’s rattled.

I cast around for a safe topic of conversation. “How’s the zombie film coming along, Henry?”

“Quite honestly,” said Rupert, “it was a good idea of yours initially, Lynn, but Henry’s eight now so we don’t want to encourage zombies any more.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever encouraged zombies.” Ken’s scratching intensified. “Squid ink risotto with edible flowers.” Cassandra handed out small bowls of black stuff and white chrysanthemums. “Enjoy!”

Rupert winked at me. “I don’t think we’ll find any greenfly on this.”

“Absolutely not,” twinkled Cassandra. “I adore cooking – but I know poor old Lynn finds it a real chore.”

Dessert was a creamy mix of sweet white marshmallows liberally decorated with glitter and shards of ice. It reminded me of someone.

“Time for a toast,” purred Cassandra. “I want to thank our wonderful neighbours for all your patience, love and support over the last few months.”

I drained my glass and felt thoroughly guilty about all those mean thoughts I’d been having.

After the boys had gone off to practise synchronised swimming, Cassandra leaned across the table.

“Lynn, darling – there’s a little something I want to run past you.” Uh-oh. What was coming now? “As you know, we have a lovely view of your garden from our new balcony and I’m afraid we’ve made a bit of a mess of it with all the work.”

“We’ll ask our GARDENER to make yours ALMOST AS STUNNING as ours”

Rupert nodded earnestly. “So we’re going to ask our gardener to totally re-design it for you and make it almost as stunning as ours.”

“That’s very kind, Cassandra –” I began.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Ken firmly. “Oh?” Cassandra’s brows lifted. I kicked him under the table. What on earth was he thinking?

“No, we’re going to turn it into a paddock. Lynn’s always wanted to expand her pet business and keep farm animals, haven’t you, darling?” This was news to me. Cassandra blanched. “Farm animals?” “Yes – maybe a goat and perhaps some pigs. You’ll get a great view of them from the balcony.”

Why was the sleepover cancelled, Mum?” asked Jack. “Was it because you and Dad squabbled wiith Cassandra?”

We were sitting round the table in our lovely shabby kitchen drinking cocoa.

“It was your father telling naughty fibs,” I admitted. Though to be fair, the idea of a pig or two was growing on me. “Did you mind leaving your friend?”

“No. Henry won’t be my friend for much longer.” “What do you mean?” I dunked a chocolate cookie in my cocoa.

“That’s Cassandra’s big secret,” whispered Jack. “They’re going to move house.”

“You must have got that wrong, love.” Lumps of cookie floated away.

“No. Henry says they never stay anywhere for very long. They just do up houses and then sell them for loads and loads of money.” I stared at Ken. “I can’t believe it. Why didn’t they tell us the truth?”

“Would you have been such a long-suffering neighbour if you’d known?” he returned.

“Probably not.” I couldn’t help smiling. “So that was why she took such a dim view of our pig-keeping plans. It’d knock thousands off their profits.”

“There’s another secret,” said Jack. Was it my imagination or was he sprouting truth fairy wings?

“Guess what Cassandra’s real name is?” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s Lynn! Coincidence or what?” So the real Cassandra wasn’t a bright shiny truth fairy after all. She was a porky-telling Lynn, just like me. My irritable tummy gurgled happily. “Talk about Jekyll and Hyde,” I said. I couldn’t wait to start my subscription to Pigkeepers Monthly.