We are the Glampions!. Daisy Tate

not come up with a reason to thank him for his thank you card without sounding ridiculous, so it appeared that was that.

      He’d be letting the cows out to pasture soon. At least according to Countryfile. She’d taken to watching it on catch-up after her talks with Lady V. It was terribly informative.

      ‘What is it, darling? You look wistful.’

      ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

      ‘Don’t be obtuse. I can see with my wise old lady eyes you are lost in a romantic thought.’

      Charlotte’s eyes widened.

      Lady V gave a victorious laugh, then pulled Charlotte in for a brisk farewell hug and kiss at the door to kennels where they always bade one another adieu. ‘Why don’t you stop torturing yourself and ring him … your farmer.’

      Charlotte flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.’ Venetia mimicked Charlotte, ‘Freya’s brother would have had those shelves up in less than an hour. The milk Freya’s brother’s cows produce is superb. And the butter. Did you know he’s been selling kilo upon kilo of butter?’

      Charlotte flushed. ‘Well.’

      Lady V’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘Well, indeed.’

      ‘Where are the kids tonight?’

      Freya handed Emily a small vase, which she dutifully rolled into a sheet of newspaper and stuffed into a box. The vase certainly didn’t spark any joy in her, but … she lived on a futon in her parents’ basement so it wasn’t as if she had much room to argue.

      ‘Staying overnight with friends. They’re binge-socializing. Felix has been out three nights on the trot.’ Freya almost sounded proud.

      For some reason it made Emily cranky.

      She’d thought of Felix as a kindred spirit. Someone who merely tolerated human company. It looked like everyone was changing apart from her.

      Other than her weekends in Sussex to see Izzy through her chemo (utterly worthless), Emily’s life had fallen into that same, tedious, endless cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. The nine-to-five consultancy job meant far too much free time. Free time she’d slavishly applied to Netflix, volunteering for surgical shifts at the hospital, and a rather consumptive obsession with the bonsai crab-apple tree her father had given her for Chinese New Year. With any luck it would flower soon.

      Freya handed her a screwdriver set. ‘Don’t bother packing this. Monty’ll want it straight away. D’you mind popping it in that box over there?’

      Emily dumped the screwdrivers into the box, then dug into a bag of vegetable crisps Freya had unearthed before immediately wishing she hadn’t. It was possible the crisps were potpourri. ‘Do you think Monty’s taking this whole carpenter thing a bit seriously?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Freya snapped open another bin bag. Number thirty-nine by Emily’s last count.

      ‘You know. The whole falling on his sword thing.’ Freya tensed but Emily powered on. ‘Becoming a carpenter to show his love for you.’ She put on her earnest voice. ‘Moving into a church. It’s all a bit Jesus-y. Is he on a twelve-step programme or something?’

      ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with twelve steps,’ Freya snapped defensively.

      Emily guessed that was a yes, then. She said nothing as Freya ploughed on.

      ‘There’s a lot more going on than simply falling on a sword.’ She started ticking things off on her fingers. ‘A. He’s not sacrificing himself. He may have started working for his brother as a means of getting through this rough patch, but we made the decision to move as a family.’

      ‘I thought you said Cameron was a twat.’

      ‘He is, but …’ Freya glared at her then ticked off another finger. ‘B. Selling the house repays a substantial amount of Cameron’s generous assistance which means we only have to tolerate him lording it over Monty for another year or two rather than eternity. C? Monty’s working on the Hawkesbury development because he likes it. He’s an excellent carpenter. If you remember, he did most of the work on the kitchen.’ Freya flung her arm out and cracked her knuckles on a cupboard door that was sagging on its hinges. She shot Emily a look that dared her to say anything. ‘D, E, and F? They’ve deconsecrated the church, God is a myth created to bolster the patriarchal hierarchy and none of it matters anyway because you know as well as I do that Monty and I are agnostics.’

      Emily tapped the side of her nose. ‘Best to keep that quiet when you move into the house of the lord.’

      Freya scowled and swept some of her curls back from her forehead. Emily could see at least an inch of grey working its way into Freya’s hairline. It was the first time she’d known Freya not to have kept up with her appearance. Money must be extra tight if she was forgoing her trips to the hairdresser’s.

      ‘Anyway,’ Freya sniffed. ‘By doing the townhouses, Monty and Cam are preserving a “building at risk”, not a church.’

      Oh, honestly.

      ‘When Prince went by symbol and Kanye wanted to be Ye, they were still Prince and Kanye. It’s a church, Freya. You’re going to be living in an as-yet-to-be-built townhouse in a church. With a massive loan hanging over your head. It’s hardly the philanthropic preservation of an old building. It’s survival. I thought the whole point of the move was to start being honest.’

      Freya gave the tiniest of nods, a muscle twitching in her jaw as she flicked her hair back into submission. Again.

      ‘Like I said, Monty’s working on the townhouses. The bulk of his salary will go towards the situation with his brother. I’ll be building up my business in the artist’s co-operative—’

      Emily cut her off. ‘Freya! If this whole thing is the fresh start you claim it is, you may as well start calling things by their actual names. Debts. Loans. Churches. What Monty is doing is virtually indentured servitude. What you’re doing is … I don’t even know what the name of it is. Madness? Insanity? I know you love him, but letting Monty put you all at risk a second time? Bonkers.’

      Freya lashed out. ‘I’ve taken over the finances again. I’m dealing with all of the paperwork. I’m finding schools for the children. Giving up my shop. I’m changing everything so that our family can find a way to work to the best of all our abilities. I’m not kicking him out the door just because he cocked up. We both did.’

      Emily gave Freya her best ‘I’m saying this because I’m your friend’ face. ‘It seems to me, you’re the only one making sacrifices to fix what Monty’s done.’

      Freya lost her cool. ‘I thought you came over here to help, not rip me to shreds. The house is sold! The deal’s been made. I’m trying to keep my fucking family together, all right?’

      Emily stuffed the healthy crisps/potpourri into the bin bag. Freya was right. It was her decision to make. Even if it was completely mental. ‘Hey. As long as you’re happy.’

      ‘I am happy,’ Freya ground out. ‘I have my husband back. The children are looking forward to us all living together again. Dumbledore’s excited.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Our dog!’ Freya shouted. ‘Dumbledore. You packed his poo bags about twenty minutes ago! Do you listen to anything I say at all?’ And then she burst into tears.

      Uh-oh. This was unusual. There was obviously more going on here than Monty being an eejit with the joint account. Emily steeled herself and asked, ‘Want to talk about it?’

      Freya sniffed and wiped her face on the sleeve of her T-shirt. A plain green one. ‘No.’ And then, ‘It’s all my fault.’

      ‘What? Don’t be ridiculous.