Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange

by Jenny Kane

  Tom ruffled Dylan’s short brown hair beneath his fingers. ‘Why do you think I brought you with me? This job calls for an expert set of eyes. Let’s go find a tree that Santa would love.’

  *

  For Bert and Mabel it was love at first sight. They clucked around Dylan as if he was the most precious find Mill Grange had ever produced. In turn, Dylan hugged them in excitement as he watched his dad and Helen wrestle the tree into a huge pot next to a fire, in one of the biggest living rooms he’d ever seen.

  When Tina had arrived with armfuls of decorations and asked Dylan if he’d be their chief decorator, he looked as if he’d explode with pleasure.

  Mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ to his new friends, Tom struggled with his emotions as he watched Dylan dive into the mound of tinsel, wrapping some around himself before turning to Bert with a solemn expression. ‘Shouldn’t the lights go on first?’

  ‘Quite right, young man.’ Bert gave him a wink. ‘You are plainly an expert at Christmas trees. Shall we let your dad stand on the ladder to do the high bits, then we can fill in the rest of the tree?’

  ‘Yes, Bert.’ Dylan screwed his face up in concentration as he studied the pile of decorations and turned to Tina. ‘I think we’re gonna need some more though.’

  Tina nodded. ‘We definitely will. They’re in the attic. You want to explore with me while your dad does the boring light bit?’

  ‘YES PLEASE!’ Dylan jumped up as down with delight. ‘Can I, Dad, please?’

  Feeling his heart melt, wondering how his son would normally spend his Saturdays, Tom smiled. ‘Just make sure you look after Tina as you go.’

  Fifty

  October 3rd

  At last Phil was satisfied with the scene. Two wing-back armchairs had been placed in front of the Christmas tree, the fire had been lit, and a table set up for afternoon tea had been placed between the chairs.

  Shaun admired the set-up. ‘Do you want me to call Tom in for a rehearsal, or do you want to wait and do this when the outside light has gone, and crack on outside while we can?’

  ‘Tom?’ Phil stabbed a finger at the clipboard in his hand. ‘No, that’s an outside interview. Makes sense to do it in his place of work, so he can talk though the process in situ. This is for the chat between you and Sam about what he intends to achieve at Mill Grange.’

  ‘Sam?’ Shaun shook his head. ‘Sorry, Phil, but I did tell you, Sam’s chronically claustrophobic. He can’t come in here.’

  Phil’s forehead creased. ‘Come off it. This is his house. We can’t possibly promote a house and enterprise if the owner can’t go inside it. He wanted us here, so he has to do this.’

  Shaun opened his mouth to protest, but Phil’s expression told him plainly that he wasn’t going to change his mind so it was no use arguing with him. The best Shaun could do for now was repeat, ‘But later, best to use the outside light while we have it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Phil wasn’t listening as he swiped through pages on his tablet. ‘Let’s go and do Tom’s interview. Best to do it while there’s light left, don’t you think?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Shaun rolled his eyes as he fished his phone from his pocket, ‘I’ll nip to the bathroom and join you outside.’

  ‘Via Hilda. Your hair needs sorting.’

  Not responding, Shaun frantically texted a joint message to Tina and Thea as he moved.

  EMERGENCY. Phil wants to film Sam and me INSIDE. He will not be budged.

  *

  Helen watched Dylan run back and forth across the gardens, his round face serious one minute and a mass of smiles the next; just like his dad’s.

  Dylan’s whole being came alight as he was trusted to carry tools and buckets around the site. Having been told not to run too close to the fortlet, or step on the edges of the excavation, so he didn’t damage the trenches or fall in, he walked carefully. He placed each wellington-booted step with precision, then burst into an excited lopsided run when asked to dash over the house to deliver a message for Mabel, Bert, or Tina, who were getting the house ready to be a retreat.

  Helen only ever interacted with children when she was giving a school party a tour around the Baths, and she hadn’t had to do one of those for years. She knew it was only a matter of time before Dylan came to ask her if she wanted him to do anything. He’d asked everyone else, who’d instantly found him a job to do, whether it needed doing or not. Helen didn’t want to consider why she was anxious at the prospect.

  Seeing Phil and Tom crossing to the site, with an unusually flustered Shaun on his heels, Helen stood up. If the filming was about to begin, then the little boy would need moving from the site, and so would she. Am I going to be expected to babysit? The notion filled her with horror. She kept her head down, hoping that if she didn’t see Dylan, he wouldn’t see her. For heaven’s sake, woman. She scraped at a stubborn patch of clay. You’re like a bloody ostrich burying her head in the sand. He’s just a kid.

  The squeal of ‘My dad’s gonna be on telly,’ broke through Helen’s faked concentration. Tom was going to be on television? But he said… Then she understood. His boy wanted him to be on television, so Tom had done an about-turn and had agreed to be filmed.

  Clambering out of her trench, brushing soil from her knees, Helen sauntered over to a worried-looking Thea. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Lifting her phone up so that Helen could read Shaun’s SOS text, she swore under her breath, conscious of young ears in the vicinity. ‘Sam can’t manage that, can he?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Thea peered across the garden, searching for either Tina or Sam.

  Helen surprised herself by saying, ‘We can’t move the tree outside either. Dylan would be heartbroken.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the answer.’ Thea looked earnestly at Tina.

  ‘What might?’

  ‘I’m willing to bet Sam would rather have a panic attack than disappoint a child who thinks the Christmas tree he decorated is going to be on television.’ Thea watched Dylan as he picked up loose stones from outside the dig site and placed them in a bucket. ‘I bet he’s already dying to tell his school friends about this.’

  *

  Dylan sat on the nearest bench to the excavation. His welly-covered feet swung backwards and forwards as he watched the camera focus on his dad. Helen sat next to him, her heart thumping rather faster than she would have liked. She smiled as the boy tried to breathe quietly, such was his fear of making a sound and stopping the filming.

  As Tom spoke into the camera, Dylan grabbed Helen’s hand, his little palm squeezing hers in excitement. He turned to her, as if to ask if it was okay. His blue eyes were every bit as bright as Tom’s green ones, and something deep inside Helen fell in love. Gently wrapping an arm around the boy, Helen gave him a silent nod as they watched the newest member of the Mill Grange staff talk into the camera.

  *

  Mabel was sitting at the kitchen table with lists and recipe books spread out before her. They ought to have all the meals planned for next week by now, but with the arrival of the television crew, everything had gone on hold. Suddenly, the guests were less than forty-eight hours away and Mabel felt uncharacteristically out of control.

  Scribbling down a rough plan of lunches, her pen paused as she wondered what ingredients she should order in, for which recipe, for the guests’ first night. Having written down lasagne, and then crossing it out as not suitable as the first meal in a Victorian house, she wondered where Tina had got to.

  She was just considering the benefits of a beef casserole instead, when she became conscious of someone watching her.

  ‘Sam?’

  Her employer was leaning on the doorframe, his face pale, his legs quaking. Mabel had a feeling that if he wasn’t holding on to the side of the house, he’d fall over. ‘Whatever is it?’

  Shouting down the main corridor for Bert to come out of the living room right now, Mabel moved to his side. ‘Are you with me, Sam?’

  Bert was by his wife’s side in seconds.
‘Sam, my boy?’

  ‘Got to go inside.’ Coming back to himself, the initial shock of what Shaun had told him passing, Sam felt ashamed. He’d run from his friend as he’d explained what was going to happen, and how he had to do the interview if he wanted the show to go ahead.

  ‘Can you explain?’ Manoeuvring Sam to the nearest garden bench, Bert sat next to him, as Mabel hurried off to make sweet tea.

  ‘The filming by the Christmas tree. It’s for me and Shaun.’

  ‘Ah.’ Bert said nothing else, patiently waiting for Sam to go on.

  ‘Phil wants me to sit inside with Shaun and talk about what we’re trying to do here. You’ve seen how long it takes to just do one short voiceover; can you imagine how long I’d have to sit in that armchair? I haven’t managed to cross the kitchen yet. I’ve run to the table and back for my lunch, thanks to you and Mabel. But even that leaves me breathless for a few seconds.’

  ‘Does Phil know you have claustrophobia?’

  ‘Apparently he’d assumed it was mild. He said he couldn’t imagine anyone running an enterprise like this and not being able to go inside its headquarters. Shaun got the impression Phil would ditch the whole thing if I didn’t do the interview.’

  ‘I see.’ Bert acknowledged his wife as she brought out a mug of tea, slotting it into Sam’s hands.

  Amazed that his quivering hands didn’t slop the tea, Sam’s mouth felt dehydrated and his head thudded. ‘Any ideas? I’ll take any advice here, Bert.’

  ‘I don’t have any, my boy.’ Bert looked up in time to see Shaun heading in their direction. A plainly worried Tina was by his side. ‘If you want this show to happen, then you’ll need to try to go in there; but I’m not telling you anything you don’t know already.’

  ‘And if I do get there and manage to sit by the tree, Bert, what if I can’t speak or can’t stop shaking or…’

  Shaun and Tina were overtaken by the sound of small running feet as Dylan hared across the garden and launched himself at Bert.

  ‘Dad was brilliant.’ He crawled onto the bench next to his new friend, and then with the trusting innocence of a boy who’d spent his short life moving from home to home, forever meeting new people, he looked up at Sam. ‘Hello, I’m Dylan.’

  ‘Hello.’ Sam couldn’t do anything other than grin back at the boy, who was apparently having the best day of his life.

  ‘Dad said you’re going on telly too. Are you going to sit by my tree?’

  ‘They tell me that’s the plan.’ Sam licked his lips nervously. ‘I saw it through the window. You did an excellent job.’

  ‘Ta.’ Dylan beamed. ‘Can I come and watch you be on telly like I did Dad? It’s fun. I’ll be ever so quiet. Promise.’ He frowned before adding, ‘I think I’d better take off my boots. Mum doesn’t like it when I take mud in the house.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Sam looked helplessly at Shaun, who shrugged.

  Squirming up onto his knees, so his mouth was level with Sam’s ear, Dylan whispered, ‘Thea said you might need a hug before you go inside.’

  Without waiting for a response, Dylan threw his arms around Sam. As the anorak-padded arms held him close, Sam’s eyes found Tina. Her pale face told him she was scared stiff on his behalf, but as her gaze flicked to Dylan, he saw she feared him letting down the boy almost as much as he did.

  How has this happened? Dylan’s only been here half a day. I only clapped eyes on him two minutes ago.

  ‘Can I come in with you, Sam? Can I?’

  ‘Of course you can. Maybe you could even help me.’

  ‘Help you?’ The boy’s eyes shone.

  ‘I’m going to tell you a big secret.’ Sam took a slow breath, and with one eye on Tina, whispered into the boy’s ear. ‘I’m a bit nervous about going on the television. Will you hold my hand as we go inside?’

  Dylan promptly jumped off the bench and held out a hand, which Sam took.

  ‘If you feel me shaking, will you hold it tighter?’

  ‘I shake when I’m nervous. My teacher, Mrs Harley, she says that’s normal and only silly people pretend they’re never scared.’

  Sam swallowed. ‘I think I like the sound of your teacher.’

  ‘She’s nice. She’s teaching us about the Romans. Want to know what I’m learning?’

  Fifty-One

  October 3rd

  As they walked into the kitchen, Tina listened to Dylan telling Sam that the Romans had special baths to relax in after work. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing as, hand in hand, man and boy passed through the kitchen. Bert, at a discreet distance, was doing his old man who can’t walk fast act, so as not to crowd Sam.

  When they left the kitchen, turning into the corridor that led to the drawing room, Mabel let out a loud exhalation of air. ‘Well I’ll be damned!’

  Tina’s eyes fell on two little discarded wellington boots by the kitchen door, decorated with cartoon dragons and castles, and she sobbed in relief and amazement. ‘Dylan’s done it! Sam inside Mill Grange.’

  Shaun and Thea exchanged glances. Neither wanted to be the one to say what they were thinking. How long before Sam sprints back out again?

  Passing Tina a tissue, Mabel brushed down her apron, pulling them back to the reality of the situation. ‘Shaun, you need to go in with Sam and get rehearsing while you can. The rest of us should stay here. There’ll be all manner of people in the drawing room soon, and us lot crowding in won’t help.’

  Tina gave a loud sniff. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m so proud. I keep thinking of what Lady Malvern will say when we tell her about Dylan and the tree and…’ She broke off into another croaky snob.

  ‘That’s exactly why you’re crying.’ Thea wasn’t sure how she was keeping her own emotions in check. ‘Someone should go and tell Phil that Sam’s in position before we lose the moment. And tell Tom too. His son might be about to appear on television. We’ll need his permission for that.’

  *

  Having checked that Dylan had the situation in hand, from his position curled up on Sam’s lap on the wing-backed chair facing the window, Bert muttered to Shaun, ‘Whatever you do, do not let Phil swap your seats round. Sam has got to see the window. In fact, if you can open it, that would be even better.’

  ‘Where are you going, Bert?’

  ‘To find that Phil chap.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘No time to explain. Keep Sam talking. Do not, for one minute, let him have time to think about where he is.’

  *

  Shaun didn’t ask Sam if he was alright. It was a pointless question. Hilda was going to have her work cut out getting some colour in his cheeks.

  Dylan was still chatting away about Romans, while holding both of Sam’s hands.

  Phil was taking forever to arrive. Whatever it was that Bert was saying to him, Shaun wished he’d hurry up.

  Opening the window, muttering something about the room being hot because of the unseasonal fire, Shaun sat in the other chair and looked at Sam. It was like peering into the eyes of a trapped animal, part afraid, part ready to strike. Thank God for Dylan.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Dylan,’ Shaun said to the lad, ‘but I need to practise interviewing Sam now.’

  Unfolding his legs, ready to jump off Sam’s lap, Dylan’s expression became serious. ‘Can I watch from the sofa?’

  Sam held him tighter. ‘If you’re comfy, you could sit here while we practise. If that’s okay with you, Shaun?’

  ‘Whatever works for you.’ Shaun opened his script folder. ‘So, it’ll be like we’ve discussed before. I’ll ask you about what you’re planning here, and why. Okay?’

  ‘I wish they’d hurry up.’ Sam shuffled in the chair.

  Dylan nodded. ‘It’s horrid waiting when you’re nervous. Shall I go and fetch them? Helen said I’m good at fetching stuff.’

  Torn between wanting to get on and not wanting to remove Sam’s human safety blanket, Shaun was about to say they’d give it two more minutes, when P
hil arrived, with the sound man, one cameraman, and no one else. No Hilda, no one to act as runner, and no one to fiddle with the lighting. Shaun could tell Phil wasn’t happy, but said nothing as he wondered what Bert had said to stop the place being crammed with crew.

  ‘We’ve done the rehearsal.’ Shaun gave Phil a beseeching look, which he hoped conveyed how time was of the essence here. ‘Shall we start?’

  Dylan threw his arms around Sam. ‘You’ll be every bit as good as my dad was.’ Then he put his face up to Sam’s ear, and in an over-loud whisper said, ‘Don’t be scared.’

  *

  Making sure they were out of the sight of the camera, Thea, Tina, Tom and Helen stood near the open window.

  There was so much tension radiating from Tina that Thea was willing to bet her friend’s shoulders ached with the effort of willing Sam not to bolt until Phil shouted ‘Cut!’

  As they heard Shaun’s confident words drift though the window, Thea saw Helen’s eyes drift to Tom. He was holding Dylan’s dirty boots against his chest.

  A second later, Sam’s voice rang out, telling Shaun why he was opening Mill Grange as a rehabilitation retreat for recovering military personnel.

  Thea held on to Tina, as she sagged in relief.

  Sam was inside Mill Grange. And he had been for almost fifteen minutes.

  *

  The second Phil said ‘Cut!’ Sam dived off the chair, scooped up a delighted Dylan, who immediately pretended he was an aeroplane, complete with engine noise and arms held out like wings, as they sprinted to the back door.

  Slamming his back against the outside wall, breathing so hard, it sounded like he’d been close to drowning, Sam passed Dylan into Tom’s outstretched arms as Tina flung herself at her boyfriend.

  ‘Oh my God, you did it. You really did it. Are you okay?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Sam held her as he met Tom’s eyes. At first he couldn’t find the words, but after licking some moisture into his lips, Sam spoke to the boy, now cuddled in his father’s arms. ‘Do you like cake, Dylan?’