While Marco (who was carrying a tricorn hat under one arm), was happily feeding the birds and guinea pigs in their pens, I asked Emma how she’d got on with persuading Des to go to Relate with her and she opened up about what had been happening at home.
‘He’s so clever, cutting and sarcastic when he’s angry with me that it’s hard to confront him in person,’ she said. ‘So I thought I’d write down what I wanted to say and email it to him, so he could read it on the way back and we could have a serious, calm discussion about it when he got home.’
‘What did you put in the email?’
‘Just what I’ve told you, really, about how hurtful I find his jealousy, especially his suspecting I might be seeing someone else. And I said that last time he was back, when he was snooping round checking up on me and even questioning Marco, was the final straw, so either we went to Relate and got some help, or we divorced.’
‘How did he take that?’
‘I was half afraid it might have made him even worse – and angrier,’ she admitted. ‘But actually, he was quiet and subdued when he got home and we had a long talk the same evening.’
‘As in a real talk, not him ranting at you?’ I said, and she nodded.
‘He said he hated being away from me for such long periods of time, and that’s what made him jealous about what I might be doing. So I said he should trust me, just as I trusted him – that’s what real love is about.’
I nodded. ‘I hope he saw how unreasonably he’d been behaving?’
‘Well … not entirely, because when I said it was also perfectly natural to have friends and socialise with other people too, he said I wasn’t always wise in my friends.’
‘Meaning me?’
‘Yes, and I said you were totally innocent and would always be my best friend, so if he didn’t like that, then he knew what he could do.’
‘Bravo!’ I applauded, and she grinned.
‘I should have stood up to him a long time ago, not backed down when he turned on the temper and sarcasm. It’s just … I never much liked angry confrontations and, he was so clever, the way he’d twist my words to put me in the wrong.’
She looked at Marco, who was having a long conversation with a golden pheasant through the netting of a pen, voicing both parts. ‘I warned him that Marco was my responsibility, not his – and that I was never going to visit his horrible mother in her nursing home again, either. She hated me from the moment she met me, so it’s pointless.’
‘A total waste of time,’ I agreed. ‘So, are you going to Relate when he gets back next time?’
‘I don’t know – he said realising how I felt was a total wake-up call and he doesn’t want to lose me, so things will be different. And he was much more like the Desmond I married after that, so maybe things might be OK now? He suggested we might feel closer while he’s abroad if we talked every day on Skype, too.’
‘Hmm,’ I said doubtfully. ‘I’m not too sure about that one, because it could be just another way of keeping daily tabs on you, couldn’t it?’
‘I don’t know … I think I’ll have to see how it goes. I did feel sorry for him when he said he got very lonely and that he’d had enough of being away so much, so perhaps he’d get a job in the UK after this, if he could find one that paid enough … Which will be OK if he really does change.’
I wasn’t sure he would, but at least she had three months to think about things and see how it went.
Over lunch in the café, Marco, who was now wearing his tricorn and bowing a lot, because he was a musketeer, volunteered the information that he was glad Des – whom he’d never called Dad – had gone away.
‘We’re much happier when he isn’t here, aren’t we, Mummy?’
‘But Des did quite a lot of things with you when he was home, like playing football in the park and taking you to the funfair in Southport,’ said Emma.
‘I don’t like football and when I told him I’d rather go on the roundabout than the go-karts, he said I was a wuss.’
‘Perhaps he’ll get it right next time and ask you what you want to do?’ I suggested.
‘Or perhaps he won’t come back at all,’ Marco said cheerfully, and I could see he thought this was the best option. ‘Mummy showed me Qatar on the world globe and it was right round the other side.’
As we moved through May, the whole mill was constantly chock-full of whistling, sawing, hammering, drilling workmen. Some days, it was practically standing room only.
Mercy, lively as a flea, was constantly bringing people around – whether from the council, or the planning department, or somewhere else, she didn’t say, though some were shopfitters there to give estimates for creating the Christmas shop. Work on that and the café would begin the moment the planning permission came … if it ever did.
But as Mercy said, ‘We’ll crack on and get everything done that doesn’t depend on it, but there’s no point in fitting out the shop, putting in the lift or constructing the café area without permission to open to the public.’
‘I think Randal will be totally amazed when he gets back and sees how much has been done already,’ I told her. ‘And we’ve even sussed out some possible staff,’ I added, because Arlene had a friend with experience of managing a National Trust shop who’d love to run a Christmas one, and the daughter of one of Mercy’s Quaker friends was interested in taking over the café as an organic wholefood enterprise, which sounded promising.
Meanwhile, cocooned by the partition wall and the plastic sheeting, the cracker makers worked on, finishing the last of the orders for the old-style crackers and then, as the new materials arrived, beginning to stockpile the new, ready for the orders we hoped would soon roll in …
Liz came home only briefly at half term, since she’d been on a school trip to Paris. She brought back presents – a scarf brightly patterned with fifties-style poodles for Mercy and one with black cats for me – but she said finding something Silas would like was impossible, so she’d simply got him a tin of Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls at the local shop.
Mercy told her a little about Lacey’s visit, but she guessed there was more to it, so as soon as we were alone, she asked me for the lowdown.
‘I could see there was lots being held back,’ she said, and added accusingly, ‘and you didn’t say very much about her in your emails, either!’
‘No – well, it was all a bit difficult,’ I said, but then, deciding she was more than mature enough to cope with the news of Lacey’s business pursuits, revealed all, including that she and Randal had thought of relocating Instant Orgy to the mill after they were married.
‘That’s not at all the kind of thing Grandmother Mercy would like,’ she said severely, before grinning like the teenager she was, and adding, ‘It must have been quite funny when Lacey came out with the news that she sold sex party supplies!’
‘It was a bit, and Lacey is genuinely baffled about why anyone should object. Randal understands, but of course he wants her to move up to Mote Farm, so he’s all for her relocating her business here.’
‘But if she’s madly in love with Randal, wouldn’t she want to help him with the mill, instead?’
‘I think that’s what he hoped, but clearly she likes her independence. In fact, when Mercy said she wasn’t keen on having the business at the mill, Lacey went all huffy and started talking about leaving it where it was instead. She and Randal would have to divide their time between London and Godsend.’
‘I don’t think that would work, because it’s a very long commute,’ Liz said. Then she grinned again. ‘Grandmother said Guy Martland sent you flowers and chocolates and wanted to court you, but you were a level-headed girl who wouldn’t have your head turned by a handsome scapegrace. “Scapegrace” is a great word.’
‘It describes him very well,’ I agreed. ‘He’s persistent and can be charming – though he’s not as irresistible as he thinks he is – but I’ve been warned he’s not serious by practically everyone, including his own relatives.’
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‘Do you mind?’ she asked.
‘My pride took a little dent when I realised they were right, but then I’d done my best to put him off anyway. Pye is the only male I want in my life … large, vocal and bossy though he is. Now, who does that remind you of?’
‘Randal,’ she said, giggling.
Liz went back to school again and I think we all missed her, even grumpy old Silas. I began putting a bit more information into my emails to her and described in detail the following Sunday’s Quaker meeting, when Mercy actually stood up and said she was troubled in her soul about the ethos of businesses selling sex aids and whether it could possibly be something she should allow on her premises.
There was a deep silence after she sat down that lasted for at least twenty minutes. Then a scholarly young man rose to his feet and said that sex within the loving relationship of marriage was of course a very good thing, but the exploitation of sex for gain might not be, which echoed what Mercy’s first thoughts had been.
No one else said anything and soon afterwards we adjourned to the annexe for coffee and buns, where Mercy explained a little more about Lacey and the mail-order business, and said she would await heavenly guidance.
Quakers appeared to do a lot of thinking and waiting. Nobody expressed shock, surprise or even disapproval; it was just another matter to be turned over slowly in their minds until the correct answer dropped down, like manna from heaven.
Holly and Jude, with their baby, Herrie, had been invited to take early afternoon tea at Mote Farm. Mercy dug out an ancient wooden high chair, which had been fitted more recently with straps to make the little occupant secure.
Jude had an even healthier appetite than Silas and they competed for the last sandwiches. Pye, from a vantage point under a chair, watched in disgust as they vanished.
We’d brought an elderly gentleman back from the meeting with us and there was some confusion later, because Silas and Mercy each thought the other had invited him, but it turned out by teatime that he’d invited himself.
‘Now, Christopher, of course we’re delighted to have you, but did you let your daughter know where you were going?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied sunnily, taking another iced finger roll, so Mercy went away to telephone.
When she returned she said, ‘There was a slight panic, but everything’s fine now and they’ll collect you soon, Christopher.’
And luckily they arrived just as he was getting sleepy and insisting that he lived there and wanted to go to his bed.
Mercy, unfazed, said he was very forgetful, but always charming, and she’d have invited him anyway if she’d known he’d like to come. Then we took the baby to feed the ducks, before Jude and Holly took him home again. He was a delightful baby …
I’d tried to talk about having children to Jeremy once, but he’d said he saw enough of kids at school and the last thing he wanted was any of his own, ever.
I’d left it a bit late to get broody anyway, so I’d simply have to settle for a cottage full of cats.
Something exciting happened! By sheer chance I saw that Liberty, the famous London store, was to hold one of their open days, when the makers of all kinds of products could go and pitch to them. If they were successful, Liberty would stock their products.
It was to be in June, so I suggested to Mercy that she should book a slot and go down there with samples of our new crackers, and she did, but she wanted me to go with her!
I’d never been to London, unless you count changing trains there when I was on my way to the hospital to see my first fiancé, Robbie, after he was wounded. The thought of it was exciting but scary, though not as scary as having to accompany Mercy to the store.
She’d booked us rooms for a night at a small Quaker club near the British Museum, which was somewhere I’d always longed to visit, so she said if there was time we’d pop in.
Mercy suggested we didn’t say anything to Randal at the moment, so as not to get his hopes up. That was OK by me since I wasn’t in communication with him anyway, and also I don’t think he had any hopes for the cracker factory in the first place.
He was to return to the UK at the end of the month and would bring Lacey here soon afterwards, by which time Mercy hoped God may have shown her the way forward on the Instant Orgy issue.
Unfortunately, opinions among her Quaker friends after the next meeting seemed divided, but Dorrie and Lillian said they didn’t know what the fuss was about.
‘It’s only a bit of fun and people get their kicks in different ways,’ Lillian said.
‘That might be so, but some of those ways shouldn’t be encouraged,’ replied Joy primly. ‘What do you think, Tabitha?’
‘It seems a tacky trade to me,’ I said honestly, ‘but I can’t say I’m bothered by what people want to get up to, so long as no one is forcing anyone else to do things they don’t want to.’
‘Well, in Fifty—’ Lillian began eagerly, but Joy cut her off quickly.
‘Let’s not even go there!’ she snapped, and the subject was dropped.
Chapter 40: Missed Connections
Randal
Vietnam was interesting, mainly because it was a corner of the world I’d never visited before, but the hotel I went on to investigate in Thailand for my usual series was dubious in the extreme – and so was the food. I was careful, but still … I was glad to move on.
I was happy that the Vietnam trip wrapped up the Gap Year Hells segments, too, though on the whole, most of the disasters I’d found awaiting unwary students were likely to be caused by differences in culture and expectations. And after talking to many of the backpackers I’d met, I decided they seemed to blithely tumble, totally unharmed, from one danger to another.
I’d had intermittent web access, mostly via the ever-spreading internet cafés, and every time I managed to get a connection, Mercy bombarded me with updates about the mill, how helpful Tabby was being, what her Quaker Friends said about Lacey’s business interests and much else besides, like a bothersome gnat.
After a long flight home and a missed connection I got back to my flat in the middle of the night, feeling ill and exhausted, and crashed out to sleep, only to be shocked awake by Lacey several hours later, demanding to know why I hadn’t called her.
‘Sorry, darling,’ I said contritely. ‘I didn’t get home till nearly one and I’m shattered.’
But even pleading jet lag didn’t prevent her dragging me out to a nightclub that evening, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. It was one of her friend’s birthday bash and I noticed, through waves of weariness, that in my absence Guy Martland appeared to have become a permanent member of her circle.
Everyone quickly got drunk and noisy, while I sat there quietly over a glass of tonic water, feeling as old as Methuselah and thinking that one minute Lacey was dead set on settling down and having a baby, as so many of her friends were doing, and the next she was a complete party girl and blowing hot and cold on the idea of leaving London at all.
Maybe the ten-year age difference was just way too much? Though then, that always seemed part of my attraction – she said I made her feel safe.
She didn’t say what from. Herself, perhaps?
Suddenly, I longed to be back at Mote Farm, with its peaceful routine, good, wholesome cooking – and the irritating, sarcastic girl with the cool, lavender-grey eyes and silken curtain of darkest brown hair.
Chapter 41: Spats
Q:What’s white and goes up?
A:A confused snowflake.
The first Saturday in June was a balmy sunny day, so that Mote Farm looked its magical best when Randal and Lacey arrived after lunch.
I’m sure both Mercy and I were shocked to see that Randal had lost yet more weight and also looked very tired. By then he’d been home for over a week, so you’d have expected him to have recovered from the long journey.
He seemed pleased to be back again, though, which was more than could be said for Lacey, who was bored and sulky from
the moment she stepped out of the car, carrying Pugsie.
The second he saw where he was, he yapped imperatively and then began frantically wriggling, so Lacey put him down and he raced past us into the house, presumably to find his new best friend. I only hoped Pye was braced, ready and on his best behaviour …
‘Lovely to see you again, dear,’ Mercy said kindly, kissing Lacey’s cheek. ‘And I see you’ve brought Pugsie – such a funny little thing.’
‘He’s been a complete pain since the last time he came here,’ Lacey said. ‘He whined all the way home and then was miserable for days.’
‘You’re out a lot, so he probably gets lonely,’ suggested Randal, following us into the house.
‘I can’t take him everywhere,’ she snapped.
‘You used to, when I first met you,’ he pointed out.
She shrugged. ‘It was a trend, only he got too heavy for the lovely leather bag I got to carry him in.’
It sounded as if Pugsie might have been a mere fashion accessory, for all the endearments I’d heard her lavish on him, and his day had waned.
I hoped for Randal’s sake that his day wouldn’t wane too, though I detected a hint of tension between them, as if they’d been arguing in the car.
I’d have preferred to slope off to the pub for one of Nancy Dagger’s hotpot dinners and a game of dominoes with the others that evening, but Mercy asked me to join them and I didn’t like to say no.
‘I do find Lacey a little difficult to talk to, dear,’ she’d explained earlier. ‘So I’d be very grateful if you could step in if the conversation gets at all awkward. You could borrow my car if you’d still like to go up and join the others at the Auld Christmas afterwards?’
‘Of course I’ll stay if you want me to, though I don’t think tact is my middle name, really,’ I said doubtfully. I’d certainly not been tactful with Guy – though actually that didn’t seem to have deterred him for long and he’d just texted me to say he was up this weekend and hoped to see me in the pub later.
A Christmas Cracker Page 26
