by Ellie Dean
Peggy and the Beach View girls followed suit and swooped on Fran who was forced to stop playing as they hugged and kissed her and admired the bump pushing out beneath her maternity smock.
‘To be sure, ’tis a grand welcome,’ she said through her laughter. ‘I’m glad I managed to surprise you all.’
There was an instant babble of questions, and Cordelia pushed her way through the gaggle. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit,’ she ordered. ‘There you are,’ she said breathlessly, ‘and how lovely to have you home again even if it is only for a while.’
Fran handed the violin to Peggy so she could gently embrace the elderly woman. ‘I couldn’t be missing Rita’s wedding, Grandma Cordy,’ she murmured after kissing her cheek. ‘And I’ve so longed to see you all again.’
Peggy fought back happy tears as Fran turned to embrace her. ‘Welcome home, darling girl,’ she murmured against her cheek as she tried desperately to think where she could accommodate her and her husband. Beach View was full to the rafters.
‘Now, you’re not to be fretting about where to put us up, Aunt Peggy,’ replied Fran, who knew Peggy’s thought processes so well. ‘Gloria has most kindly rented me and Robert a room for the week, so we’ll be just down the road and will get lots of time to see each other.’
‘A whole week? Oh, Fran, does that mean you’ll be playing at Doris’s wedding next Saturday?’
‘I could hardly refuse seeing as how she gave me this wonderful instrument,’ replied Fran and then laughed. ‘To be sure I never imagined the day when I’d see Doris married again.’
‘I don’t think any of us did,’ said Peggy, and smiled. ‘Meeting the Colonel was the very best thing that could have happened to her after losing Ted and her home like that.’
Rita gently touched Fran’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she began tentatively, ‘but would you …? I mean, could you play at our wedding?’
Fran hugged her tightly – or as close as she could around her bump – and laughed. ‘Oh, wee Rita, of course I will. Did you think I’d come all this way and not do such a thing?’
Rita’s dark eyes filled with tears as she thanked her. Wiping them away, she suddenly frowned. ‘But you don’t know the order of service, or the music we’ve already chosen,’ she fretted. ‘How will …’
Fran smiled and patted her cheek. ‘To be sure, ’tis all sorted, Rita. Now let’s get on with your party and have everyone dancing.’
She reached out to retrieve the violin from Peggy who could have sworn there was still a glint of mischief in her eyes – but what further surprises could there possibly be?
Gloria fetched another chair and abandoned the piano to go and lean on the bar and share a knowing grin with Rosie while Fran sat down.
Peggy held her breath as Fran tossed back her hair and nestled the violin into the sweet curve of her neck. The crowded bar became hushed but for a minor disturbance near the doorway that was quickly quelled. It was as if they knew they were in for something very special tonight, for many of them remembered Fran’s violin playing during the later war years which had lifted their spirits and made them forget for a while that the fighting was going on just across the Channel.
Fran met Peggy’s gaze and grinned with such cheekiness that Peggy knew something was afoot, for she’d seen that grin before. But Fran merely ran her bow smoothly over the strings for two beats and then began to slowly build the tempo.
A movement in the surrounding crowd caught Peggy’s eye and she gasped in disbelief as Mary slipped onto the piano stool and began to accompany Fran in the hectic Irish tune which immediately had everyone tapping their feet and clapping in time.
Peggy couldn’t take her gaze from Mary, whose fingers danced with such speed and skill over the keys, for although they’d corresponded often, she hadn’t seen her since she’d left Beach View in 1942, and it was as if the years had melted away, for she was still the same pretty girl, with her dark hair and eyes, her softly curved figure and sweet smile.
Mary had come to Cliffehaven in search of her birth parents after discovering that she’d been adopted. Her quest had revealed the truth eventually, but it had brought her little joy and caused ripples of unease and regret to reach out to Peggy and those who’d been involved so long ago and had kept their vows of silence in the matter. For the childless Rosie, it had dredged up painful memories of her nefarious brother’s deceit and wicked manipulation which had betrayed Mary’s natural mother and snatched away Rosie’s one chance of adopting the baby she’d come to love. The only good thing to have come out of those dark, hurtful revelations was the close friendship Rosie and Mary had forged.
Peggy knew that when Mary had left for Sussex to enrol at teaching college, she’d found the missing pieces of her life and was content to leave the past behind and look to the future with her sweetheart, Jack Boniface. And yet that future had been marred by tragedy, for shortly after their marriage, and the birth of their son, Jack Boniface had been killed during a commando raid in Germany.
Peggy’s heart swelled with love in the knowledge of how much effort and planning must have gone into this surprise visit, and her spirits rose for the first time since she’d received that awful telegram.
In the light of this new joy, she realised Jim would come home when he could, and until then, she would wait for him as she’d waited throughout the long years of their separation. The war was well and truly over. He was safe. That’s all that really mattered.
Ron had realised that the little girls would be too excited by the prospect of tomorrow’s wedding to go to bed early, and were therefore in need of something to entertain them. He’d brought Harvey, his brindled lurcher, and had arrived at Beach View in his long poacher’s coat and carrying a crate of beer just as Peggy and the others were leaving for the Anchor, and had promised faithfully to keep things in order, not drink too much, and have all three children in bed no later than seven.
And he’d fully intended to keep that promise. Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans could go awry, for he hadn’t factored in the age of the children, and how they might react to his surprise.
Ron had closed the door to the large dining room, made sure the other men had a beer and the children some squash, and then reached into one of his deep coat pockets. ‘Now, girls,’ he said, eyeing each of them fondly. ‘Your grandad has a special surprise for you. But you have to be very quiet. Do you understand?’
The three little girls nodded solemnly, their eyes wide in anticipation.
One by one, Ron carefully drew the sleeping ferrets from his pocket and held them close as they drooped over his arms. ‘This is Flora and Dora,’ he explained softly. ‘They’re a bit tired because they’ve been out hunting today, so you must stay still and very quiet and not wake them too quickly.’
Daisy, who would be four at the end of the year, was singularly unimpressed because she’d met and played with Flora and Dora many times. But Anne’s Rose, who was already four, gasped and tried to reach out to stroke Dora’s soft fur, and was quickly forestalled by Ron who knew the ferret could be tetchy about being touched when she was half-asleep, and inclined to bite.
Little Emily, who was not quite three, just stared.
Ron held the ferrets against his chest and gently stroked their bellies so they remained calm as they began to wake and take an interest in their surroundings. ‘Now,’ he murmured, ‘keep very still and quiet while I put them down so they can explore.’
Flora and Dora sat on the floor, their noses twitching to scent the air, and then Flora, who was the more adventurous of the pair, decided to scamper towards Emily.
Emily screamed, scrambled to her feet and was still screaming as she ran to Martin and clutched at his legs. Not to be outdone, Rose swiftly followed suit.
Dora fled beneath the table, but Flora shot across the room to sit on top of the gramophone box where she let out a high-pitched screech and a stream of stinking poo.
The smell hit them all, and the two
children carried on screaming and would not be calmed even when Martin bundled them into his arms. Daisy folded her arms and rolled her eyes in world-weary disgust at her cousins’ behaviour.
Ron quickly got to his feet, deciding Dora could stay where she was, but Flora needed rounding up before she did further damage. He was just reaching to grab her by the scruff when the door opened and Fran’s Robert stepped into the room.
‘Shut that door,’ shouted Ron.
But it was too late. Flora had seen her chance to escape, and before Robert could react, shot like lightning across the room, through his feet and out into the hall.
Ron turned swiftly to find that Dora had disappeared from beneath the table, so had no doubt followed her sister. ‘Quick,’ he shouted. ‘After them.’
Andy, Robert, Jack, Frank and Ron dashed into the hall with Peter limping behind them and little Daisy running to catch them up. Martin, with his arms full of small, sobbing girls, was left behind to deal with them.
There was no sign of the ferrets, and with his heart in his mouth, Ron could only pray that Robert had shut the back door behind him. If they got outside, he’d never find them in the dark.
The door was, mercifully, closed, and Harvey quickly sniffed out Dora who was wedged beneath the large kitchen dresser and spitting venom. Harvey danced on his toes, barking excitedly, as Daisy clapped her hands and laughed.
‘Shut up, Harvey,’ snapped Ron. ‘Go and find Flora. Seek. Seek.’
As the dog galloped off back into the hall, Ron ordered Robert to keep Daisy out of harm’s way and shut both doors while he tried to get Dora out of her hiding place. He quickly shoved the table and chairs to one side, and then stretched out on the floor to plunge his arm beneath the dresser. His fingers scrabbled for her scruff.
Dora was having none of it. She didn’t want to come out, and as she reversed deeper beneath the dresser, she hissed and spat, her needle-sharp teeth snapping at his fingers, her eyes gleaming with fear and fury.
‘Here you go, mate,’ drawled Peter, handing him a gardening glove he’d plucked from the top of the dresser. ‘I reckon you might need this before you lose a finger to those teeth.’
Ron grunted his thanks, pulled on the glove and eased his arm beneath the dresser again. ‘Come on, Dora, wee girl,’ he soothed. ‘There’s nought to be afraid of.’
Dora closed her strong jaws on the gloved hand and Ron swore. Once a ferret got their teeth into something it was the devil’s own job to get them to release it – and it damned well hurt. Ron knew there was only one thing for it, and as Peter lifted the front of the dresser to give him more room, he dragged Dora out, her teeth still embedded in his gloved fingers.
Frank grabbed her scruff and held her determinedly until she was forced to relax her jaws enough for his father to get his hand out of the glove. As Ron sat on the floor amid the debris that had fallen from the top of the dresser, to nurse his bleeding, aching hand, Frank soothed Dora by gently stroking her stomach until she went into a dreamlike trance.
‘To be sure, Da, that was an eejit thing to be doing. Did ye not think the wee girls might be frightened to see such strange beasts?’
‘Aye,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘I realise now it was daft. But how was I to know Emily would react like that?’ He scrambled to his feet and went to wash the puncture wounds beneath the cold tap. ‘And we’ve yet to find Flora,’ he added dolefully.
Harvey’s barking came distantly from upstairs, so Frank deposited the now calm Dora in his father’s deep coat pocket and, shooting him a look of exasperation mixed with humour, followed the sound, the other men on his heels.
Ron realised Martin must have soothed the girls out of their hysterics, for there was no sound coming from the dining room. He dried his hand, hunted out an old tube of antiseptic cream from the dresser drawer and smeared some over the wounds before following the others. The kitchen was already a mess, the dining room stank – and the Lord only knew what he’d find upstairs.
Flora was on top of Cordelia’s wardrobe, the floor now littered with the hatboxes which had been stored there. Their contents had been spilled across the carpet, and Harvey was trampling them in his eagerness to reach Flora who arched her back and spat at him.
‘Get out of there, ye heathen beast,’ stormed Ron, aghast at the damage his animals had caused. He ordered Harvey to sit and stay with such command that the dog squirmed beneath the bed. ‘Shut the door, Jack. We can’t have her getting away from us again.’
The men quickly removed the hats and boxes from the floor to the bed, and Daisy scrambled up with them to sit amid the chaos and enjoy the show.
Ron turned to his son. ‘Right, Frank. You take the left, I’ll take the right – and, Jack, you stay at the front with Robert and Peter. She could go in any direction, so be alert and ready to grab her.’
Flora eyed them, gave a high-pitched screech and weaved back and forth trying to decide how to escape. As the men reached for her, she took a flying leap over their heads and landed on the dressing table. Glass jars and bowls went skidding to the floor, hairbrushes, combs and pins scattering in all directions, and as the men advanced on her, she leapt from the dressing table to the bedside cabinet, sending the lamp crashing to the floor and tipping the glass of water over Cordelia’s new paperback book.
Ron was sweating heavily in fear of what Peggy and Cordelia would have to say on their return, but forced himself to remain calm as he tried to coax Flora into staying put.
Flora had no intention of staying anywhere she could be so easily caught, and quickly sought refuge beneath Cordelia’s pillows before burrowing deep beneath the bedding.
It was a tactical error and one that Ron could now exploit. He lifted Daisy off the bed, threw the pillows on the floor, and signalled to the men to trap Flora in her hideaway while he carefully began to lift away the eiderdown and blankets until only a sheet covered the quivering, hissing mound.
Ron signalled again and they untucked both sheets, until the wriggling, frantic Flora was wrapped up like a parcel and safely back in Ron’s arms. She urinated and defecated in protest, splattering Ron’s tatty jumper and shirt. But he grimly held on to her as he coaxed and crooned to her to calm her down.
Flora finally relaxed, and Ron unwrapped her from the filthy sheets, stroking her all the while and talking softly to her until she lay supine in his arms. Then Ron eased her into his pocket with Dora, heard her soft mewls of pleasure and knew the drama was over.
‘Strewth, Ron,’ breathed Peter, regarding the devastation. ‘It’s going to take all flaming night to get this lot cleaned up.’
‘Aye, it will that,’ he rumbled before grimacing at the mess all down his front. ‘But I’m thinking a strong drink wouldn’t go amiss after all the shenanigans.’ He pulled a quarter bottle of Irish whiskey from an inside pocket. ‘Let’s have this downstairs while I put these sheets to soak and clean meself up.’
‘You told Mummy you wouldn’t drink, Grandpa,’ said Daisy with a righteous glare, her small arms folded.
‘Grandpa’s thirsty,’ he replied. ‘Mummy won’t mind.’
Daisy wrinkled her nose. ‘You smell.’
‘Aye, that I do, wee girl,’ he said solemnly. ‘Isn’t it time you went to bed?’
Daisy shook her head, and in no mood for an argument, Ron headed down the stairs to the kitchen.
He stripped off his shirt and jumper, dumped them in the sink with a good dose of washing powder and proceeded to wash them through along with the sheets. Wiping down the stains from his old corduroy trousers, he then wrung out the sweater and put it back on, shivering at the unpleasant feel of wet wool against his skin.
Once the sheets and shirt were pegged on the line, he returned to the dining room to find Daisy curled up on Frank’s lap, her thumb in her mouth. ‘Where’s Martin?’ he asked.
‘Putting his girls to bed,’ said Jack, handing him a generous tot of whiskey.
The bottle didn’t last very long, but luckily Peter ha
d brought some rum, so they got stuck into that. Martin eventually came down and gratefully accepted a drink before offering to put Daisy to bed. But although she was fighting sleep, Daisy refused to leave, and showed signs of being as temperamental as the ferrets, so they let her stay.
Charlie wandered in from his practice session at the rugby club to find them drowning their sorrows. He cheerfully plucked Daisy from his Uncle Frank’s lap and carried her off to her bed, staying long enough to read her a story.
Then it was all hands to the task of putting the house straight – or as straight as they could get it. Because the ferrets were Ron’s, he’d been tasked with cleaning up the poo. Peter tidied up the kitchen, and then went to help the others in Cordelia’s room. Andy remade the bed while Jack tried to mend the lamp and smooth out the dents in the shade while Martin picked up the scattered hairpins, bottles and jars, and Charlie did his best to repair the hatboxes and put the hats away. The straw hat had been well and truly trampled by Harvey, and there was now a definite hole in the crown.
‘I can’t mend this, Grandad,’ he said, holding the hat up. ‘What on earth are we going to do about it?’
‘Put it in a box and shove the lot on top of the wardrobe,’ said Ron, his wet jumper still clinging unpleasantly to him. ‘I’ll buy her a new one.’
‘But what if she was planning to wear it tomorrow?’
‘We’ll just have to hope she isn’t,’ he retorted. He looked round the room, relieved that nothing important had been broken. ‘Come on. We’ve done all we can, and it’s almost time for the women to get home. We don’t want them catching us up here, for it’ll be the wrath of God on our heads if they do.’
He saw his grandson’s frown and put an arm about his shoulder. ‘Ach, Charlie, it’ll be all right. To be sure, Cordy and your wee mam will be fine about it all. You’ll see.’
Charlie was clearly not sure about that – and truth be told, neither was Ron. But they’d already missed at least three hours of good drinking time, and Ron wasn’t about to dwell on such things.
