A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  ‘I filled it yesterday – what do they do, drink it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be surprised.’ She chuckled and puffed at her cigarette. ‘They sit on the edge and let the water run out. The way they’re goin’, there’s gonna be no grass left by the end of the summer.’

  ‘’Taint much of a lawn, anyway. Fact the whole garden’s a bit of a tip. We oughta grow some vegetables…’

  ‘You say that every year! You’d never eat ’em and nor would the kiddies.’

  ‘S’pose you’re right.’ Lenny folded a slice of bread and dipped it into the egg. He looked at her fondly. She was still a bit of alright. She might not have had time to do her hair, but her foundation was on, her eyelashes liberally mascara’d and her mouth was a generous crimson bow. The little pink boob tube and brief denim skirt left nothing to Lenny’s imagination and he felt a faint stirring in the depths of his pyjamas, but looking at her more closely, he could see traces of natural shadow under her eyes. ‘You came back late last night. I don’t remember yer comin’ to bed.’

  ‘That’s ’cos you was snorin’ like a pig. I’d tried to wake yer, ’cos I wanted to pass on Mister Lester’s message before I forgot again. Give me some stick, he did, for not doin’ it before. Bloody cheek!’ Paula snorted and took a consoling drag.

  Lenny, about to bite into his sausage, which he had smeared with a large blob of tomato sauce, looked up, interested, the sausage suspended half way into his mouth, ‘Message, for me, from old man Lester? What’s he want with me?’

  ‘I dunno. Just said for to tell you to give him a ring. Something about work, he said. He told me Friday, but you was out with Charlie till all hours and I forgot.’ She gloomily inspected her fingernails. ‘My nails are in a terrible state. It’s all that bloomin’ washin’ up. She won’t let me put her poncey stuff in the dishwasher, case it breaks. Don’t matter about my nails breakin’!’

  ‘Why don’t ya sue her?’

  Paula ignored his suggestion and carried on, enjoying her grumble. ‘God, did that dinner party go on and on – what on earth do they find to talk about? That’s what I’d like to know. And she wanted me to stay and serve coffee. Then just as I’m finishin’, absolutely knackered, in he comes, not a word of thanks but starts moanin’ ’cos he hadn’t heard from you…’

  ‘And he didn’t say what for?’

  ‘No. I told you – just said he had some work for you and you was to ring him. Mind you, I wouldn’t wanna work for him, he’s ’orrible. Not as bad as her, though. I hate her; she’s such a sarky old cow. If we didn’t need the money, I’d tell them where they could stuff their job. You finished?’

  ‘Yes thanks, love. I could do with another cuppa, though. Can I nick one of your fags? I’m clean out.’

  ‘You’re always saying you don’t like menthol, but it don’t stop you bumming my ciggies…’

  ‘Needs must… I wonder what old Hughie wants, then. He’s never asked for me before. Didn’t think he knew I existed…’

  ‘He’s probably heard how good you are.’ Paula looked at Lenny, proudly. She was ten years younger than he was and though he was three inches shorter than she was, with a broken nose and missing two front teeth from a motocross accident, she adored him as much as she had when, as a fifteen-year-old, he had taken her out on her very first date. ‘What you don’t know about engines…’

  Lenny yawned. ‘ Yeah, well…me and Charlie’s got a lot on, at the moment…’

  ‘This’ll be paid work, Lenny.’ There was a slight edge to Paula’s voice as she put a fresh mug of tea in front of him.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll give him a ring and see what’s what.’

  ‘Don’t you forget.’

  ‘Like you, you mean. No, don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll do it this afternoon.’

  * * *

  But, of course, he did not. He met Charlie, as planned, for an afternoon at a local motocross rally. They were not racing; their bike was still missing an essential part, so they had planned to spend the afternoon sizing up the opposition for the next big rally, cracking a few cans with other bikers, and exchanging news and views.

  It was an ideal afternoon for a meeting. The sun was hot, the sky, forget-me-not blue; the red dirt, churned up by the twisting, snarling bikes, hung in the air before slowly drifting across to dust bush, grass, tree and punter, alike. Knots of bikers and their families picnicked on the grass around their vans, or in the shade of the hedgerow at the edge of the field. In the still air, the smell of hot dogs and burgers mingled with fumes from a hundred exhausts; the relentless, hysterical commentary crackling from the loud speakers was drowned only by the ear-splitting cacophony of the engines when the bikes, as one, tore out of the starting gates and threw themselves, spluttering and screaming, over the hillocks, round precipitous bends, up through the woods, then down the final straight to the flag and the cheering crowd.

  It was not a big meeting, and most of the participants were known to Charlie and Lenny. It should have been a good afternoon, but Charlie was not in the mood. Lenny realised that soon after they had met up. The twinkle had gone from his eyes and they were dark and dull; his countenance, usually open and cheerful, was unsmiling and shut. Usually garrulous and sociable, Charlie said hardly a word; acknowledged soul mates with barely a grunt; made no attempt to flirt with any of the girls who greeted his presence with encouraging smiles and waves; accepted a beer without enthusiasm; and watched the sport with no sign of pleasure. Finally Lenny, not normally given to expecting or encouraging personal confidences, was driven to ask Charlie what was bugging him.

  ‘Only you’ve been a right old misery since we got here, Charlie, and it ain’t like you. If you wanna go, just say the word. You can take the van and I’ll get a lift back with Pete or someone…’

  Charlie groaned. ‘Sorry mate. I shouldn’t have come. I should have stayed behind and murdered the old bat. Put us all out of our misery.’

  ‘Elsie? What’s she been up to?’

  ‘She’s issued an ultimatum,’ said Charlie heavily. ‘We had the works this lunchtime. She produced a newspaper with…with a picture of me on the front page. Where the hell did they get that from, eh? Some clever dick Flash Harry with nothing better to do than go round taking photographs without asking…’

  ‘What was it of?’

  ‘Me. On that bear.’

  ‘Gawd!’

  ‘Yep. You should’ve seen the smirk on Gran’s face when she showed it. Pretending she was so shocked; she was enjoying every moment, the old bitch.’

  Lenny, who had been present when Charlie had mounted the bear in question, did his best to hide his smirk and look sympathetic. ‘What did the family say?’

  ‘As I predicted – Mum was upset but glad I hadn’t hurt myself; Ali made some clever-clever not very funny remark; Steve bitched about the fine and then sniggered over the photograph…’

  * * *

  But Stephen hadn’t sniggered for long. Elsie was ready for a fight, and she was going to take them all on.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what that magistrate said: ‘It’s time you grew up, Mr Tucker.’ He was right. It is time… What do you think you were playing at, eh? Climbing on a bear – a grown man! Kids’ games! And it applies to you, too, Stephen. Look at you both. Into your thirties and no sign of wife or kiddies…Where’s the next generation of Tuckers coming from to run this farm; the farm that my money and your grandfather’s hard work secured for you? And is it in profit? Is it flourishing? No, it’s not. And why not?’ She glared at them, challenging them. All averted their gaze, unable to answer her, or too circumspect to want to.

  The Tuckers were sitting round the kitchen table, where all their meals were taken, for Sunday lunch. Elsie at the head, sat in a large old wooden carver that had been part of the kitchen since time immemorial, the others, either side of her, occupied a motley collection of chairs of various a
ges and different degrees of instability. They always sat in the same place, on the same chairs: Jenny and Alison sat on Elsie’s left, their backs to the window and closest to the sink and the stove, and Charlie and Stephen on her right. Jenny had just cleared away the remnants of a shoulder of lamb, (traditionally re-served the following day, bulked out with baked beans, her version of shepherd’s pie. Stephen loved it; the rest of the family didn’t) and had just placed a large dish of apple crumble on the table when Elsie had launched her attack. She had dished out the crumble, but, overcome with the evidence of Charlie’s humiliation, had lost all appetite for pudding and sat there, staring at Elsie, wishing, not for the first time in her life, that something would happen to Elsie that would remove her – painlessly of course – from their lives, once and for all.

  Elsie slammed the newspaper down on the table and continued her harangue.

  ‘Because you none of you take this farm seriously, that’s what. You’ve had your living handed to you on a plate and unless you start working for it, you’ll lose it; working hard, mind, not this faffing around: a bit here, a bit there, then off to motocross or amateur dramatics!’

  Unwisely, Jenny attempted to defend her boys. ‘But Gran… they’ve got to have some fun…’

  With contempt, Elsie cut her off. ‘Why? Until they’ve earned it, they’re having fun at the expense of the farm. You’ve brought them up soft, Jenny. They don’t know the meaning of graft…’

  Stephen, who got up every morning at five to see to his cows, thought this was a bit rich and started to protest.

  Elsie took no notice. ‘No Stephen, I mean what I say: you don’t understand hard work, commitment, team work. Your grandfather and I worked as a team; we put this farm on its feet and made it profitable. Our milk and cream, my butter and cheese, were the best in the county. The prizes we won, the reputation we had! Where’s it all gone, eh?’

  Stephen went red in the face and blurted out, ‘That’s not fair, Gran. Our milk–’ But he got no further.

  Elsie interrupted him with a shake of her head. ‘You think you work hard, Stephen, but why was that batch of milk rejected? Has it happened before? I never thought the day would come when Marsh Farm milk would not be thought good enough… and have you wondered,’ she glared round at them all, ‘why Hugh Lester is making such derisory offers for our farm, eh?’

  ‘Because he’s the type who will always try and get something for nothing, that’s why,’ Charlie growled, resentfully. ‘He’s an unscrupulous, land-grabbing toad who respects nothing and nobody.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. But if he looks round this farm and sees what I see – decay and dereliction everywhere – then I’m not surprised he sets so little value on it. He’ll be back, you can be sure of that. I hope I’m not alive the day you’re forced to sell to the likes of him, and if I’ve got anything to do with it, that day will never happen. I’ve not interfered; I’ve given you your chances, like I gave Jenny and your Dad theirs, but it’s got to a point when I can’t sit back any longer and watch my hard work, and your grandfather’s, go to the wall.’

  ‘So what do you want us to do, Gran?’ asked Alison, who was watching the clock with increasing agitation. She had arranged to meet Al at two and it was now nearly one-thirty. Normally lunch would have been well over by one o’clock. Gran’s unforeseen attack threatened disaster. She couldn’t see how she could slip away inconspicuously, and if she didn’t turn up at the appointed time, would Al wait?

  ‘I’m going to make an ultimatum. Do you know what an ultimatum is, Charlie?’ She said sharply to her grandson, who sat sulkily toying with a plate of apple crumble.

  Resentful, he looked up. ‘Yeah, it’s a posh word for blackmail.’

  His mother gave a slight moan. Experience had taught her that it was no use standing up to Elsie in this sort of mood.

  ‘Don’t be absurd, young man. If you do as I tell you then one day you’ll thank me for it; if you don’t, then you’ll only have yourself to blame for the consequences.’ She paused, allowing her words their full dramatic effect. Four pairs of eyes, two green, two brown, stared at her, waiting.

  She drew in her breath and sat back in the wooden armchair, looking at them all. ‘I’m giving you,’ she said, fixing her gaze on Charlie and Stephen, ‘one year. If at the end of that year, you’ve not found yourselves wives, or turned the fortunes of the farm around in a very material way, you will forfeit your share of my estate. I’ll change my will and cut you out.’

  Charlie let out a shout of disbelief; Stephen’s jaw dropped; Jenny put her head in her hands, moaning gently; and Alison, staring at her grandmother, gave a short laugh. ‘You’re joking, Gran?’

  ‘Oh no I’m not,’ Elsie replied grimly. ‘I was never more serious; and don’t think you’re getting away with it, Miss Alison. I’m disappointed in you – you’re as rackety as Charlie here…’

  ‘What?’ Alison stared at her grandmother.

  ‘Suffice it to say, I know all about your night-time excursions, my girl. You’re meant to be studying this summer, working for good grades. The way you’re carrying on, there’s no way you’ll get them…’

  Jenny, puzzled, looked up. ‘But she’s working really hard, Elsie; they all are. You’re being too hard…’

  Elsie snorted. ‘I’ve always said you were a fool, Jenny. You don’t see what’s going on under your nose. They’re all doing exactly as they please and they’ll reap the consequences. But it’s not too late…

  ‘How am I gonna find someone to marry me?’ Stephen blurted, agonised.

  ‘I don’t want a wife; no way!’ Charlie shouted, getting to his feet. ‘This is mad, Gran…you can’t make us marry…’

  ‘No, I can’t, but I can offer a little incentive. If you find a wife, then your share of my estate is secure, and I shall make your share over to you on your wedding day; if you don’t, then your share will be divided equally between Stephen and Alison, assuming that is, that Stephen and Alison also comply…’

  ‘So what’s your plan for me, Gran?’ asked Alison, sarcastically. ‘I know, in your day, there were child brides, but I’m not eighteen yet. Are you expecting me to find a husband? What must I do to make sure I’m not cut out of your will?’

  * * *

  ‘So what did she say she wants Ali to do?’

  Charlie and Lenny sat in the sunshine, leaning against Lenny’s van, the noise of motorbikes roaring unheeded in the background, and mulling over Charlie’s predicament.

  ‘She’s got to get to university before she’s twenty-one, or she loses her share.’

  Lenny whistled. ‘Bloomin’ ’eck. Bit of a tall order, ain’t it? The old lady’s barkin’. So if you don’t…what happens then?’

  ‘She’ll leave my share to Stephen and Ali; and if they don’t jump to it and I do, then I get their share, and if none of us do, then she says she’s gonna sell. She’d got it all worked out.’ He surveyed the motocross crowds without enthusiasm then turned to Lenny. ‘I haven’t got the heart for this today, Lenny. She’s fucked me up good and proper.’

  ‘Aw come on mate! Here, I’ll get some beer.’ Lenny jumped up and headed off in the direction of the beer tent, returning in a short space of time with a couple of cans. He urged one on his friend. ‘Come on, get that down you. And cheer up, mate, it’s not that bad…’

  ‘Oh yes it is,’ replied Charlie grimly, chugging the beer. He ran his fingers through his mane of dark hair, and distractedly scratched the nape of his neck, ‘Look, Lenny, I’ve only told you this because you’re my mate, but you’ve got to swear you won’t tell anyone, not even Paula. I don’t want anyone knowing until I’ve decided what to do. Swear?’

  ‘Of course mate, I swear. I’ll drink on it.’ Lenny took a long swig of his beer, then, still trying to get his brain round Charlie’s news, shook his head in disbelief. ‘What’s she on? You don’t want to get married. Thes
e things don’t just happen!’

  ‘Tell me about it. I tell you, she’s living in another century. She should be certified…’

  ‘No chance of that?’

  ‘On today’s performance, she should be…but this is no joke, Lenny, she’s deadly serious. My life’s never going be the same again. Once word gets out, I’ll be a laughing stock among my mates, and as for any crumpet I do fancy, they will run a mile...’

  ‘Or get their claws into you when you don’t want ’em to… I fancy your Sarah will be champin’ at the bit…’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Charlie heavily, and they both relapsed into a gloomy silence and finished the beer.

  ‘You could always marry someone,’ ventured Lenny, cracking his can and tossing it in the direction of an overflowing rubbish bin, ‘then divorce her after Elsie died.’

  ‘Elsie will live forever!’ Charlie replied bitterly. ‘Besides, divorce someone these days and they take you to the cleaners. I’d be no better off.’

  ‘It’s a pity you can’t find someone like Paula…’

  ‘Too right. You’ve got it made there, Lenny. C’mon, I’ll get some more cans.’

  ‘Look on the bright side, mate. You might meet someone you fancy, good and proper. You’ve never had no trouble pulling the birds… Not like poor old Stevie. . . What’s that poor bugger gonna do?’

  7

  Once Elsie had stalked out of the kitchen, cutting short all their protestations with, ‘It’s no use you all moaning and sulking. My mind’s made up!’ Alison had leapt to her feet, muttered a swift apology to her mother, who was in such a state of shock she hardly registered Alison’s departure, grabbed her bag and ran out of the kitchen. The clock showed five to two. She had five minutes to go before she was late. In the yard she careered into Jeff Babbington.

  ‘Steady there, young Alison, almost had me over. Where are you off to in such a hurry then, eh?’