The Mini-Break

by Maddie Please

  ‘Now are you ladies sure you ain’t a wanting the pint of Cat’s Finest that comes with the meal? Is very good?’

  ‘Well better not, I’m driving,’ Sally said.

  Pete looked at his watch. ‘It’s gorn six, me duck, they’ll have all clocked off, by now. I’ll warrant most of ’em will be in yere later and arter all, you don’t have far to go.’

  ‘Still, better not,’ Sally said.

  Disappointed Pete returned to his side of the bar and Sally turned to me.

  ‘Your Joe? Who’s your Joe may I ask?’

  ‘He is in fact your nearest neighbour, so I’m surprised you haven’t met him already,’ I replied a bit stiffly.

  ‘I generally come to Barracane to be quiet and recover, not get involved with local yokels,’ Sally said.

  ‘Joe Field is far from a yokel,’ I said.

  ‘Touched a nerve there have I?’ Sally said triumphantly. ‘What have you been up to? Is that why you keep pinging back here?’

  ‘He’s just a friend. Enid, be careful, not too close to the fire.’

  Enid gave me one of her best haughty looks and carried on stroking Puss. She looked at the stuffed fox again.

  ‘Is it called Furry Fox?’ Enid said.

  ‘No, I doubt it,’ Sally said.

  Our food arrived a few minutes later and Enid was persuaded to come and sit between us.

  We chatted easily enough about London and books Sally had been sent and passed on some gossip about the aristocratic twins she was now representing. Apparently their ghost writer was having a nervous breakdown already because he couldn’t get any sense out of either of them.

  ‘Why do you bother?’ I said, between mouthfuls of delicious Lamb Dhansak.

  ‘It will be a bestseller, you wait and see,’ Sally said, reaching over to try and cut up her daughter’s sausages.

  There followed a brisk exchange between mother and daughter as to whether any ‘stinky food’ had been transferred onto Enid’s dinner.

  ‘So, come on then tell me all,’ Sally said.

  ‘All what?’

  ‘Very funny. About your Joe. Is he nice? Is he five foot four with a farmer’s tan?’ she murmured so that Enid couldn’t hear.

  ‘What’s a farmer’s tan?’ Enid said. ‘And is it Fat Fox?’

  ‘No. Just eat up, there’s a good girl,’ Sally said.

  ‘No, not exactly,’ I said in answer to Sally’s question.

  ‘So?’

  I looked up as the door to the car park banged shut, and rapidly swallowed my mouthful before I choked. Joe was standing by the coat rack, unwinding his scarf and stuffing his gloves into his pockets. Pete scurried along behind the bar as fast as his bulk would allow and caught Joe’s attention and pointed in my direction. I ducked my face into my glass of wine and tried to convince myself I wasn’t blushing.

  Sally nudged me with a knee. ‘Go on. Tell me about him.’

  ‘Who?’ Enid said, swinging her legs.

  ‘Little pigs have big ears,’ Sally said. ‘Finish your lovely sausages, Enid, they look yummy.’

  ‘Can I have ice cream?’ she said, peering dubiously at her plate.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do they know what ice cream is here?’ she said with all the superiority of the lifelong London dweller.

  ‘Of course they do,’ Sally said, ‘don’t be silly.’

  ‘Hello, Louisa.’

  Joe was standing just behind Sally’s chair and she screwed round in her seat to look at him. She then turned back to look at me with eyes like billiard balls.

  ‘Hello, Joe. Joe, this is my agent Sally Gardener and this is her daughter, Enid,’ I said.

  Joe came round to shake hands.

  ‘Do join us,’ Sally said, patting the chair next to her.

  ‘Oh, better not, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you, and I need a word with a couple of people in the bar,’ Joe said.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Sally said. ‘Lulu was just about to tell us all about you.’

  ‘Have you got a farmer’s tan?’ Enid piped up.

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Sally said briskly.

  We chatted for a few more minutes and then Joe went through to the public bar. Sally waited a diplomatic moment and then turned back to me.

  I widened my eyes, trying to appear innocent. ‘What?’

  Sally wasn’t fooled for a second. ‘Don’t you what me, Lulu Darling. That is my neighbour? Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes, and …?’

  ‘And have you?’ Sally said, with a sideways jerk of her head towards Enid.

  ‘Have I what?’ I said.

  ‘You know perfectly well.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  It didn’t work.

  ‘You have haven’t you!’ Sally said, her knife and fork clattering onto her plate.

  ‘Sally!’

  ‘And there was me worrying about you stuck down here on your own! Little did I know! You lucky cow!’

  ‘Mummy, you said it was rude to call people a cow,’ Enid said. ‘Can I have some ice cream now?’

  ‘Please,’ Sally said absently, still looking at me with an inscrutable expression.

  ‘Please can I have some ice cream now?’

  ‘You haven’t finished your dinner,’ Sally said.

  ‘I’m full up of dinner but I’m not full up of ice cream,’ Enid said quite reasonably, ‘and is it Foxy Fox? I hope so because I can’t think of anything else beginning with F.’

  Sally gave me a meaningful look. ‘Foxy is about right I think. I’ll be asking you about this later on, Miss Darling.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you might,’ I said.

  Chapter Twenty

  The following morning Enid hauled herself up onto one of the kitchen stools to watch me making breakfast. Nothing too taxing; we had agreed on scrambled eggs because Enid didn’t believe me when I told her how yellow Devon eggs were.

  ‘Why are they that colour?’ she said, poking at the sunny mound on her toast. ‘Is it safe to eat?’

  ‘Of course, and it’s that colour because the hens are so happy,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know everything that’s important,’ I said.

  ‘What’s worse to meet on the stairs, a zombie or a werewolf?’

  ‘I don’t know, because that’s not important.’

  This seemed to placate her and she took a big bite of toast.

  ‘Mummy is still asleep,’ she said at last, ‘and she was snoring.’

  ‘Well it’s tiring driving all this way,’ I said. ‘It’s nice for her to have a lie-in.’

  ‘What are we doing today?’

  I felt a stab of panic. Who knew? I had no idea how to entertain a six-year-old.

  ‘Did Mummy say anything?’

  Enid shrugged. ‘She said we could go to the museum or the shops and I said I didn’t want to do either. We’re always going to the museum in London.’

  ‘Well what would you like to do?’ I said.

  Enid thought about it. ‘I’d like to watch TV. Am I allowed?

  That didn’t sound too difficult to me. What a strange thing to ask. Perhaps she was routinely kept away from the evils of the haunted fish tank as my father used to call it.

  After she’d finished we went into the sitting room and I turned the TV on. As it was Saturday morning there was something on that was sufficiently hyper, noisy and colourful and Enid slipped slowly down the arm of the sofa and into the seat, transfixed. On the screen there was a young man in a red shirt and yellow trousers shouting, trying to make a long pink balloon into a dachshund and failing abysmally. I left her to it.

  In the kitchen I cleared up a bit and made a pot of coffee. Sally had serious addictions to both nicotine and caffeine so I guessed it wouldn’t be long before one or both drove her downstairs. I poured myself a mugful and put Enid’s toast crusts out onto the windowsill where a succession of small birds swooped down to peck. Then I started to think about J
oe again. And my latest plot. Last night I had batted away most of Sally’s questions because Enid had got her second wind and stayed up later than was usual, then been in a clingy mood, wanting her mother to go up the ‘scary stairs’ with her and read her a story before she finally went to sleep.

  I drank my coffee and ate some toast and peanut butter, trying to forget exactly how calorific it was. I seemed to have the willpower of an amoeba these days. I was thinking of buying some bigger, or at least stretchier, trousers online to spare myself the shame of having to try them on in an actual shop. I had a lovely selection of clothes and could, if I was honest, now only get into about a third of them. And when it came to shoes, the heels I was used to wearing every day no longer seemed feasible. I consoled myself with the thought that I hardly needed to wear designer clothes or stilettos down here; this was more warm jumpers and wellington boot country. I sat chewing and feeling like a barrage balloon. Then I thought about something else before I got depressed.

  ‘Where’s Enid?’ It was Sally, wrapped in a towelling dressing gown, blinking against the light.

  ‘Watching TV,’ I said, ‘something to do with Balloon Modelling and a great deal of Shouting.’

  ‘Oh great, she’ll be hyped up on adverts and questionable language for the rest of the day,’ Sally said, slumping onto a kitchen stool and flapping a hand for some coffee. ‘I’m absolutely sure she has some homework to do, so that will be a joyful way to spend an hour or two later on. Why do we pay these exorbitant fees when she’s home more than she’s at school and every week there seems to be another request for money? Trips out, new uniform, new stationery, not to mention after school club activities, which all cost a bloody fortune. I mean what the hell are they doing there? Polishing uncut diamonds or renovating Old Masters? When I was her age I was playing in the sand pit and reading comics. Now they need an iPad, a laptop, exotic holidays and designer trainers. And the birthday parties? Oh my God don’t go there. Last time Enid was invited to one the mother sent out suggestions for acceptable presents. It was like a wedding list.’

  ‘Good grief, what did you do?’ I said, horrified.

  Sally patted at her pockets and pulled out her cigarettes. She lit one up and inhaled with a sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Can you open the window a touch or Enid the Moral Conscience will be shouting at me. I ignored it of course. Why would I buy Enid’s classmate a cashmere ballet wrap, pink, size three when I haven’t bought one for Enid? I just sent some theoretically educational craft toy with billions of tiny beads and a tube of glue. It was, I’m afraid to admit, the most irritating thing I could find. Chloe’s mother will hate me forever and with any luck we won’t be invited back next year.’

  ‘Sounds a nightmare.’

  ‘You’re lucky you didn’t have kids,’ Sally said, blowing her cigarette smoke towards the window, ‘very sensible indeed.’

  That sentence suddenly sounded awfully final. I mean I wasn’t forty yet; plenty of women – Sally included – had their first pregnancy at my time of life. Celebrities were always popping out kids with foolish names whilst in their forties.

  I tried to think of one while Sally hunted in the cupboards for an ashtray.

  Weren’t colours popular names these days? What about Mauve or Turquoise? Turquoise Darling. A place of conception like Kensington or Knightsbridge might work? But what if your baby was accidentally conceived in Bere Regis or Hemel Hempstead?

  What about favourite food names? Pickle Darling. Avocado? Wagon Wheel?

  I realised Sally was talking to me.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I said have you sold your flat yet? And what are you planning to do today?’

  I pulled myself together. ‘No I haven’t sold the flat although the agent was quite positive now I’ve got rid of Benedict. What day is it? Saturday? I should go to Stokeley to stock up. Any requests? You could come with me if you like?’

  Sally pulled a face. ‘I won’t, thanks all the same. I’ll try and prise Enid away from the TV and get her to find her homework book. Get the fun part of the weekend out of the way. Then perhaps we could play a board game later or watch a nice film. As long as it’s not Frozen. I only have to see the DVD cover to want to punch someone. Did I thank you for giving her that? And hopefully we can get her to bed at a reasonable time today so that I can grill you for information about what you have been up to with my neighbour.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so territorial; you’d never set eyes on the man before last night.’

  ‘Well don’t think I’ve forgotten, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Sally went to see what Enid was doing and came back and pulled out another cigarette.

  ‘She’s watching a young chap dressed as a clown falling into a paddling pool full of custard. So while we have a minute, tell me how you got hot and steamy with Joe Field.’

  ‘You’re making something out of nothing, Sally.’

  ‘Really? Why do I not believe you? In that case you can tell me about it. I mean, it’s not as though you’re pregnant or engaged is it? Go on and don’t leave out any details.’

  ‘He mended a puncture when Jassy and I were here and then when I came back he invited me to dinner. And while I was there his daughter was ill, and it was meningitis.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes she’s fine. We got an ambulance and when he got back in the morning, well, you know.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You really are nosy, Sally. I don’t ask you intrusive questions about your sex life do I?’

  ‘You can if you want, it wouldn’t take long. I’m living the dream vicariously. Was he … shall we say rewarding?’

  ‘That’s much too personal and you are a rude cow to ask me.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. How absolutely marvellous.’

  I went to get my purse and shrugged on a coat. ‘I’m off to get some food before you ask any more embarrassing questions.’

  ‘You won’t get away with that. I’m going to get you pissed later and find out all the sordid details,’ Sally said with a knowing gleam.

  I unplugged my mobile from the charger. ‘So have you got any special requests? Not dairy intolerant? Gluten intolerant?’

  Sally thought about it. ‘Just intolerant.’

  *

  I did my shopping, stopping in the café for coffee and some speedy Wi-Fi, then drove home past Lower Tor Farm at my usual slow pace but there wasn’t any sign of Joe. Up on the side of the hill in the far distance I could see some sheep bunched together as though they were being rounded up or herded or something. Then I saw someone driving a quad bike – perhaps that was Joe? It was too far away to tell.

  I wondered what particular aspect of sheep business he was up to: catching or branding or something? Could you brand a sheep? Wouldn’t the wool catch fire?

  At last I got back to Barracane House, parked behind Sally’s VW and started unloading the shopping into the kitchen. Enid immediately joined me and began ‘helping’. Her idea of helping was to pull things out of the bag and drop them on the floor saying ‘boring’ until she came upon some Tunnock’s Tea Cakes and started investigating them with a damp finger.

  ‘Are these marshmallow?’ she said rather suspiciously.

  ‘Yes, they are. If you don’t like them leave them alone.’

  ‘Enid, what did we say about eating between meals?’ Sally said. ‘We agreed we wouldn’t do that, didn’t we?’

  ‘You said you were going to give up smoking as a New Year’s revolution,’ Enid fired back.

  Sally took the cakes from her.

  ‘There are birds on the windowsill,’ Enid said, and ran across, delighted.

  ‘They are still eating your toast crusts from breakfast,’ I said.

  ‘Oh!’ Enid pulled up a chair next to the sink and stood on it to see the birds more closely.

  She wobbled rather alarmingly and I went over to put one arm round her to steady her.

  ‘Wha
t are they?’

  ‘The brown ones are sparrows and the ones with the long tails are tits.’

  Enid giggled, one hand over her mouth. ‘You said tits!’

  I laughed with her. It felt rather nice actually. She was a skinny little thing, her hair falling out of its scrunchie into her eyes. I pulled her hair back and tied it up properly. Her hair was silky soft and smelled of flowers. Would Jassy have a child like this? A little girl who liked princesses and unicorns and had a bedroom with a white bed, sequinned party dresses and an obsession with pale pink? Or would she have a boy with the same floppy hair as Ralphie? A child who would be dressed in cricket sweaters before he could walk.

  Enid held out both arms to me and I lifted her down from the chair. She felt as light and bony as a kitten.

  Sally looked over. ‘Enid, go and write your name as neatly as you can, three times, and Lulu and I will make a delicious lunch.’

  ‘I’d like an avocado and bacon panini,’ Enid said over her shoulder.

  ‘What? She’s six!’ I said.

  ‘Oh well we all know I want doesn’t get,’ Sally muttered. ‘How about cheese toasties?’

  ‘I can make some soup if you like.’

  ‘Can you. I’m impressed!’

  *

  We spent the next half an hour chopping up vegetables, a task Sally seemed to enjoy at first, but then she got bored and went to smoke in the open kitchen doorway.

  ‘So when do you expect to see Joe Field again?’ she said, dangling the subject temptingly in front of me.

  ‘No idea,’ I said trying to sound casual.

  ‘You could invite him over.’

  ‘Yes I suppose I could.’

  ‘Or I could! What’s his phone number?’

  ‘I have no idea and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.’

  Sally rolled her eyes at me. ‘Spoilsport. I’ve had to put up with all the Benedict shit before now, and Charlie before him. I told you he was shifty at the time if I remember. Not to mention Luke. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be involved in this romance too.’

  ‘It’s not a romance.’

  ‘If you say so. What’s happening to that soup now?’