Wilde About the Girl

by Louise Pentland

  ‘Yep! You can find all sorts up here.’

  ‘Once Colin even found the Kama Sutra, didn’t you, Col?’ Kath laughs.

  ‘What’s the Kama—’ Lyla begins.

  ‘Oh, wow! Lots to be found then! Do you come up here often, Colin?’ I say much louder and firmer than I ever normally would, just to avoid the Kama Sutra question from my bat-eared child. Funny how she always seems to hear the things I don’t want her to, but never hears the first fifty times I ask her to do anything useful.

  ‘Yes. Well, not for a few years. I used to come here with my family,’ Colin says, looking down at the tea that’s just arrived, ready to be poured.

  ‘Do you have a big family?’ I venture. Really I want to know the details of his immediate family but that seems a bit personal to ask, somehow.

  ‘No. Just me and the boys. I had a wife, Shirley, but … not anymore.’

  ‘Is she dead, like Derek?’ Lyla says innocently and painfully bluntly.

  ‘No, no. She’s very much alive. She lives far away from me now, in Dorset, near our grown-up sons. Mike is twenty-four and Gareth is twenty-six. All getting on with their lives. All very happy. We used to come up here a lot when they were little,’ he says, pulling himself back from clearly quite a painful place.

  ‘Why don’t they come on holiday with you anymore?’ Lyla continues, clearly unfamiliar with the concept that people might not want to holiday with their parents forever. I feel a bit sorry for him being interrogated like this, so step in to rescue.

  ‘I bet Mike and Gareth are busy going on lots of their own lovely holidays now and want to visit new places, since they’ve been to the Lakes lots of times before,’ I offer in a jolly voice, ladling clotted cream onto my fourth scone. They’re really very small. Mini-scones, if you will.

  Kath smiles at me appreciatively and Colin says, ‘I expect that’s it! Very busy boys nowadays!’ and pulls out a book about steam trains which I pretend to be fascinated by, because I suddenly see Colin without all his mansplaining and innuendo, and instead as a lonely older man who misses his sons and really likes trains. Bless him.

  THE NEXT MORNING LYLA and I sleep till about 8.30 a.m. and are woken up to the delicious smell of bacon being cooked. Kath knocks gently at the door and says, ‘I’ve made bacon sandwiches, if you’re up.’

  ‘I’m always up for bacon sandwiches, Kath!’ I say, sliding my feet into my slippers, pulling on my dressing gown and encouraging Lyla to do the same.

  The kitchen smells even more amazing than the faint waft on the landing. Fresh orange juice has been poured, thick slices of bread have been buttered and Colin has picked some flowers from the garden to make a little arrangement in a spare glass as a table centrepiece. It’s all very civilised and I feel a bit scruffy in my PJs and dressing gown.

  ‘We’re going to head off straight away today, see if we can get a few good climbs in before lunch, but we thought you’d want to do your own thing,’ Colin says to me, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

  ‘Oh, only if you don’t mind,’ I say politely, filled with absolute glee not to have to physically exert myself that much. Even though yesterday was lovely and I did have that epiphany, I’m not ready for a repeat performance. You only need one epiphany a week, really.

  ‘Colin wants to show me some of his favourite places,’ Kath adds, gazing at him with the smile of a lovesick teenager.

  ‘Well, we wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Perhaps we’ll have another look round the town, Lyla?’ I suggest.

  ‘Yep. Let’s go shopping again and have more cake!’ she says, clearly happy with the plan.

  ‘Cake day!’ I say, smiling at her.

  BY ABOUT ELEVEN WE head out down the short lane to the town.

  We spend a happy hour wandering through the toy shops, playing with all the goodies on display and haggling with each other over pocket money. I really do try and keep a tight rein on these things and limit the amount of treats Lyla gets, but that mad holiday mentality takes over again and we end up walking out with a bag of tiny things that I know will have lost their novelty value (and half their components) by Christmas. Still, she’s happy, we enjoyed forty-five minutes in the shop and can you put a price on precious memories together? Yes, you can, it’s £22.45 – but that’s not important right now.

  By about one o’clock, despite our amazing breakfast, we’re ready for food and so we pop into the bakery to pick up a snack. Why don’t The White Company make candles called ‘Warm Bakery in the Lakes’? I stand inhaling like a madwoman with sinus problems for a few minutes while Lyla presses both hands up against the glass to take it all in. This place is like Greggs on steroids.

  It takes a solid fifteen minutes of drooling, polite chit-chat with Debra (who runs the bakery and is the most friendly woman in the world, apparently) and a lot of toing and froing before we leave with a huge, hot vegetable pasty, a cheese scone with butter, an apple custard doughnut, a chocolate crispy cake with a plastic ring embedded in the top and two Ribenas. We wander out of the bakery with our sugar-laden goodies and head down a tiny side street which leads to a wooden playground with plenty of benches.

  ‘I like this picnic more than Storie’s picnics,’ Lyla announces with a mouth full of warm vegetable pasty.

  ‘Oh,’ I say casually, trying not to encourage her to bad-mouth her dad’s weird girlfriend.

  ‘Storie only eats organic food. We’re not allowed cakes or chocolates or processed foods,’ she says, still eating happily.

  ‘Well, organic food is very good for you and we shouldn’t always have treat food like this,’ I say, trying really hard not to roll my eyes and say, ‘Maybe Storie needs to get a life.’

  ‘Sometimes, though, when Storie is at her Expressive Earth dance class, Daddy takes me to Tesco and we get Krispy Kreme doughnuts and eat them in the car before we pick her up!’ Lyla scrunches her nose, draws her hand to her mouth and giggles mischievously at her and Simon’s antics. I’m almost impressed that he has the gall to defy Storie, and I laugh along.

  ‘Cheeky old Daddy, eh?’ I manage, finishing my bit of pasty and taking a swig of the strawberry Ribena that Storie would most definitely disapprove of. I tear open the paper bag with my apple custard doughnut inside. ‘Sometimes, Lyla, sometimes you have to take a breath and remind yourself not to worry about all the little things in life, treat yourself to a something nice and enjoy it. It’s good to try your best at everything and make good choices, but occasionally you’re allowed to stuff your face with a doughnut and have a giggle.’

  ‘I know Mummy, YOLO,’ Lyla adds sagely. She’s so wise and also so … street.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  NOT LONG AFTER THE Best Autumn Picnic Ever 2018, we head back down the little alley to the main high street for one last loop round before popping into the butcher’s, the baker’s and the candlestick maker’s. Well, not actually those shops, but we do venture into the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, back into the bakery for a loaf of warm tiger bread and then guiltily into the Co-op (I can’t bear to use chain shops in a tiny, rinky-dink town like this unless I really have to) for a few other essentials. I’ve decided I’m going to flex my cooking muscles and prepare a beautiful meal for all four of us and have it waiting for when the elderly lovebirds return. Lyla is fully on board if it means she can sit at the table and watch Netflix while I do it all. She’s a savvy negotiator.

  The grey skies above stop threatening and the heavens open.

  To Lyla’s great joy we splash our way back up the hill to the cottage (her, glad she wore her wellies and making the most of every single muddy puddle; me cursing myself for wearing my gorgeous embroidered ankle boots and trying to avoid every single muddy puddle) and throw ourselves through the front door, dumping all the bags on the kitchen table, delighted to be back at base.

  Lyla jumps about, peeling her soaking coat off. ‘That was the BEST!’ she sings.

  THAT EVENING IS LIKE something out of a film. A couple of hours after u
s, Kath and Colin come in, wet and flushed from the rain but in high spirits from all their hiking achievements and singing my praises for the welcoming smells of roast beef with rosemary, dumplings, gravy and whipped-up-from-scratch Yorkshire puddings.

  I pour us all a gin and tonic (well, Lyla has an orange and tonic) and we raise a toast to the last night of ‘cottaging’, as Lyla keeps calling it. As we tuck into a feast fit for a king, Colin tells me how he doesn’t cook much so it’s a real treat to be surrounded by women who want to fatten him up. For a little while he drops his guard and, once more, instead of being the creepy guy who touches Aunt Kath’s bottom a lot, I see him as a man who has been lonely for a long while and is relishing the company of someone as magical as Kath.

  Perhaps it’s the third G&T or the fresh country air, but I feel myself warming to Colin and his stories of the great walks he’s been on up here in previous years. For a split second, I think Lyla might be warming to him, too.

  ‘Colin, can I tell you something?’ she says after we’ve finished eating and I’m getting ready to serve up home-made Eton Mess with seasonal fruits (yeah, look at me bloody go).

  ‘Yes, Lyla, you certainly can!’ Colin says, clearly enthused that she has decided to engage specifically with him in conversation.

  ‘I’m glad I’m sitting opposite you,’ she says with a deadpan face.

  For a moment we are all stunned, a smile spreads across his face and he attempts to reply, but before he does, Lyla has more to say.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to sit next to you.’

  Ah. Poor Colin looks rather dejected. OK, maybe she isn’t warming to him. It was very nearly like a film, anyway.

  As always, Kath saves the day with Lyla’s seating plan revelations and sweeps it all under the rug, saying something about how glad she is that she’s sitting with two of her favourite people, Colin and Lyla. That, combined with the arrival of huge bowls of pudding, really takes the edge off Colin’s burn. Poor guy. With my new-found appreciation for him, I realise it’s high time I find a way of getting through to Lyla.

  The rain continues pattering against the windows all evening and as I put Lyla to bed in our shared bedroom, I talk to her about being kinder to Colin as he is trying to be kind to all of us. I decide to try the ‘having a grown-up word with her’ tactic first, and at least that way I know I still have the ‘be nice or I’ll confiscate your Shopkins’ approach in reserve. Once we have had a story, a cuddle and listed all the good things we’ve enjoyed that day, I creep back downstairs to the lounge, plonk myself on the tartan sofa with my G&T and watch Colin light the log fire, wondering where men learn these skills. Are they just born with the ability to make fires or are they taken off for secret Fire Skills lessons in secondary school while the girls are all segregated and sent off to have the Period Talk with Mrs Tampon? It will always be a mystery to me.

  It might still be down to the rather generous G&Ts I have poured, but our last evening at the cottage really is lovely. Kath talks about some of her travels around the Middle East with Derek. Colin listens intently, adding in where he can with bits about his travels as a young man with some of his friends in the 1960s. There’s no awkwardness about both of them having a past or mentioning previous partners. I suppose when you get to that age it’s expected that you have already led a full life up until then. They both seem to respect the exes as part of previous chapters and just enjoy the conversation and sharing. It’s something I vow to try to do in the future, if I ever manage to let anyone else in. I drift off into a gin-fuelled daydream and think about how I’d quite like Edward to be here, how balanced that would make things feel. Even though I know Lacey was wrong, and we’ve sorted it all out, sometimes in my head I can’t quite forget her line about Lyla needing a family unit. I know our family unit isn’t conventional. But it’s strong. And I’m proud of it.

  ‘Ooof, I’m sinking into this sofa!’ I declare, wafting my empty glass about above my head as if to prove my point. ‘I think it’s time I left you to the gin and the fire and headed to bed myself. I’m leaving early, so I ought to get an early night.’ This isn’t why I want an early night, of course, I just want to stop myself going down the Edward thought trail and drift off into dreamland with my sweet Lyla by my side instead, the only companion I really need.

  ‘Night-night, love, thank you so much for a lovely meal. You’re a star,’ Kath says as I lean over to give her a hug.

  ‘Ah, you’re worth it all,’ I say. ‘And obviously you as well, Colin,’ I add, hurriedly. I don’t want him to think I’m endorsing Lyla’s attitude.

  Colin smiles gratefully and I climb the stairs. As I brush my teeth, pull on my brushed-cotton PJs and squish into bed next to Lyla’s warm sleepy body, I admit to myself that he’s growing on me. Now I just need to convince my daughter.

  ‘MUMMY. MUMMY, WAKE UP, there’s a burglar,’ Lyla whispers frantically in my ear, rousing me from the warmest, deepest sleep.

  ‘What? Where? Jesus fuck!’ I panic, before switching into ‘Mummy Mode’.

  ‘Mummy! Bad words! Listen!’ she says, scrabbling even closer to me under the duvet.

  We lie silently in the darkness for a second, but I can’t hear anything.

  ‘Lyla, maybe it’s the wind, this is a very old hou—’

  And then I hear it. A rhythmic banging of furniture, the odd grunt here and there, pierced only by the sound of faint, muffled squeals of what I think are delight, but I don’t want to analyse them too much.

  ‘Mummy, that’s the sound! Someone’s burgling us!’ Lyla says, frightened.

  How in God’s name do I say to my terrified eight-year-old, ‘Don’t worry, darling, that’s just Colin getting his end away with lovely Auntie Kath! They’re having a whale of a time shagging each other senseless all over the bedroom. You just go back to sleep and try not to think about it’?

  ‘It’s not, it’s definitely not, don’t worry,’ I reassure her, still racking my half-asleep brain for something else to say to her.

  ‘What is it, then?’ she says, as the slightly speeded-up thudding continues.

  ‘It’s, um, it’s—’

  ‘Oh, Colin, yes! Yesss!’ We hear Kath from across the landing.

  ‘Is it Auntie Kath and Colin?’ Lyla asks, wide-eyed with shock.

  ‘Errm, maybe,’ I say, stalling.

  ‘What are they doing?’ she says, terror instantly swapped for curiosity. Before I can say another word, she’s scrambling out of bed and going to the door to find out.

  ‘No, no, don’t get up, stay here, they’re playing! They’re playing a game and Kath’s saying “yes” because she’s happy she’s won the game and—’

  ‘Auntie Kath, are you playing a game?’ Lyla shouts out before I can stop her. This is potentially the most awkward experience of my entire life.

  The thudding, grunting and squealing stop, of course, and there is what can only be described as a ‘panicked’ silence. I certainly wouldn’t want to be Kath right now. I can hear movement from inside their room and I instinctively sit up in bed to ready myself for whatever might happen, wishing I was wearing a bra and that you couldn’t see my nips through my PJ top.

  After what feels like an eternity, Kath opens the door wearing a short black satin dressing gown. This is the least ‘Kath’ item of clothing I have ever seen her wear.

  ‘Oh, hello, lovey! Are you all right?’ Kath says a little breathlessly to Lyla, who is still standing in the doorway of our bedroom.

  At last my brain kicks in. ‘Lyla was just getting up to use the loo and heard a bit of a kerfuffle and was worried you’d tripped over,’ I lie as I walk over to Lyla and hold her hand, desperately willing her not to defy me and call me out on my lie.

  ‘Oh, yes! I, erm, bashed my knee and made a bit of a noise, thank you for caring, lovey, very nice of you. I’ll just go back in and sort it out and then go to bed and see you in the morning. All right? All right,’ she gabbles, walking backwards into the room.

  �
�Mummy that was so, so weird,’ Lyla says, looking up at me in disbelief.

  ‘Yeah. Really, really,’ I agree, still standing by the bedroom door, holding Lyla’s hand and staring numbly at Kath’s closed door. ‘You get back into bed, I’m just going to nip to the bathroom and I’ll be back in a mo.’

  I take the four steps to the bathroom, have a quick tinkle, splash a bit of cold water on the back of my neck to try to refresh myself (and the situation) and wish with every bone in my body that I hadn’t clocked the half-used, still with the lid off, tube of Vagisan by the sink.

  WE LEAVE EARLY THE next morning with no discussion about the night before, and happily the Vagisan was no longer in the bathroom when I had a quick shower at 7 a.m. Rather than facing too much chat with Colin the Stud, I decline a cooked breakfast, deciding to pick up a Starbucks on the drive home.

  ‘Such a lovely weekend getting to know you all better!’ Colin says, getting up from his place at the table and his poached eggs on fresh tiger bread (you’re welcome), to hug us goodbye.

  I try to be polite, agree and hug back, fully expecting every muscle in my body to cringe as I remember last night. But as he goes in for the embrace, I remind myself that he is making Kath happy, and sure enough, the thought works. I smile and hug him properly. Lyla, however, leaves her arms by her side and simply allows him to hug her, saying only, ‘Yeah,’ when he says what a nice time he’s had with her.

  ‘Bye-bye, Auntie Kath,’ I add, edging over to her side of the kitchen, past the sideboard and the Aga.

  ‘Bye-bye, lovey, sorry for waking you last night with bashing my knee, I—’

  ‘No, no, these things happen, don’t worry at all, I just hope your knee feels better soon!’

  ‘All right, yes, well, you be on your way and I’ll see you in a few days when I’m home! Love you lots.’ She waves and we yell back, ‘Love you too!’ as we scurry off, back to the real world.