by Gil McNeil
“Thanks Daniel, you didn’t have to. I’ve told everybody no presents.”
“Yes, but I’m not everybody.”
He kneels down to say hello to Pearl, who presents him with a pink plastic cup. “Dink?”
“I was hoping for something a bit stronger, my darling, but thank you. There’s a couple of bottles of champagne in that cooler. Crack one open, would you Jo?”
Actually, there are six bottles. Crikey.
We drink a birthday toast, and then one to Maximo, and one to the chefs, and then the castle competition starts, which Graham and Travis are taking very seriously. They’ve brought special buckets, and sticks for decoration, while Mark helps Nelly and Archie, and Martin is on Jack and Marco’s team.
“Do you want to make a castle, sweetheart?”
Pearl gives Daniel her hat.
He takes his battered old straw hat off and puts it on her head, and weirdly it seems to fit. It’s too big, of course, but that doesn’t seem to matter, it just shades her face more, and she trots about quite happily, in her flowery sundress, looking like she’s off to a rodeo.
Daniel rootles through his satchel and retrieves a navy blue cotton baseball cap. “I came fully equipped. Hats to go, that’s me. We love hats, don’t we, Queenie?”
Cinzia smiles. “She is the Principessa.”
“Is she, darling? Well both the principessas I know are total nightmares; one’s as mad as a bucket of frogs, and the other one is busy drinking her way through the family cellar, so I think I’ll stick with Queenie.”
Cinzia adjusts her bikini top and gives him one of her best heart-stoppingly lovely smiles, but he’s oblivious. I suppose spending so much time surrounded by supermodels has made him pretty calm in the face of such a small bikini.
“More.”
“More what, angel?” He looks at me.
“She wants you to dig a castle.”
“Right, well, I’ll give it a go. It’s all digging with you two, isn’t it? How’s the garden, still looking fabulous?”
“Yes, thanks, apart from the bits Peter’s nibbled.”
“Get a shotgun, that’s my top tip.”
“Thanks Daniel. The kids would so love that.”
I think I’ll check on Martin, just to make sure he’s okay with Daniel turning up. They’ve said hello, and it’s all been fine, but still.
“Do you want another drink, Martin?”
“Yes please. My shoulder’s really aching now. Have you got any aspirin?”
“In my bag, I think.”
We both watch Daniel as he wanders off down the beach to select the perfect castle-building location, followed by Pearl, and Reg, who’s decided he fancies a go too. Daniel looks tanned and relaxed, in old cutoff jeans and a white T-shirt. Martin looks, well, like Martin. And God knows where he got those enormous khaki shorts from, but wherever it was didn’t have a mirror.
“That knee does look sore, Martin. Are you sure you shouldn’t go to hospital?”
“It’s fine, don’t fuss. Is there any more of the rice salad?”
“Sure. Sit down, Long John Silver, and I’ll get you a plate.”
I kiss him on the cheek as I go to find the tablets.
The beach is getting quieter now as the day-trippers pack up and start leaving, and the light goes all soft. Maggie puts some music on, a medley of old classics, which is perfect. The kids are still beavering away on their castles as the tide starts to turn and their journeys down to the sea to fill their buckets get shorter and shorter. Daniel’s taking photographs, wandering around and crouching down, taking pictures of the children with a battered old camera.
I’m sitting with Connie, enjoying a cuddle with Maximo, who’s nearly asleep.
“It’ll be Nelly’s birthday next, Con.”
“I know, and she wants a party, for her birthday, with all girls, and fairy costumes, and also Archie.”
“Good luck with that one. I can’t see Archie going for that, unless you tell him he can do a magic show.”
“Can he do the tricks now?”
“No.”
She laughs.
“I want to make it special for her, she has been so good, with the baby and everything, and I want it to be a special day. Mark is making her a fairy castle cake. Pink and pink.”
“I’ll help if you like; we can get loads of net at the market and turn your function room at the pub into a fairy palace. Tons of glitter, a few fake jewels, Pearl can wear her tiara. It’ll be great.”
“And Archie, he will come, yes?”
“Yes, if I stick him in the car and tell him we’re just helping, and there’ll be cake, I can probably get him in the door. Just don’t mention the fairy thing, or he’ll think we’re trying to get him into tights.”
Mark and Martin are making another round of burgers to keep the builders fed. Pearl’s bored with castle building, but Daniel’s still going strong and has been co-opted onto Nelly and Archie’s team. He walks back up the beach, holding Pearl’s hand.
“Jo, we need— How do you say it, Queenie?”
“Fezzers.”
“Yes, feathers, for the castle. Don’t you just love it? So, have you got any?”
“Not on me, no.”
“Well, that’s a poor show, angel. Can’t expect us to create a masterpiece with no fezzers.”
“There’ll be a few lying on the beach, there always are.”
“You mean I have to collect them?”
“Yes.”
“I usually have Tony for stuff like that.”
“I know.”
He grins. “Come on, Queenie; let’s go on a fezzer hunt.”
Connie winks at me.
“What?”
“It is nice, seeing him with her.”
“Yes.”
“And Martin, he is okay with it, I think.”
“Yes, he seems to be.”
“Brava.”
Laura arrives, with Rosie, and Tom and Olivia. They’ve been working in the shop; we’re opening on Sundays now, while the summer season is in full swing, and the café’s doing really well, especially on cloudier days. Tom and Olivia are lugging one of Mark’s big plastic boxes, full of ice cream in the little plastic tubs I bought at the market last week. Raspberry ripple, chocolate fudge, and honeycomb vanilla. And there’s apricot sorbet too. Some of us, including me, have two tubs.
Cinzia’s sitting with Tom, and puts her arm across his shoulder, which does not go unnoticed by Connie’s mum. Damn: one step closer to a visit from irate Italians demanding to know what’s going on with their daughter and my café staff. Connie and I exchange glances as Cinzia kisses him, a pretty chaste peck on the cheek, but still. She’s smiling, and Tom looks very pleased. Bless.
Maximo starts to stir, and Connie takes him for a walk to settle him. Daniel is sitting on a blanket with Pearl, finishing his ice cream.
“This is great; I don’t usually like it, but that apricot stuff was fabulous. Queenie’s liking hers too, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
She nods, still too busy with her little plastic spoon to bother speaking.
“I better make a move soon though; I’m working tomorrow, got to be at the airport early.”
“Aren’t you going to wait for the official judging of the castles? Gran and Elsie will be doing it pretty soon.”
“No, I better head back. But if you get a chance, tell them we were going for Versace as our design motif. More is more, yes?”
“Sure. Like that will mean anything to either of them. Or me, come to that.”
He grins. “Fezzers. And more fezzers.”
Pearl claps her hands. “Fezzers.”
“That’s right, Queenie.”
“Nutter.”
“Out of the mouths of babes, Daniel.”
He laughs.
“You’ve got quite a nice little collection of seventies cocktails going on here, haven’t you, angel? Martini, Cinzano, very nice. Shame the Diva didn’t turn up and we could have h
ad a proper cocktail hour. She’s a demon cocktail mixer.”
“She’s in Tuscany. So is Ellen. In different bits, at least I hope so, or Ellen will be trying to get an interview.”
“I bet they haven’t got ice cream as good as this though. I’ll call you when I’m back, shall I?”
“Sure.”
He kisses Pearl on her hand and stands up.
“Give her a proper kiss from me later, would you, only you might want to get some of that ice cream off her face first.”
He says good-bye to Gran, and Reg, who rather sweetly shakes his hand, and waves good-bye to everyone who is busy putting the final touches to their castles.
“He’s gone then, has he?”
“Yes Martin.”
“Just a flying visit then, was it?”
“Yes, he’s working tomorrow. Help me put these plates in the hut, would you? I’ll come down and get the car tomorrow, I’ve had too much to drink tonight. Nice though, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me. “Happy birthday, and I didn’t know what to get you, so I thought a surprise?”
“If you’ve got me a dog, I’ll kill you.”
“No, I thought about it, but no, I thought I’d make you a new table, for the garden; the one you’ve got is in such a state.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Martin.”
“It might take a while.”
“That’s fine, I’m sure it’ll be lovely when it’s finished. Come on; let’s see who’s won the competition.”
I’m packing up the buggy for the walk home while Archie and Jack lobby Gran and Elsie to reconsider their verdict that the castle competition is a draw, so everyone gets a prize. They like a clear winner, do my boys, even though it’s a draw every year. I wonder how long it will be before they realize everyone always gets a prize. Otherwise why would I bring so many little parcels of sweets already wrapped up? A few more years I hope.
I need to find Pearl’s juice cup; she’ll only drink out of the yellow one this week, and there’ll be dramas if I haven’t got it in the morning. Daniel’s shopping bag is under my chair, so I have a quick look while I gather up all our other stuff; I didn’t get a chance earlier, as I was trying to avoid unwrapping anything, but there’s a huge bottle of Chanel No. 5, and a bottle of bath oil, some fabulous nail varnish in pink, and a lovely mint green, a tube of face cream, and one of hand cream. There are two scented candles, lemon and verbena, and lavender, and a tangle of beaded bracelets and necklaces, threaded onto ribbon. God, how fabulous. Pearl is going to love all the beads; I’ll have to grab my favorite ones before she sees them or I won’t get a look in.
“He’s a nice man, that Daniel.”
“Yes, Gran, he is.”
“Will we be seeing more of him then?”
“I shouldn’t think so, Gran, not much anyway, he’s very busy.”
“He’s very taken with our Pearl. Which is as it should be.”
“Yes.”
“So have you had a lovely day then, pet?”
“Perfect.”
“And did Martin tell you about the table? Won’t that be lovely? He’s been telling Reg all about it, and he’s put a lot of thought into it you know.”
“I know, Gran, and I’m sure it will be lovely.”
She pats my arm. “He’s a lovely man, your Martin. Come on then, let’s start walking back. Reg is far too tiddly to drive, nice little walk will do us all good. Might have a cup of tea at your house to break the journey up the hill.”
“Good idea.”
“There might be a cake in your fridge if we look, with candles.”
“Oh Gran.”
“It’s not a proper birthday without candles, pet. I’ve put her yellow cup in the bag, you’ll need it in the morning.”
“Thanks Gran.”
And there’s still cake to look forward to. How perfect.
• • • 7 • • •
Strangers in the Night
August and September
It’s half past twelve on Monday morning and I’m at Ellen’s house in Notting Hill, trying on frocks ready for the magazine piece on Ellen and her passion for knitting. In the end she decided to do one big interview and a photo shoot with Good Housekeeping, as it’s the perfect hook into her target audience for the television series apparently, and they don’t tend to run pieces where they completely stitch you up and make you look like a nutter. Which is reassuring. Despite having to catch the train at the crack of dawn, I’m still feeling the joy of being out for a grown-up day in London, with no small people needing anything. Ellen’s child-free since Harry’s taken Eddie out for an action-packed day of swimming and baby jungle gym, which I think is a more macho version of ordinary baby gym. Gran and Cinzia are with my three, having a morning at the beach before Gran goes off for her stint in the Lifeboats shop and Cinzia takes them home for an afternoon of films and pizza making. And even though I know the entire kitchen will be covered in a thin film of flour when I get home, I don’t care. I’m finally getting a glimpse of what it must be like to be a mother seahorse. I’m child-free and not working, for what feels like the first time in years, and it’s brilliant.
“That looks great on you, darling.”
“Thanks Ellen.”
I’m wearing a pretty smock dress, in dark navy blue silk with pink and orange splodges on it, which looks a lot nicer than it sounds, with one of my mohair shawls, in marmalade, draped artfully by the magazine stylist. I’m also wearing orange suede sandals with very thin straps. Not practical, impossible to walk in, and fabulous. I even managed to paint my toes yesterday, with some of the pink polish from Daniel’s birthday bag. My legs are as tanned as they ever get, after all our school holiday trips to the beach, and my hair has been curled by a man called Fabrizio. So far, so good.
“Great colors.”
“It feels lovely.”
“Let’s go with that then. Sophie, can you fix my hair, and then we can start.”
The photographer is busy setting up his cameras. I think he’s called Eden, or it might be Edam, which doesn’t seem likely, but he’s so laid-back he doesn’t actually speak, so I can’t work out how to ask him. I think I’ll just try to avoid calling him the name of Dutch cheese and hope for the best. We’re in Ellen’s first-floor drawing room in her smart Georgian town house; in one of those posh squares which have a gated garden, just like in the film, although without Julia Roberts or Hugh Grant lolling about. It all looks very smart, with vases of beautiful flowers and the baskets of knitting and wool which I brought with me. The mantelpiece is crowded with pictures of Ellen and Harry with Eddie, and there’s a huge arrangement of delphiniums and roses in the hearth.
I’m sitting next to Ellen on the gray velvet sofa.
“Why are you pulling that face, darling?”
“This is my being-photographed face. I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Well pack it in; you look like you’re sitting on something sharp. It’ll be great. You look divine, I look divine, the knitting looks divine, relax.”
In between having our hair tweaked and more face powder dabbed on, Eden/Edam takes what seems like hundreds of photographs, and then stands with the people from the magazine peering at a computer screen and agreeing that he’s doing an amazing job.
Ellen seems oblivious to this, and we sit chatting. I’m telling her about how the school holidays have turned into one long endless blur.
“I’m so fed up with making picnic lunches, I’m half praying for rain.”
“How much longer have you got before they go back?”
“Two more weeks, nearly. They go back on the Wednesday, and it can’t come soon enough for me. I mean it’s lovely, for the first week or so, and then they get bored, and I’ve still got the shop to sort, and Elsie had her week away, and well, basically, it’s been a bit of a nightmare. I wish I could afford to take us all off somewhere, have a real break.”
“Well do it then, darling.”
>
“Maybe next year.”
“Use up some of your rainy day money.”
“Yes, but that’s for rainy days, Ellen, not summer holidays. When the boiler blows up, or the car breaks down, that kind of thing. I’m not making enough money for holidays yet. Nearly, but not quite.”
“Dear God, nearly but not quite? Give yourself a break. You’re so boring, you know that, don’t you? It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’d be having a rainy day fund even if you won the lottery, wouldn’t you?”
“You never know, Ellen. Life has a habit of smacking you into a tree when you least expect it, and someone has to be able to pay all the bills.”
She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, and Eden/Edam shows a brief flicker of interest before he returns to the computer screen.
“That won’t happen again, darling.”
“I know. Because I’ve got my rainy day money stashed away. So it can’t. If I disappeared tomorrow, Gran and Reg would have enough to bring the kids up. I’ve got my life assurance, and their savings accounts, and I’ve written a new will. It’s all sorted, so I don’t have to think about it.”
“All right, little Miss Sunshine, you’ve got it sorted, I get it, and you’re right, Harry made us do new wills too, but let’s not think about it, it’s far too upsetting. I can’t imagine a world without marvelous me in it, and I don’t want to try. I know, why don’t we book a villa together next year? It really wasn’t that expensive, not that I’m going back to Tuscany again, too many Brits wandering around with bright red faces wearing socks with their sandals banging on about bloody frescoes.”
“Sounds just like Mum.”
We both giggle.
“We could try Spain, that’s bound to be cheaper. We could all go, and it would give Eddie someone to play with, so you’d be doing me a favor.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, darling.”
“Sorry, no, it would be lovely, only I think my idea of a cheap holiday and yours might be a bit different. But let’s see. It would be lovely if we could, really lovely, the kids would be thrilled.”
