Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

  Six oversized taxis transported them back to the hotel. They had knocked back quite a bit of alcohol and the kitty was bare. They shushed each other as they traipsed into the Sheraton, like troops returning from war. They weren’t in a much better state than broken soldiers. Peter had been sick over Ivor, who wasn’t best pleased. They’d had to give the taxi driver an extra fifty pounds to pay for cleaning up his cab. All in all it had been a successful stag party. The sorry little band made for the lifts and staggered up to bed.

  Miraculously, they all made breakfast. They had all had the munchies last night, but were too drunk to go foraging for food at such an early hour. Yet, at ten thirty, they crawled out from under their stones and sat down to a full Scottish. Carl listened to the chatter around him. He felt delicate, but not as bad as the majority, from the groans he could hear and the bloodshot eyes he saw.

  “What time are the massages?” Robert asked.

  “One o’clock onwards. You’re having a couple of extra appointments.”

  “Fair enough. What am I getting done? A pedicure?” Robert put on a silly French accent, “or an Indian head massage?” adopting an Indian one.

  “Wait and see,” Carl said enigmatically.

  “I am not getting waxed,” Robert yelled.

  “Yes you are. We didn’t tie you up naked, cover you in tar, pour chicken feathers over you and leave you attached to a lamp post, although that was my preference,” Carl said, “but this is what the guys have agreed is your stag forfeit.”

  “Where are the chicken feathers?” Robert muttered.

  “Stop being such a wimp,” Grant chided him.

  Reluctantly, Robert followed the beautician inside.

  “What I’d give for a glass?” Charlie said, pressing his ear to the door.

  “I am not having that done,” shrieked Robert.

  “Oh yes you are, Robert,” Charlie shouted through the door, “and we’re going to inspect it later, so you’d better get it done, or we’ll think of something worse.”

  “What exactly did you ask them to do?” Fraser was curious.

  “Back, sack and crack,” Charlie replied nonchalantly.

  “Whaaat!” Fraser spat out his mineral water.

  “Yep. That should give Jackie something to smile about,” Charlie grinned.

  “I hate you. I hate you all. I wish I’d gone on my stag with my worst enemies,” Robert was unimpressed.

  “We thought it would take your mind off your hangover,” Charlie said.

  “Hangover?”

  “See, it worked.”

  “C’mon,” Carl said, “now the fun part.”

  “I thought that was last night,” Alan said.

  “Well, yes, of course, but a Swedish massage is not to be sneezed at.”

  “After what you bastards put me through, I want two Thai girls suspended from the ceiling by ropes jumping up and down on my back,” Robert huffed.

  “That was fantastic,” Robert said. “I feel as if I have been pummelled into submission. I got an Indian head massage too and you lot can pay for it.”

  “No problem,” Charlie smirked. “Must be about a pound a head. Could we wax you again if we all put in a pound, say when you get back from honeymoon?”

  “No, you bloody well cannot,” Robert roared.

  Carl was dropped off last. Lucy’s car wasn’t in the car park and the lights were out. Atypically he was glad of the solitude. When Lucy was away, he had plenty of peace, but tonight he needed it. He wasn’t used to drinking heavily. Bloody hell, he was turning into a pipe and slippers man.

  Lucy saw Carl asleep on the couch, relaxed, mouth open slightly, snoring gently. She laid a blanket over him, so he wouldn’t wake up stiff and cold. Selfishly she didn’t want to wake him and bring to light when she’d actually rolled in.

  *

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Luce. You’ll be OK with Jayne and Richard?”

  “Yes. Don’t fuss.” Jayne was one of the few people in Carl’s extended family whom Luce got on well with. They were staying in the Dalmahoy Golf and Country Club, the wedding venue. To Carl’s mother’s dismay, there would be no church wedding.

  “OK, bye,” Carl was off.

  “Now Robert, your mother and I want you to know that this will always be your home. That said, I hope you never need to use it.” The rest of the family laughed as their father finished his short speech.

  “You’re only the third to get married,” their mother said. “I’m not sure what I’m meant to do about the rest of you.” Again they all laughed.

  “No, seriously,” their mother said unabashed.

  The cerulean sky was devoid of clouds. It was why Robert had picked a late summer wedding. A marquee was set up outside for the pre-wedding drinks, in the event that the weather was fair. Otherwise, they’d retire inside to one of the suites. Handmade song sheets lay on the chairs for the guests. Jackie’s niece and Flora’s daughter were flower girls and Flora’s son was page boy. They thought they were so grown up. Collectively, they appeared innocence itself, but everyone knew better.

  Carl wondered if he’d ever be doing this. People got married all the time. It was the same with kids. Everyone always thought it was no big deal. But it was a big deal, if you believed in all it signified. Carl smoothed down his shirt after helping Robert on with his kilt and secured his Skean Dhu in the right place. He laced up his shoes and ensured his socks were at the right height. After checking the rings were in his sporran, he scrutinised his big brother. They looked nothing alike. Robert was six foot and lanky with brown hair, going a little grey now, whilst Carl, as a restaurateur and chef was never going to be skinny. “You ready?” Carl smiled at his brother.

  “Never more so.”

  Ducking into the car, Robert reached into his sporran and threw silver coins out of the window, for the kids in the street to scramble after. It was over an hour to the hotel from Jedburgh, but Robert had wanted to spend his last night as a single man in the family home. Robert was strangely quiet. Carl wondered what was going through his mind.

  “You nervous?” Carl asked.

  “Just thinking.”

  “You’re not having doubts?” Carl was alarmed.

  “No.”

  Jackie was beautiful. Five feet three inches with an elfin face and long naturally curly blonde hair, which fell around her in waves. Her blue eyes sparkled and Carl smiled. That’s the way a bride should look on her wedding day. This woman was right for his brother. Her ivory strapless dress was dusted in tiny beads and her train was held up by her photogenic flower girls.

  The ceremony commenced. The air buzzed with excitement and hope. When the couple exchanged their vows, Carl passed the rings over trance-like.

  The bride and groom were soon among their guests and now all Carl had to worry about was his speech. He’d cast a cursory glance over it a few times recently, but hadn’t quite perfected it, always expecting to ad lib on the day. No great public speaker, he needed a drink to calm his nerves. As he headed for the bar, shaking hands with all who intercepted him, he was a man on a mission. It would be a few hours before he was called upon again in an official capacity.

  In the end the speech went well. Carl forgot a few comments and had to refer to his notes, but the champagne flowed and everyone enjoyed themselves. After dinner, they were free to roam around and he managed to spend a bit of time with Lucy before he was called upon to dance with the Matron of Honour and then the bride.

  The photographer snapped shots of the various couples. Lucy was resplendent in an above the knee red chiffon dress with a scooped décolletage. It was sleeveless and floaty. Her hair was piled atop her head and fastened with a trio of small jewelled clips, showing her slender neck. There was an otherworldly air about her.

  “Carl, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m fine,” Carl said, drinking her in. One day he hoped it would be them. “Let’s dance,” he held out his hand. Coquettishly, Lucy lowered her lashes a
nd accepted his hand.

  Chapter Forty

  “Brrrrrrr,” trilled Carl’s alarm. He groaned and turned over. Luce was still beside him. He wondered if she had taken the day off. That was the problem being your own boss. You could choose when to take time off, but you never did.

  As he stirred sugar into his coffee, Carl noticed the holiday brochures he’d picked up, lying on the table. He scribbled a note to Lucy asking her to ring him.

  Carl sat at his desk composing the menu. He wanted the courses to complement each other. Not too vast nor too restrictive. Carrot cake with lime mascarpone. There. Carl surveyed his efforts and was quietly pleased with himself. He felt he’d struck the right balance. In the brasserie, he would simplify the wording. It wouldn’t do to flummox customers.

  The flooring was being laid today. Just what Carl needed. After locking himself in his office, he printed out acceptance and rejection letters for the recent interviews he’d held. He needed to get some fresh air. As soon as the guys started hammering, he’d make a sharp exit.

  By late afternoon, he was feeling better. He decided to take Lucy out for dinner. He hadn’t been to Pecorino for ages.

  “Hello, is Beppe there please?” Carl asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “Beppe. It’s Carl. How you doing?”

  “Carl, my old friend. I am well. You?”

  “Busy preparing for the restaurant opening.”

  “Fantastic news. I hope to hear all about it soon.”

  “I realise it’s very short notice, but do you have a table for two tonight.”

  “Carl, for you, of course. What time would you prefer?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Eight o’clock it is.”

  “Thanks a lot, Beppe. Hopefully we can have a chat after dinner.”

  “Absolutely. I am here until closing tonight.”

  “See you then and thanks again.”

  “Bye Carl.”

  “I’d love to go to Pecorino. What time?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Great, see you at home,” Lucy said.

  “That was delicious, Beppe, as always, even if we do come here less than we’d like to,” Carl enthused.

  “You still owe me a drink,” Beppe reminded Carl.

  “Yes, we must do that. Anyway, you’re invited to the restaurant opening on thirtieth November.”

  “Ah, St Andrew’s Day. I will put it in my diary,” Beppe said.

  “How was your food?” Carl asked Lucy.

  “Mmm. Lovely.” This was praise indeed from Lucy. “Those porcini mushrooms were unbelievable. My risotto never tastes like that.”

  Carl spluttered, “Lucy, you don’t cook risotto.”

  “Well, if I did cook risotto, it wouldn’t taste like that.”

  “You can say that again,” Carl muttered.

  “We should go out for dinner more often.”

  “We should go out more often full stop,” said Carl.

  “Yes,” Lucy agreed, “I flicked through those holiday brochures. My heart’s set on Marangu.”

  “Yes, it looks really peaceful, but apparently there’s building work going on.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Lucy said. “I don’t fancy paying two thousand pounds each to go and lie on a building site.”

  “Me neither,” said Carl.

  “Well, why don’t we just go with one of your other options then?”

  “Yeah, I’ll look into it.”

  A week later, Carl was at the travel agency trying to book his second choice in the Male Atoll. There was more to do there, but it was another five hundred pounds each.

  Holiday finalised, Carl headed to Princes Square. He had decided he wanted to buy his dad a dress watch. It was his seventieth after all. It was turning out to be an expensive day.

  Carl arrived at the restaurant, just as the furniture van rolled up.

  “I see things are coming along nicely here,” the driver nodded his head towards the restaurant.

  “Yes, we’re a little behind schedule, but I’m confident all will be ready for the big day.”

  “Carl. It’s me. What did you get Dad?” Izzy was curious.

  “A watch,” Carl replied.

  “Oh good. I bought him golf stuff. I wanted to check we didn’t get the same thing.”

  “What golf stuff?”

  “How should I know?” his sister replied, “I know bugger all about golf. Sticks, clubs, whatever. I think one’s a driver,” she added knowledgeably.

  “Oh right. Well, I’m sure he’ll like them. You did check he doesn’t have this stuff already?”

  “Yes, of course. Listen, Flora and I have sorted out the food and drink.”

  “Well, we’ll bring a case of wine and some champagne.”

  “Ooh, I am looking forward to this party. What does Lucy think?” Izzy was digging.

  “She’s, em, looking forward to it too,” Carl managed to spit out.

  Izzy laughed, “Carl, you are such a liar. You know she’ll hate every minute. She hates families, especially ours.”

  “That’s not true. She just doesn’t do families, except Holly. And she and Mum don’t exactly get on, do they?”

  “No, in fact, I’ll help keep them apart. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Carl was relieved. He had been wondering how to minimise the animosity between the two. It was his dad’s celebration, after all.

  “Luce, you ready yet? We’re late.”

  “Coming,” Lucy pouted, as she glided down the stairs. She was dressed down today in a white t-shirt, a pair of cargo pants and hiking trainers. Even so, she looked beautiful. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was makeup free.

  They reached the Green Welly just before noon.

  “It’s a long time since I’ve been here,” Carl’s father said. “It’s all changed.”

  Carl agreed. He hadn’t been up this way for a few years. “Hurry up,” he said, indicating the tour bus, which was busy depositing its fifty strong army of pensioners.

  Bacon rolls and bowls of soup were carried over to a group of melamine tables. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but it was the place to come, particularly in winter, for some heart-warming food. Lucy didn’t look too impressed, but a glance from Carl warned her not to say anything in front of his mother, who was known for her acerbic tongue where Lucy was concerned.

  The others soon poured in and Florence and Harry shrieked in delight, upon seeing their assembled relatives. The adults queued, whilst the little ones hopped up on their grandparents’ laps. Duly fed and watered, they set off again.

  As they swung into the grounds of Ardrhu House, their parents gasped. It did look impressive. The grey stone, baronial mansion looked positively stately, with its extensive grounds and its turret.

  “I’d love my bedroom to be in a turret,” Izzy breathed.

  “It’s so romantic,” Flora gasped.

  Flora and Izzy went to see the owner whilst the others milled around. The girls returned shortly afterwards dangling the keys. Everyone wanted to see all of the rooms, so they trailed through each building and finally keys were handed out, once they agreed who would take which room.

  “What did you think of the conservatory?” their mother asked.

  “It’s fantastic,” said Carl. “Very angular.”

  “Yes, I can see us sitting in there in the evening.”

  “I love the jacuzzi suite,” Jackie said looking at Robert.

  Their parents had offered the room to Jackie and Robert, as newlyweds. The excitement was evident on Jackie’s face. Carl guessed they’d slip away under the pretext of needing an early night. They agreed to meet in the dining room in half an hour and headed off to get settled in.

  An excited babble awaited them in the kitchen where Flora and Izzy were unpacking the shopping. Foie gras, asparagus, goat’s cheese, venison piled into the fridge. They’d spent a fortune, but it would be worth it. Carl had helped compile the list, althoug
h he’d left buying it to the girls, well aware he would be heavily contributing to the cooking. He put the wine he’d brought with him and some chocolates on the worktop.

  “We’ve put dad’s cake in our fridge,” Izzy whispered.

  “Good. What’s for lunch?” he asked tearing open a packet of ham and nibbling a slice.

  “Hands off,” Flora smacked his hand away. “We’re making lunch. If you want something now, have an apple.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Carl moaned.

  “It won’t be long.”

  Over lunch they made plans for the weekend. They were keen to explore the local area. On the outskirts of Onich, some of the younger crew fancied doing a Munro.

  “We’re meant to be spending time with dad,” Flora said disapprovingly.

  “We have plenty of time. If you want to go walking that’s fine. Your mother and I have plans too.”

  “That’s right,” their mother piped up. “I’d quite like to go to Inchree Falls.”

  “Fair enough,” said Flora. “I don’t mind watching the kids if any of you are keen to take Grant up on his hill-climbing offer.”

  The grounds were stunning. There was even a little ornamental pond, where a few ducks bobbed along.

  “Look, a tennis court,” shouted Izzy.

  “Izzy, you don’t play tennis,” said Grant.

  “So. I might start now.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m here for a rest,” Flora yawned.

  “Lucy, you’ll play, won’t you?”

  “Why not?”

  Carl was taken aback. Lucy didn’t usually have much time for Izzy. She really was on her best behaviour this weekend, he thought.

  They passed the day peacefully in some cases, noisily in others. It was lovely, Carl thought, their being together, yet doing their own thing. Izzy and Lucy were playing tennis. Carl’s parents were sitting outside absorbing the infrequent rays of sunshine. The children were scrambling over the play equipment, with Flora keeping a watchful eye on them and the other adults were relaxing on chairs, reading or listening to music. Carl lay back on his chair, and started to read his new detective novel. He didn’t get much time to read and soon he’d need to make a start on dinner.