A Good Year for the Roses: A Novel

by Gil McNeil

  “Mum?”

  “Yes Alfie?”

  “It’s not fair I can’t sit in the front.”

  I’m going to ignore this.

  “Mum?”

  “Yes Alfie?”

  “It’s very rude to ignore people.”

  Ben sighs.

  “Give it a rest, would you? She heard you, we all did. Since we’re not allowed to have my music on loud enough to drown out whining brothers, we haven’t really got a choice.”

  “I can’t drive with loud music Ben, it’s dangerous, and we’d all be deaf by the time we got to Devon.”

  “That might work actually; I wonder how you say ‘Annie Rose’ in sign language.”

  Alfie reacts instantly to the dreaded Annie Rose name and an apple comes sailing over the top of Ben’s seat and lands on the dashboard.

  “Alfie, that’s very dangerous. Don’t ever throw things in the car. Ben, don’t you dare throw that back, and Dan, stop teasing him. Honestly Alfie, only babies throw food.”

  He’ll hate being called a baby, but I can’t drive all the way to Devon dodging fruit.

  If we were richer, we’d be in one of those huge cars with DVD players for every passenger seat, but we’re not, so they’re stuck in a small family hatchback with not much in the way of in-car entertainment, unless you like dodging fruit. Although to be honest I’m not sure a childhood where you’re never bored for more than five minutes is ideal preparation for life. I’m pretty sure a bit of being bored and just having to get on with it is probably better for you than being treated like a VIP who has to be constantly entertained. What happens when you start your first job and nobody has thought of how you can be entertained during a boring morning? It must be such a shock.

  “Ben.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for not retaliating.”

  “That’s okay Mum, he can’t help being such a total wanker.”

  Alfie’s screeching now.

  “Be quiet Alfie, right now, or there’ll be no cartoons at all tonight.”

  Actually there may be no cartoons even if he does stop yelling as God knows what channels the telly gets, but I’m not telling anyone that until after we’ve arrived.

  “And Ben, if you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

  When they were born, I had visions of being the kind of mother who inspires creativity, whilst simultaneously making perfect scones and soothing furrowed brows with a cool hand and a peaceful manner. Little did I know that what I really needed was a mixture of the kind of nerves of steel more usually associated with fighter pilots. Judging the perfect time to deploy your countermeasures is pretty vital too: use your ammunition too early and you miss your target; too late, and it can hurtle straight back at you. You need to keep your eyes on the horizon whilst simultaneously scanning your instrument panel to see where the red lights are flickering, before the engine bursts into flames and you have to press your emergency ejector seat, only to discover you’ve left your parachute at home underneath a pile of coats in the hall. I’ve always thought family cars should have ejector seats. Never mind the DVD players, I’m sure a button that propels your nearest and dearest into a nearby field would be a guaranteed winner in the family-vehicle market.

  Alfie is still yelling, and Dan and Ben are now joining him.

  “The next person who yells or says anything rude about their brother loses all their pocket money this week.”

  This is risky because Ben sometimes does a quick calculation and decides that five pounds is a price he’s willing to pay to repeatedly call his brother a wanker, but I know he’s saving up for a computer game, so I’m in with a chance.

  “There might be extra pocket money for anyone who is being extra nice though.”

  “Mum.”

  “Yes, Ben.”

  “I thought you said bribery was a bad thing.”

  “For the police, yes, and for banks. Not for mothers.”

  “But when the police stopped us that time…”

  I once got stopped for speeding, and they’ve never forgotten it. Forty-three miles per hour in a thirty-miles-per-hour zone, hardly likely to get me featured on the next Police Camera Terrifying Drivers television special. But still exciting when you’re small and there are blue lights flashing.

  “I was trying to get home before Alfie woke up and needed feeding.”

  “Yes, and then you handed him to that policeman.”

  “Well what was I supposed to do, leave all three of you in the car on your own, sobbing?”

  “I wasn’t sobbing, and neither was Dan.”

  “You soon would have been if I’d left you locked in a car with a screaming baby.”

  “He let you off though, didn’t he? And that’s bribery, using a baby to bribe the police. I bet that’s against the Highway Code Mum.”

  “No it isn’t Dan, the Highway Code was written by men, so there’s no mention of babies.”

  Actually the police let me off with a warning and they both saluted as they drove past. The older one told me he had two girls under four at home and sometimes did extra shifts just to get a bit of peace and quiet.

  “Babies can’t drive, so why do they need to be in the Highway Code? That’s just stupid.”

  “No it’s not Ben. Babies should at least get a mention, since they’re a major driving hazard. You could have special passes for your windscreen if your baby is about to wake up, or your toddler is about to wee all over the backseat, so you’re allowed to use the bus lane and get home in half the time. Never mind buses and taxis, anyone trying to get home before their toddler goes into meltdown should definitely get priority.”

  All three of them tut. Time to change the subject.

  “I know, let’s play a game. I Spy?”

  “I spy with my little eye something beginning with W.”

  “Dan, it better not be anything that rhymes with ‘banker.’ ”

  “Give me a minute, I’ll think of another one.”

  Bertie is standing at the door when we arrive, with Betty perched on his shoulder.

  “Hello my dears. Welcome all. Brought enough vans with you? Come in and have a sharpener. Need a decent drink on a busy day.”

  “Thanks Bertie. A cup of tea would be lovely.”

  “Need more than tea, small glass of something warming?”

  The removal men are all nodding.

  “Let’s start with tea please, Uncle Bertie. Hello Betty.”

  “Bugger off.”

  Dennis appears with Tess, his sheepdog, who starts barking and running round in circles, trying to herd us into the house. The boys are thrilled, particularly Ben, who’s always wanted a dog. So now we’ve got a parrot doing high-pitched whistling and telling the dog to bugger off, and a hysterical sheepdog alongside three boys letting off steam after being stuck in the car for hours. Perfect.

  The next couple of hours pass by in a blur of boxes and removal men asking where to put things whilst simultaneously trying to give Betty a very wide berth—apart from Mick, who seems to have taken a bit of a shine to her. Bertie has thankfully stopped trying to give everyone a drink, although I have a sneaking suspicion Mick has already enjoyed a glass or two of something on the quiet. Not that anything is exactly quiet, particularly with Betty around, entertaining us all with her full repertoire, including a very realistic impression of the telephone ringing, so I have to keep rushing to answer it only to find it’s not actually ringing. Mick seems to find this particularly amusing.

  “Nice place this is, love, and that parrot’s a bit of a card, isn’t she? I should think you’ll do alright here—good B-and-Bs are hard to come by, me and the lads have stayed in some shockers. The parrot will be a nice feature, make people remember you.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

  “That Ivy was saying your aunt only went in for it as a sideline.”

  Mick has also spent a fair amount of time in the kitchen, helping Ivy unpack bo
xes.

  “Yes, the garden was her pride and joy.”

  I’m half tempted to wander out there myself; at least I’d get a bit of peace.

  “You can see that love, even this time of year, laid out lovely it is. Take a bit of looking after I shouldn’t wonder, a great big place like this.”

  I think that may be the understatement of the century. A late-Georgian manor house, with more egg-and-dart cornicing and fluted columns than you can shake a stick at, even just doing a quick Hoover round takes hours, never mind all the polishing. There’s even a ha-ha, which Alfie has already fallen into twice playing football; the new definition of “goal” now appears to be if your brother drops out of sight into the four-foot ditch at the end of the lawn. I think “a bit of looking after” won’t even begin to cover it.

  “Right, well, this won’t get that last van unpacked.”

  We’re walking across the hall towards the front door when all the lights go out.

  Bloody hell.

  “That’ll be the fuse box love. Too many lights on, I shouldn’t wonder. Where is it?”

  “I’ve got no idea.”

  Ivy appears, thank God, followed by Bertie, carrying a ship’s lantern.

  “Always comes in handy, this.”

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Molly. Dennis is down the cellar and he’ll fix it in no time, happens all the time.”

  Bugger, so that’s something else to add to the list: sort out the electrics and the fuse box, so we don’t have to keep trooping down to the cellar in pitch-darkness. And get Dennis to show me what to do if it happens when they’re not here.

  “Mum?”

  “Yes, Dan.”

  “It’s going really well so far, isn’t it? When are we having supper?”

  By the time the removal men leave, all our furniture appears to have been swallowed up by the house. I still can’t quite believe it, there seemed so many boxes, but they’ve all fitted in somehow. I spent ages planning who would have each room with Ivy before we arrived, so the boys could feel at home with familiar things. Dan was keen on having a room in the attic, but I’ll need to sort out the heating and the roof before he can escape to a different floor from the rest of us. There are eight bedrooms, and the staircase divides halfway up. There’s a door on the upstairs landing dividing the two halves with four bedrooms in each, which is a particular blessing since it means we’ll be separate from the guests. Bertie has a huge room to the right, with a dressing room and his own bathroom, and then there are three B-and-B bedrooms: two doubles and a single. One of the doubles has a sea view and an en suite, and the other one looks over the front of the house and shares a Jack and Jill bathroom with the single, although why they’re called “Jack and Jill” I have no idea, particularly if you’re a complete stranger to the Jack or Jill who comes wandering in while you’re in the bath. The rooms are large and rather grand, if a bit faded, and all the windows have shutters, and there are working fireplaces in each room, with lovely old tiles and antique grates. There’s so much potential to make something glorious, if you had endless money, but even without any money I’m still going to aim for glorious. It might just take a bit longer.

  The other four bedrooms to the left of the stairs are similar. Actually there are five if you count my dressing room, which used to be Helena’s, but I’m trying not to think about that. We’ve moved the beds around, and put a couple of old mattresses up in the attic, and I’ve spotted an old brass bedstead up there which I’ve got my eye on, but we’ll see. I’ve got a huge bathroom too, with an enormous cast-iron bath, and then there’s a family bathroom for the boys to share, thankfully without doors opening into anyone’s bedroom. There’s a walk-in linen cupboard too, by the stairs to the attic, and I’ve already had quite a few peaceful moments in there amongst all the piles of linen and dried lavender; it will be a perfect bolt hole when it all gets too much. I can pretend I’m counting sheets when I’m on the verge of hysterics—although if today is anything to go by, I’ll be spending a fair bit of time in there, so I might see if I can fit a chair in. It can be my very own version of a meditation zone, but without the annoying music or beanbags. But first I better start on supper and baths, particularly for people who have fallen into the ha-ha playing football.

  By nine Ben and Alfie are upstairs and officially in bed, but are probably unpacking toys and reuniting themselves with long-forgotten treasures. Dan is having his precious extra half hour watching telly. Ivy’s booked the telly man to come tomorrow to sort out the satellite, so for now they’ve had to content themselves with just four channels, which hasn’t gone down well. I’d like to sort out televisions for the guest rooms too eventually—I’ll add it to the list. But the new family room has worked out, and all our stuff doesn’t look as tatty as I feared. I did wonder if the mix of cheap and cheerful Ikea in amongst all this Georgian glory might look a bit pathetic, but it’s fine, probably because we’re in the servants’ quarters, right by the kitchen and the scullery, with the old chipped sink and the washing machines, so there’s a bit less in the way of ornate cornicing. The walls could do with painting, and the fireplace has a battered old electric fire, which I’ll definitely move before anyone tries to turn it on and burn the house down. But so far so good.

  Ivy’s in the kitchen.

  “Shall we have a drink Ivy?”

  “I was just putting the kettle on.”

  “Lovely.”

  “I could fancy a drink too Mum. Have we got any lager?”

  “Don’t be cheeky, Dan.”

  Ivy smiles.

  “Get away with you, and here, take these up, there’s a dear. Put one in each of your beds, take the chill off.”

  Dan trots off clutching three hot-water bottles.

  “Thanks so much Ivy, for everything today. I don’t know how I would have managed without you and Dennis.”

  “I’ll just rinse these things, and then I’ll be back up in the morning, around seven suit you?”

  Bloody hell, that’s early.

  “I think we’ll have a lazy start tomorrow.”

  She sniffs.

  “I don’t hold with stopping in bed. I like to be up and about.”

  “Right.”

  “And Mr. Bertie has his breakfast at half past seven.”

  “Okay.”

  “I wasn’t sure what the boys like, so I got some extra bacon, and eggs? I haven’t got any mushrooms, though, I didn’t like the look of them in the farm shop.”

  “Bacon will be lovely, Ivy, only you don’t have to cook for us. We’ve already talked about that. If you just carry on looking after Bertie, that would be great, but we’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s see how we get on.”

  This is what Ivy says when she’s about to completely ignore you.

  “I’ll cook breakfast for the boys, and then we’ll make our plans for the day—how does that sound?”

  She nods, and there’s a ringing noise.

  “What’s that? Is it Betty?”

  I’m definitely going to get a new phone system, with cordless phones I can carry with me, preferably with parrot-proof ring tones.

  Ivy gets up and walks towards the door.

  “It’s one of the room bells upstairs. I expect it will be one of the boys.”

  We both look up at the board on the wall, and sure enough the Bedroom 3 bell is flashing, and making a piercing ringing noise.

  Christ.

  “I didn’t know they still worked.”

  “Oh yes, although that silly bird can do them too, so you’re never sure.”

  “Great. Can’t we disconnect it or something? The bells, not the bird. Although on second thoughts.”

  She giggles, not something I’ve seen her ever do before.

  “Shall I go up then, see what they want?”

  “Definitely not Ivy. You go home, and we’ll see you tomorrow. Leave it to me.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The be
ll rings again.

  “Alfie, you’re not to do that. Ever again.”

  “But I need a drink of water and I didn’t know where you were.”

  “I was down with Ivy, and that’s not the point.”

  “Yes, but I called you and you didn’t come, so I had to press it. Dan told me to.”

  “Well I’ll talk to him about that, but if you need me, come and find me.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “No it isn’t. The light’s on in the hall, and downstairs, and this is our house now, Alfie, just like our old house. What did you do if you wanted me at our old house?”

  “I came and found you.”

  “Yes. So that’s what you do here. But not just to pretend you need a drink.”

  “I do, I really do.”

  “Just this once then, but not every night, Alfie. And if you need a wee in the night, you know where the bathroom is, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, I’ve already done a wee.”

  “I know, but if you need another one?”

  “I’m not a baby Mum.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And Mum?”

  “Yes love?”

  “Can I have a snack, because I’m starving?”

  “No. You can’t. And if you keep on, you won’t get a glass of water either.”

  He sighs.

  Christ, I’m going to have to watch it or all three of them will be ringing for room service. I might as well start learning to bloody curtsy.

  I’m filling a glass with water in the kitchen, when Dan appears.

  “Hi Mum, are you getting him his drink, then?”

  “Yes, and thanks for telling him to ring the bell, that was so helpful. Next time just come and find me, would you?”

  “In this great big old place? No thanks; it’s probably haunted.”

  “Of course it isn’t.”

  He grins.

  “I thought the bell would be handy. Save him whining at me and Ben.”