A Good Year for the Roses: A Novel

by Gil McNeil

  We’ve spent ages decorating a tea set for Lola. Alfie has painted the cake plates, and Dan and Ben decorated the cups and saucers and milk jug. My pink-and-white-flowered teapot looks rather sedate in comparison, but she seems to love it, and I’ve filled the teapot with tiny parcels, strings of sparkly beads, and mini bottles of nail polish, as well as chocolates, so she’s wearing the beads and painting her nails with silver glitter while I unwrap the beautiful cashmere twin set she’s chosen for me, in just the kind of pale lilac that you never find in Marks and Spencer.

  “Promise you’ll only wear it with dark purple, or green.”

  “Of course.”

  “What have you got in dark purple?”

  “A dressing gown and a couple of towels?”

  “Just as I thought. Open that one, over there.”

  The second parcel contains a long velvet skirt, in a gorgeous deep blackcurrant. It’s so beautiful I want to try it on straightaway. And in amongst all the tissue paper there’s also a tiny dark-green woollen something. Christ, I think it’s meant to be a skirt. Or maybe a big belt.

  “Before you say anything, you wear it with woolly tights and boots.”

  “I’ll look like Robin Hood.”

  “You will not. You’ll look like a postmodern Lady of the Manor. We can go online later and I’ll show you more stuff you need to buy. I’m on a mission, it’s important you look right, you can’t go shuffling round in those terrible jeans.”

  “I can. But thank you, they’re all gorgeous.”

  “Just get a few things darling, while I’m here to help you choose.”

  “Maybe.”

  Or maybe not. Lola’s idea of just a few things tends to be what most people would call a massive shopping spree. But I’ll definitely need some woolly tights if I’m ever going to give the green skirt a try. “Maybe I could get some of those legging things, to wear under the skirt?”

  “ ‘Jeggings’? Please, darling. Another little joke from the wonderful world of fashion. If you’re fifteen or anorexic, fine. On anyone else they look completely revolting. Trust me, woollen tights are your best bet.”

  Lunch is particularly successful since Lola’s brought new supplies of Christmas Crackers, and hers are much posher than ours, with much better gifts inside them. Even Betty gets a cracker present: a small mirror which she sets about dismantling, in between admiring herself. Alfie is thrilled with his whistle, more’s the pity. But at least we’ll know where he is, anywhere in the house.

  “Shall we have coffee by the fire?”

  “Please, darling.”

  “Boys, you can watch a film, or play upstairs, but no charging around. We’ll go for a walk later, so save your energy for that, okay?”

  Alfie toots on his whistle, but then trots off with Bertie to annoy Betty. Excellent. Let’s see how long it takes her to dismantle a whistle. Fingers crossed.

  “This coffee is delicious, much better than your usual stuff. So how was Christmas, darling?”

  “Fine, although I made Ivy and Dennis take Christmas Day off, which took some doing, and then I wished I hadn’t because the turkey took forever to cook and we ended up having our lunch at a quarter to six.”

  “And what about your parents—full of festive spirit?”

  “Dad’s still sulking. Mum’s popped in a few times though, and she’s fine. And they both came round on Christmas Eve, and then we all went for sherry at the hotel before New Year, which was pretty tense with Roger being bumptious and Dad giving me the evil eye. But everyone just about managed to behave, apart from Bertie. What about you and your mum, how did that go?”

  “Fine, I think, I drank so much vodka it’s all a blur. Only way to handle it.”

  “Yes, Bertie did something similar. He had Sally in fits when we were at the hotel, telling her rude stories about his exploits in the navy, he ended up sitting in the office, with half the staff crowding in. He was a huge hit.”

  “I bet Roger loved that.”

  “Oh definitely, he was enchanted.”

  “Okay, I’d like the full tour now please. Pretend I’m a guest.”

  “You are a guest Lola.”

  “A B-and-B guest. Imagine I’ve just tipped up ready to book in.”

  “You’re not really the B-and-B type though are you?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Normal, with matching anoraks? Don’t worry, I’ll summon up my inner pleb.”

  “Charming.”

  “Shut up, and get on with it. I want to see it all—the full guest experience.”

  “Of course. Right this way madam.”

  “I love the entrance by the way, huge door, proper old-fashioned bellpull and clanging bell, sets the perfect tone.”

  “Yes, and Betty can do a pretty good impersonation of the bell, so bear it in mind. She can do the phone too, but we’ve fixed that. I’ve got a new one and Ben and Dan have spent hours putting ringtones on for everyone.”

  “Clever.”

  “I thought so, but we’ve had so many debates about it, I’m not so sure now. They’d put Darth Vader on for Pete until I made them change it.”

  “I like their thinking. What’s he got now?”

  “Yoda. They put some annoying singing chicken on for my mobile, until I made them take it off, so now they’ve gone all James Bond. You’ve got ‘Diamonds Are Forever,’ and I’ve got ‘Skyfall,’ which they’re loving, given the subtle chicken connection.”

  “And exactly how does lovely Daniel 007 Craig connect to chickens?”

  “Chicken Licken, the Sky Is Falling Down—they think they’ve been terribly clever. I’m letting them keep it for now, or God knows what I’ll end up with. They’d put on ‘The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow’ from Annie for Alfie until I deleted it.”

  “Has Alfie got a phone then?”

  “Nope, but they couldn’t resist, little swine. They keep playing all the tunes, just to be annoying. But the good news is Betty can’t keep track of them—she fluffs up her feathers and goes all sulky every time the phone rings, it’s great. I think that’s why she’s redoubling her efforts with remote controls. It’s parrot payback.”

  We’re walking across the main hall and into the entrance hall.

  “When was this place built, do you know?”

  “Late seventeen hundreds.”

  “The staircase is lovely. Is it oak?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re hopeless darling, I want snippets. ‘Hand-carved oak, using timbers from a famous ship’—ask Bertie for something suitable.”

  “I don’t think you can just make stuff up Lola. It’s just oak, made by local craftsmen, I should imagine. But I can tell you about the floor tiles—Victorian green-and-blue mosaic. I’ve been doing some research to see if I can replace a couple of the cracked ones. They cost a fortune.”

  “I bet they do, they’re gorgeous. Right, so we’re by the front door, off you go. ‘Good afternoon, do you have a reservation?’ ”

  “Stop it, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Pull yourself together darling.”

  “ ‘Good afternoon, madam. Why are you wearing so many scarves, have you just arrived from the North Pole?’ ”

  “Ho ho ho, very festive I’m sure. ‘I’ve got a booking. My bags are in the car.’ Off you pop darling.”

  “ ‘This is a B-and-B, madam. We don’t have a porter.’ ”

  “Very good, going for five stars, I see—be rude to your guests. If it works for Michelin-star restaurants, why not B-and-Bs? I like it. So, do I have to sign in, or what?”

  “Yes, on the hall table, in this book, just your name and address. And there’s a visitor’s book too, in the guest sitting room. Full of nice comments because Ivy takes out the page if anyone writes anything she doesn’t like.”

  “Do you want my credit card?”

  “No, because you’re not paying. And we don’t take credit cards yet—it’s on my To Do list. Actually it’s more of a To Do booklet now.”

  “I
bet. And I am paying; I want to be your first official guest. So shut up. Is the usual drill they pay after they’ve had breakfast?”

  “Yes, if we’re open, which we’re not. Helena didn’t open until Easter, so I’m sticking with that while I get things sorted. So you’re not paying, and that’s final.”

  “I can see your influence here already you know darling—the twigs and berries in that vase, the Christmas tree and all the holly and ribbons, it’s all gorgeous.”

  “I’ve just tidied up a bit so far, I’d like to move some of the furniture around, but I don’t want to upset Ivy, so I’m taking it slowly.”

  “This isn’t a remake of Rebecca, darling, even if this place could be a mini Mandalay. There’s no Mrs. Danvers lurking, waiting to set the house on fire.”

  “I bloody hope not.”

  “It could be stunning. Get a business loan, don’t look at the bills, and focus your energies on making it beautiful.”

  “I’m sure the banks will be falling all over themselves to give me a loan with a detailed business plan like that Lola.”

  “With the equity you’ve got here, it won’t matter what you say, they’ll be falling all over themselves to sign you up to pay them vast amounts of interest. Bastards.”

  I show her the guest sitting room, to the right of the entrance hall, with the breakfast table for the B&B guests.

  “It used to be the old morning room, it gets the sun first thing.”

  “I’ve always wanted a house big enough to have a morning room. Imagine sitting giving orders to your staff. Six for dinner, let’s roast a brace or two of pheasant.”

  “You can try it if you like. Ivy and I can line up wearing our best aprons.”

  “I love the huge windows, floor to ceiling Georgian gorgeousness.”

  “They’re great aren’t they, and the shutters work too. I’ll show you. Most of the rooms have them, and the dining room has window seats too. When I was little I used to hide in them, pull the curtain across, and make a little camp. Helena used to bring me snacks and I’d sit reading my book, it was perfect. Come on, let me show you your room.”

  We walk upstairs.

  “I’ve put you in the big double.”

  “It’s stunning darling, and thank you for the fire. Very country house.”

  “It’s either that or freeze. I’m tempted to start redecorating in here straightaway, but I need to meet the builder first and make sure nothing crucial will collapse.”

  “This wallpaper is truly hideous.”

  “Yup, William Morris meets the nineteen-seventies. But I think I can do something with the curtains, if I de-floral everywhere else, and go with cream and pale blues?”

  Lola is looking at the curtains, which are heavy paisley damask in silver and china blue. She doesn’t look convinced.

  “If you say so darling.”

  “The bathrooms are old, but at least they’re white, and I can get rid of the terrible old carpets. I’ve already checked and the floorboards are great, so I’ll sand them and give them a pale whitewash and then varnish them. With new towels and blinds I think they’ll look quite good.”

  “Sounds great, and the proportions are brilliant with the shutters and the windows. The bones are there, and all the views are wonderful. If you turned the whole place into a country-house hotel, you could make a fortune.”

  “Yes, but we’d be homeless, and so would Bertie.”

  “Show me your room, and then the attics.”

  “Are you sure? It’s pretty cold up there.”

  “I want to see it all.”

  “Okay, and then I’ve got something to show you which is going to make you very jealous.”

  “What? Tell me now, you know I hate surprises.”

  “I’ve got a dressing room, off my bedroom, it’s huge.”

  “Christ, the irony, I can’t bear it. You know I’ve always wanted a proper-sized dressing room. It’ll be completely wasted on you.”

  “I thought I might turn it into a sewing room?”

  “Are you taking up sewing then?”

  “Probably not, but it sounds nice.”

  “Or you could just buy more clothes.”

  “You haven’t seen the size of it yet.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Christ, it’s cold up here.”

  “I know, there are only a couple of radiators, just to stop the pipes from freezing. God knows how the servants used to manage. There are fireplaces, but they’re tiny, and I bet they weren’t allowed fires unless they were at death’s door.”

  “No wonder they got up so early in the morning, probably the only way to get warm. What’s in here?”

  I turn on the light to show Lola the water-tank room, and all the lights go out.

  “Bloody hell, is this part of the tour darling?”

  “No, it’s the fuse box. It does it all the time, just hang on, I’ve put torches all over the place. There should be one by the stairs on top of that cupboard.”

  “Well hurry up. I hope this place isn’t haunted by the ghost of some housemaid frozen to her washstand, because I’m not really up for any more shocks. I’m still trying to get over the idea of you having a dressing room.”

  “Here, I’ve found it. Let’s go back down, and then I’ll sort the fuse box. We had too many lights on—that’s the usual reason it trips.”

  “Good. And then we can open a bottle of something, good plan?”

  “Excellent plan.”

  I take Lola breakfast in bed in the morning, and she says she slept very well, and she doesn’t appear to feel fragile at all, which is impressive. If only I could say the same. I’m outside feeding the silly chickens with the boys, and wishing everyone would be a bit quieter. Chickens always look so peaceful on television, pecking and clucking about, but these ones are almost the exact opposite of that. Given half a chance, they shoot past and escape into the orchard, flapping and squawking every time I open the bloody door to feed them. I spent nearly an hour running round last week trying to get the little sods back in for the night, admittedly with Alfie and Ben helping, which probably made things worse. And then when I finally gave up and started walking back towards the house, they all trooped back into the henhouse, almost in single file. I’m sure they were doing it deliberately to annoy me. If chickens can laugh, then the buggers were definitely laughing.

  The boys are running round throwing sticks for Tess, while I try to work out how to get back out of the henhouse with having another Great Escape on my hands, when Ivy comes out, with Dennis carrying a bucket of warm water.

  “They like a drop of warm water in this weather.”

  “They like cider vinegar too Ivy, in their water, I’ve been Googling them.”

  Ben is on a mission to help me embrace the wonderful world of poultry keeping.

  “I thought Googlies were cricket dear?”

  Dennis shakes his head.

  “Google not ‘Googlie,’ you daft woman. It’s the Interweb he’s on about. You can look up all sorts on it.”

  “And if you tie vegetables on a string, they can peck them and not get bored.”

  God forbid we’d have bored chickens.

  Ivy is impressed.

  “Fancy, did you hear that, Dennis. You’ve got to tie some of your veg on a string. Do you think you can manage that, in between being sarky to me?”

  Ben looks pleased that someone is finally taking his research seriously.

  “You can hang up old CDs too—they like pecking at them. And if they eat grass you get darker yolks. And raw potato is poisonous for chickens, so you can’t give them potato peelings. And they need lots of water, because eggs are seventy-five percent water.”

  “Well I never, there’s a good boy finding out all that.”

  I’m still stuck inside the henhouse, trying to work out how to get out.

  “Thanks Ben, you didn’t happen to see any top hints on how to open the door without the stupid things all running out did you love?”
/>   He grins.

  “Not really Mum.”

  “They’re just getting used to you, dear. It takes them a while. They’ll start laying again soon and then they’ll settle.”

  “That’s good news Ivy.”

  Either that or I might just peel a few potatoes when nobody is looking.

  “Morning everyone, what are you all doing? Do they always make that racket darling?”

  Lola has emerged, draped in cashmere and looking as fresh as the proverbial daisy.

  “When I’m around they do. I thought you were having a lie-in?”

  “I got bored. The white ones are lovely, usually they’re that horrible sludge-brown, but these look much more upmarket.”

  Dennis nods.

  “That’s Vita and Gertie—they’re both Ixworths, rare breed. Them speckled black-and-white ones are Connie and Beth—they’re Dorkings, nice calm hens.”

  He pauses to watch Beth race past me, clucking.

  “Usually they’re calm. The other three are Speckled Sussex—Penny, Rosie, and the Duchess. We had a flock of over thirty at one point, used to keep quite a few rare breeds, for breeding, but now we just keep a few for the eggs. Good layers, this lot are.”

  “All girls? Don’t you need a cockerel as well?”

  Our new poultry expert, Ben, steps forward.