A Good Year for the Roses: A Novel

by Gil McNeil

  Sally’s definitely a local, but I’m not sure what group I’m in, and labels are so much harder to shake off in such a small community like this, so I want to start off on the right foot. I’m not really a local, or a hipster, and I don’t want to start an ex-wives category all my own, or be classified as one of the posh lot. I’m definitely not enough of a snooter to pull off the Lady of the Manor routine, even if I wanted to. It’s also vital I don’t start a new Parent Who Is Also a Teacher category, so I’m trying to keep a low profile on the school-activities front. I know how much moaning goes on in the average staff room about parents not pulling their weight, so I’ve joined the PTA, but apart from that the only way I want to find myself sorting out the school library or helping slow readers is if I’m being paid by the hour, thanks very much. I’m sure I’ve made enough of a contribution to the education system with all the extra hours I used to work, without starting volunteering, so I’m aiming for poacher-turned-gamekeeper, as far as school goes. Or possibly gamekeeper-turned-poacher, since gamekeepers tend to get a salary and a bit of respect, along with a gun and a special coat, and I haven’t spotted any of that being on offer for the average mum.

  Tom runs past us to check if Sally is still waiting, and she tries to persuade him to do his coat up. I’ve given up on this, partly because there seems to be some mysterious bit of genetic programming which means boys can’t do their coats up unless they’re up to their necks in snow, but mainly because I got fed up repeating the same phrases over and over and being completely ignored. I think one parrot in the family is more than enough.

  The head, Mrs. Williams, has emerged with the bell and is surrounded by small people who would like to help ring it. She opts for a small girl with pigtails, who is tiny but still manages to make quite a racket with it until Mrs. Williams manages to retrieve it as the kids start to line up.

  “That Mrs. Langdon keeps looking at us.”

  “Who?”

  “The who drives the silver Mercedes.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She often parks it right in front of the school, on the yellow lines, which is strictly verboten, but she ignores the filthy looks from the playground. She must have nerves of steel.

  “Look out, she’s coming over.”

  “I don’t think we’ve met, have we? Lucinda Langdon-Hill. I gather you’ve just moved into the Hall?”

  She seems quite pushy for nine fifteen in the morning.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  She looks at me expectantly, clearly waiting for details so she can place me in the correct clique.

  “If you ever think of selling, you must let me know. Here, let me give you my card. I only handle a few of the more exclusive properties locally, very much a niche market. I’ve never seen inside the Hall, but I gather it’s absolutely splendid. Shall I pop round?”

  Bloody hell.

  She hands me a card.

  “Thank you, but I’m not thinking of selling, not for the foreseeable future anyway.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She looks disappointed, but rallies.

  “I gather your family also owns the Sands?”

  Crikey, the gossip grapevine has clearly been busy.

  “Yes.”

  “Such wonderful views from the restaurant. We were at a wedding there a few weeks ago, terrific. You must come to one of my girls’ lunches; they’re such a super way to get to know people when you’re new to an area.”

  Sally has clearly had enough of being treated like she’s invisible.

  “Molly grew up round here, so she already knows quite a few of us.”

  That will be minus ten points for me, if I’m not mistaken.

  Lucinda trills out a little laugh.

  “Super. Look, I must dash, but lovely to have met you properly, and I’ll pop an invitation round. So much to do at the moment, but I promise I shan’t forget.”

  She barrels across the playground towards her car as Sally makes a snorting noise.

  “Sorry Moll, but I couldn’t resist, she’s such a cow. She’s never spoken to me before, you know, not one word. I suppose you’ll be dumping me now, going off with the ladies who lunch.”

  “Yup. Definitely. Much more my type. Super.”

  We both laugh as we walk back towards the gates, and Lucinda gives me a cheery wave. Oh God.

  “There you go, stand by for your invite; she’ll probably upgrade you to dinner.”

  “She can invite me all she likes Sal, I won’t be going.”

  “No, go and then give me all the details. Please.”

  “In the five minutes I get in between trying to stop Bertie firing that bloody cannon and sorting out the kids and the B-and-B you mean?”

  “Yes, I want details, it’s bound to be horrible but none of us have ever been asked before, so you can report back.”

  “Like a snooter double agent? No thanks. There’s no way I could pull that off, and even if I could, there’s so much to do at the house, which reminds me, did you get a chance to look at those brochures on those bloody ironing things, because Ivy really wants one and she won’t shut up about it.”

  “The tabletop ones look better than the roller ones. If you put things in a tiny bit folded, you’d steam creases in and they’d be a bugger to get out.”

  “Good point. Less chance of steamrollering yourself by mistake too. Great, I’ll get the tabletop one then.”

  “I wanted to get one for the hotel a while back. That laundry is so useless, and we could do loads more in-house, but, well, I didn’t get one in the end.”

  “In other words, Roger wouldn’t let you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine Sal. I know what he’s like.”

  “He won’t let me hire enough girls to do the rooms either.”

  “Or boys.”

  “Yes, if you can find one who can make a bed properly. We only get twenty minutes to turn a room round sometimes, and that’s for everything.”

  “Christ, I’m sure we used to get longer than that.”

  “We did, but we had more staff then. You’ll be fine with your B-and-B rooms, though—you can take a bit longer.”

  “Good job too, it takes us twenty minutes to get the Hoover upstairs, never mind finish a whole room. Ivy and Helena had their own routines, and it’s an uphill battle to get Ivy to let me change anything. I’m still working on the Tupperware.”

  “What Tupperware?”

  “She puts all the breakfast cereals for the B-and-B in horrible old Tupperware boxes, and they look awful. It’s on my list, and I want to upgrade our suppliers. I thought I’d talk to Patrick about the bacon and sausages?”

  “That would be great, I’ll tell him, and I’ll lend you the hotel card for the cash-and-carry warehouse if you like. They sell all sorts of containers and cleaning stuff, it’ll save you a fortune.”

  “Thanks Sal. Any idea how I tell Ivy that we’re going to be a Tupperware-free zone?”

  “Sorry, you’re on your own with that one.”

  “Morning darling.”

  “Morning Lola.”

  “How’s tricks?”

  “Tricky. The builders have started work, and they’re making a huge mess, which is driving Ivy mental. And old Mr. Stebbings looks like he shouldn’t be going upstairs on his own, let alone up ladders and clambering around on the roof. I’m half expecting Social Services to come round and tell me off. And just getting the basics fixed and the gatehouse done is going to cost a fortune. Mr. Stebbings has sorted out all the permissions from the local council though, so that’s one good thing.”

  “Sounds like he’s a bit of a find.”

  “He is. It’s just I’d forgotten how hideous this bit is, where everything gets worse before it gets better.”

  “You hope.”

  “Thanks Lola, that’s very encouraging.”

  “I’ve sent you loads of magazines, to help inspire you.”

  “I got them yesterday. Sorry, I meant to ring up an
d thank you, they’re great.”

  “I’ve put Post-it notes by the things I want you to get for my room.”

  “I noticed that.”

  Lola has taken to referring to the biggest double B&B bedroom as her room.

  “Do you really want a sofa covered in vintage fabric with rabbits and cabbages?”

  “Yes. I do. It’s very Country House Chic.”

  “Country House Nutter more like, particularly at nearly fifteen quid a metre. And I’m still stuck on curtains. It seems to be trendy to have none at all, and once the shutters are sorted out and repainted they’ll keep the heat in as long as people remember to close them, but I still think it will look a bit stark. I’m thinking about putting up some plain wooden rails and simple cotton curtains. Mum says she’ll bring her sewing machine and we can make them.”

  “So you finally get to use your sewing room, which we are definitely not calling a dressing room.”

  “Looks like it. I’ve seen some great material in that shop I was telling you about, very nineteen-forties—little sailing ships and seashells, pale blue and white.”

  “Sounds great. It will go with my rabbits. You need a medley of motifs, or it will look too matchy, like bloody Cath Kidston. There are only so many roses you can fit into one room.”

  “Not down here, I think you’ll find. But I’m avoiding floral—the garden can take care of that.”

  “What did you think of my bathroom selection—gorgeous or what?”

  “Gorgeous, I’m saving them all in my bathroom file, for phase two. But for now I’m going to keep it simple, since it’s all I can afford. We’ve already got rid of the horrible old carpets and sanded the floors, which look tons better already, and with new shower units and new towels, you won’t recognise them.”

  “I bet I will. Having a huge rolltop bath in the bedroom is the kind of luxury people want.”

  “If they like parading round stark naked in front of their travelling companion, maybe, but I’m pretty sure most B-and-B guests aren’t quite that liberated.”

  “It would give them an experience then, something to remember.”

  “Oh yes, the sight of Pete bobbling about first thing in the morning having a bath before I’d even got out of bed would have put me off my breakfast for sure. I’d definitely remember that. Anyway, Ivy wouldn’t approve.”

  “Is she still doing the tutting thing?”

  “A fair bit, and Mum’s started popping round to help, which is nice, obviously, but somehow that means she and Ivy are sort of competing to see who can boss me about the most.”

  “About?”

  “Pretty much everything. Yesterday it was how to get mud off Alfie’s school trousers. I’ve hugely underestimated the amount of mud involved in our new country life.”

  “Tell them to bugger off.”

  “You tell them. Are you still coming down this weekend?”

  “Yes, I need to check my room is being done properly.”

  “Great. You’ll be in the single room, unless they’ve started work in there too, in which case you can have my room and I’ll sleep in the…”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Sewing room. We’ll move one of the single beds in.”

  “Right you are darling, can’t wait.”

  “You can try some of my bread. I’ve started making it again, the top of the oven is the perfect place to get dough to rise. Sally has introduced me to her friend Dave, who sells bread at the local markets and he’s going to give me some of his sourdough starter.”

  “His what?”

  “The yeast, to make sourdough bread. It’s a serious business—some of it has provenance going back hundreds of years. People take their yeast on holiday with them, to keep it going.”

  “How charming.”

  “It will be, if I can serve fresh bread to guests. I’m experimenting with spelt, and wholemeal—it’s quite addictive.”

  “Sounds like I need to get down there as soon as I can before you completely loop the loop.”

  After the school run, I catch up with Mr. Stebbings, and we stand looking at the ceiling cornice in the dining room.

  “I’m sure I’ve got moulds somewhere in the workshop very similar to these. I’ll bring them with me tomorrow and I can make any adjustments needed. It will look as right as the day it went up when we’ve finished. They knew what they were doing in them days, standards of work you don’t see enough of now. It will be a pleasure to work on a ceiling like this.”

  “I bet some of the workers’ cottages were pretty basic though?”

  “That they were. Had to go cap in hand to the landlord to get anything fixed, or do it yourself. They weren’t the good old days for the workingman, and that’s a fact.”

  “Or the workingwoman, trying to do all the washing for a family with a huge pot of boiling water and an old metal washboard. Ivy was showing me the old one in the gatehouse; she can remember when they still used it. It sounds hideous.”

  He smiles.

  “We used to stay well out of my mum’s reach on a wash day, me and my brothers, or you’d get a clip round the ear before you knew where you were. She had her work cut out keeping all seven of us fit to be seen.”

  “I bet she did. It’s bad enough with three, and they’re still not always fit to be seen. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just going to make some.”

  “No thank you Miss. Ivy has seen us right—makes a lovely bit of cake she does.”

  “I’d avoid the jam tarts if I were you. Alfie was helping Ivy make them yesterday, so the pastry’s a bit grubby.”

  “Right you are. I’ll not tell Jim, though. He’s got a constitution like an ox, bit of grubby pastry won’t bother him.”

  He’s chuckling as he climbs up his stepladder to get a closer look at the cornice.

  Ivy’s so thrilled I’ve finally ordered the new steam press that she hardly noticed when I said we’d have mini boxes of cereal for guests and stop using the Tupperware. So as long as I manage to avoid steam pressing my own arm and make sure nobody under sixteen ever touches the bloody thing, things are looking up. I’m trying to take advantage of my gold-star status on the domestic front by sorting through the cupboards in the scullery to find some bathroom cleaner, when Ivy comes in.

  “I was just looking for some bath stuff?”

  “You only have to let me know and I’ll make sure it gets done.”

  “I know Ivy, but we’ve talked about this. There’s four more of us now, and the boys make so much mess—we’ll both need to be cleaning if we want to keep on top of it all.”

  I try a smile, but she’s crossing her arms and looking annoyed.

  “I never had any complaints in the past, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  I think this might be a good time to stand my ground, which is tricky when I’m kneeling at her feet, but I’ll give it a go.

  “I’m not complaining Ivy, far from it, but I won’t be out in the garden all day like Helena used to. I want to be hands-on. Hands in buckets, if needs be.”

  She hesitates.

  “As thick as thieves they used to be, her and Dennis. Any money that came in went straight out again on that silly garden.”

  “I know that Ivy, and we’re keeping the garden going, of course we are, but the house needs things too.”

  “You don’t need to tell me. Times I told her.”

  “So how did it work then? Was there a housekeeping budget, for things like cleaning supplies?”

  She tuts.

  “Not that I ever saw.”

  “Right. So did you just settle up each time you bought new stuff then?”

  She looks uncomfortable, and opens the cupboard by the door.

  “There’s a bottle of bleach in here, I think.”

  Oh God, I think I’ve just worked out why there’s such a motley collection of cleaning things—she’s been buying them all herself.

  “Ivy, how much have you spent, over the years?”

  “It wa
s just a few things now and again. She had no idea what things cost, and I didn’t like to say.”

  “Right, well that’s something else that we’re going to change, right now. Let’s go to the cash-and-carry later on, that big one on the industrial estate, and we can stock up. And no more paying for things out of your own purse. Agreed?”

  “Don’t you need to be a member to go to the cash-and-carry?”

  “Sally’s lent me the card from the hotel. So long as I pay for all our stuff at the checkout, nobody will be any the wiser. Shall we make a list? I’d like to have things upstairs and down here too, it will save us time when we’re cleaning the B-and-B rooms. Does that sound like a good idea?”

  “Well, if we got a new mop, that would be handy. That old one’s not much use anymore. Could we go after I’ve given Mr. Bertie his lunch, do you think? Would that give us enough time to be back for you to collect the boys from school? Or we could take them with us—they could push the trolley, couldn’t they, they’d probably like that?”

  They won’t, but I can tell she doesn’t want a quick five-minute dash-round.

  “Good idea. We’ll pick them up and then go. I’ll leave a note for Dan—he’ll be fine until we get back. Start writing your list Ivy.”