by Gil McNeil
“Thank you.”
“Your aunt would be very proud of you. Very proud.”
Oh God, I’ll be in tears in a minute if she carries on. I’m so relieved. “That’s enough, Mary. Can’t you see you’re upsetting the girl? We’ll definitely be coming back later in the year, so come on, let’s be off, I’ve promised to take my grandson fishing. Probably won’t catch anything, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I might take him out on one of those boats and see if we can’t get a few mackerel in the summer.”
“You will not, he’s far too young to be off in a smelly old boat with you for hours.”
“We’ll see.”
He winks at me.
“Say good-bye to Mr. Bertie for us.”
They’re still bickering about mackerel fishing as they walk towards their car, but give me a wave and a chirpy toot as they drive off.
If all our guests are as nice as this, I might be able to make this work. And they paid me in cash, which was a thrill. It might only be seventy pounds, but it’s a start. And nobody wanted poached eggs, so it really couldn’t have gone better. If I could go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day, my cup would truly overflow.
“Mum?”
“Yes Ben.”
“Bertie says we can have a camp on the beach and cook sausages later. Have we got any sausages left?”
“No.”
“Well can you get some, because it’s going to be brilliant. And can you get some vegetarian ones, because I’ve decided I’m not going to eat meat any more. It’s just not sustainable.”
Oh God. He’s been talking about becoming a vegetarian for a while now, and I’ve been trying to ignore it.
“Right.”
“I might still eat fish, but only if it’s caught properly—not in those big nets that destroy the seabed. Or on the endangered-fish list, like sharks.”
“Damn, bang goes my plan for shark fin soup for supper.”
“I’m being serious Mum. If we carry on like this, there’ll be no fish left.”
“Sorry. Okay, well if you’ve made your mind up, then I suppose that’s fair enough. It’s good to have the courage of your convictions.”
He nods.
“Thanks Mum. So will you tell Ivy?”
Bugger.
I’m in the scullery on Monday afternoon, sorting through the laundry, when Celia phones, sounding flustered; she got back from a weekend away this morning to discover her water tank had burst and flooded what sounds like most of her house.
“You wouldn’t believe the mess, appalling. I shall have to move out, so I wondered if I might come to you as a PG? I know Helena never took in paying guests, didn’t want people hanging about the place all day, B-and-B is much better, give them their breakfast and get rid of them. But I wouldn’t want any fuss, and I’m perfectly capable of lending a hand, although I will admit housekeeping has never been my forte. And this place is far too big for me. Once everything is back up to scratch, I’m thinking of selling—been meaning to for ages, but I’ve kept putting it off. Dusting a great big house like this—completely hopeless. By the time I finish, I’ve got to start all over again.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Precisely my point, I don’t want to cause any extra work. I do hope you don’t mind my asking, only I am rather stuck for the next few weeks while the worst of it gets done, so I thought if I came to you… but please say if you’d rather not.”
“Of course you must come here, but you do so much work in the garden, we couldn’t possibly charge you.”
“Then I shan’t come. The insurance company will be paying—they’ve charged me enough over the years, about time I got something back. And I’d much rather the Hall got the money than anywhere else, much rather. I’ve spotted a cottage I might buy, needs a bit of work, small but enough of a garden to be worth bothering with. Extraordinary what they’re selling them for now, even those hideous new flats—they call them a retirement village—more like a series of prison blocks if you ask me. Surprised none of them are digging tunnels—geriatric gulags, that’s what they are, never seen anything so revolting in all your life, load of old people stuck together moaning. I’d rather shoot myself. Now, where was I? Oh yes, thought I could have your single room. Don’t mind sharing a bathroom if you’ve B-and-B people in the double. That way I wouldn’t take up too much space. Only fly in the ointment is Jasper. I could put in him a kennel, but he’d absolutely loathe it.”
“Right.”
Oh God, so that’s Celia and Jasper, the amazing leaping terrier. Betty will be thrilled.
“I know it’s a great deal to ask, but he’s perfectly house-trained, I can promise you that. You’d hardly know he was there. Ridiculous I know, total nuisance, but I am rather fond of him.”
“What about if you had the double and we could move the furniture around? There’s a little table and an armchair we could move upstairs for you, and then you could have a sitting area too, and Jasper can have his basket in with you.”
She goes quiet. Oh God, I think I’ve offended her. Maybe I should have offered to have the dog downstairs in the kitchen or something, but I’m really not keen.
“Thank you my dear, Helena was right, you’re an exceptional girl. I’d like that very much. More than I can say.”
Ivy is highly diverted by the news and starts making pastry.
“She’ll be hungry, wet through too, I shouldn’t wonder. Floods can make a terrible mess. I’ll make a chicken pie—she likes them—and I’ll do a little cheese-and-onion quiche for Ben, shall I?”
“That would be lovely Ivy, thanks.”
“Got to make sure he keeps his strength up until he comes to his senses.”
I’m not sure my budding eco-warrior is going to be changing his mind any time soon, particularly if Ivy keeps making him little quiches. Pete was predictably sarcastic when I told him, and tried to give Ben a lecture about protein, which backfired somewhat when he realised Ben has been collecting fascinating facts from the wonderful world of vegetarians for quite some time, and was able to reel off statistics about lentils and quinoa and pumpkin seeds versus pistachio nuts. Which reminds me, I must add quinoa to my next shopping list. Apparently you cook it just like rice, and it’s a superfood, so we’ll give it a go. I’ve already stocked up with cans of tuna, with the dolphin on the label so we know they weren’t caught by industrial trawlers and nobody has to go on hunger strike.
“You go and tell Mr. Bertie, and then we can start making up the room. The bed will want making up, and you can put some of your nice soap in the bathroom for her—she’ll like that. Is she bringing that silly dog with her then?”
“Yes, but she’ll have him in her room with her.”
She tuts.
Bertie is in the library, peering out to sea on his telescope.
“I did say she didn’t need to pay, Bertie, but she says the insurers are footing the bill, and she won’t come if we don’t charge her.”
“Well in that case, go ahead. Don’t know what Helena would have done without her—they used to spend hours in that garden lost in their own little world. Should be amusing, she’s a card.”
A card-carrying nutter, more like.
He hands me a gin and tonic, with very little tonic. Here we go again. I must remember to sip, and not knock it back like I did last week with the glass he offered me before lunch, or I’ll have to ask Sally to collect Alfie and Ben again.
“I’ve always been fond of old Celia, like to see her pottering around the place. Reminds me of Helena—always hatching some plot to annoy Dennis, moving things about and planning new borders and suchlike. Ran the poor man ragged, they did—and he does his best, can’t say fairer than that. I spent a fair bit of time this morning looking for my specs, until Dennis pointed out I was wearing them. Awkward moment. Good chap. Be totally buggered without him. And Mrs. Dennis too, of course, although she leads him a merry dance with all her fussing—decent woman at heart of course.”
“Of course.”
“Always knew Dennis was a decent chap. We had some larks in the navy—you wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he knows how to let his hair down. Mrs. Dennis less so of course, but she’s a treasure in her own way. Yes, we struck lucky with both of them. But we were very lucky all round, never a cross word between us. She did have a passion for opera—terrible racket if you ask me, but Helena adored it, and do you know, the extraordinary thing is I miss it now.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“That’s the key you know—got to have passions in life, something to believe in, not that you want to be one of those bores banging on at people telling them what to think—perish the thought—but something you care about, a reason to get up in the morning. The basics are important too of course—kindness, decency, lending a hand. Hugely underrated. Won us the war. Will win us the next one too, I shouldn’t wonder. And love of course—important not to forget that. And I’m not talking about sex my dear.”
I choke slightly, which makes him smile.
“The hurly-burly of the chaise longue is all very well, but it tends to fade after a few years, and the deep peace of the double bed can be overrated too, particularly if you’re stuck with an idiot like your husband. Can’t see how that would have been terribly nice for you my dear, if you don’t mind my saying. No, I mean in the broadest sense, love your fellow man. Not that I’ve ever tried any of that—fair bit of it in the navy, never bothered me, each to his own. But doing right by the people around you, people you’re fond of who don’t set your teeth on edge. Children too, if you can manage it. We’d have liked children, Helena and I, we came close a couple of times. Thought I was going to lose her at one point, never been so frightened in all my life, but there you are, these things happen. And we muddled on, made the best of it, and I don’t regret a moment. Hope she didn’t.”
“I’m sure she didn’t Bertie.”
“Must say I’m enjoying having your boys here—decent chaps. Gives you a sense of a toehold on the future. Helena said I’d enjoy it, said they’d be the perfect age for me since I’d never grown up, and she was right, as usual. For her it was her roses. She was fond of me, I know that, very fond, but it was the roses which lit up her life. For you, it’s your boys.”
“She loved you very much Bertie—anyone could see that.”
“I miss her, every single day. Takes my breath away sometimes, when I think I see her, often in the garden, I think I catch a glimpse. But I can’t complain at my age—every day is a bonus, might as well try to enjoy it. And what about you my dear. When the boys grow up and bugger off, will you stay on here do you think?”
“I love it here Bertie. Where else would I want to go?”
He smiles.
“Good for you. And if some chap comes along and sweeps you off your feet, then that’s all well and good—but don’t be too hasty, that’s my advice. Having a home you love, somewhere for the family to come back to, very important. Might not be a sweeper of course.”
“Sorry?”
“Might just be a bit of fun. Nothing wrong in that, as long as you’re not hurting anybody, or likely to find yourself up on a charge. I’ve always been fond of a bit of gallivanting.”
“I can’t see me going in for gallivanting Bertie.”
“Well you should—put a spring in your step.”
Betty hops along the back of the sofa.
“Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly. Make mine a large one.”
“Doesn’t always talk rubbish you know, most of the time, but not always. Would you like a top-up?”
“No thanks Bertie, I need to get Celia’s room ready and then collect the boys from school.”
“Fair enough. Let me know if I can lend a hand. Leave your glass here and you can come back for the other half later on. I’m sure Celia will want to join us; she’s always liked a tipple. Makes a decent martini too, although don’t tell her I said that.”
“How’s it going with Celia?”
“Fine, apart from the stupid dog yapping at the stupid parrot. She’s out in the garden most of the time, and the boys like her—they’re saving all their best stories from school to tell her and Bertie over supper.”
“I’ve been thinking I might like to keep a room on permanent standby too.”
“Yes, but you don’t actually want to live here, do you?”
Please God she says no, I’m not sure I could cope with Lola 24/7.
“No, but I’ve been toying with the idea of making you an offer you can’t refuse for the gatehouse. That way I’d have a place of my own in the country. Only I think I’d prefer a refuge from the madding crowd where it doesn’t rain all the bloody time.”
“It hasn’t rained here for days.”
“Probably saving it up for my next visit—talking of which let’s fix up some more weekends, before you take in any more waifs and strays.”
“Don’t be daft, there’ll always be room for you, come anytime you like. The boys can stay in the attic if push comes to shove, which it probably will. Dan’s still desperate to move up there and Ben’s keen too.”
“Or you could create a deluxe attic suite, just for special me. I quite like that idea.”
“Can I get the gatehouse finished first please, and then have a break from builders. I’m still trying to finish all the painting in the house as it is. Ivy would probably walk out if I launch into another project. Actually, I might too.”
“I’ve been telling Tre how gorgeous it is, and by the way, he’s not strictly vegan any more, just vegetarian.”
“That’s very good news. I don’t want Ben getting any more ideas. God knows what you’d make vegans for their school packed lunch.”
“I knew you’d be pleased. You’ll like him. He does a couple of hours’ yoga every day when he zones out completely, so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Or we can just sit watching him, which is very relaxing too, almost as good as actually doing the bloody yoga.”
“He might find zoning out a bit harder down here, what with Jasper barking and Betty telling him to bugger off.”
“He’ll cope darling. He grew up on a commune. His mum was a bit of a hippy—he was her third child, hence the name; there were stacks of them by the time she’d finished.”
“Is there a Quattro then, or is that just Audis?”
“If there is, I’ll bring him with us. Trust me, six foot three in his socks and solid muscle—what’s not to like?”
“I can’t think of anything offhand.”
“Precisely. Talking of which, have you decided what you’re wearing tonight for your dinner date with Stephen?”
“No, and I don’t want to talk about it, thanks. And it’s not a date, it’s just supper. Bea has started work on the plans for the stables so he probably just wants to talk about the house.”
“It’s early days yet darling. Nothing ventured nothing gained.”
“I think I like the idea of him asking me out more than I actually want to go. It’s such an encouraging antidote to Pete.”
“Darling.”
“I know, but I feel like I’m proving a point, to myself if nobody else. I’m not sure I even like him, Stephen I mean. I’ve definitely gone off Pete.”
“Take your velvet skirt out for the night—you never know, it might be fun. Are you meeting him there?”
“No, he’s picking me up at the house.”
“Nice. Do you want me to text you, around nine, so you can pretend you need to leave if it’s too deadly?”
“No. It’s only supper in Launton, and he’s not a stranger or anything, so I should be able to cope, but thanks.”
The new fish restaurant turns out be quite busy, and once I get over the novelty of being out on my own for the evening, with no small boys demanding chips, I relax and start to enjoy myself. The food is delicious, and Stephen is easy to talk to, and has lots of amusing snippets about clients and their unreasonable demands. We talk about the Spring Fair on Sunday and he promise
s to come and see our stall, and we move on to talking about divorce and how hideous it all is, but even this doesn’t dampen my mood. He’s clearly rankled that his ex-wife Portia, who is a potter, has moved her young artist boyfriend into the former marital home. Apparently he makes plates, and is only twenty-nine. I’m not sure which of these things irritates Stephen the most.
“Every time I collect Finn, there are more of his creations on show. Although I must say, I’m enjoying calling him Tony.”
“Sorry?”
“He likes to be called Anthony, hates being called Tony. As if collecting my son from the house I designed and paid for isn’t awkward enough, without having to look at the world’s most pretentious tableware. I’m sure you know what I mean. Does your ex have a new partner?”
“Yes, a whole new wife actually, Janice, and she’d probably prefer being called Tony than half the names I’ve called her over the past few years.”
He laughs.
“You win. A new wife definitely trumps a third-rate ceramicist, but I do feel for Finn. It’s one thing having a life—obviously we all have a right to that—but I have no idea why she needed to move him into the house.”
“Were they seeing each other before you split up?”
He looks rather uncomfortable.
“Sorry, you don’t need to talk about it if you’d rather not.”
“No, it’s just, no, they weren’t, there wasn’t anyone else involved, not in the divorce. We’d both had our moments, nothing serious, we had an open marriage in many ways, but we drifted apart, which almost made it worse. If there’d been someone else significant, that might have been easier. Oh, sorry.”
“No, I know what you mean. At least I could blame it all on Janice, which is rubbish, obviously.”
He smiles.
“Tempting though?”
“Very, and she is quite annoying. But to be fair, so is Pete.”
