by Gil McNeil
“It was all so much simpler when we were younger wasn’t it?”
He’s twinkling again, a smiling flirty routine, which he’s been doing all evening. The waitress has been very impressed.
“Some of it, yes.”
“Here’s to the simple life.”
He clinks his glass against mine.
“Would you like pudding?”
“Yes please.”
“Good, I make it a rule never to trust a woman who pretends she doesn’t want pudding—who knows what else she might be hiding?”
He turns, and the waitress materialises, in full simper mode.
“What’s most delicious?”
“Well, the lemon soufflé is lovely, and the chocolate mousse. And we do homemade ice cream—that’s good too.”
“How about you bring us a selection and two spoons—could we do that?”
“Of course you can.”
I’m feeling particularly mellow on the drive home, listening to Nina Simone and enjoying someone else driving, for a change. Pete always made me drive on the rare occasions we went out for the evening. In fact I’m so relaxed I’m nearly asleep as we drive up the lane towards the house. Bugger, I’d forgotten about the good-night thing. I can’t remember how that bit goes: do I ask him in for coffee, which seems daft since we’ve just had coffee, or what? Oh God. He turns the engine off, and gets out. Right, I guess that’s coffee then. I’m about to open my door, when he opens it, and holds out his hand to help me out of the car. Crikey.
“Thank you Molly, for a lovely evening. Rather different from the last time we were out after dark?”
“Definitely.”
Actually, I think the last time we were out for the night was when he dumped me for Susan Prentice with the giant chest, but I’m guessing he means our teenage dates with bags of chips and walking along the seawall. At least I hope he does, unless he’s going to drop me off and drive back to the restaurant to pick up that waitress.
“Let’s do this again soon?”
He leans forwards, but instead of the usual social kiss on the cheek which I’m expecting, it turns into what we used to call “a proper kiss” when I was a teenager, which come to think of it, was the last time he kissed me. So in the space of ten seconds things seem to have changed, and my only contribution seems to be standing frozen to the spot. Bloody hell. I’m not sure I want to be doing kissing, as Alfie would say. Please God nobody is looking out of the window.
“Night Molly.”
“Night.”
He smiles, and gets back into the car before waving as he drives off back up the lane, while I stand like a complete idiot watching him. I should probably go in now, unless I’m going to stand here all night. Christ, I’m not sure I want to be kissing him outside my front door like a lovesick teenager. Or kissing him anywhere else. I’m not even sure I want to be kissing anyone at all. Although it is nice to be asked, not that he actually asked, and it did seem a bit rehearsed, like it’s a routine he’s very familiar with, but that’s probably a good thing. The last thing I need is anything that gets too serious, or complicated. And it is all rather flattering. But still. Hopefully next time, if there is a next time, I won’t stand frozen to the spot feeling so self-conscious. I’ll kiss him back. Or sidestep the kissing thing altogether. I haven’t decided. But something a bit more grown-up. Maybe. Bloody hell.
It’s half past three on Sunday afternoon and Sally and I have been stuck behind our stall at the Spring Fair for what seems like hours, flogging tickets at one pound a go and doling out the little bags of sweets as prizes. We’ve made just over two hundred pounds so far, and we’re running out of change. A few of the parents did have a brief moan about tradition when word got round about the chocolate eggs this year, but once Miss Cooper told people we were happy to include hand-decorated hard-boiled eggs too if they brought them in on Friday morning, everyone went quiet.
Pete is down for the day, with Janice, and wandering about with the kids trying to avoid spending money. Our stall is in front of the seawall, which is low enough to be a handy seat, and Sally’s brought a camping stool too, and a thermos of tea, which we drank in the first half hour since unpacking all the boxes was such thirsty work. Nobody has won the star prize yet—a giant Easter egg donated by the newsagents by the pier, but we’ve given away quite a few bottles of bubble bath, and two of the mini boxes of Lego.
“Sal, how many more boxes of eggs have we got left now?”
“Four more under the table, and you said you’d got three more in your car, so that should last us.”
“Great.”
We both look at the sky. We’ve been hoping for rain so we can pack up early, and it’s been overcast for most of the day, but so far the rain has held off.
Patrick brings Tom and Alfie back from their session on the bouncy castle.
“It was great Mum, and I want to go again and I’ve got enough money, but I need an extra pound, because me and Tom want to buy a raffle ticket.”
“Wait until after you’ve done your parade love.”
“No, we need it now.”
Pete appears with Janice and the boys, with Ben looking anxious.
“Miss Cooper says we’ve all got to be in the car park in five minutes.”
“Okay love. Pete, could you take Ben and Alfie to the main car park—that’s where the parade starts from. And Dan, could you help get the last boxes of eggs from the car?”
Pete is clearly not keen.
“I’ve just bought us a coffee and a sandwich. I was hoping to sit down for a moment.”
“Oh, right.”
He sits on the seawall, while Janice passes him a polystyrene beaker of coffee and starts unpacking packets of sandwiches from her bag.
I notice he hasn’t bought sandwiches for Sally or me, or the boys. How thoughtful.
Dan gives him a look.
“I’ll go with them Mum. Do you want me to bring you back a drink or anything?”
“Thanks Dan, tea would be lovely. Are you hungry?”
He grins.
“Tell you what, bring the boxes of eggs back and then I’ll give you the money to get teas and something to eat.”
“You’re on.”
“Hello Molly. How’s it going? Sold loads of tickets?”
It’s Stephen, with his son, Finn.
“Quite a few, thanks.”
“Hi Sally, nice to see you again. Finn, how many tickets shall we get, or don’t you like crème eggs anymore?”
Finn gives his father one of those teenager Help, My Parent Is a Moron looks, which Stephen wisely ignores as he hands Sally a five-pound note.
“Just give us a ticket each and keep the change. Got to do our bit to help the school, haven’t we?” He turns and looks at Pete and then back at me.
Bugger.
“Stephen, this is Pete, and Janice.”
“Nice to meet you. Did we win the star prize Sally?”
“Sorry, no, but you get a bag of sweets.”
She hands Finn one of the cellophane bags of dolly mixtures, which makes him smile.
“Cool, thanks.”
“Hello darling, there you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
A tall blond woman draped in layers of cream cotton over a denim miniskirt and black footless tights and wearing lots of silver bangles and necklaces is kissing Finn. I’m guessing this is Portia, and the bored-looking man is Anthony, in which case we’ve got a full house of exes. Never mind the chocolate eggs; there should probably be some sort of special prize just for that.
“Portia, this is Molly. She’s just moved back here after a few years in London. She’s the new owner of Harrington Hall.”
“Hello, lovely to meet you. I saw your house once when I was delivering leaflets for the Art Fair, and it’s beautiful.”
Stephen smiles and turns to me and winks out of sight of the ex-wives and ex-husbands, which makes me smile.
“Hopefully it will be even more beautiful soon, if that�
��s possible. We’re looking at some conversion ideas aren’t we, Molly? We better leave you to get on; you don’t want us all standing around cluttering up your stall. Portia, I meant to say earlier, you should definitely give the new fish place a try. Molly and I had dinner there last week and we’d highly recommend it, wouldn’t we Molly?”
“Er, yes, the food was lovely.”
He’s doing his twinkling thing again, and I think his stellar performance is definitely having an impact on Portia, who looks decidedly disgruntled.
“Isn’t it just fish and chips?”
“Not at all, he had a Michelin star in London, or was it two? We thought it was very promising, and Molly persuaded me to try his homemade ice cream, which I must say was absolutely delicious.” He pauses and gives me the kind of look you give someone when you’re remembering a special moment, rather than a half-decent pudding. “Good to know we’ve got a decent local restaurant now, and about time too, but then those of us who grew up round here have always found ways to keep ourselves entertained.”
Portia is giving me very flinty sideways glances now, and even though I don’t actually have eyes in the back of my head, I know Pete is looking Irritated and Tense. Which is exactly what Stephen intended. Hurrah.
“Do try it. I’d book ahead though—it was pretty busy. You never know, he might be in the market for some of Tony’s plates. Platters maybe. Just an idea. Come on, Finn, I’m sure there are more things you want to con me into buying. Nice to have met you Pete, and Janice. And lovely to see you again Sally, as always. And Molly, keep up the good work. Speak later darling.”
He winks, this time in clear view of everyone, a proper lascivious wink. Sally is now grinning so much she has to pretend to look for something under the table. With a bit of luck Pete will now be so tense he’ll have fallen backwards off the wall into the sea.
I kneel down and join Sally under the table, whispering as we rearrange the bags of sweets in the big cardboard box.
“That was great Moll. You should have seen Pete’s face. And Portia didn’t look happy did she? Stephen was always great at that kind of thing.”
“What, flirting you mean?”
We both smile.
“I know he’s a bit full of himself.”
“A bit?”
“Alright a lot then. But honestly Moll, if you’d seen Pete’s face, it was brilliant. Janice didn’t look that thrilled either.”
We’re both trying not to giggle now.
Dan comes back with the boxes of eggs from the car, and has brought me and Sally a crab sandwich, and a burger for himself, and is all for going back for a second one.
“You can’t still be hungry.”
“Well I am.”
Sally laughs.
“You wait until your Tom is Dan’s age. It’s no joke Sal. It’s like he’s got hollow legs—whatever you feed him, he’s always got room for more.”
“Dad, have you got any money?”
This day just keeps getting better.
Pete reluctantly hands over a fiver.
“When is this parade starting? We really need to be leaving soon.”
“I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”
“We’ve brought you a drink Miss Molly. You’ve been on the go for hours.”
Ivy gives Pete a rather fierce look, and he sits back down on the wall.
“Thanks Ivy.”
She’s been keeping an eye on Bertie, while Dennis and Celia are on duty on the plant stall run by the local Horticultural Society. They’ve spent the last few days potting things up and bickering about what to charge and whether Dennis will or will not include some of his tomato seedlings. Dennis won in the end and donated six pots, but refused to let any more go.
“The parade will be by any minute. They were all lining up when we went past. Alfie looked lovely with his pirate hat on, and his sword.”
“Fat lot of good a plastic sword would be.”
“Yes, we know that Mr. Bertie, but don’t you go spoiling for it for him, will you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But if I’d known, I could have lent him one of mine. I’ve got a few ceremonial swords knocking around somewhere, would have been just the ticket.”
Both Ivy and I decide to ignore this.
“We’re off to see the lifeboat people after the parade has gone by. They’ve got a big stall with tables and chairs, so we might have a little sit-down. They’re doing teas and coffees. Spirits too, I shouldn’t wonder, knowing that lot.”
“You wouldn’t be fussing about a bit of strong drink if you were caught out in a Force-nine with half your rigging gone, I can tell you.”
“No probably not, but then I wouldn’t be, would I, Mr. Bertie, since I don’t go messing about with boats in the first place.”
The parade starts, led by the sea scouts and their marching band. The local fire brigade are driving their engine along very slowly, tooting and waving, with the siren on in short bursts, and all the lights flashing. But the local lifeguards definitely win the most-glamorous-group award, since most of them are bronzed surfers, and their bright-yellow truck appears to be packed full of young women wearing bikini tops and very small shorts. And then the school appears, to rousing cheers and applause from all the parents, who hold up phones and video cameras to capture the moment. Each class has made flags or banners, and the school recorder group is tootling away. Ben is holding up his Golden Hind banner with his friend Sam, only they keep lowering it so it hovers above the heads of the kids in front of them, who are dressed as Elizabethan sailors.
Alfie’s class gets the biggest cheer since they’re all dressed as pirates, including the parent helpers, who are making sure nobody ends up walking the plank into the sea or pokes anyone with their plastic swords. They’re also singing “What do you do with a drunken sailor” quite loudly and generally having a wonderful time. Alfie spots us and starts waving, and we all wave back, apart from Dan, who mutters something rude under his breath.
“Dan.”
“Yes?”
“Do you fancy an ice cream later on?”
He waves at Alfie and gives him the thumbs-up sign, which makes Alfie go pink and wave his sword even more enthusiastically.
“That do?”
“That will do nicely, thank you.”
There are more boat races in the bay after the parade, and we’ve nearly sold all the eggs when everyone comes back from watching the races.
“Mum, Mum, guess what?”
Alfie’s in a state of high excitement, and even Pete is looking more chirpy.
“Me and Tom won.”
“Won what love?”
“The pig, the top prize in the raffle, and we won it, and we’re going to share it, and when it’s bigger, we can make it into bacon.”
Bloody hell.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Pete is clearly highly amused.
“Thanks.”
“We really do need to make a move now. I’ll call you during the week to arrange the Easter holiday dates.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you so much for inviting me; it’s been a lovely day.”
Janice has clearly been practising this. She turns to Pete for an approving look.
“You’re welcome Janice.”
Actually I didn’t invite her—Pete just announced she was coming—but I probably should have. It’s got to be good for the boys to see everyone being civilised.
“You must come and see the house—maybe when you collect the boys for the holidays?”
“That would be lovely.”
She looks pleased with this, unlike Pete, but then he rallies.
“I’m sure Alfie will be very sensible looking after his new pig, won’t you, Alfie?”
“Yes Dad, of course I will.”
Sally and I are packing up the stall while Patrick takes the boys for an ice cream.
“Well I think it’s great, and it will be something Tom can do with Pat
rick.”
“What, butcher his new pet? How lovely. I’ve already got one vegetarian, thanks, and if this turns Ben vegan and he takes Alfie and Tom with him, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I don’t think Patrick would be that pleased either, given he’s in the butchery business Moll, and honestly, they’ll be fine. They’ll probably be bored by then.”
“There is that.”
“And you’ve got an old pigsty at the back of the stables, haven’t you?”
“The one in the orchard, without a roof—that one?”
“Yes, but Patrick could fix that, no trouble.”
“Isn’t he too busy, with doing the farmers’ markets and everything?”
“No, and he does need to do more things with Tom, so this is perfect.”
“Can’t he just make things with Lego like other dads? And anyway, won’t the poor thing be lonely all by itself?”
“Patrick just told me that he thinks we should get another one—then they could have one each. Weaners don’t cost much, and he knows the farmer—he’ll probably do a deal with him. Makes sense really.”
“On Planet Pig, maybe.”
“There is that.”
It finally starts to rain.
Great, how perfect. One more animal to add to the menagerie, possibly two, and now it’s pouring and we’ve got to get everything packed up and back in the car before Alfie’s pirate hat melts.
“You can say you do homegrown bacon, for your B-and-B people, and Patrick says they eat anything, and we’ll help, with feeding them and everything.”
“Sal.”
“Yes Moll?”
“Shut up.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tea for
Two Hundred
April to June
Damask Roses
Widely grown in ancient Persia and introduced into Europe in the thirteenth century, damask roses have plentiful foliage and lush clusters of highly scented flowers. Traditionally used to make perfume, their elongated leaves and abundant satiny petals guarantee them a place in all rosarian collections as examples of the true essence of roses. Famous varieties include Marie Louise with its large, intensely pink full flowers which open flat and then gradually curl; Ville de Bruxelles, a luxurious pink with a rich fragrance; and the stunning pure-white lemon-scented Madame Hardy.
