by Gil McNeil
Thankfully I remembered I was making breakfast for everyone last night, so I refrained from cocktailing, and manage to make endless bacon rolls for everyone this morning without requiring the assistance of painkillers. I’ve got the bacon-roll production-line routine down to a fine art now. It’s the breakfast of choice for Dan and Alfie, with Ben opting for a fried egg roll instead, now I’ve finally managed to convince them they’re not allowed to order a Full English just because we’ve got B&B guests. And Mr. Stebbings and his workforce were very partial to a midmorning bacon roll too. So if the holiday-rental idea doesn’t work, I could always buy a van and drive round selling bacon rolls.
Lola and Tre still haven’t emerged, so the rest of us sit reading the Sunday papers in the library, while I work out how long the leg of lamb will take to cook. Sam seems fairly perky too, but I think he’s pretty used to the morning after the night before.
Eddie brings in some more coffee, and hands Sam a cup.
“I hear you want to run away to the circus. Let’s hear what you’ve got then?”
“Oh God, right now?”
“Yup, unless you’ve got something better to do?”
“No, of course, it’s just, well, I didn’t want to presume, or be pushy or anything, so I haven’t prepared anything.”
“Well that’s your first mistake mate, you need to get over that if you want to survive in the music business. Be as pushy as you can, whenever you can. Ange my darling, can you make sure the kids don’t barge in. And Molly and Celia, if could you give us ten minutes—if that’s alright with you Bertie?”
“Thrown out of my own library, thin end of the wedge if you ask me.”
He pauses, and pats Eddie on the shoulder.
“Best of luck my boy.”
Eddie sits down at the piano, looking white-faced and nervous.
“Could you possibly take Betty with you? She does tend to join in.”
We stand outside the door, while Eddie sings two songs I’ve never heard before. Celia is holding my hand, quite tightly actually.
Suddenly the door opens.
“What are you all doing standing here whispering? He’s not half bad, is he? Right, are we having a walk before lunch, or what?”
He turns to Eddie, who is still sitting at the piano, looking rather shocked.
“I’ll make a few calls. I’m not promising anything, but you should definitely try to get a few gigs in local pubs, that kind of thing, and keep writing—that last one was pretty decent.”
“Thank you, so much. I can’t tell you what it means to me to have someone tell you you’re not completely hopeless.”
“I’ve been telling you that for ages Edward.”
“Yes, sorry Aunt Celia.”
“Anyone for a sharpener before lunch? About that time I think. Might fire the cannon later. Young Edward can be my second in command—Dennis has showed him the ropes, round off the weekend nicely.”
Oh God.
“Polly put the kettle on.”
“Thank you Betty, I was just about to. And Bertie, could we leave the cannon until after lunch? I’m not sure Lola and Tre are up yet.”
“Fair enough.”
“Knob.”
“I’ve no idea why she keeps saying that.”
Sam is trying not to laugh.
Oh God.
“Hi Molly. Sorry it’s late, but I wanted to let you know straightaway.”
“It’s fine Vicky—I was just watching telly. Let me know what?”
“We’ve got another booking, for October, so that’s all of August, three weeks in September, two in October, and one in November, and they booked at the four-hundred-fifty-pounds-a-week rate, so I think we should leave the autumn rates as they are.”
“That’s brilliant Vicky, completely brilliant.”
“I thought you’d be pleased. Did Lucas and Jenny arrive okay?”
“Yup, and they loved the grocery basket. And the baby’s really sweet—just four months old, I think they said. I even got a quick cuddle while they unpacked the car—I’d forgotten how much kit babies need. Lucas is a graphic designer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I don’t know either of them that well. Jenny knows my friend Carla. I think I met them once at a party.”
“Well, your word-of-mouth campaign is definitely working. And you could see he was impressed, particularly with the bathroom.”
“Well that’s good because I’ve been thinking that we could really go to town on the bathrooms in the stables—they’ll be bigger, for a start.”
“I’ve been thinking the same. I’ve started collecting pictures. I’ve seen a fabulous copper bath. It costs a fortune, but it looks amazing.”
“Ooh, I love them. Have you decided about Christmas yet? It’s fine to close until January, you know. Lots of places do.”
“I think we’ll close over Christmas, and that way we can all have a proper break, but let’s leave it open for New Year and see if we get any bookings.”
“Great. I thought I’d call by tomorrow and say hello. Check they’ve got everything they need.”
“Come up for a coffee afterwards, and tell me what they say.”
It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve just taken some fresh eggs down to Lucas and Jenny in the gatehouse. They seem to be loving it, and are already talking about booking another week next spring. I must remind Vicky to add a playpen to the baby kit we’re going to offer as an added extra for bookings. With a decent travel cot and a highchair, and a few other bits of essential kit, like a steriliser, it will save people lugging all their stuff with them. We’ve tried the idea out on Jenny and she thinks people would be more than happy to pay a bit extra. So everything is going really well, apart from Dan’s party last night.
He’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking very pale. He could barely walk straight when I picked him up, and I had to stop the car for him to be sick, so I’m still half-furious with him, and half-relieved I insisted on picking him up. God knows how drunk he would have got if he’d stayed out much later.
“You’re very quiet this morning Danny boy.”
“I think he might have his first hangover Bertie.”
“Poor chap. Shall I make him one of my special pick-you-ups?”
“Don’t you dare. He’s not old enough for any of that nonsense, and when he is, if he wants to go out and get into a total state, he needs to know how rubbish you feel the next day.”
Bertie chuckles and wanders off.
“Dan.”
“Mum please, I know. I feel totally crap. Please don’t give me a lecture. I promise I won’t do it again. I was only drinking cider, and that was fine, but then, well, some people had other stuff.”
“Right. And they held you down and forced you to drink it, did they?”
“Mum. Please.”
He really does look like he’s suffering.
“Dry toast, and a glass of water?”
“Yes please. And can I have some headache tablets, please?”
“I’ll get you some paracetemol.”
I leave him sitting huddled and looking tragic, sipping water, while Ben and Alfie rather uncharacteristically manage a quiet breakfast, giving him the occasional sympathetic looks before heading outside to annoy the chickens.
“Thanks Mum.”
“What for?”
“For coming to get me, and for not going on about it.”
“I’m not done yet love. I’m just waiting until you feel a bit better.”
He tries to smile, but can’t quite manage it.
“Seriously Dan.”
“I know, and I won’t be doing it again, don’t worry Mum. I mean, I will be drinking, obviously, but not like that. Some of them could hardly walk, you know.”
“Were there drugs?”
“God, Mum.”
“Dan.”
“No.”
“Dan.”
“A few of them were smoking stuff. That’s all.”
“Right.”
&
nbsp; “Not me, so don’t go into one, you’ve gone about it enough. I know it can be dodgy, and anyway I’m in training, I can’t start getting stoned out of my head if I want to make the squad. Okay?”
“Okay. But this is serious Dan. And I’ll know.”
“From your bat-mother radar?”
“Yup. Or you’ll tell me, because you’ll feel even more crap than you do now.”
“I don’t think that’s possible Mum.”
“It is. Trust me. Particularly if one of you ends up drowning or chucking themselves off a cliff because they’re out of their head on God knows what and think they can fly.”
There was a story in the papers a few weeks ago which I made sure I showed to him.
“All sorts of terrible things can happen.”
“I know. Clare Harris ended up snogging Tom Ledley, and she hates him.”
He reaches over and holds my hand.
“I’m not a total twat Mum.”
“You were doing a good impression last night.”
“I know, buts it’s hard, people were smoking and stuff and they all looked pretty chilled.”
“Did they? Well, that’s the tricky bit, isn’t it love, like Russian roulette: five times you’re fine and looking chilled, and then the sixth time it scrambles your brain and you end up thinking you’re Batman.”
He grins.
“I know. Although they were all so pissed, I don’t see how anyone could have made it onto anything high enough to jump off.”
“Was Freya there?”
“Yes. She sat with us for a bit—me and Robbie—and then she was dancing. She’s a really good dancer, but then she had to go because her dad turned up really early—can you believe it?”
“And did she drink too much as well?”
“No, she was pretty cool actually. She was even cool with her dad.”
I like the sound of this girl more and more.
“Me and Robbie talked about it, and I’m going to play the long game—get fitter and get on the squad, and then I’ll make my move. Robbie’s going to do the same, with Emma, only he’ll have to be quick, because she was dancing with Mark Dawkins and he’s a total shagger, and he’s nearly eighteen. We’re going to sign up for training after school in the gym, running and stuff, and then get the late bus.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“We can only hope. That’s right Mum, isn’t it—you’ve got to have hope?”
“Yes love. And I hope you learnt something else last night too. It’s a good job Freya didn’t see you in such a state. Was Finn okay?”
“You can’t ask me that Mum. You’ll only tell his dad.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“He was fine.”
“But?”
“He was showing off a bit. I didn’t see that much of him actually. He was off with his friends, all the rich kids—they were the ones who were smoking and everything. They’ve got the money for it.”
“Oh, right. Well, that’s a shame.”
“He’s a bit of a wanker actually Mum.”
“Oh right. And what does nearly throwing up in my car make you, a living saint?”
“I said I was sorry Mum—please.”
“Okay, subject closed. Go back and have a bit more sleep. You’ll feel better later. But that had better be the first and last time I ever see you like that, Dan, understand? Otherwise you and I will be having some very serious talks.”
“Will you tell Dad? I could really do without a lecture from him too. Not that I care what he thinks, but you know what he’s like.”
“You do care what he thinks, and yes, I do know what he’s like. So no, I won’t. I trust you. God knows why, but I still do. But you really frightened me Dan. Don’t ever do it again.”
“I won’t Mum, I promise.”
“And when you’re feeling better, I’ll have a list of jobs for you to do.”
“Okay.”
“Really boring jobs.”
“Okay. And thanks Mum. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”
“But not chilled.”
He smiles, and then winces.
“No, not chilled.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
Dan sleeps for most of the day, and Ben and Alfie are busy in the orchard. Apparently we are now building a tree house, so Bertie sits shouting instructions from his chair in the shade of one of the pear trees, while Eddie does the heavy lifting whilst simultaneously trying to avoid bowling over small boys or piglets with the planks. They’re all scampering about in utter bliss, and the chickens are enjoying all the activity too, so there’s a fair bit of fluffing of feathers and little dashes across the orchard to check they’re not missing anything. Gertie’s already taken to perching on the ladder, so perhaps they think it’s a new henhouse.
I’m having dinner with Stephen later in a smart restaurant in Ilfracombe, so I wash my hair and try to make myself look respectable in the navy silk dress I bought for Open Garden Day. I’m wearing the navy high heels Lola made me buy for a wedding a few years ago, as well as the pretty silk scarf with the pink-and-orange roses pattern; if I could find the hat she also made me buy, I’d probably look like I was off to another wedding rather than going out for dinner, but never mind.
Celia and Eddie are in charge of bedtime, so I’m reminding them that Alfie needs to be in bed by eight, when Stephen arrives, wearing white linen trousers with a cream linen jacket, which makes me feel rather overdressed.
“Good evening everyone. Ready to go Molly? I’ve booked us a table outside and they don’t tend to hold them for long, they’re getting so popular now.”
“Sure, I’ll just get my bag.”
Bertie gives him a rather pointed look.
“Evening, Bertie.”
“Been playing cricket?”
“Er, no, I’ve been working. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“Not sure about that. Storm brewing if I’m not mistaken. Molly my dear, you look lovely. Hope you have an enjoyable evening. Right, I’m off on patrol.”
We walk towards the car.
“What’s he patrolling?”
“The beach. In case of invasion.”
“By who?”
“The French, the Russians, who knows, could be anyone. He’s particularly on the alert for weekend sailors at the moment after that one ran aground up the coast in that great big yacht.”
He smiles.
“Right.”
“You can mock, but if any idiot yacht owners who can’t sail their boats end up on our beach, they better be ready for Bertie to fire a warning shot or two.”
“Surely he wouldn’t?”
“If one of us doesn’t get there quick enough he would. Dennis had to stop him firing at someone who’d stopped for a picnic a few years ago, or so he says. I think he was just going to give them a bit of a fright.”
“I should hope so. He could get arrested.”
“Not for firing blank powder he can’t. Dennis has looked into it.”
The restaurant is crowded, but the view over the beach is terrific, and it’s rather glamorous sitting under umbrellas with the lights twinkling and the outdoor heaters on low.
“Do you fancy fruits de mer, they do a sharing plate, looks rather good?”
I’m not a huge fan of shellfish, but he seems very keen.
“Lovely.”
The wine arrives, and the shellfish, and I eat a prawn and a little bit of the crab, and manage to avoid anything which looks like it might still be able to swim if you threw it back into the sea. Stephen doesn’t seem to notice and is busy slurping away at oysters and winkling out cockles with a special fork with a prong.
“This is delicious, I must bring Finn here, he loves this kind of thing. I was meant to see him this morning, but Portia called to cancel. He was still in bed feeling a bit under the weather after the party I think. Probably just as well—we’ve got so much work on at the moment, the extra time was extremely useful.”
“I’m not surprised. Dan was in a terrible state when I picked him up.”
“Not very cool, having your mum collect you, is it? Finn insists I give him the money for cabs. He’s made that perfectly clear. Parents not required. I remember being the same at his age. They’ve got to learn, make their own mistakes.”
“I’ve never really got that, the leaving-them-to-make-their-own-mistakes thing. It’s not like you just sit there while they crawl towards the fire when they’re babies, and it just gets more dangerous as they get older.”
“Well, no, obviously. But they need their freedom.”
“Of course, but within limits, don’t you think? They still need you keeping an eye on things. It’s all so much more complicated for them than it was for us.”
He spears another cockle.
“We’re not that ancient Molly. Some things don’t change.”
“No, but the pace of everything has. And the drugs are different now—so much stronger than when we used to sit on the beach having the occasional puff and pretending to be stoned.”
He’s looking rather irritated now.
“Finn needs to go his own way, same as I did at his age.”
Please let him not say he wants to be more like a friend than a dad.
“They cover all that kind of stuff at his school. He seems pretty clued up.”
“One of the things the drugs team used to say when they came into our school when I was teaching was if they have too much cash, it makes them a target. They can’t get into too much trouble if all they can afford is a bottle of cider. It might be worth talking to him about it.”
“I see myself as more of a friend; I’m not really up for being the heavy-handed father.”
“Right.”
“You don’t approve? Being a dad is different to being a mum Molly. Mothers are just so much better at that kind of thing.”
“That’s usually because they have to be.”
“Most men aren’t cut out for that level of detail. We’re more big-picture, women are just better at micromanagement.”
“I hope you’re joking?”
“Look, I seem to have pressed a feminist button here by mistake. Can we rewind?”
He smiles, and suddenly I’m feeling seriously annoyed, and not just about the feminist-button thing. Although if I had one, I’d be pressing it for sure, and if there was any justice, it would be an ejector seat, and it wouldn’t be a button, it would be something bigger, like a giant lever.
