by Gil McNeil
They both smile.
I think I’ll ignore them.
“What’s for lunch, we’re starving Mum.”
“Omelettes and salads?”
“Yuck.”
“Don’t say ‘yuck,’ Alfie, it’s not very nice.”
“Sorry Granny, but they are.”
“I might put a bit of bacon in yours, if you’re a good boy and lay the table.”
“And ice cream?”
Dan tuts.
“In your omelette? Good choice Annie—whole meal in one.”
“Dan, don’t start. Help him lay the table, and it’s omelettes and salads, and anyone who doesn’t fancy that can wait until supper, okay? What time is Robbie arriving?”
“Around three. His mum’s bringing Ella too—she lives near them.”
“Oh, right.”
Ella is Ben’s new best friend from school. They’re both vegetarians and into saving the planet. They text each other constantly, and he went to her birthday party last week.
Alfie turns to look at Ben.
“Is Ella your girlfriend, Ben?”
We all lean forwards slightly, and Ivy and Mum stop nattering.
“No, Alf. We’ve talked about it, but we’ve decided we’re fine as we are for now. We might change our minds when we get our hormones, but for now we’re just best friends.”
Oh God.
There’s a silence, and then Dan nods.
“That’s pretty cool, Benny boy. Nice to know my brother isn’t a total”—he looks at me and pauses—“a total idiot.”
“Thanks. How’s it going with Freya?”
“It’s not, yet. But we’re only on phase one of the plan, so it’s early days.”
“Oh, right.”
They wander off muttering and I’m left standing in the kitchen, rooted to the spot. I think I may have caught a rather encouraging glimpse into the future, where they spend less time shoving each other and more time being supportive, but “hormones”? Dear God, he can’t be old enough to be thinking about hormones. Mum and Ivy are both smiling.
“The things they come out with sometimes.”
“I know Ivy.”
“He’s a lovely boy. All three of them are.”
Mum nods and opens the fridge.
“We haven’t got much bacon left. Shall I do cheese ones instead?”
“Sure Mum, and then we can see quite how lovely Dan and Alfie can be when you try to fob them off with cheese.”
“There’s more bacon in the freezer Marjorie. You can use up all the packet and I’ll defrost some more later.”
“Problem solved, hurrah.”
“Go and sit down dear. We don’t want you getting in the way when we’ve got hot pans on. I’ll bring the tea in when it’s brewed.”
Mum winks at me.
I’m definitely going to ignore them.
The beach party is a big success, and Dennis drives me down to the beach very slowly in the trailer, as the path is quite steep, which does leave me slightly worried we won’t get back up again, but thankfully he manages it. The kids have a lovely time watching all the planes, and then we light the fire and they toast pretty much everything they can fit on a stick, including their sausage rolls. Eddie sings songs and plays his guitar, and Ben and Ella sit chatting and seem very nonhormonal, while Dan and Robbie continue with their fitness campaign and run up and down the path, pursued by Tess and Jasper. Dad is late arriving, and then gets grumpy because Mum’s got rather giggly after having one of Bertie’s fruit cocktails, which don’t actually contain any fruit. She says he can leave if he’d like to, but she’s stopping for a bit longer, which makes him even grumpier, but we all pretend not to notice.
I’m emptying the dishwasher after lunch the next day, while Ivy makes a cake for tea and watches me with pursed lips because she wants me to sit down.
“I’ll finish that. You go and have a little rest.”
“I’m fine Ivy.”
“You need to be resting.”
“No I don’t. I need this bloody plaster off so I can get back to normal. I can’t keep hobbling about on these bloody crutches, I’ve got things I need to be getting on with.”
I turn to make sure she can see I’m not in the mood for another lecture, and manage to drop the glass I’m holding.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”
“There’s no need for language.”
“Yes there bloody is.”
She smiles.
“Go and have a sit-down and let me sort this out. Your Lola will be here later, won’t she?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry Ivy.”
“Don’t you worry. I might use a few bad words myself if I’d had to put up with what you’ve been through these past few weeks. But you need to rest more, or it won’t heal properly and then where will we be?”
“Using more bad language probably. I’ll be in the drawing room if anyone wants me.”
“Right you are dear.”
Bugger. Now I feel like a toddler who has got overtired and thrown a strop. So that’s great. And it’s hot, and my ankle is throbbing. I can’t keep finding things which I can do sitting down, although I did enjoy helping Mum and Ivy make strawberry jam. We made some blackcurrant too, and lining up the jars in the pantry felt like we’d really accomplished something. We’ve made some small jars too, for the welcome baskets for the gatehouse and they’ve been really popular so far, but I can’t make jam every day. I sit down and start making a list of all the things I want to be getting on with when I’m finally back on my feet, and the next thing I know Lola is waking me up and it’s nearly six o’clock. She looks cool and elegant in a pretty sundress, which makes me feel even hotter and more lumpy.
“Sorry, I must have lost track of time. How was the journey?”
Lola has recently dumped Tre. She seems fine about it, but I’ve been making an extra fuss of her, just to be sure. She’s got her sights set on Frank now, who owns a restaurant in London with Michelin stars and is opening up a boutique hotel just outside of Bath. She was there last night for the grand opening.
“Great. The hotel is fabulous, the party was very deluxe, and I had the air-conditioning on full blast all the way here, so it was like being in a fridge.”
“Can we go and sit in your car then please? I’m so fed up of being hot.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind a drink first though.”
“Sorry, of course.”
“Are you alright darling?”
“No, I am not. I’m fed up with this bloody ankle, and being too hot, and well, everything.”
“Right.”
“It’s not funny. I can’t even drive, so I’m stuck here being not able to do stuff. I should be writing the business plan for the loan, and hassling the bank. We need to get the stables up and running—it’s the only way we’re going to be able to afford to stay here. But these bloody painkillers mean that every time I sit down, I fall asleep. And I’ve tried not taking them, but, well, it still hurts a fair bit. I even swore at Ivy earlier on.”
“Did you darling? I bet that went down well. Never mind, you can swear at me all you like. It’s completely fucking bollocks isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s double fucking bollocks.”
“Better?”
“A bit.”
“Good, can I have my drink now? And then let’s do something fun. I know, let’s get those trunks down, from the attic, and dress up for dinner.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you say you were going to sort them out?”
“Yes, but not now, it’s too hot up there, the rooms have tiny windows so they get very stuffy.”
“Leave it to me darling. You sit there and practice your swearing, I’ll be back in a moment.”
A highly amusing half hour follows with a combination of Dennis, Eddie, Lola, and Dan carrying the three massive trunks down the stairs, with Celia, Bertie, and Betty giving them encouraging advice, and Ivy tutting in the background. There are a couple more
trunks still up there, and some random boxes, but last time I looked they seemed to be full of old lampshades, or old bits of lethal-looking electrical equipment, including an old fan heater and what looked like an antique pair of curling tongs. I’ll have a proper sort-out at some point, and work out a safe place to keep the small white suitcase of baby things too—tiny nightdresses wrapped in tissue paper which look like they’ve never been worn, and a shawl. Somehow it doesn’t seem right to disturb them.
We finally finish sorting through the heap of mystery keys still unaccounted for in the jar, and manage to unlock the trunks, at which point Lola goes into a frenzy, and before we know it there are clothes festooned everywhere and she’s holding things up and twirling round, while Bertie and Celia look at an old photograph album with Ivy and try to identify people. There are a couple of great black-and-white photographs of the house, which I’ll get framed, and one of what we think is a very young Helena, digging in the kitchen garden.
“Ooh, look, an evening bag—how gorgeous.”
Lola parades round wearing her newly acquired feathered boa and an eau-de-nil silk evening dress with no back, and shows everyone the cream silk bag. She’s already tried on a midnight-blue beaded silk 1920s cocktail dress, and a 1950s floral tea dress, and will definitely be taking them both home.
“This is gorgeous too, but you’d need serious corsetry going on to get into it.”
She holds up a silver sheath dress, with embroidery along the hemline.
“Definitely one for the vintage pile.”
Lola is selecting things to take to her friend Magda, who runs a posh vintage shop, and pays serious money for authentic stuff apparently.
“Shall I take the gloves too?”
“Sure. I can’t see when I’m ever going to wear elbow-length white satin gloves if I’m honest.”
“True, and they’re tiny. Didn’t debutantes wear long white gloves when they were presented at court?”
“I think so.”
“Ooh, Eddie, another dinner jacket.”
“Oh God.”
Lola gives him a dazzling smile.
“Try it on please darling—this one might fit you better.”
It does.
“You look very smart Eddie. You should definitely keep it.”
He grins.
“Thanks Molly, if you’re sure? My old one has gone shiny, so that would be great. I’ll just go and try the trousers.”
Lola smiles.
“Off you pop then darling, but come straight back so we can see the full outfit.”
“Lola, leave him alone.”
“I told you he’d look devastating in evening dress.”
“Yes. But stop making him dress up.”
“We’re all dressing up tonight, and he’s loving all the attention.”
“He is not.”
“It’ll be good practise for him, for when he’s a famous rock star.”
“Ta-da.”
“Very nice darling. Give us a twirl.”
Eddie ignores Lola.
“And I found this.”
He hands me a white silk handkerchief, wrapped round something small.
“What is it?”
“I’ll give you a clue: it’s not another trunk.”
“Bloody hell.”
It’s a pair of what look like emerald earrings.
“You can say that again darling—they’re stunning. Do they match the famous necklace? Which I’ve never actually seen, I might add.”
“I think so.”
Celia and Ivy agree that they do look like the long-lost earrings which match the necklace, and we spend a happy twenty minutes making up increasingly wild and romantic stories about how they came to be in the inside pocket of the dinner jacket, before agreeing that it was probably a drunken moment at the end of a long night.
“I’m always doing the same thing—not with jewels of course, but putting something somewhere safe and then completely forgetting where.”
Lola smiles.
“Me too Bertie, although I still think it was a lover’s tryst. He left his dinner jacket and she promised not to wear the earrings again until the day he returned and they danced the night away. But he never came back. Maybe it was during the War. Or at one of those 1920s weekend parties—they could get pretty wild, you know. Talking of which, don’t you think we should celebrate their safe return with one of your delicious cocktails?
“I thought you’d never ask. Might fire the cannon later too.”
Great. I think it might be time for a couple more of my tablets.
Everyone is feeling rather fragile the next morning, and Lola has to head back to London early, so I stand at the door to see her off.
“Last night was fun, wasn’t it darling? And Eddie can definitely play that piano. Wasn’t Alfie sweet, dancing the night away?”
We both smile.
“I had such a lovely time, as usual, and I’ve got gorgeous new frocks too—top result. I’ll call you when I’ve seen Magda. But are you sure, about the earrings?”
“Yes, we need the money, and Helena did say I should sell the necklace. I’ll get it out of the bank. Dennis says he’ll drive me in next week, and then Eddie will bring them to you in town when he has his meeting, and you can show them to your auction person.”
“You’re probably right darling. I’ll ask around but I’m pretty sure Pippa is the woman to talk to for this kind of thing. They’ll probably be worth much more now you’ve got a matching set.”
“Whatever they’re worth will mean I can borrow less from the bank, so it’s all good.”
“Yes, but—”
“Lola.”
“Yes, okay. I wish we’d found more treasures though.”
“What did you have in mind, an Elizabethan costume with a bejewelled ruff?”
She laughs.
“Something like that.”
“I think that only happens in films Lola. This was never that kind of house. It was all making do and mending in those days, posh clothes were expensive. When they’d finished with them, they gave them to the poor, or to the servants to cut down and make into something else. I’m surprised we found so much, to be honest. I thought it would be a load of old tat.”
“Well you were wrong darling, and I was right. As usual.”
She starts to drive down the lane, as Bertie comes out and waves.
“Came to say good-bye earlier, and I felt quite a pang. I’m very fond of that girl.”
“Me too Bertie.”
“Glad she got rid of the tray chap. Not strong enough to handle a girl like her.”
“I was just going to make some more coffee. Would you like one?”
“Yes please my dear. Need a hand?”
“No thanks Bertie, I’m fine. I’m feeling much better today actually.”
It’s the last week of the school holidays and the boys are getting bored. They always go a tad Lord of the Flies towards the end of the summer break, and this year is no exception. Alfie and Tom fill balloons with water and drop them on Ben and Dan to pay them back for taking the ladder away while they were up in the tree house. And Dan puts mashed potato in Ben’s Wellies for some reason best known to himself, so Ben retaliates by drawing thick black eyebrows and a twirly moustache on Dan while he’s asleep, which only comes off with a great deal of soap and scrubbing. In the end I have to go into a major meltdown and send everyone to their rooms, to avoid anyone else ending up with a plaster cast when I’ve only just got mine off. I’m still on crutches, but the hospital said everything has healed very well and I should be back on my feet properly in a couple of weeks. They’ve given me more painkillers, but I’m rationing myself now, so things aren’t quite so foggy.
Pete collects the boys on Friday, and the house seems very quiet without them, but it sounds like they’re having fun and that’s the main thing. By all accounts pizza and ice cream are featuring heavily on the menu, and he took them to a local swimming pool yesterday, so I think our
little chat may have hit a nerve, thank God. The heat wave is continuing, so I have an early supper with Bertie and Celia on Sunday evening, sitting out on the terrace to make the most of the sea breeze. Eddie’s out surfing, but bounds back at around eight, looking thrilled.
“You’ll never guess what: Sam just called and he’s got a booking for me. I’ll be part of a lineup at a few festivals and a big event in London. I have to leave tomorrow, isn’t that amazing?”
“That’s brilliant Eddie.”
“Well done my boy.”
“Oh Edward, I’m so pleased for you.”
Bertie opens a bottle of champagne, and we toast the thrilling news. My ankle was aching earlier and I took two of my tablets, so I’m not sure I should be drinking champagne, but one glass can’t hurt.
“To Eddie.”
Celia and I raise our glasses as Bertie stands up.
“To new beginnings.”
He raises his glass.
“And melting hearts of stone.”
It turns out my tablets and a glass or two of champagne mix rather well, and instead of conking out I’m still wide awake as it starts to get dark. I wander out to talk to Bubble and Squeak and lock the chickens up for the night, which is easier said than done, when they’ve got the tree house as an alternative roost.
“Dennis says it’s fine to leave them up there, just take the ladder away.”
“Oh, right, thanks.”
“I still can’t really believe it.”
“It’s brilliant news Eddie.”
“Your ankle seems better tonight.”
“Yes, I think it is. It’s so great not having that bloody cast on. Actually, what I’d really like is a swim.”
The idea of having a swim is so heavenly I can hardly wait. Maybe I should have been having a couple of drinks every night.
“In the sea? Isn’t it a bit late?”
“It’s not even ten yet, and it’s so hot, I’ll never sleep. I think I could walk down, slowly, only don’t tell Bertie, or Celia—they’ll only fuss. The hospital said swimming was fine now the cast is off—I only have to use the crutches for walking.”
“I think we can do better than that. Stay there.”
He reappears with the wheelbarrow.
