A Good Year for the Roses: A Novel

by Gil McNeil

  “True. But think of something else as well. Something fun. Any more texts?”

  “Yes, he’s in Switzerland now, at some festival. He’s been recording cuckoo clocks and sending me little clips.”

  “How delightful.”

  “The boys are loving them.”

  “So everything’s coming up roses then?”

  “Seems like it. And thanks Lola. If they actually sell for that kind of money, it will be amazing.”

  “There are forms you have to fill in. I’ll get her to send them to you. Speak later darling.”

  Ivy’s understandably subdued after Michael and Christine and the boys leave, but she’s got her visit to look forward to, so she throws herself into a round of what she calls a proper tidy-up and everyone else calls an almost forensic level of deep cleaning. Dennis is keeping well out of the way, and we’re in the kitchen planning another trip to the cash-and-carry warehouse for more supplies, when Mum arrives, carrying her big green suitcase.

  “What’s in there Mum?”

  “Just a few of my things.”

  “Are you having a clear-out?”

  “You could say that. Yes, I suppose I am, and about time too because I’ve had enough, I really have. He made such a fuss about me making the food for Ivy’s party, and well, let’s just say it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We had a big row about it, and well, I’ve left him.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Your father, I’ve packed my bag, and here I am. I thought I’d stay here for a few days, if that’s alright with you, while I work out what to do. I realise you won’t want me here forever—of course you won’t—only I wasn’t sure where else to go. I thought I could have one of the attic rooms. I know you’ve got B-and-B people booked in at the weekend, but I couldn’t think where else to go.”

  She starts to cry.

  Oh God.

  “What’s happened Mum?”

  “I’ve finally come to my senses, that’s what’s happened.”

  “Oh Mum.”

  “You put the kettle on Miss Molly, and I’ll take your mum upstairs. We’ll put you in the front double, Marjorie—that’ll be nice and quiet. You come with me dear, and we’ll get you settled. Here, let me take your bag.”

  Bloody hell.

  Over endless cups of tea and nearly a whole box of tissues it emerges that Mum wants to buy a cottage, like Celia’s, so she can have a garden, and she’s fed up living right by that silly golf club, and if Dad won’t move, then she’s moving by herself, and it’s not as if money is an issue, not that she ever sees any of it. And I should ask Roger about the shares in the hotel, because she’s sure he and Dad are up to something, and we’ve got shares too, in her name and mine, but we never see a penny, and it’s about time she stood up for herself, so that’s what she’s going to do. Only she thinks she might have a little sleep first, because she’s suddenly feeling very tired. And do I realise what she’s had to put up with over the years, because most of the people at the golf club aren’t very nice, you know. I give her two of my painkillers in the end, as it’s the only way I can get her to calm down.

  When she wakes up, she goes out in the garden, and won’t speak to Dad when he calls. I remember wishing for somewhere safe to go, somewhere quiet and peaceful, when we were living in London and I was trying to work out what to do, and rather brilliantly it looks like Harrington is turning into exactly that kind of place. First Celia and now Mum have chosen us as their safe haven, so we must be doing something right. Actually, Harrington has turned out to be a pretty safe haven for me and the boys too, come to think of it. Some mornings when I wake up, I still can’t quite believe we really live here. But I can’t keep telling Dad she doesn’t want to talk to him, so I finally get her to agree to meet him on neutral territory, which turns out to be an emergency lunch at Roger and Georgina’s house tomorrow, which isn’t that neutral, but never mind.

  Dad is sitting in the conservatory when we arrive, and appears to have shrunk since I last saw him. He’s very quiet, and I’m almost tempted to give him a hug, but I’m not sure if he’d like it, and I don’t get the chance anyway, since Roger firmly sits Mum and me on the other side of the conservatory. He sits down next to Dad, and glares at me.

  “Did you put her up to this?”

  Mum stiffens.

  “Don’t be silly Roger, of course she didn’t. I can make my own mind up about things.”

  “Well I think it’s outrageous. Poor Dad has been very upset.”

  “I think this is between Mum and Dad, Roger, don’t you? Why don’t we leave them to talk?”

  “When I want advice from you Molly, I’ll ask for it.”

  “Would anyone like a sherry?”

  Georgina brings in a tray with glasses and a bowl of olives, and hands each of us all a small glass of sherry. We sit sipping in silence.

  God, this is awkward.

  “I gather you’re going ahead with the stables Molly, although why on earth you won’t let us help is beyond me.”

  I can’t quite believe this. Mum has left Dad, and all Roger wants to talk about is the bloody hotel.

  “Help with what?”

  He can’t contain himself, and stands up.

  “You know perfectly well. I happen to know Stephen tried to talk to you about it.”

  “You mean the plan to turn Harrington into a hub for the hotel?”

  “Yes, and it’s a very good idea too. There’s huge potential, and we need to expand. You may not have noticed, but some of us are actually trying to run a business, a family business.”

  “You might be. I’m running a family, and a business.”

  “Quite right, Molly. And Roger, sit down and do be quiet dear. But on the subject of business, do Molly and I still have shares in the hotel Roger, because if we do, we’d like to know how many.”

  Roger chokes slightly, and Dad sits up a bit straighter and glares at me. Some things don’t change.

  “Yes, and I’d like to know when the dividends are paid.”

  “We don’t pay dividends. We’ve been investing in the refurbishments, to attract new investors.”

  “Oh, right. Well maybe Mum and I should sell our shares to the new investors.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not, I can get Mr. Crouch to look at the paperwork. You remember Mr. Crouch, don’t you Roger? You met him after Helena’s funeral. He handles all the paperwork for Harrington. He’s been checking the paperwork for the bank loan for me, and he was asking me if I have any shares.”

  “Well tell him to mind his own business. This is a private family matter.”

  “But I thought you were just complaining I wasn’t being businesslike. You can’t have it both ways Roger. And if there are going to be any dividend payments this year, I hope you’ll remember to include me and Mum this time? It’s not like we want to build swimming pools or anything, but every little helps, doesn’t it?”

  I’m looking at the swimming pool in the back garden as I say this, and he goes even paler, so I’m guessing Mum is right, and there have been a few dividends paid out over the past years. Just not to her, or me. How absolutely bloody typical. I’m really starting to lose my temper now.

  “Anything else about the business you want to talk about Roger?”

  He looks uncomfortable.

  “I thought not. Right, well let’s go and help Georgina with lunch, and leave Mum and Dad to talk. Dad, Mum wants to buy a cottage and have a garden. You know how much she loves gardening, almost as much as you love golf, and she’s never been happy in the bungalow. So if I were you, I’d get talking to an estate agent, because she’s made her mind up, Dad, she really has. And a cottage doesn’t seem too much to ask, does it? Not if you want someone there every night to make your supper.”

  Mum pats my hand.

  “She’s right, Henry. So it’s no use you trying to tell me I’m being silly, because my mind’s made up.”

  I beat a hasty retreat, with
Georgina, who’s looking rather shocked.

  “Well good for Marjorie, that’s what I say.”

  “Georgina!”

  “Oh do shut up Roger. Molly, would you like another sherry?”

  “Yes please Georgina.”

  This is getting better and better.

  Mum and Dad drive me home after a strangely quiet lunch, with everyone being rather formal. Dad isn’t saying much, but I think he’s finally worked out Mum means it.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon Molly dear, I want to get back home and make sure things are nice and tidy before we get the estate agents in. I wish I’d washed the net curtains in the bathroom now. I was going to do them last week. I might give them a quick rinse-through tonight, come to think of it.”

  They both get out of the car to see me in, more out of habit than anything else, since they both stay standing by the car.

  “Bye Mum, see you tomorrow. Bye Dad.”

  I kiss him on the cheek, which I don’t usually do, and he seems rather pleased as Ivy appears at the door, with her arms crossed.

  “Did you have a nice lunch Miss Molly?”

  “Yes, thank you Ivy.”

  “Everything alright Marjorie?”

  “Yes, thank you Ivy.”

  “Good.”

  She gives Dad a rather curt nod, and goes back into the house.

  Crikey. I’d almost forgotten how scary she can be.

  “Cup of tea dear?”

  “Yes please Ivy.”

  “Did she tell him then?”

  “She did Ivy.”

  “Good. She’s a lovely woman, and it’s high time she had things a bit more her own way.”

  “Definitely.”

  “I bet your brother is none too pleased.”

  We both smile.

  It’s the last week of October, and I’m putting the finishing touches to the plans and schedules and costs with Bea and Mr. Stebbings for the stables. And the gatehouse is booked right up to Christmas, so I’m spending a fair amount of my time cleaning and changing sheets. But at least we’re moving in the right direction.

  We’re having tea on Sunday afternoon, still celebrating our success at the Village Horticultural Show yesterday, when Dennis won a gold medal for his onions, and a silver for his leeks. Ivy won gold for a jar of her pickles, and Ben won Best Autumn Tray of Vegetables. Dennis is particularly thrilled, since he beat one of his oldest rivals. The only slight cloud on the horizon is the departure of the pigs. Patrick’s booked them into the local abattoir next week, and I’ve been dreading it, although nobody else seems to be that bothered. Typically contrary, Ben has now decided he might eat meat again, but only if it comes from a local sustainable food chain.

  “So I might have some of the bacon. I haven’t decided yet Mum.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m not anti-meat, just not factory farming, and using up all our resources to feed cows when people are starving.”

  Dan helps himself to another biscuit.

  “You can’t really argue with that, but just don’t start going on about it all the time and turning into one of those green nutters. So not cool.”

  Ben nods.

  “I’ve always liked bacon Mum.”

  “Yes Alfie, you have.”

  “And next year Uncle Patrick says we can get a lady pig and have our own piglets.”

  “Yes, I know, and I said we’d think about it Alfie.”

  “Well think about it then, because me and Tom need to know.”

  “I’ll help Mum.”

  “Thanks Ben.”

  “I might go into farming. I’m thinking about it, so it will be good practice.”

  “Okay love.”

  “Either that, or space travel. So we can live on other planets and grow food to eat when we’ve finally mucked up the Earth.”

  “Right.”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  I think on balance I’d prefer him to stay here and breed pigs and grow veg. Space travel sounds a bit on the challenging side to me, particularly given he can barely remember to take his PE kit to school on the right day. He’s always leaving his coat at school too, and I can’t see me getting the interplanetary shuttle to retrieve his anorak for him.

  Bertie is impressed.

  “Good for you my boy. Space travel. Like the sound of that. Good to have a plan. What about you Dan?”

  “Something in a city, with no piglets, so I can earn loads of money and not do very much work. I’m looking at my options. Or I might stay round here. I haven’t decided.”

  Alfie nods.

  “I might do farming too, or I might be a pirate. Probably a space pirate, and then I can help Ben, when he’s growing stuff.”

  “Right. Well I hope people who are going to be pirates and astronauts or earn lots of money living in the city still know how to clear the table?”

  All three of them tut.

  Bertie stands up.

  “Thought I might go out on patrol, before the last of the light goes.”

  “Alright Bertie, but don’t be long, it’s getting cold. Dan, help Ben clear the table. And Alfie, let’s do your reading book, shall we?”

  “It’s not fair. I wanted to go out with Uncle Bertie.”

  “We need to do your reading love, and then you can watch cartoons.”

  “But…”

  “Or you can go up and have your bath now. You need your hair washing today, so we can do that too. Whichever you prefer.”

  “I’ll get my book.”

  The light is definitely starting to fade and Bertie hasn’t reappeared, so I walk down to find him while the boys watch telly. I’ve just had an annoying conversation with Pete about the plans for Christmas. Apparently he’s so exhausted they’re going on a cruise, and he won’t see the boys at all.

  “He’s so infuriating, Bertie, I can’t believe I was married to him for so long.”

  “He knows the price of everything and the value of nothing—that’s his trouble. You’re well shot of him my dear.”

  “It seems like so much longer than a year that we’ve been here now, like a whole new life.”

  He smiles.

  “It’s getting cold, Bertie. We should walk back up.”

  “Yes, there’s a real nip in the air, reminds me of last year, when Helena was still with us.”

  He looks a bit wobbly, and I notice the buttons on his cardigan are done up on the wrong buttonholes as I take hold of his hand.

  “Sometimes I talk to her you know—in my head obviously, I’m not going round the twist completely. Unless you think that’s a sign?”

  “I think it’s a sign that you loved her very much and she loved you. That hasn’t changed, just because she’s not here anymore.”

  “Annoyingly she still tells me off. Thought with her being in her grave she might lay off the lectures, but not a bit of it. Bit much if you ask me. Thought we could take some flowers, next weekend?”

  “Of course we can.”

  “I’m very lucky to have found her at all, I do know that, so many happy years. Rare to find someone who you still want to spend time with, after the initial thrill of it all wears off. Do you think young Edward might have potential on that front?”

  “I don’t know, Bertie. He’s very young.”

  “So are you my dear. So are you. And age has got very little to do with it—it’s character that matters. Doing things that make you happy, without upsetting too many of the people around you. That’s the secret. So if you did want to move on, try something new, I wouldn’t want you to feel you were stuck here.”

  “I’m so happy here Bertie. This is our home now. We’re never going to leave, not if I can help it.”

  He squeezes my hand.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m absolutely one hundred percent sure. Shall we walk back up now?”

  “Lead the way my dear, lead the way.”

  It’s December next week, and my Christmas list is getting complet
ely out of control. Mum and Dad have had loads of interest in their bungalow, and are busy looking at cottages. And Mum’s determined to find somewhere with a really decent garden, so Celia’s accompanying them on lots of the viewings. I’m not sure Dad’s that pleased, but so far he hasn’t said anything.

  The bank has finally approved the business loan, so we’ve put the plans into the local council planning department, and Mr. Stebbings is talking to his friend on the committee and seems pretty confident we’ll get them approved at the next meeting. So it’s all systems go on the stables. I’m half-excited and half-dreading all the upheaval. I know it’s the right thing to do, but it’s still a lot to take on, and I keep waking up in the middle of night in a panic. I’m hoping that will stop happening when we finally get official planning permission. Either that or I’m going to have to start having afternoon naps like Bertie. I’m so tired I fell asleep in the bath yesterday.

  I remember being worried when we first came here that I’d get subsumed by domestic detail and find myself turning into one of those women who lurk in the background, self-esteem shot to pieces, but it feels like almost the opposite has happened. Our new life might involve far more laundry and bed making than any sane person would choose, but it does feel like I’m part of something here, something bigger than me and the boys. The latest in a long line of women who’ve lived here, doing their bit to keep everything going, and there’s a wonderful sense of safety in that, like you’ve finally managed to get home after a long and bewildering journey.

  I also feel somehow younger too, like I’m not only a mum or an ex-wife, making the best of it. I’ve got a new life, where I’m someone who can be relied on, who can be in charge of things. Well, most of the time. So that’s encouraging. And the auction is today, and I can’t wait to hear what happened. I’m about to call Lola, when she rings me, sounding excited.

  “Guess.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Well it didn’t make the reserve price.”

  “So I get them back?”

  “No, you fool, it made more.”

  “Christ.”

  “Quite a lot more. Thirty-two thousand pounds more in fact.”