‘In your dreams,’ I managed to smile back.
‘Charlie, you have everything too – OK, OK, you don’t have wanker Dominic – but you have your talent, your sister wot loves you and, although it kills me to admit this, you scrub up pretty well, too. You’re pretty gorgeous yourself, you know.’
‘Thanks, Daise.’ I went to hug her. She was right: I needed to start feeling better about myself and regain some of the confidence and self-esteem Dominic’s defection had chiselled away. ‘OK, then, shall we tell Granny Madge we’ll go ahead?’ I suddenly felt a stirring of real excitement at the prospect. ‘Come on, you’re right, let’s do it.
8
‘They’ve smartened this place up a bit, haven’t they?’ I looked round the pastel-walled interior of the Jolly Sailor with its contemporary décor and upbeat lighting. What had become of the gloomily sombre taproom with the sticky garishly patterned carpet where, at the age of not quite sixteen, I’d experienced not only my first vodka and lime but a beery tongue shoved between my lips by one Josh Lee, the catch of the upper sixth?
‘Gone the way of all traditional pubs,’ Daisy shrugged. ‘It’s called a “kitchen and bottlery” now; you’ll be lucky if you get a pint of Timothy Taylor’s. It’s really a wine bar with tables that leave your legs dangling with pins and needles, and your food served on a piece of driftwood – I suppose the nautical connection – and your chips in jam jars.’
‘Daisy, what are we doing here?’ I took a gulp of my wine, which tasted cheaply acidic.
‘Celebrating? Oh, and by the way…’ Daisy added, peering over the bar area to the room beyond, ‘not only do you scrub up pretty well once you’re out of your work clothes, but Josh Lee is over there.’
‘No? Really? I was just thinking about him.’
‘Don’t look,’ Daisy hissed. ‘Don’t appear too eager.’
‘Eager…? Daisy, I can assure you—’
‘Charlie,’ Daisy went on, ignoring my protestations, ‘did you have any idea what Granny had in mind before we went to see her this morning after seeing Libby and Seb at Holly Close Farm?’
‘No, absolutely not. When Madge first showed me the house yesterday, she didn’t even mention the cottage, let alone suggest I go down and have a look at it.’
After Daisy had totally – and, OK, I admit correctly – bollocked me for my rudeness to Libby and Seb back at the farm, we’d gone to find Granny Madge, who was in her room.
‘Hello, my darlings,’ she’d welcomed us. ‘Do come on in. What a treat – I wasn’t expecting another visit from you both so soon. Are you alright sitting up here with me or would you prefer to go down to the lounge? It’ll be either full of cleaners hoovering – they’re always damn-well hoovering around your chair when you’re trying to read – or dribbling old dears mumbling at the TV.’ She’d smiled and patted the bed. ‘Sorry, girls, only one chair.’
‘Granny,’ I’d said. ‘I… we want to do up Holly Close Farm.’ Madge hadn’t said anything but just looked at us with her bright, intelligent eyes. She waited – it was a bit like being interviewed for a new job – and I went on quickly, ‘We’ve just been down there again; I took Daisy, of course, and Libby and Seb were there. They said you’d spoken to Harriet last night? Anyway, we’d like to take on the project.’
Granny smiled and her whole face lit up. She was still a very beautiful woman and, dressed in a smart tweed skirt and crimson cashmere sweater that matched her lipstick, her abundant hair newly set, she looked a good twenty years younger than her actual age. ‘I’m so pleased, girls. I really should have done something with the place years ago, but with you being an architect now, Charlotte, and you, Daisy, able to take on the gardens, well, it’s time, I think, don’t you? Time to let it go.’
‘You never mentioned the cottage yesterday,’ I continued, spurred on by Madge’s apparent pleasure that her plans looked like being realised. ‘We went exploring and came across it this morning. Is that all part of the sale? Will Libby be allowed to demolish it?’
Madge leaned forwards towards the bed and took Daisy’s and my hand in her own. It felt warm but dry, papery almost. ‘Well now, there’s the thing,’ she smiled. ‘The cottage is yours.’
‘Ours?’ I caught Daisy’s eye. She was as wide-eyed as me.
‘Look, girls, if I do nothing with Holly Close Farm – as was my intention until Harriet and Libby came here on Saturday – then basically, once I’m dead, the whole place – the farm, the cottage and the acres of land – will pass to Nancy, who’ll immediately pass it on to developers.’ Granny sat back in her chair and rubbed her leg. ‘I’ve known this all along, of course, but until now I’ve buried my head…’ She trailed off and looked at us both in silence for a few seconds but then smiled again. ‘However, I love the idea of Libby and Seb – I think that’s what Harriet said Liberty’s young man was called – bringing life back to Holly Close Farm. It deserves to be loved again. And Nancy, you know, quite understandably, hated the place.’
‘Really?’ I glanced across at Daisy. ‘Why would Granny Nancy hate it?’
‘Long story, darling. Anyway, as you two have agreed to be the ones in charge of renovating the whole place then I’m giving you both the cottage. My will states that you would have inherited, along with your mother, a share of the money once I was dead. Well, I’m hoping to be around for a few more years yet and what better than for you to inherit the money now when you need it to get yourselves on the housing ladder? I mean, girls, you’re both pushing thirty. Goodness, I’d been married and Nancy was at school by the time I was your age.’
‘It’s not for want of trying, Granny,’ I smiled ruefully.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Daisy frowned. ‘I’m far too young to be married with kids.’
‘Anyway, darlings, here’s the plan.’ Madge folded her arms and reached for a pad on which she’d obviously been making copious notes and jottings. ‘We’ll get the whole place valued in lots – the farm, the cottage and the land: you do know there’s around thirteen acres that go with the place? – and come to an agreement with Libby and… Seb … as to what they will pay for the farm and the majority of the land. The cottage and several acres surrounding it will then be put into your two names and, once I get the money from the sale, you will be given enough for its renovation, your mother will get her share and the rest will go to Nancy.’ She looked at us seriously, scrutinising our faces. ‘So, what do you think? Is that fair, do you think?’
‘Fair?’ Daisy almost shouted. ‘It’s wonderful, Granny. Thank you so much.’
Madge glanced over at me. ‘I think, Charlotte,’ she said slowly, smiling, ‘that you’re actually contemplating whether, not only do you want to be living back up here, but also do you want to end up living with your sister? Am I right?’
I reddened slightly, embarrassed. Much as I loved Daisy, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to live with her. And what happened when one of us moved a man in? Had children even?
Granny had laughed. ‘I loved my sister Lydia, but couldn’t have envisaged living with her.’ She sat back in her chair and took up her notepad. ‘It’s a large cottage and I see no reason why you wouldn’t be able to develop it into two separate places. There’s certainly enough land surrounding it to extend the footfall. I’m not stipulating you have to live there, girls – I wouldn’t be so controlling. It’s entirely up to you. You might want to do it up and then sell it and split the profit. Buy yourself that tiny apartment in London, Charlotte?’
*
So, there we were, almost home owners the pair of us, overnight. And as Daisy and I stood at the new, long and shiny metallic bar in the Jolly Sailor, I felt slightly more cheerful than I had for the past couple of days. Only slightly, mind you. I still had to get through this ridiculous speed dating folly.
I was amazed how busy the Jolly Sailor was. It had totally reinvented itself since I’d been away but there were several people with whom Daisy and I had been at school, drinking wine from ridiculo
usly large glasses and laughing in one corner of the room, plus a whole load of people I didn’t recognise.
‘Is that Stacey Anderson over there?’ I nudged Daisy.
‘Stacey Anderson who was in your year?’ Daisy twisted round and peered past me in the direction of the large, rather blousy blonde. ‘Blimey, she’s put some weight on, if it is. Or is she pregnant?’
‘Why would you come speed dating if you were pregnant? Actually, why would you come speed dating at all?’ I was beginning to feel depressed all over again. ‘Can we drink up and go home, Daisy? We can pinch one of Dad’s bottles of wine and watch Outlander instead?’
‘Charlie?’ The blonde had made her way through the crowd and now stood in front of me. ‘Gosh, you haven’t changed a bit. I thought you were living in London?’
‘I am.’
‘She was,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘We’re both back now for a while and going into business together.’
‘Oh?’ Stacey looked me up and down. I’d never much liked her at school and, as she launched into what she’d been up to since I’d last seen her, totally uninterested in what Daisy and I might be doing, I realised I probably wouldn’t like her any better now. ‘Well, I’m married. That’s my hubby, Jed, over there; been married four years now. Met him at university and never looked at another man after that. We were so lucky, soul mates right from the start. It’s wonderful when that happens to you, isn’t it? Anyway, Jed’s in the police – working for his sergeant’s exams – I reckon he’ll be chief inspector one day, he’s that sort of chap. I said I wanted to move back to Midhope and he was more than happy to move with me and find work here. I’m in banking. Got a job straight away in Leeds. We live on the new development over the other side of Westenbury – saved like mad and got onto the housing ladder. We won’t stay there, though, you know; I get a good mortgage rate working at the bank and we’ll soon be able to have the four-bedroomed rather than the three-bedroomed that we’re in now. Not that there’s anything wrong with a three-bedroomed but…’
‘You’ll need it for the baby?’ Daisy asked politely while I stood, unable to say a word as Stacey’s life story threatened to engulf me.
‘Baby? What baby?’ Stacey’s small blue eyes narrowed for a second and then she laughed gaily. ‘Bless you, baby won’t be here for another three years.’
Was this the longest pregnancy on record? Daisy glanced at me and crossed her eyes while Stacey continued her monologue.
‘You have to plan these things, you know. Make sure baby comes along at the right time.’
‘Right,’ I interrupted. ‘So, no speed dating for you tonight then?’
‘Moi?’ Stacey tinkled. ‘Good gracious me no. I’m long since done with anything so juvenile as speed dating, thank goodness.’ She glanced at both Daisy and my ringless fingers. ‘I’ll leave that up to you singletons. Hope you find yourselves a man tonight. It really is so fulfilling, so right, when “two become one”.’ Stacey shot two fingers towards us, rapidly becoming one, à la Spice Girls. ‘Well, must be going. Jed doesn’t like me to leave his side for too long. Been lovely catching up with you, Charlie, and hearing all about what you’ve been up to. Ciao.’
‘Right, that’s it, Daisy, I’m off.’ The utter depression that was hanging over me was in danger of flattening me onto the authentic plastic decking underneath my feet.
‘No, you’re not. Come on.’ Daisy grabbed my arm. ‘It’s upstairs in the function room.’
I remembered it from a friend of Mum’s silver wedding do where Daisy and I were so excited about being included in adult celebrations, and where we overdosed on toxic-looking Sunny Delight and white bread rolls filled with flabby damp ham and synthetic cupcakes. It didn’t look any different twenty years on. The same nicotine-stained Artex-covered walls, fake wooden beams and overly short red polyester curtains.
Long trestle tables with chairs facing across from one another were arranged in a rectangle around the room, and on each table was a couple of pencils. Daisy handed in our tickets and we were each given a sheet of paper and assigned the number of a table. Even Daisy quailed somewhat as she surveyed the function room and saw the women settling themselves down at the tables, hanging coats on the backs of chairs and shoving bags under feet as if they meant business.
‘Come on, you’re table eleven and I’m twenty.’ Daisy suddenly grinned at me. ‘For God’s sake, smile, Charlie. Relax, enjoy.’
‘Can’t I come and sit next to you?’
‘No, you’re over there. Go on, they’re waiting to start.’
Jesus.
I walked quickly over to my allotted table, head down, thoroughly embarrassed. I would have loved all this when I was eighteen, but ten years on, in a function room smelling of the trendy falafel and chicken kebabs that were, apparently, being cooked in the kitchen to one side of us, I was determined not to.
‘So,’ a woman of around Mum’s age, wearing skin-tight leather trousers and a leopard- print top, tapped on her microphone, sending static round the room and making the potential speed-daters wince. ‘Sorry about that… Right, there are twenty men and twenty women. You lovely ladies are seated and you don’t move. The men, on the other hand, are going to come and sit opposite you and then when I ring my bell…’ she proceeded to ring the bell loudly as if she were on duty in a school playground and we all winced once more ‘… after five minutes, you men will move once to your left. Both men and women have a tick sheet. Look and see what table you are visiting, men, and you women, you have a look at the number badge pinned to the men. After each bell ring, you must decide whether it’s a “yes” for a future date, or “no” for “not on your nelly”.’ She laughed uproariously at her own wit and then continued. ‘At the end of the session you’ll be asked to write down both your email addresses and mobile numbers and these will then be shared with those you fancy the pants off.’ More ribald laughter. I downed my wine in one and glared across at Daisy, who was already chatting to the dark-haired man standing behind her ready to take his place on one of the chairs.
I took a surreptitious glance both at the competition and at the hovering men who, the majority, it was obvious, were already planning to make a beeline for the bubbly pretty blonde on table fifteen. You’ll all get your turn, I thought sourly. I looked at my watch. Twenty men, five minutes apiece. One hundred minutes. In two hours’ time, I could be home, tucked up in bed with a hot-water bottle, Outlander and Jamie Fraser.
And we were off.
‘Smile, it might never happen.’ Oh, not that old chestnut, please. The man – Number 18 – who’d sat down heavily in front of me was not, by any stretch of the imagination, Jamie Fraser, and the last thing I was going to do was smile at him. ‘Have we met before?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘Only, you’re glaring at me with such dislike, I can only assume I’ve crossed you some time in the past.’
‘You mean, like time travelling?’ I was still in Outlander mode.
‘Time travelling?’ The man stared. ‘I actually meant last week. Maybe in Tesco? Or Aldi…?’
I shook my head.
‘But talking of time travellers, are you into Dr Who?’
‘’Fraid not. Outlander?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Oh, you’re another one, are you?’ he snapped, sitting back in his chair with folded arms. ‘My wife – my ex-wife, I should say, could only, you know, come –’ he leaned forward and whispered the word – ‘if I said, “Ah want ye so much, Sassenach, I can barely breathe…”’ He affected a rather terrible Highland accent and I began to laugh. He didn’t.
I was grateful when the bell rang and Number 18, giving me a funny look, stood and moved one to the left.
I caught Daisy’s eye and glared once more. ‘Don’t be a party pooper,’ she mouthed back, and then smiled winningly at the man about to sit down across from her. That was Daisy all over: she’d always been able to wrap men – Dad included – round her little finger.
‘Sorry?’ I said as Number 2 repeated something as he
sat down. Nothing to write home about: probably a couple of years older than me, but already showing the beginnings of both a slight paunch and receding hairline.
‘I said, “When I was christened my fairy godmother offered me two choices: one was to have a perfect memory and the other to have a huge penis. Unfortunately…’ He stopped and smiled, wilting somewhat as I stared stonily at him, but then carried on bravely, ‘…unfortunately, I can’t remember which one I chose.’
I wanted one of those buzzers they have on Britain’s Got Talent. One quick descent of my hand and he’d be off before he started. Oh, Dominic, where are you, you bastard? Come and rescue me from this hell on earth.
‘Actually,’ Number 2 went on, obviously determined to have another go, ‘you look a lot like my second wife.’
‘Oh?’ I was interested to know what she looked like. And to already have been married twice at his age. ‘How many times have you been married then?’
‘Just the once,’ he grinned.
Beam me up, Scotty.
Number 2 slid a card across the table. ‘I’m just practising some new material,’ he said seriously. ‘If you fancy coming to see me in stand up, I’m on at The George down in Midhope next Saturday night. Do you fancy it?’
‘I think I’m washing my hair next Saturday.’
‘Sunday then? I’ve got a double slot.’
And so, it went on. There was the sixth former whose mum was pulling pints downstairs and who’d snuck in while he waited for a lift home from football practice; the guy whose eyes filled with tears as he talked about his ex-girlfriend who’d gone off with his best friend; and a rather jolly red-haired guy called Neil who’d been in the year below me at school and who, apparently, had had a thing about me on the school bus, found out my address and sent me a Valentine.
‘Was that you?’ I laughed, remembering how I’d prayed it was from Josh Lee of beery-tongue fame.
‘’Fraid so.’ He grinned back. ‘Don’t tell the leopard-skin queen, but I’m only here to make up numbers. I leave for Sydney at the weekend. Got a job with KRBM Holdings, starting after Christmas.’
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 8
