by Gil McNeil
‘Oh.’
‘Quite.’
He’s actually laughing now.
‘Sorry. It’s just –’
‘Blast – what’s he doing here?’
‘Who?’
‘My father, heading this way. Damn. My mother must have sent him round on a mission to lecture me about something. I wonder what I’ve done wrong now.’
‘Well, I’ll be off then, and sorry, about the sign thing, I just thought –’
‘Oh no you don’t. You can jolly well stay and give me some moral support – make up for your appalling hectoring. Hello, Dad, what are you doing here? We were just going to make some coffee. Alice, I think you met my father at Ezra’s birthday party, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Hello, Gerald. Lovely to see you again.’
‘Hello, my dear.’
Charles smirks at me and walks back towards the house. Damn. Gerald seems quite agitated.
‘I’ve given your mother the slip. Thought I’d pop over for a quick chat. No names, no pack drill, that sort of thing. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it. You know how she gets.’
‘Yes, you can’t get a word in edgeways sometimes, can you?’
Charles gives me a very pointed look.
‘Yes, well, I wanted a word, about your getting shot of that frightful woman, and not a moment too soon, by the look of things. What on earth is that sign for, by the gates? You’re not selling up, are you? Bloody stupid time to sell. You’re not falling at the first hurdle, are you? You need to stand up for yourself, you know.’
‘Dad.’
‘I thought you told me you liked it here, or your mother did. Have you called that chap I told you about? He’s the bee’s knees, you know, top barrister and all that. Of course he won’t be cheap, charge you hundreds just for writing a letter. Bastards. But that’s what you want, because you take my word for it, she’ll be getting one. Anyway, that’s why I wanted to talk to you – I’ve got a couple of little funds that your mother doesn’t know about. And I want to keep it that way. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Dad, but –’
‘So I don’t want you doing anything stupid, letting her walk all over you. There’ll be more than enough to see her off, and some left over, I shouldn’t wonder. And you seem so happy here, and this gardening thingy, well, it’s marvellous, winning medals and all that. Your mother’s very proud of you, you know, and I am too. I mean a chap has to have a hobby. And well, that’s it really. It’s there if you need it. I just wanted you to know. And as for selling up you can just forget about that right now. I’ve never heard anything so bloody stupid.’
He’s gone quite red, and Charles looks very touched.
‘I’ve just been explaining to Alice, Dad. The house isn’t on the market. I’m just getting a valuation, so I’ve got some figures together.’
‘Right. Well, that’s what I said. Good. Well, that’s sorted then. And the money’s yours, if you need it. No point keeping it until I’m gone. You might as well have it now. Only don’t tell your mother, for god’s sake. Now, what does a chap have to do to get a drink round here?’
As I’m leaving Charles is showing his dad some paintings he’s just bought, and the old man seems very impressed.
‘Well, lovely to have met you again, my dear.’
‘Yes. Thanks for popping round, Alice. It’s always nice to see you.’
Bugger. He’s back to doing the smirking thing again.
Jim and Stella are having supper with us, on their way down to Brighton for the weekend. I’ve hidden Alfie’s recorder because we’ve had ‘Little Donkey’ three times already, and Jim says he’s gone deaf in one ear. Stella’s upstairs reading to Alfie while we do the washing up.
‘So how are Molly and Dan doing?’
‘Fine. I think it’s all still a bit fragile, but they seem to be all right.’
‘Good. And what about you? No more visits from Harry? Still sure you did the right thing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, because I don’t think we need any more nutters in this family.’
‘He wasn’t a nutter.’
‘Oh yes he was. Growing herbs. Honestly. Waste of time, if you ask me. Bit of lawn and a flowerbed. What’s wrong with that?’
‘I’d never have thought of that. God, that would probably have won us a gold medal at Chelsea.’
‘Oh, and I meant to tell you, I saw that Lola woman the other day, in a flash restaurant. She was throwing a fit about something. She didn’t see me, though, thank god. So how’s old Charlie boy coping then, without her? Bloody relieved, I should imagine.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve gone all red.’
‘I have not.’
‘Yes you have.’
‘Well, it’s just I made a bit of a fool of myself the other day. I thought he was selling the house and I went storming up there and told him off and it turned out he was only getting it valued.’
‘Would that be a problem then, him selling? Oh, I see, you’re getting keen on him. Is that it?’
‘No, I just know he doesn’t want to move, that’s all.’
‘Right. So you wouldn’t mind at all then?’
‘No. And anyway that’s not the point.’
‘Oh yes it is. Look, if you fancy him, what’s your problem?’
‘I didn’t say that. I’ve never thought of him like that, and anyway he’s still getting over Lola.’
‘Yes. I can imagine she’d take a bit of getting over.’
‘Exactly. And then there’s the children. And I don’t want Lola thinking I was after him, because I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not. I didn’t even really like him when they were together.’
‘Fuck what she thinks. What do you care?’
‘Well, I don’t, not really. But I don’t want people thinking I had anything to do with them splitting up, and I don’t want it to get tricky.’
‘Tricky can be nice, you know. I mean by all means be a bit discreet, if you like, take it slowly. Pick a time when the kids aren’t around, and go for it.’
‘They’re always around.’
‘Well, ask him out for a drink.’
‘Oh that’s a great idea. And then Mrs Bishop can tell the whole village, and Mum can quiz me when I get back. That’ll be very low-profile then.’
‘Stop making excuses. Go for it, and may the force be with you.’
‘Look, I’ve told you, there’s nothing to go for.’
‘You’re a great one for putting things off.’
‘Yes. And so are you. When exactly are you planning on telling Mum about you and Stella moving in together?’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Stella told me.’
‘God, she’d be a crap secret agent.’
‘She’s really happy.’
‘So am I, and I was going to say, but I don’t want Mum knowing just yet, or she’ll start going on about us getting married. You know she will. She’s pinning all her hopes on us now, for the full monty white wedding. It’s all your fault.’
‘Oh well, that makes a change.’
Charles has had to cancel his firework party, twice, because of torrential rain. It was so stormy last week you could barely stand upright, let alone light a sparkler. But the weather’s finally cleared and the party’s back on for tonight. Mabel’s had her birthday tea party earlier with her friends from playgroup, with Mrs Bishop and Molly helping out, and apparently it was bedlam, but they all enjoyed themselves, and Jack loved watching the children running around.
The firework party has turned into quite a gathering and Charles has ended up inviting nearly the whole village. Frank’s doing the bonfire, and he’s been collecting wood and bits of old furniture for days now, and covering it all up with plastic and tarpaulin in a big heap in the middle of the lawn, where Charles is planning a new flowerbed. He’s putting the finishing touches to it, and telling me that a good fire really helps a garden.
‘Purifies the earth, fire doe
s. And wood ash is a great fertiliser. It’ll give everything a head start.’
‘I didn’t know that. Should I be putting the ashes from my fire round the flowerbeds then?’
‘Yes, but dig it in well. This reminds me of when we used to have a big bonfire on the village green, you know, when I was a boy. We used to gather up the wood for weeks, and go round the other villages on our bikes and nick bits of their wood too. It took a bit of skill, I can tell you, cycling home with big planks of wood balanced on your handlebars. Not like nowadays, everyone having bonfires in their back gardens. It’s not the same.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be too keen on Alfie cycling round with planks.’
We all stand in the back garden, drinking mulled wine, which Mrs Bishop has made using her special secret recipe. I’ve got no idea what’s in it, but even though it’s freezing out here, nobody’s feeling the cold. The children have all got sparklers, and Charles has taken the firework code very seriously and put buckets of sand all over the place. In fact I’ve just nearly tripped over one, but that might be because I’m on my second glass of mulled wine. Mr Pomeroy and Bill are doing the barbecue, and the smell of charcoaled sausages is making me really hungry.
Molly’s just been over to check on their progress. ‘I think they’re nearly ready.’
‘Thank god for that. Where’s Lily gone?’
‘Off with Dan for a little walk, and a chat about not poking her brother with her sparkler.’
‘Oh dear. She was doing so well when he first came home.’
‘I know. It comes and goes. I think she quite likes him really, but not all of the time, and especially not if anybody’s making a fuss of him.’
Frank and Bill are trying to light the bonfire, but it must have got wet despite the plastic sheeting because nothing much is happening, until they pour some petrol on. Then it lights with a huge whoomping noise and the guy shoots about fifty feet into the air and lands on a small bush and sets fire to it, and the children all clap. Frank looks rather dazed for a minute, and Mr Channing gets a bucket of water and puts the bush out, and they stamp on a small bit that’s fallen off and is still burning. I hope neither of them are doing the fireworks or we’re going to have to lie face down on the grass for the entire evening.
The bonfire’s really burning now, and the heat’s amazing. The children are fascinated, and keep edging closer, but Frank and Bill are keeping an eye on them and anyway you can’t really get too close before you feel your cheeks start to crinkle up.
We all stand expectantly, looking up into the sky, and then suddenly the first rocket shoots up in the air with a really loud bang, and sends out a shower of pink stars. Charles must have spent a fortune on all the fireworks. One of the rockets goes sideways instead of up, and gives Mrs Pomeroy a bit of a nasty moment. But apart from that they’re all lovely.
The grand finale is one of those things that produce a torrent of small silver stars that explode into lots of different colours. Everyone claps and then we light more sparklers and try to stop the children from shoving each other, or their hats, into the fire. Alfie’s got one of his gloves off, so I make him put it back on and say if he takes it off again we’ll have to go home, and then Dan gets each of them a sausage in a bun.
Molly’s trying to jiggle Jack about for a bit longer and con him into thinking he’s not hungry. Alfie wants a drink, and Lily does too, so I go into the kitchen in search of juice.
‘Were they all right, the fireworks? It’s a bit hard to tell when you’re lighting them.’
Charles looks like he’s been out on a covert mission with the SAS in their black balaclavas. He’s got sooty marks all over his face, and a really mortifying old woolly hat on.
‘I didn’t realise there’d be quite so much smoke. The bonfire was blowing in my direction most of the time. Actually, I thought I was going to choke at one point.’
I can’t help laughing. He looks so funny.
‘I know, it’s not very Mission Impossible, is it? Passing out lighting a few fireworks. God knows how they manage when they throw smoke bombs into rooms to rescue people.’
‘I think they wear masks.’
He smiles.
‘Oh. Right. Well, that makes sense. I must remember that.’
‘What, for the next time you’re out with Special Forces liberating an embassy or something?’
‘Yes. But I’m not supposed to talk about it. I could get into terrible trouble.’
‘Well, the fireworks were great, and the kids loved them.’
‘Good. Do you want a glass of wine, by the way? There’s some decent stuff in that bottle over there. I’ve been hiding it from Mrs Bishop, or she’d have put it in her mulled wine. She’s chucked in all sorts, you know.’
‘I know. I’ve been drinking it for the past hour, and it’s all right, actually.’
‘Well, I might try some then, if you think it’s drinkable. I didn’t want to risk it before I did the fireworks.’
‘Very wise. Have a sip of mine, if you like.’
I pass him my glass and he takes a fairly hefty swig.
‘Good god. That’s lethal. I think my feet are melting.’
‘I know. It’s good, isn’t it?’
He takes another swig.
‘Yes, once you get used to it, it is rather.’
‘Well, get your own glassful then.’
‘Alice. I’ve been meaning to say, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I saw Harry’s jeep outside your house, you know, a few weeks ago, and I just hope, well, the thing is, I just wanted to say that, if you were thinking of seeing him again, or something, I think you can do better.’
He’s gone very bright red under his black smudges now. But that could be the mulled wine. He looks a bit like an embarrassed chimney sweep.
‘I’m not.’
‘I mean I know he’s a decent bloke and all that, and he knows all about herbs, and that’s very interesting, of course, fascinating, but I just don’t think he really appreciates you. Not properly.’
‘Charles, I’m not. It’s over. Definitely.’
‘Oh thank god. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Oh fuck it.’
And then completely out of the blue, with no warning at all, he kisses me. And before I know it I’m kissing him right back.
‘Crikey. I didn’t really mean to do that.’
‘No, neither did I.’
‘You’ve got black marks on your face now. Sorry.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Shall we do it again?’
‘Yes.’
And just as we’re really getting the hang of it Mrs Bishop walks in.
‘Oh thank the lord, and about time too. Me and Elsie were just saying we hope you two get a move on. Honestly, you should see the way he looks at you sometimes, and you’re no better. Right under your noses, both of you. I don’t know what’s took you so long, I really don’t. And he’s a lovely man, you know, Alice, you could do a lot worse. Although he does make a terrible mess leaving his papers all over the place. You’ll have to train him up. And she’s a lovely girl too, Mr B, much nicer than you-know-who. Sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but I’m just so pleased.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s good.’
Charles looks even more embarrassed now.
‘Anyway, you two, don’t you mind me. I’ll just take out this juice for the children, and I’ll keep them out of your way for a bit.’
And before we can stop her she’s shot back out into the garden clutching a carton of juice, with a big smile on her face.
‘Bugger. Well, that’ll be halfway round the village in the next five minutes.’
Charles looks very serious all of a sudden.
‘Yes. So we might as well give them something to talk about then, don’t you think? See if I can’t get any more black marks on your face.’
And he puts his arms around me, and even though this might all get terribly complicated, and his face is really filthy, an
d that hat really does make him look slightly mad, it feels great. It feels like coming home.
12
One Year Later
Jingle Bells
Christmas weddings always sound so romantic, and I still can’t believe that we’ve managed to persuade Alfie to wear a kilt. I really didn’t think we stood much chance until Molly came up with the brilliant idea of renting Braveheart on video. I had to keep diverting his attention by tickling him during the most gory bits, but the kilt was no problem after that, although persuading him that he couldn’t paint his face blue was a bit tricky. Mum’s been in a frenzy for weeks. She spent so long choosing her wedding outfit that I really thought I was going to have to sedate her: we visited practically every shop in Western Europe, and even then she couldn’t find a hat.
The church is freezing, but smells wonderful and the flowers are fabulous. Stella’s arranged hundreds of little scented candles that are flickering all over the place. The ceremony’s been a bit of a blur so far because I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Alfie: he’s been perfect up till now but you never know when he might decide to launch into a bit of ‘Scotland the Brave’.
‘Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?’
Oh god. I didn’t think I was going to cry. But I am. He looks so happy, and sort of nervous too, like it’s all just a tiny bit too much for him and he might lose it at any moment.
‘Yes. I do.’
Yup. Crying now.
God, I’m a complete sucker for all this weddings-in-churches business. I wonder if I can fish a tissue out of the tiny little pocket in my skirt without anyone noticing.
The Vicar goes on about let no man put asunder and everything, and then we walk back up the aisle. Everyone is looking and smiling. Mum’s dabbing away with her hankie, and Dad’s blowing his nose, and I’m concentrating on not dropping my flowers, because they’re tied up with velvet ribbon and it’s quite hard to get a grip without squashing them.
My shoes are killing me, but I’m trying to walk elegantly rather than doing anything reminiscent of hobbling. Alfie’s starting to speed up a bit and looks quite eager to get outside, so if I don’t manage to slow him down in the next twenty seconds he’ll be overtaking everybody.
