MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets

by Green Wellies

  ‘What about his car?’ came a high-pitched voice?

  ‘He’s sending someone to collect it.’

  ‘You mean he’s not coming back?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. If you want to see him, you’ll have to go to the County Showground next weekend. I have it on good authority that he’s going to be there.’

  ‘Excellent stuff,’ Lewis said, as he peered around the corner of a curtain, and watched the crowd thin and drift away. ‘You even had me convinced.’

  Ursula shrugged, as she came back into the house and took off her jacket. ‘Oh my God!’ she suddenly shrieked. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Smell?’

  ‘Something’s burning.’ Her face fell. The cake! The bloody fruitcake! She rushed into the kitchen, and flung open the oven door. A thick pall of black, sooty smoke puffed out at her.

  ‘Well, thanks again,’ Lewis said. Now was the time, he decided, to make a quick exit. Snatching up his keys, he hurried out of the house and managed to reach the car without being spotted. He scrambled into the driver’s seat, and flung open the passenger door. Simon was strolling nonchalantly towards him; a silk covered riding hat tucked under one arm.

  ‘Get in!’ Lewis hissed.

  ‘What’s the rush?’

  ‘Just do it,’ he said, switching on the ignition.

  As he was reversing rapidly out of the car park, Caroline was doing a steady jog towards the house.

  The fire alarm was bleeping loudly and incessantly as she burst through the front door, desperate to find out if the rumours circulating the yard were true.

  How could Lewis Trevelyan be here, and she not know about it?

  She paused in the hallway, sniffing the air, and listening curiously to the frantic beeping noise. What on earth was going on? ‘Mother?’ She pushed open the kitchen door. ‘Mother, what’s burning?’

  Ursula was sitting at the table, consuming a generous measure of medicinal brandy from a soot stained glass.

  Wilson was throwing up on the floor, having gobbled the best part of the charred fruitcake, which had dropped out of Ursula’s hands when she tried to extricate it, in flames, from the oven.

  And Lewis Trevelyan, apparently, had gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Christ, Lewis, I ache.’

  Simon hobbled his way into the canteen, and levered himself into the softest looking chair he could find. ‘Get me a coffee, will you?’

  ‘Blimey,’ Lewis said. ‘I thought you said you could do this.’

  ‘I can.’ Simon winced. ‘Believe me, I can. It’s just a bit painful, that’s all.’

  Four consecutive days of riding had left him feeling a little bit sensitive in certain areas of his anatomy. The lesson at Hollyfields had been bad enough - lots of sitting trot on the lunge (to get his balance, apparently) with an instructor who had never learnt the art of compassion. Then three days at a riding school near the studios, with a woman who looked old enough to be his mother, and treated him like the child she probably never had.

  ‘Still, you’ve managed a canter,’ Lewis said.

  ‘That was the easy bit,’ Simon groaned. ‘I tell you what, mate. I’m not doing this again – not for any film. I want that written into my contract.’

  Lewis grinned. ‘At least Miles will be pleased.’

  ‘Stuff Miles,’ he muttered.

  With the bulk of the studio work completed, Lewis had been previewing some of the final takes with the film’s director, and he had to admit that they were good – in fact, they were very good.

  Miles’ vast experience in the film industry had gained him a worldwide reputation for excellence in his field. This latest effort proved why. The critics would not be disappointed. His insistence that he had the final say when it came to the casting of the main characters had evidently pulled off. The chemistry between Simon and Molly was clear from the start. They made a perfect working team.

  Miles chuckled merrily, as he watched her take a swipe at the side of his face. ‘See that, Lewis?’ he said. ‘That almost connected, and maybe it did. The angry look in Simon’s eyes seems real enough.

  ‘Find something that pleases you?’ came a sarcastic drawl from the doorway of the studio.

  ‘Chemistry, my boy,’ Miles said, drawing back from the camera, and grinning at the film’s main star. ‘You and Molly in action. Want to see?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Simon said. ‘I’ll wait for the premiere, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Spoken like a true star.’ Miles waved to the crew, to let them know he had finished, before turning back to Lewis. ‘I gather you had no luck in Suffolk.’

  He frowned, as he sat down in one of the folding chairs. ‘News travels fast,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t get to see the girl, if that’s what you mean. But she does exist. She’s called Ella.’

  ‘Ella. Ella Johnson.’ Miles repeated the name, as if it might mean something to him, but it didn’t.

  ‘I’m hoping she’ll turn up for the competition.’

  ‘Well, whether she does or not, the filming will be going ahead. The event has been advertised in all the local papers, and the television people are doing a feature on it as well. You know the sort of thing – film star comes to Suffolk. Which reminds me,’ he added, leafing through a pile of papers on the arm of his chair, and turning back to Simon. ‘Your agent called. The BBC has been in touch. They want to do an interview with you.’ He handed him a yellow post-it note with a number scribbled on it. ‘Can you give Estelle a ring?’

  ‘What, now?’

  Miles nodded. ‘She did ask.’

  Simon pocketed the note with a frown. A long and involved conversation with his slightly neurotic and highly excitable agent was not what he had in mind just now.

  ‘Oh, and Roger’s booked the Ivy for tonight. You haven’t forgotten, have you? The limo’s coming to pick you and Lewis up at eight.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Simon remarked, with a knowing smile.

  Miles looked at him quizzically. ‘How come?’

  ‘Pranged the BMW, didn’t he.’

  ‘What?’ Miles swung round to face Lewis. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately. But don’t worry, no one was hurt.’

  ‘And he managed to pay off the girl before she spotted who I was,’ Simon added. ‘It was only a scratch, Miles,’ he added, seeing the director’s disapproving stare. ‘We couldn’t hang about and make polite conversation, now could we?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Anyway, he’s had Tony take it to the garage for repairs. He reckons it’ll be fixed in a couple of days.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘I guess I’ll be taking black cabs, like the rest of you,’ Lewis said.

  Simon stood up, and patted the folded post-it note in his pocket. ‘Think I’ll give Estelle a ring,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you guys later.’

  ‘At eight, remember?’

  ‘Yep, at eight.’

  Ella didn’t have the luxury of being able to take black cabs whilst she put the car in for repairs. She needed to get Ursula’s car fixed fast, before the scratch was noticed.

  Consequently, she spent the remainder of her Saturday off work trying to do just that.

  ‘Two days?’ she said, gawping at the phone receiver, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘I can’t leave it with you for two days. I need the job done today – this afternoon.’ (This was the third garage she had tried and all to no avail).

  ‘Sorry, my love,’ the mechanic told her, in an accent that was pure Cockney. ‘By the sounds of things it will need cutting out and refilling. Then there’s the spraying, and these metallic paints are one hell of a job to match up…’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said, replacing the receiver with a sigh. She had thought it would have been a simple enough task to get a paint repair shop or a garage to touch up the nasty gouge in the back of Ursula’s Range Rover. With the money she had been given, she could have paid for the
job in cash, and her stepmother would never have known any different.

  ‘Try Gary,’ Kate said helpfully, as she inhaled on yet another cigarette – her second in almost as many minutes.

  ‘Gary who?’

  ‘Gary Holdsworth. You know. We were at school together. Oh you must remember him – gawky looking lad with ginger hair. He works over at Epson’s garage in Rutherdale.’

  ‘Gary Holdsworth?’ Ella repeated, trying to conjure up a face to fit the name. ‘Oh, him! God, is he a mechanic?’ The youth she remembered had been so clumsy, (even going so far as to drop the prized football trophy on Sports Day, in front of an horrified audience of parents and children) that she didn’t know if she dared trust him on Ursula’s beloved car.

  ‘Apparently so. He did the bodywork on Gillian’s mini when she had that shunt last February, remember? The week when we had all the ice and snow, and she was hit from behind by a white transit van.’

  ‘And he fixed that?’

  Kate nodded, as she ground her cigarette stub into the smouldering heap of ash in the glass tray on the table.

  ‘What’s his number?’

  ‘Blowed if I know. The garage’ll be in the book, though.’

  Ella leafed through the Yellow pages, kindly lent to them by the bar staff, in the pizza restaurant.

  ‘Found it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ella said, propping open the page with her elbow as she jabbed out the number on her mobile phone.

  Let me have it,’ Kate said, taking the phone from her. Ella shrugged her shoulders in helpless protest.

  ‘Hello? Is that Epsons? Yes, I’d like to speak to Gary, please. Gary Holdsworth.’ She winked at Ella, and mouthed, ‘He always used to fancy me.’

  As did most of Ecclesfield High School, Ella recalled.

  ‘Hi, Gary,’ she said, after a short pause. ‘It’s Kate here. I was wondering if you could do me a favour…’

  Ella listened intently, as her friend explained the urgency of the situation.

  ‘…Yes. At three o’clock. Yes, we’ll be there. Thanks, Gary.’ She clicked off the phone, and grinned at her. ‘Sorted,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, he’s going to take a look at it, anyway. He says he should be able to do a cover up job, if nothing else.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get going. It’ll take us half an hour to get there. You lead, and I’ll follow.’

  The ‘Gary Holdsworth’ from school bore little resemblance to the ‘Gary Holdsworth’ of Epson’s garage. Either that or her memory had deserted her, Ella thought.

  The man in question was lying prostrate under the front end of a battered green Fiesta, his legs encased in dark brown overalls, and his feet sticking out at right angles. He was wearing steel capped boots.

  ‘Gary?’ Kate said warily, even though the man in reception had waved them over to the workroom with a gruff, ‘He’s over there,’ so they knew it had to be him.

  The figure scooted out on a trolley board. ‘Hi,’ he said, from his horizontal position at their feet. ‘Thought I heard voices.’ His face was streaked with oil and dirt, and wore a lopsided kind of grin.

  Ella was surprised to see that his ginger hair was darker than she remembered it to be. It could almost be described as a warm brown, and all traces of adolescent gawkiness had disappeared. He jumped nimbly to his feet, and brushed his oil-smeared hands down the side of his overalls.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Ella,’ he said. ‘I’d offer you my hand, but you probably wouldn’t take it.’

  Kate grinned. ‘I can’t believe you’re proposing already, Gary?’

  ‘Ha bloody ha,’ he said. ‘I’ll ignore that remark.’ He turned back to Ella. ‘I gather you’ve had a spot of bother with your car.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not actually my car,’ she said, glaring at Kate. How could she joke at a time like this? ‘It belongs to my stepmother, and she’ll go berserk if she sees the damage.’

  ‘Which one is it?’ he asked, glancing over at the crowded forecourt.

  ‘The blue Range Rover – the one over there.’ She pointed to where she had parked the car next to Kate’s sporty little hatchback.

  ‘I’d better take a look,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash this oil off my hands first.’

  ‘See,’ Kate whispered, grinning, as they waited patiently on the forecourt for his return.

  ‘See what?’ Ella said. ‘You’re such a flirt, Kate.’

  ‘Yes, well, it sometimes comes in useful, don’t you agree? Anyway, by the way he was looking you up and down; I think he’s taken a shine to you.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

  Kate tapped the side of her nose. ‘You mark my words. I can see these things a mile off. He was impressed. The question is, are you?’

  ‘Me?’ Ella choked. ‘Kate, he was such a gormless idiot at school.’

  ‘So? That was then. And this,’ she said, nudging her, as he strolled back across the forecourt. ‘This is now.’

  Gary certainly didn’t seem anything like the clumsy youth she remembered from her school days. He was perfectly confident and capable.

  ‘You’ve got two choices,’ he said, as he ran his hand over the gouged paintwork on the Range Rover. ‘A professional job, which involves cutting out, filling and respraying, or a touch up job.’

  ‘Whatever’s quickest,’ Ella said. ‘I need it done today.’

  ‘That could be tricky.’ He paused, and crouched down to examine the scratch from a different angle. ‘But I reckon I could do it,’ he said, glancing sideways up at her. ‘You’d have to leave it here for, say…’ He glanced at his watch. ‘…Two hours? It’ll probably be ready about half five.’

  ‘Half five would be brilliant,’ she said, her face beaming. Ursula wouldn’t need to know anything about her little mishap if that was the case.

  ‘Right, then. ‘He straightened up, smiling. ‘I’d best get started.’

  Kate linked her arm in Ella’s, and winked at him. ‘Do a good job on it, Gary, and we’ll take you out afterwards for a drink to celebrate.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think my wife would appreciate it, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Wife?’ Kate spluttered in disbelief, as she reversed her car out of the garage. She put her foot down as they turned onto the main road.

  ‘That’s what the man said.’ Ella smirked.

  ‘Well, I never knew he was married.’

  ‘No, and you thought you could twist him round your little finger with those feminine wiles of yours, when truth be told, he’s probably a decent bloke trying to earn a bit of extra cash with some overtime.’

  Kate balanced one hand on the steering wheel, as she flicked her lighter underneath the end of her cigarette. ‘Bet she was pregnant,’ she muttered, breathing out a steady stream of smoke.

  Ella wound down the window. ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl he married, of course.’

  ‘That’s a bit uncharitable of you,’ she said.

  ‘True.’ Kate grinned wickedly across at her. ‘I just hate seeing a good man go to waste. And he has definitely improved with age.’

  ‘Hasn’t he just,’ Ella laughed.

  Two hours later, and the Range Rover was looking as good as new. Not perfect, Gary told her, (and the paint was still a bit tacky), but it should pass any inspection from a casual observer.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ Ella asked, feeling in her handbag for the wad of money.

  ‘Let me see,’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Let’s say fifty quid?’

  ‘Fifty quid?’ she choked.

  He looked concerned. ‘Do you think that’s a bit too much?’

  ‘More like too little,’ she said. ‘Come on, Gary. It must cost more than that. You can’t see the mark or anything, and the touch up paint is spot on. Let me give you a hundred pounds.’

  ‘Bet you don’t get many customers offering to pay you more than you ask,’ Kate observed dryly.


  Ella ignored her. ‘Look, you managed to get it done in one day, and that was really important to me,’ she said. ‘So here, take it. I insist.’

  ‘Well,’ Gary scratched his head. ‘If you’re sure.’

  She handed over two of the fifty pound notes with a firm nod. ‘I’m sure. And thanks, Gary. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’ (Nor did she know what she was going to do with all the leftover money in her handbag).