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CHAPTER SIXSex, Drugs, and
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Gallica Roses
Thought to be the oldest of all garden roses, Gallicas form dense shrubs in strong pinks and purples, and are often used in potpourri, since their rich fragrance gets stronger as the petals are dried. Notable varieties include Rosa Mundi, with spectacular blush-pink flowers mottled with fuchsia-pink, and a spicy-rich fragrance; Empress Josephine, with tissue-paper-thin ruffled pink-veined petals; and Belle de Crécy, a pink-and-mauve rose fading to a soft violet and lavender with a rich, spicy fragrance.
It’s Wednesday morning, and we’re late arriving at school.
“Morning Molly, you look knackered.”
“Thanks Sal. It’s all Roger’s fault.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Alfie, here, take your bag love. The bell will be going in a minute. We had the Now I Am Captain drinks at the stupid golf club last night, with so many toasts and speeches he could hardly stand up by the end.”
“What a treat.”
“Oh yes, it was great, with Georgina wittering on about all the amazing activities she’s got lined up for Henry and Alicia during the summer holidays: she’s packing them off on a sailing course, and some art thing where they’re dragged round Italy looking at statues, and then a really horrible-sounding Outward Bound thing in Wales. I told her she was welcome to bring them round to meet the pigs and play with my philistine boys, but she didn’t seem keen.”
“Poor little things, away all term and they don’t even get to be home during the school holidays.”
“I know, but she might be on to something you know Sal. If we sorted something for our lot, we could sit sipping drinks and doing our nails. Just imagine.”
“Sounds great to me. Patrick was talking to Tom about camping last night—I think he meant a night in our back garden, but we could probably organise something different for him if we put our minds to it.”
“What, send him off with four boys and a tent on a tour of Britain’s cultural hot spots? He’s daft Sal, but he’s not insane. No, leave it with me. I’ll find something for them all to do, something cultural but cheap, just as soon as I’ve booked the piglets their first flying lessons.”
She laughs.
“Weren’t you seeing Stephen yesterday? What’s Finn got lined up for the summer holidays? I bet Portia is taking him somewhere posh.”
“Yes, we went to that new bar on the seafront. He didn’t mention Finn, the music was a bit loud, and then we met a few people from his office, out for a drink with their girlfriends.”
“It’s meant to be very trendy, some of the girls from reception went last week—they got all dressed up.”
“Yes, there were quite a few short dresses or tiny vests and bare midriffs. I felt about a hundred. God, this headache really isn’t shifting. I think I need more tablets.”
“How many have you had so far?”
“Two and a half. I’m saving the other half for when I get home.”
She smiles.
“That explains why you’re wearing sunglasses. I thought you were just trying to be stylish.”
“As if. Oh God, look out, bandits at two o’clock, Miss Cooper is heading our way. Please don’t volunteer us for anything Sal, I’m totally full on with the bloody gatehouse.”
“Good morning Mrs. Taylor, lovely to see the sunshine, isn’t it?”
I think she might be making a crack about my sunglasses. Perhaps she thinks I’m off for a busy day sunbathing.
“We’ve been hearing all about your new arrivals.”
She smiles and looks encouragingly at both of us, which is a shame since I’ve got absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, and neither does Sally, from the look on her face.
“Alfie and Tom are giving us regular updates.”
Bugger. It’s the sodding pigs.
“The whole class would all love to meet them, and I was wondering, we do usually have a class picnic, at the end of the term, so I thought perhaps we could combine the two? It would be such a treat for the children in the last week of term.”
“A picnic, with the pigs?”
She trills out a little laugh.
“Well, perhaps not with the pigs, but I’m sure we could find a nice shady spot in a field?”
Bloody hell. If I’m not very quick off the mark here, I’m going to find myself with thirty-two of the little sods swarming all over the place.
I take my glasses off and step forwards.
“I’m so sorry Miss Cooper, I’ll make sure to send in treats for the picnic of course, but I can’t possibly host it. We’ve got guests booked in—summer is our busiest time of year, I’m sure you understand. It’s one of the things I really miss about teaching actually, apart from the kids of course, the six-week school holidays.” I pause. The reference to the long summer holidays will definitely annoy her, just like it used to annoy me when I was teaching, but I don’t really care. “If you think they’d really enjoy meeting the pigs though, I’m sure we can arrange for Patrick to bring them in for a visit—couldn’t we Sally?”
“Oh yes, of course, he can borrow a trailer from Dave—he farms sheep on Exmoor.”
Miss Cooper looks horrified.
“I must be off, so busy, but let us know. Sally, do you want a lift to work?”
“That would be great.”
We sit in the car trying to stop laughing.
“I’m fine walking to the hotel Moll.”
“I know, but I’m going that way.”
“She’s got a bloody cheek you know. She never asks any of the county set to do stuff like that, they never lift a finger.”
“I think she’s got us down as complete idiots after we did the egg stall.”
“I think you might have just got us off the idiot list Moll.”
I start driving along the coast road to the hotel.
“How was Stephen then—still on top form?”
“Yes and very tanned. He says he spends all the time working but he still manages to get a very impressive tan. He’s off again tomorrow for work, so it was just a quick drink. He had some work to finish, and I had to get back for the boys.”
“So no snogging?”
“Not in the middle of the wine bar, no. It was a drink Sal, not Nine and a Half Weeks.”
“I love Mickey Rourke, especially before his face went all weird.”
“I know you do.”
“I tried that fridge thing once, with Patrick—you know, in the film, where he feeds her food and it drips everywhere?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“He didn’t really get it, so we ended up making a sandwich.”
“Bless.”
We’re both giggling again.
“This really isn’t helping my hangover Sal. I think I’d better have some more coffee before I start on the gatehouse. We’ve got to be ready by the weekend so Lola can be our first trial guest, see if we’ve missed anything. And we’ve got B-and-B people in tomorrow, and another two next week, so it’s a bit full on. And then next Friday the first proper guests are booked in the gatehouse for a week, which is rather scary.”
“You’ll be fine. I can always come over if you need a hand.”
I turn into the hotel car park and wave at two of the chambermaids, who are standing behind the bins having a clandestine cigarette.
“They should both be upstairs cleaning.”
“I don’t think they expected you to arrive by car, give them a break.”
“Oh sure, I’ll give them a break. They can have a nice long one if they don’t buck their ideas up. They’re always disappearing when you want them. I think I’ll split them up, put them on different floors. Thanks Moll. Morning Tiffany, Chantelle—all the rooms on your floor finished, are they?”
Vicky is waiting at the gatehouse when I get back, and she’s making a pot of coffee, thank God.
“I’ve brought croissants too; I thought we might need a bit of a boost. Is the water hot?”
“It should be, I set the boiler to twice a day.”
“We’ve only got downstairs to clean and we’ll be done.”
She hands me a mug of coffee.
“Apart from all the unpacking and tweaking.”
“Yes, but that’s the fun part. And I prefer to call it ‘dressing,’ thanks. I ‘dress’ rooms, I don’t ‘tweak’ them.”
“Sorry.”
She grins.
“Here.”
She hands me a croissant.
“Thanks Vicky, this is just what I need.”
“Don’t let me forget to take more pictures. I need them for the website. I uploaded the upstairs ones last night—do you want to see?”
“Yes please.”
She opens her laptop and starts clicking away.
“Oh Vicky, they look great.”
“All part of the service, madam. Right, what’s first?”
“Just let me finish this and I’ll start on giving the kitchen a proper clean.”
“I’ll do that.”
“No, you do the dressing thing, I’ve brought the books, they’re in the car. I got some for babies too—I asked the boys if they’d let me have some of their old ones, I only wanted a few of their old picture books—they never look at them—but they were so outraged they spent ages sorting through all their books, so I didn’t sneak any out. They found all sorts of things they’d forgotten, so all three of them ended up reading, for nearly two hours—it was great. I nearly rang The Guinness Book of Records.”
She smiles.
“Daisy does that too. If her room gets too crazy, Bea gets a cardboard box and says we need to take a few bits to charity and she tidies up at the speed of light.”
“Top tip—I must try that.”
She brings the books in from the car.
“Oh, I love this one, I remember reading it to Daisy. These are great, Molly. We might get a few people bringing babies, they’ll love this, I’ve put a No Children Over Two restriction on for bookings, and they can see there’s only one bedroom, so that should take care of anyone wanting to bring bigger kids.”
“I keep wondering if we should have put in for planning permission and put an extension on for the bathroom, gone for two bedrooms. But it would have taken ages and blown my budget completely.”
“No, it works perfectly as it is. The proportions are right, and Bea says they’re getting a lot more picky about people sticking extensions on lovely old buildings like this. Anyway, when you do the stables, you’ll have two-bedroom rentals to add to your portfolio, won’t you?”
“That sounds good. A portfolio.”
“I’m learning the agency lingo. Shall I unpack the rest of the china too?”
“Great, and I’ll find the rubber gloves and give the kitchen cupboards a good clean, before Ivy sees them.”
We both smile.
It’s been great seeing everything starting to come together over the past couple of weeks. The wood floors look transformed, newly sanded and stained, and we’ve put sisal matting down in the kitchen and underneath the dining table, and a thick wool rug in front of the new log-burning stove. The combination of blues and greens downstairs makes everything look fresh and elegant, acid greens and cornflower blues, with cushions and throws on the slate tweed sofa and armchair. Vicky has worked wonders finding things which look expensive, mixing in cheaper fabrics for cushions and the blinds, and the polka-dot curtains we made for the kitchen. All my boot-fair finds of old blue-and-white china will look great on the dresser, and I’ve put a large blue glass jug filled with dried alliums from the garden on the windowsill by the front door. The glass sparkles in the sunlight, and the soft, chalky paint on the walls and duck-egg blue in the kitchen somehow brings everything together, even if it did take four coats.
Upstairs we’ve gone for toasted-almond-and-cream paintwork in the bedroom and a soft pinky cream in the bathroom, with wallpaper Vicky found of March hares leaping, in a pretty pale butterscotch and white. It cost a fortune, but we’ve only done the end-gable wall, and it makes the whole room look like something you’d see in a magazine feature on luxury bathrooms. There’s a plain white freestanding bath in front of the window, which is so big Mr. Stebbings had to take the window frame out to get it in, and a separate shower, and a comfy slipper chair covered in some special soft-white Italian rubber, which Vicky got at a huge discount from one of her trendy suppliers. Even after the discount she negotiated, it still cost a fortune, but with the wallpaper, it makes the room look designerly without being clinical. And I’ve bought thick white towels and bathmats, and cotton bed linen in creams and caramels, with butterscotch-and-cream check linen curtains with thick linings for guests who don’t want to wake up at dawn.
I’m cleaning the kitchen windows when Mum arrives.
“I thought you might like a sandwich. I’ve brought one for Vicky too. Doesn’t it all look lovely?”
“Thanks, Mum. She’s just left, she’ll be back tomorrow, but I think we’re getting there.”
“Ivy’s been telling me all about the rabbit wallpaper in the bathroom. Can I go up and have a look?”
“Sure, and it’s hares, Mum, not rabbits. Go up and see, and I’ll put the kettle on.”
We sit at the dining table.
“Thanks, Mum, this is great. I didn’t know I’d got so hungry.”
I’ve eaten Vicky’s sandwich as well as my own.
“It was Ivy who made them. She was making lunch and she was all for sending Dennis down to fetch you both, so I said I’d bring them down. You’ve worked wonders here, you really have. I quite fancy the idea of booking in for a few nights. Although what your father would say heaven alone knows. What’s this?”
She picks up the blue suede folder Vicky left on the dresser.
“We’re making up a book for guests, leaflets on local things to do, bus timetables, tide times. Vicky’s putting the final touches to the how-to notes tonight: how to switch the boiler on, what day the bins are collected, what day we’ll change the linen—that kind of thing.”
“This jug is pretty. Is this one you found at one of your markets?”
“Yes, it was only a couple of quid. I thought I’d fill it with roses, if Dennis will let me have any.”
We both smile.
“I’ve been in the garden with him and Celia this morning, starting lifting up paving stones to see if they can work out what’s happened to the pipes for the fountain. Did you know she’s Flora?”
“Who is?”
“The statue. It’s the goddess Flora, and the water she pours from her jug represents Spring, or it will do if they can ever get it working. Edward was helping them. He’s such a nice man, isn’t he? He was doing most of the lifting until the man arrived to tune the piano.”
“Good. I was hoping I’d miss that.”
“You should have heard them, he ended up playing tunes with Bertie and Betty while the piano tuner had a cup of tea—they had us all in stitches. I didn’t know he could play so well. Terrible about his parents isn’t it, sound like nasty sort of people to me. Celia says they’re so cross they’re not speaking to her either now. I think she’s quite enjoying that, though.”
“Yes, I think she is.”
“She was telling me all about her new cottage, and how Mr. Stebbings will be doing it, before he starts on your stables.”
“That’s right, if I can get the plans approved and all the paperwork sorted with the bank.”
“Celia was saying her new cottage is up on the hillside, behind the harbour.”
“Yes, in the lanes, right up at the top.”
“She said the garden needs a complete overhaul. It’s steep and terraced, but it’s got out of control, so she’s thinking of alpines, only she doesn’t know much about them. She said Helena told her I had a lovely rockery at the old house, so she was hoping I’d give her some tips. Wasn’t that nice?”
“Well you did Mum. The whole garden was lovely.”
“I’ve said I’ll be happy to help, but I’ll want to make sure I have time to help out here too. I enjoy it and I don’t care what your father says. I like feeling useful, and it’s not him stuck indoors all day, is it? It won’t hurt him to have a sandwich for lunch occasionally. I always leave everything ready for him in the fridge, and I always make a proper cooked meal in the evenings.”
“I know you do Mum, and you are useful, very useful. But you can come and just sit in the garden and read a book you know. Harrington is a part of you too.”
She seems very pleased with this, and gives me a hug.
“Look at the time—I better get to the shops. I want to get some pork chops for supper. But make sure you have an early night tonight—you don’t want to get exhausted before the first guests arrive.”
I think that ship may already have set sail some time ago, but never mind.
“Thanks Mum.”
I’m rather impressed she’s decided Dad can cope with the occasional sandwich for lunch. I just hope she sticks to it. We’ve spent years avoiding him getting into a temper, and mealtimes were always particularly bad, with her looking nervous and fussing. It’s no wonder I love picnics so much—they were the only time we didn’t have to worry about Dad getting into a strop. We’d sit on the picnic blanket in the garden, or on the beach, with nobody yelling about sitting up straight or not eating too quickly. Actually maybe we can have a picnic at the weekend, if the weather holds, although possibly not within sight of the pigs, not unless we want to share all of our food.
We’re in the garden after school, and I’m enjoying a quick ten minutes of deadheading roses while Ben picks peppers and tomatoes for supper. It’s surprisingly relaxing wandering around with a basket snipping off fading flowers and taking the petals indoors to dry. I’ll cut the lavender soon and dry that as well. On days like this I could seriously get into this gardening lark.
“Mind you don’t go cutting any of those for your vases.”
“Without permission Dennis, would I dare? Ben’s in the kitchen garden picking tomatoes for tea, I hope that’s okay?”
“I’ve just seen him. He’s got all the makings of a proper little gardener, that one—reminds me of our Michael at that age.”
“He really enjoys it. I was just going to take these in and make some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“No, I’m keeping out of Ivy’s way. She’s in a mood today, always the same the day after our Michael phones.”
“You must both miss him. How long has he been in Australia now?”
“Nearly ten years. The littlest one was born out there. She’s moved her mother out there now, my daughter-in-law, she lives in a bungalow near them. Wouldn’t fancy that if I was him, your mother-in-law moving all that way to keep an eye on you. Ivy’s mother was bad enough, when we were first married, always popping round to poke her nose in, but you move round a lot with the navy, and that soon got rid of her. Still, he’s got himself a good job and a big house with a pool and all sorts, so he made the right decision.”
“It’s such a long way though. Have you ever thought of going over to see them all?”
Please God he doesn’t say, “Yes, we’re going next week,” or I will be well and truly buggered as Uncle Bertie would say.
“Not really. His wife, Christine, well she’s a nice enough girl, but she and Ivy fell out over the wedding. Ivy was only trying to help, but Christine and her mother wanted everything done their way, and then, well, it just carried on that way when Joshua was born. Which I suppose is to be expected—a girl wants her mother at a time like that. I know that. But Ivy felt shut out. We didn’t have the space for them to stay with us, and money was a bit tight, and one thing led to another and they stopped coming. And then they told us they were emigrating, and that was that. She and Ivy are too alike—that’s the trouble. They both said things they shouldn’t have said, silly little things. I bet if you asked them, neither of them could remember it now, but one thing led to another, and they ended up not speaking. Still don’t. He rings us every few weeks, and we speak to the boys, but she never comes on the line.”
“What a shame.”
“It is. And Ivy minds, I know she does. She won’t say, but I can tell.”
“Can’t we do something?”
He smiles.
“I’ve been thinking about that. There’s no point trying to get Ivy to back down, got to go round sideways if you want her to change her mind—after being married to her so long, I’ve learnt that if I’ve learnt nothing else. But it’ll be our golden wedding the year after next, so I thought I’d see if he’d come over for that. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea, but why wait? Why don’t we have a party for her birthday and invite them over for that. Actually, when is her birthday?”
“The end of September, but she doesn’t like a fuss. Well, she says she doesn’t, but I’d never hear the end of it if I forgot.”
“Do you think they’d be able to come?”
“Our Michael’s like me—anything to keep the peace, but I know it bothers him, so I know he’ll try his best. And Ivy would be tickled pink. But I think we should keep it quiet, or she’ll fret about it, and you know how she gets when she’s got a bee in her bonnet. And I’d want to ask Mr. Bertie—he’s very good at keeping secrets, and he knows her very well, I’d want to have his opinion. I wouldn’t feel right not discussing it with him.”
“Of course, and if he thinks it’s a good idea, they can stay in the house. I can reserve the B-and-B rooms and she won’t suspect a thing. I’ll make up a name, and it will be my treat Dennis—the party and everything. If they can get cheap flights, then I’d really like to cover everything else. I’ve been wanting to find a way to thank you both.”
He smiles.
“Let’s see what Mr. Bertie thinks, but I think you might be on to something. And you’re right, no point in waiting. Been long overdue as it is.”
He’s whistling as he walks towards the orchard, unlike Ivy who is banging saucepans around and muttering when I get back into the house.
“Is Mr. Bertie still out there? Silly man won’t sit still for more than five minutes before he’s off making mischief somewhere.”
“I’m not sure Ivy. I haven’t seen him.”
“I’ve made you an apple pie for supper; it’s in the bottom oven keeping warm.”
“Thanks Ivy.”
“Mr. Edward asked for it special, poor thing. He says he’s always been partial to apple pie. I don’t think anyone has fed him properly for years.”
“Probably not. It’s lucky he’s here now so you can rescue him before he gets rickets.”
She hesitates, and then smiles.
“I like to see people eating up.”
“That’s good, because we all love your food.”
“Apart from Mr. Bertie—he only picked at his lunch today, he’s always been a fusspot. And I know he’s never been that keen on liver and onions, but it builds you up. I’ve got some for our dinner tonight, with a bit of bacon. No doubt Dennis will twist his face as well, but it’s good for you, so he’ll just have to lump it.”
“Right.”
Bloody hell. I seriously hope she likes the surprise party, if Bertie gives it the green light, or I think we might all find ourselves eating quite a bit of liver. Yuck.
“Mum, what’s for supper?”
I’m half tempted to say “liver and onions,” just to see Dan’s face.
“Tuna quiche and salad, and Ivy’s made an apple pie for pud.”
“Great. Shall I lay the table?”
“Yes please love, although it’ll be a while yet.”
“Okay, I’ll do my homework first, and then I’ll set the table.”
“Thanks love.”
“It’s fine, Mum, I know how hard you’ve been working.”
He trots off upstairs, and Ivy and I exchange glances.
“Either he’s starving, he’s broken something, or he wants something. Fingers crossed it’s food he wants.”
She nods.
I’m making a salad with the tomatoes Ben picked, and I can’t resist eating a couple while I’m chopping. They taste so different from shop-bought ones, it’s the same with the lettuce and the cucumber—straight from the garden, they taste so much fresher. And the really brilliant bit is I don’t have to be the person who grubs about in the mud growing them. Dan is still being hyperhelpful, and is now offering to shut the chickens up for the night later on, if I could just let him know when I’d like him to do it.
“Okay, I give up, what have you broken?”
“I don’t know what you mean, can’t I just be helpful without getting the third degree?”
“Okay, sorry, so what do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
He grins.
“Well, it’s just this party I’d like to go to, but we can talk about it later—it’s no big deal.”
“Nice try love. What party?”
“Robbie’s mum has already said he can go. It’s on Saturday night, in a couple of weeks, on the beach. One of the lifeguards, Jack, he’s eighteen, and he’s invited everyone from the club, and loads of his mates too, for a beach party, with a barbecue. It’s going to be epic.”
“Eighteen is a lot older than fourteen love.”
“Yes, but I’m nearly fifteen.”
“Not until next month you’re not, and you know what I mean. I’m guessing people will be drinking, and doing all sorts of other things too probably.”
“Oh God, this isn’t going to be another one of your sex-and-drugs chats is it? Please, they’re so embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as finding yourself with a toddler before you’re old enough to vote, trust me.”
“Please don’t go into one Mum. I know the drill.”
He adopts a rather tragic pose.
“ ‘Make sure it’s someone special, make sure you’re careful, watch out for scary diseases, and watch out for naughty men who try to get you into their cars,’ blah blah blah. I promise, okay? If the glorious day ever comes, I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Good. And I’m not sure anyone would try to get you into their car Dan, not unless they were completely insane.”
He grins.
“Anyway I wouldn’t start looping out about it Mum, I haven’t even persuaded her to talk to me yet.”
“Who?”
“Freya?”
So it’s still Freya then, oh dear. Even as his mother, and hugely biased, I can see she might be a tiny bit out of his league: tall, blond, and looking every inch the poster girl for the joys of surfing, she’s also clever and in the same top classes at school as Dan.
“Don’t you ever talk in History or English? She’s in your group for those isn’t she?”
“Yes, and sometimes we do, but not out of school.”
“Girls like clever boys love, if they’re clever too. Just try to relax and be yourself.”
“Like I’m going to be able to pull that off. Last time I tried to talk to her, my voice went all weird.”
“Focus on school, where she can see you shine.”
“There’s only three weeks left before the holidays, and anyway, I think ‘shine’ might be pushing it a bit Mum.”
“Not if you do your homework. Won’t you have a holiday project, for English?”
“Yes, Mr. Ellingham has already told us, but its crap, he wants us to write about our summer. Honestly. Couldn’t he have thought of something more boring?”
“What books are on your course list for next year?”
“Pride and stupid Prejudice, and I’ve seen the film, and I don’t get why that wanker Darcy doesn’t just get on with it.”
“Probably the same reason you don’t declare your intentions to Freya.”
“I would if I had a great big house like he does.”
“But he does, and she turns him down.”
“Yes, but that was his own fault, for being such an arse.”
“Maybe you could write about different kinds of prejudice, things you’ve seen over the summer.”
“What prejudice? It’s pretty cool down here Mum.”
“Everyone is prejudiced against the tourists though, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but they deserve it. Although Mr. Ellingham did say we could make stuff up too, so you can write about the summer you wished you had, and compare it to the one you actually got, so maybe I could do some Pride and Prejudice stuff in that. Cool. Thanks Mum.”
I think Mr. Ellingham is being rather brave asking teenage boys to write about the kind of summer they wished they’d had. I’m guessing girls in bikinis may feature in quite a few of the essays which get handed in.
“Just make sure you write something he can read out to the class, something that shows what a creative genius you are.”
He grins.
“And I’d like to read it, when you’re done.”
He tuts.
“So can I go then, to the party?”
“I suppose so, if you promise to be sensible. I’ll come and pick you up, at eleven?”
“It won’t even be properly started by then Mum. And you can’t come and get me—everyone will get cabs.”
“Midnight and I’ll come and collect you. You haven’t got money for cabs, and neither have I. And I won’t sleep until you’re home safe. So take it or leave it.”
He tuts again, but he’s smiling as he goes upstairs.
I’ve just settled Alfie into bed when Stephen calls.
“Hi Molly. Bea tells me the gatehouse is nearly finished.”
“Yes, it’s looking great, mostly due to Bea and Vicky—they’ve been brilliant. You must come and see. How is… where are you again?”
“Barcelona, and it’s good, thanks. The job’s going well, and I’m thinking about opening a European office. We’re up for a couple of big projects, and if we get them—which I’m reliably informed we will—then the new office will be part of the deal.”
“How exciting.”
“Yes, it is rather. I’ll still be based at home of course—got to keep the core business ticking over. Anyway, enough business. I’m calling to invite you to a ball.”
“Sorry?”
“White ties, tiaras, that sort of thing. Lucinda Langdon-Hill is on the committee. She’s been badgering me about tickets, they do it every year, and it’s usually pretty good. Chance to wear a long frock and glam up for the evening. They do all rather go to town with their outfits.”
Oh God.
“I haven’t actually got a long frock Stephen. I haven’t got many short ones either to be honest. But thank you, for the invitation.”
“Good excuse to go shopping.”
“It doesn’t really sound like my sort of thing but…”
“It raises lots of funds for charity. Last time it was retired racehorses I think, and the local Tory party.”
“All causes dear to my heart.”
He laughs.
“There is that.”
“I’ve only just managed to persuade Lucinda that I don’t want to be on her Ladies Who Lunch list. I don’t want to start her off all over again. I’m sorry, but thank you for asking me.”
“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose I can see if Bea is free that night—it will be very useful for work.”
Poor Bea.
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll fix up another dinner when I’m back?”
Oh dear, I’m not sure I’ve handled this very well. But seriously, a long frock and a load of hideous county types. I’d rather stick pins in my legs.
“That would be lovely.”
“Night Molly.”
“Night Stephen, and thanks for calling.”
Oh God, I’ve done it again. Thanks for calling. Christ. I know he’s smiling now—I can almost hear it.
“My pleasure.”
It’s Saturday afternoon and we’ve got a full house. Lola and Tre arrived late last night, and Sam and his wife Angie have just arrived, with their kids, Silas and Ruby. I’d forgotten how much I like Pete’s brother, and Angie arrived with two bags full of the kind of treats you don’t often buy for yourself: posh pasta, jars of artichokes and peppers, a huge chunk of Parmesan, all sorts of delights from a smart Italian deli, as well as a fabulous collection of chocolates and a big box of Turkish Delight. So she’s a strong contender for Star Guest of the Year. They’re out in the orchard while the kids have a run around and meet the pigs, and I’m in the kitchen with Lola, making coffee.
“So you really liked it then—no snags at all?”
“It’s great, comfy, but gorgeous too, and the bathroom’s perfect. Very designerly. Talking of which, what’s the latest from the architect?”
“He’s away again; we’re having dinner when he’s back, at least I think we are, if he’s got over me refusing to go to the local Tory ball with him. As if.”
“So you’ll be selling the house and giving all the money to poor people will you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I want to go to a ball with the kind of local snooters who think poor people are scum.”
“You could have worn your necklace.”
“Oh well that’s different then. If I can wear an emerald necklace which isn’t really mine and I get to show off, I’m definitely going. What was I thinking?”
She shakes her head.
“Alright Comrade, but if I find you a champagne socialist ball to go to in town, then will you wear your emeralds? I know property is theft, but until the glorious revolution Helena left them to you, so they’re yours. And I want to see you wearing them.”
“Sure. At least the other guests wouldn’t make you want to shoot yourself, or them. They still go hunting round here you know. Some of them make Attila the Hun look like a wet liberal.”
“Leave it with me. Actually, have we got any champagne? We could have a practice run.”
“Not that I know of, but ask Bertie—he’s in charge of booze supplies, and he’s got all sorts stashed away in that cellar. Let’s take the coffees out.”
Lola is watching Eddie, who has turned out to be a very handy pig rustler and is busy getting Squeak back the right side of the electric fence after another dash for freedom before he knows what’s happening and starts to eat Eddie’s Wellies.
“You didn’t mention he was so gorgeous, he could get gigs as a model if the music thing doesn’t pan out.”
“Who, Squeak?”
“No you idiot, your young Mr. Edward. The upper-class Burberry look is very in right now. Very postmodern Brideshead Revisited meets Downton Abbey, and all that bollocks. Does he have a tweed suit?”
“I haven’t asked him.”
“I was watching Cool Hand Luke the other day, and there’s a touch of the young Paul Newman about him you know. He was gorgeous, a nice man too apparently, which is rare. He could be devastating in white tie and tails.”
“Are we still talking about Paul Newman?”
“You should hold a posh dinner party, make everyone dress up. You’ll see what I mean. He’ll look stunning. And he keeps looking at you, I’ve seen him.”
“He does not.”
“He does, when he thinks you won’t notice. If you got a move on you could have a very diverting summer darling. Try a little flirting to start things off, bring him out of his shell.”
“He’s already out of his shell Lola. He’s thrown everything up in the air, stood up to his parents, which according to Celia takes some doing, and now he’s trying to work out what he wants to do next. The last thing he needs is a middle-aged woman trying to flirt with him. And anyway, I’ve no idea how to do flirting, I’m out of practice, and you were always the expert, even when we were at university, you were the one who could flirt better than anyone else I know.”
“First of all you are not middle-aged. Because if you are, then I am, and that’s completely ridiculous.”
“I’m forty next year Lola, almost old enough to be his mother.”
“Forty is the new thirty, and no way is that middle-aged. And unless you had him when you were twelve, you’re not old enough to be his mother, so stop it right now. Just stick on something tight with a few buttons undone and see what happens.”
“Does the phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ ring any bells?”
“No, but ‘lamb dressed as mutton’ does. Honestly darling, what about that green skirt I gave you at Christmas? I bet you haven’t even worn it once.”
“The one I’m meant to wear with black woolly tights and boots, so I look like I’m channeling Robin Hood? Anyway it’s way too hot for summer—I’d be boiling hot.”
She laughs.
“Oh alright, but wear a dress tonight for the beach party, promise?”
“No, I’m wearing jeans, and so will you unless you want a sandy bottom.”
“I give up.”
“Good.”
“It’s a crying shame though.”
“Maybe, but at least this way nobody will end up actually crying.”
The pigs are playing football with the kids, with the new toy Ben found for them on the Web: a ball with holes in it—you fill it with pellets of food, which fall out of the holes whenever the ball rolls. They spend hours pushing the ball around with their snouts, running as fast as they can, with accompanying squeaking and grunting every time pellet of food falls out.
Sam is very impressed.
“I didn’t know pigs played football.”
“They do down here.”
He laughs.
“Are they always that muddy?”
“No, but the mud helps stop them getting too sunburnt, so the boys dug a wallow for them. It was either that or keep covering them in sunscreen.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He grins.
“It’s a whole new world, isn’t it love?”
“Tell me about it. Have you met the chickens yet?”
Angie and Cool Hand Eddie help me to make a quick supper of spaghetti and salad, and then we head down to the beach. I surreptitiously try to see if I can pick up any signs of longing looks, but I can’t, and anyway it’s making me go all self-conscious. It’s bound to be Lola imagining things, just like she did when I started going out with Pete and she set me up on a blind date with Luke Harris, who she claimed was keen on me, only it turned out he was madly in love with Lola and spent the whole night talking about her and asking me for top tips to get her attention.
The boys have been planning a campfire for days, collecting twigs and persuading Eddie to saw up some of the branches and a couple of big logs from the wood store drying in the stables. We’ve got hot dogs and veggie burgers, and marshmallows to toast on sticks, and we’ve taken folding chairs down for any grown-ups that aren’t keen on sitting on the sand. Celia and Bertie are helping them avoid setting fire to their sticks, or each other, while Sam helps me carry extra rugs down, and a bag full of towels and spare tops.
“Are we going swimming then?”
“Not in theory, no, but someone is bound to fancy a paddle and end up falling flat on their face. My money’s on Alfie.”
“I think my Silas might give you a run for your money on that one. Fancy a quick wager: a fiver for the first person whose kid ends up soaked?”
“You’re on.”
“I can’t believe how big the three of them are now. The country life definitely agrees with them, looks like it agrees with all of you, you look ten years younger darling, you really do. Unlike Pete—who looks older every time I see him. I met him for a drink a few weeks ago, god, he can be boring. He’s seriously pissed off you’ve got this place isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
We both smile.
“So I wanted to say, well, I’m sorry my brother is such a total arse, and if you ever need anything, just call, okay? Me and Ange talked about it, and I promised I’d mention it. Not that it looks like you’ll need any help. You’re making a real go of it here—anyone can see that—but if you ever do, family comes first and all that bollocks, yes?”
“Thanks Sam.”
“I mean it. I don’t want you thinking all the men in our family are tossers.”
“I hope not, or I’m in big trouble when my three are grown up.”
“Good point. Right. Okay, just wanted to say, you know, well done, and sorry about my idiot brother. Do you think there’ll be any marshmallows left by the time we get back down there?”
“Not a chance. But I hid two more packets, in the bag with the towels.”
“Good thinking. Come on, I’ll race you.”
Alfie is already soaked by the time we get down to the beach, and is now standing wrapped in a rug while Dan tries to dry his T-shirt by holding it very close to the fire.
“Did we say a fiver?”
Sam sighs.
“You can go right off people you know Molly, right off.”
“Alfie, come here, I’ve got dry things in the bag, but you’re not to go in the sea again, promise? Dan, thanks love. Just give it to me. He can put it back on if he’s going for another paddle, and it’ll be wet again in no time.”
“I love it here Molly, it’s brilliant. Is it always like this?”
“Not in the middle of winter, no Angie.”
She smiles.
“But no regrets, about leaving London?”
“No, we all love it here now.”
Lola raises her glass.
“I’ll drink to that. What about you Eddie, anything you miss? Were you one of those City boys who spend all day on the phone yelling ‘Buy six million at forty-three and sell at seventy’?”
“Good God no, nothing so exciting. I worked at one of the big law firms, in the property division. I had no idea what was going on half the time, I was in Wills and Estates before that, and that was even worse.”
“I had no idea you could draft wills Edward.”
“Please don’t tell me you haven’t got a will Aunt Celia.”
“Of course I have my boy. Helena introduced me to her chap, sorted it all for me in no time.”
“Well, thank heavens for that. You wouldn’t believe the number of times people ended up asking me to write their will at one of Mother’s hideous dinner parties, or to look at one they wanted to challenge—it was appalling.”
Lola laughs.
“Like when you’re a doctor and people tell you all their symptoms over supper?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I wonder if people do that to Mr. Crouch. I must ask him when I see him next week.”
“Helena’s solicitor—well mine now too, I suppose. He made me update mine when I inherited Harrington. Oh, I’ve just thought, I could ask him if he has any part-time work available if you like, I’m sure they could always use a whizz kid from London, if you’re interested?”
“Less of the whizz I’m afraid. I was completely out of my depth most of the time, and the rest of time, well, you know those films where people turn to stone, or ice, and you see them slowly freezing up, from their fingertips, stuck in the same position for years? Well, it was just like that. I could literally feel myself calcifying.”
Bertie raises his glass.
“Good for you my boy. Here’s to melting hearts of stone.”
We all raise our glasses.
“Mum, Ben has knocked my marshmallow off my stick on purpose. Again.”
“I’m sure he didn’t Alfie.”
“Mine’s fell off too.”
Silas holds up a rather charred-looking stick.
“Here, let me help you. The trick is avoiding getting too close to the flames.”
Bertie puts another marshmallow on his stick and pats Alfie on top of his head.
“Anyone for a cocktail, liven things up? We could send one of the ankle biters up for supplies. Oh, thank you Eddie, good man. Just bring a selection down, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
Thankfully I remembered I was making breakfast for everyone last night, so I refrained from cocktailing, and manage to make endless bacon rolls for everyone this morning without requiring the assistance of painkillers. I’ve got the bacon-roll production-line routine down to a fine art now. It’s the breakfast of choice for Dan and Alfie, with Ben opting for a fried egg roll instead, now I’ve finally managed to convince them they’re not allowed to order a Full English just because we’ve got B&B guests. And Mr. Stebbings and his workforce were very partial to a midmorning bacon roll too. So if the holiday-rental idea doesn’t work, I could always buy a van and drive round selling bacon rolls.
Lola and Tre still haven’t emerged, so the rest of us sit reading the Sunday papers in the library, while I work out how long the leg of lamb will take to cook. Sam seems fairly perky too, but I think he’s pretty used to the morning after the night before.
Eddie brings in some more coffee, and hands Sam a cup.
“I hear you want to run away to the circus. Let’s hear what you’ve got then?”
“Oh God, right now?”
“Yup, unless you’ve got something better to do?”
“No, of course, it’s just, well, I didn’t want to presume, or be pushy or anything, so I haven’t prepared anything.”
“Well that’s your first mistake mate, you need to get over that if you want to survive in the music business. Be as pushy as you can, whenever you can. Ange my darling, can you make sure the kids don’t barge in. And Molly and Celia, if could you give us ten minutes—if that’s alright with you Bertie?”
“Thrown out of my own library, thin end of the wedge if you ask me.”
He pauses, and pats Eddie on the shoulder.
“Best of luck my boy.”
Eddie sits down at the piano, looking white-faced and nervous.
“Could you possibly take Betty with you? She does tend to join in.”
We stand outside the door, while Eddie sings two songs I’ve never heard before. Celia is holding my hand, quite tightly actually.
Suddenly the door opens.
“What are you all doing standing here whispering? He’s not half bad, is he? Right, are we having a walk before lunch, or what?”
He turns to Eddie, who is still sitting at the piano, looking rather shocked.
“I’ll make a few calls. I’m not promising anything, but you should definitely try to get a few gigs in local pubs, that kind of thing, and keep writing—that last one was pretty decent.”
“Thank you, so much. I can’t tell you what it means to me to have someone tell you you’re not completely hopeless.”
“I’ve been telling you that for ages Edward.”
“Yes, sorry Aunt Celia.”
“Anyone for a sharpener before lunch? About that time I think. Might fire the cannon later. Young Edward can be my second in command—Dennis has showed him the ropes, round off the weekend nicely.”
Oh God.
“Polly put the kettle on.”
“Thank you Betty, I was just about to. And Bertie, could we leave the cannon until after lunch? I’m not sure Lola and Tre are up yet.”
“Fair enough.”
“Knob.”
“I’ve no idea why she keeps saying that.”
Sam is trying not to laugh.
Oh God.
“Hi Molly. Sorry it’s late, but I wanted to let you know straightaway.”
“It’s fine Vicky—I was just watching telly. Let me know what?”
“We’ve got another booking, for October, so that’s all of August, three weeks in September, two in October, and one in November, and they booked at the four-hundred-fifty-pounds-a-week rate, so I think we should leave the autumn rates as they are.”
“That’s brilliant Vicky, completely brilliant.”
“I thought you’d be pleased. Did Lucas and Jenny arrive okay?”
“Yup, and they loved the grocery basket. And the baby’s really sweet—just four months old, I think they said. I even got a quick cuddle while they unpacked the car—I’d forgotten how much kit babies need. Lucas is a graphic designer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I don’t know either of them that well. Jenny knows my friend Carla. I think I met them once at a party.”
“Well, your word-of-mouth campaign is definitely working. And you could see he was impressed, particularly with the bathroom.”
“Well that’s good because I’ve been thinking that we could really go to town on the bathrooms in the stables—they’ll be bigger, for a start.”
“I’ve been thinking the same. I’ve started collecting pictures. I’ve seen a fabulous copper bath. It costs a fortune, but it looks amazing.”
“Ooh, I love them. Have you decided about Christmas yet? It’s fine to close until January, you know. Lots of places do.”
“I think we’ll close over Christmas, and that way we can all have a proper break, but let’s leave it open for New Year and see if we get any bookings.”
“Great. I thought I’d call by tomorrow and say hello. Check they’ve got everything they need.”
“Come up for a coffee afterwards, and tell me what they say.”
It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve just taken some fresh eggs down to Lucas and Jenny in the gatehouse. They seem to be loving it, and are already talking about booking another week next spring. I must remind Vicky to add a playpen to the baby kit we’re going to offer as an added extra for bookings. With a decent travel cot and a highchair, and a few other bits of essential kit, like a steriliser, it will save people lugging all their stuff with them. We’ve tried the idea out on Jenny and she thinks people would be more than happy to pay a bit extra. So everything is going really well, apart from Dan’s party last night.
He’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking very pale. He could barely walk straight when I picked him up, and I had to stop the car for him to be sick, so I’m still half-furious with him, and half-relieved I insisted on picking him up. God knows how drunk he would have got if he’d stayed out much later.
“You’re very quiet this morning Danny boy.”
“I think he might have his first hangover Bertie.”
“Poor chap. Shall I make him one of my special pick-you-ups?”
“Don’t you dare. He’s not old enough for any of that nonsense, and when he is, if he wants to go out and get into a total state, he needs to know how rubbish you feel the next day.”
Bertie chuckles and wanders off.
“Dan.”
“Mum please, I know. I feel totally crap. Please don’t give me a lecture. I promise I won’t do it again. I was only drinking cider, and that was fine, but then, well, some people had other stuff.”
“Right. And they held you down and forced you to drink it, did they?”
“Mum. Please.”
He really does look like he’s suffering.
“Dry toast, and a glass of water?”
“Yes please. And can I have some headache tablets, please?”
“I’ll get you some paracetemol.”
I leave him sitting huddled and looking tragic, sipping water, while Ben and Alfie rather uncharacteristically manage a quiet breakfast, giving him the occasional sympathetic looks before heading outside to annoy the chickens.
“Thanks Mum.”
“What for?”
“For coming to get me, and for not going on about it.”
“I’m not done yet love. I’m just waiting until you feel a bit better.”
He tries to smile, but can’t quite manage it.
“Seriously Dan.”
“I know, and I won’t be doing it again, don’t worry Mum. I mean, I will be drinking, obviously, but not like that. Some of them could hardly walk, you know.”
“Were there drugs?”
“Dan.”
“No.”
“Dan.”
“A few of them were smoking stuff. That’s all.”
“Right.”
“Not me, so don’t go into one, you’ve gone about it enough. I know it can be dodgy, and anyway I’m in training, I can’t start getting stoned out of my head if I want to make the squad. Okay?”
“Okay. But this is serious Dan. And I’ll know.”
“From your bat-mother radar?”
“Yup. Or you’ll tell me, because you’ll feel even more crap than you do now.”
“I don’t think that’s possible Mum.”
“It is. Trust me. Particularly if one of you ends up drowning or chucking themselves off a cliff because they’re out of their head on God knows what and think they can fly.”
There was a story in the papers a few weeks ago which I made sure I showed to him.
“All sorts of terrible things can happen.”
“I know. Clare Harris ended up snogging Tom Ledley, and she hates him.”
He reaches over and holds my hand.
“I’m not a total twat Mum.”
“You were doing a good impression last night.”
“I know, buts it’s hard, people were smoking and stuff and they all looked pretty chilled.”
“Did they? Well, that’s the tricky bit, isn’t it love, like Russian roulette: five times you’re fine and looking chilled, and then the sixth time it scrambles your brain and you end up thinking you’re Batman.”
“I know. Although they were all so pissed, I don’t see how anyone could have made it onto anything high enough to jump off.”
“Was Freya there?”
“Yes. She sat with us for a bit—me and Robbie—and then she was dancing. She’s a really good dancer, but then she had to go because her dad turned up really early—can you believe it?”
“And did she drink too much as well?”
“No, she was pretty cool actually. She was even cool with her dad.”
I like the sound of this girl more and more.
“Me and Robbie talked about it, and I’m going to play the long game—get fitter and get on the squad, and then I’ll make my move. Robbie’s going to do the same, with Emma, only he’ll have to be quick, because she was dancing with Mark Dawkins and he’s a total shagger, and he’s nearly eighteen. We’re going to sign up for training after school in the gym, running and stuff, and then get the late bus.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“We can only hope. That’s right Mum, isn’t it—you’ve got to have hope?”
“Yes love. And I hope you learnt something else last night too. It’s a good job Freya didn’t see you in such a state. Was Finn okay?”
“You can’t ask me that Mum. You’ll only tell his dad.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“He was fine.”
“But?”
“He was showing off a bit. I didn’t see that much of him actually. He was off with his friends, all the rich kids—they were the ones who were smoking and everything. They’ve got the money for it.”
“Oh, right. Well, that’s a shame.”
“He’s a bit of a wanker actually Mum.”
“Oh right. And what does nearly throwing up in my car make you, a living saint?”
“I said I was sorry Mum—please.”
“Okay, subject closed. Go back and have a bit more sleep. You’ll feel better later. But that had better be the first and last time I ever see you like that, Dan, understand? Otherwise you and I will be having some very serious talks.”
“Will you tell Dad? I could really do without a lecture from him too. Not that I care what he thinks, but you know what he’s like.”
“You do care what he thinks, and yes, I do know what he’s like. So no, I won’t. I trust you. God knows why, but I still do. But you really frightened me Dan. Don’t ever do it again.”
“I won’t Mum, I promise.”
“And when you’re feeling better, I’ll have a list of jobs for you to do.”
“Okay.”
“Really boring jobs.”
“Okay. And thanks Mum. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”
“But not chilled.”
He smiles, and then winces.
“No, not chilled.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
Dan sleeps for most of the day, and Ben and Alfie are busy in the orchard. Apparently we are now building a tree house, so Bertie sits shouting instructions from his chair in the shade of one of the pear trees, while Eddie does the heavy lifting whilst simultaneously trying to avoid bowling over small boys or piglets with the planks. They’re all scampering about in utter bliss, and the chickens are enjoying all the activity too, so there’s a fair bit of fluffing of feathers and little dashes across the orchard to check they’re not missing anything. Gertie’s already taken to perching on the ladder, so perhaps they think it’s a new henhouse.
I’m having dinner with Stephen later in a smart restaurant in Ilfracombe, so I wash my hair and try to make myself look respectable in the navy silk dress I bought for Open Garden Day. I’m wearing the navy high heels Lola made me buy for a wedding a few years ago, as well as the pretty silk scarf with the pink-and-orange roses pattern; if I could find the hat she also made me buy, I’d probably look like I was off to another wedding rather than going out for dinner, but never mind.
Celia and Eddie are in charge of bedtime, so I’m reminding them that Alfie needs to be in bed by eight, when Stephen arrives, wearing white linen trousers with a cream linen jacket, which makes me feel rather overdressed.
“Good evening everyone. Ready to go Molly? I’ve booked us a table outside and they don’t tend to hold them for long, they’re getting so popular now.”
“Sure, I’ll just get my bag.”
Bertie gives him a rather pointed look.
“Evening, Bertie.”
“Been playing cricket?”
“Er, no, I’ve been working. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“Not sure about that. Storm brewing if I’m not mistaken. Molly my dear, you look lovely. Hope you have an enjoyable evening. Right, I’m off on patrol.”
“What’s he patrolling?”
“The beach. In case of invasion.”
“By who?”
“The French, the Russians, who knows, could be anyone. He’s particularly on the alert for weekend sailors at the moment after that one ran aground up the coast in that great big yacht.”
He smiles.
“Right.”
“You can mock, but if any idiot yacht owners who can’t sail their boats end up on our beach, they better be ready for Bertie to fire a warning shot or two.”
“Surely he wouldn’t?”
“If one of us doesn’t get there quick enough he would. Dennis had to stop him firing at someone who’d stopped for a picnic a few years ago, or so he says. I think he was just going to give them a bit of a fright.”
“I should hope so. He could get arrested.”
“Not for firing blank powder he can’t. Dennis has looked into it.”
The restaurant is crowded, but the view over the beach is terrific, and it’s rather glamorous sitting under umbrellas with the lights twinkling and the outdoor heaters on low.
“Do you fancy fruits de mer, they do a sharing plate, looks rather good?”
I’m not a huge fan of shellfish, but he seems very keen.
“Lovely.”
The wine arrives, and the shellfish, and I eat a prawn and a little bit of the crab, and manage to avoid anything which looks like it might still be able to swim if you threw it back into the sea. Stephen doesn’t seem to notice and is busy slurping away at oysters and winkling out cockles with a special fork with a prong.
“This is delicious, I must bring Finn here, he loves this kind of thing. I was meant to see him this morning, but Portia called to cancel. He was still in bed feeling a bit under the weather after the party I think. Probably just as well—we’ve got so much work on at the moment, the extra time was extremely useful.”
“I’m not surprised. Dan was in a terrible state when I picked him up.”
“Not very cool, having your mum collect you, is it? Finn insists I give him the money for cabs. He’s made that perfectly clear. Parents not required. I remember being the same at his age. They’ve got to learn, make their own mistakes.”
“I’ve never really got that, the leaving-them-to-make-their-own-mistakes thing. It’s not like you just sit there while they crawl towards the fire when they’re babies, and it just gets more dangerous as they get older.”
“Well, no, obviously. But they need their freedom.”
“Of course, but within limits, don’t you think? They still need you keeping an eye on things. It’s all so much more complicated for them than it was for us.”
He spears another cockle.
“We’re not that ancient Molly. Some things don’t change.”
“No, but the pace of everything has. And the drugs are different now—so much stronger than when we used to sit on the beach having the occasional puff and pretending to be stoned.”
He’s looking rather irritated now.
“Finn needs to go his own way, same as I did at his age.”
Please let him not say he wants to be more like a friend than a dad.
“They cover all that kind of stuff at his school. He seems pretty clued up.”
“One of the things the drugs team used to say when they came into our school when I was teaching was if they have too much cash, it makes them a target. They can’t get into too much trouble if all they can afford is a bottle of cider. It might be worth talking to him about it.”
“I see myself as more of a friend; I’m not really up for being the heavy-handed father.”
“Right.”
“You don’t approve? Being a dad is different to being a mum Molly. Mothers are just so much better at that kind of thing.”
“That’s usually because they have to be.”
“Most men aren’t cut out for that level of detail. We’re more big-picture, women are just better at micromanagement.”
“I hope you’re joking?”
“Look, I seem to have pressed a feminist button here by mistake. Can we rewind?”
He smiles, and suddenly I’m feeling seriously annoyed, and not just about the feminist-button thing. Although if I had one, I’d be pressing it for sure, and if there was any justice, it would be an ejector seat, and it wouldn’t be a button, it would be something bigger, like a giant lever.
He pours more wine into my glass.
“Let’s change the subject. Bea tells me the gatehouse is working out very well, and you’re ready to put the plans in for the stables? Still sure you want to keep things small?”
Right. That’s it. Here goes.
“I did want to talk to you about that, only I’ve been having second thoughts, and maybe you and Roger are right, perhaps I should be looking at a bigger development. Build something bigger, and make some proper money.”
He can’t hide his delight.
“Well good for you. I was sure you’d see sense eventually, and I’d be happy to invest, I really would and I’m sure Roger would too.”
“Do you really think so?”
“He mentioned something about it, a few months ago, in passing, and I’m sure if we came up with the right plans, he’d be interested. He’s keen on expanding, I know that.”
Damn, I knew it. I’m trying to remain calm.
“Is he?”
“Oh definitely, it has so much potential. It could be part of the marketing for the hotel, widen the offer to include apartments and cottages, with the Hall as the hub, with the front office and housekeeping and a few apartments. You could move somewhere new—there’s some land coming up along the coast. I’ve been tipped off about it by a contact at the council, and it would be perfect for you.”
“Right.”
He’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m so glad you’ve thought this through Molly. So glad.”
He takes hold of my hand. Bloody hell.
“So what happens to Bertie?”
“Sorry?”
“Where would Bertie live?”
“I think a project like this could transform things for all of you. We can find him somewhere safe, where he’s looked after as things start to deteriorate—and they will, you know.”
“Enough. I’ve heard enough, thanks.”
“Sorry?”
“There is no project Stephen.”
“But…”
“I wanted to see how you’d react. It was a feminist trick question. You pressed a bigger button than you thought. I’ve already told you what my plans are, but clearly you weren’t listening.”
“But I thought…”
“Yes, I can see what you thought, you and Roger. Make a fuss of her, and she’ll go along with whatever grand scheme the two of you have been hatching to make yourselves even more money—was that the plan?”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve only spoken once or twice about it, nothing more. I think I may have given you the wrong impression. I only offered to invest as a sign of confidence. I thought you’d find it encouraging.”
“Well I don’t. And the Hall is not being turned into a hub. Not while I’m in charge.”
He looks furious now.
“If you can’t see beyond the parochial, there’s really no point in talking about this. You need real vision to make the most of potential like that.”
“I can see way beyond it, thanks. Way past the let’s-make-a-few-quid-and-bugger-everyone-else. Dig up the rose garden and stick Bertie in a home. Do you think they’d let him take Betty? No? I thought not. To be honest, I think it’s your vision which is parochial.”
Actually I’m not entirely sure what “parochial” means, but I’m guessing it’s the kind of snooty thing architects say when you ask for something child-friendly and warm and they give you acres of steel and glass and no bloody bannisters on the stairs.
“In what way? Do enlighten me. Jesus, I doubt you even know what it means.”
Good.
“Oh I think I do Stephen. I just have to look at you and Roger and I get a pretty big clue. I’m keeping faith with what Helena wanted, and keeping my family safe and happy. Not lying on a beach somewhere stoned out of their heads on God knows what while I ponce about being visionary. Otherwise what’s the bloody point? Thank you for dinner, but I think it’s time I left now. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your visionary time—it’s making me feel rather nauseous. But do enjoy your cockles.”
I stand up, and there’s an awkward moment when I notice people are staring, including the waiter, and I’m shaking as I walk into the restaurant and back out into the street, literally shaking as I walk towards the taxi rank. Bloody hell, I keep thinking of other things I wished I’d said on the taxi ride home, but at least I said something. I didn’t just sit there. God, I wish I’d thrown my wine all over his white linen trousers—if we’d been drinking red, that would have been even better. I should have asked for a glass of red wine with my prawns. Bloody cheek. What a total knob, as Dan would say.
I’m exhausted by the time I get home and the adrenaline starts to ebb. Celia and Eddie are sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea.
“The boys were so amusing tonight, we’ve just sat down. Bertie is pretending not to be asleep in the library, but you won’t get any sense out of him, so I wouldn’t bother dear. Did you have a nice evening? You’re home earlier than I expected. Oh my dear, whatever’s the matter?”
Much to my horror I’ve started to cry, and the more I try to stop it, the worse it gets.
“Eddie, get the brandy.”
Celia puts her arm around my shoulder.
“Sit down and tell me, or don’t, up to you, but you need a drink.”
“There’s nothing to tell really.”
“I see. Well, good riddance then.”
“Sorry?”
“Pour her a proper drink Edward. She doesn’t want a sip, she wants a proper drink. He was nowhere near good enough for you, far too pleased with himself, fussy about his clothes too, and I never trust a chap who fusses about his clothes, very bad sign.”
“Right.”
Eddie hands me a tumbler with a very large brandy.
“For what it’s worth, I thought he was a bit of a wanker too.”
“So did I. It’s not that. I’m just furious, that’s all. I’m not heartbroken. And I’m starving. I hardly got to eat anything before I walked out.”
“Oh, well, good.”
“Give me some credit.”
Celia chuckles.
“Sorry my dear. Drink up.”
“I don’t really like brandy Celia. What I’d really like is a cup of tea and a sandwich.”
She takes the glass and knocks it back.
“Follow me, I’ll put the kettle on. Oh I say, I’d forgotten how good a really decent brandy can be. That’s one thing you can always rely on Bertie for—he keeps a jolly decent cellar. Always has.”
Ivy has clearly been updated by Celia by the time I get back from dropping Ben and Alfie at school the next morning.
“Sit down and take the weight off your feet dear. I gather we won’t be seeing any more of Mr. Jackson then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well good, because I never liked him. I didn’t like to say, but he’s not half as clever as he likes to think he is, with his fancy car and his special trousers. And he never visits his mum, I can tell you that.”
“I don’t think I could have put it better myself, Ivy.”
“Oh there you are Mr. Edward. Do you want a bacon sandwich, only I’m about to start on lunch and I can’t be doing with late breakfasts when I’m doing lunch.”
“Yes please Ivy.”
“Go and wash your hands then.”
He winks at me as he heads into the scullery.
“Will Dennis be coming in?”
“I think so. He’s just putting some oil on the lawn mower.”
“Fuss he makes about that thing. Surprised he hasn’t got a blanket for it when he puts it away at night.”
Eddie and I exchange smiles. Dennis does have an old tarpaulin he drapes over the mower. He claims it stops the damp sea air getting in, but I don’t think we’ll tell Ivy that.
“Cup of tea Miss Molly?”
“Thanks Ivy.”
Bugger. It’s the last day of the summer term tomorrow and I’ve forgotten to buy treats for the class picnics for Ben and Alfie, so I’m up until half past eleven making fairy cakes and Rice Krispie cakes, and getting melted chocolate all over the kitchen counter. By the time I’ve tidied up and I’m heading upstairs, it’s nearly midnight, and I’m wide awake. I’ve got a tray with tea and a fairy cake, and a glass of water for the morning, and my To Do list so I can have a peaceful half hour scribbling and if that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll read. I’m having another go with the roses book which Ivy and Dennis got me for Christmas, and it’s starting to make a bit more sense. I’m halfway up the stairs when I notice I’ve left the light on in the pantry. Bugger. And then everything goes into slow motion as I turn, do some weird thing to my ankle, and the tray goes flying as I start to fall backwards.
Fuck. This isn’t going to be good.
Double Fuck.
“Molly, can you hear me? Oh God, Eddie, phone for an ambulance. Molly, wake up my darling girl, wake up. Should I slap her, do you think?”
“Don’t be ridiculous Bertie. She’s unconscious, not hysterical.”
“Brandy, that’s what we need. Go and get some brandy Celia.”
“She doesn’t like brandy. Let’s wait for the ambulance, poor girl, she’s cut her arm, quite badly by the looks of it. It must have been the glass. Bring a towel Edward, quickly, don’t just stand there.”
“Molly, can you hear me? Please wake up my darling girl.”
“Bertie, I, fucking hell that hurts.”
“Don’t try to sit up my darling, just stay where you are. I’ve got you, and we’re all here. You’re safe now, and the ambulance is on its way.”