‘PERSONALLY, I THINK, it’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had,’ Uncle Doug proclaimed over Sunday dinner. They were eating in the family dining room, which was a rarity. It was bare and cold through lack of use; they were usually happier in the kitchen, and never used the guests’ dining room. ‘I’m good at it too,’ he said with a wry smile.
He’d insisted that they eat in here today because of his ‘surprise’. He said he wanted Old William to see it too, meaning the portrait hanging on the wall. It was a stately, morbid representation, which nobody in the family actually liked; it just hung there out of . . . tradition. The once ornate table was marked and the carpet was worn with years upon years of chair shuffling. The times when the Mourner of the day would use the room for entertaining local dignitaries were long gone. Only at Christmas had Tim ever seen the huge fireplace lit.
‘Most of the big chains use mystery customers: Pizza Hut, Wetherspoon’s, Little Chef – you name it. I have to check out the restaurants right under the staff’s noses, without letting them know that’s what I’m doing. And then when I send off my receipt, I get my meal for free.’
Jenny was impressed. ‘Sounds cool.’ Tim nodded his agreement.
‘Thank you, Jenny. I think so too. It’s the nearest I’ll ever get to being a secret agent, eh?’ He winked and laughed. ‘But I’m one of the few people I know who lives off free lunches.’
There was an awkward silence from the other adults around the table. The chewing noises seemed especially loud.
At last Bill managed to say: ‘As long as you’re happy, Doug.’
‘That I am, Bill. That I am.’ He grinned at Tim, who beamed back at him.
‘Doesn’t sound like a job with many prospects to me,’ Nana Dalry said.
‘Mother,’ Anne said in a strained voice, ‘I’m sure Doug knows what he’s doing.’
Nana Dairy didn’t answer but her knife and fork rattled loudly against her plate as she finished her meal. She sat up stiffly, looking at no one in particular. She wasn’t Doug’s biggest fan, never had been since he’d gone to live in London, her belief being that he’d left her daughter and son-in-law in the lurch when they’d needed him most.
‘No, no, you’re right, Mrs Dalry,’ Uncle Doug said. ‘No prospects whatsoever!’
Jenny also rattled her knife and fork, then sat up just as straight as Nana. ‘I still think it sounds cool.’
‘Jenny . . .’ her mother warned, not wanting any kind of bickering today.
‘But I’ll tell you what makes it such a good job,’ Doug continued. ‘It’s given me lots of time to do other things, to do something that I’ve been wanting to do for years.’
‘What’s that?’ Tim wanted to know.
‘That’s my surprise.’
The family sat waiting. Even Nana deigned to look at him.
‘But I think we should have pudding first, don’t you?’
Last night Tim had out and out decided that his uncle was a saviour and a hero. Not just because he’d kept secret what had happened out on the feeding pier (which had fortunately gone unnoticed by the rest of the family), but because he hoped Doug would understand what he was going through. He was the Milmullen who’d moved away, after all.
He was Bill’s younger brother so he’d never had to worry about being the Mourner. He’d moved to London when Tim and Jenny were born, but drifted back occasionally for prolonged visits, seeing as he’d not been able to hold down a job for more than a couple of years at a time. Although he still wasn’t married he’d introduced the family to Sophie, Claire and Isabelle separately over the years, each one proclaimed as the love of his life and the most important person in the world to him. But they’d only ever met each of these women once.
He almost always forgot birthdays, and Christmas presents could be a bit hit and miss. If he’d been working he was generous and seriously splashed out, but if his cash-flow situation was a problem the present was perhaps a little more imaginative. This explained why Tim and Jenny had each received a top-notch DVD player two Christmases ago, but only complimentary toiletries from some London hotel the following year.
He was well over six feet and ludicrously gangly. He picked up his glass of wine now and somehow reeled it in on his fishing-rod arm to take a drink. Despite his current job, despite all he ate, he was a stick insect – ‘hollow legs’ was Tim’s mother’s explanation – but he had enough good humour for someone three times his girth. And despite everything, the Milmullens were always pleased to have him around. It was difficult not to like the man.
Nana Dalry, however, wasn’t a Milmullen. ‘I won’t be staying for pudding, dear,’ she said. ‘I have to be home.’
Anne rolled her eyes. ‘Mother, you have never had to be home on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘Well, perhaps today is different. Perhaps I’ve made arrangements with Grace Kirkwooding.’
‘We both know very well that Grace goes to her granddaughter’s for Sunday dinner.’
Uncle Doug was shaking his head. ‘No one is allowed to leave, I’m afraid. Not even you, Mrs Dalry. I’m not letting anyone set foot outside this dining room until I’ve shown you my surprise.’
Nana Dalry made a humphing sound but stayed seated. Anne said, ‘I’d better hurry up with the pudding then, hadn’t I? Or am I not allowed to leave the room to fetch it?’
‘Pudding’s an exception,’ Doug assured her.
Bill stood up. ‘I’ll go. Jenny, will you collect the plates?’ He moved through into the kitchen. Jenny followed.
Tim watched them both go, feeling a twinge of paranoia – worried they might talk about him. He’d felt nervy throughout the whole meal anyway, because this was the first time he’d had to face his sister since yesterday morning, and his father since Jack Spicer had caused trouble. In fact they’d all seemed to be treading on eggshells around each other, not wanting to be the one to start the seemingly unavoidable argument.
Tim had told Bill that he’d been reading the diaries, but all his father had offered in return was a nod and a gruff ‘Good’. Nana Dairy’s ears had pricked up at the mention of them, however, and she’d prodded at him with a couple of pointed questions. There had been no way he was going to elaborate for her why he was suddenly interested in the books, so he had become as uncommunicative as Bill. He certainly didn’t want a lecture on the tradition from her today.
Right now she was grumbling about her next-door neighbour’s cat using her flowerbeds as a toilet.
‘Terrible, just terrible,’ Uncle Doug sympathized. ‘But remember, Mrs Dalry, today’s nuisance moggy could easily be tomorrow’s feed.’ He seemed disappointed when nobody laughed.
Bill and Jenny served the apple crumble. Tim tried to catch his sister’s eye to see if she’d said anything, but either she didn’t notice or was purposely not looking at him. So Tim scrutinized his father. Unfortunately, same as always, Bill’s feelings were well hidden behind his beard.
Tim decided he’d talk to his uncle as soon as he could. Because maybe Doug would know what it was he should do. He wished he’d mentioned something last night about how he felt, and explained exactly what the problem with Roddy and the students was. But he was sure Uncle Doug would be on his side. And he’d talk to him straight away, immediately after dinner if possible. Tonight at the latest.
But then he remembered he couldn’t do anything tonight, because Sarah would be here. He shovelled down his dessert as fast as he could, suddenly nervous that if somebody looked at him right now, right this very second, they’d guess what he was planning. Every time he thought of tonight he forgot everything else – so he thought about it as often as possible.
‘Fabulous, Annie,’ Doug said, licking his spoon so clean he could see his face in it. ‘You know, if you weren’t married to my brother, I’d ask you to be my slave.’
Tim’s mother smiled. ‘Thank you, Douglas. You’re very kind. But perhaps that’s why you’re not married.’ She started to collect the dishes.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ Doug told her. ‘Surprise time. Don’t you dare move.’
He reached for the small haversack he’d stashed under his chair. ‘Ready?’ Eyebrows raised theatrically, he made everybody wait that little bit longer, milking the situation like a magician about to make a rabbit appear. Nana Dalry tutted at him, but it only widened his grin.
With a single smooth flourish he produced a huge hardback book from the bag and thumped it down onto the table. It was so large it made the glasses in the middle jump and chink together. Tim and Jenny leaned closer; their mother twisted her head to see. Even Nana Dairy was curious now.
Only Bill stayed where he was, but his smile was easily as wide as his younger brother’s. ‘This is it, then,’ he said.
Uncle Doug puffed out his skinny chest. ‘It certainly is, William. It certainly is. You didn’t believe I’d do it, did you?’
Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father look quite so happy. ‘But you’ve proved me wrong, Doug.’ He even laughed.
Uncle Doug beamed.
Tim was amazed. On the glossy front cover of this tome was a photograph of their house, shrouded in an early morning mist, with Lake Mou looming just behind looking about ready to swallow the lot. The title The Legend of the Hundredwaters was written in embossed silver letters, and underneath: ‘The Story of the Mourn’. Then, slightly smaller, but still in silver: ‘Douglas Milmullen’.
‘You’ve written a book,’ Jenny said, eyes wide.
‘About us?’ Tim said in disbelief, not sure he liked the idea.
Uncle Doug nodded. ‘About all of us. Your granddad, my granddad, his granddad; all the way back to the old guy on the wall and 1699.’ He pointed at the portrait of Old William. ‘That’s why I wanted him to see it.’ He even held it up for the portrait to see. ‘It’s not a copy of the diary; it’s more a history of the last three hundred years. But it’s especially about you and your dad right now.’
‘Wow,’ Jenny said.
‘Indeed,’ Uncle Doug agreed.
Tim felt a quick pinch of anxiety in his stomach. No, he didn’t like the idea of it being about him.
Nana Dairy, on the other hand, all of a sudden decided what an admirable and wonderful and clever man Uncle Doug was. ‘You’re making us all so proud of you,’ she said.
Bill picked up the book. ‘Dad’d be proud, Doug. This is some achievement.’ He held it almost reverentially, feeling the weight then flipping slowly through the pages, even touching the print with the tips of his fingers. ‘This is some achievement,’ he repeated. He gave it to his wife. ‘Look at this, hey? Look at it.’
‘I can see it.’ She smiled warmly at her brother-in-law. ‘Well done, Douglas. It really is a wonderful achievement.’
‘I told you I’d do it,’ Uncle Doug said. ‘I beavered away on it while I wasn’t busy stuffing my face with cardboard pizzas and soggy burgers. I wasn’t about to let the family down.’ His smile was a touch sarcastic, but Nana Dalry didn’t notice. ‘You know, my publishers have agreed to throw a little launch party for me, and I realize it’s short notice – very short in fact – but I wondered if we could have it this Saturday? At Tim’s Carving?’
Tim wasn’t sure what that meant, but he saw his father’s brow wrinkle slightly. Not a good sign.
‘I don’t know about that, Doug,’ Bill said, tugging on his beard. ‘I was planning on it being a fairly quiet affair. Just for the Fearful – and the town.’
Uncle Doug took his book back. ‘For the town? I think the town’s shown time and again that it doesn’t give two buggers for our family any more.’ Bill made to speak, but his brother wouldn’t let him. ‘Wasn’t last night’s meeting of everyone who opposes Stones’s hotel proof enough of that? Four people turned up, didn’t you say?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Bill, you’ve got to think a little wider. We’ve got to remind the rest of the country about the Mourn and put Moutonby back on the map.’ He was leaning across the table, waving his book like a preacher with a Bible. ‘Bloody Nessie has had all the attention for far too long. And she didn’t even eat anybody, did she, eh?’
Again Tim’s father tried to speak, but—
‘No, I’m sorry, Bill. Something has to be done and Tim’s Carving will be the perfect opportunity to grab everybody’s attention. He’s going to be the first Mourner of the new millennium, don’t forget.’
Father and son locked eyes. Tim hoped Bill couldn’t see the mounting panic he was trying to hide in his.
Doug was busy sounding like a politician. ‘We’ve got to focus the gaze of the world back on this little Yorkshire town and its lake. Bring back some dignity. That’s why I’ve written the book. I think this family deserves a little bit more respect for what it has done – and is still doing.’
Bill was quiet.
Nana Dairy piped up, ‘It’s what I’ve been saying all along,’ she told him, suddenly Doug’s new best friend and ally. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.’
Tim’s mouth had gone dry; there was a tightening fist of anxiety gripping his insides. The last thing he wanted, surely the worst thing that could happen, would be to have ‘the gaze of the world’ on his birthday. He knew the world was going to be full of people like Roddy Morgan.
‘I’ve got to admit I’ve already had a word with the publishers,’ Uncle Doug said, leaning back in his chair. ‘And the wonderful women in the publicity department have already got the ball rolling. I’ve asked them to get local TV and radio here, a couple of the tabloids if possible. So with a bit of luck it’s going to be big.’
Bill looked at his wife. Then turned to his brother again, shaking his head. ‘Doug, I appreciate what you’re doing, but—’
Uncle Doug was back over the table in an instant. ‘Don’t “but” me, Bill. Come on, don’t you dare. You need this. Since the council abolished the Monster Tax what’s this family been living on, eh? So we turned this old place into a guesthouse when Dad died. Fine. But where’re the guests? The students and the Americans leave tomorrow; who’ve you got filling their rooms? You probably don’t even charge old Jack Spicer full whack any more, do you? And when Stones opens his new place, what then?’
Tim’s father didn’t answer, knowing Doug didn’t really need him to.
‘Look, Bill, think of Dad, okay? He’d be so proud of the way you’re fighting for this family and all we believe in. He always said it was the one thing that made the Milmullens different. Because we’re Mourners it means we have a purpose and duty. So think how proud he’d be if we fought that little bit harder, if we brought recognition and pride back into this old house.’
Bill was looking at Tim. But Tim couldn’t meet his dad’s eyes any more.
Uncle Doug nodded at the portrait on the wall. ‘Think of the old guy, and what he did way back when.’
Bill took the book from his brother again. ‘I just don’t think it’s my way,’ he said quietly.
‘We’ve got the perfect opportunity this coming Saturday,’ Uncle Doug told him. ‘We celebrate a brand-new Mourner, and my marvellous book hits the shelves.’
Bill sighed heavily, his brow deeply creased.
Nana Dairy decided it was time for her two pennies worth. ‘Well, you know what I think—’
‘Yes, we probably do, Mother,’ Anne said, and Nana Dalry harrumphed at being cut short.
‘What do you think, Annie?’ Bill asked her.
She considered the book herself for a few seconds. ‘Maybe it’s what this family needs: a kick-start.’ She looked at Uncle Doug. ‘But a tasteful one.’
He leaned back in his chair, spread his hands and smiled.
Bill was looking less than overjoyed. But was also looking as though he dearly wanted to be persuaded. ‘If you think you can—’
‘I know I can,’ his brother said.
‘Am I in your book, Uncle Doug?’ Jenny asked. ‘Am I going to be famous?’
Doug beamed at her. ‘We’re all going to be famous.’ He swept his smile around the table. ‘You want to be famous, don’t you, Tim?’
Tim stared at the book. He remembered how he’d wanted the Mourn to show itself to Roddy Morgan and the students last night, and now more than ever he wanted that to happen. He was sure it was the only thing that would stop the whole world from laughing at him on his birthday.