They were behind schedule now, as well as one person down as Jesse had volunteered to take the puppy back to the flat. As a general rule, Loveday disliked cooking and lived off toast and takeaways when her boyfriend wasn’t around, but she was good at cakes, so Jenny gave her the task of baking four large lime-and-raspberry Victoria sponges for pudding, while she and Liz chopped veg and prepared sweetcorn fritters for starters.
It was a relief when Jesse returned some twenty minutes later and pitched in, too; a trained chef, he was much quicker than the others, and the chilli was soon bubbling merrily on the hob, giving off a delicious smell. Liz buttered four loaves of bread and arranged the slices on large plates, while Mike fetched jugs of water and the bowls of salad, and put them out on the tables along with colourful napkins and little bunches of fresh wildflowers in jam jars. By the time he’d finished, the room looked positively festive.
There was just time for a quick cuppa before the first guest, Stan, arrived promptly at midday. A former drug addict, he had a room up the road from Jesse and Loveday’s old flat in Tremarnock and was dead keen on the Five Fishes project. In fact, he hardly missed a single meal. Liz liked him, not least because he’d managed to retain a sense of humour despite his difficulties. It was her task to meet and greet today, so she ushered him to one of the tables and settled down opposite.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘Got any more of that caviar for me today?’ he added with a toothless grin. ‘Thought I’d have a spot with me champagne luncheon.’
Soon Mike strode past, carrying a platter of steaming food towards a huddle of elderly people on the other side, and Liz rose and made her way across the room. She could feel the temperature rising and brushed her fringe off her face with the back of an arm. The heat was on in the kitchen, too, where Jesse and Loveday were having a row over the sizzling fritters.
‘You have to turn them carefully,’ Jesse grumbled. ‘Like this. See? Otherwise they break up.’
‘Stop being so bossy,’ Loveday snapped, and Jenny and Liz exchanged glances.
On returning to the dining room with a big plate of food, Liz was delighted to see Stan chatting with a middle-aged chap with a flushed face and blotchy skin and a slightly grumpy-looking woman in an orange woollen hat, which must have been rather hot on a day like today.
At one point, Stan got up and started playing Beatles’ songs on the piano in the corner and Loveday, who was rather proud of her voice, came out to sing. Soon everyone was joining in, including Jesse, who seemed to have recovered from his lack of sleep and broke into a saucy, hip-gyrating dance that sent the ladies wild. The noise was so deafening that Jenny had to call a halt or the neighbours might complain, but by then even the grumpy woman was flush-cheeked and laughing. It was true what they said about good food and company; they really were a tonic.
By two thirty Liz was worn out, but the fact that the guests were leaving with smiles on their faces and full tummies gave her a warm glow of satisfaction. She would have scuttled off as soon as possible, but Mike cornered her and asked if she’d mind delivering a couple of bags of leftovers with him on the way home. He’d prefer to have backup, he said; not that he anticipated any trouble.
‘It’s a man who lives close to your place, in one of those old farm workers’ cottages near Polgarry Manor. I used to see him in church from time to time. Nice fellow. Three kids, no wife. I enquired after him the other day and someone said he’s got depression. He’s in a bad way, really struggling. I thought I’d take some food and mention the community meals. We can drive in convoy. Sorry to ask, but you live nearest. I’d appreciate your help.’
Liz sighed inwardly. She was weary, it would add at least half an hour to her journey and she’d probably find the experience upsetting, but how could she refuse?
After calling Jean to let her know that she’d be late, she followed Mike in his red Vauxhall out of the village and up a series of winding country lanes overhung with trees. The roads climbed steeply for some time towards the cliffs, before flattening into a bumpy track surrounded by fields dotted with cows and sheep. They slowed to a snail’s pace for a while behind a tractor and Liz wound down the window to breathe in the sweet scent of hedgerow flowers: frothy white cow parsley, purple vetch and red valerian. The sun was high and hoverflies swooped in and out of pale-green ferns and soft tendrils, while butterflies floated from one bloom to another. Nature, it seemed, was at its most rapturous; you could almost hear it singing.
At last the tractor veered off to the left and they picked up speed again, soon catching sight of Polgarry Manor, looming large and imposing, its crenellated towers blotting out the sky. Liz had always found the building daunting, not least because she’d heard the rumours about Lord Penrose, who’d hidden himself away there until he died.
She’d been told by Esme, who was something of an expert on the subject, that the old man had been quite a socialite in his youth, hosting fabulous parties for the rich, titled and famous that were written about in the gossip columns of national newspapers. Then something terrible had happened and the gaiety had ceased, the guests had stopped coming and he’d turned into a virtual hermit while his home had fallen to rack and ruin around him.
Mike had to slow to a crawl again, behind a cyclist this time, and Liz found herself remembering how Jenny had once spotted the elderly earl when she’d been out walking her dog. On her way back, she’d bumped into Liz and a group of others in the marketplace and told them, with great excitement, that he’d been dressed in an extraordinary, old-fashioned tweed shooting suit, complete with flat cap and plus fours, and carrying a sturdy walking stick, even though he’d been too frail to shuffle more than a few steps.
‘He didn’t smile at all,’ she’d said, ‘wouldn’t even catch my eye.’
Audrey had called him ‘downright nasty, by all accounts’, while Jean had reminded them that local children nicknamed him ‘Dracula’.
Despite the stories, Liz thought that right now, in the mellow light, the manor seemed quite affecting, a relic from a bygone era crumbling slowly and relentlessly into the landscape, one day to be reclaimed by its environment, so overgrown with grass, flowers and prickly bushes that you would forget it had ever been there, just like its strange inhabitant.
The cyclist stopped beside the rickety iron gate leading to the dilapidated driveway and took a drink of water from his plastic bottle. As she passed, Liz found herself speculating about the young woman from London who’d inherited the estate. There had been an article about her in the local newspaper explaining that she was Lord Penrose’s only surviving relative, that she worked in a call centre and that having visited the manor last autumn, she had decided to move in there.
She’d sounded a little naïve, but it might have been a poorly written piece. When quizzed about the manor’s shocking state of repair, she’d replied that she didn’t mind, she’d been living with her mum and dad and it would be ‘nice to have more space’. Anyway, the locals seemed to think that she’d arrive any day. Perhaps the cyclist was a friend.
The red Vauxhall took a sharp left along a gravelly dirt track and Liz hit a pothole so hard that she bounced up from the seat. It was a good job Robert wasn’t around to complain about the suspension. The way was overgrown with trees that partially obscured the sun, and she began to wonder if they’d ever reach their destination.
The track narrowed even further, until at last they turned a bend and there, a little way ahead atop a slope, was a small, squat stone cottage surrounded by a wooden fence. Mike pulled up in the lay-by, leaving space for Liz to park beside him, and, carrying several bags of groceries between them, they walked towards the gate.
There was a rusty old bike on the path with a punctured tyre that Liz had to step around, and just outside the door was a green box overflowing with fly-infested rubbish: empty cans of food and plastic milk bottles, vegetable peelings, tins of pet food and sweet wrappers. Liz might have expected a bad sm
ell, but – to her surprise – on either side of the door were two flowerbeds filled with fragrant sweet peas, busy Lizzies and jolly white daisies, and the earth around was freshly dug and watered. Someone must like gardening, she thought, but didn’t take the same pride in the house. The thin beige curtains in the window to the right were closed, while those on the left appeared to have been tugged so hard that the pelmet had come off and was dangling sadly.
Mike put his bags on the step and rapped on the door with the old iron knocker. Soon a child of about seven or eight appeared, a boy with shaggy brown hair, a pale face and big grey eyes.
‘What do you want?’ he asked suspiciously, only half-opening the door and peering around the edge. ‘Me dad’s not in.’
He was wearing blue shorts and a red T-shirt, and as Liz glanced down she noticed, behind him, another, much smaller boy of about two, with a grubby face and wary eyes just like his older brother’s. He was dressed in nothing but a droopy nappy.
‘We’ve brought some food,’ Mike said, motioning to the bags at his feet and smiling reassuringly. ‘We’re from the community meal project in Polrethen. We make hot lunches for people and there’s usually some left over. We thought you might like to try it?’
‘You can’t come in,’ said the older boy, despite opening the door wider. ‘You can leave it there.’
Liz put her own bags on the ground and stretched her fingers because the handles had been digging in.
‘Is there anyone else we can speak to?’ she asked softly. ‘A big brother or sister maybe?’
‘Shannon’s here but she’s asleep.’
Just then a skinny older girl appeared from the room on the right, rubbing her eyes. She must have been about fourteen or fifteen, with mousey hair that needed a good brush. She was wearing a white vest top and a denim miniskirt and her feet were bare.
‘What do you want?’ she asked abruptly, before bending down to pick up the toddler and balance him on her hip. He was quite a big lad and she was only small, with a pale, pinched face, thin little arms and protruding collarbones, but she made it seem relatively easy.
When Mike explained again why they were here, the girl bit her lip. ‘You mean you cook for poor people like us?’ She didn’t turn them away, though. ‘You can put everything in the kitchen,’ she went on, moving aside to allow the visitors to pass and motioning to the older brother to give them a hand. ‘Hurry up, they haven’t got all day.’
There was a stale smell inside and Liz wrinkled her nose as she took in the torn pink wallpaper in the hallway, the dirty kitchen floor and the badly fitted units with some of the cupboard doors missing. The girl watched carefully as they plonked their carriers of Styrofoam containers on the wobbly pine table, and when Liz thanked the older boy for his help, he looked surprised, as if he wasn’t used to compliments.
‘Shall we put everything in the fridge?’ she asked Shannon. ‘It’ll last a couple of days in there.’
‘I can do it myself.’
Unfazed, Liz reached into her handbag, fished out a miniature packet of chocolate buttons and grinned at the toddler, who stretched out a greedy hand.
‘Is it OK if I give them to him?’
The girl nodded, took the packet and set the boy down tenderly. Then she squatted to his height and opened the sweets before passing them across.
‘There you go, Buster.’ She didn’t smile but her eyes were soft.
She loved him, Liz thought, but she was far too young to be playing mother. She ought to be out in the sunshine having fun.
Next, Liz produced a stick of rock for the older boy. They’d been sent several box-loads by a factory that had gone into overproduction and couldn’t sell the stuff. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but kids seemed to adore it.
‘I could murder a cuppa,’ she said, glancing at Mike.
He knew exactly what she was up to, and reached into a different bag to find a packet of teabags, some biscuits and a half-litre bottle of milk that he’d picked up earlier that morning. ‘Ta da!’
Shannon grudgingly put on the kettle and filled three mugs, before leading the way into the room from which she’d first emerged. It was shadowy in there, so she walked over to the window and opened the thin beige curtains. Light filtered through the dirty glass, revealing a battered brown sofa, beside which lay two empty cups and a half-filled glass of water. There was also a small TV, perched precariously on an upturned box, but not much else save children’s toys scattered across the floor: metal cars lined up in a row, a grubby-looking fluffy rabbit on its back, its plastic eyes staring vacantly, and bits of Lego.
‘You can sit down if you want,’ she said, nodding at the sofa, and Liz settled gingerly on the edge, afraid that the springs might collapse. Mike, meanwhile, opted for the floor.
‘Where do you go to school, Shannon?’ he asked casually, resting his arms on his knees, both hands circling his mug. ‘It is Shannon, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Marymount.’
‘That’s where my daughter goes,’ Liz piped up, glad to find some common ground. ‘She’s called Rosie, Rosie Broome. She’s just finished Year Eight. Do you know her?’
Shannon frowned. ‘Is she the one with...?’ She paused, uncertain how to go on, and Liz came to her rescue.
‘With cerebral palsy, yes. She had a brain tumour, too, and she was very sick, but she’s much better now. She likes school, though she’s not so keen on some of the teachers. Do you like it?’
‘S’all right. Waste of time, if you ask me.’
Mike took a sip of tea. ‘Why’s that then?’
‘You don’t learn nothing useful in them places. Geography, history, what good is that when you’ve got no food to eat and you can’t pay the bills? They don’t teach you how to wipe a kid’s bum, do they, or stop it crying?’
Right on cue the toddler, Conor, who’d followed them into the room, dropped the now-empty packet of chocolate buttons on the floor and let out a high-pitched wail. Shannon bent over to pick him up. He was covered in chocolate, all around his mouth and on his hands, and she reached into a pocket of her denim skirt, fished out a crumpled tissue and tried to wipe his mouth clean while he twisted his head angrily to and fro.
‘Where’s me dad, Shannon?’ Liz turned to look at the older boy, who was hovering by the door. ‘Is he coming home?’
‘Shut up, will you? Go outside and play,’ Shannon snapped. But he didn’t move.
‘Me dad’s always crying,’ he went on uncertainly. ‘He’s dead sad, isn’t he, Shannon? Ever since me mum went...’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, well, we’re all sad, aren’t we? But we’ve got to get on with it. Maybe he wouldn’t be so miserable if he got himself a job instead of lying in bed all day or wandering around the place staring at sheep. It’s selfish, that’s what it is.’
‘He’s got depression, hasn’t he?’ Liz said kindly. ‘It’s an illness, you know, only it’s not like having a broken leg because you can’t see it.’
The girl curled her lip cynically. ‘I wouldn’t mind having depression, only I can’t, can I? Who’d mind these two?’
‘Biscuit?’ Mike passed her the open packet and she took one, before sitting next to Liz, the toddler on her lap.
‘Has he seen the doctor? Is he receiving treatment?’ Liz enquired.
The girl sniffed. ‘He’s got pills. Don’t seem to do any good, though.’
‘You should encourage him to go back to his GP. We can speak to him if you like, or get someone from social services—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Shannon’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘They’ve been up here before, poking their noses in and asking questions. We don’t want them here. We’re all right on our own.’
Liz quickly steered the subject in a safer direction. ‘He gets benefits, right? Would he like some help with budgeting, do you think? There are organisations that can talk to him about managing money, so you don’t run out of food and things...’
Her voice trailed off and sh
e found herself thinking that Shannon was only a little older than Rosie, who was probably on the beach with her friends right now or hanging out at someone’s house. She’d had more than her fair share of problems but was still able to enjoy many aspects of being a child.
‘He spends money on stupid things,’ Shannon muttered, staring at the wall. ‘He can’t help himself. He bought Liam a phone, some Samsung thing, but he couldn’t pay the bills, and then Liam left it on the floor and Conor stood on it.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Liam’s too young for a phone; he can’t look after it. It’s only ’cause he said all his friends had one and my dad felt guilty.’
‘I’m not too young,’ cried the older boy. ‘It wasn’t my fault – it was him, with his big, clumsy feet.’ He pointed at the toddler, who was fiddling with a bangle on Shannon’s wrist.
‘Budgeting is hard,’ Liz persisted. ‘Maybe your dad would appreciate some tips?’
But Shannon shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want help from no one. He hates it when people interfere. Just leave us be.’
Her mouth set in a thin, hard line and Liz sensed that it was time to stop probing. Still, she and Mike had brought enough for at least a couple of meals for the family. They’d need to talk between themselves before deciding what more, if anything, they could do.
As she rose, an idea popped into her head. ‘Do you ever go into Tremarnock?’
She thought she might have seen Shannon once or twice by the harbour, though it could have been someone else. Quickly, she fished a piece of paper from her bag and wrote down her name, address and phone number before handing it across.
‘This is where I live. It’s not far from the seafront. Why don’t you knock on my door one day when you’re looking after your brothers? I’ve got a little girl called Lowenna who’s nearly one. They might like playing together.’
Shannon didn’t reply, but folded up the piece of paper and tucked it in her pocket.
Tremarnock Summer Page 5