Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  We left the office and crossed back over the courtyard to another outbuilding. It held a series of dog kennels. “Oh, how sweet. What lovely dogs,” I said, crouching to stroke a puppy through the bars.

  “Working dogs. We breed sheepdogs and sell the puppies, and those others there are our gundogs.”

  I gasped before I could stop myself. “Do you shoot things?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes we have to. We have a lot of deer in the grounds. They’re not pets or for decoration.”

  I thought it a slightly condescending comment but chose to ignore it. I was a city girl, I didn’t do the ‘shooting things’ thing. Not that I was against it, of course. Each to their own and all that.

  “You said you lived in Kent, do you have land there?”

  Ronan laughed. “No, just a bloody large garden and some woodland. I’ll take you there. You said you wanted to look in Kent for a cottage. There are some stunners in my village, and the one over.”

  We strolled across the courtyard and down some steps to a manicured lawn. I could see someone on a ride on mower and assumed it to be Charlie. As he raised his arm to give us a wave, the lawnmower wobbled.

  I heard Ronan sigh. “That lawn looks like a pissed man mowed it most of the time,” he said.

  I laughed. “That’s not a kind thing to say. Although, maybe he is pissed.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Come on, I have something else to show you. Might as well get all the ‘mother was very strange’ things out of the way.”

  We climbed into an old Range Rover and drove through the woods. I could see a pathway that snaked through trees and what looked like a glamping site. Cream canvas was pulled taut over wooden poles, and guy ropes were strung from the top. As we approached, I could see the sea of neglect that mirrored parts of the house. The tops of the canvas tents were green with age and dampness. The area between the tents, in front, was unkempt. There were patches of earth, slightly dug out holes and then, in contrast, there were areas of woodland flowers that, even at the end of autumn, still bloomed.

  Bunting hung from trees, glass jars, which I imagined had once held candles, and strips of colourful material were wrapped around tree trunks. It was easy to see the hippy here. In the centre of a circle were the remains of a large fire.

  “So, camping…” I said.

  “Sort of. I have no idea how to explain this area of my mother’s life, her…friends, I guess we’ll call them.”

  “Try to explain,” I encouraged.

  Ronan tapped his chin in mock thoughtfulness as if he was thinking of the correct term but his smirk gave him away. “Let’s go with extreme earth lovers.”

  I had no idea what that meant and was a little sad to leave the area. Ronan didn’t appear to want to stay too long. I wrapped my arms around myself. The chill had started to seep through my jumper and shirt, and the vehicle was redundant of something as modern as a heater.

  Ronan cringed. “Shit, I should have offered you a coat. I guess I’ve lived here for so long I don’t tend to feel the cold. Anyway, tomorrow, if we continue down this path, we’ll end up on a beach. Our own private beach.”

  I smiled at the thought. “That sounds idyllic. So, what happens here? Do you rent these out to holidaymakers?”

  “My mother ran art retreats if that’s what you could call them. There’s one starting tomorrow for the weekend. I didn’t have the heart to cancel it—those people loved my mother as much as I did, but after that, I don't know what to do with the place.”

  “Does it make any money for you?” I wasn’t so dumb that I didn’t know places like this cost tens of thousands of pounds to maintain.

  “It did, for a while, and then it didn’t. My mother was very much, as you can probably guess, at one with nature and didn’t believe in charging people a fee to share this place with her.” There was a slight bitterness to his voice when he spoke.

  “And I guess you don’t have the money to get it back to spec, or is that too personal a question?”

  “Not too personal at all. I do, but Rich wants it sold. My options are: I either have to buy him out and then pay for all this myself, convince him that there could be a thriving business here which, long term, would be better and keep him as a partner, or sell up completely.”

  We had started the drive back to the house. “Could you…sell up?” I asked as the magnificent house came into view and all at once I couldn’t imagine letting it go if it were mine.

  Forget the cracked windows and the fallen down chimneystack. Ignore the peeling paint of the doorframes and the moss-covered stone window casements; the building that stood before me was unique, and breathtaking. As we climbed the steps from the lawn to the terrace, gargoyles silently snarled down at us from their perches. Strangely, there was nothing fierce about them. They were rather cute and comical.

  I followed Ronan into the kitchen. He sat at the table, and his shoulders slumped. “I just don’t know where to start, Lizzie. I can’t make head or tail of any of the paperwork; everything’s just in a complete mess. We might have an estate manager, but he hasn’t been managing the estate at all. The accounts are in disarray too; I dread to think what the bank balances are like. Thank God Mum actually had some money, but none of it got spent here. When I left here, ten years ago I think, this place was thriving. I took my eye off the ball and in that time, it’s all become a little overwhelming to deal with on my own.”

  I leaned forward and placed my hand on his. “You don’t have to. I can help. I’ve been doing admin stuff for Joe for ages now. It’s not hard to file papers; all I need to remind myself of is the alphabet.” I grinned in encouragement. “And, believe it or not, organising events is something I’m bloody great at. A few fundraising events could bring in some money.”

  He brightened. “This is why I thought you’d be just the one to help me.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I was both flattered, and a little disappointed. Had he returned specifically to recruit me to help him? Or had he returned, as he’d said, to apologise for standing me up? I filed it away for the moment.

  “Why don’t we start with a meeting with the estate manager? You can’t know what state it’s in if you’re guessing. If you ask him for a complete breakdown of all activities and costs, you can make a decision on what needs to go and what gets to stay.”

  Ronan scoffed. “Did you see his desk? I don’t think he has that information anymore.”

  “You have to start somewhere, and if it all happens in that office, then that is where we start. The first thing to do is tidy the place up. I don’t see how anyone can work in such a mess.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Tomorrow. I’ll let him know, and tonight I’m taking you out for a meal. The local pub has an amazing new chef.”

  I smiled in thanks. “So, we finally get that date?”

  “We finally get that date,” he replied.

  Chapter Nine

  Ronan opened the door and allowed me to walk into the pub in front of him. It was a wonderful, traditional-looking place with a roaring fire, dogs resting on a wooden floor or rugs, a few tables and chairs dotted around and stools standing along an oak bar. I was used to the trendy cocktail bars or the faux pubs that mixed the traditional, the old, with the stainless steel modern. The pub was most certainly authentic. Even I, at one point, had to duck under a wooden beam that crossed the room and had the year, fourteen-sixty, engraved, or rather branded, on it.

  “What a wonderful place,” I said, as Ronan guided me to a table.

  Although the pub was mostly empty, the patrons all smiled, offered a nod or a word to Ronan as we had passed. It was the type of country pub that I’d seen in an episode of Midsomer Murders, but I prayed we wouldn’t have any dead people to contend with. Ronan headed to the bar after taking my order for a glass of wine. He returned with a bottle in an ice bucket and two glasses. He poured, and as I raised my glass to him, a shadow fell over us.

  “Ronan, I’m surprised to
see you back so quickly,” she said.

  The look on his face as he slowly sipped his wine and ignored her, suggested this wasn’t going to be a pleasant meeting.

  He finally turned to her. “I have things to do, obviously.”

  The woman glanced my way with a sickly sweet smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Carol, this is Lizzie. Lizzie, this is Carol.”

  I noticed the lack of ‘relationship’ that should have accompanied her name. However, by the stiffening of his back and the smirk on her lips, I had a half idea Carol might be his ex-wife.

  I rose from my chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carol,” I said, holding out my hand. She looked at it and then promptly ignored me. Ronan sighed.

  “This is a wonderful pub, Carol, do you come here often?” I asked.

  She laughed bitterly. “I used to own this pub, Lizzie, until my husband had an affair and we divorced. I lost it in the battle that followed.”

  Ronan sighed again but didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at her, keeping his gaze on me. There was a slight roll to his eyes and a gentle shake of his head as if he’d heard that line many times.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I turned my attention away from her and back to my date. “Ronan, did you find a menu?” I asked as I sat again.

  Carol huffed indignantly and walked away, and for a moment, we sat in silence.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No need to be. I don’t know your history, but I’m guessing she’s still very upset with you.”

  “We’ve been divorced fucking years, but as soon as I’m in the area, she makes a point to seek me out. She’s remarried. It can’t be nice for Jim to have to watch her do that,” he said.

  “No, I doubt it is.”

  “Do you want to know why she thinks I cheated on her?” Ronan asked.

  His question threw me. “I’m not sure it’s my place to know, but if you want to tell me, that’s up to you.”

  “Our relationship was over years ago. We married because she told me she was pregnant and she wasn’t, she lied. We stayed together because she told me she had cancer and she hadn’t, she lied. To be honest, she was so unstable I was too scared to leave. I had an assistant, a female, that Carol constantly accused me of sleeping with. I did, on occasions, stay at her house when it became too much at home, or Carol had locked me out, but not once did we share a bed, have sex, kiss even. We were friends, nothing more, but she wouldn’t believe that, and I couldn’t be bothered trying to convince her otherwise anymore. Carol, however, blames me for her affairs. She tells me that had I not cheated on her, she wouldn’t have fucked other men in revenge. Her words, not mine.”

  She sounded a real charmer, not that I voiced my opinion. “What made you finally leave?”

  “She ran off with Jim, who happened to be the therapist I’d spent a fortune with trying to help her. To save her blushes and to enable a quick divorce, I stated that I was the one to have committed adultery.” Ronan laughed at the irony, and eventually, I had no choice but to join in. As awful as the situation was, his laugh was infectious.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know why I’m laughing. She might be remarried, but she hasn’t forgiven me for things that were actually out of my control. My mother’s trust owns this pub—not me, and never her. We lived here, and yes, she ran the pub. She loved it, and it must be a killer to come in here with new management, but she couldn’t run a business, she was too ill.”

  I wish I hadn’t been a witness to his ex-wife’s hostility. It was time to change the subject, ostrich style. “So tell me about the house. What plans do you actually have?”

  Ronan, I believed, seemed mighty relieved to have the conversation back on safe ground as well. “I can’t sell the house; it’s been in our family for hundreds of years. I intend to pay off Rich, bring the house back up to date, and try to have it earn its keep. I just need the time and energy, neither of which I have, to analyse what is the priority and where it’s failing.”

  He smiled, cocked his head to one side and placed his palms together in an ‘this is where you come in’ way. I found it hadn’t irritated me as much as it did the first time. In fact, it was nice to actually be wanted, or needed.

  I smiled eagerly. “I have nothing to hold me in London. I’ll be happy to spend a month or so to help you go through the house and decide what to do,” I said. I thought Joe would be super proud of my decision, as daft as it was. “You know, I’ve never, in my life, done something so spontaneous. We don’t even know each other, yet here I am, hundreds of miles from home with you, deciding on what to do with a big old manor house. At least you’re not a mass murderer,” I said, raising my glass in a toast.

  He leaned forward. “How do you know I’m not a mass murderer?” he asked, faking a spooky and ridiculously unconvincing ‘mass murderer’ type voice.

  I leaned towards him in response. “Because the odds of two mass murderers being in the same big old manor house would be worse than the odds of winning the lottery.”

  He laughed, and that tingle at his deep tones travelled from my neck to my navel. Only the crossing of my legs blocked it getting any further.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I don’t do well with drinking on an empty stomach. A sandwich and a bowl of chips would do if they have that.”

  He left the table, and I scanned the room. It hadn’t occurred to me before then how many people were staring at me. I was hoping it was just curiosity, a new-girl-in-town-with-the-laird type thing. Or maybe they loved Carol, and I was the husband-stealing whore that broke them up and brought in new management. I sighed. I had a tendency to overthink, and the new me wasn’t going there anymore. Who gave a fuck what these people thought? I wasn’t about to. I smiled at one, raised my glass in a salute before taking a sip. Thankfully, I received a smile and a gentle nod in return.

  “Art is on tomorrow is it, Ronan?” I heard someone call out.

  I watched as Ronan looked to the other end of the bar. “Yes, I guess so,” he replied.

  I watched him walk back to the table, and for a moment, he really did look lost.

  “Art? That’s a start. We can look at lots of activities to hold in the grounds or some of those outbuildings. Maybe one or two can be used as a studio and gallery,” I said.

  He nodded slowly, and I could hear a very slow exhale of breath. “Yes. Art. Maybe we need to remind ourselves of my…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he picked up his glass and took a couple of large gulps.

  After we’d eaten our sandwiches and chips, finished the bottle of wine, and had a coffee, we took a slow walk back to the house. It was dark and I held on to Ronan’s arm as he swept a small torch in front of us to light the way.

  “Next time, we must try something from the menu. That chef is bloody expensive,” he said, with a chuckle.

  I hadn’t wanted a full-on meal after our encounter with Carol, but I decided I’d take him up on that offer another time.

  We didn’t meet another person or a car on the short journey back, but I wished I had a thicker coat. The nip in the air had started to permeate my bones. I’d wrapped my arms around myself to hold off the cold by the time we started the walk up the drive.

  “Jesus, Lizzie, you’re shivering,” Ronan said, ever the observant one. He whipped off his coat and placed it around my shoulders.

  The warmth from his body heat immediately chased off those shivers. I pulled it tight around me. “I think I might need to buy some warmer clothes.”

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, causing me to stumble a little. I tried to walk in sync, but his long-legged stride meant in order to stay in his embrace I walked like a Geisha, shuffling as if my feet were bound.

  Joe and I could walk in sync; we could even do that silly walk from The Monkees. But Ronan and me? No chance. I guess the height difference was a major factor. By the time I’d shuffled to the point of
scuffing a shoe, I slid out from under his arm and walked at my own pace. Ronan slowed slightly. The front door was opened as we approached, and two mugs of hot chocolate were ready and waiting.

  I grabbed one and wrapped both hands around it. “Thank you. I need this,” I said with a laugh. I don’t think I’d drunk as much hot chocolate since I was a child.

  “I have some papers to go through, work calls, unfortunately,” Ronan said.

  “And bed calls me. I know it’s early, but I think a nice hot bath and a read under the duvet is what I want.”

  I took my mug and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I’d mastered the hot water system, I thought, as I ran the one tap knowing it would go cold at a point where I would normally add some. It rattled and creaked, the pipes objected to having water forced through from a distance and after a spluttering in protest, it started to flow.

  I sighed as I sunk into the deep, enamelled tub with my hot chocolate on one side and a book on the other. Unfortunately, once again, I’d forgotten to take into account the length of the bath and the fact my feet didn’t reach the end, and I slid under the scalding water that rushed up my nose. I sat up spluttering and reaching for the towel, knocking the hot chocolate to the floor in my haste.

  “Fucking hell,” I cursed, as I wiped soapsuds from my eyes.

  So much for a long soak and what a waste of the limited hot water. I climbed out, unable to leave the hot chocolate spreading over the wooden floorboards and soaking into the one small bath mat. With a towel wrapped around me, I cleaned up as best I could. I had visions of the drink seeping between the floorboards and dripping on anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting below.

  I scrubbed a towel over my head to dry my hair as much as possible, and with it standing in all directions I pulled on my PJs. I collected the towel I’d used to mop up the drink, along with the mat and my empty mug, and took them down to the kitchen.

  “That was a quick soak,” Maggie said. She was sitting, darning a hole in a woollen jumper.

  “It was. I knocked my hot chocolate over when I forgot I couldn’t reach the end of the bath and sank under the bubbles.”