by Sharon Owens
‘It's aubergine for this place, and I'll kill anybody who tries to stop me,’ she said aloud. She warmed her hands at the fire for a few minutes before she went back to bed and lay making plans in the darkness. Jack was fast asleep, his long nose looking very sculptural and noble in the moonlight. Lily forgot all about Vincent Halloran's shopping mall and almost shivered with happiness. She wasn't even annoyed when Gerry Madden rang at four in the morning as usual. Or when Bridget cracked the television screen when she was rearranging the furniture in her room early the following day.
‘These things happen,’ Lily muttered like a robot running low on batteries.
After breakfast Lily was hopping with impatience to get started on the decorating. But it was Saturday and there was a class to teach first. As she covered the tables in the bar with sheets of newspaper, she told Jack that she was going out that afternoon to stock up for the great transformation. She was going to the DIY store for paint and mirrors and then to the art shop for Christmas decorations and a fancy hardback sketchbook for the visitors to sign.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘I'd love you to,’ she replied. ‘But I want you to stay in and pay the young lad when he brings the new bed for Trudy.’
‘You've already phoned up and ordered one? It's only just gone nine.’
‘I left a message on the answerphone a few minutes ago.’
‘And what about Bridget? Have you asked her about this?’
‘Bridget owes me a favour. Several favours, to be honest. She's caused over a thousand pounds of damage already and she's been here only a few days. The carpet will be a real hassle to replace. And the china teapot was a family heirloom. Not to mention the television which cost hundreds.’
‘And the roll-top bath,’ Jack said quickly and bit his lip in fear.
‘What?’
‘She dyed a skirt black in the bath overnight and ruined the enamel. I was going to nip out to the shops myself and hide somewhere until you calmed down again.’
‘My lovely bath! Where is she? I never noticed a black stain.’
‘She's in her room, crying her eyes out. There's a bath towel over the stain. That's ruined too.’
‘Is it…?’
‘One of our embroidered ones from Spain? Yes, I'm afraid so.’
‘Never mind crying her eyes out. I'll gouge them out with a spoon. She's ruined the other best towel already, mopping up spilt tea. I told her there were plenty of old towels in the hall cupboard. But did she use one of them? Oh, no! Little Miss O'Malley has developed a taste for the finer things in life. You know what, Jack? I think I'll have to let her go. She's nothing but a liability.’
‘Lily, it's done now. Calm down. It was an accident. She had the dye in a basin and it leaked out through a hairline crack.’
‘But how could she do something so insane? Who puts black dye in someone else's antique bath? And why are you taking her side?’
‘I'm not taking her side. She lives here.’
‘She doesn't live here, Jack. She's a lodger. It's not the same thing at all.’
‘Well, that's all academic. It's her bath too.’
‘But it's an antique bath. You don't take risks like that with a period piece. Is she crazy or what?’
‘Lily, to tell you the truth, I think Bridget is making up a lot of stuff to impress us. She probably isn't used to having nice things, and just doesn't know how to take care of them. I bet her mum doesn't even work in Marks. I asked her yesterday what branch. She couldn't tell me and she got all flustered about it. There are a few drips of dye on the bathroom door as well, by the way. On the hall side.’
‘That's all we need! That shade of cream is discontinued now so we'll have to paint the hall doors again. I feel a bit dizzy, Jack.’
‘Sit down, for heaven's sake, woman. I'll get you another cup of tea. You've been overdoing it, getting stuff together for the wreath class.’
‘If you say I've been overdoing it once more, I'll divorce you.’
‘Will you really?’
‘No.’ She wept into the sleeve of her mohair cardigan for a minute, and Jack sat down beside her and gave her a big hug.
‘Shush, shush,’ he whispered. ‘We'll have the bath recoated. It will cost only a few hundred pounds.’
‘Oh, Lord, don't talk about money. That's the profits from my second class gone too. And I haven't even collected the fees yet.’
Jack was about to say I told you so, again, but he didn't have the heart to. It was the main reason he didn't believe in having lots of people in his life: because lots of people automatically meant lots of problems.
‘Why don't you bring Bridget a cup of tea and tell her it's okay about the bath?’ Jack said cheerfully. ‘And you can get your own back by telling her about Trudy moving in today.’
‘Yes, I'll do that,’ said Lily and she dried her eyes on a tea towel. She went up the stairs with a heavy heart, saw the dye stain on the bathroom door and took a series of deep breaths. The very thought of sanding down and repainting all the hall doors again was enough to bring on a heart attack. All those detailed Victorian panels to go round with the sanding block. And all because Bridget was so skint she had tried to dye an old skirt instead of just buying a new one. Outside Bridget's door, Lily blessed herself for courage. She knocked gently and turned the handle. Bridget was lying face down in the single bed with her white curls peeping out from underneath the red blanket.
‘Bridget,’ Lily began. ‘I need to have a word with you.’
‘I'm so, so, so sorry,’ Bridget wept, before Lily had a chance to speak. ‘I had no idea I would wreck the bath. I was only trying to look nice for the Christmas parties. I wanted to buy a new skirt but I couldn't afford one after I set aside my rent money.’
‘I'm not angry, Bridget. Honestly. I'm not. It was an accident. I know that.’
‘Really? I thought you'd batter me.’
‘Don't be daft,’ said Lily. ‘These things happen. However, there's something else I want to talk to you about.’
The second bed was delivered at lunchtime just as the craft ladies were filing out with their fat, luscious wreaths. Lily bought another set of new bedding for it right away. When Trudy arrived at the tavern for work that afternoon, Lily invited her to stay and she didn't need asking twice. She went straight back to the professors' house in a taxi to collect her clothes and her cassette player and her collection of herbal remedies. Bridget was seething with resentment at this gross invasion of her privacy but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She was lucky the Beaumonts didn't throw her out on the street and sue her as well after all the expense she had caused them. And Lily had offered to reduce her rent to forty pounds a week because she had to share the room with Trudy. So Bridget had no option but to help Jack push the new bed into place and tidy up some of her laundry which lay on the sofa in a stale and jumbled heap.
The worst part was that she wouldn't be able to lie in bed talking to Gerry for half the night any more. It was an intimate, almost loving, kind of ritual and she had come to enjoy it immensely. Gerry had given her a contact number in America and she was phoning him for a couple of hours each night. They'd chat about lots of things as Bridget lay in bed looking up at the painting of the angel over the fireplace, and imagining that the two wedding rings were for herself and Gerry. It was a much more satisfying relationship now that they had split up. They had finally learned to communicate. When sex was off the agenda it left nothing else to do except talk about the simple things in life.
It wasn't cheap, naturally, maintaining this transatlantic non-relationship. But then it was a very modern kind of love and Bridget was a modern girl. It was cheaper than Gerry using the hotel telephone, she told him, when he said she didn't have to call him every night. And besides, the phone bill wasn't due for a few weeks yet. She'd seen the most recent one in a kitchen drawer when she was looking for the ice-cream scoop. But now that Bridget had to share her accom
modation with that mixed-up, painted-up head case, Trudy Valentine, she would just have to go and sit in the tiny kitchen or the freezing bathroom to phone Gerry. While her roommate with the laughable eyebrows was tucked up in bed. And that would be the end of the midnight feasts as well. Bridget could hardly be seen wolfing down mountains of bacon sandwiches and gallons of tea, with Trudy Goody looking on. It was utterly depressing. Just when Bridget had landed on her feet at last, Lily Beaumont had to go and play the big softy.
Trudy was a tidy-freak on top of everything else and she had the whole room shipshape in no time. She produced an over-the-door set of hooks and all her clothes were neatly hung up within seconds. The plates and cups that were festering on the floor were collected and left to soak in a basin of hot soapy water on the draining board in the kitchen. She vacuumed up a week's worth of toast crumbs and opened the window to let in fresh air.
‘There!’ Trudy exclaimed when she was finally finished. ‘Isn't this cosy?’
‘Yeah, real cosy,’ muttered Bridget, dying to throw herself on top of Trudy's perfectly smooth duvet and wrinkle it. Bridget was somehow offended by Trudy's endless removal of dirt and grime. She suspected Trudy had mild psychiatric problems and decided not to get too friendly with her. And anyway, as the single full-timer on the staff, it was only right that Bridget should keep her distance from the others.
‘Come on,’ she scolded. ‘Enough of the chambermaid routine. Let's get back to work.’ And she gently pushed Trudy out through the door.
‘I'm on kitchen duty today,’ said Trudy brightly and she skipped into the kitchen and reached for an apron off the back of the door.
‘Watch out for the killer lemons, then,’ said Bridget spitefully.
Down in the bar, Lily was chatting to Barney and his friends in the end booth, and telling them about the aubergine paint she was going to buy. And they were all so interested, and warning her to make sure the walls were clean before she started painting. Dark colours did not disguise imperfections in a wall, Barney said. It was actually the opposite: they showed them up. Bridget sighed with boredom, and sighed again as the door of the tavern opened to admit about twenty students coming in to celebrate the end of a set of exams. Marie had just been dispatched upstairs to bake pies with Trudy, and Daisy was going shopping with Lily to help her to choose new Christmas decorations for the pub. Jack was on the phone, arranging for the bath to be collected for recoating, and for a temporary plastic replacement to be installed. So it was up to poor old Bridget to serve the students. She reached for a stack of pint glasses and placed them in a neat row below the pumps.
‘Yes, what'll it be?’ she asked them as they began counting out loose change on the counter. One guy asked her if he could pay for three pints of bitter with ten-pence pieces. Oh, boy, Bridget moaned inwardly. Students!
At six, the writer Liam Bradley came in for a drink on his way home from the Linenhall Library. Because all of the booths and seats were full, he had no choice but to sit at the counter. He set his stack of books down and smiled at Bridget and she smiled back at him. Even though she was feeling absolutely fed up, her innate wealth-radar was alerted. Lily had already told her something about him: that he was a writer, a best-selling writer. And married too. But that didn't bother Bridget. She quickly assessed Liam's appearance. Hair transplant. Very unnatural shade of black, she thought. That was the first thing she noticed about him. Having lived in America, she could spot transplants a mile off. His hips were too flat. His shoulders were a little too narrow but not bad. Height: medium. Eyes: grey but ordinary. His clothes were expensive and a little pretentious. Stand-up collar on his shirt, concealed buttons down the front. But his voice, when he began talking, was sensuous and deep. Bridget thought he was deliciously intriguing. And she sensed a kindred spirit in Liam Bradley. He was like herself: he wanted wealth but was intimidated by wealthy people. She decided to find out more about Liam Bradley. See what made him tick. Before she made up her mind if she wanted to seduce him or not. It would give her a hobby to pass the time with, until Dr Gerry Madden got his commitment issues sorted out, and David Devaney succumbed to either Bridget's charms, or those of Daisy the beanpole.
8. Partridges and Pear Trees
Lily and Jack set to work at closing time. They refused Trudy's offer of help and sent her to bed along with her reluctant roommate, Bridget.
‘Thank you so much, Trudy, but no. You must get your sleep,’ said Lily, ‘because the two of you will be opening up the tavern tomorrow on your own.’
‘Yes. We'll be unconscious in our bed,’ said Jack. ‘This will take us all night. I'm sure of it.’
‘Okay, then. See you,’ agreed Trudy. Bridget had already bolted up the stairs, anxious to avoid being dragged into the painting session. She planned to get her full eight hours of beauty sleep and be looking her best for whenever Liam Bradley returned. David Devaney was still on the shortlist, of course, and he was miles better-looking than Liam, but Liam had more long-term investment potential. She must ask Lily if Liam's wife was pretty and if his marriage was a happy one. And there was always the chance that Gerry might call from New York. She was still hopeful he might propose before his thirtieth birthday. His fear of commitment might well be eclipsed by his fear of being left on the shelf. It was about time Bridget's romantic possibilities increased. She changed into her vest and shorts in record time and was fast asleep before Trudy had even finished brushing her teeth.
With the two girls safely tucked up for the night, Lily prepared a pot of tea and some chicken and ham sandwiches for herself and Jack. They both quickly dressed in old jeans and worn shirts, and swiftly carried the leaning Christmas tree up to their bedroom. Lily was so excited about the decorating project that she didn't feel a bit tired. When the tavern walls were painted, she was going to assemble the three new artificial Christmas trees, and decorate them with the gold-beaded pears and the gold-filigree partridges that she and Daisy had chosen in the art shop earlier in the day. She had hundreds of white fairy lights in her shopping bag and three hand-made angels with golden robes, as well. She planned to place the biggest tree to the right-hand side of the chimney. One smaller tree was going beside the front door, and one was for behind the bar. She had spent a fortune on the decorations but she wasn't going to worry about that now. The DIY shop had delivered several large mirrors with ornate gold frames and Jack was going to hang them up when the paint was dry.
Some journalists who reviewed pubs and restaurant food for their newspapers had accepted her invitation to visit the following evening and she was determined to impress them. Everything was going to be absolutely perfect. They wolfed down their late supper and began the task in hand.
Jack moved all the furniture in the middle of the room as close together as he could and laid dust sheets over it, and also over the counter and the benches in the booths. Then he levered the lids off two large tins of paint with a screwdriver and took a few moments to grow accustomed to the richness of the shade, as Lily gasped with delight. She knew immediately that it was going to be wonderful and that they were going to change the atmosphere of the bar entirely, in one night, for the price of a couple of tins of emulsion paint. Jack wasn't so sure.
‘Lily, are you sure this paint isn't slightly brown?’
‘It is not brown at all. It just looks brown in this harsh overhead light.’
‘Well, maybe it'll be more purplish when it dries?’ he said doubtfully.
‘It's aubergine and it's going on these walls tonight.’ She dipped a cutting-in brush into the first tin and rushed over to the nearest wall. On the paint went with a firm swipe and they both held their breath. ‘It's beautiful, isn't it?’ she said. ‘Quick, pour some paint into the tray and get going. I'll do the edges.’
‘Righto. Do you think we'll get away with two coats?’
‘Oh, yeah. If not, we'll do a third one tomorrow night.’
Jack loaded up the fluffy roller and quickly applied a layer of paint to the right-han
d wall above the booths. It looked beautiful where it finished beside the soft red bricks of the fireplace. It was definitely very dark but they reminded themselves that when the Baroque mirrors were in place, the effect would be lifted dramatically. Lily could almost hear the Christmas angels singing she was so pleased with her handiwork. For over three hours they worked non-stop.
By four in the morning, however, they were both struggling to stay awake. Lily couldn't stop yawning and Jack's eyelids were twitching with fatigue. They heard the phone ringing upstairs just as they were conceding defeat. The walls were nowhere near finished. It was taking much longer to go all around the edges than they'd planned. When Jack went upstairs to make some coffee, Lily lay down on one of the benches to rest and fell asleep at once. Jack found her there when he returned with two steaming mugs of instant cappuccino five minutes later. She was in such a deep sleep that she didn't even feel the spare paintbrush sticking into her cheek. He smiled and set down the coffee mugs before gathering her up in his arms and carrying her gently to bed. He switched off the lights with his elbow and decided not to worry about the half-painted bar. They would finish it in the morning. There was never a full house in the mornings. It would be okay. He would set the alarm for eight and they would resume the makeover. They both slept fully dressed, too exhausted to even take their clothes off.