by Sue Nicholls
Still on the path, Paul drops his bags into the flower bed, and throws himself at Topsy’s squirming body, capturing her with some difficulty and clamping his fingers to the scruff of her neck. With the puppy in one hand and an awkward tangle of carrier bags in the other, he struggles over the threshold and slams the front door shut with his foot. His pet writhes in his grasp and an unpleasant pong rises from her clinging fur and wet feet. Paul holds his face away as he carries her at arm’s length towards Maurice and Mick.
Standing at the kitchen doorway the three men contemplate the kitchen floor. Pleated sheets of newspaper lie like a wrinkled rice pudding skin in puddles of urine. Partially dissolved in the liquid, a brown and smelly substance is streaked across the floor.
Chapter 30
It is still a bolt hole.
Fee and Kitty have dragged everything they can from the beach hut onto the veranda and swept, wiped and sterilised the interior. Now Fee is cleaning and returning selected items, while Kitty takes pebbles and shells from a bucket they found under the bed and arranges them in a pattern on the table. Beside Kitty in the spring sunlight, lumps formed by broken spades, rusting pans and gnawed cushions, protrude from a growing mound of black plastic sacks.
‘Why couldn’t the others come Mummy? I want someone to play with.’ She does not sound in the least bored. In front of her, a spiral of shells and stones is growing into an ornamental ammonite.
‘They can come another time Poppet. I think it’s lovely to be just us. I don’t have much time alone with you at home.’ Fee pauses by the table. ‘You’re making a lovely pattern there.’
To be alone is balm to her soul. Here in the beach hut she has control of her surroundings. A place for each thing and nobody to move it. She thinks of her mother. If she is looking down on them, she will be saying, ‘You’re doing fine darling. Just relax.’
Fee sits beside Kitty and adds a cockle shell to the pattern. ‘I expect I collected these shells when I was a child.’ She picks up a broken snail shell and rubs the exposed corkscrew with her thumb. ‘Shall we go and paddle?’
Despite the finer weather, there is still a cool breeze coming off the sea. Kitty shakes her head. ‘It’s too cold.’
‘Well I brought wellies. We can look for more shells.’
So, they trudge along the shale beside the slapping, sucking water, keeping to the wet edge. Occasionally a stray trickle of scummy foam slides over their gleaming toes making Kitty squeal. Fee breathes in the briny air, her head flung back to look at the sky, where grey gulls mass and screech. To their right the esplanade is empty. Fee’s thoughts move to a boy she played with here, all those years ago. What was his name? Michael. His family owned one of the other beach huts. She scans the rows of pastel coloured shacks trying to spot which had been theirs. Michael’s mother used to chat to Joyce while the two children larked around, just as Kitty and the rest did a few weeks ago, at hop scotch and chase, and treasure hunting on the beach, hauling bits of wood and rocks to be stashed under the day bed. Fee never mentioned her monster of a father to Michael. She wonders now if Joyce confided in the boy’s mother.
Kitty is roaring out a song from school, shouting it over the wave-noise, How high does a fly fly when a fly flies ever so high? Flanagan and Allan. It’s a long way from Fee’s school renditions of Jesus bids us shine with a pure clear light.
Every now and again they stoop to pick up a treasure for their pail, and before long they reach the groyne and follow it back up the beach towards the huts. The pair turn right again and back to their hut to dump the bucket of shells and pebbles onto the wooden deck.
‘Let’s go and find lunch.’ Fee grabs her purse and secures the door, stashing the key and money in a large pocket in her coat then, still in boots, they strike out, uphill to Marine Parade. They follow Tower Hill and Harbour Street round the coast and into town. By the time they get to the High Street, Kitty is whining that her feet hurt, and Fee is wishing they had taken the time to change into shoes. She was trying to be spontaneous. Oh well, mustn’t give up now.
‘Come on. We’ll have a rest.’ She pulls Kitty into a café.
Sausage and chips, tomato ketchup, lemonade, Kitty’s eyes open wide as her mother agrees to every request.
‘Now, we need a knickerbocker Glory.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’ll see. You must have one when you come to the seaside. We’ll share it.’
When the lurid confection arrives, Kitty laughs in delight over a billow of whipped cream. They eat with matching spoons, clicking the long handles together like swords as they battle for the last of the strawberry sauce at the bottom.
Hunger satisfied, they meander through the small town exploring the quaint gift and food shops. Fee buys apples and Kitty chooses a kite in the shape of an eagle, then they re-trace their footsteps, weary but happy.
Fee holds Kitty’s hand, and half listens to her chatter. When the little girl asks if there’s time to try out the kite before they go home, Fee opens her mouth to concur when she spots a pair of eyes staring intently at them from the reflection in a shop window on the opposite side of the road. She looks away quickly then looks up again. The eyes are still fixed on hers.
‘I don’t think there’ll be time Poppet. We’ll leave it at the beach hut, and you and the others can try it out next time we’re here.’
Kitty starts to argue but Fee, with uncharacteristic sharpness, snaps, ‘No arguments Kitty, we’ve had a lot of fun but it’s time to go home.’ She increases her pace until Kitty is trotting along behind, at arms-length. Fee’s neck tingles and a cold shiver passes between her shoulder blades.
Chapter 31
Footsteps thunder on the stairs and the kitchen is filled by a ravenous mob of children, their arms stretching to reach and grab slices of toast, croissant, butter, jam. Fee reaches among them to land glasses of fruit juice on coasters and shakes her head in disapproval. ‘Will you get Mummy from the garden please, Sam?’
The boy scrapes back his chair and flies out of the back door to bellow at the vegetable patch, ‘Muuummeee, breakfast’s ready.’ Fee shudders. Sam charges back and plunges across the table between Lucas and Josh to grab a croissant. Bronze flakes float in his wake as he makes a break for the stairs.
‘Come back Sam. Where are your manners?’
The boy flounces back and glares a Fee. ‘Why do I have to eat here? I’m in the middle of a story. You’re not my mum, anyway, you can’t tell me what to do.’
Fee looks the boy in the eyes until he drops them. ‘The rule is: No food upstairs.’
Twitch stomps in. ‘What’s the face for Sam?’
‘Nothing.’
‘OK well try another face please,’ and she turns briefly from her place at the sink to watch her son leave the room, still chewing. With clamped lips she flutters her earth-caked nails in the stream of tap water, watching rivulets of earth-slurry trickle into the drain. The other children demolish the remaining food and lurch, a joyous rabble, into the sunshine.
‘Sam’s young to be a teenager, isn’t he?’ Twitch scrubs her hands on a tea towel, leaving a smudge of mud on the gingham linen, and throws it at the washing machine. Fee stoops to throw it into the drum. ‘I think he wants a dog.’
The gardener slumps onto a chair at the table. ‘I’m not having a bloody dog. There’s enough to do round here as...’
‘Oh, no. I didn’t mean we should have one. I just wanted you to know that it’s not something to do with you, or me.’ Fee wipes the jam-sticky table and stacks discarded dishes, before putting a plate of mangled biscuits in front of the sagging Twitch. 'Are you tired Twitch?’
‘I’m fine.’ There is pain behind the words and Twitch’s tight-strung body jerks and snaps like a brittle twig in a winter storm.
‘I’ve made tea, and the children made these,’ Fee indicates the grey offerings and pulls out a chair beside her housemate.
‘Great,’ Twitch responds without enthusiasm.
&nb
sp; Fee blows on her tea and takes a sip. ‘Paul’s being weird. He wouldn’t come to the house to collect Kitty, so I had to send her to the gate.’
Twitch’s back snaps up, javelin straight. ‘Oh?’
‘Mm. I couldn’t understand why, but when I asked, he got shirty.’ Fee ignores Twitch’s lurching and fidgeting and keeps her eyes on the children, playing chase among the bushes.
‘Where’s Millie?’ Twitch changes the subject abruptly.
‘Still in bed. Busy time yesterday.’ Fee looks at her watch. ‘It’s late though, I’ll take her tea up or she’ll have no day left.’
In her bedroom Millie is staring at the ceiling with her hands deep in a mound of pillows, behind her dishevelled head.
‘Hi. Tea.’ Fee crosses the room and pushes books and papers aside to make space for the cup on the bedside table. ‘What are you day-dreaming about?’
‘Christmas.’
‘Christmas? The restaurant’s not even open yet.’
Millie looks at Fee, her face alight with the thrill of the unknown. ‘I’ve no idea how much food to order, how many staff to take on, that sort of thing.’
‘I should think you’ll have more idea once you’ve started trading. How are things going with the launch?’
Millie humps herself upright in the covers and wraps her arms round the duvet-peak of her knees. ‘Ready I think - I hope.’
‘Well don’t worry, we’ll all be there to help.’ Fee’s eyes range round the room. A heap of clothing swamps the back of a chair, and two shoes lie where they were dropped, one pointing at Fee, while the toe of its mate pokes from under a chest of drawers. On the dressing table a flotsam of makeup and used cotton wool is scattered with abandon.
Gripping her fingertips in her palms to keep them from tidying, Fee turns away. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’
***
Butter slicks from Fee’s knife onto seeded bread, while at the table Millie tries to fathom the workings of a newly acquired computer. Fee’s attention is taken up with Twitch, whose gaunt frame rises and falls outside as she does battle with weeds.
The telephone rings in the hall, and Millie and Fee both make to answer it. In the end it is Millie who runs ahead, and soon, Fee hears her say, ‘Oh, that’s so great. Congratulations.’ Five minutes later Millie is back. ‘That was Mick. He’s been promoted. He’s going to be in charge of new business for the whole hotel chain.’ The dark head nods at Fee. ‘You remember? The hotel was taken over by Waterford Hotels last year.’
Fee pretends to remember.
‘The job will involve a lot of travelling.’ Millie holds her hand over her eyes and squints at Fee in the low sun. ‘But he won’t start until January. Which is a relief; I can get Christmas sorted before he goes for training.’
‘Send my congratulations. Why don’t you ask his advice about Christmas?’
‘Not going to happen.’ Millie’s eyes harden and she presses her lips against each other.
Fee’s mind is elsewhere. ‘Millie?’
‘Mm?’ Millie’s small fingers tap out a literary polka on her keyboard.
‘Have you noticed a change in Twitch?’
Millie stops typing. ‘Change? No, not really. What do you mean?’
‘It’s as though a switch has been flipped and Twitch has gone from happy to sad.’
Millie frowns and drops her hands into her lap. ‘I’ve been so wrapped up in my own little life I haven’t noticed. Has something happened?’
Fee slides onto a chair beside her. ‘No idea. I’ve tried to find out, but I don’t want to press her.’
‘I feel terrible now.’ Millie pulls a face, ‘You and I are so lucky. Maybe we’ve taken Twitch for granted.’
Fee puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin on the backs of her interlaced fingers, saying, ‘And what’s the matter with Sam suddenly? I thought he wanted a dog but perhaps it’s something else.’
***
Slumped on the sofa, Twitch is staring mindlessly at the television that none of them are watching. Fee wishes they could turn it off and sort out this latest problem. She takes a breath. ‘The house is looking lovely Twitch; I don’t know how we’d manage without you.’
Twitch’s gaze does not shift. Her hair is draped heavily over the back of the settee, and under her skirt, bony legs flop in front of her. At either side of her hips, her hands rub the seat, backwards and forwards.
Opposite Twitch, Millie curls in an armchair, her eyes on the sit-com.
‘It’s my job,’ Twitch says in a flat voice. ‘We all do what we’re best at and I can’t earn enough money to pay the bills. What else would I do?’
Millie turns her head and stares, baffled, at Fee.
Twitch catches the movement and her hands become still. ‘Do you miss having a man around?’ She asks, out of the blue.
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind a cuddle now and again,’ Fee gives a short laugh, ‘but I certainly don’t miss the dirty floors, the upright toilet seat and so on.’
The clock ticks a calm rhythm in the hall and laughter dips and swoops from the set. Twitch’s face blanks and she resumes her cushion massaging.
Millie joins the conversation. ‘Have you met anyone friendly outside the school gates, Twitch?’
‘Nobody I’ve clicked with. They’re friendly enough but you know women, all gaggle and gossip. I prefer my own company, wish I had more of it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fee’s head snaps round.
‘Well, time to paint.’ Suddenly Twitch bursts out, ‘To go to Art College. I want to live my dream the same as you!’
Fee fixes her eyes on Twitch. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘Well, there wasn’t much point in mentioning it. I needed to get out of my marriage, and I didn’t have any earning skills. There’s no value in whinging. I try to make my creativity match my life, hence,’ she flings out a hand in an angry sweep round the newly decorated room.
‘What’s happened, Twitch? You seem unhappy and we’re worried about you.’ Fee glances at Millie, who nods.
‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’
‘I’m sorry but I don’t believe you.’ Fee says. Mummy would be proud of her for being so forthright. ‘You seemed fine when we moved in here.’
The silence from Twitch suggests she will not answer, but finally she murmurs, so quietly they have to strain to hear, ‘After I had the children, I suffered with depression. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t planning any more kids. I had about recovered when I met you in the theatre.’ She looks away from the television at last, and meets Fee’s gaze. ‘I feel the same as I did then.’ Her face twists.
Fee takes a deep breath and rises from her seat to kneel beside her friend. ‘You poor thing.’
Millie crosses the room and sits on the arm of the chair.
Twitch weeps for a long time, and Millie and Fee do not budge from her side.
Chapter 32
‘A toast: To success.’ Millie stands behind the polished bar and raises a shiny new champagne glass. Everyone she cares about stands before her: proud parents, friends, children, neighbours and new employees.
‘Success,’ they intone, and point flutes of champagne or lemonade at the ceiling.
This is the first time the others have met new recruits, Liz and Daisy.
Older than Millie by possibly ten years, Liz, with restaurant experience gained before the birth of her grown-up children, will be invaluable. She is a widow; her husband having suffered a heart attack three years ago.
Sweet Daisy, a catering student, is as bubbly as her Bollinger. With glossy, auburn hair cascading to her waist, and an engaging smile, she has achieved something most of her college friends envy, a job in her chosen trade.
Millie hopes business will soon allow her to employ more staff, but she thinks the three of them should be enough for now, and Fee will be on hand to skivvy on the first night – tomorrow.
The little party admires the restaurant, laid up with white cloths and immacu
late cutlery, and smelling of furniture polish and paint. In the kitchen a pristine gas cooker is still partly coated in cellophane. Smooth surfaces, and shining pans and utensils hanging from walls, elicit exclamations of approval.
They wander to the storeroom, where shelves are arranged with dried goods: rice, flour, dried fruit. They peep into chillers containing dull red beef and chicken with pale, pimply skin, admire racks of vegetables and fridges of butter and cream. Small, fingers are stayed before they touch the precious produce.
Twitch, looking faintly envious, manages small, occasional smiles; Fee, helped by Millie’s mum and dad, watches the children, all excited, snotty and fiddling
Liz and Daisy are soon pals. They point, nod, plan. They will be good together the young one with the older one.
Millie looks at them all and thinks ahead to the opening, and her insides lurch.
***
The night arrives. Liz and Fee are in the kitchen with Nicola from next door, whom Millie, in a last-minute panic has pressed into helping. Daisy, in black and white, smiles nervously from behind the bar. In the window a large, hand-written poster announces, Opening night, 25th May, 7pm. Full tasting menu. Sample our delicious fare, with a complimentary glass of sparkling wine. £35 per head.
Twitch has been to the doctor and seems a little happier already. Tonight, she has agreed to stay at home and supervise all the children, including Nicola’s.
Millie turns the hanging sign on the door from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and pulls the handle to greet her first customers. Behind them are more, and more. Millie gives silent thanks to the local paper. A scruffy reporter had shambled into the restaurant as the final workmen were clearing up their tools. Amidst their echoing chatter and clatter, Millie described her dreams to him. The article came out two days ago, with a striking picture of Millie gazing up at her new sign – the old Chez Ralph, now replaced by the single word Feast.