A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  Alison obliged. ‘Harriet Flood, Country Homes and Gardens.’ She grinned. ‘Clever Simon!’

  ‘What’s that, Ali?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, Mum. Where’s Gran? We’re all here.’

  ‘Not quite’, said Elsie, entering the kitchen with Charlie following her. ‘Jeff,’ she produced two bottles of elderberry wine, ‘make yourself useful and open these, would you? Charlie, you get the glasses together. We’re going to need eight. Ah!’ The diesel chug of a taxi could be heard outside, ‘He’s here.’

  She went to the door, followed by six curious pairs of eyes, ‘Come in, come in, we’re all waiting for you…’ And in through the door walked an elderly, stout, red-faced man, with twinkly blue eyes and a polished, bald head.

  Alison gasped in alarm. ‘Gran! What’s he doing here?’

  Elsie motioned to her to be quiet. ‘Before I introduce you to our guest, I just want to say we’ve got a lot of family business to tie up this evening, so I won’t waste any time and I’d thank you to all keep quiet! Now, first of all, let me introduce you to Mr Ronald Bates. He’s a very old friend of mine and we’ve decided to get married. We’re not inviting any of you. We’re off to Scotland at the weekend and we’re going to get married in Gretna. It’s all arranged.’

  The shock waves in that kitchen might have registered eight point nine on an emotional Richter scale. Without exception, jaws dropped, eyes bulged.

  Alison, alone, attempted to protest. ‘But Gran, you can’t marry him – he’s mad – you said so yourself…’

  Ron, sitting by Elsie’s side, chuckled, looking anything but mad.

  ‘No he’s not,’ said Elsie briskly. ‘I enlisted his help in a little deception, for which, my girl, you should be grateful.’

  Alison, puzzled, sank back in her chair, trying to assimilate the shock, as indeed, were the others. There was a feeble chorus of felicitations, but Elsie held up her hand. ‘We can celebrate later. Now then, next in seniority – Jeff Babbington, are you going to make an honest woman of Jenny?’

  Jenny, startled, dropped her knitting. ‘Gran!’

  Jeff, taken by surprise for once, gaped at the full-on effrontery of the question, then threw back his head and laughed, heartily. ‘I’d love to, ‘ he shouted, ‘if she’ll make an honest man of me!’

  ‘Well, Jenny?’ Elsie was in no mood for niceties.

  Jenny blushed crimson, looked across at Jeff, who grinned broadly back at her.

  ‘ This is all very sudden,’ she said, shyly. ‘We’ve not had much time to… What I mean is…’

  Jeff came to her rescue. ‘Thanks for the suggestion, Elsie. Jenny and I will let you all know, when we’re good and ready.’

  At that, the kitchen erupted with excitement and Elsie had to bring them to order by banging the table with a rolling-pin.

  ‘We haven’t finished. Stephen, have you got something to tell us?’

  ‘Yes, Gran.’ He took Angela’s hand and turned to Jenny. ‘Mum, Angela and me, we want to get married.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence and then Jenny burst into tears, hugging Stephen then Angela, Angela then Stephen. Jeff and Alison joined in enthusiastically and then, after an initial diffidence, so did Charlie. Ron sat and looked on, smiling benignly, squeezing the bony hand of their Commander in Chief.

  ‘Right,’ she said, calling them to order, yet again. ‘That’s all the nuptial announcements over, unless Charlie, you’ve got something up your sleeve. ‘He shook his head, too shaken to make the sort of wisecrack he could boast of later.

  ‘Now, to business – the farm. I’m going to be as good as my word, Stephen, I’m going to give you my share of the farm. That’s your wedding present.’

  Stephen went pink. ‘Gran, I…I don’t know what to say – but what about Ali, what about Charlie?’

  ‘Ali doesn’t want the farm, and neither does Charlie.’

  Charlie went pale, opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it and slumped down in his chair.

  ‘But I want to be fair,’ said Gran. ‘I’ve talked it over with Ron and he agrees with me. We are nearly into our eighties and there’s no point in hanging onto things until we’re dead. Might as well make them work for our kin, as well as for ourselves…’

  This was such a radical departure from the view Elsie had rigidly espoused for years, Alison stared at Ron anew, full of awe.

  ‘So I’m going to sell the two houses I have in Bath; and Ron is going to sell his flat and give the proceeds to his daughter. With your help, Stephen, we’re going to convert one of the small barns into a cottage for us both to live in. I’m going to put a sum of money into trust for Alison, which she can use once she starts her higher education, or when she’s twenty-one, whichever comes first. And I am going to give you, Charlie’ – Charlie looked up, a flicker of hope lightening his dulled features – ‘a sum of money proportionate to the value of the farm that your current share represents, if that’s what you want, plus up to a hundred per cent more if you present me with a business plan, or an investment that I approve of. Which means, Charlie, if you’ve been following me, I’m buying you out of the farm, but you’re getting, if you’re sensible, the same-sized inheritance as Stephen.’

  Charlie’s jaw dropped. He could say nothing. His mind was a jumble of all the dreams he’d had: of setting up a bike workshop with Lenny; of having the best motocross bike money could buy; of owning his very own motocross circuit; or maybe a pub, a pub of his own; of…of Linda, looking for a partner…

  ‘Well, Charlie?’

  Charlie spluttered back to life. ‘Thanks Gran,’ he said meekly. ‘Thanks. You’re one in a million.’

  And he meant it.

  * * *

  Unusually for a Saturday morning, the farm seemed deserted when Alison let herself out of the house. A taxi, containing Ron, had collected Elsie first thing that morning; Jenny had left instructions for lunch and had gone out with Jeff for the day; Stephen had finished cleaning the dairy and had gone with Angela, to look at rings at a jeweller’s in Summerbridge; and Charlie had vanished shortly after breakfast. The sky was grey and a slight breeze felt cool on Alison’s face. She stopped for a moment to pull on a hooded sweatshirt, then slid a small rucksack onto her back. She checked her watch. A little after eleven-thirty. By her reckoning, it would take half an hour to walk through Summerstoke and reach the main road to Bath. Once there, it would all depend on the lifts, but with luck on her side, she could be at the hospital shortly after the start of visiting time.

  She had collected her allowance from Charlie yesterday and had used some of it to go and see Al. Unfortunately, the cost of the journey was prohibitive, and on sixty quid, she would only be able to make the journey once more. So, taking advantage of the fact that, today, there was no one to prevent her, she decided to try to hitch. She had told Al she might not be able to come again until Sunday, and her heart had shivered into little bits at the look of disappointment on his face. She couldn’t think of anything else but what he had said, each tender word, every caress, the sweetness of his kisses, the touch of his hand on her skin… She couldn’t wait to see him again, and see his face light up, as it did when she appeared at his bedside. She knew that nobody, not even Al himself, would approve her plan, but faced with the impossibility of getting there any other way, she blanked out all possible objections.

  She had just passed the village shop when she was hailed from behind.

  ‘Alison…Alison. Just a minute...’

  It was Mrs Godwin.

  Alison groaned to herself. Her Mum’s friend was a complete gossip, and inevitably, given the events at Marsh Farm over the past few days, this conversation would be a marathon. She turned and smiled politely.

  Rita Godwin was waving a large card in her hand. ‘Oh, Alison, I was hoping to give this to your mum, to pass onto Charlie, but…’ – and she chuckl
ed, meaningfully – ‘…she’s a bit tied up these days and I haven’t seen her. Can you give it to him? There’s a dear.’

  ‘Charlie?’ Alison was puzzled. ‘It’s Stephen who’s getting married, Mrs Godwin. Don’t you mean Stephen?’

  ‘No. It’s for Charlie. It’s wonderful news about Stephen, isn’t it? I’ve not met his fiancée, but your mum is very fond of her…and what about your mum, eh? Isn’t she lucky? She deserves a bit of happiness after all this time. And your Gran! Getting married at her age – eighty, is she? What a surprise for you all.’

  ‘Yes., Alison replied weakly, still staring at the card. ‘I’m sorry, but why are you giving Charlie a card? It’s not his birthday.’

  ‘It’s a thank you card.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A thank you card. The village wanted to thank him for saving us from the flood.’

  Alison was even more confused. ‘I think you mean Stephen...’

  ‘No, dear. Charlie, definitely.’

  Rita had learned from Paula, who had been told by Lenny, the extent of Charlie’s heroism in crawling out along the fallen tree the previous Sunday. Inevitably, the story had been amply embellished with moments of high drama, and apparently Charlie, whose fear of heights was well known, had escaped from the jaws of the raging torrent by the skin of his teeth, and undeterred, had battled on to save the village. Rita had been much affected by this tale and had started a collection among the residents who might have become victims of the flood. She had intended, as an expression of the community’s gratitude, to buy him a bottle of Jack Daniels, Lenny having told her it was Charlie’s favourite tipple. But the villagers didn’t appear that grateful and she had only raised enough to buy a card.

  She had just embarked on this explanation, when a genteel cough interrupted her. It was the vicar, hovering apologetically at the door of the shop.

  ‘He’s come for his pear drops. Must go. Tell your mum I’m dying for a chat. Bye, dear.’ And she whisked back into her shop, leaving a bemused Alison to stuff the card into her bag and continue on her way.

  By the time she reached the main road, it had started to drizzle. She pulled up her hood, then sticking out her thumb, started to walk. It was dispiriting: nothing stopped, and the cars passed without reducing their speed, pulling out to give her a wide berth. She was very damp, and thinking about giving up, when a battered white van passed her at speed, then screeched to a halt. Alison didn’t hesitate. She ran up to the van and opened the door. Her thanks died on her lips. It was Charlie.

  ‘Get in.’ He looked at her grimly.

  For a moment, she thought of making her escape, but the misery of the hitch-hiking experience had dampened her spirits as well as her clothes, so, sullenly, she climbed in.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘What did it look like? I was hitching – or trying to. No one would stop.’

  ‘Are you surprised? A young girl, hood up. You spell trouble. Anyone in their right mind would give you a wide berth, and if they didn’t, that would spell trouble for you. Are you mad, Ali? What are you about, for Chrissake?’

  Alison felt close to tears and the last person she wanted to talk to was Charlie. She swallowed hard. ‘I was trying to get to Swindon, to see Al. I thought if I hitched into Bath, I might get a lift up to the motorway.’

  ‘You went to see him yesterday.’

  ‘I know. But he is in such a state, and I wanted to see him. He doesn’t have any other visitors – he won’t let his parents near him… So I thought I’d try hitching.’

  ‘You got your money yesterday. Why don’t you use that? Mum’d have a heart attack if she knew what you were up to.’

  ‘Charlie, I used up half of it getting a bus to Bath, then a train to Swindon, and then another bus to the hospital…I’ve got of find some other way of getting there.’

  Charlie sat for a moment, staring out at the drizzle. Then he put the van into gear. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’

  Alison was speechless.

  Charlie was the first to break the silence. ‘As it happens, I’ve been thinking about your fellah – or more particularly, about his bike.’

  Alison was startled. ‘Oh? What about it?’

  ‘It was a classic, an old BMW wasn’t it? What happened to it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think it was wrecked. Perhaps the police have got it.’

  ‘If he’s as mad on BMWs as I was, its fate will be eating him. I thought I might retrieve it, see if Lenny and I can fix it.’

  Alison stared at her brother. ‘You’ve changed.’

  Charlie self-consciously rubbed his head. ‘Yeah, about time, probably. Can’t believe I held onto those whiskers for so long.’

  ‘No, not your hair, you pillock. You. You’ve changed. You’re being…nice!’

  Sometime later, having chatted over the events of the last few days, culminating in Elsie’s surprise announcement, Alison suddenly remembered the card for Charlie. She rummaged in her bag and produced it.

  ‘Mrs Godwin said this was for you, Charlie.’

  It was Charlie’s turn to be surprised. ‘For me, whatever for? It’s not my birthday and I ain’t the one getting married.’

  ‘That’s what I said, but she was adamant. Said it was a thank you card.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A thank you card. For saving the village, she said.’

  ‘Blimey. What on earth’s she on about? See what it says.’

  Alison opened the envelope and pulled out a card. Bordered with balloons, flowers, streamers, and overflowing glasses of champagne, the card was embossed with ‘Thank You’ in thick gold letters. Alison opened it and read aloud, ‘“Dear Charlie, we, the residents of Lower Summerstoke, have heard how you climbed along the tree that had fallen across the river, risking life and limb. It must have been very scary, but because of your bravery, our houses were saved from the flood. Thank you, Charlie. Yours sincerely, Rita Godwin, Mavis Long, Francis Young…” and a number of other signatures I can’t quite make out.’

  Alison looked across at her brother. ‘What’s all that about, Charlie?’

  Charlie shrugged his shoulders and grinned. ‘Something and nothing.’ And he told Alison how he and Lenny had struggled with the fallen tree.

  Alison was impressed; more particularly because she realised that when everyone had praised Stephen for his role in preventing the flood, Charlie had said nothing about himself. She was beginning to see him and his actions in a new light, and it wasn’t such a bad one, after all. ‘He might have crazy ideas and go about them the wrong way,’ she thought, ‘but he does things for the right reason. He’s not totally the selfish bastard I thought he was.’

  They finally arrived at the hospital and Alison agreed to let Charlie go with her to meet Al, so that he could put his proposal about the bike to him. He didn’t stay long but the conversation between the two was animated, and when he had left, having arranged to meet Alison in a couple of hours, Al looked at her with a pale but glowing face, and said, with enthusiasm, ‘What a nice bloke your brother is.’ And Alison could do nothing else but agree with him.

  They spent a blissful time together. Al was still very weak, so Alison did most of the talking, and entertained him with stories of her brothers, and of her grandmother and her exploits. He held her hand tightly the whole while, and then, together, they whispered of love and the things they would do together when Al was back on his feet. So engrossed in each other were they, the arrival of another visitor went unnoticed, until they were interrupted by a polite cough.

  ‘Anthony?’ A slender, blond lady, with a slightly long, pointed nose, and smartly dressed in a casual way, stood looking down at Al, enquiringly. She looked vaguely familiar, Alison thought.

  ‘Yes, but nobody calls me that, if you don’t mind. It’s Al.’ Al surveyed the newcomer warily from
under drooping eyelids.

  ‘Al.’ The lady smiled slightly. ‘I won’t interrupt you for long. I’m so glad you’ve got someone with you. I’d heard you’ve refused to see your parents. I didn’t realise your girlfriend was here; otherwise I would have come at another time. You probably don’t remember me, do you?’

  ‘No, no I don’t, sorry.’ There was a suspicious note to Al’s voice.

  ‘My name is Miranda, Miranda Patterson. But my friends call me Andy.’

  Again, Alison detected an air of familiarity about her. She stared at her curiously. The woman had a bright, lively face. Her blond hair was spiky and short, and she was, Alison reckoned, getting on for forty.

  ‘I’m your aunt, Al; and for what it’s worth, your godmother.’

  ‘What?’ Al almost shrieked. ‘Have they sent you? I don’t want anything more to do with them, haven’t I made myself clear…?’

  ‘No, no, no. Far from it.’ She spoke, soothingly. ‘Don’t take on so. I haven’t spoken to either of your appalling parents for years. My sister, your mother, decided I was persona non grata shortly after you were christened...’

  So that was it! She looked and sounded like an echo of Veronica Lester.

  ‘We’ve not spoken since. I live in Bath and read in the local rag about your accident. The report mentioned you’d been brought here, so I phoned the hospital. It was they who told me that you’d refused to have anything to do with your parents. They dropped a very large hint that I could be useful and I thought, if he can chuck his parents out like that, I’m interested.’ She smiled at them both. ‘But I don’t want to play gooseberry. The staff nurse wants a chat, so I’ll leave you to it…’

  ‘It couldn’t be better, Charlie,’ Alison recounted to her brother, later. ‘He’s going to live at her house when he’s well enough to leave hospital, and since she lives in Bath, it means I shall be able to get to see him more easily.’

  ‘But no more hitching lifts, Ali. Promise. ‘ Charlie was driving them home. It was raining in earnest now, and his attention was fixed on the road in front of him. ‘Imagine being stuck out in this.’