by Beth Moran
When Scarlett was initially diagnosed, her bucket-list suggestions included a trip to Paris, skydiving (as long as she was strapped to a hunky instructor), swimming with sharks, staying in an ice-hotel to see the Northern Lights and spending the night with Clint Eastwood under the Major Oak.
As her illness took hold, the list of her hopes and dreams changed: to get up and dress herself each morning, to have a croissant for breakfast with black cherry jam, to laugh several times a day, to tell her family she loved them, to not pee on the bathroom floor, to be strong enough to walk beneath the trees again, to spend the night with Samuel T. Waters under the Major Oak.
Scarlett was retreating. It got harder and harder for her to fight past the tumours in her head and reach us. What could we do for her before it was too late? We had a surprise picnic. I spent three days in Sunny’s kitchen preparing cakes and finger foods, enjoying the added bonus of avoiding my mother, who as yet showed no signs of leaving. We put a sign up in reception, and visited the midweek guests to ensure they knew there would be no staff on duty for the afternoon, leaving my mobile phone number in case of emergency. Thirty people had been invited – enough for a party but not so many as to overwhelm Scarlett or make her frailty embarrassing to her. We took blankets, picnic chairs, hampers and ball games to the clearing around the Major Oak, in the heart of the Sherwood Forest country park. On my last trip out here I had punched Jake and run off into the woods to have a panic attack. A lifetime ago.
The forest was reasonably empty, so we felt no guilt in sprawling out across the grass as we waited for Samuel to bring the guest of honour. We waited a long time, nervously watching the white clouds drifting back and forth across the sun, alternately plunging the clearing into shadow and lifting it with vibrant sunlight. Eventually Katarina, fussing over spoiled food, began opening hampers and laying out plates. Grace untangled herself from Josh and came to stand next to me, leaning on the fence that kept tourists at a safe distance from the ancient tree.
“She’s an hour late.”
“I know. She’s probably been sleeping. Or changing her mind about what to wear. You know she can’t tell the time any more.”
“Samuel can. Mum thinks being late is self-important, a way of letting someone know you consider yourself of greater worth than them; that their time, and therefore their life, is less valuable than yours.”
“Maybe she decided that today she is the most important person. Perhaps she insisted on walking from the car park. You know she thinks she can do more than she actually can. She’s okay, Grace. If something had happened Samuel would have phoned.”
Grace shook her head. “Except that you need a satellite phone to get a reception here.”
“Don’t worry. Go and see if Josh wants a satay chicken stick. They are delicious, if I do say so myself.”
Two hours late, Samuel drove Archie’s wagon into the forest, Scarlett waving from the seat beside him in a black and white shift dress that I hadn’t seen before. He climbed down and lifted her to the ground. We all clapped and shouted “Surprise!”
Samuel called for everyone’s attention. We quieted down, and he clasped his strong, walnut arm around Scarlett.
“Actually,” she drawled, only a hint of unsteadiness in her voice, “the surprise is on you.”
Samuel beamed, his teeth gleaming through his beard as the sun emerged from behind a cloud again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and honoured guests. It is my absolute pleasure, my inexpressible delight, to present my wife: Scarlett Obermann-Waters.”
The rest of his speech was drowned out as the friends and honoured guests went wild. My eyes quickly sought out Grace and Valerie across the clearing, anxious to see how they had responded to the news of missing the wedding. With shock and relief, it appeared. They both muscled through the cluster of congratulations to embrace the newly-weds, hanging on long after others had started to hand round plastic glasses of sparkling wine.
Scarlett was ushered to a two-seater camping chair, where she curled up beside her patient husband, a soft throw around her knees, and after toasting and being toasted, she fell asleep.
Erica arrived even later than Scarlett, causing Grace to mouth “self-important” at me with a knowing smirk. I turned away to hide my smile. Someone else didn’t think Erica was perfect. That made two of us out of seven billion. She was slightly flushed, in a wholesome, outdoorsy way, but her eyes jerked about betraying that there was more to it than that.
I have no excuse, beyond sheer nosiness, but when she swished down beside Reuben on a blanket, I wandered close enough to listen under the pretence of helping myself to another smoked salmon blini. They kissed briefly.
“I thought you had to work. Doesn’t the Prebble deal need signing off today?”
Erica wriggled with suppressed excitement. “I walked out.”
“You mean you resigned?”
“Ssshhh! Keep your voice down. I don’t want my news to detract from Scarlett and Samuel’s day.”
I didn’t think Erica had to worry too much about that, and from the look on Reuben’s face, neither did he.
“So, what are you going to do? If you resigned, you won’t be entitled to a pay-out. Have you really thought this through?”
Erica leaned closer to him. “I have another offer. It means slightly less money, and I’ll have to let the flat go, so I can manage and keep the car.”
Reuben waited for her to explain. I nibbled on my third blini, willing her to hurry up before my stomach reached capacity.
“Daddy wants me to manage his new venture. It’s an amazing opportunity, with tons of scope for potential. And – ” she trailed one finger slowly down Reuben’s bare arm, “it means I get to work close to you. Much, much closer. Close enough to live at the Hall.”
Reuben didn’t move. He took a long minute to reply. “You can’t stand the countryside. Isn’t that the whole reason why for two years we’ve been at stalemate? Now you’re inviting yourself to move in?”
Erica sat back. “I don’t have to move in if you don’t want me to. I know about your old-fashioned notions of propriety. But aren’t you pleased that we will actually get to see each other more than once a fortnight? We can have a proper relationship again.”
“Don’t take a job simply to be near me. Your career matters too much to you, and you know it.”
“I told you, it’s a great opportunity. A new challenge.”
“Round here?”
Erica looked down at her feet, demurely curled under her skirt. “Daddy wants me to run the campsite. He’s drawn up some amazing plans for expansion, to turn it from a failing, tatty trailer park into a luxury holiday village. The kind of place where people like us would want to spend our money: contemporary, hip, low-carbon-footprint, but with all the latest equipment. Secluded cabins with private hot-tubs, wood-burning stoves and a personal chef to prepare meals made with ingredients from Sherwood Organics. Like a top-class hotel but in the forest.”
I could hear the frown in Reuben’s voice. “I thought Scarlett wasn’t selling.”
“Well no, not yet. But in a few months.”
“Ownership of the business is passing to Samuel and Grace. Marion’s going to run it. I hear she’s going to look after Valerie.”
“Yes, but with the new rent increase they can’t afford to keep going as they are. Do you really think Marion can run a business, take it forward, make it into something that can grow and last? She can’t even make a bowl of pasta! Oh, don’t worry, I’ll find something for them all to do. We’ll still need cleaners and groundsmen.”
“Marion has been working at the campsite nine months longer than you. You have no idea what experience she has. Part of running a successful business is getting along with your employees. You can’t just force your way in and expect it to work.”
Erica’s cheeks flushed deep pink. She no longer bothered to keep her voice down. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“I don’t think you s
hould do it.”
“I’m doing this for us, Reuben, so that we can actually spend some time together! So I don’t feel as if you have a whole separate life where you end up with other women in your kitchen half naked. You spend enough of your time hanging around that scabby park. This way, you get to do it with me. And when you finally become Lord Hatherstone, we can use some of the wasted land on the estate to grow the business even more. Make a whole forest resort, with shops and restaurants and sports facilities. Can’t you see I’m doing this for us – for our future?”
Reuben stood up. “Of course. You can’t cope without shops and restaurants on your doorstep, can you? You’ve got it all figured out, you and Daddy – what you’re going to do with my land, my family’s home, to make your fortune. Perhaps we should turn the Hall into a luxury low-carbon-footprint hotel while we’re at it? Don’t worry about my parents. They can clean bathrooms and make beds as well as anyone.”
Erica, chastened, scrambled to her feet and followed him as he began to walk away. “Okay, I’m sorry. The estate land was going a bit too far. But the rest – it’s going to happen anyway. At least with me in charge we can show some sympathy to the park’s history.”
Reuben stopped. He removed Erica from his arm. Most of the guests were now watching from their deckchairs and blankets. “Please can we talk about this another time?”
“All right. But where are you going?”
“Lucy needs a walk. Why don’t you offer your congratulations to the happy couple before they find out you’re planning on destroying their home and their business?”
I stayed awake most of that night, my head churning with figures and data and profit margins. Erica was right, of course. I had no idea how to turn a failing business around. The conclusion I reached in the end went like this: the Peace and Pigs Holiday Park was a thriving business, run well. I had checked out other rates in the area and even our previous rent had been high. Fisher trying to run us out was the only reason things had become unworkable. Still, he owned the land and had the right to fix his rent, however unfair the increase might be. And I couldn’t see any way of making more money out of the business as it stood; there were no more corners to be cut. We needed some way of generating extra income. Something akin to the Christmas grotto, but lasting all year round. I kept thinking, and by morning a tiny, green shoot of an idea had begun to sprout.
I decided to go into the village to speak with Jo, my friend at the café. We had chatted a few times at church now, and got on pretty well. We both enjoyed reading, and Jo had invited me along to join her book group. I had been disappointed to have to turn down my first ever potential girls’ night out, but things were too hectic at the site.
I was taking my car to the village, as the bike had a puncture. As I unlocked it, my mother appeared.
“Good morning, Marion. Are you well this day?”
Good morning. I was still on red alert, always watching for signs that my real mother was going to rear her vicious head.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Grand, thank you. Are you heading to the village?”
“Yes.”
“Would you give me a lift? I hear there’s a good clothes stall at the market today, and if I don’t find myself something cooler to wear I’m never going to make it through the summer.”
This felt like a bullet barrelling through my stomach and embedding itself in my guts. Still, I was unable to ask her what she meant. Through the summer? As in the whole season? Right the way out the other side? Wasn’t that what “through” meant? Was she planning on never going home?
“So? Will you give me a lift?”
“Get in.”
We drove in silence. Ma knew I was more than a little wary of her attempts at restoration. The truth was, I still felt angry and hurt, and annoyed that her presence reminded me constantly of my past; of who I had been, and why. I wanted nothing more than for her to leave. I mused as I sped down the country lanes that perhaps if I pretended all was forgiven and we were okay now, she might consider her mission accomplished and go. Something to think on.
I parked close to the market. It was a measure of my bitterness that I didn’t want her to see where I was going. Not because it was a secret. I simply didn’t want her in my life or my business, or knowing anything about me. We arranged to meet back at the car in half an hour and I slipped across to the café.
Inside felt pleasantly cool. An elderly couple sat at one table sharing a pot of tea, and four local labourers occupied another, polishing off the café’s famous Outlaw’s Breakfast. Jo stood behind the counter by the till, flicking through a copy of the paper.
“Hi, Marion. What can I get you?”
“Tea, please. And a piece of carrot cake.”
She deftly filled a mug and slipped a piece of cake from inside the display case onto a plain white plate, then offered me milk from a metal jug, and a sachet of sugar. I declined both.
“Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
She checked the clock. Ten-thirty, still a long while to go before the lunchtime rush.
“Sure.”
Sitting at a corner table, I described to Jo my idea of creating somewhere to eat at the campsite. Not quite a café or a restaurant, but a place that would attract visitors to stop in for food or a drink throughout the day, and provide a place for families to hang out in the evenings. I was imagining live music, a well-stocked bookcase, maybe a crate of Lego. Nothing loud or tacky, but a homely environment and high quality food – a venue able to draw in not only campsite visitors, but local people and tourists as well.
“I don’t want to compete with the café. I’m thinking more of a brasserie. Or a deli that sells food to eat in as well. What do you think?”
“It sounds like a great idea. At the moment if anyone around here wants to go out for a meal, they have to drive for miles, or spend a fortune on a taxi. Even the local chippy is a village away. You should do take-away too.”
“You aren’t worried we’d steal your customers?”
“Marion, we have a fixed market here. The people who come into my café want grease, builder’s tea and sandwiches on white sliced bread. I make a comfortable living. I’m not interested in opening up evenings, and when I tried serving paninis I sold five in a fortnight. People come here because it’s tourist-free, they can hear the goss, read the paper in peace and it’s cheap. Go for it. And you can reserve me a table for opening night.”
“It’s a big project. We’ll need a building and tons of equipment, and then there’s all the legal side of things. I was half hoping you’d tell me it’s a rubbish idea and I’d better forget it.”
“Nah, not me, love. Life’s too short to sit on a dream. Why don’t you ask Vanessa at church to give you a hand? She used to manage a restaurant in Newark before her twins were born.”
I sat and scribbled menu options on a paper napkin until it was time to meet my mother. Could it work? What was the percentage of new businesses failing? Wasn’t it ninety-nine-point-nine per cent or something? And we would need a loan to start with. And could it even make enough to cover the rent anyway? If not, it was pointless. I had a lot of research to do, and definite figures to research and calculate. I needed to look at building costs and staffing. I felt as if I stood at the bottom of a huge snow-capped mountain, gazing up a winding track strewn with glaciers, gaping ravines and deadly beasts. If I didn’t pack the correct equipment in my rucksack, or plot the route carefully enough, and if I didn’t ensure I had the right team to come with me, it would be disastrous. But I had planted my first step on the path to the top. The summit looked inviting, and I was going to do everything I could to reach it.
My mother hadn’t shown up by the car. I went to look for her at Amanda’s stall, where I found her gathering together a bunch of bulging carrier bags. Please let her not have bought leopard print or something with a fringe.
“Sorry, Marion. It took longer than I thought to find something suitable. Strapless
is not a good look on a woman my age.” She grimaced at Amanda, sporting her usual boob tube three inches below flattering. It matched her new yellow hair.
I hadn’t seen Amanda since Reuben had cornered her last month. She refused to make eye contact as my mother fumbled in her purse for the right money.
“Still here, then.”
“Yes.”
“Still poking around in people’s private business? Or are you too busy trying to keep Fisher’s hands off the campsite?”
I ignored her, picking up two of the carrier bags and starting to move away. Amanda’s partner, Jen, walked up carrying a cardboard box. “Can you help me sort these handbags out, Amanda? I’ve got three more boxes in the van.”
My mother froze, her bags dangling from each hand. She muttered to herself the name “Amanda” and stared hard at the woman in front of her. I could see something stirring inside, a tornado gathering energy, building in intensity.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
Amanda took a couple of bags out of the box and hung them on the end of one of the clothing rails.
Ma spoke louder. “It is you. It must be.”
Amanda twisted her snaky head to look at me and then my mother. The pieces clicked into place. “That’s your mum?”
I nodded. A shadow of fear flitted across her face.
“You evil bitch!” My mother snarled the words, her withering expression everything I remembered and more. “Look at you. Look at you! Strumping about with your market stall and your cheap clothes and trampy hair. Living your life as easy as you please. Have you no shame?” Working herself up as she spoke, she flung the bags of clothes at Amanda. “Keep your clothes! I would freeze to death before I put on a stitch of your wares, you lying, cheating hussy. Do you know what you did to him? And what price have you paid? What price?”