The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC)

by Dee MacDonald

  She could frame the view with beautiful fabrics; wicker sofas on the terrace piled high with sumptuous cushions. She could imagine herself sitting out here with a gin and tonic. OK, time to get back to earth. ‘Perhaps the price is too high?’ she suggested.

  ‘Not at all!’ Mike pushed open the door on the right. ‘You get a lot of house for the money. Lovely big kitchen, though it needs a teeny bit of doing-up of course.’

  A teeny bit! Tess looked round in dismay at the yellowed walls, the 1940s cabinet, the ancient electric cooker. At least there was a butler’s sink, even if the wooden draining board had almost rotted through.

  ‘There’s a nice little scullery, too,’ Mike said, opening a door at the far end.

  ‘Boot room,’ said Simon, peering in the door.

  ‘Since when did you wear boots?’ Tess saw a metal sink and some dusty shelves. ‘Utility room.’

  They crossed the hallway into another large room at the front.

  ‘Dining room,’ announced Mike, consulting his particulars. ‘Lovely big room. You could seat a dozen or more people in here. Think of Christmas! Fire blazing!’ He indicated a hole in the wall, from which a fireplace had obviously been removed at some point. ‘You’d get a nice big log-burner in there. Great potential!’

  ‘Potential’ was the only honest word you could use in this house, Tess thought.

  He wanted them to see the six bedrooms next. They clattered their way up the wooden stairs, their footsteps echoing eerily. Four of the six bedrooms all had their original fireplaces and all had wooden floors. Two of them also had large damp patches on the ceilings and upper walls.

  ‘Needs a bit of an airing,’ said Mike cheerfully. ‘And just look at these floors! Just need to sand them down and polish them up a bit!’

  Tess could see the potential up here, particularly when he led them into the two large rear bedrooms with their breathtaking views of the ocean which was crashing against the rocks below the house. She then groaned when she saw the antiquated bathroom but could see that the roll-top bath could be painted and there was plenty of space for a shower. She’d already worked out that they could sacrifice the two smaller bedrooms to perhaps make en suites for the other four.

  Mike had them clip-clop their way downstairs again and led them with a flourish to the rear where the two large rooms with their French doors overlooked the patio, small lawn and the drop to the ocean. The panoramic views were just visible through the cobweb-festooned doors.

  ‘We could put bi-fold doors right the way along that wall,’ Simon said dreamily.

  ‘I told you it had great potential,’ said Mike.

  Tess gazed for a long time through the dust and the cobwebs at the sea which sparkled and smiled in the late afternoon sunshine. Damn it, she thought, this place has got to me, and I’m supposed to be the practical one! My common sense has gone through the roof, or escaped out of this window into the ocean! It was at that moment when she just knew they were going to be buying this house.

  3

  THE MOVE

  ‘We can’t possibly offer the full asking price,’ Tess said as they ate supper in The Portmerryn Arms, ‘because it’s going to cost an arm and a leg to get that place the way we want it.’

  ‘We can do a lot of it ourselves,’ said Simon.

  ‘Are you kidding? Look, we’re talking about replacing windows, fixing the roof, putting in a kitchen and bathrooms, central heating, wood-burners. A hundred thousand will go nowhere! And we haven’t even got Goldcrest Road on the market yet! Not only that, we should have a survey done on the place.’

  ‘What’s the point, darling? Just lining some surveyor’s pocket to tell us what we know already?’

  ‘It’s what most people do, Simon. I mean, how many kinds of rot could be lurking in the walls or somewhere? There’s dry rot, wet rot—’

  ‘We’re not most people,’ he interrupted airily.

  That much is true, Tess thought. She’d fallen in love with Simon because he was different: romantic, optimistic, cheerful, imaginative, amusing… but at times like this she would like it if he could just adopt some down-to-earth common sense.

  Simon covered her hand with his. ‘You do want it, too, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, damn it, I do!’

  ‘Well, then. It’ll make money for us. We can rent out the rooms, make it an upmarket boutique bed and breakfast hotel, guesthouse, whatever you want to call it, adults only, charge ridiculous prices…’

  ‘I’d like the grandchildren to be able to come sometimes, too.’ Tess thought fondly of six-year-old Ellie and Joshua, her eighteen-month-old brother. And that was something else; what would Amber and Matt think about their mother and stepfather moving miles away? How would her best friend Orla react and what would happen to the shop they ran together? Curvaceous it was called, because of the large ladies. They’d spotted a gap in the market and, with Tess’s expertise as a dressmaker, and Orla’s as a saleslady, they’d hatched a very successful business.

  The few acting parts Simon was offered were normally in London. In any case, Simon didn’t have the same family considerations as she did; he only had the one son: Damien. Damien, the so-called guitarist, touring around with The Shambles, the aptly named group destined to play their outdated punk music in scruffy clubs and pubs. He’d appear on their doorstep every so often, begging a bed for the night, and then take himself into the spare room to strum chords on his guitar and smoke pot.

  ‘He’ll grow out of it,’ Simon had assured her.

  At thirty-six years of age Tess doubted he had a lot of growing up still to do. Well, at least he wasn’t likely to be landing on their doorstep down here very often.

  At least her own children had homes and jobs, thank goodness. Tess adored her two grandchildren, of course and, although she didn’t mind occasionally babysitting, it had become a regular occurrence as time went on. Looking back, she realised that was why she’d joined the online dating site – to find a different life.

  Dating! At her age! What had she been thinking of? It had been Orla’s idea, of course. Orla was her best friend, business partner and mentor, and it was she who’d come up with the idea of joining MMM, ‘Meetings for the More Mature’. And, just when she’d given up the will to live and love, along came Simon! He was a guest at her daughter’s wedding and she’d fallen in love with his voice first, when he’d read out a poem at the reception. Then she’d rapidly fallen in love with the rest of him. But she’d known from the first that she was going to have to be the sensible, practical one of the partnership, with Simon doing the charming and the soothing of the way.

  * * *

  The following day they put in an offer of £30,000 below the asking price and subject to survey, which Tess had finally persuaded Simon to have done. There was some grunting and sighing from Mike before he finally agreed to put the offer to the vendors in Dubai.

  ‘You must understand,’ he said, ‘if someone should come along with a similar, or better, offer, and they’ve already sold their place, I’m going to have to take it.’

  ‘Well,’ Simon said, ‘if it’s been sitting here for a couple of years without a single offer, it would seem highly unlikely that someone else might suddenly show up now.’

  ‘Stranger things happen,’ said Mike, tapping his nose.

  ‘I don’t want anyone else to make an offer on that house,’ Tess murmured as they drove away. In spite of her initial misgivings she now felt excited at the prospect of what they were going to do, despite the work that needed to be done.

  ‘Nobody else will put in an offer,’ Simon said. ‘That’s just estate agent’s patter to get us moving.’

  As a result of this conversation Simon suggested they should head back to London the very next day to sell their property. A desirable three-bed townhouse in West London should sell quickly, of that Tess was certain.

  When they got back she gazed at the beautiful open-plan living area, at the luxury kitchen, at the desirable bi-fold doors le
ading to the patio. What are we doing? she wondered, as she ran her fingers along the pristine surface of the granite worktops. Then again it was Simon’s house, and she felt no nostalgia, not like when she sold her little cottage in Temple Terrace in Milbury when they got married.

  * * *

  ‘Are you absolutely mad?’ asked Amber, sinking into her enormous white settee in her enormous white minimalist lounge. ‘Is this Simon’s doing? You never used to have harebrained schemes like this, Mum!’

  ‘No,’ Tess agreed. ‘I’ve become more adventurous, I suppose.’ She sipped her coffee carefully, intent on not spilling a drop.

  ‘And what will Orla say? How can you just leave her with the shop?’

  Tess was worried about Orla, and their little boutique on Penny Lane. How was she likely to react?

  She found Orla chatting on the phone, the shop empty of customers.

  ‘Orla,’ Tess said, coming straight to the point, ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but Simon and I are looking to buy a property in Cornwall.’

  ‘So you’re going to be moving? Just so long as you don’t expect me to go down there and open up a Cornish Curvaceous with you!’

  ‘Of course not! But it means you’d be on your own here.’

  Orla sighed. ‘Do you know, I was wondering how to tell you I’d had enough? Lauren is dead keen to take it over now that the kids are almost grown up.’ Lauren was one of Orla’s daughters-in-law who’d stepped in on several occasions to run the shop. ‘But, of course, I’ll expect free holidays in Cornwall forever and a day!’

  ‘Oh, that’s such a relief, Orla,’ Tess said with feeling.

  ‘How about some lunch together? Boulter’s, perhaps? Then you can tell me all about it.’

  Later she called on Matt, Lisa and the two grandchildren.

  ‘Oh, Nana, is Cornwall very far away?’ Ellie’s lip trembled, and it was the only time Tess nearly gave up on the whole mad idea.

  ‘No, darling, not these days. You can be down there in just a few hours. You can even come on an aeroplane to Newquay, which is quite near. Think of all the lovely things you can do: building sandcastles, swimming, learn to surf… much more exciting than just going to the park in the summer.’

  That was a condition. She’d agree to the move if the family could come down any time they wanted. Even Damien. And there was plenty of garden space at Over and Above. Perhaps that could be used to provide some sort of accommodation for them – a caravan, maybe – until the house was habitable. Then there would always be plenty of space for visiting friends and family.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course!’ Simon enthused. Not that he’d have much idea how to make the house habitable. ‘Don’t forget we can live far more cheaply down there: go fishing, grow our own vegetables and all that!’ he added.

  Tess couldn’t see how they’d ever have time to go fishing or grow vegetables – supposing either of them had the first clue how to go about it – when there was this huge house to bring into the twenty-first century. However, at the far side of the house there was a sizeable patch of level ground, full of assorted weeds, nettles and stones which, with work, could indeed produce a supply of vegetables at the very least, and still not interfere with the appearance of either the front or rear of the house.

  But now was not the time to suggest it. There was plenty more to think of first.

  * * *

  Their house on Goldcrest Road sold within ten days at the full asking price. Their celebrations were short-lived because, soon afterwards, there was a message from their London conveyancer to say that ‘apparently the agent down there has received another offer for Over and Above, so would you be prepared to up your offer?’

  ‘I don’t believe this for one moment,’ Tess said. ‘He’s trying it on! He wants to get the full asking price. And we can’t afford to up our offer because of all the work that needs to be done. And we only have his word for this so-called other offer. I’m willing to bet he’s chancing his arm. Tell him we’re not offering a penny more.’

  Simon, of course, would have paid it. He sulked for several days, and neither of them slept a wink for the next few nights as they awaited some sort of response. On the third day their conveyancer telephoned to say that the vendors of Over and Above had accepted their offer because, according to Michael Millhouse Properties, the other prospective buyers had decided to pull out.

  Tess was torn between gloating over the fact that there hadn’t been any other buyers, and wondering if, in fact, there had been, but they’d decided to pull out because they had more sense than to take on all the work that needed doing. They were never to know.

  Over and Above was vacant, the purchasers of Goldcrest Road were renting, and keen to move in, and so all transactions were completed in a matter of weeks. Including the survey which, much to their relief, did not indicate any variety of rot, but only some rotten windows, the leaking roof, the damp and dodgy electrics which should be checked as soon as possible.

  And so, on one drizzly day in mid-September, Tess and Simon Sparrow found themselves heading down the A303 in the yellow Stag, hard-top firmly in place, along with Tess’s meowing cat, Dylan, in a basket behind, and just ahead of two Pickfords vans containing all their worldly goods. As they hit heavy traffic where the road narrowed at Stonehenge Tess thought again about what they were about to take on. Most people of our age, she thought, are downsizing. And here we are, upsizing! We’ll have to buy more furniture! We are mad, quite mad.

  Four hours later, having collected the keys from Mike, they lurched their way again up Seagull Hill. ‘SOLD’ pronounced the sign at the end of the drive. And Over and Above, in all its peeling glory, glowered at them amidst the trees through the low-lying mist.

  Here was a challenge, thought Tess, looking sideways at Simon. She could visualise how this house was going to look in a few months’ time, with the sun shining and the birds singing. Yes, it was going to be hard work but she’d longed for a change of direction and somebody lovely to share her life with. Well, she certainly seemed to have scooped the jackpot!

  * * *

  Tess’s first priority was Dylan, her old cat, who’d been cooped up in a basket for four hours. She knew that cats should be kept inside for ten days or something when moving house – but she couldn’t work out how they could do that with Dylan. Did they keep him in the kitchen, or the bedroom or where? At least she’d remembered to get a tray and cat litter so she’d be able to shut him in somewhere. The kitchen did not appear to be a good bet since they were in and out all the time and he was bound to escape. She decided it had to be their new bedroom.

  Simon then insisted their enormous bed was placed in a bedroom with a sea view, and had to be positioned against the wall that faced the view even though it had no electric points.

  ‘What are we supposed to do for bedside lights?’ Tess asked.

  ‘No idea!’ said Simon, who rarely read in bed. ‘We’ll have to use the extension leads.’

  ‘And where might they be?’

  ‘Good question,’ he replied, surveying the mountain of storage boxes which filled the hallway.

  Tess looked round the kitchen in despair. Everything would have to remain boxed until they found some storage units and she doubted that they’d ever be able to afford lovely granite worktops again. Maybe, in the meantime, perhaps they could just paint up some old cupboards or something to place round the walls? Then she heard a tapping sound and, for a moment, wondered if it was a mouse or – horror of horrors – a rat in the walls, before she realised it was the front door. Who could it be when they’d just arrived, knew no one here and there were no near neighbours?

  She opened the door to a ferrety little man, bald as a coot, and probably about their own ages.

  ‘Evenin’!’ he said, handing her a grubby card. ‘Dave Turner at yer service.’

  Tess glanced at the card: ‘General Builder’. ‘We’ve only just arrived a couple of hours ago,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, so
you’ll be needin’ some work done,’ he said. ‘The roof and that.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t had time to look at the roof yet,’ Tess said.

  ‘You’ll be needin’ me when you do,’ said Dave Turner, giving her a cheeky wink, ‘so give us a ring.’

  * * *

  Later that evening they settled for a pub meal at The Portmerryn Arms, aware of being stared at by some of the locals as most of the holidaymakers had left the area by now. They seated themselves on bar stools and studied the not-very-exciting menu.

  ‘Thought you’d gone back ’ome,’ said the large beefy landlord. He looked to be well into his seventies.

  ‘We’ve just moved into the area,’ Simon said as he surveyed the menu. ‘We’ll have a bottle of that Merlot to celebrate, please.’

  ‘So where ’ave you bought, then?’

  ‘Over and Above,’ Simon replied.

  There were gasps all round the pub.

  ‘You ’ave? Never thought anyone’d be buyin’ that!’

  ‘Well, we have. I’m Simon Sparrow, and this is my wife, Tess.’

  ‘Fancy that.’ He stared at them for a moment. ‘Jed King’s the name.’ He extended a large hand. ‘Pleased t’ meet you. Been runnin’ this pub for nigh on fifty years so, you need to know somethin’, you ask me.’ He tapped his nose, which seemed to be a habit down here. ‘That there’s Gideon, me son.’ He indicated a large man in his forties, Tess reckoned. ‘Ye’ll be needing a builder then?’

  ‘We don’t really know what we need yet,’ Simon replied. ‘Anyway, we’ve already had a builder come round offering his services.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Dave Turner, I think he said his name was. You’ve got his card somewhere, haven’t you, Tess?’

  ‘Dave Turner!’ exclaimed Jed loudly. There followed much guffawing around the bar. ‘Wouldn’t touch Dave Turner with a bargepole!’