Summer at The Little Duck Pond Cafe

by Rosie Green

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Your front tooth is really growing in now,’ I gasp in surprise. What a difference a week can make in the growth of a child! But she needs her hair cut. That fringe is in her eyes.

  She opens her mouth wide to show me her teeth.

  ‘And that one that was loose has come out, I see!’

  She nods. ‘It came out at school but I put it in my lunch box and brought it home.’

  ‘Did you put it under your pillow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did she tooth fairy come?’ I’m almost afraid to ask.

  ‘Yes. I told Daddy and he said if I put it under my pillow, I might even get two pounds instead of one. And he was right!’

  ‘The tooth fairy is giving two pounds per tooth now? Wow, that’s great.’ I smile and take her hand and we start walking back over to the little gathering of kids and ponies. ‘Did Daddy do your braids? Or did Jules do them when she picked you up from school?’

  She looks up at me. ‘Daddy did them this morning. After I reminded him it was Tuesday and I had my riding lesson after school.’

  I paste on a smile. ‘Daddies often have important things on their minds so they sometimes forget things like that.’

  She thinks about this, a frown on her face. Then she says, ‘He was in his study for a long time last night. I had to watch TV all by myself.’ She glances up at me. ‘But I didn’t mind. I got to watch a thing in a war where a man had his leg cut off.’

  ‘Got his leg cut off? Oh, Titch! You must have been up very late. Was there a lot of blood?’

  She grins, giving me a flash of her endearingly crooked front teeth. ‘Loads of blood. But I didn’t mind.’ She pauses. ‘I wished you were there to watch it with me. You wouldn’t have been as brave as me, though.’

  A wave of emotion rises up in me and I disguise it with a laugh. ‘No, I hate the sight of blood, you’re right. Mind you, if I’d been there, you wouldn’t have been up so late on a school night!’ I pretend to look cross and she giggles.

  She lets go of my hand and runs excitedly across the stable yard to her pony, calling, ‘Are you going to watch me, Jaz?’

  ‘Of course I am, love. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘And to make sure I’m doing my homework and to tell me all about where you live in Scotland,’ she shouts, turning to give me another heart-melting grin.

  ‘Yes. And that, sweetheart.’ I swallow miserably. I hate telling Titch fibs, making up a whole different life to the one I’m actually living just fifty miles away. I especially hate telling her that me coming to see her every week has to stay a secret and that only Jules and Chloe and Mariella can ever know about it.

  It has to be for the best, though. That’s what I tell myself a dozen times every day.

  But the truth is, I’m just stumbling from one week to the next.

  I have no idea what the best way actually is . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It’s the following week and I’m helping out in the café in between my yoga and zumba classes when Fen rushes in.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be here, Jaz,’ she says. ‘Good news. The job’s yours!’

  I stare at her. ‘Really? What made you mum change her mind?’

  Fen blushes. ‘Well, sheer desperation, to be honest. The manor opens to the public in two weeks and she’s only managed to hire one tour guide and she needs at least two. So you’re in!’

  I weigh up the unflattering reasons for hiring me against the fact that my sleepless nights over lack of cash will finally be at an end. I smile at Fen. ‘Okay. I’ll do it!’

  ‘Great!’ She gives an excited little clap. ‘That means you’ll be able to stay in Sunnybrook instead of going back to – well, wherever you came from . . .’ She flushes bright red at having touched on a taboo subject.

  ‘Yes, that has to be a reason to celebrate!’ Ellie jumps up, filling the awkward pause. She fetches a bottle of Prosecco from the café’s enormous fridge and pops it open.

  ‘To Jaz!’ She raises her glass. ‘May your guided tours be full of fascinating facts and amusing anecdotes!’

  As we clink glasses, I can’t help feeling worried. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that, girls. But this sounds like a lot of homework for me.’

  ‘You can do it!’ says Fen confidently. ‘If I can work up the courage to tell Monster Madge to bugger off, you can definitely give an interesting talk about the manor’s history to a bunch of tourists.’

  I’m about to disagree. Then I remember it’s Fen’s family home we’re talking about, which may have to be sold if her mum can’t make a success of this. So instead, I raise my glass again and say, ‘To a new and sparkling future for Brambleberry Manor as the area’s newest tourist attraction!’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ says Ellie in a strident, plummy voice, sounding like an MP in the House of Commons, and we all burst out laughing.

  ‘Mum would like you to come over tonight for a chat about the job,’ says Fen. ‘Why don’t you come over as well, Ellie?’

  ‘Yes, please come, Ellie. I’m nervous already. I need you to calm me down!’

  I mean it about the nerves. I feel as if there’s a crowd of butterflies fluttering around in my abdomen. Am I really confident enough to do this job?

  *****

  Lady Redpath isn’t half as scary as she at first appeared. In fact, she seems utterly delighted to have me on board. She doesn’t even ask me what a ‘ha-ha’ is, which is a shame because I had my answer all ready.

  After our chat, I wander out to join Fen and Ellie down by the lake. It’s a glorious summer evening but with a fresher feel than of late, which is lovely. As I’m walking across the grass, I spy a little group of people walking towards the lake from the opposite side.

  ‘Actors from the local amateur dramatics group,’ explains Fen. ‘They’ve agreed to do an open-air performance of Pride & Prejudice on the big official opening day. They’re probably here to check out the grounds.’

  Ellie peers over. ‘Ooh, how exciting. I hope they introduce themselves. I’ve never met a real live actor before.’

  ‘They’re not professionals,’ says Fen, who’s facing away from them. ‘I wouldn’t be too impressed.’

  ‘They’re coming over,’ hisses Ellie, shaking her hair back for a joke in an exaggeratedly theatrical way as the three women and a single man approach us.

  Fen turns to look.

  I laugh. ‘Ellie, I never took you for a groupie. Your mouth will be hanging open next!’

  But Ellie is staring at Fen now. She leans over, nudges me and murmurs, ‘By the looks of things, it’s not me who’s gone into swooning damsel mode.’ She nods at her friend, who’s gazing at the group – specifically the man, who happens to be tall, blonde and very handsome - as if she’s having some kind of an epiphany.

  Or a bout of indigestion.

  ‘Raise the curtain for Act One,’ murmurs Ellie. ‘Fen’s in love.’

  *****

  The actors turn out to be lovely, friendly, down-to-earth people – not the clichéd, melodramatic ‘luvvies’ I’d stupidly imagined.

  The three women are all playing Bennett sisters and the man, who’s called Ethan Fox, looks perfect for the part of Mr Darcy. We introduce ourselves and they all sit down on the grass for a while, talking about how lovely the manor house is and what a perfect location it is for an outdoor production.

  ‘Are you rehearsing Pride & Prejudice specially for the Brambleberry Manor launch day?’ I ask, wondering how on earth Lady Redpath can afford to hire them.

  Ethan smiles. ‘Fen’s brother is an old friend of mine so it’s sort of a favour to the family to attract more people to the launch day.’ He turns to Fen. ‘I can’t believe you’re Mark’s sister. Last time we met, I think you must have been about ten! Although you probably don’t remember.’

  Fen, who’s been sitting in silence, blushes the colour of a ripe tomato and says, ‘I do, actually.’

  ‘Really?’ He nods, smiling, and Fen goes even re
dder. ‘Right, I think we’d better do some more exploring of these lovely grounds.’ Ethan rises to his feet and the women follow suit. ‘Great to meet you all. We’ll see you on launch day?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Ellie shields her eyes against the sun and beams up at him.

  ‘I might be giving guided tours of the manor,’ I say, ‘But I’m sure I’ll get a chance to watch the play as well.’

  As they walk off, Ethan turns. ‘Nice to see you again, Fen.’

  ‘Yes. You, too.’

  Once they’re out of earshot, Ellie whispers excitedly, ‘Did you really remember him? Or were you just saying it?’

  ‘I do remember Ethan. Just like I remember all my brother’s best friends.’ Avoiding our eye, she gets up and brushes grass off her jeans. ‘Right, I’d better go in and join Mum for dinner.’

  On the way back to Sunnybrook, Ellie says thoughtfully, ‘Do you think Fen had a crush on Ethan Fox?’

  I grin. ‘It wouldn’t be unheard of for a girl to like her brother’s friend.’

  ‘Ooh! You, too?’

  ‘I had a few crushes in my time,’ I admit.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be great if you could round up all your old loves and crushes in the same room and have a good look at them now?’ says Ellie. ‘You’d be behind smoked glass, of course, so they couldn’t see you!’

  I laugh. ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re weird?’

  ‘Yeah, all the time.’

  I drift off into my own thoughts.

  In a way, that’s what I’m doing. Hiding behind the safety of smoked glass and anonymity while trying to make sure Titch is safe. It’s so hard, having to keep this distance from her and not be able to tell her the whole truth. But for the moment, I can see no other way . . .

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brambleberry Manor is open to the public today for the very first time. And to my surprise, I’m feeling quite excited.

  The house looks as scrubbed and smartly turned out as a pupil on their first day back at school after the summer holidays.

  I walk through the rooms that will be open – drawing room, morning room, library and ballroom - wearing my smart navy skirt and white shirt, and sporting the neat badge that says ‘I’m a Brambleberry Manor tour guide’. Mentally, I congratulate Lady Redpath on a wonderful job.

  It’s almost ten, time for the first tour, and I’m a bag of nerves trying to remember all the fascinating facts I’ve been cramming into my head over the past week. I take up my position at the foot of the main staircase where the group will be told to assemble. Tickets for the tours are being sold in a little kiosk at the gates.

  How will I cope if they ask questions I don’t know the answers to?

  Last night, I had a dream in which a visitor asked me if they were the original floorboards we were standing on, and I ended up trying to pull up the carpet to satisfy his curiosity. It was a sweaty job and I felt completely exhausted when I woke up.

  Several couples wander in, followed in quick succession by another family.

  Lady R appears at the top of the stairs and gives me a discreet thumbs-up. I smile up at her, then do a head count and take a deep breath.

  ‘Okay, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Brambleberry Manor. If you’d like to follow me over to the beautiful stained glass window in the hall here . . .’

  My hours of study seem to have paid off. I manage to keep up a fairly steady flow of information about the many beautiful antique objects and oil paintings as we walk through the rooms and I allow them to linger for a certain length of time in each. When the tour is finished and I ask if anyone has any questions – the bit I’m dreading – miraculously Lady R is suddenly there at my side to help.

  At one o’clock, I wander out into the gardens and choose a big old oak tree to sit beneath and eat the lunch I’ve brought. I’m just munching through my apple when I spot Harry Bentham walking out of the main entrance and I stop, mid-bite. Lady R did say he’d agreed to do some photography work for her at the weekends. Just my luck it happens to be when I’m here!

  Not feeling in the mood to be the butt of Harry’s jokes today, I quickly gather up my things and scoot round to the other side of the tree, knowing it’s spreading branches will provide the perfect shelter so I won’t be spotted by - ’

  ‘Yee-ha!’ calls a voice behind me. ‘If it isn’t Miss Cowgirl herself!’ I turn and Harry is walking by, smiling broadly. ‘How are the tours going?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He turns but keeps on walking. ‘Fingers crossed you don’t bore anyone to death. Won’t be good publicity for the manor if they keep dropping like flies.’

  ‘Rude.’

  ‘Joke.’

  ‘Gosh, you do surprise me.’

  He throws back his head and laughs, and I do my best not to look at his bum in the close-fitting jeans. Then I think, Why shouldn’t I look? There have to be some perks in life!

  ‘Stop looking!’ he shouts.

  ‘Er, I think you’ll find I was swotting up more facts with which to bore a few more people to death!’

  ‘Touche.’

  A older couple passing by give me some strange looks and I decide it’s time to retreat indoors, away from any unsettling distractions.

  The last tour of the day is at three-thirty. I feel like an old hand by then, it’s been going really rather well. They’re a lovely, friendly bunch.

  There’s an older white-haired man called Bert Wilson, who’s rather deaf so I have to keep repeating things. He’s here with his wife, Belinda, and every time he puts his hand behind his ear and I repeat what I’ve just said, Belinda then repeats what I’ve just said, only much louder. It’s like a sort of educational echo chamber.

  It’s all going surprisingly well - until half way through telling them about a particular oil painting, a loud clanking sound suddenly emanates from the hall, followed a few seconds later by a noise like giant fingernails scraping down a black-board.

  Flow interrupted, I smile and wait for a few seconds and everything goes quiet, so I begin again.

  ‘So, as I was saying, this is a portrait of the third Earl of - ’

  The clanking and rattling starts up again, only now it’s far louder and it doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

  I smile. ‘So sorry, everyone, we’re still getting the place ship-shape. I’ll just go and see what’s happening.’

  At that moment, the door opens and Harry pops his head round the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, everyone. Just to let you know we’re setting up in the hall to take photographs of the stained glass window, but we’ll try and keep the noise down.’

  ‘That would be kind, thank you,’ I say, cool as you like.

  ‘No problem, Jaz.’

  ‘Actually it’s Georgiana.’

  He shoots me a bemused look, which I thoroughly enjoy. It’s nice to get one over Harry Bentham for once. Usually, it’s the other way around.

  ‘Right. Thanks – um – Georgiana,’ he says and gets back to his stained glass window.

  I turn back to my group. ‘Can I take this opportunity to tell you about Brambleberry Manor’s official opening day on the last Sunday in August? There’ll be a café and tours of the grounds and a special performance by our local amateur dramatics group of a very special Jane Austen classic.’

  ‘A classic car did you say?’ asks Bert Wilson, looking hopeful..

  I smile. ‘No, Pride & Prejudice. A Jane Austen classic.’

  Right on cue, Belinda Wilson bellows, ‘A Jane Austen classic, Bert.’

  After the visitors have had a chance to linger over everything, I shepherd the group back out into the main hall. Harry is there, standing near the top of a huge scaffolding ladder, taking shots of the stained glass window. It must have been the ladder making those screeching noises earlier against the parquet flooring.

  Conscious of Harry’s presence, I ask the group to follow me up the grand staircase to the first floor. ‘We’ll have a look at a typical Georgian bedroom.’


  ‘George is in his bedroom, you say?’ booms Mr Wilson, looking even more confused than before. ‘Won’t he mind being disturbed?’

  Everyone smiles, including Harry, I notice.

  ‘No, Mr Wilson, it’s fine. It’s a typical Georgian bedroom.’ Still looking bemused, he turns to his wife, who obligingly shouts, ‘A typical Georgian bedroom!’

  ‘Ah! Excellent.’ Mr Wilson nods enthusiastically and starts climbing the staircase with everyone else.

  I glance quickly at Harry, expecting some kind of murmured wisecrack, but to my relief, he’s focusing intently on the stained glass window.

  I’m just about follow the group upstairs, when I hear someone gasp and to my horror, when I look up, I realise Mr Wilson is lying on the floor at the top of the stairs. It looks as if he’s collapsed.

  I rush upstairs and stare down at Belinda, who’s kneeling beside Bert, holding his hand and telling him everything is going to be all right. But is it? My heart is in my mouth as I fish out my phone and dial for an ambulance, praying they get here soon.

  It’s awful because Belinda doesn’t seem to be getting any response.

  Suddenly, Harry is there. He drops to his knees beside Bert and immediately starts giving him mouth to mouth resuscitation, while we all crowd round, silently encouraging him and hoping.

  And finally, Harry’s determination pays off. Mr Wilson suddenly opens his eyes, much to the relief of everyone there, especially his wife, Belinda.

  The paramedics are here in a flash and they agree that Harry’s quick-thinking probably saved Bert’s life.

  We watch the ambulance disappear down the driveway and I say to Harry, ‘You were brilliant. What you did was amazing.’

  He shrugs. ‘Anyone would have done it.’ He seems lost in his own grim thoughts, which isn’t like Harry at all. Perhaps he’s reacting to the drama that just unfolded.

  ‘Well, no-one else did, including me. I was terrified. That man owes his life to you.’

  He smiles sadly. ‘At least I managed it this time,’ he murmurs, almost to himself. Then he starts walking slowly back to the house.