Grace and Andrew had had a busy few days. Though they had intended to build some romance into their schedule, they had spent most of the time zipping back and forth in the car, picking up and dropping off all the minor bits and pieces that season a wedding day into a success. The to-do list included finding a thick, fragrance-free wedding candle; making bows for the aisle ends; buying a fancy pen for signing the register; drawing coloured signs to guide guests to the out-of-the-way church; and picking up the clothes they needed for the honeymoon in Kyoto, where the temperature, like themselves, would be in the mid-thirties.
On the morning of the family dinner, Grace had gone running on an empty stomach and ended up having to walk back to the house, feeling drained. She went back to bed for half an hour, but Andrew let her sleep on. This meant that she woke up too late to get ready in time, and had to rush around feeling grouchy and stiff. They ended up arguing in the car on the way over, as he blamed her for being late every single bloody time, and she blamed him for not bloody waking her when she had asked, especially when he had bloody well insisted there was no need for her to set a bloody alarm. They arrived thirty minutes late, having had barely enough time to pick up some wine and flowers on the way. But when Peter opened the door they projected a happy portrait of public unity, which Peter and Helen mirrored, having just had an intense moment themselves over the current state of play on the starters.
‘Great to see you love,’ welcomed Helen, as Grace handed her the flowers with a cheek kiss that protected their make-up. ‘Oh, you’re very good—there’s really no need, but they are lovely. Hi Andrew love—thanks for coming over. You both must be so busy.’
‘Lovely to see you, Helen,’ said Andrew, accepting a hug. ‘Sorry it’s been a while—I’ve been travelling and you know how it is. How have you been?’
‘Great, great. Come on in. Here—I’ll take the coats. You’re right to wrap up—it’s still nippy out there, even with the sun,’ said Helen, overloading the newel post of the banister with the coats.
In the front room, Hungry Paul had just sat down after all his jobs to read his National Geographic from the library.
‘And here he is, the man of the hour! Here, give me a hug. I’m chuffed about your prize. Well done. So we’ll be seeing your handiwork on the end of all our company emails now I guess?’ said Grace, delighted to see Hungry Paul.
‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘You look well. Hope you’re not too busy with the wedding and everything. Hi Andrew, please do come in—how have you been?’
‘All’s good, thanks. Good to see you,’ said Andrew giving a manly shoulder-to-opposite-shoulder embrace that was over before Hungry Paul knew how to respond to it. ‘Congratulations on the prize. What was the phrase again: “Thank you for noting the above” or something? Congratulations. We’ll all have to start using it now. You’ll be famous.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ answered Hungry Paul. ‘Dad will be here in a minute. He’s on starters, so he’s inside manhandling some salad I think.’
Grace went into the kitchen and offered to help out, looking for the one good knife in the top drawer.
‘You relax, darling. I’m okay here,’ said Peter. ‘I have your mother’s watchful eye on me so I’ll be fine. You can open some wine if you like. Open the nice one you brought, not the screw top your brother bought—it comes from Colombia! Whoever drinks wine from there?’
Grace took drinks orders from everybody and, in a quiet aside to Andrew, offered to drive if he wanted to drink, but he gave her a kiss on the forehead and said it was okay, he would drive, thus making everything as sweet as pancakes between them again.
‘Places everybody!’ called Helen, as the window for preliminary drinks had been blown by Grace’s late arrival, which had also put Helen’s timings for the chicken under pressure. They all sat around the table in no particular formation, except for Helen sitting closest to the door, which would be easier for serving. Years before, Helen had wanted to knock the dining room through to the kitchen to have an open plan downstairs, but Peter had pleaded with her not to, as he didn’t want washing machines and tumble dryers in the background when he was having his dinner. She had relented, and now with much regret, the kitchen was cut off from the rest of the downstairs, which meant you couldn’t chat while preparing dinner, and you had to bring the food the long way around. Peter didn’t mind, as he was able to carry four starters in one go: one in each hand and two further plates balanced using his thumbs and little fingers, like they do in restaurants. He was an expert at carrying a lazy man’s load and could open door handles with his buttock, close them with elbows, and turn on light switches with his chin. This time though, he got Hungry Paul to help, as he had already been closely critiqued by Helen and didn’t want to be held further accountable if there was a spillage.
As they tucked in to the starters—everyone feeling hungry, having saved their appetites all morning—Grace and Helen caught up on the wedding arrangements.
‘So basically, the cake guy says he’s closed on Good Friday but I have to text him and he’ll come down to the shop and open up especially, because if we don’t get it down to the hotel on the Friday, we would have to do it on the Monday, as their wedding person is away for the weekend and I don’t want to hand it to anyone else,’ Grace explained.
‘I can do that for you if you like,’ offered Peter.
‘You’re fine, thanks Dad—I wouldn’t mind checking if all’s as it should be and having one last catch-up with the hotel person before Monday. The florist should have the bouquets done for Sunday evening, but as it is Easter he’s not sure what time, because he says he has family commitments and overall, to be honest, he has been slow to get back to me. I’m hoping we don’t end up using service station flowers on the day. I don’t want to walk up the aisle reeking of diesel, like some trucker bride. Are you still okay to do the offertory gifts, Mam? You’ll be doing it with Andrew’s mother.’
‘Of course. It will be nice to see your parents again, Andrew. We haven’t met up with them in quite a while. It would have been nice to have them over beforehand, but never mind,’ said Helen.
‘They’re looking forward to it, Helen,’ said Andrew. ‘Mam is a bit shy in big crowds so she’s delighted to have you to talk to. You’ll all be at the same table, so you’ll be able to catch up there.’
‘How’s your dad?’ asked Peter. ‘Still playing golf with no sun cream?’
‘Yeah, he plays a few times a week with his old business friends. He’s always asking me to play but I never got into it. I should really go out anyway, but he gets very competitive, so it’s not exactly quality time. Did you ever play, Peter?’
‘I played crazy golf once with your mother. But I lost and had to pay a forfeit,’ said Peter, smiling and nudging Helen.
‘Stop it you! Our whole lives told in front of everybody. Don’t mind him, Andrew. He doesn’t like playing games he’s not good at,’ said Helen.
‘It’s true, too,’ said Hungry Paul. ‘We have a stack of games he’s only ever played once. He prefers quiz-type board games, which aren’t really board games at all. Trivial Pursuit and all that. Why not just sit an exam?’ Hungry Paul was a purist and believed that you should only succeed based on your skill at the game itself, and that it was cheating to rely on knowledge acquired outside it.
They were all hungry and finished up their starters quickly, even the family’s slow eater, Grace, who was also enjoying the wine she had brought.
Helen got up to get the chicken out, batting away Grace’s offer of help and instead topping up her wine. ‘Relax—you’ve been rushed off your feet all week. Take it easy today. Come on Peter, let’s see how good your waiting skills are with the main course.’
‘It’s all ahead of you Andrew. Once they get the ring, you’re just another staff member to them,’ said Peter as Helen responded by giving him a whip of the tea towel. After t
hey had left, Grace took another sip of wine and turned to Hungry Paul, who wasn’t much of a drinker.
‘Tell us about yesterday. Did you get a trophy or anything?’
‘I did indeed. There it is over there—a severed hand!’ he said in a spooky voice, pointing to the trophy on the mantelpiece. ‘I also got some prize money.’
‘Go on, how much?’ Andrew and Grace asked together.
‘Quite a bit actually—ten grand.’
‘Flippin’ hell!’ said Grace, genuinely surprised. ‘That’s some serious money. Wow! I wish I had entered now.’
‘I even got one of those giant novelty cheques. It’s upstairs. Dad said he’d make me a frame for it. They’re not real cheques—you can’t cash them, which I didn’t actually realise until the president came up to me and handed over the proper cheque when I was leaving.’
‘The President was there?’ said Andrew, impressed.
‘Well, not the president. The president of the Chamber of Commerce, Mike Brine. He owns Mike’s Bike’s on the main street.’
‘Is that the one with the illiterate sign?’ asked Grace.
‘That’s the one. He’s a nice guy actually. He has a chain of office and everything. They take it really seriously.’
‘Obviously they do—ten grand is no bloody joke. Flippin’ hell,’ repeated Grace.
‘So what are you going to do with the cash?’ asked Andrew
‘Oh. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘Really? Is that not why you entered? Isn’t there anything you want to treat yourself to?’ said Andrew, revealing just a little bit too much attentiveness to the question of the money.
‘Not really. I wasn’t trying to win. I just saw that they had a problem and thought I had the answer that could help them. I don’t have many talents that I can put to good use—as you know—but in this case I thought I might be able to step in, and so it proved. The money was their idea really. They wanted to make a fuss, and you know what business people are like, the only thing that makes a splash with them is cash,’ said Hungry Paul.
‘Yeah, but you should really think about this. I mean it’s a lot of money. You could do something significant.’ Grace had already finished her second glass, the shock of the prize money making her gulp in more ways than one.
‘I’m not used to money, so I don’t want to waste it. I think I’ll just put it in the credit union for a rainy day. You never know,’ answered Hungry Paul, hardly giving it a thought.
‘But, but, you need to think about this. I mean, in fairness Mam and Dad have always looked after you here, and they never really ask you to put your hand in your pocket, so shouldn’t you think about someone else maybe? Perhaps do something nice for them? I mean, they don’t charge you rent and Dad had to give you money for your wedding suit, and you don’t hand up any of your post office money, and now that you have a few bob, you’re just going to let it rot away in the building society or whatever—’
‘—the credit union,’ corrected Andrew.
‘—thank you, the credit union,’ snapped Grace, irritated at the interruption, ‘I mean, shouldn’t you take things a bit more seriously for once? We’re all moving on. I’m getting married, Dad’s retired, Mam will be retired in another year, but you’re still living at home playing Guess Who? or whatever and working one day a week until, what? Is that ever going to change? Will you ever change? You have a chance to pull up your bootstraps or whatever the phrase is.’ Grace refilled her glass and shook the end of the bottle in puzzlement, as if it had been emptied by a leak or something. ‘Just think about it, that’s all. Promise me that, will you? Please, just promise me that?’ She paused as she caught herself getting angry.
‘Okay. I promise,’ answered Hungry Paul. He wasn’t sure what he had done to upset Grace and was taken aback at the edge in her voice. He was, by nature, a phlegmatic soul who seldom, if ever, took offence, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt and allow for circumstances. He had thought that Grace would be happy for him. All he had wanted to do was suggest a simple phrase that would help the Chamber of Commerce to resolve a problem that was perplexing them. He would have done so if there had been no money and no trophy. It was simply one of those rare occasions when he saw the answer, like when he spotted a gap on the Scrabble board that others had overlooked during their turn. Now that he had the money, which meant little to him, he would have been happy to give some or all of it to his parents, but it simply never occurred to him that they would have any interest in it. His dad had held onto his lump sum without touching it ever since his retirement. Apparently Peter had no idea what to spend it on, apart from travel, but even then, Helen seemed slow to commit to anything. Maybe he could pay for a holiday? Was that what Grace was on about? Or maybe Grace would appreciate some help with the wedding? They both had good jobs, but weddings aren’t cheap and they had mentioned a few times about cutting back here and there, and the whole fiasco with the wedding numbers and plus ones must have been about money, mustn’t it? Maybe that was it. In that case, he could see why Grace was so upset. She must be under so much pressure organising everything and now they had blown their budget. Of course. Well, as her only brother, he wouldn’t see her short. He would offer her some money to get her through. Maybe give it to her as a loan, as she’d be too proud to take it otherwise. He’d then say nothing more about the money and, if she ever did try to pay it back, he’d just wave her away and say he’d forgotten all about it, and that she should too.
‘Now then!’ said Helen entering the room with a delighted look on her face, which was glistening from the heat of the kitchen. ‘Sorry about disappearing like that, but I hope you all agree that it’s been worth the wait.’ She gave Grace and Andrew their plates first, with roast chicken, potatoes cooked in goose fat, root vegetables in butter, sage stuffing and a little bit of mushroom sauce on the side. Peter followed her with the other three plates before making a second trip to bring in the butter dish, which Hungry Paul had forgotten to set out.
‘So,’ said Helen, ‘tuck in. Did you hear all about the prize-giving yesterday? We’re so proud of him. All those business people tripping over themselves to shake your hand weren’t they?’ she said, turning to Hungry Paul, who hadn’t yet fully recovered. ‘We’ll be reading your words for years to come. We’ll always be reminded not just of your talent, but of the lovely day we had.’
Her chirpiness was genuine, reflecting the fact that her heart was singing to have her whole family together again after one special day, with another one still ahead of them. She wanted nothing more than to cook a nice meal for them, her two grown-up children who had turned out so well.
Chapter 18: Hi Mark!
Leonard had finished the final edit on the company’s book about the Romans. It had ended up as a competent compendium of dry facts and narratives, presented in a crisp but soulless style. It would, no doubt, launch hundreds of forgettable school projects that would be corrected by student teachers in their spare time, each one getting more or less the same mark as the others. Leonard was now free to work on his own book on the same subject, an advanced draft of which had been sitting in his top drawer ever since that happy day when Shelley had agreed to meet him for a walk in the park. In its current form the book was a depiction of the life of a young Roman boy. In reviewing his draft, though, Leonard realised that the boy was still stuck in some generic, stylised template, lacking in personality. He was hardly the type of boy that kids would want to travel through time to be or be with—he had no sense of fun or preferences, and was short on actions and details. Leonard needed to bring him to life. To do this he needed someone to write for, someone who would provide his motivation and act as an idealised audience at whom he could pitch little moments of humour and sensitivity. And so he had decided to write the book for Shelley’s little boy Patrick, and named the Roman boy Patrius.
The book now seemed t
o open up into a range of Technicolour possibilities. Leonard thought about how Patrick would react to a book about his Roman self, which made Leonard want to pack it with interesting, exciting, lived-in facts; not merely dry bits of trivia to languish at the bottom of a schoolbag, but facts as vectors of life itself, as messengers from the past. Leonard drew him going to school in a toga, wearing a bulla to protect against evil, and playing with his toys in the years before Christmas and Santa Claus existed, if Patrick could even conceive of such a barren era. He drew him playing dice with real bones and included a two-page spread about Patrius’ mother, who was freed after many victories as a gladiator. On the following page he included a fold-out section showing the inside of Patrius’ lunchbox: a slice of emmer loaf, some dates, and a purple carrot. But Leonard also wanted to give Patrius normal traits that were less about Roman times and more a reflection of the type of boy who would have had someone as special as Shelley as his mother. Leonard wrote that Patrius tried hard and did as much work as was good for him, even if it was more than he would have liked. Patrius painted and sang songs every day. He asked lots of questions and answered his mother back, which he got scolded for, even though his mother took private satisfaction in observing that independent spirits do not skip a generation. While he hopped into bed a little late most evenings, he always went to the doctor when he was sick and was happy when his teeth fell out. The main thing to know about Patrius was that he shared his life with his family. Leonard drew him as yea big, with curly auburn hair, green eyes and—historical accuracy notwithstanding—Star Wars glasses. A fact box described him as having a big heart and a big imagination.
LEONARD AND HUNGRY PAUL Page 16