Me and Mr Jones

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘What can I do?’ Izzy asked.

  Lilian looked faint with gratitude as she passed Izzy an apron. ‘If you carry on here, I’ll go out and clear the tables. Please.’

  The next hour flew by in a hot blur of cooking, plating up food and making endless pots of tea and coffee, while Lilian took orders, wiped tables and delivered the breakfasts on enormous trays. By the end of it, Izzy never wanted to see a black pudding again. ‘Whoa,’ she gulped, when the last guests had finally left the dining room. ‘Is it always like this?’

  Lilian gave a small laugh. ‘You want to see it when we’re really busy.’

  ‘And you’ve been doing all of this yourself? This whole time?’

  ‘David helped me while he was staying, and Eddie used to chip in before that, but …’ Lilian didn’t need to finish the sentence. ‘I have Becky and Lynne, girls from the village, in for busy weekends and the summer holidays, but otherwise I have to manage alone.’

  ‘Wow.’ Izzy felt exhausted already and it was barely nine-thirty. ‘I’ve worked in pubs that were less busy than your breakfast room.’

  Lilian smiled and set the dishwasher running. ‘You get used to it,’ she said as the machine rumbled sloshily into life. ‘That’s always the toughest bit of the day. The way I see it, hoovering and stripping beds feels like a holiday afterwards.’

  ‘Right,’ said Izzy politely, although she remained unconvinced. ‘Well, look, you’ve got me now as well. I’m not going to be much help waitressing while I’m on crutches, but I don’t mind taking over the cooking, if you’ve had enough of frying breakfasts.’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly let you.’

  ‘You could,’ Izzy told her. ‘Really, Lilian. You could.’ Her eyes twinkled as she used one of Lilian’s favourite phrases back at her. ‘No arguments now.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘And no buts, either. I know you’re a tough lady, but so am I. You’ve helped me out – and now I’m going to return the favour.’

  From that day on, a new arrangement began at Mulberry House. Every morning at six-thirty Izzy and the girls would wake and get dressed, then come to the breakfast room for seven. It was quite unusual for any guests to emerge for food until at least seven-thirty, by which time Izzy had woken up properly over a coffee, the girls had eaten and she’d brushed their hair. Lilian appeared at eight, in time to supervise Willow and Hazel’s toothbrushing (she was proper strict too, much to Izzy’s approval and the girls’ dismay), by which time Izzy would be in full swing in the kitchen. Once she’d mastered the temperamental gas grill and got a routine going, she discovered she rather enjoyed being head chef. She did think Lilian was missing a trick with the menu, though.

  ‘Listen,’ she said one day, once the rush had subsided and the two of them were taking morning coffee together. This had become a new ritual too, a companionable unwinding session where they discussed the rest of the day’s chores and divided them up. ‘I was thinking – how would you feel if I changed things round a bit on the menu?’

  Lilian frowned and dipped her Rich Tea into her mug. ‘What do you mean, changed things round a bit?’

  ‘Well …’ Izzy knew she had to be tactful. Criticizing Lilian or her business was highly precarious. ‘I think you do a great-value breakfast here – I mean, everyone enjoys a fry-up, don’t they? But sometimes people want a lighter meal. A good old bacon-butty, for example, or pancakes for the children. My two would have pancakes every day if they could, and they’re no bother to make. Banana pancakes are nice, or we could try blueberry ones, perhaps …’

  Lilian said nothing, but her lips were tightening as if she was on the verge of disagreeing.

  ‘Maybe eggs Benedict, too, I know how to cook that,’ Izzy went on quickly. ‘I once worked in a fancy café in Manchester, and that was dead popular. Or slow-cooked porridge with honey … We could have a pot of that bubbling away at the back of the stove, no problem. What do you think? We could give it a try.’

  Izzy was feeling less and less optimistic by the second as Lilian remained silent. It was obvious she had served up the same old fry-ups day in, day out for the last twenty years. Was she affronted by Izzy wanting to muck around with her menu now?

  Then Lilian nodded. ‘Well,’ she said slowly. ‘If you think it’s a good idea, I suppose we could try.’ She looked faraway suddenly. ‘I haven’t had eggs Benedict since our honeymoon, you know.’

  Izzy grinned. ‘Then I’ll make us all some for lunch,’ she said. ‘I can remind myself how to do it, before I’m let loose on the paying guests.’

  They launched the new breakfast menu the next week, and Izzy’s hunch quickly proved right. Her creamy smooth porridge was a big success (several people actually requested seconds) and the pancakes went down a storm too. Nobody seemed to miss the kippers and black pudding, especially not Izzy.

  On a high from all the compliments she was receiving, she found her thoughts turning to the future, idly planning what she could introduce later in the summer. Strawberry pancakes would be nice – Eddie had some strawberry plants in his kitchen garden, she had noticed. Maybe she could try making her own fruity granola. She might even be able to persuade Lilian to invest in a waffle-maker …

  Then it hit her. Summer? What was she thinking? She’d be long gone by then, of course. Once she was up and about as normal, she and the girls would be packing up and leaving here to go back to their flat in Lyme. Their contract on that place ran out in August, but if her money came through in time, she wanted to buy them a little house down near the sea front – a brand-new home for the three of them.

  She paused, her hand on the black marble mantelpiece she’d been dusting. She would miss it here, though, she realized. Even after a month Mulberry House felt like home. She would miss the space here, the garden, the calm. She would even miss Lilian.

  Poor Lilian. Izzy had a feeling that Charlie’s mum would miss her, too, when she and the girls left. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you,’ she had been saying with increasing frequency as Izzy worked tirelessly around the house alongside her. She looked so haggard and worried and tired lately, as Eddie slowly but steadily declined. They were like a pair of old clocks winding down together – her with exhaustion, him with mental illness. Lilian had finally taken him to the doctor’s, where he’d undergone a whole battery of tests, with more to come at the hospital. The doctor later telephoned to say that Eddie was almost certainly suffering from the early onset of Alzheimer’s.

  The news, although not a shock, had come as a terrible blow to the whole family; Charlie had wept in dismay when he heard.

  ‘I knew it,’ he said wretchedly. ‘I knew something was wrong. The worst thing is, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. How is Mum going to manage?’

  Izzy felt like crying herself. She hadn’t known Eddie all that long, but he was such a lovely person, and it was heartbreaking seeing a man who’d clearly once been so capable and together gradually sinking into a state of bewilderment and frailty. They’d had to stop him answering the phone and the door now, after he had become a magnet for spam-callers and evangelical Christians alike.

  Lilian was holding it together for the time being, but Izzy wasn’t sure how much longer she could cope with so much on her plate. ‘Go on, I’ll do this,’ she told the older woman whenever she could take a chore from her. ‘You go and see what Eddie’s up to in the garden, if you want. Sun’s shining.’

  Lilian had never seemed very good at accepting help before, but these days she was grateful for any extra assistance. In fact, one afternoon in late May she actually gave Izzy a sudden tight hug when she offered to finish cleaning the kitchen floor. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I hope you know how much I appreciate all you’re doing for me. You’re like the daughter I never had.’

  The words took Izzy’s breath away. Tough, no-nonsense Lilian was not the type for glad-handing or meaningless platitudes. She certainly wouldn’t get sentimental for no good reason. ‘Oh, Lilian,’ Izzy sa
id, the most enormous lump appearing in her throat. ‘Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I never really had a mum.’

  Lilian patted Izzy on the back and they drew apart. Her eyes were moist. ‘Well, you’ve got me now,’ she said.

  Eight weeks after the crash Izzy returned to the fracture clinic for the last time. Her cast was taken off and she was given a series of physio exercises to rebuild the strength of her leg. ‘You should continue being cautious,’ the consultant advised. ‘It’s best not to go straight back to jogging or anything that will put it under a strain for a while. Weight-bearing exercise such as swimming is excellent, though.’

  ‘I take it dancing is still out?’ Izzy asked, her heart sinking.

  The consultant nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. The bones have healed, but the leg isn’t as strong as it was. It may be some time before you can dance again.’

  The advice was about as welcome as a gigantic hairy spider in the bath. She had Ella, the new dance teacher, who was more than happy to continue taking lessons at least, but it was still a blow. Izzy was an active person by nature, and had found her limited mobility so frustrating. She’d been looking forward to running and jumping and dancing as normal.

  ‘Try to be patient,’ the consultant said, seeing her face. ‘You’ll get there.’

  Better news came in June, when the estate agent telephoned to say that the sale of the flat in Manchester had just completed, and it was now the property of a very nice young family apparently. Days later the proceeds, coupled with Gary’s hefty life-insurance payment, landed in Izzy’s bank account with the most almighty thud. She felt catapulted into the air by it, sent soaring free, like a bird released from a cage. This was it – she was now a woman of means, able to do whatever she and the girls wanted, go wherever the wind took them.

  But where would that be? When she searched inside her heart for the right way forward, she discovered she didn’t actually want to go very far from the Joneses at all.

  That evening, once Hazel and Willow were in bed, she and Charlie curled up on the creaky old love seat in the garden, swinging gently together. He was staying the occasional night with her in the chalet now, and she loved spending the whole evening and night together. Even something as mundane as watching TV or having a beer was more fun with Charlie around. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘it’s been amazing staying here, and I’ve loved getting to know your family. Thank you for everything. But now I’m off the crutches it’s probably time that I left you lot in peace and went back to the flat with the girls, just until I can buy us somewhere nice for keeps anyway.’

  Charlie looked dismayed. ‘You want to go?’

  ‘Well …’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s not that I want to go exactly, it’s just that I don’t feel I can keep on freeloading here. I want to pay my way. This was only meant to be a temporary thing, right? I can manage again now. Maybe I could find a cottage in the village so that I can still help out here, but …’

  His arm was around her and he stroked her shoulder. ‘Izzy – you’re not freeloading. And you’ve more than paid your way, with your amazing breakfasts and all the cleaning and guest bookings … and, well, just supporting my mum in a way that I’m not very good at. I know she feels the same. You can stay as long as you want.’

  She swung her legs, enjoying how light her leg felt out of plaster now, as she hunted for the right words. ‘Staying in the chalet has been lovely. But it’s small. And it’s not permanent. I just want to live someplace where I can put down roots again. Somewhere I can unpack everything. Our own space. Does that make sense? I’m not ungrateful, don’t get me wrong, it’s just …’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I get it. Stupid of me not to think about that.’

  They were silent for a few minutes, each deep in thought. Then at last he spoke. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said slowly.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘What time will she be here, Mum?’ asked Matilda, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Any minute now,’ Alicia replied, wiping down the surfaces for the tenth time. Any minute now their family of five was officially going to become six. She wasn’t sure why she was cleaning everything so obsessively – as far as she knew Cathy wasn’t some hygiene inspector who’d be examining the kitchen for signs of slovenliness (hell, she was a student, she was probably pretty resistant to E. coli and domestic disorder), but first appearances did count, whatever people said. The last thing she wanted was for Cathy to report back to the saintly Sophie Bloom that her new stepmother (stepmother – her!) was a slattern.

  Not that she would have any right to, of course – this was Hugh’s house too, and technically he was every bit as responsible for the upkeep of the place as her, and she hated how it always seemed to be the woman who was judged on these things, but …

  ‘I hope she likes me,’ Matilda said, swinging on the doorjamb. ‘Do you think she will?’

  Alicia put down the cloth. ‘Of course she will. Just think how lucky she is, to have a brand-new sister – you!’

  ‘I told Mrs Brewster that I had a new sister and she said, ‘Oh! Mummy’s had a new baby?’ and I had to tell her that actually …’

  Alicia’s smile became rather fixed as Matilda went into detail. Mrs Brewster was Matilda’s teacher and the type who poked her nose into everything. She hadn’t bargained for their dirty washing to be hung out quite so publicly yet, before she’d even had a chance to sort out her own feelings.

  ‘Mrs Brewster said we’re very modern,’ Matilda finished. ‘What does that mean?’

  Alicia coloured. Modern indeed. How smug it sounded, as if the woman was mocking them. ‘It means Mrs Brewster’s an idiot,’ she snapped, breaking her own golden rule about never criticizing the children’s teachers in front of them. ‘And she doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about. Now then, why don’t you go and look out the window, to watch for Daddy’s car?’

  Less than a minute later the shout went up. ‘They’re here! They’re here!’

  Alicia’s stomach seemed to contract and she gripped the side of the (spotless) counter for a moment, before smoothing down her hair, brushing a crumb from her blouse and taking a deep breath. Oh, help. This was really happening.

  She walked towards the front door, feeling as if she were in a dream. Her relationship with Hugh had been slightly discordant since the news about Cathy had come out. They hadn’t argued again as such, but there had been this new mistrust between them, a certain coolness. Sure, he’d been as good as his word and taken the KitchenAid back to the shop just after her birthday. He’d even persuaded Izzy to go shopping with him and help choose an assortment of pretty things for Alicia. Yet they still stepped warily around each other, avoiding difficult conversations. Now his daughter was coming to meet the rest of the family, and it felt like crunch time.

  However rational Alicia tried to be about the whole thing, she was aware of a deeply ingrained insecurity that kept making itself known. What if Hugh went back to his real first love? What if he decided he preferred the Blooms to her and the children?

  It was astonishing just how jealous you could be of a person you’d never even met.

  The front door was opening. ‘Hello?’ called Hugh, stepping into the hall.

  Queasily Alicia forced herself to smile at the girl who walked in behind him. ‘Hi,’ she said with all the calm she could muster. ‘You must be Cathy.’

  Wow. Cathy looked so like Hugh, it was hard not to stare. Alicia had secretly wished for there to be no likeness whatsoever, and for Cathy really to be the daughter of some random Frenchman whom Sophie had sluttishly bonked while over there, but no. There was no getting away from it: Cathy was definitely Hugh’s daughter. She had the same wide eyes and large forehead as her father, coupled with his tall frame. She was ganglier than Hugh, like a beautiful young deer, shy and unaware of her grace. Long red hair fell about her face, and she was wearing a short summer dress and silver gladiator sandals, with an armful of clinking bangles.

&nb
sp; ‘Hi,’ said Cathy, glancing from Alicia to Lucas, to Rafferty, to Matilda and then back to Hugh. She looked completely overwhelmed all of a sudden – terrified, even – and in that moment Alicia’s maternal instinct rose to the fore. The girl was barely more than a child, at the end of the day.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said graciously. ‘We’ve all been so looking forward to meeting you.’ It wasn’t strictly, forensically true, but as Hugh began making all the introductions, and the children fell over themselves to impress their new, glamorous big sister, Alicia realized, really for the first time, that this tall gorgeous creature was a human being, not just a ‘thing’ that had threatened her marriage. Judging by Cathy’s defensive body language and the way she was clutching her bag to her side, she wasn’t enormously comfortable with the situation, either.

  ‘Come on, kids, let her into the house,’ Alicia said, with a nervous laugh. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other, there’s no rush. Cathy, would you like a drink? Something to eat?’

  The six of them had lunch and then went out for a walk in a nearby country park. Half-child, half-adult, Cathy flitted between Hugh and Alicia and their children with ease, discussing Fine Art techniques one minute, then joining in wholeheartedly with a kick-about the next. She was polite, friendly and thoroughly nice. Moreover she was not remotely threatening. She was not, Alicia realized, about to barge into the Joneses’ world and disrupt everything, throw their world into chaos. She hadn’t come for financial reasons, or to emotionally blackmail Hugh; there was no hidden agenda whatsoever. She’d merely come to meet her half-family and, in doing so, added a refreshing spice to their mix, creating a new, and perhaps even better, flavour.

  ‘She is so cool,’ Matilda sighed later in the day, when Cathy had been dropped at the train station to go home. ‘I love her hair.’ She gave a little skip of pleasure. ‘And I’ve always wanted a sister.’

  ‘She’s actually all right,’ Lucas admitted. ‘At least she’s not as ugly as Dad.’