Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons

by Lorraine Jenkin

  “So, we thought long and hard and decided that these young ’uns have their whole lives ahead of them, and wouldn’t it be good if we could help make it easier for them? What do we want with all new-fangled stuff at our age? Let the young ’uns enjoy it!”

  (Meanwhile, in an overheated Cardiff penthouse sat two men on a large leather sofa in front of a plasma screen surround sound television. The wine that was being supped from large fragile glasses had taken at least ten minutes to choose – unlike that in Lyme, which had been grabbed impulsively from the shelf on the merits of the three-for-two sticker and the sunset on the label. One of the men was giggling hysterically, the other sat with his head in his hands, alternately giggling and then shaking his head and occasionally muttering, “I’m ruined, bloody ruined.”)

  “Therefore, we have used our very welcome money for the following: central heating for Elwyn and Sue, a new bathroom suite and an inside downstairs toilet for Calfyn and Nerys, rebuilding the old kitchen for Jon and Beth and a new bedroom extension for Huw and Ann. And with John here’s help, friends we have in the business and the boys labouring, this little lot came to…” and he consulted the paper in front of him, even though his wicked grin told the ecstatic viewers that he had no need to… “thirty nine thousand, five hundred and ninety five pounds, which just left us with a few pence to have our hall and stairs painted and a new door on the tŷ bach – so that it doesn’t keep blowing open on the wife when the ramblers are walking past.”

  “Idris…” she whispered sternly, nudging him with her elbows.

  Gales of laughter rang through the rest of the video diary, which mostly showed Mrs Pryce pointing at various cracks in walls and baths and cramped bedroom facilities in her son’s homes.

  The picture then fuzzed and changed again and Dougie hushed everyone once more. “Hang on, listen to this bit – apparently they didn’t bother doing the “after” visit as they normally do, showing everyone all happy and warm – I’ve been wondering how they would finish it off.”

  The camera now panned to a studio, where a neatly-dressed Jed was sat in a leather armchair with a tastefully decorated Christmas tree behind him and a tumbler of what looked like whisky on a table at his side. “Good evening viewers,” he said. “I am sat here delivering a slightly different format to the usual end of our ‘Rags to Riches’ shows. Those who are regular viewers will know that we usually visit the home of our ‘Rags to Riches’ participants and see how they are enjoying their new surroundings and the difference it has made to their lives in terms of comfort and financial savings. But, as you can guess from what you have just seen, there is absolutely no point in visiting Tyn-y-Cwm, because, apart from a slightly brighter hallway and a more private experience on the toilet, absolutely nothing has changed. No doubt you have watched in delight as we were caught hook, line and sinker.

  “I would like to thank our now ex solicitors for this minor error and, without a trace of bitterness showing in my voice, I would also like to thank Mr and Mrs Pryce for this vastly entertaining episode and I genuinely wish them and their nice and warm sons a very – Merry – Christmas…”

  Jed picked the cut glass tumbler off the table and raised it to the camera. He then removed the tongue from his cheek and, leaning forward and looking directly into the camera, said “Oh, and I hope it rains bloody hard tonight,” and he faded from view to the sound of sleigh bells ringing…

  Chapter 76

  Coffee and Mints

  It’s funny how people can experience the same situations and end up with an entirely different take on the matter…

  Grace and Brian were sat in Alex’s lounge, babysitting the children: “Well, I would think they would be entitled to get at least some of their money back; I’d like to take a look at that contract,” said Brian warmly.

  “Yes, it’s hard to believe that dear Dougie knows those people; crooks, I call them,” said Grace. “Oh, do that again, there’s a dear,” she said, sat in Rich’s favourite armchair in a see-through negligee as a naked Brian squatted at her feet massaging her toes, both keeping a careful ear out for the gates squeaking and the sound of Alex and Rich’s car coming up the drive.

  Jill watched the programme on the cable television that was a must amongst ex-pats. She’d received a chatty email from Lettie, asking how the business was going and telling her that the programme would be on, so she’d decided to take an evening off from her little veranda café and let her staff take over; she’d trained them well enough by now, they could manage without her occasionally.

  The door opened and Pedro walked in. “Am I late?” he asked and Jill smiled and shook her head.

  “Just starting.” He kissed the top of her head and walked around the sofa to sit beside her.

  “Here is a drink for you. I just checked the kitchen on the way past and all is well.”

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass of chilled white wine.

  “Oh, I am looking forward to this,” he said in his wonderful Spanish accent. “I so want to see the kind of place that produces a lady like you.”

  Jill patted the sofa next to her and Pedro sat down. He put his hand on her knee and she didn’t even need to check that his hand might be dirty enough to mark her white linen; Pedro would never be that inconsiderate.

  Clara Bentley entered her beige living room with a tray. She pulled the smallest table out of the polished nest, dragged it over to the side of her son’s armchair and set the tray upon it.

  “I’ve brought the table over so that you don’t have to bend for your tea; you said it makes your head throb. And, here is a doughnut – they’re less chewy than a caramel slice and you used to love them as a child. Suck all the jam out, wouldn’t he, Alfred?” Alfred grunted; the cover-all response that adequately, in his mind, answered a wide range of questions.

  “All right, Mum,” snapped Alan, looking round her in an exaggerated fashion, craning to watch the television and forgetting his manners. The frown made his nose hurt and he touched once more the plasters that covered it. For the hundredth time, he wished he had got it sorted straightaway; having it re-broken had been a hideous experience, but to have to have it done twice, due to some idiot student doctor, was more than anyone should have to bear.

  If it weren’t for the assault charge from that stupid cow in Bournemouth, he would have gone straight to the police. Problem was that he had been bound over – any more trouble and he would cop it for that one too. She had been a dog, but she had known when to turn the tears on when she had to. So, he couldn’t take the risk. He’d been amazed that it hadn’t reached the papers in Lyme – it certainly wouldn’t have gone down well with Ms La-di-da Alex that was for sure.

  When his nose was all mended, then he would go and sort out that caveman – had he never heard of discussion? Reaching a civil conclusion? Courtesy?

  “Mum, for God’s sake, get out of the way,” he snarled as his mother pointlessly tiptoed past the television on her way back to the kitchen to make her son’s sandwiches for the next day.

  In an old Welsh country house, the heating turned up high, Gloria Mathews sat in a wipe-clean upright chair, watching the large television that was on full volume. For the thousandth time, she wondered if she had done the right thing, signing herself into this place. She could now understand the real meaning behind “cutting off your nose to spite your face”, although of course she would never admit to having done such a thing.

  It had always been her last line of defence when Eve was getting a bit inattentive, to say that she was obviously a burden and had better sign herself into a home. Usually, it had had the desired effect and Eve would have given up the new job or club that she had taken up to try and broaden her interests or improve her lot. However, Eve had not ever considered giving up Peter and the mild threat had grown into Gloria asking her doctor for a recommendation, a visit and then, somehow, she’d actually moved in.

  Oh, Eve would say that she still spent time with her mother. Yes, she stil
l came to see her, but she didn’t want to be there. Oh no – the days of mother and daughter sharing a cup of tea and a cake together and having a nice chat had gone. Now Eve would bring fruit for herself and there was no listening to her mum’s advice. Oh no. Eve had even suggested that she and the fool move in to her, Gloria’s, home and put in an “indeepenndent” flat, so that she could look after her mum better. But well, she, Gloria, didn’t want the fool living in her house. It hadn’t been good enough for Eve when she was single, so why should it be good enough for her now? So, Gloria had done what every loving mother would do, she had signed herself into Tree View where she wouldn’t be a burden on the daughter that she adored.

  She accepted that Eve still visited, but it was only so that she could get more exercise in – the girl was definitely obsessed. Eve had lost far too much weight and, as Gloria had told her, she looked awful now. But no, she wouldn’t listen to her mum’s advice, she still wanted to walk the mile and a half journey each way every day.

  And now, now, the two of them had the audacity to be living in her house! Yes, she may lose it if they didn’t and yes, Doctor Radcliff had suggested it, but… Well, it just didn’t seem right. No, she, Gloria, should be there, with her daughter. Just like the old times – before Eve had gotten all bolshie and above herself. And anyway, what was so special about that programme anyway? Didn’t see anyone from Glan Llanfair in it. She wished they’d hurry up with that tea trolley; the tea was always cold by the time it got to her and that Mavis Jones always picked the biggest slice…

  In the very same house that Gloria was being bitter about, Eve and Peter sat contentedly on the sagging sofa that now had a bright red throw over it. Two of the excess armchairs had been bundled into the spare room – “A kind of drawing room if one of us wants to entertain,” Eve had said to her mother, as a guilty excuse for changing things, and had received a snort in return. The walls of the sitting room were now the same yellow as the sitting room in the flat had been, although the wallpaper had never been the same since it had been painted over and failed to snap back.

  Eve and Peter had made the place home and Eve had thoroughly enjoyed moving all the possessions that she had bought for the old flat, which, she told Peter, were now theirs. This had had the added bonus that when they had removed the picture from over the sideboard, they had found a hole in the wall that looked into Trefor’s room. Eve had peeped in and then, her hand over her mouth to stop her giggles, had fetched Peter. He too had fallen about laughing and the two had gleefully shared the peephole extravaganza for the next half hour.

  News soon spread around town that the unassuming Trefor Roberts wore dresses and danced about in a long blonde wig.

  Their bedroom had a double bed in it, despite it being a bit of a crush, but, as Eve said, giggling, it wouldn’t be right to do they things they do in her mum’s room! And, anyway, who knows, she may be well enough to come back soon? Peter would blanch at this, but luckily for him, the prospect was thin.

  Their companionship and success with the Hungry/Thirsty pact had quite astounded them both, and everyone who knew them, and was put down, by onlookers, to Eve’s stubbornness and refusal to let Peter out of her sight. In addition, it was suspected that Peter was actually just a little bit scared of her and was well on his way to being contentedly henpecked in the way he used to be with Teresa.

  Somewhere along the line they had got engaged, although Peter was still none too sure how that had happened, and now Eve sported a large cubic zircona that they had gone to Hereford on the bus especially to buy. She would show it proudly to as many people as were interested and quite a few that weren’t. However, she was as much proud of the way it slid around her slender finger as she was of the fact that it was on her finger at all.

  Their most difficult time had been when Skinny’s plaster was first removed. Doctor Sarah had been extremely impressed with his physical recovery as well as his abstinence from the demon beer and her praise had made Eve glow in delight. Unfortunately, after the plaster had gone, he could no longer be trapped in the sitting room, or, even more torturous to Skinny, trapped in with Gloria while Eve was out at work. However, being a doctor in a small town had many benefits and Sarah was able to persuade an old friend and current patient that he needed another pair of hands for a couple of hours a day. Therefore, Peter was paid a pittance to lug boxes in the back room of the local cash and carry throughout Eve’s shift at the mini-market. His addled mind could just about cope with, “move those to there,” and a bit of physical work was good for his feeble body.

  His new colleagues had been gathered together and those who didn’t know the story were told it and they were all sworn to make no reference to having had a drink, that they fancied a pint or that they were planning to go for one. The staff treated it as a bit of a game and, as far as Skinny could see, he worked with a bunch of teetotallers who had no social life whatsoever.

  Eve would deliver and collect him like a small child going to school and his colleagues would chuckle as they watched him being led over the bridge hand in hand on their daily trip to see Gloria. One of the women sewed a cord linking a pair of old gloves and threaded them through his coat and therefore there was soon a photo on the canteen wall of Peter trotting along the street after Eve with his idiot gloves swinging at his side. But, despite this, they liked him and looked after him and he thoroughly enjoyed his work and the consequent companionship after so many years of stupor.

  Eventually Eve had stopped for a shy chat with the women when she collected him. At first, it was to divulge her diet tips, as she was now one of the slimming club’s success stories and therefore a great source of inspiration. Later, she would just chatter in a more general way and friendships were beginning to be made.

  As for Eve, she had never been as happy as she was that evening. They were sat in their own home – well, as good as – and she was with the man that she loved, snuggled up on the sofa. Peter sat straight with his arms at his side, tired from his long three hours of work, and Eve draped herself over him, occasionally moving his hand to place it on her thigh or around her shoulders.

  Her weight loss had amazed everyone and irritated many – especially Gloria. Eve kept saying, “It’s not glandular, see Mum? Just look at me! See that cake you have got there? Well, you’d need to exercise at the level of a fast walk for two hours to burn that off.” Gloria didn’t want to hear this and much preferred the passive daughter of the old days, who had been a partner in crime and not a nutritional expert who sat at her shoulder criticising everything she did.

  Eve had lost five stone five pounds since the beginning of the pact and was now a comfortable size sixteen. The clothes that she had never worn as a teenager now filled her wardrobe; the local seconds shop being a vast and cheap reservoir of outfits that her mother said were tarty and made her look silly. V-necked animal print polyester blouses with a frill around the V built up static under her nylon pinny at work. Short skirts that were still inadvisable were teamed with high-heeled sandals, showing toenails painted the colour of a nail bed infection that the men in the store pretended to be scared of.

  For her walk to her mother’s every day, she had taken the advice from her slimming advisor very seriously and wore white trainers and a tracksuit – “And, see, by pulling your socks over the tracksuit bottoms and ruffling them down, you are being stylish as well as practical.”

  But, the main difference was in sense of self and she fuelled her increased confidence with the envious stares from those she felt used to snigger at her. Her night attire grew yet more alluring and, after a few hesitant setbacks, Skinny eventually managed the occasional erectile success. Eve lost her virginity in a very happy, but technically poor way, her thrush itching deliciously throughout. The upshot, if the pun can be excused, had been discovered that morning in the form of a little blue line.

  She had told Peter that night “over dinner”, which had consisted of a Weight Watchers® Broccoli Bake followed by a low-fat chocola
te desert for her and two partially trodden on ham and cheese sauce pies followed by an out of date Danish pastry for him. They had retired to the lounge with a plastic tumbler of Diet Coke each and watched “Rags to Riches” shouting, “Ay!” every time Mr Pryce appeared and, “Yeay!” every time Mrs Pryce was shown giving her nervous smile.

  The irony of the programme was completely wasted on a pair who had so much more to be thinking about: eating for two, maybe, wetting the baby’s head, perhaps…

  Chapter 77

  Boxing up the Leftovers

  As the theme music drew to a close, a sigh settled over Lettie’s lounge. Everyone felt sleepy and relaxed, pleasantly full from food, wine and laughter. Nobody really wanted to move, although they all knew they had to. Alex stretched and made time to go home noises to Rich. Rich got up and switched the main light on in order to take a few of the dishes through to the kitchen.

  Light streamed into the corners of the room and Lettie’s bare shelves and the boxes full of her belongings were once more apparent.

  “Big day tomorrow, Lettie,” said Rich, “everything packed?”

  “Well, nearly,” said Lettie, “I’ve got to the ‘bung the last bits into a bin liner’ stage.”

  Lisa smiled at her, “We’ll miss you,” she said. A house with just her and Rizzo in – it didn’t bear thinking about.

  Rizzo nodded. He didn’t mean it though – a house with just him and Lisa in? Well, that meant that they were formally living together. He couldn’t wait. “I’ll help you load up in the morning,” he offered.

  Malcolm nodded too. He really did mean it. How the hell was he going to keep the Blue Potato running without Lettie? He saw himself disappearing into a morass of overcooked coffee cake without icing, stroppy chefs, late waitresses and Lisa fannying around in the background. Dougie had said he would mount his new sign once he, Malcolm, had got it made. Now that was another thing that didn’t look like it was ever going to happen.