by Gil McNeil
“Poor old thing.”
“Thanks for coming today Sal.”
“Ring me next time you’re down and we’ll have a proper catch-up?”
“Yes please.”
We hug again and turn to look at Bertie, standing completely still by the grave.
“Should you go over, do you think?”
“I’m giving him a bit longer. It’s the wrong way round, you know. It’s so unfair. Helena would have been fine without Bertie—well, not fine—she loved him very much, even though she pretended she didn’t, but she’d have managed, spent even more time in the garden, and got on with it. But I’m worried about Bertie, I really am.”
“But Ivy will still be around, won’t she?”
“Oh yes, and Dennis—at least I think they will. Ivy practically runs the house—she has done for years. She’ll keep an eye on him, and Dennis will keep the garden going, so he won’t be on his own. But still. I thought I’d have a quiet word with Ivy later, and ask her to promise to call me if she’s worried about anything. Do you think she’d mind?”
She pats my arm.
“I think that’s a lovely idea, and she’ll appreciate it. She was in the hairdresser’s last week and she was saying how she was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Did she? Well that’s a relief, I always feel like she disapproves of me.”
“That’s just her way; she’s always been very protective of both of them. She got really upset in church, did you see?”
“Yes. Dennis has taken her back to the house.”
“It’ll have hit her hard too. She worshipped Helena.”
“I think we all did. I wanted to be just like her when I was a grown-up.”
“How’s it going so far?”
“I haven’t started yet.”
“Me neither.”
We both smile.
“I’ll call you. Chin up love.”
“Thanks Sal.”
I’m about to go back to Bertie, when he turns and walks slowly towards me.
“Found it, in the end. Her wedding bouquet. Took me ages, but I knew she’d kept it. Found the box in the attic. She kept all sorts of stuff up there, complete hoarder, always was. I remembered the flowers, roses of course, but some other things too—forget what they were now, remember the smell though—beautiful, although not half as beautiful as she was, on the day. Thought I might keel over when I saw her walking up the aisle. Couldn’t believe she’d go through with it with a wastrel like me. Now then, this is important my dear, so do pay attention. I’ve kept a few of the flowers back at the house, from the bouquet. They’re in my wardrobe, on the top shelf, with my medals. And I want to be buried with them. Not the medals—don’t give a bugger about them—but the flowers. Could you do that for me, do you think my dear? When the time comes?”
“Of course I will, but let’s not talk about it today.”
“Yes, but do you promise?”
“Of course I do.”
He pats my hand.
Oh God, I’m crying all over again now.
I walk him back to the cars, and he insists I get in the lead funeral car with him. Roger and Mum and Dad were with him on the way to the church, so I should probably get back into one of the other cars. Georgina has already got into the second car, along with the Vicar and his wife. Mum and Dad are standing waiting, and Dad is looking impatient, but Bertie won’t let go of my hand, and it’s really belting down now, and the wind is picking up.
“In you get, there’s a good girl. Getting a bit breezy. Seems strange to be going home without her.”
He gets his handkerchief out of his pocket. It’s one of Helena’s, with an H embroidered on it, which almost sets me off again.
He squeezes my hand.
“No shame in tears on a day like this my dear, be a bit hard if nobody gave a bugger. And she was very fond of you, very fond. Always said what a good girl you are. If we’d had a daughter, we’d have both been very proud if she’d turned out like you. Very proud.”
This nearly finishes me off entirely. Oh God, I’m being so useless. He coughs again and wipes his eyes.
“Oh Bertie, I’m so sorry.”
“Very fond. In you get.”
Dad gives me a furious look. I’ve usurped Roger, who is also looking pretty thunderous and seems to be hesitating by the car door now.
Mum is looking flustered, as usual.
“Oh dear, where will Roger sit?”
Bertie smiles.
“In one of the other cars I should imagine, unless he wants to run along behind us. Do him good. Could do with losing a bit of weight. That’ll be the booze though.”
Dad is even more furious now as we get into the car, and Mum tries to smooth things over, as usual.
“I thought the service was lovely.”
“Yes, not a bad chap that vicar. Most of them are such deadlegs, but he wasn’t half bad. Bit young for a vicar I thought, but then everyone seems young when you get to my age. How’s that girl you used to bring down with you, Lily?”
“Lola? She’s fine, Uncle Bertie. She sends her love.”
“Does she? Well that’s a spot of good news on a dark day. Lively sort of girl, I always thought. Bit of a goer.”
Dad looks at the driver.
“For heaven’s sake, this is hardly the time for that kind of talk.”
Mum starts to fuss with her handbag, which is always a sign of distress, but Bertie fixes Dad with a rather beady look.
“Nothing wrong in being a bit of a goer Henry. All the best girls have a bit of spark to them—know how to have a good time. Quite right too. Give her my best Molly, and tell her she’s very kind to remember an old man.”
“I will, and she says she’d love to come down with us, next time we visit, as long as you make her one of your gin slings.”
“That’s the spirit. See what I mean Henry? Girl knows a good drink when she’s had one. Not like the half measures you serve at the hotel. A proper drink. That’s what people want.”
Dad is going red now, which is never a good sign, and Mum seems to have entered herself into some sort of Guinness Book of World Records attempt to see how many times one woman can open and close her handbag for no apparent reason.
“For God’s sake, stop fussing with that bag Marjorie.”
“Sorry, I was just checking I’d got my keys. Did I tell you, Molly, I went out last week and forgot your father had borrowed my set, and he was playing golf so I couldn’t interrupt him? I had to wait for nearly three hours in the car until he got home. Lucky I had my library book in my bag.”
“I have told you, Marjorie, all you need is a spare set hanging in the garage. Put a label on them—problem sorted. Even you should be able to manage that.”
Mum looks close to tears. Actually, bugger this.
“That’s a great idea Dad, and then any passing burglar can just help themselves to all the keys and drive off with anything they fancy. They’ll probably leave you a thank-you note, commending you on your excellent organizational skills.”
Bertie snorts and Dad glares at me.
“Obviously she wouldn’t write ‘house keys’ on the label Molly. Do use your brain. She’d use a code word.”
Mum looks panicked at the thought of having to think up a code word and then remember it.
“I bet that would fox them Dad. They’d never think of trying the keys just to see if they happened to fit the front door. Actually, Mum, I’ve got a much better idea. I’ll get you one of those key rings with an alarm for Christmas, and then if Dad nicks your house keys again, you can just press the button and they’ll start beeping. I bet he can’t play golf if his pocket is beeping. It’s probably against the rules. That’d soon bring him home and then maybe he’d stop taking your keys in the first place.”
Bertie laughs.
“Like your thinking Molly. Helena got me something similar, made a frightful noise. Luckily Betty soon took care of it. She’s excellent at dismantling electronic devices. Have to hide
the control box for the telly, she’s had her way with so many of them. Good strong beak, and she’s very determined. Bear it in mind Henry. I’d be happy to offer her services for a small fee.”
He winks at me.
“Nearly home, my dear. Nearly home.”
The house seems even colder and darker when we get back, and the wind from the sea is battering rain against the windows. Bertie was adamant he didn’t want the usual gathering after the funeral, so it’s just the family for lunch, soup, and sandwiches, and one of Ivy’s lovely walnut cakes, which almost sets me off again. We always had walnut cake when we visited as children, and Helena used to cut me a slice which had two walnuts, whereas Roger only got one. She did it every time, and every time she used to smile. Christ, I’ve got to try to get a grip, and be helpful and cheering instead of sodden. Maybe that gin earlier wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe that’s why they call it mothers’ ruin, I’m a complete wreck.
“Shall I serve the coffee in the drawing room, Mr. Bertie?”
“Please, Ivy.”
“And Mr. Crouch has arrived. Dennis is helping him get everything ready.”
“Right you are.”
She nods, and then turns and gives me a small nod too. I try to smile. She’s looking tired; it’s been a long day for her. For all of us.
Bertie stands up.
“If everyone would like to move into the drawing room, the legal chap has arrived. Thought we’d get the will done and dusted—Helena’s idea, got it all planned, as usual.”
Roger looks pleased, now we’re finally getting to the bit that interests him. Bertie hasn’t had any claim to Harrington up to now—some complicated family will protected the Harrington line—but he’ll definitely own it now. And I’m pretty sure Roger and Dad are hoping they can persuade Bertie to sell it to them at a knockdown price, and then they’ll redevelop, or turn it into holiday flats. God knows what scheme they’re hatching, but I bet Bertie will be the loser. I think they may be underestimating him, though. He’s always loved it here, and Harrington Hall has been in Helena’s family for generations. She was the last of a long line of Harringtons after her brother died in the War. So I can’t see him selling it, I really can’t. And I’m determined to stand up for him, even if it does infuriate Dad.
I help Ivy collect up the plates, but Bertie follows me into the kitchen.
“Can’t begin without you my dear. You too, Ivy. We’ve got our instructions. And Molly, I just want to say that Helena and I spoke about this and we agreed, so come along, there’s a good girl. Let’s get this over with, and then we can get a bit of peace and quiet.”
Oh God, I bet he’s talking about the necklace. Georgina will be furious; she’s had her eye on it for years. Helena used to say it was the only decent item of jewellery she owned, inherited from her mother: rose-cut diamonds and beautiful emeralds. She used to show it to me as a treat when I was little, taking it out of the faded white-leather box to show me the silver frame and the tiny screwdriver in a velvet pouch at the bottom of the box so you could screw the necklace onto a frame and turn it into a tiara. She’d brush my hair and put it on for me, and I’d sit very still, feeling like a Princess while she told me about her mother wearing it for grand parties, and the long silk dresses and the house full of music and candles. God knows where I’ll ever wear it, but I’m pleased Helena wanted me to have it.
Ivy pats my arm.
“Right you are Mr. Bertie. We’ll just bring the trays in with the coffee.”
She hands me a tray loaded with cups and saucers.
“Be careful with those Miss Molly. Antique they are, Royal Worcester, and they’re a devil to wash—the handles are right fiddly—but I thought they’d be fitting for today. Only they need to be back in the china cupboard safe and sound afterwards.”
“They’re lovely Ivy.”
Actually they’re rather hideous: all gold handles and lustrous fruit.
“I’ll get the milk and follow you in. In for a bit of a surprise, some of them, and a good thing too. And that’s all I’m saying.”
Excellent. I just hope nobody breaks any of these bloody cups, or Ivy is bound to blame me.
“Good afternoon, I’ll just switch this on and we can begin.”
Mr. Crouch is fiddling with cables and an ancient video recorder, which he’s connecting to an equally ancient television. The screen flickers and suddenly there’s Helena sitting on the sofa, and then the screen goes black again.
Christ, I nearly dropped the sodding tray. I’m handing round cups while he continues to jiggle cables, and Ivy pours the coffee.
“I think we can proceed now, if everyone is ready?”
I sit down as everyone looks at the screen, and it flickers again and then Helena reappears, sitting on the sofa where Mum and Dad are sitting now. She’s wearing one of her best summer frocks, the ones she used to wear for tea on Sundays, not her usual outfit of baggy cotton trousers and an old gardening jacket with pockets stuffed full of string and her favourite secateurs. Oh God, I’m close to tears again and we haven’t even started.
“Is this thing working?” Helena looks at someone, presumably Mr. Crouch. “Good, because I can’t spend all day doing this, I’ve got things to do in the garden. I’ll get straight to the point, shall I? I think that’s best. Before I start, I want to make it clear that I’ve discussed this with Bertie, and he’s in complete agreement, although whether he’ll remember everything we’ve discussed is another matter entirely. So I’m using this video contraption so you can hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Mr. Crouch has put everything in writing, so there can be no confusion. First things first: the Hall. I’m leaving it to Molly, in its entirety. Yes, Molly, you my dear. You’ll have Harrington Hall and the land, what there is left of it, on the condition that you don’t sell until Bertie is six feet under. Or he goes completely round the twist, in which case you can stick him in a home and sell up, with my blessing, only do choose somewhere decent to park him; some of them are quite dreadful. Wouldn’t put a dog in them, but I know I can count on you to make the right choice if he does go completely round the bend. Although how you’ll know is beyond me, what with that bloody parrot and his patrolling the cove at all times of the day and night. But if there ever comes a day when he can’t remember his own name, then pop him somewhere safe. Otherwise he has a home at the Hall. And Molly, I’m sorry, my dear, but he is going to be a great trial to you, as he has been to me.” She pauses and her face softens. “I know you’ll watch over him. Keep him fed and watered, and stop him getting up to too much mischief. And good luck to you because he’ll run you ragged if you let him.”
She pauses again, and looks over her spectacles, as if she’s in the room and wants to see my face. I’m so shocked I don’t know what to do. Bertie winks at me. Crikey. I feel like I might faint, actually keel over at the shock of it all. Thank God I’m not holding my antique coffee cup, because that would definitely be in pieces by now. Bloody hell.
Mum is opening and closing her handbag again and looking almost as shocked as I am.
“I do hope this doesn’t make things too difficult for you Marjorie, but I’m also leaving the necklace to Molly, so she can sell it. I could never bring myself to do it, sentimental nonsense, but Molly, you’re to sell it. I’m sure you’re going to need the money. You’ll want to make improvements—God knows some of them are long overdue. The heating bills alone are enough to make you weep. But I have faith in you. I’m sure you’ll make a go of it. I do know that the expectation was that Bertie would inherit the Hall, and as his sister your mother would lend a hand. But I also know if I leave things to Bertie, that ghastly man will get it.”
Helena often referred to Dad as “that ghastly man.”
“And I’m sorry to say it Marjorie, but the idea of Henry and Roger getting their hands on the Hall, particularly my garden, is just too appalling. Not an ounce of soul amongst them. No sense of history. Only small fly in the ointment was that idiot
husband of Molly’s, but now she’s got shot of him, it’s all fallen into place rather perfectly. And if I may say so, Molly, God knows why you ever married him in the first place. Never right for you, pompous bore. Thought it was odd you saddled yourself with such a deadleg. Do try not to do it again, my dear. How your mother has put up with your father all these years I’ll never know. Be better for everyone if she pushed him off a cliff. Metaphorically speaking, of course. And yes, I do know I’m being frightfully rude, but if you can’t be rude when you’re dead, then when can you? I’m rather enjoying it. Tricky moment being told the curtains were about to close, of course. Always thought I’d be the last to go, but it comes to us all, and at least I’ve had a bit of warning, so I’ve been able to put things in order. Now I’ve got used to the idea, it’s all been rather liberating. I shall miss my garden of course, but it can’t be helped.”
Oh God, we didn’t know she knew she was ill, that somehow makes it all worse. We all thought it was a heart attack, out of the blue. Dennis found her, in the garden, and that seemed so perfect in a way. But she must have known for ages.
Roger is sitting with his mouth slightly open, and Dad is clearly beyond annoyed now and has gone into a sort of apoplectic fury.
“I’m not sitting here listening to this rubbish. Switch it off and read the bloody thing. There must be a way we can challenge this. It’s ridiculous, leaving valuable property to Molly, quite ridiculous. It should be part of the family holdings. That was always the understanding. She must have gone soft in the head.”
Mr. Crouch presses the pause button.
“My instructions are quite clear. Copies of the will are to be circulated only once you have viewed the recording. And if I say so myself, I think you’ll find there are no grounds for any challenges.”
He gives Dad a rather steely look.
“For God’s sake, get on with it then.”
Mr. Crouch presses the button again.
“I’m counting on you, Molly, not to let your father take over. You’ve always been rather brave about that, and Bertie will help you. He’s always been rather good at standing up to bullies—they didn’t make him an Admiral for nothing, although he might need a boat to do it on, but I’m sure that can be arranged. But don’t let him try to move that ridiculous cannon. It took four men and a huge lorry to get the blasted thing here in the first place. God knows what would happen if he tried to get it onto a boat. Right, well, I can’t sit here all day, I’ve got cuttings which need planting out. All the detail is in the papers, and I warn you, Henry, I’ve already had one of those ruinously expensive firms in London check it over, and everything is completely watertight. Oh, yes, one other thing. I’ve given Ivy and Dennis their cottage, signed it over rent-free for as long as they need it, complete treasures both of them. It comes back to the estate only when they no longer need it. Ivy will show you the ropes, Molly, but don’t let her boss you around too much. Carry on with the bed-and-breakfast if you like—it brings in a bit of money, keeps the place ticking over, and Ivy takes care of most of that side of things for me. Just be firm with the guests—ignore them as much as possible is my advice—but Ivy will show you what’s required. And Dennis will keep the garden in shape. Although don’t let him do the planting—he puts everything in straight lines. Dreadful, you want groupings, not a parade ground. Leave that to Celia. She’ll keep an eye on things for me and she’s familiar with my garden notebooks. I’ve left her a few things, including my secateurs—she’s always trying to walk off with them—so I’m sure she’ll continue to lend a hand. But you have free reign in the Hall Molly, so do what you like my dear. And the best of luck—you’re certainly going to need it. Right, I think that’s everything. Switch this thing off. I need to get changed, can’t plant out dressed like this.”