‘He’s in his cage!’ And Dan points to Blue, both little paws up near his mouth and merrily munching his way through a carrot. ‘You put him away before we went down to the dungeon, sweetheart!’ And then he twirls me into his body and plants a big, long, hard kiss on my lips, practically winding me. I gasp like a drowning person on reaching the surface when he eventually lets me go. Dan then leans backwards casually against the kitchen counter, with a very mischievous look on his face, and spreads his arms out wide.
‘Whaaaat? What dungeon?’ I stammer, my lips still smarting from his very passionate kiss, swivelling my head in his direction and then quickly back to Mum, who now has her mouth agape. Dan winks at me. And my whole body goes whoosh, and then sizzles like a lit firework, as I try to keep up with yet another swift, mercurial change in his behaviour. My stomach is actually swirling, but before I can get a proper grip on what just happened between Dan and me, Mum pipes up again.
‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m very broadminded. Only last week, I went with my girlfriends to watch that Fifty Shades film. All that S&M stuff is very norm-core nowadays!’ And she plops her bottom down on my window seat before swinging one slender leg over the other and pulling out a carton of Lucky Strike, which she no doubt bought in bulk from Duty Free. Mum rips off the cellophane, takes out one packet and flips it open, before popping a cigarette in between her crimson-coated lips and adding, ‘Now, be a dear and pass me those matches over there next to the gas hob!’
*
We’re in the garden. Mum and I have just polished off Dan’s perfect lunch, with me anxious and on edge all the way through as I tried desperately, but failed, to keep the conversation to general chitchat, and definitely with no more suggestive innuendo from Mum, who it turns out decided I was pining away without Jack, and offering to ‘keep you company now that the weather has warmed up over here’ as she no longer does damp, dark English winters any more, apparently. Right on cue, in the middle of this story, Jack then called to explain to me – luckily I had taken the home phone handset out into the garden – and wanting to check that Gran had arrived. He explained to her that I was OK about South Africa, as it turned out. He also told me that he had called Taylor, and that they were now ‘cool’, and that I could call Stevie’s dad for a chat after all, and happily gave me his contact details.
So that’s all fine, but then Mum spent the whole lunch telling Dan how marvellous it is that we are living together – of course, Dan did nothing to dispel this myth; instead, he played along, seeming to enjoy seeing me squirm with embarrassment. Even leaning in to me in a caring, comfortable, fun-boyfriend way, and saying, ‘Don’t be bashful, sweetheart,’ when I tried to explain to Mum that she had got it all wrong, and that actually there was nothing going on between us, and Dan was merely here to help out with the village show. This all happened in between her regaling us with tales of how wonderful the weather is in Tenerife, and how I should seriously consider ‘giving it a go’ if my school ends up closing, to which Dan did a big guffaw on seeing my face, asking if he could come too. So Mum said of course he could and something about ‘us lovebirds, and it being so romantic’ … despite the S&M thing! I had zoned out by this point, resigned to being utterly humiliated, and having accepted that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
So now the three of us are drinking champagne – one of three bottles that Mum pulled from her wheelie suitcase after having already downed several large glasses of my elderflower fizz.
‘Top up, darling?’ Mum asks Dan, lifting the bottle of Piper whilst swiftly batting away a bee. ‘Megan’s home-brew is OK, but it’s practically non-alcoholic. Time for the good stuff. Salud!’ she giggles, ignoring Dan, who’s shaking his head as he goes to put his hand over the top of his glass, but she just bats that away too and fills the glass anyway, until it’s almost brimming over. ‘Sooo, where did you learn to cook like that, Dan? You’re very good – have you ever considered doing it professionally? I have a friend who owns a Spanish paella place in Playas De Las Americas and he’s always on the look-out for decent chefs – they never stay, you see!’ And after doing an extra-long draw on her cigarette and puffing it up into the beautiful, bright blue and very clean Tindledale sky, Mum actually leans forward and pats Dan’s knee, as if she’s bestowing some kind of special wisdom. ‘No, they come for the summer and then scarper when the tips dry up during the winter months, so if you play your cards right I could put in a good word for you!’
And forget my earlier feelings of resignation, I now just want to die all over again. Instead, I clear the dishes from the table and beat a hasty retreat back inside.
‘Ooh, Megan, bring me a blanket back with you, love, please, it’s getting very chilly out here,’ Mum calls after me, putting on her pretend ffffffreeeezing voice. I glance at the barometer on the doorframe – hmm, seventy degrees Fahrenheit, so on a par with the Canary Islands then – hardly arctic, as she’s making out. ‘OK, but I’m going to the bathroom first,’ I yell back in a grumpy voice. I take a deep breath and close my eyes momentarily, wondering if she’s planning on staying for the whole summer. If so, I’m going to have to get used to being publicly humiliated. And in my head I’m already concocting ways of keeping Mum away from the rest of the villagers, my school, and our Great Village Show. Jesus, I can’t let her anywhere near the judges – heaven knows what she might come out with. No, my mother is a flaming liability!
Feeling frustrated and quite ludicrous, I near sling the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher, before giving the door a hefty kick with my bunny-clad right foot. Then I disappear into the bathroom, just to give myself a moment of normality. I feel as if I’ve slipped into some sort of parallel universe. And I still need to work out exactly what happened when Dan kissed me. The sizzling sensation on my lips is still very, very much there and, dare I say it, I think I might want to experience that moment all over again. Damn it! And of all the people, it had to be him. Dan flaming Wright, who is actually OK some of the time, but for much of the rest of the time he’s volatile, crass, maverick and a … oh, I don’t know, a … troglodyte, I guess could fit – dictionary meaning is ‘crude, savage person’, according to one of the Year Six pupils, who’d written it in his English essay and then explained it to me when I tested his comprehension.
I pull the door to, lock it, and sit on the closed toilet seat, resting my head in my hands, wondering what would have happened today if Mum hadn’t turned up. Why did Dan kiss me? Was it purely to play along with Mum’s inference? Or to get a rise out of me? A reaction? Maybe that’s just his sense of humour, he likes playing games, it’s what he finds funny … taking the mickey out of people. I remember again the ‘country bumpkin’ comment, but that was a long time ago. I would have thought he’d have grown out of all that stuff by now. Oh, to be honest, I really don’t know what to think, but something I do know is that I can’t get Dan out of my head now. And what about what happened in the cellar? The humid air down there was charged, for sure. It’s so mystifying, and I’m not sure I like feeling this way. Confused, and with no sense of control. I shake my head as if to clear the discombobulating thoughts from my mind, and can now hear Mum and Dan talking through the open window – my bathroom is on the ground floor off the kitchen, as it is in lots of these old cottages in Tindledale.
Mum is speaking. ‘So how did you meet Megan?’
‘It was here in the village – on the bridge in the garden at Lawrence’s place—’ Dan starts.
‘Oh, were you living in the B&B?’ Mum asks nosily, and I’m guessing Dan has nodded in reply, because she then adds, ‘Never mind, darling, I know how hard it is for you youngsters to find an affordable place to live. That’s why I bought this cottage for my Megan. But you don’t have to worry about any of that now. And isn’t Lawrence lovely? Did you know he was gay – although he hides it very well, don’t you think?’ and Mum actually lowers her voice when she says the word ‘gay’, and seemingly sees nothing wrong in assuming that Lawrence
would have to set out to deliberately obscure his sexuality, like we are still living in the 1950s or something. Oh God. I press my head further into my hands. She really has no filter whatsoever, and doesn’t even wait for Dan to reply. ‘And with a heart of gold. Lawrence has been very good with my Megan,’ she goes on in a voice that now makes me sound as if I’m some sort of half-wit who needs special care.
I stand up and reach across the bath to go to close the window, unable to listen to any more of her nonsense. But then I hesitate, arm in mid-air. I can hear Dan talking now.
‘Yes, Lawrence is a great guy – in fact, if it wasn’t for him, then I don’t think I’d be here with Meg now …’ And it sounds as if he’s pleased, happy with this outcome. That’s nice, but why then, earlier, did he seem to delight in seeing me squirm?
‘Ooh, really?’ And Mum makes a noise like the verbal equivalent of big, intrigued eyes – she never could resist hearing about other people’s personal stuff.
‘Yes, that’s right. You see, Meg and I didn’t get off on the right foot at first.’
‘Well, you can’t blame her, darling; it’s been a very long time since my Megan had a man. She probably just needs a bit of practice.’ Oh please, somebody shoot me and get it over with. ‘In fact, there was a time when I thought she might be –’ and Mum lowers her voice again before mouthing – ‘the other way …’
‘The other way?’ Dan clarifies, and I just know from the way he’s said it that he’s got an amused look on his brutish face. I bet he’s thoroughly enjoying this; perhaps he isn’t so nice after all. Hmm, but then he must be feeling humiliated and a bit embarrassed too, after having my mother offer him the chance of a job ladling giant mountains of paella around one of those massive metal tureens for tourists. She clearly has no idea who he is. Come to think of it, he was actually very modest in not pointing out this fact to Mum, while I failed, spectacularly, to get a word in edgeways during lunch as I tried several times to let her know.
‘Oh no, but she certainly isn’t the other way,’ Mum hastily adds, sounding panicky now. ‘Definitely not. Well, she can’t be, can she? Not now she has you!’ And at this precise moment my foot slips on the mat over the stripped wood floor, so I end up catapulting myself across the whole width of the bath. Help! I go to grab the window frame, but my hand knocks the handle instead, which in turn makes the window bounce backwards on the frame. Oh no! They’re bound to have heard and will now know that I’ve been eavesdropping. They’ll assume I’ve slammed the window on purpose in a fit of temper or whatever. I very quietly prop the window back open as if to imply that it was an accident – no fits of temper in here, no eavesdropping at all, oh no! I’m a perfectly calm and rational human being when my mother is around. Hmmm!
There’s a ringing in my ears; I must have banged my head … or is that the phone? I manage to reinstate myself into an upright position and I’m straightening my hair in the mirror when I can hear Mum talking.
‘Laaaaaaawrence!’ Ahh, it was the phone and Mum has taken the liberty of answering it. ‘We were just talking about you!’ Mother! Jesus, the woman has no tact whatsoever. ‘Yes, hold on, he’s right here.’ There’s a short silence. And Dan is talking now.
‘Yep. Thanks Lawrence.’ Another silence. ‘OK, I’ll do that right away.’
‘What is it darling?’ Mum asks Dan.
‘I need to make an urgent call – I better go and ask Meg,’ he says, sounding distracted.
‘Oh, no need. Here,’ and I assume Mum is handing the phone to Dan. I hesitate, and then curiosity gets the better of me and I sit back on the closed toilet seat. Besides, I’m not ready to face my mother again, just yet. ‘Make the call, and don’t mind me, it’s time for my siesta in any case,’ Mum chortles. ‘I’ll pop upstairs and find a blanket for myself, Meg is taking for ever – she must be doing a number two.’ Oh, for crying out loud! ‘Won’t be a mo, darling. I’m looking forward to snoozing in the garden.’ And she chuckles some more as I die a little more inside.
Mum comes indoors and I assume Dan is making his urgent call. I stand up, feeling ridiculous for still hiding like this, and I’m just about to open the bathroom door and go back into the garden when I hear Dan talking in a soft voice.
‘Hey, no need to apologise, it’s fine. I’ve missed you too.’ My hand freezes on the door handle. Who is he talking to? One of his sons, perhaps? ‘I’ll be back very soon, babe.’ No, it must be a woman, he wouldn’t call one of his sons ‘babe’! There’s a pause. ‘I can’t wait to see you either, darling, and don’t worry, we’ll sort it all out … I’ve missed you as well.’ Silence. ‘Nothing important. Just working. Yes, I love you too, sweetheart. You’re everything to me.’
I freeze, and stand motionless by the door, listening to the sound of my heart hammering inside my chest. My hands feel numb.
Babe.
Sweetheart.
Just working.
Nothing important.
I feel like such a fool. A fool for even considering that something happened between Dan and me down in the cellar. I clearly read it all wrong. And no wonder he hesitated and changed tack after his ‘don’t change’ line. He’s been playing me. Well, thank God I didn’t make a fool of myself and respond to his flirtations, I was right to be wary, to be cynical. He clearly has a girlfriend. And now I have to face him and act as if nothing has changed. He may be brazen enough to carry on like that, but I’m definitely not.
I take a deep breath before splashing some cold water on to my face, willing my hands to stop shaking, but I feel so humiliated, and I wonder if his girlfriend knows that he’s been here, in my home, sourcing ingredients to cook lunch for me, and bringing me flowers, flirting and kissing me passionately on the lips, which I must now assume was clearly just for show – to embarrass me in front of my mother. Talking of which, where is she?
I eventually manage to get it together, and quickly head upstairs to grab a blanket for Mum (they’ll know I was listening if I go outside without one), then make my way back out into the garden. I needn’t have worried about facing Dan, as he’s gone. There’s no sign of him anywhere. I look around, like a character doing a comedy double take. No, definitely no Dan. Just my mother is here and she’s snoring gently in a deckchair, a champagne bottle in one hand, my favourite patchwork blanket clasped in the other and her mouth hanging open.
I push the blanket around her shoulders and slip the bottle from her hand, before flopping into a deckchair too and finishing the last of the bubbles.
‘Salud, indeed, Mother!’ I tilt the top of the bottle in her direction. ‘And, for the record, Dan looks nothing like Hugh Bonneville.’
The following morning, when I come downstairs, there’s no point in even attempting to get any sense from Mum – to find out why Dan left without even saying goodbye to me. She’s still fast asleep; there was a brief interlude last night where I managed to walk her in from the garden and on to the sofa in the lounge, but there was no way I was going to manage to steer her up the stairs to the spare bedroom, she was far too wobbly. So, after tucking a blanket around her, I rolled her on to her side (I read an article once about drunk people inhaling their own vomit and dying, so I worry about it), and propped some cushions under her before leaving her to it.
I finish my breakfast – boiled eggs with Marmite soldiers – and, after making my packed lunch, I tiptoe past the pulled-to lounge door on my way out to school, pausing briefly to check that Mum is actually still breathing. She stirs as I open the door.
‘Why didn’t you wake me, darling?’ she asks, pulling herself upright, the imprint of my hand-stitched appliqué owl cushion embedded on the side of her face. ‘And why am I huddled up like an old woman?’ she then complains, tossing the blanket away in disgust.
‘Because, Mother … you were drunk!’ I tell her, picking the blanket up and folding it away on to the armchair.
‘Oh, I do wish you wouldn’t exaggerate, darling. I only had a few drops of champagne.’
&nbs
p; ‘And completely showed me up in front of Dan.’
‘Did I?’ she asks, incredulously. ‘Gosh, I’m very sorry if that’s true.’
‘It is. Why else do you think he left so abruptly?’ I ask, thinking I really should get going – I want to get to school in plenty of time to make sure today’s activities are properly organised. Pete is bringing a couple of his calves down for the children to feed and pet, which is bound to impress the inspectors. And Sybs is due in this afternoon to do some more crafting work with the children on their secret project.
‘Did he?’ Mum asks, looking vague.
‘Yes. Do you mean to tell me you were so plastered that you can’t remember?’ I admonish, sounding like Mrs Pocket ticking off a child. Mum huffs and crosses her arms. I take a big, deep breath and stare at a flower in the middle of the floral wallpaper on my feature wall – I really should replace it soon; it’s looking a bit dated now. Mind you, if my school closes down and I’m out of a job, then I’ll have all the time in the world very soon to make home improvements. And then something strikes me. ‘Mum, how long are you planning on staying?’ I brace myself, waiting for her answer.
‘Ooh, I’m not sure yet, Megan. Why? Are you trying to get rid of me already?’
‘No, of course not,’ I half-fib, folding my arms across my chest and hating how I always seem to regress back to a sulky teenager whenever Mum’s around for any length of time. I’m a grown woman, not the nineteen-year-old girl I was when she scarpered off to Spain, telling me it would be ‘an exciting adventure’ when I first balked at the idea of being left on my own with the responsibility of a house to run. I soon got used to it, of course, I had to; and then being a lone parent with a baby wasn’t easy either, but I coped. And she’s right when she says that Lawrence has been good with me, although I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that – he’s been a wonderfully kind friend over the years. And he was here, which is more than I can say for her.
The Great Village Show Page 17