by Suzy K Quinn
On paper, it looks great. It’s only when I look at the house itself that I feel terrified and overwhelmed.
Have pencilled a lovely open-plan downstairs area, with sliding doors leading off the kitchen into the garden.
I plan to demolish most of the hallway, so the front door will pretty much lead right into the big kitchen/dining area.
And there’ll be a snug-type room, plus a downstairs toilet. AND a bathroom upstairs.
TWO toilets. Luxury.
There’s only one family bathroom at the pub, and it’s almost always occupied these days.
John Boy takes AGES gelling his hair, and Brandi puts on a full set of false eyelashes every morning, top and bottom.
This causes problems, as my bladder isn’t what it was, pre-Daisy. Holding in wee is tricky, and sometimes impossible.
The downstairs saloon-bar toilets are locked in the morning and I don’t fancy using Nana Joan’s Tena Lady incontinence pads, so I’ve had to resort to emergency measures when I really need a wee.
A Pyrex jug in the beer cellar.
Monday 24th July
Ugh.
Mediation with Nick.
Fiona is still under the delusion that we can avoid going back to court. She doesn’t understand that we’re never going to agree.
Tried to talk about my new house, but Fiona said I was going off topic.
She decided to ‘wrap up’ the session by touching on our extended family – i.e. Helen.
Fiona thought it important we ‘get everything out’, so put her hand up whenever Nick tried to defend his mother, saying, ‘No, this is Juliette’s point of view.’
After half an hour, I felt purged. Although I noticed Fiona kept checking her watch.
‘Let’s talk about building bridges now,’ said Fiona. ‘Juliette – it would be really wonderful if you and Nick’s mother could get along again.’
‘Again?’ I said. ‘We never got along.’
‘A meal is often a good way to build a relationship,’ Fiona continued. ‘How about you and your family have lunch with Nick and his family?’
I gave a horrified laugh.
Nick zipped up his leather jacket in alarm.
‘I want you both to be open minded,’ said Fiona. ‘That’s how we move forward.’
Nick and I told Fiona that we didn’t think a family lunch was a good idea.
But she explained, sadly and sympathetically, that we were here by court order and must do as we were told.
‘So, let’s talk about venues,’ said Fiona. ‘Where would be a good place to meet?’
‘My parent’s pub?’ I offered.
Expected Nick to argue, but he was surprisingly agreeable, saying, ‘It’s going to be horrible wherever we have it.’
Tuesday 25th July
House sale moving forward.
The solicitors have ‘fast-tracked’ the searches (Mum says this probably means using first-class stamps), and the mortgage funds are nearly ‘ready to be released’.
The mortgage company needed an employment reference, so Mum wrote me one. She’s confirmed I’ve never stolen from the till or got staggering drunk on shift.
Afternoon
Just told Mum and Dad about the court-ordered family lunch.
They were suitably appalled.
‘What kind of mediator sets up a great big row?’ Mum asked.
‘What am I going to cook for this lunch from hell?’ I said.
‘The pub kitchen will do you a meal,’ said Mum. ‘Might be a bit low on gravy though. I still can’t find the three-litre Pyrex jug.’
Which reminds me.
MUST EMPTY THE PYREX JUG.
Wednesday 26th July
Visited Nana Joan today.
Told her about the mediation lunch, and she scanned her 1970s cookbooks for menu ideas.
I’d forgotten about Stork margarine.
After flicking through pictures of wobbly, grey-looking meat in watery sauces, I politely told Nana that the pub kitchen would do something more up-to-date.
Then I made the mistake of talking about Waitrose recipe cards.
‘Waitrose?’ Nana shrieked. ‘Why on earth would you shop there? Just chuck twenty quid out your purse right now, why don’t you. They charge 70p for Heinz baked beans.’
After we’d argued about the price of beans, I helped Nana do some online clothes shopping.
She’s into Superdry right now, because the name makes her chuckle.
‘Here I am, an incontinence sufferer, with the words “Superdry” printed over my arse!’
Mortgage funds will be released this afternoon.
Woo, woo!
House sale could complete this week, according to Alex.
VERY excited.
Thursday 27th July
Phoned solicitors for an update.
They’re ‘poised’ for completion tomorrow.
Mum snorted at that. ‘“Poised” is legal speak for “won’t happen”,’ she said.
During my pub shift, I asked Dad if he knew any good builders.
He said, ‘The good ones are booked up months in advance. You should have got onto this in May, Juliette.’
But I hadn’t even viewed Hillcrest House in May.
Dad said, ‘Well most building jobs you can do yourself, with the right instruction manual and attention to detail.’
But I don’t trust myself to do practical stuff.
I’ve set fire to a toasted sandwich before. My home economics teacher was really annoyed, because the Belling oven had been with the school since 1971.
Mum told me to try Uncle Danny.
‘He used to be in the building trade,’ she said. ‘He’s bound to know somebody.’
Friday 28th July
Sale didn’t complete today.
It will be Monday at the earliest now, because solicitors don’t work weekends.
Mum snorted and said, ‘I could have told you that. When have you ever known solicitors keep their word?’
Skyped Uncle Danny.
I asked if he knew any local builders from his contractor days.
‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Julesy,’ he said, looking alarmed. ‘You’re family. Why do you need a builder, anyway?’
Told him I’d just bought the property by Hillcrest Farm.
‘Not that old squat down the farm tracks?’ he asked. ‘I thought they’d knocked that down.’
Ah … home sweet home!
Saturday 29th July
Nick’s visitation day.
We took Daisy to the zoo, because I can never go there with Althea. She calls it ‘animal prison’ and encourages Wolfgang to free animals from cages.
Thought Nick was hung-over at first, because he was so quiet. But it turns out he was thinking about the mediation lunch.
‘It’s going to be fucking awful,’ he said.
For once, we were in agreement.
Evening
Alex just called while I was working behind the bar.
I told him about the mediation lunch.
There was a long silence.
Then he said, ‘Good lord.’
‘I know.’
‘But your family will be there too?’ he asked.
‘Yes. We’re supposed to be building bridges.’
Alex laughed and said, ‘I think to build bridges, there has to be firm soil underfoot. What if I came along too? To support you.’
‘I’d love that,’ I said.
‘Then I’ll come.’
It’s so confusing with Alex.
One minute, I think things are never going to work. The next I feel like … maybe.
He is always there when I really need him.
And that counts for a lot.
Sunday 30th July
Emailed Fiona Skelton to ask if extended, extended family members were okay (meaning Alex) at the lunch from hell, and she said it was fine, as long as everyone brought their best listening ears to the table.
I didn’t tell
her my family don’t possess listening ears, best or otherwise.
Certainly, our best shouting mouths will come along.
Just want to get the lunch over with now.
Daisy seems to sense there is emotional trauma in the air, because she’s being a nightmare – clinging to me and crying about ridiculous things like wanting the apple she already has in her hand.
Monday 31st July
House sale still not complete.
The solicitors are now saying it won’t happen until Wednesday, meaning I’ll have to endure the dreaded mediation lunch tomorrow before everything is signed and sealed.
Yorkie asked if I wanted him to ‘beat anyone up’ to speed things along, but I politely declined.
Just realised I STILL haven’t emptied the Pyrex jug of wee in the beer cellar.
It’s been there over a week now.
Aside from the disgustingness of week-old wee, it’s good to keep the jug empty for emergencies. John Boy’s girlfriend is staying over tonight, which means yet another person in the bathroom.
Tuesday 1st August
Mediation lunch.
Really appreciated Alex arriving early. Although I wish I’d been doing something more glamorous than sweeping up cigarette butts when he strolled into the back garden.
Also, why did I kiss him, continental-style, on both cheeks?
I think that confused both of us.
‘Nick Spencer hasn’t arrived yet, I see,’ said Alex, scanning the garden.
Mum bounded outside, bellowing, ‘Let’s get you a drink, Alex. What do you fancy? Beer?’
Alex held up the bottle of red he was carrying, and said, ‘Wine will be fine for me.’
But Mum shouted to Dad in the open cellar, ‘Bob. BOB!’
‘What IS it, Shirley?’ Dad shouted back.
‘Alex is here. He needs a drink. You can finish the wine order tomorrow.’
‘SHIRLEY, I AM RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING.’
Mum turned to Alex, and in her best voice said, ‘Excuse me a moment, would you?’
Then she stormed down the cellar steps. ‘FOR CHRIST SAKE BOB, WE HAVE A SODDING GUEST. LET JOHN BOY DO THE WINE ORDER.’
‘JOHN BOY CAN’T COUNT PAST FIFTY, SHIRLEY! THERE ARE AT LEAST SIXTY BOTTLES HERE.’
‘Um … so how are you?’ I asked Alex.
‘I’m fine,’ said Alex, with an amused smile. ‘Where’s Daisy?’
‘Sleeping,’ I said. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
I showed him to a garden table, where Nana Joan was perched under a Heineken umbrella, gin and tonic in hand.
‘This is my nana,’ I said.
Alex shook Nana’s hand and said, ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
‘Well you’re certainly a strapping young man,’ said Nana approvingly. ‘I’ll bet your mum gave you plenty of Mars Bars growing up.’
‘Not so many actually,’ said Alex, with a smile.
Mum came up from the cellar then. ‘Bob’s just getting you a beer, Alex,’ she said, in her best hostess voice.
‘Actually, wine will do for me,’ said Alex, holding up his bottle again. ‘So you needn’t—’
‘Wine?’ Mum queried. ‘BOB! BOB! Take TWO bottles off your list – and bring them to the table.’
Dad shouted up from the cellar, ‘FOR HEAVEN’S SAKES, SHIRLEY, I’VE JUST ADDED EVERYTHING UP!’
‘WELL YOU’LL HAVE TO UN ADD IT THEN.’ Mum shouted back.
She turned to Alex. ‘Was it red you wanted?’
‘Yes, but I already have a bottle here—’
Mum narrowed her eyes appraisingly. ‘Bob. BOB! We need RED wine.’
Dad appeared from the cellar.
He had a bottle of red in one hand and, to my horror, the emergency Pyrex jug in the other.
It was full of what looked like white wine. But of course, the last time I’d seen that jug, it was half-full of my wee.
‘Good news, Shirley,’ he announced. ‘I’ve found your Pyrex jug.’
‘Why did you put white wine in it?’ Mum asked. ‘It’s not a serving jug, Bob. You’ll make the table look like a home economics class.’
‘There was already wine in the jug, Shirley,’ said Dad, putting it on the table. ‘John Boy must have broken a bottle. I think it was a bit on the turn, but it’ll be fine mixed with the fresh stuff.’
I just stood there, frozen in horror, staring at the wee and wine mixture.
Dad has never had a good sense of smell. He can’t tell the difference between pork and tuna.
‘Bloody hell, Bob, just get a fresh bottle,’ said Mum. ‘Let’s try and look a bit civilised.’
‘That would be a waste, Shirley,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not throwing away perfectly good wine when there are people starving in the world.’
‘Dad we should throw it away!’ I said, my voice shrill.
Then we heard voices outside: Helen, telling Henry off for not tucking his shirt in, and Nick talking to baby Horatio about his big sister, Daisy.
‘Not sister, Nick,’ I heard Helen correct. ‘Half sister.’
The back gate opened, and the Jolly-Piggott family were upon us, tight-lipped and tense.
Helen was dressed in weekend ‘casual’ gear – a crisp, white blouse tucked into ironed jeans.
Henry wore a tweed cap and swung a polished walking stick.
Nick pushed the pram and looked henpecked.
Alex glared at Nick.
Nick glared at Alex.
‘Nice to see you all,’ I said, glancing at the Pyrex jug. ‘What a pleasure.’
‘Juliette.’ Helen gave me an appraising nod. ‘You look tired.’
Mum folded her arms and bellowed, ‘No amount of sleep will fix your haggard old face, Helen.’
Helen coloured. ‘Can we at least be civil today, Shirley?’
Mum snorted.
Nick bumped Horatio’s pram over the lawn and pulled Peroni bottles from the net shopping compartment. ‘Can I crack these open?’ he said. ‘Where’s Daisy boo?’
‘Daisy’s sleeping,’ I said. ‘Do you have any white wine? We really need white wine.’
‘Did someone want white wine?’ said Dad, holding up the Pyrex jug. ‘Joan?’
‘NANA-YOU-SHOULD-TRY-THE-RED-WINE!’ I said, grabbing Alex’s wine bottle.
Nana squinted. ‘Is it a Madeira? I like a Madeira.’
‘Similar,’ I lied. While I was filling Nana’s glass, Dad said: ‘Helen, what can I get you to drink?’
‘White wine,’ said Helen, putting her sunglasses on the table. ‘But only if it’s cold.’
‘This has been in the cellar,’ said Dad, holding up the Pyrex jug, then filling Helen’s glass.
Helen eyed the jug disdainfully, but a sideways glance at Mum kept her quiet. She took a sip from her wineglass, then winced.
‘Is this the house white?’ she asked, blinking her nasty bird eyes. ‘It’s very sharp.’
‘Glad I had the red, then,’ said Nana Joan. ‘I don’t like sharp. Like I say, I’m more of a Madeira girl.’
In the end, it was only Helen who drank white wine.
Alex, Nana, Henry and I drank red, Nick had Peroni, Dad drank cider and Mum had pints of Guinness.
The pub kitchen served us lasagne and salad.
To think I was worried lunch would be awful.
It was the best meal I’ve had in ages.
Wednesday 2nd August
The house sale is complete!
Got a phone call from the solicitors today, congratulating me on my purchase.
Can’t believe it.
I have a house.
A shitty, falling down house.
Alex phoned to congratulate me, and also to say he’s off to Dubai this afternoon.
That pretty much sums up our relationship.
Nice lunch.
Supportive conversation.
Alex leaves the country.
Thursday 3rd August
Dad and I have just been at Hillcrest House, clearing
rubbish.
We delighted in the faded, vintage litter, oohing and aahing over Wham Bar, Hubba Bubba and Highland Toffee wrappers, and faded Corona fizzy pop bottles.
Mum popped back and forth with Daisy on her hip, throwing Cadbury’s Heroes at us and telling us she could have done the work in half the time.
Friday 4th August
Have just ordered a skip for Hillcrest House, so I can start clearing big items like the rotten old carpet.
Was so tired working at the pub last night that I poured Yorkie a shot of Baileys instead of his usual Bell’s.
How we laughed.
Saturday 5th August
Dad’s birthday.
No surprise party for him this year, because Mick the Hat is getting married (again) and having his wedding reception at the pub.
Instead, we had a nice breakfast and gave Dad his presents.
Dad is easy to buy for because he likes practical gifts, like new batteries for his bike lights.
Bought him some fishing line (he’s nearly run out), which he was delighted by. Also, took a risk and bought him a non-practical gift – a special edition hardback copy of Lord of the Rings.
I shouldn’t have bothered, because it only confused him.
‘But I already have all three Lord of the Rings books,’ he said.
‘Yes, but you have the 1970s paperback versions,’ I pointed out. ‘This is a new hardback limited edition.’
‘My old versions are in mint condition,’ said Dad. ‘Why do I need new ones? I take care of my things. Unlike your mother.’
This started an argument about Mum’s ‘disposable attitude’, and how her £7 so-called ‘reusable’ flask mug from Starbucks still hasn’t been washed.
After Dad’s special birthday breakfast (Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference muesli with crème fraiche), I headed up to Hillcrest House for more rubbish clearing, while Mum babysat.
Felt pretty tired after my shift in the pub last night, but the skip had arrived so had to get on with it.
Filled the skip with rotten old 1970s carpet, then started on the brambles.