Ten Steps to Happiness

by Daisy Waugh

  But she had underestimated him again.

  Sue-Marie forced Grey to throw his fine-smelling supper into the dustbin. She stood beside him and watched while he put the whole thing, including pot and lid, into a bin liner, miraculously produced from her own jacket pocket.

  ‘You can take the fuckin’ pot, too,’ he said. ‘’Cos I’m not fuckin’ washin’ it.’

  ‘I was about to suggest the very same. Those particular receptacles aren’t Approved anyway. We don’t like earthenware.’

  But she left the bag behind. And when she’d gone, he hoicked it all out again and called everyone into the dining room. Everyone, of course, except Maurice, who was still nowhere to be seen.

  Maurice arrived halfway through dinner, full of apologies for his absence and outrage at developments. He vowed to get on the telephone in the morning and do his utmost to get the decision reversed. ‘I’ll talk to a couple of people,’ he promised. ‘I’ll do everything I can but I fear it may be too late. Once these sort of things enter the wretched system…’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘You know how it is. However, let’s think positive! I’ll make a few inquiries on my way to Lamsbury tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You’re going to Lamsbury?’ said the General. ‘Mr Morrison, I do hope you’re not leaving us. I mean to say, of course I realise we probably appear somewhat out of sorts, but it’s only a matter of time. Oh dear,’ he broke off, sounding suddenly petulant, ‘I do wish Charlie and Jo would get back. Don’t you, Grey?’

  Maurice quickly assured everyone that he wasn’t deserting anywhere just yet. He simply needed, he explained, to stock up on dehydrated pawpaw, prunes, banana flakes and other high-fibre energy nibbles. ‘It’s tragic, I know, but I think I may be addicted to them! I assume there is a health food shop somewhere in Lamsbury?’ The General offered to fetch the nibbles himself. Grey offered to drive him to Lamsbury, but Maurice was adamant that he venture out alone. He was looking forward to it, he said. It would be the first time he had travelled beyond Fiddleford’s park walls since he arrived. He said he would order a cab.

  ‘Does anyone else need anything while I’m there?’

  ‘You could get me some fags,’ said Grey.

  ‘Ha!’ said Maurice. ‘You’ll be very lucky! I never heard of a health food shop which stocked cigarettes before. However, I shall certainly ask. How much are cigarettes these days, by the way? Ten pounds? Eleven? D’you know I’ve no idea!’

  Early the following morning, at about the same time that Charlie, frozen, very hungry and still in Hampstead, was first opening his eyes and spotting the parking ticket on his windscreen, Fiddleford Manor found itself prey to yet another unwelcome visitor.

  Maurice had only just left for Lamsbury. Messy and Grey, having discussed it at dinner the previous evening, were in the process of moving equipment from the prohibited manor house kitchen to the kitchen in the unused ‘General’s cottage’ at the bottom of the drive, and most of the others were still in bed. So nobody apart from Chloe was around to protect the General when the Fire Authority representative pressed the intercom.

  The two of them followed the Fire Inspector as he examined every room, every door, the positioning of every piece of furniture. The Inspector was dismayed by the laziness of some household members, and appalled by the evidence of open fires in some of the bedrooms. In fact he was appalled by everything he saw. Or didn’t see. He would, he informed the General, be insisting on the installation of approved fire doors throughout, with approved fire door safety notices on each one; also designated fire exits, appropriate fire breaks, fire night-lights, fire alarms and fire extinguishers and recorded evidence of regular fire drill rehearsals. The hall stairway would need to be partitioned off; fireplaces blocked up; much of the furniture removed from common parts and the four bedrooms at the far end of the house either vacated or provided with an alternative stairway, which would need to be built. The improvements, he said, which he would confirm in writing, would need, if Fiddleford wanted to stay open for business, to have been completed before three months were up.

  The General was still reeling from this last incursion when the telephone call about the water came through. Fiddleford’s private water supply had failed to meet the required standard for use by non-private citizens, he was informed. Fiddleford Manor would therefore need to be connected to the mains as soon as possible, the cost of which they could not estimate over the telephone, but which would be billed, in due course, to the owners of the house.

  The traffic had been growing steadily noisier for some time, Jo noticed dimly, and it was light outside – or as light as November in Hampstead ever could be. She’d been lying there for hours, listening to the familiar clamour of the city, amazed at all the racket, amazed that she had lived with it for so long. As well as the cars, there was the patter of winter drizzle against the window, and it made her long for Fiddleford. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure the sounds that would have woken her if she’d been there; drizzle, perhaps, but at Fiddleford even the sound of rain was somehow friendlier. And then Charlie coming in with coffee, because she always slept later than he did. Charlie bringing her coffee, leaning over to kiss her, walking across to the windows, drawing open the curtains and looking out over the park, waiting peacefully for her to wake…Until Messy had arrived it had been perfect. Perfect. She would smell the coffee and begin to smile even before she had opened her eyes, because they were happy together, because he loved her and she loved him. Or she had thought he loved her, she corrected herself, and she had been stupid enough to have loved him…

  A business-like tap on the bedroom door. Mrs Smiley came in bearing jasmine tea.

  ‘Jo, darling?’ she said. ‘It’s nine o’clock!’ She put the mug down on the table beside the sofabed and watched her pregnant daughter struggle to sit up.

  ‘Do you want a hand?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. Thanks.’

  Mrs Smiley left her to it. She crossed over to the desk (where her novel would again have to remain neglected) and pulled up the window blind.

  ‘…Good gracious!’ she said suddenly. ‘How ridiculous! Hasn’t your husband got any work to do?’

  Jo grinned. She couldn’t help it. ‘He’s still out there?’

  ‘No need to sound so pleased about it, Jo. It’s all very well, acting the wounded hero, sitting in a Land Rover all day and night. But what does it really bloody well mean? Men only ever want what they can’t have. Believe me.’ She turned back from the window and smiled at her daughter as if she were being kind, as if one paltry smile could disguise a whole married life of disillusion. ‘Don’t fool yourself, darling. Once a cheat always a cheat. Seriously. I’ve a good mind to call the police.’

  ‘The police?’ Jo managed to laugh. ‘What for? Parking?’

  ‘Yes, well. It’s inhibiting, isn’t it? It’s threatening.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish.’

  ‘After how much he’s hurt you I don’t see why you’re defending him. He’s a disgrace. He should be ashamed of himself.’

  She sighed. ‘Perhaps he is.’

  ‘But it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Anyway I don’t want him camping out there. In that…Land Rover. I’m going to have a word.’

  ‘Mum. Please. I’m asking you. Please. For me. Please, please don’t.’

  Upstairs at the cottage meanwhile, lying entangled on the bare floorboards of what was meant to have been the General’s bedroom, Grey and Messy should have been exceptionally happy. They would have been, but on the final trip from the house, as they both stood in the hall struggling not to drop any saucepans, the General had told them about the morning’s new crop of official requirements. He had said that as soon as Morrison returned he wanted to call a meeting. He had sounded entirely despairing.

  ‘Ah! I’m fuckin’ stupid, Messy!’ Grey said suddenly. ‘Why did I not think of it before? We could buy this little place! If they let us. And your garden! We could buy it! It would answer everything. Their money troubles. Us
staying put.’

  She laughed. ‘But I told you I’m skint.’

  ‘And I told you, I’ve got money. We could open a restaurant.’

  ‘What? And have Sue-Marie Gunston breathing down our necks for the rest of our lives?’

  ‘Aye. But it would be worth it…’ Tenderly he ran his thumb over her cheek and lips. He smiled. ‘Worth a thousand Sue-Marie Gunstons. If I can stay here wi’ you and Chloe the rest o’ my life.’

  She leant across and kissed him.

  ‘So?’ He pulled back to take a better look at her. ‘What are you thinkin’?’

  ‘Well…For a start, Grey, I’m thinking I love you.’

  ‘Aye.’ He sounded unimpressed.

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘So are you interested or aren’t you? You could forget about the stupid book for a start and turn that kitchen garden into a sort of – what do they call ’em? You can sell all the vegetables and flowers and so on.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Ha! What a lovely idea! But let’s face it, Grey, I don’t know anything about gardening.’

  ‘It strikes me you don’t know much about writing books, darlin’,’ he said casually. ‘You don’t even bloody enjoy it…’

  ‘I don’t know, Grey,’ she said, trying to keep the elation out of her voice – just in case he was joking. Or the sound of her own words made her wake up suddenly, alone with little Chloe again, cowering from the hostile world inside their rented cottage. ‘I’ll have to discuss it with Chloe.’

  Grey laughed. ‘Och, come on,’ he said. ‘She loves it here. You know what Chloe’ll say!’ He rolled onto his side and leant his head in his hand, so his lips hovered an inch from hers. ‘I should take that as a yes then, should I?’

  Messy agreed that he probably should.

  ‘Clearly, Charlie and Jo are having a few – difficulties – at the moment,’ the General began, once everyone was seated. They were all in the dining room. ‘Their minds aren’t quite on the job. Or so one assumes. Though of course one can’t know, because one can’t bloody well get hold of them. However.’

  ‘It’s a very stressful time for a young couple,’ said Maurice. ‘They probably needed a little bit of time alone.’

  ‘The fact of the matter is,’ continued the General, ‘for those of you who aren’t aware, we’ve had – ha! – rather a rocky twenty-four hours here at Fiddleford. Without wishing to state the obvious. And there’s no doubt about it, with or without Charlie and Jo, we are going to find it a bit of a struggle to keep our heads above water. We need—’ The General breathed in, and almost laughed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, to bring about the changes these people are asking we need a great deal more money than we actually have. And a great deal more money, I fear very much, than we can reasonably hope to raise in the time allowed…Something,’ he added despondently, ‘about our little outfit appears to have awoken the wrath of the gods. Or the wrath of our ghastly council, at any rate.’

  ‘Oh! Surely not!’ cried Maurice, chewing gently on his pawpaw.

  ‘Now I realise that in time you would all – at some point – have been wanting to move on, but I’ve really…’ He paused, uncertain how to continue. ‘Well, I suppose I called you all together to warn you that it may happen sooner than you think. The way things are going, with the financial demands being made on us, as well, of course, as all the wretched legal implications of staying open without their bloody silly requirements already being in place, there is a very real danger that Fiddleford may be forced to close its doors within the next couple of days.’

  A silence fell over the table.

  ‘I’m fairly certain,’ said Maurice, ‘that so long as you are in the process of implementing the changes…General, if what you need are workmen—’

  ‘What we need, Mr Morrison, is money.’

  ‘Ah!’ Maurice dithered between sliced banana and prune.

  ‘There’s still our eggs, you know,’ mumbled Colin. ‘I know you don’t believe it, but there’s a fortune waitin’ to be made in those chicken runs.’

  ‘Colin,’ said the General, ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. But unfortunately we don’t have very much time and I fear—’ he shrugged, ‘even with the eggs, the odds are very much stacked against us. So I’m sorry. I think we should prepare for the worst.’

  ‘I wish I could think of something to help,’ said Nigel, clasping tight onto Anatollatia’s hand, and blushing furiously. ‘I’d put on a display match, only no one decent would play me. Everybody hates me now.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, darling,’ bellowed Anatollatia, before leaning across to nuzzle his solid neck.

  ‘Extremely kind,’ mumbled the General. ‘Where was I? Yes…So, er. There we have it. In the meantime, please, all of you, once again on behalf of Jo and Charlie, feel free to hang on until the very end! As long as you like. Until the authorities give us our final marching orders!’ With a brave little chuckle, he sat himself down.

  A heavy silence descended. Grey and Messy exchanged significant glances. They both self-consciously cleared their throats.

  ‘Well then,’ said the General. ‘So. Do we have anything else to add? Anyone? No. Good. Right then. Well. Thank you all for your time. And once again, I’m sorry to be the harbinger of such bloody awful news. No doubt we shall all see each other again at luncheon.’ He stood up. ‘In the cottage of course. Don’t forget, everyone. All food to be served in the cottage from now on. Except breakfast,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Don’t you think? We can bloody well have breakfast in our own house.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Messy shouted suddenly. ‘Sorry, everyone. But wait a second. If you don’t mind…Only Grey and I had an idea, didn’t we, Grey? We were going to put it to Charlie and Jo first. Obviously. Only with things so desperate it seems stupid not to say something. Don’t you think, Grey?’

  ‘Aye. For sure.’

  ‘HA-HA!’ Chloe burst out. ‘Mummy, are you going to say what I actually think you’re going to say? Are you? I definitely know what you’re actually going to say because you’ve already just told me! Haven’t you, Mummy?’

  ‘She bloody is, too!’ Colin grinned at Chloe. ‘And you told me it was a bloody secret, you big berk!’ He cuffed her round the ear, and within seconds they were squabbling.

  ‘If she could get a fuckin’ word in—’ laughed Grey.

  ‘Grey, darling. I’m not joking. I know you think it’s pathetic. But she’s only four. You’ve got to try to stop swearing when Chloe’s around. It’s the only thing—’

  ‘Aye aye,’ said Grey impatiently. ‘The point is—’

  ‘Ah.’ Maurice gave a tight little smile. ‘So we do have a point?’

  ‘The point is, General,’ Grey said irritably, ‘the point is Messy and me have been doin’ a few sums – sort of pooling resources an’ all that.’

  ‘Something like that,’ mumbled Messy. ‘Yours plus my nothing—’

  ‘Aye, never mind the specifics. We’d like to buy the cottage. And the walled garden, if Charlie an’ Jo are amenable. God knows what they’re worth, but we were thinking maybe £100,000 can get you out o’ your troubles. Isn’t that right, Messy? We thought we’d open a restaurant. And one o’ them garden centres.’

  ‘A restaurant,’ said the General vaguely. ‘A restaurant, how delightful…But, Grey, I’m sure that sort of price would be well over the – er – and so on. We should have it valued, etcetera.’

  ‘Well o’ course. We’ll work it all out so it’s fair. Only I don’t know what Charlie and Jo might have to say—’

  ‘Of course you don’t. How can you?’ said the General, impatiently waving them aside. ‘Since the buggers have disappeared off the radar. But, er, seriously. Without wishing to, er—how quickly do you suppose you could get hold of—’

  ‘Och, not long. Next week maybe.’

  ‘Ha!’ The General leant back in his chair and clapped his hands. ‘Ha!’ he said again. ‘Grey – you’re a…You’re a…Everyone. For Heaven’s sake! Why
didn’t you say so earlier? We should open some champagne, don’t you think? To the happy couple and so on! And to Fiddleford! Ha! Still surviving! In spite of everything! Do we have any champagne? I think poor old Caroline and Jasonette may have had the last of it.’

  Maurice Morrison’s mind was reeling. He munched silently on his papaya, watching Messy, watching her stupid, fat face glowing with pleasure. Did she not realise what sort of a future he had in store for her? Had she not noticed? Had he not already made his intentions excruciatingly clear? Was she blind? Or mad? Or simply very, very rude?

  ‘Messy dear.’ His face looked peculiar: twisted and blotchy with shock, and his voice, he noticed, was coming out in a strangulated whine. They all turned to look at him. He could see their confused expressions gazing back at him, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. The desire to puncture her joy was overwhelming. He said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Whatever happened to that little talk you were going to do at the Lamsbury Comprehensive?’

  ‘Lamsbury Comprehensive?’ said Messy politely. ‘God! St George’s! Maurice, do you know I completely—’

  But before she could continue, Maurice remembered himself, bared his even white teeth and offered a tinkle of his lightest laughter. ‘But what on earth am I talking about?’ he exclaimed. ‘Am I mad? At such a happy moment, to be wittering on about one’s social responsibilities and so forth! Bugger the sixth-formers! Ha! Bugger the fat little bastards!’

  ‘You do acsherly sound a bit nutty,’ said Colin helpfully.

  ‘Do I, Colin, dear? It’s because I’m so happy! Happy that my good friends are so happy! Now then, wait there, everyone. If I nip outside a moment…I know nothing about Caroline and Jasonette, but your very own Maurice Morrison never travels without an emergency bottle of champagne in his suitcase!’ he lied; he had bought it that morning, for the moment he proposed to Messy. It was sitting in a shopping bag beside the front door. ‘Somebody, go and fetch glasses! I’ll be back in a trice…’