by Gil McNeil
Lola looks very pleased.
‘Brilliant. Everybody’s always going on about all this community bollocks and some of this lot are well past their sell-by dates. That’d get us extra points with the judges, I bet.’
‘You know what, we could do a kitchen garden, and then we’d learn all about veg and stuff while we did it.’
‘I don’t want to learn all about veg, Molly. It’s you that wants to grow veg, not me.’
But Lola thinks it’s a great idea and gets even more enthusiastic.
‘I’d adore a proper kitchen garden, with herbs. I love herbs. Excellent. So we’ll donate the land, and you’ll do the design. Brilliant.’
Lola gives me a dazzling smile, which is a bit scary, to be honest.
‘Let’s get that woman over.’
Before I can stop her she’s marched off to retrieve Mrs Pomeroy.
Bugger. Apparently we now have a new village project. I will be designing a new kitchen garden for Lola and Charles’s garden, and the Garden Society will come up with all the planting ideas. They’re forming a special sub-committee, and Charles has been volunteered to help, and Molly says she’ll bring her books round. Mrs Pomeroy’s thrilled, and I’ve already been commended for my community spirit. Bloody hell. I think I’ll just do a plan with lots of steel pipes and unusual-coloured cement. That should sort it. Or acres of gravel and a steel hammock.
I have a bit of a meltdown moment back at my house with Molly, after Lola has gone home triumphant and we’ve drunk the best part of a bottle of wine. Actually Molly didn’t really fancy any, and Lola was driving, so basically I’ve drunk the best part of a bottle of wine, and I’m feeling slightly wobbly.
‘I can’t do it, I really can’t.’
‘Yes you can, and anyway it’s too late now, you’ve got to do it. It’ll just be a couple of walls and a few beds. Nothing too tricky. We’ll look through the books – there’s bound to be something.’
‘Molly, just looking through a few books isn’t how it works.’
‘I know you can do it, and I’ll help you, I really will. Ooh, I’ve just thought, we’ve got to have a water feature.’
‘A what?’
‘A pond, or a fountain or something.’
‘Oh great. Maybe we could have a well, a really deep one. So I can chuck myself down it when it all goes pear-shaped and the whole village hates me.’
‘Pears. Brilliant. We could have fruit trees.’
‘Who said anything about trees? Bloody hell.’
‘All the traditional kitchen gardens have fruit trees, I think. Quinces, that sort of thing.’
‘I’m not even sure I know what a quince looks like.’
‘Neither am I, but it’ll be fine, I’m sure it will, and it’ll do us no end of good in the village. Blimey, is that the time? I’d better go. I’ve still got notes to do for tomorrow.’
Great. So now I’ve got to obsess about trying to design a garden on top of everything else. On my way up to bed I notice the collection of empty wine bottles by the bin: I must move them before Mum arrives tomorrow. Last week she gave me a long speech about how Nobody Likes Drunk Women, and when I said most of the men I know seem rather partial to them she went all huffy. I keep forgetting to go to the bottle bank, and last time I went I ended up feeling like a team leader for Alcoholics Anonymous.
But having her looking after Alfie for three days a week is so great, even if she does drive me round the bend and is addicted to bleach. She even cleans behind the fridge. I don’t know anyone else who actually cleans behind their fridge, and if there’s ever a bleach shortage she’ll have to be taken into care. But she loves Alfie, and she’s much more indulgent with him than she was with us, and never makes him eat liver and onions: Jim used to hide his down his socks, which was easy for him because his socks were grey, which was pretty much the colour of the liver, but mine were white so of course when I tried it I ended up with a lecture about ungrateful children.
And she’s been so great about everything really, once she got over the shock of Patric leaving. She got a bit upset at first, but that was mostly Nan’s fault. She was round for tea and gave us all a bit of a shock by announcing that she thought it was probably a good thing Patric had left because she’d never liked him, he had shifty eyes, and anyway times had changed and I’d got a proper job and could take care of myself, probably better than with some man hanging about, causing more work and wanting his tea cooked for him.
And then she made the whole thing worse by saying if she had her time again she wasn’t sure she’d have bothered with men, because they made such a mess and that sex business wore off after a while, and when you got to her age you realised that what really mattered was taking your chances when they came along, and having a bit of fun. And she’d seen some lovely blue wool, and did Alfie want a cardigan or a jacket, or a nice little hat and some socks, although to be honest she wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t keen on socks because they were quite fiddly.
Mum had to have a couple of tablets after that but by the time I was leaving she and Nan were bickering about whether balaclavas were more practical than bobble hats, and whether boys could wear lemon.
While I’m brushing my teeth Alfie wakes up and shuffles into my bed and I’m so knackered I give in. He grabs the entire duvet, rolls himself up inside it like a mini-sausage roll, and I have to wrestle him back out again and then grip on tight so I won’t wake up in the middle of the night with hypothermia.
He sleeps in a sort of starfish position, taking up most of the bed, and flinging his arms about in an entirely random manner so I keep getting slapped on the back of the head just as I’m drifting off, which is fabulous and really helps me get to sleep. Perfect.
2
February
Tea with Mussolini
Garden Diary
A month of very chancy weather. Prepare herb and vegetable gardens ready for planting when weather permits. Order asparagus plants, sow parsley, and early peas. Finish winter pruning of fruit trees. Aerate and scarify lawns.
I try to have another go at digging, but the constant rain over the past few weeks has turned the flowerbeds into mini quagmires and my wellies get stuck in the mud. According to my book scarify means jabbing the lawn with a fork to improve drainage, so I give it a go but the fork gets stuck in the mud and I end up slipping and sliding about like someone in a Benny Hill sketch. Alfie sits in a huge puddle in the front garden, which is actually more like a small lake. I plodge through it to retrieve him, and end up soaked, and then he takes his wellies off and has another stamp round. Give up and go indoors and sit by the fire thinking about asparagus, but end up having a major panic attack about the garden-design project. If I can’t even dig my own flowerbeds how can I possibly have the cheek to attempt to design a whole new garden on behalf of the entire flaming village? I end up eating half a packet of digestive biscuits, and feeling sick, and then I look at some of the gardening books Molly has brought round, but the sections on espaliered fruit trees and pollination only make things worse. I eat the rest of the biscuits and end up feeling very sick indeed.
Lola’s asked me round for coffee to talk about the garden, so I walk up the lane after I’ve dropped Alfie off at playgroup, but manage to pick the perfect time to arrive, slap in the middle of a domestic moment with the new nanny Susannah, who’s only just started and is already causing ructions. Charles says that she seems to have some problem with ironing, and sure enough as we walk into the kitchen she’s in the middle of explaining to Lola that she doesn’t think doing Lola’s ironing is part of her job.
‘Actually, I shouldn’t really be doing the children’s ironing either. You did say at the interview that you employed a cleaner. I’m a fully qualified childcare professional, you know.’
Charles and I both sit down at the kitchen table with our mouths slightly open at Susannah’s sheer nerve. I wouldn’t disagree with Lola unless I was on very firm ground, and even then I’d think twice about it.
‘Yes, but Mrs Bishop is away for a few days, and you do seem willing to bend the rules sometimes, don’t you? Because spending ages on the phone talking to your friends isn’t actually part of your job either, but you seem bloody keen on it. You’re part of the family now, Suzy, and we all have to muck in, all part of the same team, if you know what I mean. Actually, do you know what I mean? Because sometimes I wonder.’
Lola has narrowed her eyes and has a rather formidable look on her face. It’s a bit like watching a car crash: you know what’s going to happen but there isn’t time to do anything about it. I just hope there’s an airbag somewhere in this kitchen because it looks like Susannah might be needing one.
‘Of course I do. I have worked as a nanny for nearly six years, actually, but my last family employed a cleaner, and someone to do the ironing. And actually I’d prefer it if you called me Susannah.’
‘Oh. I see. And is there anything else you’d like to share?’
‘Well, yes, now you mention it, there is.’
Charles mouths ‘Oh god’ at me, and pretends to duck under the table, which sort of makes me snigger, only I end up making the kind of noise you’d make if you were trying to do an impression of a pig, which is very embarrassing, and makes Charles laugh, so Lola glares at both of us, which is even more embarrassing.
‘You did say I would have the use of a car, but every time I ask you say it’s not convenient. And it’s not really fair – I need a car. I do have a social life, you know.’
‘Oh I know. And I’m sure my phone bill will show us just what a busy girl you are.’
‘I’ve already told you, I use my mobile most of the time.’
‘Yes, but the thing is, Susannah, while you’re chatting away on your mobile I’m actually paying you to look after my children. You’re meant to be helping them, giving them learning opportunities, that kind of thing. But unless they’re going to grow up to be telephonists you’re not offering them very much in the way of skills, are you? Apart from advanced sulking, which they’re pretty good at already, thank you very much. And then when I ask you to do the simplest thing you refuse. It’s ridiculous, I can’t imagine how your previous employers put up with it. Maybe they weren’t very good at closure. But luckily I am. So here’s what we’ll do. You go and pack your bags, and Charles will drop you at the station. I think we can officially say your probationary period is over.’
‘What?’
‘Communication skills aren’t really your strong point, are they? I’ve noticed that before. OK, let me make it crystal clear. You are fired. And if you could get a move on I’d appreciate it because I’m rather busy today. Now, do you need me to ring you on your mobile to explain it to you again, or do you think you’ve grasped the basic idea?’
Susannah bursts into tears and runs from the room.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. I’ve got a good mind to ring that bloody agency and give them a piece of my mind. That girl’s a total nightmare. Oh and by the way, Charles, you’d better go to the shop once you’ve dropped her at the station. We’ve run out of apple juice. Don’t just sit there looking at me like that. If someone doesn’t get Mabel out of her high chair soon she’ll start throwing things. Take her up with you and see what that bloody girl’s up to. She’s been paid for this week already, so don’t let her con you into giving her any more money.’
Charles looks slightly dazed, but picks up Mabel and goes off upstairs.
I’m half in awe of how tough Lola’s been, and half appalled. I mean apart from anything else it can’t be exactly relaxing for the children if new nannies keep turning up all the time. I can’t believe Lola’s being so calm – I’d be in a complete state. It took me nearly six months to pluck up the courage to tell the woman in the village shop that my name wasn’t Alison. But Lola seems quite cheerful, as if she’s almost enjoyed herself.
‘Look, I can come back, Lola. This obviously isn’t a good time.’
‘Oh yes it is. I’d much rather be talking about the garden than thinking about bloody nannies. Where have you got to so far?’
We talk about circular walls while Lola makes the coffee, and I tell her that I’m thinking about a kind of secret garden in one corner of the main garden, with trees and an arched doorway. Although obviously it won’t be madly secret, since half the village will be busy drawing up plans for the flowerbeds.
Lola gets very excited and starts talking about some garden she’s seen at a posh country-house hotel, which had lots of stainless-steel walls and unusual types of lettuce.
Charles and Susannah depart in the middle of our chat, in total silence, although Charles does give Lola a pretty filthy look, which she totally ignores.
‘I knew that girl was going to be trouble, as soon as she said she was a vegetarian. I mean, not that I’ve got anything against vegetarians as friends, but I need someone who can grill bacon for breakfast without going all sulky. It’s a complete nightmare though, because now I’ll have to get back on to the agencies, and they’re all useless. The only thing they’re really good at is cashing your cheque. Bastards. Still, at least Charles can cope for a bit – he seems to quite like looking after the kids. God knows why. Oh fuck, I’ve just remembered, she was supposed to be organising Ezra’s birthday party. You will come, won’t you? We’re having an entertainer, and loads of people are coming down from work. I thought I might as well use the opportunity for a little open-house sort of thing. Sushi might be fun, and we can have our first gathering of the garden people too.’
‘Oh yes, lovely.’
I can’t imagine what the old men from the Garden Society will make of sushi, but I can’t wait to find out, although it does seems a bit hard on Ezra, having his birthday party turned into a sushi event. I’m sure he’d prefer Batman or Bob The Annoying Builder.
‘I’ll get my PA to send out proper invitations, and Molly must come too, and all the gardening lot. You don’t happen to have their names and addresses, do you? If you have them on disc that would be great.’
I’m not really sure why she thinks I might be the sort of person who has address lists on disc. I wish I was.
‘I only know half their names really, but I bet Mrs Pomeroy’s got a proper list.’
‘Good, I’ll get Sophie to call her, and she can liaise with the magician. Bloody hell, I feel tired just thinking about it. And I’ve got nothing to wear.’
We start talking about clothes, and end up upstairs in Lola’s bedroom in her walk-in wardrobe, which is bigger than Alfie’s bedroom, and much more interesting, while Lola rifles through countless fabulous outfits. I’ve never seen quite so many designer labels, or quite so many pairs of gorgeous shoes.
The bedroom is stunning, with acres of pale-wood flooring, and tiny Persian rugs, and the bed is vast, with a white duvet and an enormous pale-cream blanket draped over the end. It looks suspiciously like cashmere. God knows how much a cashmere blanket that size would cost but I just know it would be the kind of money that would make Mum fall into a dead faint. There’s a big chocolate-brown velvet sofa at the end of the bed, with grey woollen cushions. It’s like being in Heals, but without the annoyance of other customers going, ‘Oh Jocasta, that’s just perfect for the villa.’
The bathroom’s pretty stunning too, with a pale-cream marble shower that you could fit the whole family in, and Italian spotlights in the ceiling, which I happen to know are a complete bastard to fit because I used them on a job once, and they nearly drove the electrician demented. They short out every two nano-seconds if you don’t get them fitted exactly right.
I end up getting a quick tour round, and the children’s bedrooms are just as gorgeous as the rest of the house. Mabel’s is a homage to the White Company, with pastel waffle blankets and pink gingham bedlinen, which I rather fancy for myself to be honest, and Ezra’s is similar, but in yellow, with one of those beds in the shape of a racing car. The playroom is full of every toy imaginable, including a giant panda, and an enormous giraffe. Alfie will go into
a complete swoon when he sees it.
‘This house is fabulous, Lola. I only came in once before, but I remember lots of floral paper downstairs.’
No wonder the builders took six months to get the work done before Charles and Lola moved in. It must have cost a fortune.
‘Oh yes, it was awful. We practically had to gut the place. It’s a bit smaller than we wanted, though.’
There are three spare bedrooms, and there must be more room up in the attic, so I’m not sure how much bigger she could possibly have wanted.
Lola’s mobile is ringing and vibrating itself round the kitchen table when we get back downstairs. Just before it vibrates on to the floor she grabs it, says, ‘Oh fuck, it’s the office,’ and takes the call. It turns out there’s some crisis that needs her to make a call to someone called Adrian or he’s going to leave in a mega-sulk, and take all his business with him.
‘They’re complete morons. I told them not to tell him about the box idea – I knew he’d hate it. And now I have to sort it out. Typical. Anyway, let’s do this again – I can’t wait to see the garden plans. I wish I could work out how to turn this fucking thing off vibrate. It’s new, I dropped the other one in the bath, and that stupid girl hasn’t set it up properly. Do you know how to work these things?’
‘Sorry, mine’s ancient, but let me know if you need help with the party, won’t you? If there’s anything I can do.’
Please don’t let her ask me where to get sushi round here.
‘Oh you are sweet, thank you. I might take you up on that – I’m not really sure which kids to invite. Could you have a think? Nice children, Ezra’s age especially, from the village. Just a few though – I don’t want hordes of screaming kids charging about. I’ve got the names of a couple of his friends at school, but I want local children too.’