by Gil McNeil
‘Blimey.’
‘Yes. I’d watch her, if I were you. I thought she seemed a bit high-maintenance at that party.’
‘And you’d know, of course.’
‘I’m only saying. Anyway, Stella’s back in town now, so I’m seeing quite a lot of her, sort of exclusively really. I was thinking I might bring her down, if that’s OK. She keeps going on about a weekend in the country.’
‘I bet she doesn’t mean a weekend with your sister.’
‘Oh yes she does. She really wants to meet you. And Alfie.’
Jim doesn’t usually bring his women home: he must really like her.
‘Actually, I might bring her down on Friday, if that’s OK.’
‘Fine by me. Do you fancy a drink? There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge.’
‘I was thinking of ringing Dan, having an hour down the pub. He’s probably desperate to get out. Is it all right if I stay over?’
‘Sure. But don’t you dare ring Dan. He’s supposed to be staying in with his mother.’
‘Oh well, in that case I’m definitely going to ring him. Rescue him from all those women.’
I poke my tongue out at him and he laughs.
‘Oh go on then.’
‘Great. Now I have permission from ground control I’ll give him a call.’
‘But you have to promise, no singing when you come home. You sound nothing like Frank Sinatra – you know that, don’t you?’
‘And now, the end is near …’
‘Stop it. Quick, Alfie, sit on Uncle Jim. He’s trying to sing again.’
‘Boss, boss, boss. You’re a very bossy girl, Alice Mayhew. Harry the Herb Man is in for a big surprise, if you ask me. Come on, Alf, help your Uncle Jim stop Mummy being such a bossy boots. Let’s tickle her feet – she hates that.’
5
May
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme
Garden Diary
Water and feed all newly planted beds, and continue strict weeding programme. When weather allows plant strawberry runners, and pinch out and disbud new vine shoots. Sow lettuce, spinach and carrots.
I have a go at establishing a strict weeding regime, and cut back the creeper, which keeps trying to poke itself through the kitchen window. I end up with loads of garden rubbish, which Mr Channing says you can’t put in your wheelie bin unless you give the bin men a substantial bribe. Otherwise they’ll tip it all over your front garden. After hours of grubbing about with a trowel I now have one relatively clear flowerbed, with a few roses and a couple of knackered-looking plants. I think I preferred it with the weeds. Alfie’s been busy too, and has dug a small but significant hole in the middle of the lawn. He says it’s for rabbits, in case they would like to live in our garden but need a hole to start them off. He’s very keen to put some food in to encourage them, and ends up putting in some salad left over from lunch. I wonder if rabbits actually like tuna.
Molly comes round and helps me choose what to wear for my dinner with Harry. We finally settle on black trousers and a grey silk shirt, and I can wear my new shawl to add a bit of glamour. Molly’s got her interview for the deputy-head job on Friday, and she’s dreading it. She’s got to meet all the governors, and she’s worried that being five months pregnant isn’t exactly going to help.
‘The head says it’s fine, and the post can wait until I get back from maternity leave, but I bet they won’t be keen.’
‘Can’t they get some sort of temporary one in then?’
‘Yes, and Mr Marchent says he’ll stay on for a bit if they want him to. He doesn’t really want to go, but his wife wants him to take early retirement: she wants to move nearer her mother. But I still think it’s going to count against me.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘That’s another thing. Nothing fits me any more, and I can’t really afford a new suit. I’m wearing the stuff I wore when I was pregnant with Lily, but that’s not really right for an interview. And my jacket won’t do up.’
‘What about a big scarf, and you could just leave your jacket undone.’
‘Actually, I don’t know why I’m bothering. I can’t cope as it is. Dan’s been sulking all week – we seem to keep bickering about nothing at the moment, and I’m starting to get slightly breathless now, walking up stairs.’
‘I remember that bit, I got really fed up too. It feels like for ever.’
‘Yes, it bloody does. Oh, but it was good yesterday. Lily seems to have finally got her head round the idea of the new baby. She fed it some of her spaghetti, well, actually, she poked me in the stomach with her spoon, and asked me if the baby was hungry. It was really sweet.’
‘And did the baby like spaghetti?’
‘Loved it. Made a hell of a mess of my jumper, though.’
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t feed it the real thing when it arrives. Well, not for a while anyway. Jim used to stuff all sorts in my mouth. He gave me coal once.’
‘I know, I’m really worried about her feeling jealous. It feels like we’re betraying her in a way, like she’s not enough.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. I know you’ll be careful, and you can dump the baby on me, you know, so you can have special Lily time.’
‘I’ll be taking you up on that, definitely, as long as you think Alfie won’t mind.’
‘He likes babies – he loves anything he can feel superior to. Mind you, that includes just about everybody at the moment. He told me I was very stupid this morning, just because I couldn’t find his shoes. And when I said he should find his own shoes he gave me that look they do, like you’re an idiot and it’s a miracle that you’re actually allowed out without a special sign on your coat to warn people.’
‘Oh Lily goes in for that quite a lot too. I wonder when they grow out of it.’
‘About thirty-five, probably. Although I’ve got a horrible feeling I still do it to Mum. In fact I know I do. She was saying something about it the other day – she said she wondered how she’d ever coped without me to tell her how to do things properly.’
I’m getting nervous about dinner with Harry, and feel faintly sick by the time Jim and Stella arrive, rather late and breathless because they’ve been stuck in horrendous traffic.
‘It’s getting ridiculous – we left the office really early. Where’s Alfie?’
‘Out in the back garden digging holes for rabbits. It’s driving me mad – the lawn looks like we’ve got giant moles.’
‘Isn’t it getting a bit dark?’
‘Yes, but he’s having such a great time I’m letting him have five more minutes.’
‘You mean you’ve tried to get him in and he threw a fit.’
‘Yes.’
‘Come and meet him, Stella, he’s pretty cool. Takes after his uncle, of course.’
Stella seems very nice, and is wearing a really pretty skirt, which I would be tempted to covet if it wasn’t about three sizes too small for me, and a tiny white T-shirt, which I don’t covet in the slightest because I could barely get it over my head, let alone anything else. And she seems capable of normal conversation, which is unusual, because Jim usually goes for slightly dim, fawning types.
I can hear them laughing in the garden while I’m getting dressed, but when I come back downstairs they’re all sitting on the sofa watching Peter Pan. Alfie’s explaining the plot to Stella, who’s doing a very good impression of someone who’s totally gripped.
‘You can be Wendy. You look a bit like her.’
I hope she realises this is very high praise indeed.
‘Did you have a dog when you were little?’
‘No, but I had a cat.’
‘I don’t want a cat, I want a dog, but Mummy won’t let me. And I’m going to have rabbits. But I’ve got a nana, like Wendy and Michael, only mine’s not a dog.’
Jim seems to find the idea of Mum being compared to the St Bernard called Nana in Peter Pan most amusing. In fact he chokes on his coffee.
‘Uncle Jim’s spitted
on my leg. Look.’
Stella tuts and says, ‘Yes, isn’t he revolting? Let’s ignore him – that usually works. You look fabulous, Alice. That scarf is lovely.’
I think I could get quite fond of Stella.
By the time Harry actually arrives I’m so nervous I can hardly open the door. He’s wearing brown corduroy trousers and a pale-green shirt, and seems taller than I remember. Jim makes faces behind his back, which doesn’t really help, but we leave without any major incidents apart from when Alfie declares he’s starving when I explain that I’m going out for supper. He’s just about to start asking if he can come too when Stella says she’s seen a big bag of crisps in the kitchen and maybe they could all have a crisp-eating competition, which of course he thinks is an excellent plan.
We drive to the restaurant talking about gardens and the weather, and how Harry got into herbs. He drives really well, not so fast that you’re clinging on to your seatbelt, but not doddering along either, and it’s very nice having someone else doing the driving for a change.
‘I’ve always liked growing things. I had my own bit of garden at school. I used to do it instead of rugby; I mean they tried, they really did, but in the end they gave up and said as long as I was outdoors and not causing trouble I could do the garden. My father was furious.’
‘Was he keen on rugby then?’
‘Oh yes. He’d been in the first team, and of course my brother was red hot. Just another example of how disappointing I could be.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t really think that.’
‘Oh yes he did – he told me. We didn’t get on, but I was away at school so much it didn’t really matter. He was keen on me going into the City though, so that was all right. Until I chucked it all in to grow herbs.’
‘I’m guessing he wasn’t pleased.’
‘Incandescent. My mother said I could have the gatehouse, but I think that was only to spite him. I think she’s still hoping I’ll come to my senses and go back.’
‘And will you?’
‘Oh no. Never. I’d rather work in an abattoir.’
‘Did you make it up – before he died, I mean? Oh I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘No, it’s OK. We did a bit, I suppose. He said he thought I was a damn fool but at least I’d stuck to my guns, so he wasn’t going to cut me out of the will like he’d said he would. Which is probably a good thing really, because at least I don’t have to worry about money for a while. Growing herbs doesn’t exactly pay well. Well, not the way I do it, anyway.’
I didn’t actually want to know about his father’s will. God, I hope he didn’t think that’s what I meant.
The meal is lovely: especially with no Alfie wanting things off my plate, and getting sauce in his hair. I’d forgotten how nice it is to eat in restaurants with someone whose main topic of conversation is not Pets I Am Dying To Own. But weirdly I sort of miss him too, and find myself ordering garlic bread because I know he likes it, which is pathetic. I really must try to get out more.
We talk about the City and investment brokers, and Harry makes me laugh about some of his mad ex-clients.
‘So how did you get them then, your clients? Did you have to do pitches like we do at work, give them an idea of what you can do for them, that kind of thing? I hate it. Half the time they just nick your ideas and then say you’re too expensive.’
‘No, although it might have been a good idea. We could have weeded out the most psychotic ones. No, I did mostly corporate stuff, and they tend to come to you, especially if you’re one of the big firms like we were, one of the top five. They like to use the big firms – it makes them look good.’
‘Sort of who’s got the biggest willy kind of thing?’
Bugger. I wish I hadn’t said the willy word. He looks mildly startled, but recovers quite well.
‘Oh yes, there’s quite a lot of that.’
‘Great career for a woman then.’
‘Well, some of them seem to like it, but there weren’t many women partners at my firm. Too sensible to spend every waking moment at work.’
‘How long was it before you realised you had to get out?’
‘Oh about ten years. I loved it at first – I’m very competitive in my own weird way, but in the end it gets you down. I mean there are a few decent blokes – I still see a couple of them, actually – but on the whole they’re a boring bunch of bastards. Totally obsessed with money.’
‘How do people cope when they have kids? They must never see them.’
‘I think they call them boarding schools, don’t they?’
‘Oh, right.’
We order coffee, and I decide not to have a pudding because it seems more grown-up and restrained. And snorking through a big bowl of trifle doesn’t really go with the new adult image I’m trying for.
Harry gets a bit of paper out of his jacket while we’re waiting for the coffee to arrive, and goes a bit red.
‘I’ve done this for you, I hope you don’t mind, just a few rough ideas.’
It’s a sketch of my garden, covered in lots of scribbled plant names, which is really sweet of him, although if he ever wants to be a designer he’s going to have to learn to draw. He’s managed to include a weird combination of straight and wiggly lines that are pretty mystifying.
‘Oh how lovely. Talk me through it then.’
And he does. Three cups of coffee later I’m having a caffeine high of such major proportions that my hands are starting to shake, but that might also be because I’m itching to redraw the plan. He says he started just working on a rough idea but he’s ended up with a whole new garden.
Instead of going straight up to the front door the path now winds around the front garden. The postman will be thrilled, because it’ll take him at least twenty minutes to get to the front door. The back garden now has a new terrace, a gazebo, a vegetable garden, a herb garden and a formal knot garden. And about fifteen tons of gravel, from what I can make out. I’m going to need about three more acres to fit everything in.
I point this out as gently as I can, and he says oh yes, he realises he has no idea of the proportions but it’s the general idea, and don’t I think it would be wonderful, and he’d be more than happy to help. We could just do the things that would fit in.
We end up drawing all over his plan and come up with a new, more realistic version. But when it comes to the plants he’s in his element, and gives me all sorts of fantastic information about what things smell like, and the colour of their flowers, which really makes me want every single one of them. I end up getting really keen on the idea.
On the drive home we talk more about the garden and a bit about my work, and he says if he ever needs a new bathroom he knows where to come, and actually his mother does need the big house sorting out, but she’ll never do it because she likes it the way it is. But one day it could be fabulous.
And then we talk a bit about Alfie, and I do that English thing of being very dismissive about him, which I only manage because I don’t have to do it for too long, and anyway he doesn’t seem that interested.
We arrive back at the cottage and I start to feel slightly sick again. I can’t remember what the form is: do you just say thanks and leap out of the car, or what?
‘Thanks for dinner, it was lovely.’
‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it? And thank you. We must do it again. I’ll ring you about the garden, shall I? I mean it, you know – I’d like to help.’
‘Great.’
There’s an awkward silence. And I’ve got a horrible feeling Jim is peeping out from behind the curtains, because I’m sure they’ve just moved.
‘I’d better get in. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alfie’s still up and Jim and Stella will need a break.’
‘Oh yes, sorry, of course.’
And then just as I’m about to open my door he gets out and walks round to do it for me. Blimey. It’s been a long time since anyone opened a car door for me. As I get out o
f the car he leans forward and kisses me on the cheek.
‘Well, goodnight. I’ll call you.’
‘Night.’
I bolt up the path and open the door, and turn to wave as he drives off. Luckily the jeep is really noisy, so I don’t think he hears Jim yelling ‘He kissed her’, ‘He kissed her’, and running round the living room with his T-shirt over his head like footballers do when they’ve just scored a goal.
‘Just ignore him. Stop it, Jim, you’re being a pig. How would you like it if Alice did a peeping-Tom number on you?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind. There’s nothing I do that I wouldn’t want my sister seeing.’
‘Oh really?’
Stella gives him a very hard stare and he goes bright red.
We make coffee, and Jim says Alfie went to bed fairly late. They had to watch Peter Pan twice and then play horsey for hours. Stella says he was a little sweetheart, but she’s feeling pretty tired and she’s going up to bed, if it’s all right with us, which I think is just her being subtle because she knows Jim is dying to cross-examine me about dinner.
The minute she goes upstairs he starts.
‘So how did it go then?’
‘Fine. Really nice.’
‘Nice. Oh dear. Nice isn’t good.’
‘Jim, I’m knackered. Can we do this in the morning?’
‘No. I promised Alfie we’d dig a really big hole, and anyway I want to know. My little sister has her first proper date in ages – I need all the info, stands to reason. Did he chance his arm? Do I need to go round there and punch him on the nose? Or didn’t he, in which case I’m definitely going to go round there and punch him.’
‘No, it was lovely. The meal was great and we talked about all sorts. He’s going to help me with the garden, he’s done a plan and everything, and we just sort of got on. Nice. Bit scary, though.’
‘Oh it’s always scary. That moment before you take the plunge. Did he ask you lots of questions, about you and Alfie, that sort of thing?’