Summertime Read online

  ‘You’re really weird, Mum. You should try to act more like a grown-up,’ he says witheringly on the way, deaf to my protestations that there is nothing I would like more than to be serene and adult in every aspect of behaviour and appearance. Still brooding on what exactly being grown-up looks like to disdainful eleven-year-olds, when we reach Crumbly. Hedley is nowhere to be seen, so after ringing the bell, we retreat to lean on the car while Giles aims small stones at an old paint pot by the front door.

  Summer is in full frill and flourish. Hedley’s house has woods to one side, and untamed vegetation which runs down a small valley before swooping up to a flint church standing on the next mound of high ground. According to Rev. Trev, the gardens at Crumbly were famous in three counties a few years ago, but now nothing but wild flowers remain, and the gnarled shapes of ancient azaleas and rhododendrons which flank a wide ride down towards the common. At the end of this ride, three beehives form a picturesque boundary, and Giles leads us towards them, stating, ‘Tamsin said that Hedley was always mucking about with the bees. He’s bound to be down here.’

  And as the words leave his mouth, a startling figure leaps in front of us, swaddled to the hilt in white, his movement curtailed by padded clothes, his face obscured by a broad-brimmed, black-veiled hat. The Beauty is horrified. She shrinks back against me weeping, ‘Mummy, it’s a mummy, it’s a horrid mummy, not a proper mummy like you,’ conjuring the image from the Tintin book I was reading the boys in bed this morning. Her sobs turn to shrieks as the mummy squats down in front of her, and having moved too hastily, loses its balance and tips over to lie, legs and arms wiggling like an upside-down beetle.

  ‘I hate that thing,’ she wails, and yanking my hand, begins to pull me back towards the car. Giles and Felix have run on ahead, but hearing The Beauty’s cries, they come back to save her. However, one look at the wriggling figure on the ground and they collapse into unstoppable giggles. The Beauty can never maintain an angst-ridden pose for long, and her tears dry the instant she sees her brothers are unafraid. The mummy’s head falls off, as I have been expecting it to for some minutes, and, also as expected, Hedley’s reddish face and his black caterpillar eyebrow are revealed.

  ‘I was just sorting the hives out a bit,’ he says, ignoring the mirth of our whole party and concentrating his gaze on Lowly, whom we accidentally brought with us because he was asleep in the car and no one noticed him until it was too late.

  ‘Let’s go and have a drink now, shall we, and after lunch we’ll come and see if we can get some honey. I’ve got more suits somewhere.’

  ‘How kind,’ I hear myself saying, not meaning it at all, as I am allergic to honey and swell up like a balloon if I so much as lick a drop. ‘The children would love to do that, wouldn’t you?’

  Glare furiously at Felix, panting and sniggering behind us, and aim a kick at Giles when he mumbles, ‘Not really, I don’t like bees,’ just out of Hedley’s hearing.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful day,’ I witter as we approach the front door. ‘We’ve been so lucky with the weather this spring, haven’t we?’

  Am always quite amazed when I hear platitudes and clichés such as these emerging in an effortless string from my mouth. They are so at odds with image of self as a free spirit and higher thinker. Soothing second thought that the weather is vital as social currency, and it doesn’t matter what you talk about as long as you keep talking, enables me to babble on drearily as we enter the house. Hedley departs through a series of doors off the shadowy wainscoted hall to change out of his bee-keeper’s outfit. Felix is spellbound in front of a suit of armour. ‘Look, Mummy, it’s real. I love it,’ he whispers. ‘How do you get into it?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you can’t just get into armour. You aren’t even medieval,’ says Giles scornfully. Look round expectantly for signs of other guests and find the dining table laid for seven, which is a big relief. Find Hedley pretty hard work on my own, and cannot depend on the boys at all at the moment as they prefer not to speak to me or indeed anyone, in words of more than one syllable and sentences of more than one word. Doorbell and voices announce the arrival of fellow lunchers. Am delighted to recognise Simon’s booming tones.

  ‘Well, what have we here? The Knight of the Round Table, is it? I say, careful there, old chap. I SAID CAREFUL—’ Almighty crash follows and then much wailing. Felix has clearly become closely involved with the armour. He appears wearing the helmet, through one door into the dining room, where The Beauty and I are delicately sipping fruit juice, and Hedley simultaneously enters through the other. Both of them recoil in horror at the sight of the other.

  Cannot decide whom to apologise to or for, and beam with extra joy as Vivienne and Simon come in to support us all through the difficult moments of removing Hedley’s precious helmet from the head of an hysterical Felix. Tornado of chaos erupts. The helmet will not budge. The only bit we can open is the visor, which rises and falls obligingly, while the catch at the back which unhooks the neckpiece is stuck fast. WD40 found and applied to no avail, and Felix starts shrieking that he is the Man in the Iron Mask and will never escape, never. The Beauty sobs in sympathy, Vivienne tries to comfort her and earns a black mark from me for giving her a sip from a glass of Coke. The Beauty, canny even in deepest distress, grabs the glass from Vivienne’s unsuspecting and therefore limp grasp, and swigs the lot before giving a throaty burp and demanding, ‘More.’ Glimpse this displeasing scene out of the corner of my eye as Simon and Hedley yank at poor Felix as though he is a rugby ball, and Giles photographs the drama and makes irritating remarks.

  ‘Mummy, why did they phase out armour?’ Can he not see for himself?

  Finally, just as everyone is losing interest and I have picked up the telephone to make the numbingly embarrassing call to the fire brigade, there is a pop like a champagne cork and Felix is free, tear-stained but beaming with relief. ‘It just suddenly came undone,’ he says, holding up the helmet.

  Ice well and truly broken by this start to lunch and Vivienne has The Beauty on her lap and is dealing with the wild reprobate fork-flinging and demented expression that the quantities of Coke have caused. I am therefore able to converse freely with anyone I choose to, and to drink several glasses of red wine.

  On the way home, driving with flair and vigour, I say to the children, ‘I think Hedley’s quite nice really, don’t you?’

  Felix stiffens next to me. ‘No, he’s really grumpy,’ he says, adding, ‘I’d rather have gone to the parrot hotel to visit Gertie than go to Hedley-stupid-Sale’s for lunch.’

  Giles leans over from the back and grins, ‘Guess what!’ He pauses for effect. ‘Tamsin says he’s got false teeth.’

  June 5th

  Rose telephones.

  ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I took those things you sent to The Blessing, and they loved them. They want to order ten more. Can you make ten?’

  Am overwhelmed. Immediate reaction is to say ‘No way,’ but conquer it.

  ‘What did they say? How much did you say the clothes were? Have they sold any yet? Oh, Rose, do you think I can give up the Vanden Plaz brochure contract now?’

  Rose is cautious. ‘No, I think that would be a mistake, but you should be able to if your stuff goes down well. I charged them one hundred and fifty pounds per garment. I know you only said one hundred, but really Venetia, you’ve got to be able to make something out of this, and don’t forget, you have to make the garments.’

  Extraordinary. Can Rose honestly think I knitted those cardigans, or cut out and sewed that skirt? Just shows how little idea she has about sewing or clothing manufacture. I think the skirt even had an old label in it from the chain store I bought it in years ago. Still, if that’s what she thinks, who am I to disabuse her?

  She is still talking, but my mind has wandered. Staring out of the kitchen window, I spot The Beauty flitting behind the washing line, an egg in each hand and three of the most scraggy-looking hens following her.
Her voice carries in on the balmy spring air.

  ‘Come on hens, let’s have a boiled egg and soldiers now.’

  Suddenly do not want to think about work, so cut Rose short.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll send you them as soon as they’re made, shall I? Bye.’ Slap telephone back in its cradle and it immediately rings again. I ignore it and walk out into the yard, growing visibly taller, as taught in my yoga class, by breathing deeply and exhaling and thus experiencing total serenity. For a millisecond. Ghastly wailing indicates that The Beauty’s boiled-egg breakfast with the hens has not gone well. Follow the sound round to her sandpit and meet a circus-ring scene. The three hens are lying in a row in The Beauty’s sandpit, evidently enjoying a dust-bath. The eggs are neatly placed in the sand in front of them, and The Beauty is prancing about waving a magician’s wand and glaring.

  That’s not right,’ she scolds. ‘Don’t sit down. Make toast.’ Scoop her up and we return to the house where the anwerphone flashes. Play back the message and I almost pass out with the enormity of what I have just missed.

  ‘Hi there, Venetia. It’s David here. How’s the parrot? By the way, I ordered it from a pet shop in Norwich, so it doesn’t need to go into quarantine, you know. I suddenly realised you would think it came from the jungle. Look, we really need to talk. All our lines are down, but I’m in the nearest town for a couple of days, so I’ll call you again.’

  How can I have thought I was reconciled to being on my own again? My heart is thudding and rushing madly. The message finishes too soon, leaving the house horribly empty and far too quiet. I play it again. Kick the hall door, disappointment at missing him spreading like nausea. The Beauty eyes me severely. ‘That’s quite enough now, Mummy,’ she says. ‘Never do it ever again.’

  June 6th

  Minna and Desmond appear, dovetailing with us as we turn in through the gate, hot and thirsty after school. The children run to them, kicking a tiny dust cloud in the yard, and are enveloped in Minna’s fragrant embrace. She swings The Beauty up into her arms, and approaches me with Desmond. They are like a couple from Hello! magazine, bronzed and blonde with the children lolloping around them and huge sparkly smiles decorating their faces. The only element missing is the snow-white towelling bathrobe. I have never seen such a display of coupledom.

  Heart sinks rather as a huge tower-block stack of photographs is placed on the kitchen table.

  ‘We thought you would be longing to see the pictures of the wedding and the honeymoon,’ says Minna. We flick through, and apart from noticing that I have not seen the shoes I am wearing in the pictures since the wedding, I remain silent until a picture of me aiming a covert kick at Bass the hippy is reached.

  ‘Do you know, we’ve still got their camper van,’ I remark to Desmond. He claps his hand to his forehead and then reaches across me to clasp Minna’s hand.

  ‘You are always right, angel,’ he says, smiling into her eyes in an idiotic fashion. ‘You said I’d forget to tell Venetia about the van, and I did.’ He sits back again, contrition writ large. ‘Bass sent me a postcard from Madagascar weeks ago, right after our honeymoon. They’re joining a commune there, and they want you to have the camper van as a present. They think it will help you reach a level of karmic consciousness where you will be able to see Bass without kicking him in future.’

  Godsake! as The Beauty would say. Anyway, jolly nice to be given a camper van. Shall now have it towed to the garage to have the battery charged.

  Desmond and Minna, murmuring and fluttering at one another like a pair of doves in spring, stay to supper and leave after dark, driving off into the still silver landscape illuminated by the low disc of a rice-paper moon. Find that I am wide awake and my senses are jangling, so wander around the garden, enjoying the whispered rush of the grass beneath my feet and the odd creaks and shrills of night creatures. For once I am outside on the right night to appreciate the ghostly blooms of the white rose, Wedding Day, and the night-scented stocks I planted with this moment in mind. Except this moment is flawed. I was not supposed to be alone in my garden on a moonlit summer night. I lean over the wall looking away down the water meadow, over the stream which glints pewter light. And with desolating clarity I suddenly realise that I want to be married. Am immediately ashamed of this desire. I have after all got children, a home and a career. This should be more than enough for the emancipated modern woman. Surely it is greedy, and belittling, to want to be married as well. It is not feminist, not emancipated, certainly not necessary, and sadly, not likely.

  Nonetheless, acknowledging my shameful desire is curiously uplifting. I continue my stroll, and find myself singing Van Morrison. Pause to do a spot of moon-dancing, but have to stop immediately as it makes the dogs anxious.

  June 7th

  David rings this evening, as I am about to go to bed. It is another perfect night. I stand in the doorway, watching bats flit in the half-light and house martins swoop towards me, humming more Van Morrison and indulging in total fantasy. He is proposing that we marry immediately and have a honeymoon in the Tuscan Hills with every cliché in attendance. I am accepting gracefully, with tears sparkling in my eyes.

  ‘VENETIA. CAN YOU HEAR ME? I SAID THE PARROT MUST HAVE DISTILLED WATER.’

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why is everyone so animal obsessed? I would like to give them all to Pet Rescue myself. Somehow manage not to convey this to David, and skirt around the parrot’s present whereabouts, not wishing to admit that it is, as we speak, running up a room service bill for sunflower seeds and sundries in David’s name at its hotel in St Neots. Am brisk and irritated when I can get a word in, but on the whole, this is David’s one-way conversation.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, it’s just been such an engrossing project and there is never a moment when someone doesn’t want you for something …’ He bangs on about jungle life and I become increasingly petulant. He seems to take it for granted that I am delighted to be stuck at home on my own, with no messages from him and no indication that he is anything to do with us any more.

  Suddenly, as if from a great distance, I hear a voice which I recognise as mine saying, ‘I’m sorry, David. We can’t go on like this. I think we both know it’s over, so let’s not pretend otherwise. When you return to England you can collect Digger and Lowly and the parrot. I’m sorry.’

  My ear is throbbing and red hot, I can’t believe I’ve said these mad, no-going-back words. There is a silence, then David speaks, his voice flat and sad. ‘I suppose this was bound to happen. What can I say?’

  I can think of plenty that he could say. How about, ‘Will you marry me?’ How about, ‘I will love you for ever. I would do anything to win you back.’ Or, ‘I’m catching the next plane home, darling.’

  But I don’t make these suggestions. I just say goodbye and hang up.

  June 9th

  Make a tank top adorned with miniature rosettes found in a charity shop in a Julip horse set. Get bored of sewing each tiny rosette on by hand, but remember that my mother always used Copydex to hem curtains and attach our school name tapes. Find a pot in the playroom and have the job done in moments. The end result is most pleasing. I christen it ‘Gymkhana’, and am about to post it off to Rose when I remember that there is a pair of ancient jodhpurs in the dressing-up box. Can I get away with selling them too? I have enough rosettes left to decorate the front pockets and the opening at the bottom of the leg. Finish this job and wrap the whole ensemble in tissue paper, adding a small plastic horse from The Beauty’s farm as a treat. Cannot believe that this is all considered work, and that I am being paid for it. Have decided not to tell anyone David and I have split up until I can say it to myself in the mirror without crying.

  June 12th

  Felix asks to send an email to David. Flailing and panicking, I decide it is best that he just does it. After all, there is no reason why the children can’t continue to have a very good relationship with him. They are in charge of the parrot or will be if I
ever let it return from the hotel, and they’re supposed to be looking after Lowly the Weirdo. Felix spends hours on his email, and prints it out to show me.

  Dear David

  Today a police officer called PC Baxter came to our school. He is the liaison officer of Norfolk. There are 1400 policemen and policewomen in Norfolk. First he talked to us about what you get if you call 999 and what you get is the police, the fire brigade and the ambulance. Actually, we know this isn’t true because when The Beauty calls 999 sometimes when Mummy is in the bath the police just ring back and say DON’T. You can also get the coastguard on 999. Then he talked about his code name. It was Foxtrot Romeo One Zero. After that he talked about different kinds of handcuffs. We are going to the parrot hotel to see Gertie next time we stay with Dad.

  Love Felix

  Cannot help glowing with pride as I read this interesting and informative email, then shriek in horror as I reach the last line.

  ‘Oh no, you haven’t sent it, have you? Quick, get it back.’

  Felix gives me a pitying look. ‘Don’t be stupid, Mum, you can’t. Can I go to the Dancing Hamsters?’

  Wonder for a moment if this is a new skateboard hang-out in the village, but realise swiftly that it is a web site. Felix crashes the computer three times while looking for it, but I am so alarmed by the possibility of confrontation with David over the parrot hotel that I don’t care.

  Felix then redeems himself utterly by finding a site called freakytoys.com and we manage to buy five hundred plastic trolls for three pounds. Very excited as they will trim several cardigans, and maybe even a travel rug. I like the idea of moving into Lifestyle, and also enjoy the modern sensation of being in the middle of the countryside and effortlessly buying things off the internet. Of course, cannot even begin to find my way around without Felix and Giles, but as they are almost nerds in their computer knowledge, I am poised on the cutting edge.