Chapter 10
TEN
I woke the next morning with sore feet but a reasonably clear head. Remembering that Coco had said breakfast would be at nine, I hopped into the shower and dressed quickly, so that I would have time to take Runcible for a walk first. I had the measure, now, of the Yorkshire weather, and put on my warmest clothes, but even then, I knew they wouldn’t be good enough, and I was proved right when I pulled open the big front door.
‘Brass monkeys out there, isn’t it?’ came a hearty voice behind me, and I turned to see Constance, in markedly more sensible clothing than mine.
‘It’s freezing,’ I replied. ‘Do you think it will snow soon?’
‘Bound to, then this little mite will sink up to her armpits.’ She bent down and stroked Runcible, who was wearing a smart red fleece jumper. ‘Lovely little dog. Can I join you for your walk or were you hoping for some peace? I won’t be offended if you are, I’ll just go the other way. I like some morning air.’
The truth was, I had been looking forward to it just being Runcible and me, but now that Constance had appeared, I was glad of her company.
‘Not at all, please do, although I wasn’t planning on being out for long. I think I need to go shopping for some warmer clothes.’ We stepped out into the misty, frozen morning and crunched across the gravel, our breath puffing out in clouds. ‘I was going to walk down to the village, but only because it’s the only place I know at the moment. Is there somewhere else we can go?’
‘Yes, yes, let’s cross here, then over that stile and you can see a good bit of moorland. Stretches for miles, but we don’t have to do all that today. I don’t go down to the village much. Nice enough people, but they will try to rope me in to ‘village activities’ just because I’m widowed. Not all single women like doing flowers for the church and baking, as I’m sure you know.’
She looked at me sharply and I grinned.
‘The singles scene in London is different, but I do get annoyed with people always expecting me to be looking for a husband. I guess old-fashioned outlooks die hard. Anyway, I’m happy with my business and my friends.’
‘Good for you. It’s different strokes. Mind you, if you find the right person and they do, too, then marriage isn’t so bad. Felix and I were happy, and I liked having my son, but I can’t say I was sorry when he grew past the baby stage and got a bit more interesting.’
‘I’m sorry about Felix. How old is your son now?’
‘He’s twenty-five – I was well into my forties when I had him – and living in Japan. He’s an engineer – still out there. I’ll probably go and visit him next year. Having children isn’t the be all and end all of life, but do be sure either way.’
‘I am,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s not for me, I’d be a hopeless mother.’
‘I sincerely doubt that,’ replied Constance, ‘but you know best. That dog is beginning to look woeful – shall we head back?’
We got back just as everyone else was arriving for breakfast. Coco looked fresh and professional in a chef’s coat and ushered us towards the Buttery.
‘Do you need any help bringing things through?’ I asked, but she shook her head.
‘No, just sit down, I’m nearly there.’
There were pleased exclamations as the food came through: a bowl of homemade granola, fresh fruit, toast and pastries.
‘Would anybody like a cooked breakfast?’ said Coco. ‘I’m going to have to do some shopping, but I can rustle something up?’ Everybody was happy with the feast already on the table, so she took off her chef’s whites and joined us. ‘What are you all doing today? If anyone’s going into York, I’d be grateful of a lift.’
‘Alexander and I are spending the day with Theo,’ said Douglas. I risked a sideways glance at my mother to see what she thought about this, but she had painted a firmly serene expression on her face which clearly wasn’t going to budge. ‘We’re going to visit a local animal shelter,’ he added, ‘but definitely not bringing anyone home with us.’ He grinned at Theo, who rolled his eyes at his grandfather.
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘But it’s okay, these ones are not like Heathcliff. These animals are already being looked after. I’d like to start my own shelter one day, though.’
Alexander reached over and ruffled his hair.
‘Good idea. Maybe we’ll pick up some tips today.’
‘I shall be sequestered away in the study all day,’ said Constance. ‘I’ve got to try and get down four thousand words a day if there’s any hope of my enjoying Christmas.’
‘I’m going to do some work for the Christmas Fayre for a couple of hours,’ I said, ‘but then I was thinking of going to get some warmer clothes. If I can borrow a car, we can go to York, Coco?’
‘Take mine,’ said Alexander, as his sister eagerly nodded her agreement. ‘Dad will drive us to the shelter – that’s okay, isn’t it?’
Douglas nodded.
‘Of course, my pleasure.’
‘In the Aston Martin?’ said Theo, his eyes alight. ‘Brilliant!’
‘I’ll get you into Bond yet!’ said his grandfather. ‘The Aston Martin is certainly a good place to start.’
‘Just as long as you don’t move him on to martinis next,’ said Alexander, grinning.
‘Yuck!’ said Theo, wrinkling up his face, and everyone laughed.
‘I will join you if I may, Fallon,’ said Mum. ‘I have some shopping to do myself and I wanted to visit a small apothecary that I think will look wonderful on my grid.’
‘What’s a grid?’ asked Theo, and a few relieved faces indicated that other people had been thinking the same thing.
‘It’s my Instagram grid – where I put photos for my followers to see. Such a marvellous way of connecting with my fans, but also great for selling my products.’
‘What do you sell?’ asked Coco.
My mother looked momentarily annoyed that her empire hadn’t reached that far, but she answered politely:
‘Face products – serums, creams and so on. Marvellous stuff, but…’ she added sotto voce , ‘no substitute for a skilled surgeon.’ Everyone laughed and she looked pleased. ‘If only I could persuade Fallon to try them – they’d work wonders on you, darling.’
The laughter died down as my face reddened and I stared at my plate. What can one say at these moments? Short of swearing or walking out, both of which I have done in the past and have precisely no impact on Mum, I had nothing to clap back at her. Support came from Constance.
‘Oh, poppycock. Fallon is beautiful, as you well know, and there’s no snake oil needed to gild that particular lily.’
‘I don’t think she meant it like that,’ said Douglas in a calm voice. ‘Jacqueline just loves to help bring out the best in people.’
I glanced up to see Mum shooting a look of dislike in Constance’s direction, but it was wasted, as she was oblivious and selecting another pastry. My mother rapidly composed herself and smiled at Douglas; these days even she wouldn’t pick a fight with her boyfriend’s sister at the breakfast table, although a few years ago I would have run for cover at this point.
‘Anyway,’ she said smoothly, as if nothing had happened, ‘people are interested in more than skincare these days – I get asked more and more often about my wellness regime, so I shall start things off with picking up some of my favourite herbal supplements at this apothecary and putting the shop on the map at the same time.’
This was pure Jacqueline Honeywood, and I couldn’t resist an innocent question.
‘And what are your favourite herbal supplements, Mum?’
She waved her hand dismissively.
‘I’m sure I’ll find out once I get there. You may sneer, but it’s all the rage these days.’
‘And does champagne count? Maybe the grapes are one of your five a day?’
‘Good champagne is splendidly pure and anyway, five a day is terribly passé, darling, it’s all about thirty different plant foods for your gut bacteria now. Sounds unpleasant to me, but Acanthe is preparing some posts about it.’
Acanthe – who was named Jane at birth – is my mother’s much-exploited PA who adores her and is more Jacqueline Honeywood than she is herself.
‘I’m not sure that the purity of the champagne makes up for the ethanol content,’ put in Alexander mildly, reminding me that until his accident he was an eminent heart surgeon, so better placed to talk about ‘wellness’ than any influencer, even if he was starting up a gin business. Mum sailed on regardless.
‘Oh well, we can’t worry too much about that. I’m thinking of becoming sober curious next year, but I don’t want to do it all at the same time.’
I hid a smile. This is the woman who, back in the 1970s, had thought nothing of necking a few tapeworms washed down with Campari. Personally, I wouldn’t be taking wellness advice from her, but, as ever, I admired her determination.
‘Okay then,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave around quarter to twelve, shall we, and we can get some lunch in York as well.’
A shame I’d be driving, I reflected as I finished my coffee. A swig or two of ethanol would have made a shopping expedition with my mother considerably more bearable.
We arrived in York just after twelve. Coco went off immediately as she had friends to catch up with as well as shopping to do, which left my mother and me alone for the second time in three days. I was wearing the clothes I had pulled on for dog walking that morning, and was still too cold. Mum was looking every inch the winter princess in a hat lined with real fur – ‘it’s perfectly fine if it’s vintage, darling, stop looking so disapproving’ – and a tailored red coat with a little cape.
‘It’s a bit early, but shall we start with lunch?’ I suggested, wanting to get my strength up for the afternoon ahead. ‘We could go to Bettys; the wait might not be too bad yet.’
‘Wait?’ said Mum. ‘I don’t have to wait, Fallon. Come on, where is this place?’
As we walked the five minutes or so to the tea rooms, I looked around at the impressive medieval architecture, while Mum rang Acanthe. Even I was impressed when, as we approached the iconic building, the windows of which exploded with a fabulous sparkly, snowy Christmas display, a smartly dressed man appeared, greeted both of us by name and swept us past the long, cold, jealous queue and straight over to a corner table – my mother’s usual favourite spot as she could see the rest of the room and didn’t have anyone behind her back.
‘Please do make sure that everyone waiting has a hot drink on me,’ said my mother, smiling graciously.
‘Thank you, Miss Honeywood, I’ll see to it immediately. How very kind of you,’ said the man and disappeared, to be instantly replaced by a smiling waitress who handed us menus, then melted away again. Mum gave a contented sigh.
‘What a delightful place,’ she said, taking several selfies from different angles. ‘I’ll mention them on my socials. Now, what shall we have?’
When the waitress came back, I ordered the smoked haddock fish cakes, which came with various sides and sauces and sounded delicious, then I settled back to wait while my mother indulged in one of her favourite hobbies: ordering off-menu. She started by clocking the waitress’s name badge, then began her campaign.
‘Melody, hello, how lovely to meet you. Now, do you ever watch Mayfair Mews ? You do? I’m thrilled! Don’t let me leave without us taking a photo together, will you? Now, about my lunch. You understand that I do have to be very careful about what I eat, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a few tiny changes? You don’t? Splendid. So. The salmon salad sounds divine , but I must have my fish grilled, not fried, and please leave out the garlic. I will have cabbage rather than the chicory, and if you could pop on some fresh organic tomatoes, I’d be so grateful. The salad dressing sounds delicious but will play havoc with my waistline, and right before Christmas as well. Such a shame, but I’ll just have some low-sodium soy sauce, please. Is that too much trouble? Oh, thank you so much, you’re an absolute heroine! Oh, and a glass of champagne, of course. Fallon, are you going to have one?’
Resisting the urge to applaud this virtuoso performance of entitlement, I merely shook my head.
‘No, thanks, just some sparkling water for me, please.’
While we waited for our food to arrive, we made small talk about the sumptuous décor and piles of festively themed goodies: iced cinnamon buns, biscuits shaped like chimney pots with Santa hats peeping out and richly decorated tins of Christmas tea. I was, remarkably, beginning to enjoy myself, when the inevitable happened.
‘So, darling, what was going on with you and Alexander last night? I can’t say I blame you, he’s gorgeous.’
I sighed.
‘Nothing’s going on and nothing’s going to go on, all right? I tripped and he caught me, end of story.’
‘Well, you know what I think, darling?—’
I interrupted her.
‘Yes, Mum, I do know what you think, but I also know what I think. No romance with Alexander, end of story. Now can we please talk about something else?’
Inevitably that ‘something else’ was Jacqueline Honeywood, this time the plans for her foray into ‘wellness’. I was nodding along, only half listening, when she suddenly said:
‘That’s it, darling! You will do it, won’t you?’
‘What? Do what?’
She clicked her tongue impatiently.
‘Fallon, I do wish you’d pay attention. I don’t know how you get a thing done in that business of yours. I was saying that I was worried when you first started complaining about this “exhaustion”…’ Mum had been worried about me? This was a first, and a welcome one. I smiled encouragingly and she continued, ‘I thought some journalist would get hold of it and it might reflect badly on me in some way.’ Of course . She had been worried about her . Silly me. ‘But now I realise that it’s the most superb opportunity for both of us!’
She smiled at me triumphantly, but I didn’t smile back.
‘What sort of opportunity…?’
‘Well, you could do some posts about how awful you’ve been feeling and then it could come out that I’ve brought you up here with me and under my guidance you’ve made a full recovery! I’m sure the apothecary could recommend some supplements or teas or something for tiredness. What do you think?’
What I thought was that it was the most monumentally selfish and unfeeling thing I had ever heard in my life. But what was the point in saying that? I poked my fish cakes disconsolately, my appetite suddenly gone.
‘Aren’t you going to finish that, darling? I can’t say I’m surprised, it was huge .’ She patted her flat stomach. ‘I could never even think about fitting in such an enormous lunch.’
Glaring at her, I scooped up a large forkful and put it in my mouth. She continued, undaunted.
‘So, we’ll get some pictures of you at the apothecary, looking wan and tired, which will be easy, and then in a week or so we’ll take some where you look much better, under my guidance. Don’t worry, it’s all a question of light – we can have you looking beautiful.’
‘Mum, I do not want to be featured on your Instagram page for any reason, least of all looking like some sort of lost soul. I’m sorry, but it’s a no.’
This firm line in the sand was nothing more to my mother than an invitation to open negotiations.
‘I understand, but think of it like this: you are feeling terrible and I can help with that. It will be fun, I promise. I’ll even see if I can get some therapists in to help out – they must have them up here? They could come to the house – that would make a marvellous backdrop for photos – or you could go to their treatment rooms, maybe even a spa. You’d start feeling better in no time and it would probably help you work more effectively with Alexander, if you were feeling better.’
I ate some more fish cake and turned the idea over in my mind. Spas and treatments and feeling better did sound tempting. I was so used to looking after myself, of always having a wall up when around Mum, that the prospect of being taken care of was hard to resist.
‘All right,’ I said, and she clapped her hands girlishly and beamed at me. ‘But only on the condition that I have veto over every single photo of me that goes on social media.’
She pouted.
‘Must you, darling? It takes the fun out of it, and we do want to see a radical transformation.’
‘I get that, Mum, I know all about before and after shots, and I’ll let you have your Henry Higgins moment, don’t worry, but that is my condition. Oh, and no weight loss angle. This is about recovering energy, nothing else.’
She looked at me intently for a moment, then nodded briskly.
‘All right then. And of course we won’t talk about weight loss, it’s not à la mode these days – or that’s what everyone pretends anyway. We’ll focus on self-love and acceptance, and if you lose a few pounds along the way, that can only be a good thing.’
I turned and waved at the waitress, who came over instantly. I smiled at her.
‘May I have the pudding menu, please?’