6
Three Years and Five Months After Spike Left…
They’d all had a pub lunch at the Severn Inn, and it was late afternoon. Overhead, the sun proved lukewarm, as if it was done with being high enough to shine down on the pub garden below, which stretched all the way down to the riverbank. The last few days had seen much rain, and the grass had sprung to life in its rich green emperor’s clothes. It was still wet underfoot, even though it hadn’t rained that day.
The river was swollen and brown with silt, and a particularly high spring tide was expected. All around its banks small groups gathered here and there, ready to watch the next batch of surfers catch the Severn Bore as it swept upriver from the Bristol Channel.
‘Hurry up, slow coaches,’ called Polly, as behind her came Mel and Rowan – Rowan haven shaken off Mel’s hand to run full-toddler pelt down the small incline, her blonde ringlets streaming out behind her like an ad agency’s dream casting – cute, blonde and wearing a bright colourful Oilily dress bursting with flowers, rainbows and butterflies. Polly watched as if in slow motion as her little chubby legs did not quite keep up with her body, and she took a tumble forward. Whoops. Mel, charging up behind the little girl, scooped her into her arms. And Rowan was giggling away by the time they reached Polly’s side.
‘Cheeky little monkey, this one,’ laughed Mel, as she handed her charge over to Polly, who hugged and then lowered her daughter to the ground.
‘Blimey, what have you been feeding her on? Concrete sandwiches?’ said Mel. ‘She weighs a ton!’ Mel’s short blonde-streaked hair glinted away in the April sun, and Polly noticed how these days her friend seemed softer, a little rounder, and even had on a cheap jumper with a big red heart right smack-bang in the middle (although her cropped jeans were obviously expensive).
‘Bamma!’ said Rowan, pointing in the direction of Suze, who was striding away from the riverside to stand next to Brian, who was scanning the river, watching for the Bore. Brian was wearing a wetsuit, and for the life of her, Polly couldn’t stop thinking that he looked like a giant black pudding on legs.
‘Suze!’ she called out to her mother. ‘Hang on a tick!’ But her mother just waved, her attention being on peering over the hedge into an adjoining field. ‘We’d better go join them,’ said Polly. Mel didn’t hear as she was too busy waving back up towards the pub, back to where her loved one was strolling down to greet them. Fen. Good-looking in a Sharleen Spiteri rock chick kind of way, dressed in black from top to toe. Black leather biker jacket, black T-shirt, black skinny jeans, black R. Soles snakeskin boots and jet-black dyed hair. Fen, the love of Mel’s life, so she’d told Polly. Fen, a thirty-one-year-old woman. Because sometime last year (when exactly, Polly couldn’t quite remember), Mel had fallen in love and gone to bat for the other side, or – as Polly had so charmingly put it – ‘Actually turned lezzer!’ Not that Polly was altogether surprised, when she had time to gather her thoughts and think about it.
Fen arrived, delivering her trademark smile, which resembled a snarl. ‘Where’s this Severn Bore, then?’ She slung a proprietorial arm around Mel’s shoulder.
‘Just here,’ said Mel, indicating to Polly.
‘Oh ha bloody ha,’ said Polly, trying not to mind a joke which at one time Mel would have made, with her, about somebody else.
Rowan tugged at her mother’s hand, trying to pull her along. ‘Bamma! Bian!’ she was shouting, and Polly allowed herself to be toddler-dragged along the bank to stand next to where Suze and Brian were on tiptoe, trying to see into the adjoining field. Mel and Fen followed at a more sedate pace, still entwined in each other.
‘What are you looking at?’ Polly said to her mother.
‘Shh. They’re about to start filming.’ Suze gestured towards a gap in the hedge, through which they could see that there on the grassy riverbank a cooking station had been set up, comprising a table, burner and wok. A small film crew gathered around a man dressed in expensive casual gear – Barbour jacket, cord trousers, brown brogues and a Jack Wills-type shirt. Polly recognised him.
So did Fen. ‘Isn’t that Rory McCloud? That Scottish chef who thinks he’s the new Keith Floyd?’ she whispered loudly to Mel.
‘Ha! He wishes – in his dreams!’ said Suze. ‘I used to know Keith – back in the day. And he was pure genius. A total one-off. But, shh, if you hang on here, I’ll see if we can get a closer look.’
She walked over to have a word with the crew, and with Rory. There was some nodding and pointing and eventually she beckoned them over. Just in time , thought Polly, who was feeling rather uncomfortable and not quite knowing where to look. Because Brian stood hands on hips, proud in his black wetsuit that clearly showed how well endowed he was. Hard to miss, or the fact that it looked like he had a stuffed rugby sock down there.
He grinned at her as she blushed. ‘Oi. You checkin’ aht my lunch box, cheeky?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘Honestly, darling,’ said Suze, returning to Brian’s side. ‘Stop acting like you’ve never seen a big cock before.’ She snuggled up to Brian in that kittenish way of hers.
‘Mind yerself, Suze. You’re embarrassing the girl.’
‘Stuff and nonsense. Come along, darling.’
And they wandered off, Brian grinning away like the Honey Monster.
‘There’s big, and there’s plain showing off,’ Mel whispered delightedly in Polly’s ear.
‘She always like that?’ said Fen, nodding Suze’s way. ‘Your mother.’
‘’Fraid so,’ said Mel.
But Polly said nothing, because it was one thing to mildly slag off her mother to Mel, but quite another to have Fen join in, and quite frankly, she didn’t much care for it.
As ever, Suze was dressed in stylish casual gear with her honey blonde hair cut in a Victoria Beckham sharp cut. It suited her. (She even wore some of VB’s creations every now and then.)
‘Hang on a minute, Mum, wait for me and Rowan.’
Suze turned, seeming both pleased and surprised as she waited for daughter and granddaughter to catch them up.
‘Tell you what,’ said Suze, giving everyone a most impish look, ‘let’s see what they’re up to further up the field, shall we?’
‘Suze?’ warned Brian.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’ll be good for me to check out the competition. Right, we’d better get a move on… it’s all about to kick off.’
Which, at the time, Polly thought a strange thing to say – and later she’d wonder if Suze had been given the nod by someone who knew what was to happen.
‘His cooking’s not a patch on yours, babe,’ said Brian.
They filed into the field, taking their positions close enough so they could see the cooking action, but not so close that they interfered with filming. Brian lowered his voice. ‘That Rory geezer’s a right ponce.’
Polly could swear the cameraman smiled at this. And a very cute cameraman too, she noticed. Nice and tall – blond hair. (She didn’t normally go for blonds but could make an exception in his case.) Then she noticed that he seemed to have his camera fixed on her. Checking behind to see if he was filming someone else – which he wasn’t – she blushed. ( Idiot .) Lowering his camera, he gave her the mildest of smirks before turning away, leaving her unsure whether or not he’d been checking her out.
‘Sorry, mate,’ said Brian, as he shifted out of the way to allow a man sporting anorak and large Wellington boots to stride past and hand a bucket to Rory McCloud. The chef promptly peered inside, gave the thumbs-up then proceeded to plonk a pan on the hob, before whacking up the heat. Clearly, he was about to cook something – that something being whatever was in the bucket.
Next to Polly, little Rowan was on tippy toes straining to get a better look, so Brian reached down to lift her up onto his shoulders, and was rewarded by her slapping him about the side of his face, much to his delight.
‘Careful,’ Polly said to her daughter. ‘Don’t hurt Brian.’
‘Bian!’ she declared, now bumping him on the top of his bald head.
‘Dontcha worry, sweetheart,’ he said, beaming with delight. ‘I got a tight hold of our little twinkle here.’
One of the filming crew called out, ‘And action!’ and Rory began his spiel.
‘Here we are on the banks of the glorious River Severn… blah blah blah… wee local delicacy… blah blah… time-honoured tradition… blah blah… what better way to cook them than here outdoors… blah blah… Severn Bore… blah blah.’
Polly wasn’t paying much attention when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a small group break away from those lining the riverbank and begin to edge their way across to Rory’s cooking station.
She turned her attention back to the chef. ‘You have to be quick… make sure the oil is hot. Sizzling hot…’ He bent down to scoop a handful of whatever was in the bucket. ‘Cost a fortune on the Japanese market…’ and next threw the whatevers into the hot pan, where they hissed and jumped about.
‘Look! Dancing bibbons! Dancing bibbons!’ Rowan was shouting. At first, Polly thought she was shouting Dancing gibbons – but it was dancing ribbons! Then all hell broke loose as three women tore screeching across like banshees, one wielding a placard – “Save the Eels” – while their ringleader dashed the pan off the hob. Then, before Rory or any of the crew could stop her, she chucked it into the river, from where squabbling seagulls swooped to claim their half-cooked prize.
‘Wahay! Yay!’ They cheered and danced.
‘You stupid fuckin’ women!’ Rory McCloud screamed. He’d gone puce and Polly hoped for his sake this wouldn’t make its way onto YouTube. (Fat chance of that not happening, as members of the public were gathered around, mobile phones aloft.) ‘Those fuckin’ elvers cost me a fuckin’ fortune! Yah feckin’ cunts!’ Rory was apoplectic.
‘Murderer!’ one woman screamed, as she was being manhandled away.
‘Cooking them alive! Disgusting brute!’ shouted another.
Only then did it dawn on Polly that McCloud hadn’t been frying a new kind of ribboned pasta but instead frying baby eels, which were still alive. And that was why the poor things had been jumping around like mad – they’d been slung alive into boiling hot fat! Ugh. Alive! What an appalling bastard! She felt like walloping him herself. And applauding the ringleader who’d managed to sidestep Rory’s minders and, brandishing her placard at him, catch him in the corner of his eye, causing him to bellow with pain, shouting that he’d fuckin’ kill her!
‘Who knew cooking could be such fun!’ said Fen.
‘Serves him right!’ said Suze, unable to hide that big smirk on her face. ‘That’ll not be good for Rory McCloud’s reputation, will it?’
‘Oh, you are wicked, Suze,’ said Mel. ‘You knew all along, didn’t you?’
There came a shout from the side of the river with a ‘Here it comes!’ – and attention switched to downstream where, in the distance, and coming along at quite a lick, could be seen a large wash swooshing out and up over the land as it swept towards the sea. The Severn Bore was coming!
‘Here, take little twinkle!’ Brian handed Rowan to Polly, gave Suze a swift kiss on the lips then hurried down to the river’s edge where surfers were already in the water, jostling for position, trying to secure the best place in the river to catch the large swell.
‘Looks like I’m on!’ Brian called back over his shoulder as he waded out with his surfboard, just in time to catch the wave.
‘Go, Brian!’ They cheered as he managed to clamber to his feet, Rowan jumping up and down on the spot, clapping away and enjoying the excitement, even though she had no idea what was going on. Polly watched Suze proudly cheer on Brian then turned to her left to say something to Mel… and stopped. Her friend had her head resting on Fen’s shoulder, very much the couple. Great. Everybody coupled up but me.
She sensed someone’s eyes on her and, looking up, saw that the camera guy was watching her and not the Bore. He gave her a slow and deliberate smile, before someone from his crew called out to him and, giving a shrug as if in apology, he moved off. But not before she felt a flutter, deep down in her tummy. Ah hello , she thought, mojo not totally dormant, then . The others began to walk a way up the river, following Brian’s progress. She made to join them, a decided spring in her step.
Much later, back at Polly’s house, all the others were ganging up on her. ‘Isn’t it about time you started dating again?’ said Suze.
‘Whatcha waiting for?’ said Brian.
‘Three years is long enough,’ said Suze.
‘I agree,’ declared Mel. ‘And I know just the thing for it. You leave this to me.’
‘What?’
Polly knew when she’d been done up like a kipper.