Chapter 39
Beryl had checked and rechecked her preparations for the guests and with nothing left to do, sat down with a loud ‘ooof’ in her comfiest chair.
She’d just set aside half an hour to a complete rest and put her feet up on the tasselled velvet pouffe so loved by her late husband Eddie, when the doorbell rang.
‘Who the heck is that?’ she muttered as she hauled herself back into a standing position and headed for the hallway. ‘Whoever it is, they’re too blooming early. Or maybe it’s one of those annoying men who are always wanting to clean out my guttering. Huh!’
She flung open the door, ready to give the person with the temerity to disturb her a piece of her mind, only to find Rick standing on the step, with a huge bunch of roses in one hand and a bottle of Prosecco in the other.
‘I know I’m too early,’ he said, as Beryl stepped aside to let him in. ‘But I need to talk to you before all the others get here.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ said Beryl, leading the way into the living room. ‘You’d better sit down. I’ll put the Prosecco in the fridge, but what are the flowers in aid of? Not that I’m complaining,’ she added. ‘I hardly ever get a bouquet, and that one must have set you back a pretty penny.’
Rick handed both his gifts over but didn’t answer immediately. He watched Beryl go through to the kitchen and deal with the bottle, putting the flowers in a jug of water on the windowsill.
‘I’ll find them a nice vase in a minute before the others come,’ she said. ‘If you want to say something in private, better hurry up, dear. You know how Winnie is for being bang on time for a party, and the rest won’t be far behind her.’
Rick seemed suddenly lost for words. He perched on the edge of a chair and cleared his throat. ‘I… erm… I…’
Beryl lost patience very quickly. ‘Stop shilly-shallying and cut to the chase,’ she said. ‘You’re worrying me now.’
‘Right. Yes. Well, I wanted to talk to you about the past.’
‘Any part of it in particular?’ asked Beryl, checking her watch. ‘The Tudors, maybe? Or the Romans? They were pretty interesting. I’m partial to a bit of Viking history, personally. All that pillaging… and so on.’
Rick smiled. ‘Okay, I know I’m wasting your precious time. Nineteen eighty-five, to be precise. The year of all sorts of…’ He paused.
‘All sorts of trouble?’ Beryl finished. She clutched the arms of her chair and faced him, swallowing hard. ‘It’s about my Patrick, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I feel as if we’ve never mentioned him and we should. I do know what today is, and that’s the reason for the flowers.’
‘Patrick’s birthday. How on earth did you know that?’
‘Because it’s mine next week,’ said Rick. ‘We used to go to the same birthday parties. Jelly, ice cream, cake. Mine was always the weekend after Patrick’s. The flowers are because… well… I didn’t get you any when he died. I should have. He was… one of us.’
Beryl felt her heart expanding. It was so good to hear her son’s name. ‘You liked him then?’ she said slowly. ‘I didn’t think you and Patrick were particularly matey, Rick?’
‘What I mean is, we shared a lot of memories,’ Rick said.
‘I know there was a lot of fuss about the fire, and I don’t think we need to talk about that.
As far as I’m concerned, it was just a joke that backfired.
No harm was meant and nobody got the blame.
It’s in the past. But Vee and I were talking while we were away, and we both wanted you to know that we all cared about Patrick. ’
‘You did? Even Venetia? I always had the feeling that she mainly liked winding him up. He used to get upset. My Patrick was such a sensitive boy.’
Rick looked as if he was choosing his next words with care, and Beryl could hardly bear to listen.
Was he going to say something terrible? She was going to have to live alongside Venetia in Fiddler’s Row now, and Beryl found herself desperately wanting to think well both of her neighbour and to put to rest some very unpleasant memories of another member of the Prescott family.
Their holiday together had been joyful and Vee had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure all the members of the party were well looked after and happy but there was still the other issue to deal with.
Even now, Beryl couldn’t think about Vee’s father Ivan without a shudder, and she knew that eventually she ought to bring that subject out into the open.
For now, though, this was all about Patrick.
‘Vee was going through a weird time back in 1985,’ said Rick.
‘I think we all were. It wasn’t much fun being a teenager, when I look back on that year.
We were full of our own importance some of the time but totally lacking in confidence the rest of it.
The school camping trip brought a lot of things to a head. ’
Beryl wasn’t at all clear where this was going. ‘What are you trying to say?’ she asked, watching the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece make their way much too quickly towards the moment when the other guests would descend on her.
Rick leaned across the small space dividing them and took both Beryl’s hands in his.
‘Just that we were all battling with our own demons and Patrick was no different. We might have done and said things that we regretted later but we were friends, and that will never change. Patrick was one of us and we miss him. I wish he was here to party with us, but we can still talk about him and remember the good times.’
Beryl squeezed Rick’s hands. She was too full of emotion to speak. What a lovely gesture, to bring flowers and to take the time to make her muddled memories of Patrick’s teenage years fall into a better, less painful shape.
‘Anyway,’ said Rick, letting go of Beryl and getting to his feet. ‘That’s the serious stuff out of the way. How about we open that bottle and have a toast to the future? Get the glasses and I’ll open the fizz.’
Rick gave Beryl a hand to get up, which she was grateful for, because she suddenly felt rather shaky.
Too much soul-searching was bad for the liver, as Winnie always said.
‘A very good suggestion,’ she said. ‘And thank you, dear. I feel more peaceful about my boy, somehow. Oh, I know Patrick was no angel, I’m not totally blinkered. ’
‘None of us were angels,’ said Rick. ‘Let’s not forget that. Teenagers are a law unto themselves. We’ll drink to being safely over fifty, shall we?’
‘A lot over fifty, in my case,’ said Beryl, watching as Rick deftly popped the cork and poured chilled Prosecco into two champagne flutes. ‘But still here and still ready to party.’
‘Exactly.’ Rick raised his glass. ‘Here’s to future fun and shenanigans. Age is no barrier to the Saga Louts and their friends. Cheers!’
Beryl raised her own glass in response and smiled at him fondly.
She wondered what Rick had really wanted to say to her about Patrick.
What had he left out, regarding his own and Venetia’s opinion of her son?
Best not to know, she told herself silently.
Best to focus on the good times and remember Patrick with love.
Anything else didn’t bear thinking about.
The doorbell rang, mercifully putting an end to her pondering.
‘Gird your loins,’ Beryl said to Rick. ‘It’s showtime.’