Chapter 2
2
Far too excited to join the queue for the lifts, we dragged our cases upstairs. The staircase was a thing of great size and beauty, carved and decorated with swags of leaves and bunches of grapes and wide enough to accommodate a car if one could have got through the new fire doors.
Ahead of us stretched a long wide corridor lined with massive portraits of stern-looking women in elaborate dresses, and at the end we found our rooms.
With mounting excitement, we went in and then came out again like over-excited kids to look at each other’s. Our rooms were huge, high ceilinged, and each had gigantic beds, massive mahogany wardrobes, a television and a dressing table. There was also a mini fridge in a cupboard and on top of that a kettle, coffee maker and a wicker basket filled with cookies and bags of crisps. Each room had its own bathroom with complicated lighting that came on automatically, and there was an assortment of toiletries on a shelf in front of a massive ormolu mirror. It was all looking very positive indeed.
‘Well, this is great,’ Susie said, coming into my room a few minutes later. ‘Much nicer than I thought. I’m guessing these were the posh people’s bedrooms back in the day. I’ve even unpacked my stuff properly and put it all away. I don’t usually bother. I feel quite grand.’
I went to look out of the bay window and down at the sweeping expanse of lawns beyond the driveway. A coach had just arrived, and a harassed-looking driver was encouraging the passengers off, while another man was lugging their cases out from the storage area at the back. After a bit of jostling, some of them reclaimed their walking sticks and frames and went inside.
‘There’s a whole coachload of trouble just arrived,’ I said. ‘About forty people. Do you think they will be trying to score drugs too?’
‘I do hope so,’ Susie said, coming to stand next to me. ‘I’ve never tried cocaine and often wondered about it. I mean, I wouldn’t obviously, but perhaps people their age – pensioners – think, what the hell.’
‘What do you mean, people their age? We are pensioners. They are probably the same age as us!’
‘No, people my age look much older than me,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘We are never going to be old. I’ve decided.’
‘Too late,’ I said, watching as a sprightly grey haired gentleman slapped at the coach driver’s hands as he tried to help him down the steps.
I smiled at his obvious indignation and his determination not to be treated like an old person. Perhaps I could learn something from that.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Susie said after a while. ‘Shall we go downstairs and explore? It’s four thirty. Perhaps we could have afternoon tea.’
‘Or cocktails?’ I said. ‘If we are going to have fun, why shouldn’t we start immediately?’
Her eyes brightened. ‘Good idea, if the bar is open.’
‘With this lot? I’ll bet you ten quid it is. I’ll just send Alex a text to let him know we got here okay. He said he might have a friend from work over this evening.’
‘New girlfriend? Well, that’s nice,’ Susie said. ‘Anyone you need to know about?’
‘I don’t know, he was a bit vague about that,’ I said. ‘Probably not. Alex has got very secretive since he broke up with Tallulah.’
Susie bent towards me. ‘You can tell me now they are getting divorced – that’s not her real name, is it?’
I chuckled. ‘No, she’s actually called Bertha, after a great aunt. Something to do with a will.’
‘I thought as much.’
* * *
The bar was in the grandly named Sir John’s Library and was decorated with big armchairs, stuffed pheasants in glass cases and wallpaper printed with old books. There were already a few people sitting around the tables; the men with pints of beer and their wives nipping excitedly at schooners of sherry.
At the end of the room were two small sofas, too big for one but not big enough for two, which no one wanted to sit in, possibly because they were too low to get out of easily, so we nabbed those and almost immediately a girl dressed in a grey polo shirt and black trousers came over to ask what we would like.
‘Two cosmopolitans,’ Susie said, without any hesitation, and the girl smiled her approval as she put down paper coasters.
‘Start as you mean to go on, ladies,’ she said, ‘and it’s happy hour too. Much more fun to have a half price cocktail than a half price pot of tea.’
‘Happy hour. How marvellous,’ Susie said, hitching herself back into the sofa so her feet didn’t touch the floor, and she sat with her legs dangling like a child.
‘Actually, it goes on until seven o’clock,’ the girl murmured, ‘otherwise the people who arrive late start kicking off, so no rush.’
She returned a few minutes later with our drinks and a bowl of Doritos.
‘I’ll be just over there, ladies. I’m Lisa, just give me a nod if you need anything. Anything at all.’
‘I wonder if she would go back to my house and do the ironing,’ I said, ‘or water the pot plants on the patio.’
‘No need,’ Susie said, looking out of the window, ‘it’s raining again. Honestly, the weather this year has been terrible. What happened to the lovely spring days we used to have?’
‘This modern weather is rubbish. I blame the government. Anyway, here’s to us.’
We clinked our glasses in a toast. It felt really marvellous to be doing something different, just for us. To be with my friend not having to anticipate another quiet evening on my own.
‘Thank you for thinking of this. It was a great idea,’ I said.
‘It was, wasn’t it, and it’s your birthday tomorrow too. What would you like to do? There are lots of activities,’ Susie said, rummaging around in her handbag. She brought out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve written everything down because otherwise I’ll forget something. The story of my life at the moment. I’ve already booked us into the spa for facials, my treat. And then in the afternoon there is a mixology class. We can learn how to make three cocktails with head mixologist Tim, who apparently learned his trade in the world renowned H?tel de l’Excès in Scarborough. Then every evening there is dancing in the Lady Mary ballroom, followed by a show with St Vincent and the Grenadines. Marvellous name. Easy listening and pop, so no head banging or crowd surfing. It says they are just back from a successful gig in Latvia.’
‘Well, we can’t miss that,’ I said.
I sipped my cocktail, enjoying the sweet tang. It tasted dangerously drinkable. I wondered why I hardly ever had them, and then realised there wasn’t much fun to be had making cocktails on my own. Still, tomorrow was my birthday, and I was looking forward to it tremendously. Probably more than I had for years. Even though it would mean that I would then be hurtling towards the next significant milestone of seventy. Crumbs, that really did sound noteworthy. But then I remembered what Juliette had said, and she was so full of enthusiasm and spirit that I thought perhaps I should take a leaf out of her book.
‘We are booked in for dinner at six thirty,’ Susie said. ‘The early sitting at five o’clock was full, but that’s okay, isn’t it?’
I agreed it was and insisted I wouldn’t want to eat that early anyway.
I didn’t like to admit that many times I had eaten earlier than that, had sometimes skipped dinner altogether, didn’t often cook any sort of meal, and had recently become toast-reliant.
Toast had become a very quick, adaptable and reasonable substitute for actual food. It was like fast food without the drive or the queueing up. Or much washing up afterwards.
And yet, in the past when I had a houseful to deal with, I’d been a good cook, and I’d loved doing it too. Sourdough loaves, cake decorating and a freezer filled with meals ready for unexpected visitors. In this bit of my life, I missed being the provider of complicated curries, themed Italian or Greek nights and of course Sunday lunches. My Christmas dinners were still marvellous though; even I had to admit that. They were one of the few times of the year when everyone in the family seemed to be available at the same time.
My kitchen cabinets held a lot of gadgets I didn’t need any more, so many huge casserole pots, saucepans and roasting trays that once I had used all the time.
Why was I denying myself such a pleasure? Interesting food was one of the few indulgences left in life as far as I could see. Instead, I had got into the habit of just refuelling myself at odd hours with dull snacks. Eating something out of boredom or just so that I didn’t feel hungry rather than for enjoyment. I should do better in future, I resolved. In fact, at that moment, I almost felt in the mood to chop some onions or make some bread. Or a curry. I’d loved those.
There were jars of herbs and spices in a special drawer that I hardly opened. I made a mental note to go through them when I got home and throw out all the jars past their sell by date.
In fact, I had already made a half-hearted start doing the same thing to all the other rooms. Throw away the things that didn’t ‘spark joy’, wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? So far all I had thrown out was Greg’s old bank statements, a pile of gardening magazines and two uncomfortable bras.
Then there was all the other stuff that Greg hadn’t wanted to take with him, although he had taken the barbeque, the garden chairs and the television. Things that I had bagged up and dumped in the garage. The dozens of pairs of socks, bobbly sweaters that he had insisted on keeping for when he was gardening, although he’d never set foot in the garden when we were married unless he was carrying a bottle of wine and some glasses. A treadmill which he had used twice and dismissed as being faulty, wine-making equipment which had produced wine so acidic it could have stripped paint, not to mention tooth enamel. All those things were still languishing in my garage, home to spiders and probably mice if I looked too closely.
There was also the baggage our children had left behind in the attic and the garage. Shelves filled with books I would never read again. Apart from anything else, the size of the print seemed smaller than I remembered, or perhaps it was my eyesight?
I was reluctant to admit how far I had slipped in the Domestic Goddess stakes. Even to my closest friend. Was that pride? Foolishness?
‘I went to look at the menu,’ Susie said. ‘Sounds good although quite predictable. I don’t care as long as I don’t have to cook it. Do you know I hardly bother cooking these days. When Simon’s away and it’s just me, it doesn’t seem worth the effort. My signature dish these days is beans on toast.’
‘If I’d given Greg beans on toast he would think I’d gone mad, and now Alex has moved into the granny flat, I sometimes get the urge to cook something more exciting, but so far he’s hardly ever around.’
‘How’s his divorce going?’ Susie asked.
I shrugged. ‘Progressing slowly. I don’t ask too much these days. He seems okay about it all. He says they are going to sell the house and split the proceeds. Thank heavens there are no children involved. Still, it’s sad when it all started so well. Tallulah seemed very nice at first.’
We were now old enough not just to be divorced ourselves, but to have divorced children. A sobering thought.
Susie finished her cocktail and put the glass down on the table with a decisive clink.
‘You mean Bertha. Let’s have another,’ she said. ‘That didn’t touch the sides.’
‘Tequila sunrise,’ I said, finishing my drink. ‘I used to love those, and I haven’t had one for years.’
We called Lisa over and she replaced our empty glasses with two full ones. Then she leaned down conspiratorially.
‘Just a head’s up. Apologies from Chef. There was supposed to be bread and butter pudding on the menu this evening, but the dance society from Walsall have pre-ordered it all. So there will just be ice cream or Eton mess. I hope that won’t spoil your enjoyment of your evening, but it’s as well to be prepared.’
‘I made that for Greg once. When we were first married,’ I said. ‘He told me it was okay but not as good as his mother’s. So I never made it again.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ Susie snorted. She screwed her hair up into a bun and secured it with an elastic band which had been looped around her wrist and then shook her bundle of papers at me.
‘So tomorrow we are booked in for breakfast at eight – all the later spaces were taken – and then for a facial at two o’clock and mixology at four thirty with Tim. Then perhaps we could have a walk around the grounds. They really are splendid.’
‘If the rain stops,’ I said.
We looked out at the darkening evening, where we could see two hardy types, a couple with big waxed coats and umbrellas, walking along beside the house, heads slightly bowed against the wind.
‘I expect he says they have to do their ten thousand steps before they are allowed any dinner,’ Susie said.
‘Well, I don’t even have a proper raincoat, never mind any wellingtons,’ I said.
This too reminded me of Juliette and her problems with Maurice, and for some reason it made me feel happy. Susie was fun, but Juliette could easily be an inspiration.
‘I hope you have some sparkly tops,’ she said. ‘A lot of the ladies here are looking very swish.’
‘I didn’t realise we had to dress up for dinner,’ I said, ‘but it beats something on a tray in front of Pointless . I’m usually shovelling in cheese on toast and shouting at the contestants most evenings.’
Susie held up her tequila sunrise for a toast.
‘Well, not this time, there is a three-course dinner for us, followed by a show. Cheers!’
‘But no bread and butter pudding,’ I added.
‘Bonus round, I’d call it.’
I took a sip of my cocktail, and for a moment the taste catapulted me back to the days when I had been younger and carefree, and yet it hadn’t all been wonderful. There had always been the problem of Paulo, which I’d never solved.