Page 66 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
‘I expect we all were, on our favourite subjects,’ Sukes said, pouring herself another mug of coffee.
‘I’ll go down to the workshop and pretend to see it for the first time whenever you want me to,’ I promised, because at least Nick hadn’t asked me to talk about Julian’s illness and death, and how and why I’d moved to Mossby, even though it would make just the sort of angle he’d have liked to introduce.
They fell into a discussion about the various strands that were going to be important when they’d sold the pilot, which they seemed convinced would happen very quickly. On the list of topics that could be woven into the series, along with that of the restoration itself and my setting up the workshop, was the family history, ghosts, legends and secrets, and Carey’s determination to make Mossby pay its way.
‘And Fang, the little werewolf of Mossby, will be your co-star, Carey,’ Nick added.
Unfortunately, all those male legs had been just too tempting for Fang, who was in disgrace again. He was now tied by a longish lead toa hook in the wall by the stove, which was probably once part of some kind of archaic spit – maybe even the sort powered by a little dog. He should thank his lucky stars he wasn’t born in an age when they used those.
When the light had gone, the crew and Carey went down to the cellars and amused themselves by pretending they were shooting a horror film. Strange screams and moans floated up through the open door at the top of the stairs as I got out a couple of giant pasta dishes from the freezer. Fortunately, Molly had dropped off the first batch of new food very early that morning before dashing off to do the rest of her round.
Once the pasta was cooked and the wine opened, I called them back up and we all retired to the small sitting room with our plates and glasses, to watch the first of the newComplete Country Cottageseries without Carey starring in it.
I wasn’t sure how good an idea this was, but they all seemed hellbent on it and booed loudly when the new presenter, Seamus Banyan, appeared, as if he was a pantomime villain. He proved to be polished, charming and enthusiastic, but not remotely hands-on. It just wasn’t the same – how could it be? Carey was knowledgeable about so many skills that craftsmen loved to talk to him and help out, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty by mucking in and working with them, either.
‘It’s a bit … dead,’ Jorge said finally, and we all agreed.
‘They’ve got the shape of the old programme, but there’s no heart to it any more,’ said Sukes.
‘I didn’t know any of the people working on the cottage,’ Carey said. ‘And what they did to that wattle-and-daub wall was criminal! Having uncovered that section, they should have put glass over it and kept it as a major talking point in the new scheme.’
‘It’s so unfair. The whole thing was your baby, yet the only mention of you was that bit in the credits,’ I said angrily.
‘Serves me right for not reading the small print in the contract – and my agent should have noticed, too.’
‘It was an Immaculate Concept,’ sighed Sukes. ‘The new series is just a bastardized production.’
‘Never mind, it’ll be how it should be in theMansion Makeoverseries,’ Nick reminded us.
‘Well, where’s this pub you mentioned?’ Nelson said briskly, changing the subject. ‘Let’s all go and have a drink.’
Jorge drove us – he always drew the short straw, being teetotal – and we had a convivial evening in the public bar, playing darts with some of the locals. Due to a slight underestimation of the strength of the local beer, things got a bit fuzzy, but I do recall Lulu and Cam joining us for a drink later, together with some friends called Izzy and Rufus. By then, though, the bar was so full and noisy we could hardly hear ourselves speak.
If you want to know why the countryside in west Lancashire is deserted on dark winter evenings, it’s because the entire population is in the Screaming Skull.
Under the influence of several pints of Old Spoggit Brown, Nelson got into a rather one-sided conversation across the bar with Howling Hetty, just as we were leaving, and he wanted to take her back with us, but we managed to drag him away.
When we got home, I took Fang out into the courtyard on his lead, since Nick was still out there leaning against the fountain, having a sneaky fag.
‘You’ve got dark sky and stars here,’ he said, gazing upwards through circling smoke.
‘No streetlights to pollute the night sky, that’s why. I expect I’ll appreciate it all more when Carey stops running me ragged and calms down to his ordinary semi-manic mode.’
‘I’m sorry about Julian, you know,’ Nick said awkwardly. ‘We all are. We just don’t know what to say.’
‘I know. It’s all right.’
‘We heard what a bastard Julian’s son turned out to be, but you’ll be OK with Carey. And I’m not worried about him, either, now you’re here. You’re like twins, always happier together.’
Then he flicked his stub into the bowl of the fountain and went off to bed.
What he’d said was insightful for Nick: it must have been the booze talking!
The fountain wasn’t on, so I could see the faint last glow of the cigarette stub in the bowl and fished it out. I wasn’t having my sea monster poisoned by nicotine.
Not usually the earliest of risers, the crew all found their way down to the kitchen eventually, even if one or two looked just slightly the worse for wear.
I cooked up a big breakfast which, though it might have been lacking in the bacon and black pudding department, had some delicious vegetarian sausages and free-range eggs, guaranteed to be from happy hens.
