‘So we don’t put them to bed?’ Shelley asks.
‘No.’ He frowns, as if unsure whether she is joking. ‘You don’t put them to bed. Their run is secure so as long as you keep thedoor shut, they’ll be fine.’ He strides away now, checking the time as he goes, with Stan, Pearl, Lena and Shelley in pursuit. ‘That’s the woodshed.’ He indicates another wooden structure, roofed but open to the elements at one side with logs neatly stacked. ‘Plenty of logs and kindling – and the axe if you need it.’ Pearl arranges her face to suggest that, as a London-dwelling make-up artist, chopping logs is par for the course in her normal day.
Michael stops. ‘You’re okay, aren’t you, with lighting a fire?’
‘Of course,’ Shelley announces, remembering Guide camp fire duties in something like 1983. She’s confident that it will all come flooding back. Back indoors, Michael whisks them into the large family bedroom with its en suite, all made up and ready for the Sampson family, and the smaller room for a man called Niall Dixon, all of whom are due to arrive in the early afternoon. The guests’ shower room is gleaming, and heather-scented toiletries are lined up neatly on the shelf.
‘What else?’ Michael murmurs distractedly. ‘Yes, breakfasts. You’ll find everything you need in the pantry and fridge. Bacon, eggs, cereals, bread, preserves…’
‘And dinner?’ Pearl asks, sensing his growing agitation as he marches back to the kitchen. The same thing happens to her when it comes to going away. It always has, since Dean died and suddenly she was in sole charge of taking Brandon on holiday. Somehow her husband had become Keeper of Passports and Booker of Flights, and he’d always have researched places to go and things to do. All Pearl had to do back then was pack. And now here she was, 100 per cent responsible for Brandon having a holiday to remember.
Michael turns to her. ‘You know I mentioned my systems? It might sound obsessive but I need to have everything organised up front. It’s how I’ve operated since I realised I’d be running the show myself.’ The women nod, listening with rapt attention.‘So,’ he continues, ‘everything’s home cooked from scratch and frozen in portions, okay? It’s all labelled very clearly. So it’ll just need defrosting and re-heating in the Aga…’
‘Erm, where are the controls?’ Lena eyes the enormous appliance somewhat warily.
‘There aren’t any. It’s on all the time. You don’t need to do anything…’ He catches Pearl frowning at the confusing array of hotplates and doors. ‘Here’s your boiling plate and simmering plate,’ he explains, ‘and that’s your roasting oven, your simmering oven, your slow cooking and warming ovens…’ She nods sagely, wondering what bright spark at the Aga factory came up with the idea of not labelling any of the oven doors. It seems like a cruel joke, like being instructed to drive a car without anyone explaining what the different pedals do. Still, they can google it later. They’ll find their way around this cast-iron beast and, more importantly, they’ll have helped to orchestrate Michael getting together with his long-distance love.
He pats it affectionately. ‘That all okay?’
‘Yep, absolutely,’ Shelley chirps. ‘Or we could just give them fish and chips?’
Michael frowns. ‘I’m afraid the nearest chippy’s over an hour’s round trip.’
‘I was joking,’ she mutters, but now Michael is hurriedly wrapping up his instructions. ‘Now, for dinners, if you look on the chalkboard in the utility room, everything’s detailed there. What they’re all having, I mean – for Saturday and Sunday night. I send out the menus well before guests arrive. So they’ve already made their choices.’ He pauses as if to check that all of the information has been absorbed so far. ‘Okay?’ he says.
‘Yep, got that.’ Pearl senses herself snapping to attention.
‘There’s plenty of veg and salads in the pantry and fridge,’ he adds. ‘I’m licensed to serve alcohol with dinner and there’s plenty of wine and beers, if they want it. Of course, helpyourselves to anything…’ He rakes back his hair. ‘I’d normally bake a loaf but I’m sorry, there hasn’t been time. Oh, and there’s a folder in the lounge, full of info on walks around here. And there’s Wi-Fi of course. It’s patchy but it works…’ He looks at the three women in their jeans and light knitwear. ‘Did you bring warm enough clothes? There are jackets and wellies in the utility room. And hats, gloves, torches…’
‘In case there’s a power cut.’ Shelley nods.
‘Well, in case you need to go out after dark.’ For a moment, Michael looks uncertain that he can trust them at all. ‘And there are plenty of waterproof trousers,’ he adds.
‘Waterproof trousers?’ Pearl laughs. ‘I don’t think so…’
‘You might need them.’ He smiles briefly. ‘Okay, I think that’s everything. I hope you have time to explore. There’s my boat, if you get the chance to go out on the loch. Oars are there too. It’s down on the beach. Sorry I won’t be here to take you out on it…’
‘Next time,’ Pearl says firmly.
He nods. ‘So, you’ll tell the guests I’ve had to go away?’
‘Yep,’ Lena says. ‘We’ll see them off on Monday morning, like you said…’
‘And I’ll be back on Monday afternoon. So at least we’ll have a bit of time together.’ Michael swings his small rucksack onto one shoulder and, with Stan bounding at his side, he strides out and dumps it on the backseat of his car. Pearl, Lena and Shelley all hug him, and he reciprocates somewhat stiffly. ‘Call me any time, if anything happens. I mean anytime at all,’ he adds.
‘We will,’ Shelley gushes. ‘We promise.’
The tension leaves his eyes as he seems to believe, finally, that Shore Cottage B&B might possibly operate for two nights without him. ‘I can’t thank you all enough,’ he adds. ‘It’s so incredibly generous…’
‘Honestly, it’s nothing,’ Pearl insists.
‘But you do realise we’re going to leave you a terrible Tripadvisor review,’ Shelley teases. ‘“Host buggered off to London leaving us to look after ourselves!”’
Michael laughs. ‘I know I’ve just thrown an awful lot of information at you. But if you could remember to ask the guests to write in the visitors’ book?—’
‘Bye, Michael.’ Shelley grins, and he climbs into his car and lowers the window.
‘Have a great time, won’t you? Really, I just need you to hold the fort.’ And with that, and a quick wave goodbye, he pulls away up the gravelled track, and then he’s gone.
