11.
Mwah!
‘You do realise, singing theGhostbusterstheme isn’t actually funny, Bill.’
I’m standing in the castle entrance hall, and the immense branches I’m staring up into reach so high and the lights are so twinkly, even Merwyn’s starry eyed. Lucky for Bill, the sight of thousands of tiny studs of light has taken my breath away so much, I’m less cross than I should be about his humming.
‘Is the castle haunted, do ghosts groan with pleasure?That’s going to crack us up for years to come.’ He stops smiling, then starts again. ‘I could sing a Wet, Wet, Wet song if you’d rather?I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes …That’s got a festive version too, as a Christmas obsessive you’d have to go with that.’
He – or more to the point, the surfers he bribed with toast – might have pulled off a fabulous tree here, but he’s not getting away with cheek like that. ‘Bill …’ I wait until I have his full attention. ‘Frig off.’
He stops in mid hum. ‘And we’re inside and you’ve got your hat on.Again.Did you know?’
Whatever I said about not being cross, scratch it. ‘It’s a hat, it’s no big deal. My hair was still hanging in rat tails, as I didn’t have hours to mess with my drier and my tongs, I took refuge under my pompom. Anything else?’ It’s fiction made up on the spot, but I’m past caring.
‘Maybe a bit more reaction to the tree would have been nice?’
I’m rolling my eyes. ‘It’s great. Which I’d have mentioned already if you hadn’t filled the talking space with your humming bollocks.’
From the faraway look in his eyes, he’s talking to himself as much as me. ‘We used to loveGhostbusters, as kids we acted it out for weeks at a time.’ It’s strange to think of Bill as a child, somehow he looks like he landed in his fully perfect adult form.
‘Good for you – and it’s a lovely tree.’ If I say how truly wonderful it is he’ll only ridicule me, so that’s as much as he’s getting. As it stands it’s only half dressed, I have a serious amount of shell collecting to do before we can fully finish it, but I’ve already got a butterfly storm in my tummy when I let myself think how it’s going to look. I’m finally letting my gaze slide down to the huge wooden barrel it’s standing in, the stack of toboggans in front I arranged earlier. Thinking how great a stack of wrapped presents would look too, maybe a couple of gin boxes in the pile to keep the theme going. Then as my eyes drop onto the stone flags I take a step back. ‘What the hell is that on the floor?’ I stoop down and pick up a brown clod.
Bill takes refuge in one of those all too familiar shrugs. ‘Patina – isn’t that the word you’d use?’
I’m examining my palm. ‘Bill, this isn’t patina, it’s mud. Earth. Soil.’ The main lights are dimmed and as I look more closely, I can see it’s spread right across the floor.
‘Whatever fancy name you want to call it, there’s no need to make a fuss, it’s only a bit of dirt.’ He’s underplaying it.
‘It’s not only a bit, it’s like a bloody ploughed field in here.’ There’s a scattering of fine soil, then bigger chunks and lumps. ‘Look, there are even skid marks.’
He gives a sniff. ‘So, they dropped a bit filling the pots, you got your trees, didn’t you?’
‘And half the grounds too by the looks of it.’ As I stare up the stairs the scattered lumps carry on as far up as I can see. ‘What’s it like further through?’ As I follow him into the chilling spaces I should be gasping at the scent of pine needles and the twinkle of another gorgeous undressed tree, feeling excited about the way the chairs look, so cosy and inviting clustered around the fireplace. But instead I’m groaning at the floor. ‘Again, a great effort, spoiled by the muddy footprints. It’s like you had Young Farmers trampling around here in their wellies, not silver surfers.’ And I just know it’s going to be like this all over the castle.
He gives a sigh. ‘These guys are at home with sea and sand. When it comes to soil or housework, they have less idea.’
Now I’ve heard it all. ‘Is this more of Bill’s bollocks?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘I wish it was. They’re mostly ex-stockbrokers, until they got their Y-O-L-O tattoos and took to the waves, they all had staff. Real life is still a novelty, that’s why they’re so enthusiastic, but the downside is the gaps.’
‘Like the mud?’
‘Exactly.’ He’s looking shifty. ‘You must be blinded by the stuff, because you haven’t spotted the other deliberate mistake yet.’
I must be too tired to see it, or possibly the mud heaps are too high. ‘Tell me.’
‘The dining furniture isn’t here yet. It depends on the hangovers when that happens.’ He pauses to pull a face. ‘Since the guys discovered craft cider, Sunday mornings aren’t pretty.’
My groan’s so loud I could rival Miranda. ‘So did you get anywhere tracking the parcels?’
The way his face drops I know the answer before he speaks. ‘Shit. Damn. No news there yet.’
My voice soars. ‘One thing, and you didn’t do it?’ He just isn’t getting this, what’s more, he took one chair upstairs, then didn’t lift a finger all day.
He’s shuffling from foot to foot. ‘It’s fine, I’ll do it now.’
‘Actually Bill, it isn’t fine at all. I admit some tiny bits of it are, like the trees. But then even the good bits get stuffed up and suddenly the whole place is full of mud. Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to clean these floors? And what the hell’s the point of trees when there aren’t any sodding decorations to hang on them? You caresolittle, you can’t even be bothered to spend five minutes trying to discover where the effing decorations are!’ I’m so angry I’m shaking. I’m also sparing a second to send a silent but heartfelt plea to every Christmas elf in the area to speed the decorations our way. If they arrive first thing we might just be saved. ‘The whole of your life for the next two weeks hangs on Libby’s first impressions. When we wake up tomorrow morning, we have twelve hours. And it’s your choice. Either you step up, take responsibility, and get involved. Or I’m leaving you to it, and you’re on your own.’
His eyes are wide. ‘Great. I’ll bear that in mind.’ From the grating wobble in his voice he’s shaken. Which has to be a first.
And actually, I’m not going to work my butt off until I know he’s committed, because unless he is, there’s no point to any of this.
‘Right.’ I smile down at Merwyn. ‘Merwyn and I are going for a walk, then we’ll be going to bed. And depending on our hangovers … and how lazy we’re feeling … and how many pages of figures we find to pore over … you may see us in the morning … but you may not see us until lunchtime. Or even later. So over to you, it’s your call now, Bill.’
And as we turn and stomp back to the kitchen I can’t help noticing how good Merwyn’s getting at marching off beside me, right in step, with his nose in the air. And as we make our way out onto the beach and watch the moon’s reflection splashing across the sea as we walk, I know whatever I say, I won’t be able to stay in bed too long in the morning. Simply because I can’t wait to see how Bill’s going to play this.
