Tuesday
17th December
17.
Angels
with dirty faces
I know our mums spent their lives trying to persuade our dads to try out their stoves, and I’d have loved my ex George to visit our kitchen even one time. But when guys schmooze in and effortlessly ace it, I can’t help feeling a little bit WTF? Like they’re treading on our toes. Taking over our territory.
I mean, glorious cranberry whirls are one thing, and that was only one (so far anonymous) surfer – with very nice handwriting, don’t forget. But coming back from the beach to find yet another guy – well, Miles, I can’t quite bring myself to call him Milo yet, however wide and winning his grin is – standing at the Aga like he’d been there his whole life, flipping his perfect triangular cream griddle scones? Then finding out how ridiculously light and fluffy they are. So delectable that when they’re split open, spread with oozing hot butter and molten golden syrup, I eat a whole griddleful without even blinking. Disturbing doesn’t begin to cover it. Then him being perfect enough to hang round the kitchen to tidy up too, to the point of even washing the mixing bowl. It’s really all too much.
So it’s a relief when the Edmunson-Twiglets arrive and we finally head off for the donkey sanctuary. Fliss’s sporty people carrier dwarfs my little car, but compared to what’s ahead of us in the convoy, it’s mini. As we wind our way between the high hedges along the narrow lanes behind Ambrose, Libby, Miles and the Twiglets’ cars, we’re singing along to kiddies’ Christmas tunes, in the hope it’ll drown out Harriet’s bawling.
As some hideous song about aMarshmallow Worldends I have to comment, ‘Those cars in front are so huge it feels more like we’re following the Queen than a few friends and family.’
Fliss laughs at me. ‘Except royalty would never have glitter decals like Libby or white alloys with diamanté inlays like Ambrose.’
‘I hope Donkey Valley is ready to be hit by sixteen out-there townies in the middle of a quiet Tuesday morning.’ As we slow by some nicely planed farm gates and see the hand painted donkey pictures on the signs, thinking about the company, I’m truly wishing I’d had the option to stay at the castle.
As it turns out, the donkeys aren’t ready for us at all. Miranda’s crackly gold coat gets the thumbs down straight away. It’s so much like a giant piece of flapping Bacofoil, the woman with a badge that saysDoreen Donkey Welfaredecides it’s going to alarm the residents. As Miranda and Ambrose shimmer off towards the cafe they don’t look disappointed at all. I’m just hoping the rest of the group see something here to take the scowls off their faces.
Libby hands over what looks like enough cash to buy a whole donkey not just to look at them, then we wander off towards the stables and enclosures. The minute we hit a patch of cobbles Harriet finally drops off. I’m bumping her buggy along while Fliss hangs onto Oscar, still pondering about earlier.
‘I know those scones of Miles’s were delicious. But at the same time they left me feeling slightly uneasy and a little bit compromised. Squeezed even.’
The donkeys are looking out over the tops of their stable doors and we’re stopping at each one, rubbing their huge fluffy ears and bumpy necks, letting them nuzzle our hands with their warm velvety noses. And we’re trying not to wrinkle ours at the rather strong scent of donkey.
‘Okay, say goodbye to Biscuit and we’ll see who’s next door.’ Fliss lets Oscar have a final pat of the donkey, then she lowers him to the ground and turns to where I’m pushing Harriet.
‘More like squeezed into your jeans after eating so much, I’ve got that too.’ She pats her stomach. ‘Miles is probably making himself indispensable in the kitchen, hoping Libby won’t eject him. That’s my theory anyway. If all his cooking’s like that, it’s not going to help my baby weight is it?’
I’m nodding, but only in partial agreement. ‘If Miles can cook, with so many people turning up, Libby’s going to hang onto him with both hands. Very tightly.’
She glances across at Miles a few stables ahead of us. ‘You have to agree, Miranda’s delivered you some choice goods there though, you can’t reject this one without dipping your toe in the water.’
My eyes flash open. ‘You just watch me.’
She lets out another chortle. ‘Adjoining rooms. Libby came through for you there too.’
I look down at Merwyn, hoping he’ll add support for my protest. ‘Merwyn will tell you, with a tree in there too, there’s barely space for us, we definitely can’t fit any one else in there too.’ I let out a laugh. ‘At least Miles is saved from the ghostly noises in your part of the castle.’
Fliss lets out a groan. ‘We all heard them again, last nightandthis morning.’
‘It’s nice that Ambrose and Miranda are enjoying life.’ And I’m damn lucky my room’s out of earshot.
Fliss pulls a face. ‘It’s just ironic and a little bit sad when the only person in the house with a decent bonk rate is your mother. You’d think she’d keep it down with the grandchildren around.’
I’m laughing. ‘Miranda always expresses herself loudly, I can hear her whoops all the way from the cafe now.’
Fliss shakes her head and lets out a sigh. ‘Larger than life and ten times noisier, nothing new there then.’
And this is the funny thing about parents. While I’d have loved mine to be even a teensy bit more expansive and like Miranda, Fliss is completely in love with how quiet and buttoned up mine are. Back when we were twenty we’d have swapped them in a heartbeat, because mine had the reliability and steadiness she craved, while Miranda had all the zest and colour mine lacked. Maybe that’s one reason we bonded instantly and stayed so close – because we both found our sanctuary in the other one’s home and family.
It’s true that Miranda waited until her three girls and their brother left home before she started seriously working her way through husbands. Before that she never gave anyone exclusive rights and the flat just always had a stream of arty types passing through. But at any time of day or night she was only ever a corkscrew away from a party. Which was fabulous for me for a weekend visit, but that’s why Fliss was wide eyed and wanting when she came across my parents’ level of boring domesticity.
I pass the pushchair to Fliss and pick up Oscar. ‘And this is Haribo, you like donkeys don’t you?’ I watch Oscar’s nod. Considering he’s usually like a one man demolition team, now he’s left his favourite telegraph pole back at the castle, he’s remarkably quiet.
