“What are your names again?” he asked, even though Tim had just said them correctly.
“Tim and Tabitha,” said Tim.
“Roll,” Simon said testily.
“Aberdeeeeen in the house. That’s with three e’s, so you know I’m not skimping on yas. People! Can you belieeeeve I am back on your screen? We are up in a market town in the Cotswolds, scrillions of quacking ducks on ponds, annoying one-lane roads, and scones that are squishy by day and you could kill someone with by nightfall. This big bloke”—he shook Tim’s shoulders—“is contractor Tim. And on my other side is our designer, Tabitha.” He looked at me, clearly not knowing what gesture to make. “Aw, Tabitha. Nice pearls. Anyway. They’re going head-to-head with three other design couples in the fight to win the cash prize of one hundred thousand pounds each for best design. Tim and Tabitha are turning this old manor house into an inn where animal-loving singles can meet up—and hopefully hook up! Sort of like a Tinder from the Middle Ages. Sort of like bonking with…”
He trailed off, clearly without an end to that sentence. I shuffled, embarrassed, under his arm. On the other side, Tim screwed up his face. The cameramen gave us awhat-theglance.
Then Aberdeeen’s face told me he’d found his train of thought. “It’s like, instead of swiping right on all the bachelorettes in the land, you can view them in real life in this medieval kitchen. And you’ll be like, no-ho, you are not getting my rose, baby, and then you see someone better standing over there and you’re like,Yo, girl.”
“It’s not like that at all,” I protested. “You’re giving viewers the wrong impression.”
“Hey, c’mon. That isn’t—” Tim started.
“Yeah, yeah, I feel ya, another bourgie renovation show where they spend mint on bashing down walls and then putting up another one.” He rolled his eyes. “Tired and done, amirite? But the good news is, it’s like watching a train wreck. Feel meee? And the word on the street is, Tim and Tabitha don’t get on—awkward. I mean, that’s a gross understatement. Apparently,they can’t stand the sight of each other. What do you think, Tim and Tabitha? How’s this going to go down when you hate each other’s guts?”
The veins on Tim’s neck bulged. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration—”
“Tim and Tabitha—TNT! Explosive!” Aberdeeen cried out, delighted by his own wit. “You guys have bomb chemistry!”
Was this guy for real? “It’s notthatbad—”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” Aberdeeen cried.
“The lady doth protest too much,methinks,” Dad corrected Aberdeeen from his position standing on the tiny kitchen island. Dad was fiddling around with the dusty electrical fitting, clearly doing something he was not professionally trained for and probably illegal.
“Yeah, see? This bloke agrees,” Aberdeeen said gleefully. “Who are you, mate?”
“Montgomery Balfour, homeowner, if you will. Monty to my pals. How do you do? Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Penelope.” On the counter, feeding the llama out the window, Mum looked over at us, surprised.
“Oh, hello,” she said as if she’d just noticed we were there, her feet perching precariously between two cats batting each other with their paws. “Penny to my pals.”
Dad smiled. “We’re both very pleased to meet you, Aberdeeen. It’s fromHamlet, oft misquoted.”
Aberdeeen nodded blithely. “Speaking ofHamletand old stuff, man, I am loving these boots of yours, Monty.”
Dad was dressed like an Edwardian groundskeeper with a tweed flat cap, crumpled three-piece suit, and knee-high lace-up boots.
Dad looked at his feet. “My grandfather’s, from the war.”
“So many wars.” Aberdeeen sighed, as if he thought he was being extra sensitive. “Anyhoo! Might have to borrow them for this shoot. Sounds like it’s going to be a bit of a battle, mate.”
“Them’s fighting words,” Dad said, punching up toward the ceiling, sending the light fixture swinging.
“Which brings me back to Tim and Tabitha,” Aberdeeen said. “How are you two going to sort out this constant scrapping you’re doing?”
Before Tim or I could answer, Aberdeeen made a cut sign to the cameramen.
“Crew, can you get their answers without me? I’ve got to fuck off out of here.” He swept out as swiftly as he’d arrived.
The door slammed, the only thing left of Aberdeeen the strong and random scent of Marmite.
“Nice chap,” Dad said. Now he was banging into the ceiling with his wrench. “Clearly knows his stuff. I like a man who knows his stuff.”
“Monty, get down from there,” Tim said. “Now. I’ve already told you about all this climbing andillegal fixing.” He hissed the words, clearly watching what he said in front of the camera. “Penny, you too.” He sounded as grumpy and fed up as I felt.
Dad and Mum scrambled down sheepishly from their inappropriate perches.
