The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC) Read online

  Simon took on the role of overseer. ‘Sorry I can’t help,’ he sighed, not looking in the slightest bit sorry, ‘it’s this bloody arm.’

  ‘Poor Dad,’ said Damien, ‘you’ve had a rough old time.’

  He’s not the only one, thought Tess as she returned to the kitchen to cook supper for them all.

  * * *

  Her stepson was in a world of his own, which Tess suspected was drug induced. He and Liz were either asleep or ‘getting an album together’ which, they were convinced, they’d be able to record when they got back to ‘civilisation’.

  On one occasion, and one only, Damien had actually offered to do some painting. Unsure of his capabilities Tess had restricted him to a wall in the laundry room. An hour later when she looked in the door she found him swaying to some music inserted in his ears with more paint on the floor than on the wall.

  ‘Time for lunch?’ he asked hopefully, laying down the brush which he made no attempt to clean. Tess replaced the lid on the paint pot and washed out the brush. And then sorted out lunch. She was rapidly succumbing to martyrdom.

  Liz, on the other hand, was a complete enigma. She rarely surfaced except at dinnertime. Damien made a daily expedition to Pearly’s and came back laden with biscuits, cereal bars and chocolate, which probably accounted for Liz’s unhealthy pallor.

  * * *

  Damien’s couple of weeks stretched into a month. They slept until ten or eleven o’clock, ate like horses, played pop and punk at full volume most of the day, then strummed the guitar and sang for most of the night.

  ‘They’re very good, you know,’ Simon informed Tess. ‘I think they’ve got some great stuff together there.’

  Tess, who’d been unable to decipher any sort of melody emanating from Windsor Castle, made no comment. When were they ever going to leave? There was little point in asking them to pay towards the cost of their food because they hadn’t any money. But, apart from the cost, Tess was heartily fed up of them being there.

  Her only consolation was that most of the radiators were now in place and the central heating engineers appeared to be working quickly and efficiently. The en suite bathrooms were all functioning and Pong and Phil had moved on now that their work was done. They weren’t registered to install oil-fired central heating and so that was left to the specialists. There were three specialists, all extremely thirsty, requiring tea at hourly intervals. Tess couldn’t wait for them all to be finished and for the oil to arrive and then, hallelujah, they’d be warm. She now knew without a doubt that the most important thing in the whole wide world was to be warm. They had one electric plug-in radiator in the kitchen, which was the only room with any heat in the entire house. Both she and Simon worried that a sudden freeze-up could result in burst pipes everywhere. Fortunately, the Cornish climate was rarely extreme; winters were generally wet and windy, with frost and snow restricted to the moors. But there were exceptions and Tess prayed each day for the work to be completed and for the tanker to arrive.

  She was cold and she was tired. It wasn’t Simon’s fault that his arm was broken, but he wasn’t doing a great deal with the arm that wasn’t, which doubled most of her chores. So, in the middle of March, it was with great relief that she drove him to the clinic to have the plaster removed. Perhaps things would look up now, she thought as she drove back. Perhaps the central heating installation will be finished. Perhaps the tanker will arrive with the oil. Perhaps we’ll be warm. Perhaps Damien and Liz will finally move on.

  When they got back to Over and Above they found the engineers still there, the oil tanker hadn’t yet been, and half the kitchen ceiling had collapsed.

  11

  ESCAPE

  ‘I couldn’t stand it for another minute,’ Tess informed Orla, as she drank her second glass of wine in the warmth of Orla’s cosy flat.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Orla. ‘You must have the patience of a bloody saint to put up with that lot.’

  ‘I’m not going back until that house is warm and the ceiling’s back where it should be, and everything is cleared up.’ Tess took a deep breath. ‘That’s if I go back at all!’

  Orla’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m beginning to think I’m not cut out for rural living. Driving miles to get anything. No mains gas, no buses, frequent power cuts. And Simon’s played that arm of his for all it’s worth.’

  ‘Well, that’s men for you,’ Orla retorted dismissively. ‘You know what they’re like: big babies.’

  ‘Not stupid, though; gets him out of doing any work at all. Then there’s Damien and his weird girlfriend loafing around the place, eating us out of house and home, wailing their bloody awful songs.’ As Tess spoke she could see Orla suppressing laughter. ‘It’s not funny!’

  ‘It is, you know,’ said Orla, exploding into mirth. ‘You couldn’t make it up! They make sitcoms about this sort of thing!’

  Tess, warm and relaxed, could feel her own mouth quivering into a grin.

  ‘Shall I go back with you and sort them all out?’ Orla went on, laughing.

  At this Tess grinned some more. ‘If I go back.’

  Orla rolled her eyes. ‘Of course you’ll go back! You’re potty about that daft husband of yours and he’s been phoning you about forty times a day ever since you arrived.’

  That much was true, if exaggerated. Simon was very, very worried.

  The ceiling had been the final straw. She’d painted every inch of that damned ceiling and the kitchen had looked great – the one room which was functioning normally and where she spent most of the day. It was all down to one of the central heating guys and the underfloor network of pipes. All Simon could say was, ‘Well, looks like we’ll be eating down the pub tonight!’ And Damien, who’d ventured forth to see what all the noise was about, actually sniggered.

  Tess had to get away, to distance herself from it all. While Simon was listening to the engineer’s explanations and apologies, she packed a bag and loaded it into the back of the Land Rover. When Simon came out to see what she was doing she said, ‘I’m leaving.’

  His expression changed to complete bewilderment. ‘What do you mean, you’re leaving?’

  ‘I’ve had enough, Simon. I’ve worked my socks off these last six weeks. I’ve watered the workmen, and I’ve fed and watered those two idle lumps, neither of whom have got off their arses or offered to help in any way. Not only that, they’re smoking weed; I can smell it. And you know what I said. Your arm’s better now, so you sort it out!’

  As she was getting into the driving seat Simon caught her arm and said, ‘But where are you going?’

  ‘Back to civilisation. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Tess, don’t! We can sort this out! I’m sorry if—’

  ‘No, Simon. I’m going.’

  ‘And you’re taking the Land Rover!’ Simon looked close to tears.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit late in the day to start booking buses and trains.’

  ‘But how am I going to get around?’

  ‘Same way I did when you were up in London for a week.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing!’ Tess slammed the door shut and roared down the driveway. It wasn’t until she was at the top of the hill that she pulled into a layby and wept. She sobbed for almost ten minutes. Then, resolute, she dried her eyes, put her foot down and headed for the A30 and London.

  * * *

  Tess had forgotten what it felt like to be warm all day long. To be comfortable in one sweater instead of three. Orla’s thermostat was set at a very cosy twenty-two degrees, which was around fifteen degrees more than she was accustomed to.

  Amber had some time off mid-week so Tess spent a day with her at their austere minimalist flat where the temperature was too warm, if anything, with Amber swanning around in a T-shirt and jeans.

  ‘So you fancied a little break?’ asked Amber.

  Tess hadn’t filled Amber in on the details of her departure because she knew Amber w
ould worry.

  ‘Yes, just felt like a day or two away to catch up with you all, particularly as I hadn’t seen you at Christmas.’

  ‘That was a shame, Mum, but you know Peter booked that Thailand trip way back last summer. And, do you know, I think I’m rather partial to a bit of heat at Christmas.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Tess with feeling.

  Amber accompanied her to B&Q where Tess found bits and pieces she needed including yet more paint and enough trellis to screen off the oil tank. There was certainly some advantage in having a large, sturdy vehicle. Then over lunch Amber filled her in with all the local gossip, plus the goings-on between the two well-known stars of the film she was currently working on.

  Tess stayed until the evening and, as she got up to leave, Amber said, ‘Peter will be so sorry he’s missed you.’ Peter rarely got home before 8 p.m. and Tess wanted to be back in Orla’s flat and on her third glass of wine by then.

  The following day she spent with Lisa and the children. Matt was at work but – hearing that his mother was on a flying visit – he came home early.

  ‘Is everything OK, Mum?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Everything’s fine. Just needed a break.’ And how, she thought.

  As she prepared to leave little Ellie clung to her and said, ‘I miss you, Nana. Please come back and live near us again!’ And that was when she nearly gave way to tears.

  Everyone wanted to know why Simon was phoning so often. ‘He must be desperately missing you,’ and ‘Isn’t he sweet?’ they said.

  All Simon wanted to know was when was she coming home? He was religiously doing the exercises he’d been given to strengthen his arm, and it was already feeling stronger. He could do lots more now. The ceiling had been repaired although it would need to be repainted. He’d had Gina come in to clear everything up. That woman, he said, was worth her weight in gold.

  ‘And Liz has absconded!’ Simon added dramatically.

  ‘Absconded?’

  ‘Gone. Had enough. Got a lift with one of the plumbers to Bodmin apparently, where she was going to get on the first train out of Cornwall, she said.’

  ‘Well, no great loss,’ said Tess. ‘Does she know that you have to pay for a ticket on a train?’

  ‘God knows. Now Damien says he wants to go back to London, too.’ Simon sighed. ‘I’ll miss him.’

  Tess knew better than to whoop with joy. Damien was, after all, his only son. She had to remind herself yet again how she’d feel if it were Matt or Amber with an erratic nomadic lifestyle and how she’d love them just the same and be thrilled if they came calling.

  ‘I think they’ve both had enough of my cooking,’ Simon said. ‘And guess what? The oil’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow.’

  Tess decided it was probably time to head home. Frequently her husband drove her mad, but oh, how she missed him! Time to get things back on track.

  12

  SPRING

  Tess arrived home on 20 March. It was one of those days when the sun shone blindingly one minute and the heavens opened the next. Typical spring weather. All along the roadside as she headed towards the coast were daffodils – hosts and hosts of golden daffodils! And birdsong. Even those few days away had triggered a change in the seasons; late winter had given way to early spring. Perhaps it had been spring-like when she left, but she’d been too upset to notice. Or care. The sea was blue again too, and with impressive surf where half a dozen enthusiasts were out there riding the waves. As she came down the hill into Portmerryn she noticed a magnolia tree in full bloom, and primroses. She was nearly home.

  Simon was beside himself with joy. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’ he said over and over again.

  He led her into the kitchen. The collapsed ceiling hadn’t damaged anything, he said, but had made a horrendous mess. He repeated that Gina was worth her weight in gold. Yes, the ceiling would need to be re-painted but the central heating guy had brought a plasterer in and they’d worked hard to make it all good again. And, look! The radiator was actually fitted. And yes, the oil had arrived but the plumbing wasn’t quite finished upstairs and so it would be a few days yet before everything could be connected up and the heating turned on.

  And Damien had gone. That very morning. He’d scrounged a lift with a delivery van to Plymouth and from there he’d find wheels of some sort to transport him back to London. He was ready to do some recording; the few weeks in Cornwall had inspired him.

  Then Simon told her he’d paid a visit to the bank. Yes, he knew that they didn’t want to be in debt but their funds were rapidly running out and they hadn’t yet done anything about replacing those rotten wooden French doors on the two main rooms at the back. The wood was rotted through due to never having been properly maintained. Folding doors, like he’d had in the London house, would be terrific, but they were far from cheap. But just think, he said, about walking straight out on a summer’s day as if there wasn’t any wall there at all!

  And something else; they really, really needed two cars. He realised that now. You couldn’t live somewhere like this with only one set of wheels. No way! he said. Something small and economical to run was all that was needed. The bank had agreed with him that it would be most beneficial for them to take out a small mortgage to cover the cost of everything, and it could all be paid back in no time at all! After all, the guests would soon be arriving and Simon would hopefully be called to London for the occasional voice-over or small acting part.

  Tess listened patiently. He was painting a very rosy picture but, as yet, there was no guarantee that they’d have regular guests and even less certainty that Simon would be offered work. The running costs of this house were likely to be astronomical.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Simon continued, ‘that we should up our prices and provide something really special.’

  ‘We’ve already agreed that we’re offering something special,’ Tess said.

  ‘Something on the lines of a retreat,’ Simon said, ‘for long-term guests who need to escape the rat race. Damien actually gave me this idea, because he seemed so inspired by the ambience. He was bursting to get back to London and his recording.’

  ‘Long-term?’ asked Tess. ‘How long would “long-term” be?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Months, perhaps? Put a microwave and a kettle in every room so they can do their own snacks. A tiny fridge, maybe? That sort of thing.’

  ‘This is a guesthouse, not self-catering flats,’ Tess said. ‘Anyway, how much money are we supposed to be borrowing?’

  Tess knew she’d be the one who would have to make the books balance one way or the other with Simon’s grandiose ideas. Someone had to keep their feet squarely on the ground.

  ‘One other thing,’ she added, ‘which won’t cost anything. We need to change the name of this place. I really don’t like Over and Above.’

  ‘We could call it the Cliff House again,’ suggested Simon. ‘The Cliff House Boutique Retreat.’

  ‘No,’ Tess said. ‘I had a much better idea while I was driving home. How about The Sparrows’ Nest?’

  Simon’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’

  * * *

  Simon altered the website to read:

  Be free as a bird at The Sparrows’ Nest, on the cliffside at Seagull Hill! Come to enjoy the ocean in all its moods, walk barefoot on the beach, relax amid the stunning coastal scenery, paint your pictures, write that book, find yourself again!

  Tess researched folding doors and was not surprised to discover that the prices were, almost without exception, astronomical. The sitting room had a wall span of around fifteen feet and the new dining room had about twelve. Brickwork would have to be removed at the sides of the existing French doors, which were situated in the middle of each wall. And they’d have to be very careful with the wisteria. But she had to agree that they’d be sensational: a complete wall of folding doors, open all summer and leading directly onto the terrace overlooking the sea. Then Tess remin
ded herself that they still hadn’t had either the plumbing bill or the central-heating installation bill. They’d estimated these, of course, but it went without saying that it would be more than they thought. Over and above.

  The workmen would soon be gone. Next would be the hire of the machine to sand the upstairs floors, followed by sealing and polishing. And decorating. And having these rooms ready for May when the guests were due to arrive, which was less than six weeks away. At least their alcohol licence had been granted…

  With some trepidation Tess ordered the folding doors. The company, Glide Easy, would come to measure and fit the things for the price quoted.

  There was no time to waste.

  * * *

  There were a lot of panels involved, said Ivor, who’d been sent to measure up.

  ‘Everything’s metric now,’ he sighed, ‘except your door frames. You’ll need new door frames and, if you don’t take a bit off the top, the doors will have to be specially made.’

  ‘We’ll take a bit off the top,’ said Simon.

  ‘Perhaps we should just settle for sliding patio doors or something?’ Tess asked as she saw their estimate escalating.

  ‘That would be a shame,’ said Ivor, calculator poised, ‘with a view like this.’

  ‘And this view,’ Simon said, turning to Tess, ‘is what will bowl our guests over, what they’ll remember and recommend to other people.’

  ‘Yes, but you can still see the view through patio doors or new French windows,’ Tess said.

  ‘They’d probably have to be made to measure, too,’ Ivor sighed. ‘But, just think of your guests coming down to breakfast in a room which would appear to have no wall at all! They can walk straight out onto the terrace; no doors opening out at right angles, no double panes of glass still blocking the view if you have patio doors. They’ll fold right the way back. For the sake of just a few extra quid now…’