The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC) Read online

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘’E’s not a builder! ’E’s just an odd-job man and ’e’s no bloody good at that! You want Tom Tallon, you do.’

  ‘That’s yer missus’s brother!’ snorted one of the locals, shuffling his dominoes.

  ‘So what if ’e is? ’E’s a bloody good builder!’ Jed yelled back at him.

  Just then a short, very fat grey-haired woman emerged from the kitchen. ‘Who’s a bloody good builder?’ she asked.

  ‘Yer Tom is, that’s who.’ Jed turned to Tess and Simon. ‘This is Annie, me missus.’

  ‘’E’s a right good builder is Tom,’ Annie confirmed, wiping her brow.

  ‘Good,’ said Simon. ‘Any chance we could order some food?’

  * * *

  ‘Probably best to look for a builder or a roofer online,’ Simon said as they climbed up the lane to Over and Above. ‘In a little place like this you’re bound to get people recommending friends and family and, if they’re no good, we’ll be forever falling out with the neighbours.’

  It was a ten-minute walk in the dark, Tess shining her torch on the lookout for the potholes. ‘Never mind, the lasagne wasn’t too bad, was it?’

  ‘Passable,’ Simon said.

  ‘But I think we’ll have to make an expedition to a decent supermarket somewhere to fill up the freezer,’ Tess said. ‘And I fancy a double-range cooker if I’m going to be cooking anything!’

  ‘We’ll need to get the electrics checked first, and a few more power points,’ Simon said, being practical for once. They stopped and stared at Over and Above’s black silhouette against the rapidly darkening sky as they walked up the drive. ‘I just cannot believe that this great big house is all ours!’

  4

  REALITY

  Their first night in the house wasn’t – for Tess – romantic or even entirely restful. They collapsed into the hastily made up bed in a state of exhaustion. Simon was asleep in minutes, but not Tess. She kept hearing strange noises: clicks, squeaks, creaks, moans. She hoped they emanated from the wind which rattled the windowpanes for most of the night. They’d get used to these sounds in time, of course; all houses had them to some degree but this house looked like it had them more than most. This would become the principal guest bedroom anyway and they themselves would sleep in what was now the dining room, at the front, downstairs. Then Dylan had decided he didn’t particularly like the new bed she’d bought for him and moved in between them. Fortunately, Simon didn’t stir.

  At 6 a.m., as Simon slept on, Tess tiptoed across to the window to gaze at the now- grey Atlantic. The cat jumped up on the windowsill and stared out as well. He must have wondered where on earth he was. Tess felt both exhilarated and apprehensive at the thought of there being nothing between them and North America except for three thousand miles or so of temperamental ocean. Had they put double-glazing on their list?

  Giving up on sleep, Tess wandered into the kitchen and looked around in despair. Where to start? They’d plugged their fridge into one of the two power points, so were OK for milk, cheese and butter. She found the box which contained some of the packets and tins, and she unpacked the muesli and cornflakes so at least they could have some cereal and a cup of tea. The electrics had to be a priority and, in the meantime, they’d have to survive on sandwiches, salads and visits to The Portmerryn Arms. She shivered. It would soon be October and there was no central heating, and no gas. So, did they go electric or get some kind of portable gas supply? Or oil? Decisions, decisions!

  Simon shuffled in. ‘Why did you leave me?’ he bleated. ‘We should be christening this new house!’ He gave her a hopeful hug.

  ‘Because you were asleep when your head hit the pillow last night,’ Tess replied. ‘And you were still snoring when I got up this morning. Now, I’ve had an idea.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Simon sat down at the large oak dining table they’d brought in here, along with an assortment of chairs. He poured some cornflakes into a bowl.

  ‘I was thinking we could perhaps buy a big, old caravan and stick it over there among the trees.’ Tess waved an arm at the window. ‘We could live in it while we get this place sorted out.’

  ‘What, and lose our sea views?’

  ‘Simon, get real! The sea views are going to be for the guests. There are going to be workmen drilling and hammering in this house for months to come and I, for one, don’t wish to be freezing or covered in layers of dust.’ She saw Simon shaking his still-dark head. ‘Yes, I know, but after we’ve finished with it, it’ll make additional accommodation for when family and friends come to stay. After all, the rooms in the house are going to be occupied by all these filthy-rich guests we’re planning on having. And, heaven only knows, we’re going to need them at the rate we’re spending money!’

  ‘I suppose you have a point,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Anyway we can think about that later.’

  * * *

  It was with some relief that Tess discovered the mobile phone signal was good at Over and Above. All the more so because there was no landline, although she supposed they should apply for one if they planned to run any kind of business. They’d need to use the laptop rather than their phones and they could hardly spend their days looking for WiFi outlets elsewhere. Simon contacted a professional-sounding roofer via his mobile, knowing they needed to get the roof checked and any repairs completed before the weather worsened. They were aware that they were definitely going to need paying guests to cover costs and so wanted to be able to offer drinks. They discovered that the young couple that owned the property before them had already applied for a licence to sell alcohol, which now had to be transferred from their name to the Sparrows’ and should be granted in time for their opening in the spring.

  They spent the day unpacking and moving their furniture around in a futile attempt to fill up some of the vast spaces. Two bedrooms remained empty, as did the so-called dining room. The large room at the rear was only half-filled with their sitting room furniture and Tess reckoned they’d need some enormous settees. More expense. But she cleaned the windows and then sat and drank a cup of tea admiring the unforgettable view. Bi-fold doors would be wonderful. She didn’t think they’d spoil the character of the house too much because all the windows at the back had obviously been replaced at some time and didn’t appear to be out of place, whereas the ones at the front and sides were the originals and fortunately hadn’t taken such a battering from the Atlantic storms.

  * * *

  Ron the Roofer and his acned apprentice Joe spent most of the following day tut-tutting their way perilously across the roof of Over and Above.

  ‘Truth be known,’ said Ron later, standing in the kitchen with his second mug of tea, ‘most of the roof could do with re-slating.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Could cost you a fortune.’ He paused for effect.

  Tess, beginning to feel faint, plonked herself down on one of the chairs and Simon clutched the edge of the table. ‘We haven’t got a fortune,’ he said.

  ‘However,’ Ron continued theatrically, ‘looks like somebody made a start on it and then gave up. I suggest we just do a couple of the really bad bits for now. Make you rainproof at least, and we can do the rest as and when it needs doing.’

  Joe fiddled with his phone and scratched his spots, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘We could make a start directly,’ Ron said, placing his mug carefully in the sink. ‘Nice old sink that!’ He looked around and sighed. ‘You’ve got a fair bit of work to do in here!’ They were to become very familiar with the ‘fair bit of work’ that needed doing and also with the word ‘directly’, pronounced ‘dreckly’ down here, and which merely hinted at some future date.

  Ron gave them a rough estimate. ‘Could be more because there’s no knowing what we might find up there, do we, Joe?’

  Joe shook his head sadly and they both departed.

  ‘Don’t look so worried!’ Simon said, putting his arm round Tess. ‘We’ll get through this, you and I. Just keep imagining how great this place is g
oing to be!’

  ‘Oh, Simon, I love you and I love your optimism!’

  ‘I love you, too, you daft Scotswoman! Come on, let’s take a drink through and sit on a box to admire our view. That, at least, doesn’t cost anything – yet!’

  * * *

  The electrician was called Tom. Simon had selected him from ‘Registered Electrical Engineers in North Cornwall’ on Google. He was fortyish and came alone, spending two days going from room to room and giving them what Tess hoped was a thorough testing.

  ‘Most of it’s safe,’ he summarised, clutching a mug of coffee. ‘The upstairs appears to have been done. Bit of rewiring needed downstairs, though.’ He set the mug down on the table and gazed at the 1950s cooker. ‘Fair bit of work needs doing in here.’

  ‘We’re aware of that,’ Tess said. ‘Now, power points. We’re going to need masses of extra power points.’

  Tom scratched his nose. ‘I’ve got months of work ahead. Don’t know when I’d be able to start. Give me a buzz when you know when you want me and I could probably send a couple of my lads along. How’s that?’ No definite time, not even dreckly.

  ‘Sounds uncertain,’ Simon sighed, after he’d accompanied him out of the door.

  As he left Tom turned round and said, ‘Did you know you had a cat shut in one of the bedrooms? Poor little devil. But don’t worry, I let him out.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Tess reckoned Dylan could be anywhere by now. Her poor cat! She searched the house in vain, cursing the stupid Tom, and hours later found her beloved cat sleeping peacefully on a pile of old blankets they’d used for wrapping round some of their furniture.

  It seemed Dylan had no intention of going anywhere.

  * * *

  Then there was the builder who came the following day. He was around sixty and his name was Nick Norris and he was more optimistic than the other two. ‘Well-built these houses were,’ he said after he’d spent an hour or so looking around. ‘The airbricks front and back are nice and clear, so you’re lucky there. Sometimes, believe it or not, the level of the garden rises and blocks the flow of air. You need to cut away these plants and trees close to the house and I need to check the internal walls ’cos there’s some condensation, but that might sort itself out with a good airing. A couple of the chimneys need attention. Now, what about this bathroom business?’

  The bathroom business would involve knocking doors through from the two smaller bedrooms to two of the larger ones to provide en suite bathrooms, and the existing large bathroom divided into two to provide for the other two bedrooms. That, he said, shouldn’t present any problems, except to the plumber, ha ha! He could recommend Pong and Pip Parker, hardworking, straight as a die, honest as the day is long. Worked with them often; great guys.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tess, ‘we have met.’

  In fact a few days previously Simon had brought back Pong Parker from the pub.

  ‘Don’t you go worryin’, Mrs Sparra, I’ve flooded better places than this!’ said Pong. His name did not fill Tess with a great deal of confidence either. ‘I can turn your house into the cataracts of the Nile, and have salmon leapin’ up the stairs, all in a couple of hours! You’re in safe hands, Mrs Sparra!’

  In the background Simon was doubled up with laughter. Was this guy serious? Tess didn’t know whether to laugh or show him the door.

  ‘Do you have public liability insurance?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Wot’s that then?’ asked Pong.

  ‘Well, how long would the guarantee be on the job?’

  ‘As long as it takes the ink to dry on the cheque, Mrs Sparra!’ Pong winked and grinned. ‘Now don’t you go worryin’ about this ’cos I shan’t have no problem. See, there’s only one problem I come across when I’m workin’.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Tess asked.

  ‘Customers who ain’t got no sense of humour! It puts the price up, Mrs Sparra!’

  Tess’s laugh was genuine.

  ‘Whyever did you bring him here?’ she asked Simon as Pong headed down the drive.

  ‘Because Jed at the pub said he was cheap, he was good, he was available, and we need a plumber.’

  Pong returned to have a second look and said he’d get to work ‘dreckly’ after Nick Norris had done the walls and doors and things, and why didn’t they have a toilet downstairs as well while they were at it? Plenty of room in that scullery place. And what about an en suite in their own bedroom? Couldn’t keep nipping upstairs every time you needed a pee, could you?

  ‘Then there’ll be the decorating,’ Simon sighed, ‘after they’ve all gone.’

  That, to Tess, seemed such a long time ahead that it was hardly worth thinking about. ‘We’ll just need to get gallons of Dulux,’ she said, ‘and discounts everywhere for everything. We need to be in the know. Time we had a chat with the locals.’

  * * *

  ‘Fair bit of work’ll need doing up there, I reckon,’ Jed said cheerfully as he passed a pint of Doom Bar across the counter to Simon.

  Tess, sipping a lager and lime, muttered, ‘If anyone else says that…’

  ‘We’ve got an army of workmen coming in over the next few weeks,’ Simon said, taking a large gulp. ‘Going to be costing a fortune. Shouldn’t think I’ll be able to afford much of this,’ he waved his glass in the air, ‘after all that lot’s been paid.’

  Jed sniffed. ‘Do you know that’s ’ow yer house got called Over and Above?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tess asked.

  ‘Well, the reason’s obvious,’ said Simon, ‘because of its stunning position.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Jed, putting down his own pint and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘’Twas always called the Cliff ’Ouse. Belonged to an old lady, Granny Gumm she was called.’ He paused. ‘Ninety-nine she was when she died. Been born up there an’ died up there in the Cliff ’Ouse. Don’t know why her was called “granny” ’cos her never did marry or have a family like. That ’ouse never did belong to anybody but ’er and ’er parents. Anyhow, a few year back this young couple come along with all them fancy ideas and bought the old place and, just like yerselves, got all them quotes. Got a bit of the roof done and the roofer says it’s going to cost X amount of money over and above wot ’e’d said in the first place, ’cos of somethin’ or another ’e ’adn’t reckoned on. Then they ’ad Fred Wot’s-’is-name…’

  ‘Fred Belling,’ prompted Annie, who’d appeared behind him. ‘Flamin’ Fred.’

  ‘Yeah, Flamin’ Fred, the electrician. Got ’is wires crossed when ’e were doing the village ’all and set ’imself alight. Just as well the old vicar was there with the bucket of sand.’ They both snorted. ‘Well, anyway, Fred got going on their wiring, and it were a whole lot worse than ’e thought so ’e said ’e’d ’ave to charge them a bit over and above wot he first thought like, if they wanted the wiring chased into the wall instead of running along the skirting boards. Someone else said much the same but I can’t remember who that might ’ave been. But every bleeding thing was way over and above wot they thought they was going to be paying and that’s the reason they changed the name of the ’ouse before they scarpered off abroad someplace.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,’ Simon said. ‘But it explains why some of the jobs are half done.’

  ‘That ’ouse was so bleeding cold they were living in a caravan,’ Jed continued, warming to his theme.

  ‘A caravan!’ Tess exclaimed. ‘We thought of doing something like that while the work was being done.’

  ‘In that case you’ll be needing Jacko Jones. Jacko’s got all them caravans on the Wadebridge Road, and ’e does up the old ones and sells them on cheap. ’E’s OK, on the level. Yeah, you want to see Jacko.’

  Somewhat perturbed by the origin of their house’s name, the next day Tess and Simon set off towards Wadebridge and Jacko Jones.

  ‘He’s probably a relation of Jed’s, or something,’ Simon muttered as they pulled into a muddy farm gate to let an
oncoming tractor and trailer pass on the narrow single-track lane. ‘That’s if we ever find the bloody place. It would help if we could see where we were going.’

  ‘It’ll be easier when the leaves drop off and the hedges are bare,’ Tess consoled as they drove cautiously round the blind bends bordered by high hedges. Although both she and Simon were confident drivers in city traffic, the country lanes took a bit of getting used to. They felt like they were taking their lives in their hands every time they swung around a bend, blind to any tractors or school buses bearing down on them.

  Then the road widened a little and, on a narrow turning on the right, a board proclaimed modestly, ‘Jones Caravans – Best in the West – 200 yds!’ with an arrow pointing down the lane.

  As Simon turned into the lane he said, ‘I don’t fancy towing a caravan round here.’

  ‘Well, we probably won’t be buying anything here,’ said Tess. ‘We should really be looking at big established dealerships.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but this guy’s supposed to be cheap, and we’ve got very limited finances,’ Simon reminded her.

  They rounded the third hairpin bend and there, in front of them, was an open field with what looked like dozens of caravans of every shape and size. There were touring caravans, mobile homes, traveller-type caravans, and even the office was housed in a mobile home, from which emerged a small, swarthy, elderly man with dyed black hair, a gold earring and very tight jeans. This, presumably, was Jacko Jones.

  A burly Staffordshire bull terrier, tethered to a chain attached to a post next to the office, was growling in anticipation of their arrival.

  ‘Mr Jones?’ Tess asked politely.

  ‘Yeah, but I get called Jacko.’ He turned towards the dog. ‘Shut up, Satan!’ The dog continued with some low growling. ‘He don’t like people much.’