The Summer of Wishful Thinking

Chapter 7

Diana’s house was packed with people for the end of term barbecue, a tradition that grew up during primary years when parents constituted a much more cohesive group. For the children, it was the start of wonderful freedom; for parents it was their last hurrah before tackling the impossible riddle of how to occupy their offspring while also holding down full-time jobs. Diana had squeezed the cooking into the little patch out back but guests spilled out into the downstairs rooms and some into the front garden. All the boys, except Leo, had gone to the local park to kick a ball while the food was being prepared. Gemma frowned as she spotted her son slumped on a beanbag, content now he’d got the broadband code.

‘Look at him,’ she whispered to Diana as they set out the salads on the kitchen bar.

‘I see a normal teenager, Gem.’

‘I’m so worried about him. He has no friends.’

‘You can’t live your kids’ lives for them.’

‘I know, I know.’ She’d read that in a book too. ‘Doesn’t stop you wanting to though.’

Diana went over to her husband, a cheerful giant of a man who worked as a plasterer, and had a brief word.

‘Leo, my man, all the other boys have abandoned me and I have some serious heavy-duty grilling to do. Not for sissies. You in?’ asked Henry.

Gemma watched with bated breath as the internal debate played across her son’s face: virtual or real world?

‘OK.’ He slipped his phone away. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Ever barbecued ribs? Now that’s a challenge. Come on, I’ll show you.’

Gemma choked up as she saw her son smile at the man who bothered to give him some serious attention. ‘God, I love your Henry, Di. I need a man in my life for Leo’s sake if not mine.’

‘Yeah, he’s good with boys.’ Diana smiled. ‘Are you going to enjoy yourself now?’

‘Sorry, I’ve been such a misery these last few weeks.’

‘Only the last few weeks?’

She slapped her friend lightly on the shoulder. ‘It’s just all piling up – getting ready to move, my parents threatening a visit, and high season for weekend work. There aren’t enough hours in the day. I’m only half packed.’

‘Here, have a glass of wine and get half-cut. Sounds like you need it, particularly if the parents of doom are circling. Have you been back to the cottage?’

‘No time but Mr Ranworth swore it would be ready. He’s not going to let me down, is he, when he knows we are often asked for recommendations for where to hold weddings?’ She took a sip of the cold tangy white. Ah, that was good. She’d stopped buying wine as an economy and she was missing it. ‘He must know that hell hath no fury like a registrar scorned.’

‘You’re right. He’d be mental to do that. And if the worst comes to the worst, you could always demand to share his little love shack until yours is sorted.’

‘Di, stop it.’

‘It’s just that he’s so …’ She twirled her hand. ‘That aside, we’re still on to help move you. Henry can borrow a van from work.’

‘I’ll say it again. I love that man. Fight you for him?’

‘Girl, you’re on!’ Diana chuckled. ‘Handbags at dawn? But if you win, you’d have to deal with his smelly socks and embarrassing tendency to laugh too loud in public.’

‘You’re right. You can keep him. There’s no such thing as a perfect man.’ Gemma dipped a carrot in hummus and crunched down.

‘Did you enjoy helping Henry?’ Gemma asked Leo as they walked back to their house in the dusk.

‘Yeah, it was cool. Can we do ribs at home one day? I’d like to show Dad I can do it.’

‘Maybe in the new place. There’s lots of space. We could probably build a barbecue without too much expense. That could be a summer project for you.’

Leo dug his hands in his pocket. ‘Mum, I’m not moving.’

‘Leo, we are.’

‘I want to stay here.’

‘I know you do but I’ve given up the lease on the house. It’s sorted.’

‘Why are you ruining my life?’

‘I’m trying to make it better.’

‘But I like it here. It’s so unfair! You don’t care about me – about what I want!’

Anger flared. ‘Unfair? Do you want to know the real reason why we’re moving? It’s because I can’t have your father raiding our house every time he’s short of a quid or two.’ Gemma stopped before she made an unforgivable comment about Ray’s drink habit and all-round loser status. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you that, but there it is. I don’t feel safe knowing he can barge in whenever he wants.’

‘Dad’s not a threat.’

‘He made off with your bike and our laptop: that’s a threat in my book.’

‘But you’ve loads of money – you’ve got a good job and my grandparents give you money for me. You’re just being mean.’

Gemma stopped on the corner of their road, an unlovely spot smelling of dogs. ‘Who told you that?’

Leo kicked a stone against a wall.

‘Your father? And you believed him.’ She shoved her hand through her hair. ‘Why not? He’s your parent after all.’

‘He says you can afford to replace the stuff with better things. It’s not as if the money is yours in any case; it’s meant for me.’

Certain facts began lining up in new and unpleasant ways in Gemma’s mind. ‘You let him take that stuff, didn’t you?’

‘I’m going in.’

She grabbed his wrist. ‘Oh no you don’t, Leo Whitehall. Did you let your dad take our laptop because you thought I’d get you a better one?’

‘I don’t want anything special, just one that can handle graphics. The old one sucked.’

‘Oh my God, you did.’ Gemma swallowed. ‘I thought you were a victim but you were scheming with him. How could you, Leo? I’m not made of money, no matter what he tells you.’

Leo was quivering, part-anger part-shame, his poor complexion going all blotchy. ‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one not spending the money given for me – for me not you!’ He pulled his arm roughly out of her grasp. ‘I hate you.’ He ran past their front gate, heading towards his grandparents’.

‘You all right, love?’ asked the busybody from Number 5 who had watched all this drama while watering his hanging baskets.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘He needs a clip round the ear, that one, talking to you like that.’

‘He’s just angry we’re moving, Mr Nielson. He needs to vent at someone so it might as well be me.’ Gemma hurried inside and let herself have the meltdown that she’d been holding off out on the street. Ray. The bastard. He’d turned their son against her. She’d been so careful to try to shield Leo from the truth about Ray that she hadn’t realised he was feeding Leo such poison about her. A good job? Council wages were among the lowest for public servants. Two hundred pounds a month? Her father put that straight into a trust fund for Leo’s university education and it never came anywhere near her bank account as her parents didn’t want to make her ‘life choices’, as they put it, too easy. They wanted her back under their control before they trusted her with money in case she did ‘something foolish’ again. They were still disciplining her even though she was almost thirty.

And as for her life choice: she’d had unprotected sex a couple of times at fifteen, got caught out and decided to keep the baby because she didn’t believe an innocent life should suffer for her mistake. How was that a bad decision? It was making the best of a no-win situation. She could’ve had it so much easier if she’d had an abortion or given her baby away but she’d stuck it out, raising Leo alone when Ray lived up to his feckless reputation. Both of them abandoned, she had lavished all her love on the little protesting scrap of humanity she had managed to produce. Her parents had been so embarrassed by her then, and still now it would seem. Did no one actually think she was admirable for having made the decisions she did? Apparently not. There was no one with a lower social status that a single mother, even one working all hours she could to pay the rent on a crappy house in a crappy part of town.

Gemma threw her shoes in the corner and collapsed on her bed, letting angry tears flow unchecked. Sometimes she just wished she could have someone to carry part of her burden. Even someone who could mend a tap or put the rubbish out would be welcome – she wasn’t choosy. Her top fantasy was a man who would greet her when she came home from work with a cup of tea, chat about her day, and then serve the casserole he’d already put in the oven. He’d help Leo with his homework then they’d relax with a Netflix session, just the two of them, until bedtime. And at bedtime, well then, the fun would really start. It was a simple dream that so many had as their reality. She must’ve really messed up her previous life to be born into this one. Not that she believed in reincarnation; it sounded too cruel to be expected to go through all this again.

The phone rang. She groped for it, blowing her nose on a fraying tissue. Look – even the quality of her tissues was crap!

‘Yes?’

‘Gemma, it’s Miriam here. Just to tell you that Leo’s turned up in a bit of a state. I’ve calmed him down with a hot chocolate but what do you want to do?’

At least he was safe – not that she thought he wouldn’t be. Leo’s gestures of defiance to date had never gone too far. Underneath it all, he was sensible. ‘Can you put him up on your sofa? We’ve had a bit of an argument and I’d appreciate the space for the night.’

‘Well …’

‘Isn’t Ray there?’

‘No, dear, he’s off in Ipswich tonight.’

‘It’s just for one night.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll dig out a sleeping bag for him. Do you have to move so far away? He’s really upset about it.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Right now the cottage seemed like the best idea she’d had in a long while. ‘I’ll invite you and Gordon over once we’re in. You’ll see what I mean. It will do Leo good to be in the countryside.’

‘I suppose so – trees to climb, woods to explore.’ Miriam had romantic memories of her own childhood as a farm worker’s daughter in Essex. ‘You’re right. He spends too much time indoors. He’s quite pale and his skin will never clear up if he carries on like that.’

‘I think that’s just his age.’

‘They grow up so fast, don’t they? Don’t worry about him tonight. I’ll send him back tomorrow after breakfast. Does that suit you?’

‘Could you keep him till lunchtime? I’ve a morning wedding to do at the office.’

‘You work so hard, love.’ At least one person understood that, partly because Miriam had been the one keeping her own household afloat for years after her husband had retired early on grounds of ill health. ‘He can come shopping with me.’

Gemma smiled. Ah, so her son was getting a punishment after all. His gran would take him into charity shops and ladies clothes stores on her weekend browse for bargains. He’d hate it. ‘Thank you, Miriam.’

‘I’ll try and talk him round. He has some silly notion he can move in here.’

‘I’d be grateful if you’d head that one off.’

‘I will, don’t you worry. Good night, dear.’

Moving day arrived and Gemma was depressed to see that her entire worldly goods only half filled the small van Henry had borrowed from work.

‘Are you bringing this?’ Diana held up the chipped garden gnome with a wheelbarrow Leo had bought her at a school jumble sale when he was eight.

‘Do I have to?’ It had been a sweet gesture then but now it reminded her of lost innocence.

‘He’ll be offended if you don’t.’

Gemma doubted he’d notice. It had been hidden among the weeds in the front garden for years. ‘OK, load it up.’

Diana passed it to Henry who was standing in the back of the van with Leo. ‘You almost forgot him.’

Leo took the little figure, a childlike grin appearing on his face. ‘You found Doc. Wow! I’d forgotten about him. Mum, look!’

It was the first time he’d deigned to speak to her in anything but grunts for days. ‘You bought it for me as a Mother’s Day present, remember?’

‘Yeah. He’s so bad he’s sick! He’s going in our front garden in the new place, right?’

Her grumpy feelings towards the gnome vanished as it had proved a bridge to her son. ‘Of course. We can hardly leave without our good luck charm, could we?’

Henry jumped down to the pavement. ‘Ready?’

‘Can we drop the key at the letting agent?’

‘No problem. Let’s get the show on the road.’

By midday they were turning into the castle drive. Gemma was repeating a little prayer that the landlord had been as good as his word. Pulling up at the cottage, her heart sank. The upper-storey window was still boarded up and the ivy running wild. Leo, however, was so eager to plant Doc in his new home that he ignored all the negative signs.

‘Where do you think, Mum? Hey, someone has put a pot of flowers on the step. That’s nice. Let’s put him in there.’

Taking the pot as encouragement, Gemma got out and fished the key from the old upside-down flowerpot, left as arranged. She opened the door. Thank God, the cleaners had been. The room looked very empty as all the old furniture had been taken away and only the barest minimum of new pieces put in their place. She forgave the landlord that because there was a row of salmon pink geraniums on the window ledge.

‘I’ll just look upstairs,’ she told Leo. ‘Check it’s habitable.’

‘Hey, Mum, there’s a note.’ Leo picked it off the draining board where it had been wedged under a mug.

Gemma opened the envelope.

Dear Ms Whitehall

I apologise that the window has not yet been mended and no start made on updating the electrics. I have met with some unavoidable delays. However, I hope you’ll find it in reasonable state. Expect the builder next week to start work. I’m looking into broadband but the nearest connection is in the village and I have no record of a land line to any of the castle cottages. It might be prohibitively expense at this stage to arrange for a hook up. I’m using my mobile signal to access the internet but admittedly the reception isn’t great. This might be the best solution for the moment.

I’ll call by later this week to check you’ve got everything.

Sam Ranworth

How was she going to break the news to Leo? She didn’t have a generous data package with her mobile provider and she had next to no bars on her phone in any case. Delaying that moment, she headed upstairs. At least the tread on the third stair had been replaced. Opening the doors to the bedrooms she found them spotless but spartan. They needed decorating and her room was dark thanks to the boarded pane. Still, Sam Ranworth was right: it was habitable, if you weren’t fourteen and had a life that revolved around being able to go online. She had to sort that out first if she was going to make a success of this move.

‘Let’s unpack,’ she announced cheerfully for the benefit of her companions. ‘Then I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

Diana and Henry left after lunch. On the driveway, Henry had assured her with his professional judgement that the cottage was sound, despite its age. The cabling was passable if not up to modern standards so she need not worry about killing herself when she plugged in the kettle. The plumbing was OK but the downstairs loo was in need of complete refurbishment to be the least inviting. He knew people if the landlord didn’t.

After waving them off, Gemma sensed that showdown time with Leo was fast approaching but she pretended all was fine. The first thing she unpacked was her box of history books and novels. There was a sturdy shelf unit built in beside the fire which held them all. They looked great there, much better than on the flimsy Ikea bookcase in the old house. Gemma took that as a good sign. She tended to like modern history but maybe she should get something about medieval castles, do a little research on where she now lived? Her Open University course, one she had yet to finish as she was very slow in accumulating credits, didn’t cover that.

‘Mum?’

Uh-oh.

‘Mum?’ Leo wandered into the living room, phone held out in front of him. ‘What’s the broadband password?’

She cleared her throat. ‘There isn’t one.’

‘What!’

‘You’ll have to use our mobile data allowance but go easy on that. The contract only allows us five hundred megabytes – a couple of YouTube videos and we’ll exhaust it.’

Leo stared at her, aghast. Yes, that was the perfect word. If she hadn’t realised how serious this was to him she would’ve laughed at his expression. It could be a meme – Modern Deprived Child.

‘I can’t stay here.’ Leo looked panicked.

‘I’ll sort it out with the landlord as soon as possible, Leo. You can live offline for a few days, surely? Go and explore the village for example?’

‘Is there a café with internet?’ he asked hopefully.

She remembered the zombie apocalypse streets. Unlikely. But she didn’t need to be the bearer of bad news. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you look while I send a message to the landlord about it? Oh, and remember to keep out of the castle gardens – he’s renovating them so they’re a building site.’

The door banged on her last words. Gemma sighed. At least he was outside.

Chapter 8

Sam wheeled the barrow of manure to the flowerbed by the car park. He was concentrating on doing quick makeovers to the parts of the garden visitors saw first and had decided on a colourful border on the path between parking and the drawbridge. He was hoping to finish preparing the ground today as he had a mechanical hedge cutter coming on Monday, which should allow him to begin to make inroads to the overgrown parts of the formal gardens close to the keep. He was content to let the parkland gardens run wild for another year. Take back control little by little. A lesson in life if ever there was one.

Tipping the contents onto the freshly dug earth, he eased out the spade from where he had planted it and began to work in the manure. Hazel poles at the back, maybe, with a rambling rose? Herbs, rosemary, lilies, periwinkles, heartsease which could spread out into the lawn? Perhaps he should do some research, visit local gardens to get ideas for what grew well locally? He wished he had more time to do these things; he wasn’t that keen on the study he knew he should do into the history of the place but he really enjoyed seeing solutions other gardeners had come up with in comparable situations.

His back was beginning to protest. Sam unbuttoned his shirt but didn’t take it off: his dad had drilled it in to him that gardeners were more sensible than builders. William had been thinking of keeping up a certain standard of decency but his advice applied as well to the avoidance of sunstroke and skin cancer. Reminded of his duties, Sam checked the app he’d installed on his phone. Dad, if he’d remembered to keep his phone on him, was shown to be inside where he’d left him for his post-lunch snooze.

A message flashed up.

Can we talk about getting broadband through a landline? Mobile signal is really bad in gatehouse. Gemma