Sign of the Times (27 page)

Chapter Forty

“Brrrrrrr,” trilled Carl’s alarm.
 
He groaned and turned over.
 
Luce was still beside him.
 
He wondered if she had taken the day off.
 
That was the problem being your own boss.
 
You could choose when to take time off, but you never did.

As he stirred sugar into his coffee, Carl noticed the holiday brochures he’d picked up, lying on the table.
 
He scribbled a note to Lucy asking her to ring him.

Carl sat at his desk composing the menu.
 
He wanted the courses to complement each other.
 
Not too vast nor too restrictive.
 
Carrot cake with lime mascarpone.
 
There.
 
Carl surveyed his efforts and was quietly pleased with himself.
 
He felt he’d struck the right balance.
 
In the brasserie, he would simplify the wording.
 
It wouldn’t do to flummox customers.

The flooring was being laid today.
 
Just what Carl needed.
 
After locking himself in his office, he printed out acceptance and rejection letters for the recent interviews he’d held.
 
He needed to get some fresh air.
 
As soon as the guys started hammering, he’d make a sharp exit.

By late afternoon, he was feeling better.
 
He decided to take Lucy out for dinner.
 
He hadn’t been to Pecorino for ages.

“Hello, is Beppe there please?” Carl asked.

“Speaking.”

“Beppe.
 
It’s Carl.
 
How you doing?”

“Carl, my old friend.
 
I am well. You?”

“Busy preparing for the restaurant opening.”

“Fantastic news.
 
I hope to hear all about it soon.”

“I realise it’s very short notice, but do you have a table for two tonight.”

“Carl, for you, of course.
 
What time would you prefer?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock it is.”

“Thanks a lot, Beppe.
 
Hopefully we can have a chat after dinner.”

“Absolutely.
 
I am here until closing tonight.”

“See you then and thanks again.”

“Bye Carl.”

“I’d love to go to Pecorino.
 
What time?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Great, see you at home,” Lucy said.

“That was delicious, Beppe, as always, even if we do come here less than we’d like to,” Carl enthused.

“You still owe me a drink,” Beppe reminded Carl.

“Yes, we must do that.
 
Anyway, you’re invited to the restaurant opening on thirtieth November.”

“Ah, St Andrew’s Day.
 
I will put it in my diary,” Beppe said.

“How was your food?” Carl asked Lucy.

“Mmm. Lovely.”
 
This was praise indeed from Lucy. “Those porcini mushrooms were unbelievable.
 
My risotto never tastes like that.”

Carl spluttered, “Lucy, you don’t cook risotto.”

“Well, if I did cook risotto, it wouldn’t taste like that.”

“You can say that again,” Carl muttered.

“We should go out for dinner more often.”

“We should go out more often full stop,” said Carl.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed, “I flicked through those holiday brochures.
 
My heart’s set on Marangu.”

“Yes, it looks really peaceful, but apparently there’s building work going on.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lucy said. “I don’t fancy paying two thousand pounds each to go and lie on a building site.”

“Me neither,” said Carl.

“Well, why don’t we just go with one of your other options then?”

“Yeah, I’ll look into it.”

A week later, Carl was at the travel agency trying to book his second choice in the Male Atoll.
 
There was more to do there, but it was another five hundred pounds each.
 

Holiday finalised, Carl headed to Princes Square.
 
He had decided he wanted to buy his dad a dress watch.
 
It
was
his seventieth after all.
 
It was turning out to be an expensive day.

Carl arrived at the restaurant, just as the furniture van rolled up.

“I see things are coming along nicely here,” the driver nodded his head towards the restaurant.

“Yes, we’re a little behind schedule, but I’m confident all will be ready for the big day.”

“Carl. It’s me. What did you get Dad?” Izzy was curious.

“A watch,” Carl replied.

“Oh good. I bought him golf stuff.
 
I wanted to check we didn’t get the same thing.”

“What golf stuff?”
 

“How should I know?” his sister replied, “I know bugger all about golf.
 
Sticks, clubs, whatever.
 
I think one’s a driver,” she added knowledgeably.

“Oh right.
 
Well, I’m sure he’ll like them.
 
You did check he doesn’t have this stuff already?”

“Yes, of course.
 
Listen, Flora and I have sorted out the food and drink.”

“Well, we’ll bring a case of wine and some champagne.”

“Ooh, I am looking forward to this party. What does Lucy think?” Izzy was digging.

“She’s, em, looking forward to it too,” Carl managed to spit out.

Izzy laughed, “Carl, you are such a liar.
 
You know she’ll hate every minute.
 
She hates families, especially ours.”

“That’s not true.
 
She just doesn’t
do
families, except Holly.
 
And she and Mum don’t exactly get on, do they?”

“No, in fact, I’ll help keep them apart.
 
Deal?”

“Deal,” Carl was relieved. He had been wondering how to minimise the animosity between the two.
 
It was his dad’s celebration, after all.

“Luce, you ready yet?
 
We’re late.”

“Coming,” Lucy pouted, as she glided down the stairs.
 
She was dressed down today in a white t-shirt, a pair of cargo pants and hiking trainers.
 
Even so, she looked beautiful.
 
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was makeup free.

They reached the Green Welly just before noon.

“It’s a long time since I’ve been here,” Carl’s father said.
 
“It’s all changed.”

Carl agreed.
 
He hadn’t been up this way for a few years. “Hurry up,” he said, indicating the tour bus, which was busy depositing its fifty strong army of pensioners.

 
Bacon rolls and bowls of soup were carried over to a group of melamine tables.
 
It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but it was the place to come, particularly in winter, for some heart-warming food.
 
Lucy didn’t look too impressed, but a glance from Carl warned her not to say anything in front of his mother, who was known for her acerbic tongue where Lucy was concerned.

The others soon poured in and Florence and Harry shrieked in delight, upon seeing their assembled relatives.
 
The adults queued, whilst the little ones hopped up on their grandparents’ laps.
 
Duly fed and watered, they set off again.

As they swung into the grounds of Ardrhu House, their parents gasped.
 
It did look impressive. The grey stone, baronial mansion looked positively stately, with its extensive grounds and its turret.

“I’d love my bedroom to be in a turret,” Izzy breathed.

“It’s so romantic,” Flora gasped.

Flora and Izzy went to see the owner whilst the others milled around.
 
The girls returned shortly afterwards dangling the keys.
 
Everyone wanted to see all of the rooms, so they trailed through each building and finally keys were handed out, once they agreed who would take which room.
 

“What did you think of the conservatory?” their mother asked.

“It’s fantastic,” said Carl.
 
“Very angular.”

“Yes, I can see us sitting in there in the evening.”

“I love the jacuzzi suite,” Jackie said looking at Robert.
 

Their parents had offered the room to Jackie and Robert, as newlyweds.
 
The excitement was evident on Jackie’s face.
 
Carl guessed they’d slip away under the pretext of needing an early night.
 
They agreed to meet in the dining room in half an hour and headed off to get settled in.

An excited babble awaited them in the kitchen where Flora and Izzy were unpacking the shopping.
 
Foie gras, asparagus, goat’s cheese, venison piled into the fridge. They’d spent a fortune, but it would be worth it.
 
Carl had helped compile the list, although he’d left buying it to the girls, well aware he would be heavily contributing to the cooking.
 
He put the wine he’d brought with him and some chocolates on the worktop.

“We’ve put dad’s cake in our fridge,” Izzy whispered.

“Good.
 
What’s for lunch?” he asked tearing open a packet of ham and nibbling a slice.

“Hands off,” Flora smacked his hand away.
 
“We’re making lunch.
 
If you want something now, have an apple.”

“Gee, thanks,” Carl moaned.

“It won’t be long.”

Over lunch they made plans for the weekend. They were keen to explore the local area.
 
On the outskirts of Onich, some of the younger crew fancied doing a Munro.

“We’re meant to be spending time with dad,” Flora said disapprovingly.

“We have plenty of time.
 
If you want to go walking that’s fine.
 
Your mother and I have plans too.”

“That’s right,” their mother piped up.
 
“I’d quite like to go to Inchree Falls.”

“Fair enough,” said Flora.
 
“I don’t mind watching the kids if any of you are keen to take Grant up on his hill-climbing offer.”

The grounds were stunning. There was even a little ornamental pond, where a few ducks bobbed along.
 

“Look, a tennis court,” shouted Izzy.

“Izzy, you don’t play tennis,” said Grant.

“So. I might start now.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m here for a rest,” Flora yawned.

“Lucy, you’ll play, won’t you?”

“Why not?”

Carl was taken aback.
 
Lucy didn’t usually have much time for Izzy.
 
She really was on her best behaviour this weekend, he thought.

They passed the day peacefully in some cases, noisily in others.
 
It was lovely, Carl thought, their being together, yet doing their own thing.
 
Izzy and Lucy were playing tennis.
 
Carl’s parents were sitting outside absorbing the infrequent rays of sunshine.
 
The children were scrambling over the play equipment, with Flora keeping a watchful eye on them and the other adults were relaxing on chairs, reading or listening to music.
 
Carl lay back on his chair, and started to read his new detective novel.
 
He didn’t get much time to read and soon he’d need to make a start on dinner.

“This looks amazing,” Carl’s father said, looking down at his medallions of beef in a Marsala sauce, with parsnip mash.
 
They’d started with smoked salmon and they were finishing with home-made chocolate tortes. Whilst Flora had helped Carl, Lucy had lounged in the sitting room, not lifting a finger.
 
She came through every so often, re-filled her wine glass and returned to the sitting room.
 
Carl sighed.
 
He supposed it was his penance for her being here.
 
She didn’t do these things easily. Maybe he should cut her some slack, but she could at least help a bit.
 
Everyone else was mucking in.

After dinner, the mints came out, then the cheese and port and Trivial Pursuit.
 
Flora put the kids to bed around ten and then the adults really relaxed, sharing stories with each other.
 
Even when they were at their parents’ house it wasn’t quite the same ambience. They were invariably coming from or going somewhere and only had a couple of hours, except at Christmas.
 
Being on holiday was different, special. Carl relaxed fully into the evening and reached for another bottle of wine.

Chapter Forty One

Birdsong woke Carl next morning.
 
That and the sun pouring in through the vast bedroom window.
 
Straining to see the clock, he saw it was seven thirty.
 
If they were going to go up the mountain, they’d best get a move on, as they needed to be back before five, to start making the birthday dinner.
 
He nudged Lucy, “Luce, it’s half seven. You coming on this walk?”

“Uh,” Lucy was sleepy.
 
“Yes, s’pose.”

“Get up then, c’mon.”

Carl washed quickly. No point showering since they were going hill-walking. He’d have a good scrub later. He roused those siblings who’d expressed an interest in hill-walking and after a few gulps of tea and some hastily prepared toast, they set off.
 
At least it was a good day, not overly warm, Carl thought, but then it was still early.
 

“I think we can do it in about six hours,” Grant said.

“C’mon,” Fraser said. “The sooner we start, the sooner we get back.

Buchaille Etive Beag’s Stob Coire Raineach stood at nine hundred and twenty five metres.
 
It was a gruelling walk. The strong sun beat down on them for most of the day.
 
Fortunately Izzy had thought to bring sunscreen with her. They were all glad of it, as they didn’t want to be in their father’s birthday photographs looking like pillar boxes.

“Yay. I’ve done a Munro,” Izzy whooped, dancing druid-like around the cairn. Carl passed sandwiches around, whilst Grant poured some soup out of the vacuum flask and Lucy distributed chocolate.

“This is the life,” Fraser said, as his eyes took in Rannoch Moor and the Aonach Eagach.

“Yup,” Robert agreed.
 
“Look at that view. It’s incredible.”

 
“We’d best head down,” Grant said.
 
Reluctantly the others agreed.
 
When you were up here, Carl thought, you lost all sense of time.

“Happy birthday to you, happy seventieth birthday to you, happy seventieth birthday, dear Daddy,” they all hammed it up, grinning at each other, “happy birthday to you, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray.”

“Now Dad, we figured seventy candles, might bring about a heart attack with the effort of trying to blow them all out,” Flora smiled at her father, “so we thought seven would be sufficient.”

Her father looked at her and then each of his children and the other assembled family members.
 
Drawing breath into his lungs, he promptly exhaled and blew out all of the candles in one go, with a little help from Florence and her cousins.

“Don’t write me off just yet,” their father warned, as he moved back to allow Flora to cut the cake, the kids jumping up and down beside him.

“Me next,” cried Angus.

Cake consumed, they retired to the sitting room with their coffee and liqueurs. Flora and Izzy had gone to a lot of effort to ensure it was a memorable experience, not just for their father, but the whole family.
 
Whilst Izzy had been mountain climbing with her brothers, Flora and Jackie had been decorating the room, with balloons and banners and photographs of all the family.

“We have a surprise for you, Dad.” Flora announced.

“I’m all out of surprises.
 
That was a lovely dinner, Carl,” his father patted his arm affectionately.
 
“That Beef Wellington has to go on your menu.
 
It was delicious.”

“Thanks Dad,” Carl was chuffed.
 
Even as a professional chef of many years standing, a comment like that, from his father still meant the world to him.

“So, what’s this surprise then?” their father asked.

Lucy was busy rigging up a laptop to the plasma screen.
 
Carl pressed the remote control and the first image flashed across the screen.
 
Carl’s commentary commenced.

“This is Dad, aged six months,” a grainy black and white photo of a chubby, pale baby, with a large gummy smile.

“Dad, this is you, at two years,” as a picture of a baby with a chocolate covered babygro came into view.

“Dad starting school.”
 
A little boy appeared with knobbly knees, a grey school cap and a dark wool jersey with the pre-requisite short trousers.

“Dad winning his first game of football at St Machan’s, aged seven.”
 
The slides continued and Carl saw a few tears glistening in their father’s eyes, as he re-visited his past.

When Carl had introduced the last slide, of them all together the day before, their father wiped his eyes and said, “Where did you get all those photos?
 
There are some I haven’t seen for years and others I’ve never seen.”

“Well, we did some digging,” Flora put her arm around her dad, “and we trawled the local newspapers’ archives.”

“Thank you.
 
I’ll treasure this forever.”

His children smiled at him.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Flora said. “Presents.”

“Me first,” Florence said.

“OK, on you go, hen.”

Her grandfather tore off the wrapping paper
,
whilst Florence told him that this present was from her and her cousins.
 
Initially her grandpa was bemused, as he wasn’t quite sure what it was. “It’s a digital photo frame, Grandpa.
 
Look.”
 
Florence switched on the device and instantly, pictures of his grandchildren flooded the screen.
 
Carl saw his father was about to really get emotional, so to save him the embarrassment, he handed him his gift next.

“Thanks, son,” his father said to him in gratitude. “That’s a lovely gift, boys and girls.
 
Grandpa will put that in his living room, so he can see you all the time.”

“It’s from myself and Lucy,” Carl clarified.

“Oh son, that’s lovely.
 
It’s awfully expensive looking though,” he chided.

“Oh, it wasn’t too dear, Dad and you’re only seventy once,” Carl hoped his father would live until his next big celebration.

The present giving continued.
 
The last one opened, their father said, “I’d like to be seventy next year again.
 
Look at all these gifts.
 
You’ve all been very generous. Thank you again for organising this trip.
 
It means a lot to me and your mum,” he eyed his wife lovingly, who smiled.

The celebrations continued, champagne flowed, truffles were eaten and as the evening progressed, they moved on to whisky.
 
After a few more Bunnahabhains than was advisable, pleasantly sozzled, Carl headed for bed.
 
He wasn’t the first to call it a night
,
nor the last, but he had to drive tomorrow and wanted to be fit for it.
 
It was already three thirty.
 
The kids were hounded off to bed at eleven and since then, the adults had deteriorated into having a singsong and the occasional impromptu dance. Throat sore from singing, Carl had decided it was time to call it a night.
 
Lucy, however, remained.
 
She was busy chatting with Jackie, so after a quick kiss on the head, he said he’d see her later. By that, he meant, in the morning, as he was quite sure once he hit the pillow, nothing would wake him.

*

“I’m so glad I’m home,” Carl slumped in the recliner.

“Yes, me too,” agreed Lucy.
 
“Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Yes please and a bacon sarnie, if I’m not pushing my luck.”

Lucy stared at him.
 
Carl never asked her to make anything, unless maybe he’d put new batteries in the smoke alarm.
 
She figured she could handle rolls and bacon though.
 
Feeling magnanimous, she said, “Sure.”
 
Carl reeled from the shock.
 
Bliss.
 
He could just lie here and enjoy the rest of his Sunday.

“Here you go,” Lucy nudged Carl with a plate bearing two bacon rolls, liberally covered in brown sauce.

“Oh thanks Luce. You’re an angel.”

“No problem.
 
Listen, I’m going to go over and see Elisa.”

“OK.
 
I’m just going to veg here, maybe watch Top Gear.”

“Right, well, see you later,” she patted his chest and went to grab her coat from the coat-stand.

“Enjoy,” Carl said, before wolfing down his first bacon roll.

The next night, Lucy was at body combat and Carl was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on some paperwork.

“Hi,” Lucy called.

“Hi. How was your class?” Carl asked from his position under the ensuite sink, which had sprung a leak.

“Good thanks,” Lucy came into the bedroom.

“What’s up?” she stood in the doorway, suffused in a healthy glow, whilst Carl was covered in drips of water
and dust.

“It’s leaking.”

“Not good.
 
OK, I’ll leave you to get on with it.
 
Do you want some wine?”

“I’m OK, thanks.”

“Right. Can I use the water downstairs?”

“Yes,” Carl grunted as he tightened the nut.

“Oh, I have a conference this weekend I forgot about.

“Oh, I thought we could have gone to Il Pescatore on Saturday,” Carl was marginally put out. “Never mind, it’ll keep.”

“Great.”

The Steadings was really taking shape.
 
Six weeks to go.
 
He couldn’t wait.
 
Each room looked just right
.
The colour schemes worked.
 
Each menu was finished and goods had been ordered.
 
Only a few minor details remained and for a change he was ahead of schedule.

*

“I’ll see you late Sunday,” Lucy said to Carl.

“Have a great time,” Carl kissed her.

“It’s a conference, I’m not
meant
to enjoy myself,” she said.

“OK, well enjoy the food.
 
They always feed you well at these things, don’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Lucy agreed.

“Give me a call when you’re at the airport.”

“Will do,” she kissed him lingeringly on the mouth and was gone.

Carl intended to have a quiet weekend.
 
He’d cook, have a few glasses of wine, listen to a bit of music, maybe cut the grass, but basically chill out. He wanted to read a bit more of his book too.

Carl lay on the couch, drinking Rioja and munching on crostini he’d made as a late night snack.
 
He’d just put on Die Hard and plumped up two cushions behind him when the doorbell rang
.
 
Carl was alarmed to see two Strathclyde Police officers in front of him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Carl Summers?” they verified.

“Yes.
 
That’s me.”

“Can we come in, Sir?”

“Yes, of course.
 
Is everything all right
?

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident…”