Page 57 of All Summer Long

‘What’s going on?’ she said, looking past him towards the drive of the manor.

‘You better ask my mother,’ Ewan mumbled, shrugging his bony shoulders.

Robinson caught up with them, pulling on his t-shirt as he walked. Alice swallowed hard, wondering wretchedly if that was the last time she’d get to behold the beauty of him.

‘Alice!’ Hazel shouted. ‘Come and see what I’ve got for you!’

Robinson’s hand stole around her waist as she walked, warm and reassuring.

‘This could be about to get interesting,’ he said as Marsh popped out of the manor in a burst of denim and Cuban heels, and Alice could hear laughter behind his tone.

‘Get that thing out of the way!’ Marsh shouted, waving his hands at Hazel.

Hazel glanced at him and then seemed to decide not to acknowledge him. She practically bounced towards Alice instead and grabbed her hands and clutched them excitedly.

‘Isn’t it fabulous,’ she gushed, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Do you love it?’

Alice looked at the beautiful, ornate bottle-green gypsy caravan currently blocking the exit from Borne Manor and fell instantly in love. Rambling flowers covered the intricately painted panels, their colours prettily weathered by the years and country living. Its big wooden cartwheels were a faded cherry red and the stable door was half open revealing a gauzy lace net fluttering in the warm breeze.

‘Where’s it come from, Hazel?’ she breathed. There’s no way someone would give something this beautiful away. It was going to be way out of her budget and she was missing it already.

‘Now there’s a story,’ Hazel said, taking Alice by the hand and leading her towards the caravan. ‘My mother’s sister’s husband’s uncle was Romany, see? Well, he had a son, and that son had a daughter who I grew up with as close as sisters, even though she was a cousin. Starling, her name is. She’s never liked it, goes as Stephanie, but I always thought it was romantic.’

Alice frowned, trying heroically to follow Hazel’s complicated family history.

Over by the house, Marsh stood on the top step and clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention.

‘Lovely as this is, folks, you’re blocking the exit and I need out of Toy Town! Robinson, get over here and get in the cab or we’re gonna miss that bird.’ He shot his arm into the air to mimic the take-off of the plane he fully intended them to be on.

Robinson shrugged his shoulders helplessly and laughed, sitting down on a sawn-off tree trunk. ‘Things around here never go quite to plan, Marsh.’

‘Anyway,’ Hazel said loudly, shooting daggers at Marsh for interrupting her flow. ‘Starling married a man called Defiance Loveridge, right smarmy rick he was, all jet black Brylcreem quiff and dirty fingernails to match. I never liked being left alone with him and his clammy, wandering hands.’ Hazel shuddered and curled her lip. ‘So of course he’s gone and took up with some flighty piece in Ireland with her own static caravan, leaving Starling with this on the drive of her council house,’ she gestured at the caravan, ‘and Banjo to deal with.’

‘He played the banjo?’ Alice said, completely lost.

‘No, darling!’ Stewie’s voice carried suddenly around from behind the caravan. ‘This beauty here is Banjo.’

Alice crunched across the gravel and found Stewie in ill-advised leather trousers, a silky black wig and no shirt, clearly channelling his inner gypsy as he held on to the bit of the largest and most magnificent black and white shire horse Alice had ever encountered.

‘Give him a sugar lump,’ Stewie said, managing by some miracle to pull one out of his skintight trouser pocket. ‘He loves them.’

‘I didn’t know you were a horseman, Stewie.’

Stewie nodded and looked off into the middle distance as he adjusted his red bandana. ‘One of my earliest movies was a remake of the classic Dick Turnip.’

‘Turpin,’ Alice corrected him automatically.

‘Oh, no. This was a turnip all right,’ Stewie said, puffing his chest out. ‘Along with a ruddy great bunch of carrots and an eye-wateringly large cucumber, if my memory serves me correctly.’

Alice could feel her shoulders starting to shake. Marsh was still yelling in the background and windmilling his arms around, apoplectic at being out of control, and two of Ewan’s equally goth mates from the village appeared, attracted by the noise. They sat on the low wall around the front lawn like the three stooges, watching proceedings keenly with their dark ringed eyes and gangly limbs.

The taxi driver got out of the car and looked at Marsh.

‘This is all on the clock, JR,’ he said, sparking up a cigarette and leaning against the bonnet of his car.

‘You can squeeze past it!’ Marsh shouted, as if just saying it would make the non-existent space between the caravan and the gateposts wider.

‘How did it get here?’ Alice asked in wonder.

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