Page 4 of A Family Affair
Thankfully, she was quickly let off the hook by Ernie. ‘It’s all taken care of, don’t worry. Our Beryl didn’t have much, nothing that’s worth ’owt. I’ve been round and taken her personal belongings and some knick-knacks, vases, paintings, and stuff. You can have a look through when you get time.’
Now Honey really did feel bad, imagining her grandad having to empty drawers and bag up his sister’s clothes. Then Ernie offered more information.
‘Mrs Taylor from next door did the honours with Beryl’s what-nots, you know, the stuff in her wardrobes. She’s taking most of it down to the Sally Army once she’s had a root through.’ He drained his cup and then slid it forwards, which meant he needed a refill.
Relief flooded Honey as she said a private thank you to Mrs T for being a good neighbour and friend to Aunty Beryl, and for getting Honey off the hook.
‘And I’ve found a clearance firm to shift the furniture and heavy stuff, so this is your last chance to say if you want ’owt. They’re coming next week then it’s going on the market. I’m not buggering about doing it up. If someone wants it, they can have it as it is.’
Ernie stood. ‘Right, I need to use the bathroom,’ and tapping the menu, ‘I’ll have the shepherd’s pie special and apple crumble for afters, custard please. Back in a mo.’
Honey watched him weave around the tables, nodding good naturedly if anyone caught his eye but avoiding conversation where possible. He wasn’t what you’d call a chatty man.
Gathering the crockery, Honey headed into the kitchen and called out her grandad’s order to Gospel who was busy with the last of the lunchtime prep.
‘Is it for Ernie?’ Gospel smiled as he spoke, in fact, Honey often thought her good friend and colleague never stopped spreading his own brand of happiness. There was even a hint of happy in his voice where the lilt of the Caribbean was slowly being twisted by the vowels of northern England.
‘Yes, so a big portion and same with the pudding, or you’ll be in trouble.’ As Honey turned she heard Gospel chuckle, a deep throaty sound that she’d come to love.
Taking up her position at the counter, front of house being her favourite place, she thought of her dear aunty who she’d miss. Another hole in Honey’s life that would be hard to fill.
She’d only been back to the house once, days after Beryl’s ‘good death’ as Ernie had put it. Tucked up in bed with a Mills & Boon, half a mug of cocoa and three shortbread biscuits, she’d taken a bite out of one, then nodded off and slipped away.
It had freaked Honey out, being in Aunty Beryl’s spick-and-span terraced home. It just wasn’t the same without her there. The usually polished surfaces were dusty. The bright flowery furnishings – even her pale pink velour armchair – looked dull, saggy, and sad. The horse and cart in the print above the mantelpiece seemed to be even more stuck in the river, like they’d given up the ghost. And when the carriage clock below chimed the hour, instead of sayingtime for tea, Honey heard it say,time to say goodbye.The house had dimmed, as though Beryl had turned down the lights before she left.
Honey knew there and then she would never go back. Not if she could help it.
Growing up, Honey had spent a lot of time at her Aunty Beryl’s. It had been a warm and cosy environment away from her own home. There, the atmosphere had, more often than not, been cold and tumultuous.
Aunty Beryl was the matriarch of the McCarthy family, an indomitable force who, in the absence of an errant husband, put everyone else first. She glued them all together. To Honey, her aunt was storybook perfect. She stepped in when things were bad at home, and when her mum had to work, and her dad was having ‘trouble coping.’
School holidays were spent at Aunty Beryl’s. Sleepovers, baking and sewing, taking picnics to the park and coach trips to the coast. Southport, Cleveleys, and St Annes. Honey was always the youngest on the trip by about fifty years, but she never minded. Had she not gone along, Beryl would have been without a partner, and that would’ve made Honey sad. She knew what that felt like: being the girl on the school trip who was looking out of the window and ignoring the empty seat by her side.
Seeing her grandad on approach, she heeded the call from Gospel saying Ernie’s lunch was ready. By the time Honey had nipped into the kitchen and delivered a plate of steaming shepherd’s pie to his table, her grandad was seated and unfolding his cutlery from the paper napkin.
‘Here you go, Grandad, enjoy.’ The look of pleasure on his face as he examined his lunch filled Honey’s heart. ‘I’ll have to get on, so I’ll leave you to eat in peace. Give me a shout if you need anything, okay?’
Ernie gave her a nod and was about to tuck in when he looked up, an expression of remembering something important caused Honey to stall. ‘I meant to say, there’s a box, for you, in my car.’ Having spoken, Ernie got on with eating while Honey was left curious.
‘What do you mean, a box? Who from?’
A swallow, a loud tut, then Ernie answered. ‘Mrs Taylor found it in the spare bedroom. In the wardrobe. All taped up. Got a big sticker on it saying it’s for you. It’s in the boot. Looks like our Beryl saved some bits and bobs just for you. I’ll put it in your car before I go.’
Honey wasn’t shocked exactly, more touched that her aunty had taken the time to put things aside for her. Swallowing down the big lump that was obstructing her throat, and the threat of tears, she managed a wobble of her head before turning. Heading to the counter, her place of safety, Honey stood behind her barricade, waiting for the heat in her cheeks to subside.
And if she’d wanted to ponder on the contents of her bequests, the dingle of the doorbell, and the arrival of Lizzy in a flap, followed by two customers, put paid to that. There would be time later. And then all would be revealed.
CHAPTER3
LEVI
Never again. Bloody never again. That’s what Levi told himself as he bashed open the pub door. He bashed it so hard that the heel of his hand throbbed as he marched across the almost-deserted hilltop carpark, yanked open his car door and as soon as his bottom hit the seat, slammed it shut.
Bloody well never again, bloody well ever!
God, he was so angry. And humiliated. What a prize pillock he was. Being lured – yeslured– to the back of bloody beyond to meet a woman who, if truth be told, he wasn’t even that interested in. She wasn’t even his type! Not in the flesh. On her photos she’d looked pretty, in a groomed and understated way. Long dark hair, minimal make-up, nice smile, some kind of flowery blouse.
When Wendy walked in, he didn’t even recognise her. It was only when she tottered over to the table, giving him a ‘who cares about personal space when we’ve spoken three times online’ too-long-hug, that he realised yep, this is your date.
