Page 55 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘It’s wet. There’s a fair few hills too. But what we were talking about before? There’s not much of a scene, eh?’
‘Well, that’s where someone like Stu can help. You know where the action is, don’t you Stu?’ My brother-in-law is sliding pizzas off their foam bases onto oven racks with all the diligence of an untrained ape. ‘Stu’s been away. He was in Sydney for a while but he’s from here. He knows the Lakes well enough.’
‘So, where is the action? I haven’t found it yet.’
‘The Brewery. Back in the day,’ replies Stu.
‘I didn’t get that vibe.’
‘Maybe it’s died down a bit since I was last here but always guaranteed action there.’
Tim nods, a bit suspicious. I mill about clearing up the detritus from the girls’ dinners and try to distract myself so I won’t say or do anything untoward. I look over as Stu is trying to rearrange shelves in my oven. There’s a hint of his pants poking up from his jeans and a flash of crack.
‘I mean if you want the more hardcore party stuff then I’d head down to Blackpool,’ mentions Stu. ‘Me and some of my mates were thinking of heading down next weekend – welcome to join us?’
Tim seems surprised that the invitation is so forthcoming but it’s very Stu to be inclusive and matey. Unlike Danny, who verges on hermit status with his unwillingness to socialise, Stu is one of those people who throws parties and sends out Facebook invites to all, just telling them to bring tinnies and a bag of sharing crisps. I study all the litter left out on the kitchen table.
‘Did you give Polly pizza too?’
‘I gave her the crusts to gnaw on, she quite liked them, then she had some yoghurts for pud.’
Nutritional requirements fulfilled for the day then. Tim looks impressed that Stu’s been involved in some house husbandry. From the contents of the bin though, it would seem that pudding was a whole six-pack of Petits Filous. I don’t critique him knowing that even though he is serving his penance, he also does this without payment or complaint.
‘So, what do you do Stu?’ Tim asks.
‘This and that…’
‘He’s in-between jobs.’ Stu gives me a look. It’s a classic line that Gill would dole out to protect her son’s integrity even though I know her son isn’t hugely bothered at all. We can class it however we like. He’s a free spirit, biding his time, finding the best fit, but there was always a sense that he had no affinity to anything in particular. His time and space was his own and he wasn’t bound by the chains of what was socially required of him. I know Danny was vaguely jealous of the freedom that came with that, whereas to me, I wondered if it wasn’t all a bit selfish, where he was only out for himself.
‘Back in Kendal for my pa’s birthday celebrations but thinking ahead, might head down to Chamonix for ski season – plenty of money to be made out there chalet-hosting.’
I think the problem is that all this flitting about also makes Stu sound a bit thick. He lives for the adventure but he is admittedly the smartest person I knew bar my doctor sister. He has degrees in philosophy and law and can speak at least four languages fluently. In another world, he was a high-flying litigator with holiday homes on each continent. That said, he’s still trying to figure out the controls on my oven. That’s the grill, Stu.
‘So, not back to Sydney then?’ I ask him, realising we’ve not really had the conversation about his next move.
‘Been there, done that. Need a change. My pal can get me a decent gig. And as Danny will tell you, it’s a hotbed of action down there.’
I cringe a little. One, he’s brought Danny into the conversation but he’s also referring to what I call my husband’s underground years. Back when he was young, a bit more reckless and had the freedom to get in a car with Rufus and Rowan, head for the slopes, snowboard on their own crudely made boards, eat raclette, and get wasted out of their faces. The first I heard about these good old days was at my wedding, as part of Rufus’ best man speech.
‘Sounds cool,’ adds Tim.
Or not. If the stories are anything to go by, when the younger brother Morton was of age, he got dragged into the debauchery. To me, it’d be like going back to the scene of a crime. I am all too aware that talk has also gone over to matters of a sexual nature and I need to swing things back to something more neutral. I get some plates out. Plates are very neutral. And napkins.
‘So, Tim…I’m under no illusion that you’re up here for the work experience but any idea what your next step is?’
I sound like an old aunt. Tim takes a sip from his glass and smiles.
‘No idea. You know what it’s like…journalism work is thin on the ground but maybe a bigger city next, editorial on a magazine. Problem is so much is digital these days. London would be good…which is why this Mintcake story is quite appealing, you know? It’s different. If I get an angle on it then it’s good for the resumé.’
Darn it, my deflection attempts did not work at all. Balls. Stu’s ears have pricked up at the mention of Mintcake. I stare at the back of his head. How good will he be at playing along here?
‘What’s this then? A story about mint cake? Sounds a bit dull, sorry…’
‘Nope…Basically, there’s a man/woman we think lives in the Lakes who is making a living out of drawing erotic art under the pseudonym Captain Mintcake. We’re trying to uncover who it is.’
Stu turns his nose up. ‘Sounds like a bit of a wrong’un. Plenty of them live around these parts I’d say.’
Well played Stu. You called your own brother a wrong’un, but I think he’d forgive you that.
