‘We knew that wank— waste of space Don Green always got pi— drunk,’ said Steve, trying to mind his Ps and Qs in front of the older Millers. ‘So we waited for
him.’
‘And sure enough, out of the pub he comes,’ whispered Perry, milking the drama. ‘Drunk as a lord at ten past eleven. And laying in wait for him by the edge of Pogley Top Woods
and the Stripe are our heroes Steve and Guy.’ Then he started giggling like a schoolboy. It was an infectious sound and set Floz off.
‘And Steve puts the bag . . .’ began Grainne.
‘No, Gron, you’re telling the story too quickly!’ admonished Perry. ‘So, they see Donald Green coming and just as he’s in the place where they found the kitten,
Guy, clad in Juliet’s coat, roars like a lion and grabs Donald Green from behind. And Steve covers the villain of the piece with the binliner and they push him in the ditch. It’s only a
spit of water, like I said – couldn’t drown a man, but I think his trousers were distinctly wet by the time he crawled out. And even today, Donald Green is convinced that he was
attacked by the Beast of Pogley. He felt the giant cat’s fur, you see. He even got a story printed about it in the
Chronicle
. Obviously he didn’t tell them the part about trying
to drown the kitten.’
‘He ended up giving some money to the RSPCA,’ added Grainne. ‘Allegedly he still sleeps with the light on.’
‘I don’t think he’s been that way home from the pub since,’ giggled Perry.
‘What a funny story,’ said Floz, giving the old cat a scratch on his head. He really was an ugly creature with his club paws and a greying face, so odd that he was utterly endearing
and she could understand why the family loved him so much. Stripies had lived like a king since he entered the Miller portals. He laid claim to the best armchair, ate fresh salmon every Saturday
for his tea and he repaid them with the odd knee-sitting, lick and dismembered fieldmouse. He was part of the furniture and no one doubted he would be there forever. Floz thought that Stripies had
known more love than a lot of people in this world.
‘Do you want a hand, son?’ called Grainne in the direction of the kitchen.
‘No, I’m fine,’ came back the big bass tones of Guy, just before a clatter of tins and a string of expletives that made everyone swap raised eyebrows.
‘Thank goodness we got a taxi – this Rioja is superb. Well done, Dad!’ said Juliet, filling up her glass.
Perry gave her a big squeeze and looked at her in such a way that tears blindsided Floz. It cost her a lot of eye-blinking to force them back.
‘To the table, boys and girls,’ called Grainne.
Perry Miller crooked his arm towards his guest and Floz smiled and threaded her glass-free hand through it. She really had better slow down on the alcohol. This bonhomie was almost painful with
its sweetness, although there was always Guy to redress the balance. He made a red-faced entrance carrying a pot of vegetables. He nodded a hello to Floz, barely hunting eye-contact. She prayed he
wasn’t sitting next to her at the table, or worse – directly across from her. Luckily, when they took their places, she was to find that Guy was heading for the opposite end of the
table. She was seated next to Perry and across from Steve and his cheery face.
‘You are in for such a treat now,’ said Juliet, leaning over the table to Floz. ‘Guy is a superb cook.’
Minutes later, the table groaned from the bacchanalian feast of burned honeyed parsnips, cauliflower with an eye-watering Stilton and bacon sauce, sloppy sage mash, baby carrots drowning in
butter, over-cooked asparagus, under-cooked sprouts and pine-nuts, liquidy horseradish cream, ultra-thick onion gravy that could have been served in slices, and Yorkshire puddings . . . or were
they pancakes? It was as if a three-year-old had got hold of a
Masterclass
recipe book.
‘Sorry, folks,’ apologized Guy. ‘It . . . er . . .’
‘Oh, not to worry,’ encouraged Perry. ‘It all looks jolly fine to me. Tuck in, everyone.’ He speared a Yorkshire pudding which was so brittle it shattered over the table
en route to his plate.
The beef was good, Guy told himself. Even if it was the only thing that was. He couldn’t have been more nervous if he had been cooking for the Sultan of Brunei. In fact, it was worse
because he didn’t fancy the Sultan of Brunei. And the Sultan of Brunei hadn’t been told what a fantastic cook he was with a reputation he sadly had not lived up to on this occasion. He
could have died of embarrassment.
‘It’s great stuff.’ Steve stuck his thumb up at Guy and took a forkful of beef. ‘Chuffing hell, Guy, that’s a fine cut of bull.’
Guy was fidgeting in his seat like Shakin’ Stevens, which made Steve want to laugh. If only Floz knew what was making him so nervous.
‘When’s your next wrestling bout?’ asked Juliet. ‘Get us a couple of tickets and Floz and I will come and watch you.’
‘It’s on Tuesday in the Centennial Rooms. I’ve managed to persuade Guy to fight again because we’re a man down.’
‘Okay, we’ll be there,’ said Juliet, taking it as read that Floz would want to go too. She felt her new friend needed cheering up a wee bit.
‘Do you come from around here then, Floz?’ said Grainne.
Floz finished chewing on a carrot and nodded. ‘Higher Hoppleton, originally,’ she said.
‘Oh, you’re posh then,’ Steve winked at her across the table.
‘Ignore him,’ sniffed Juliet. ‘He wouldn’t know posh if it shoved an olive up his arse.’
‘Juliet Miller, you watch your language at my table.’ Grainne waved her fork at her daughter.
‘Are your parents from Higher Hoppleton, Floz?’ asked Perry.
‘Dad was, Mum was from York.’
‘You must have gone to Penistone High then,’ Steve deduced, nearly breaking his tooth on a parsnip.
‘No, we moved around a lot. Dad’s a Brigadier in the Army.’
‘Ah, that’s why you have that lovely silky accent,’ smiled Grainne.
That also explained why Floz didn’t seem to have any close mates, thought Juliet. She’d once worked alongside the daughter of another military man who had told her how a life of
being uprooted every few years had affected her ability to make solid and lasting friendships.
‘How come you settled back in Barnsley then?’
‘I went to Uni in Leeds and I . . . er . . . met my ex-husband there. He was from Barnsley.’
‘And you liked it so much, you stayed?’ said Perry.
‘More or less,’ said Floz.
‘And where are your parents living now?’ asked Perry.
‘Stop interrogating the girl.’ Grainne told her husband off.
‘No, it’s okay,’ said Floz. She didn’t mind. She was flattered that they were taking an interest in her. At this light, non-intrusive level anyway. ‘They retired to
France.’
‘Do you see much of them, then?’ asked Grainne.
‘No, not really,’ replied Floz, feeling the first prickles of discomfort. She knew that a family who were as close as the Millers were to each other would not be able to understand
her own family set-up. Juliet and Guy were so obviously products of a loving couple, not an unwanted bombshell of a by-product.
‘Oh, that’s such a shame,’ said Grainne. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but to Floz’s great relief, Steve hijacked the course of the conversation.
‘So, how’s life living with our Juliet then?’
Floz saw Juliet suck in a deep breath of annoyance. She bet her life she was thinking, How dare he refer to me as
our
?
‘It’s good. We get on really well. I hope.’ She looked to Juliet for confirmation. Juliet was eating a mouthful of sprouts and nodded vehemently.
‘Rather you living with her than me with all those sprouts she’s just eaten,’ joked Steve.
‘Steven,’ Grainne admonished him with a steely look from her grey eyes.
Steve burst into laughter, Perry was chortling, Grainne was stifling a giggle, Floz was smiling – only Juliet, looking murderous, and Guy, preoccupied, didn’t join in on the joke.
Guy just wanted to rewind the clock and start cooking this meal again. Actually if he could rewind the clock, a better option would be to push the hands of time back to the day when he first walked
in on Floz. This really was the most pants meal in history. Could it get any worse?
Steve stretched across the table to reach the black pepper. His sleeve pulled up and revealed the end of the snake tattoo on his arm.
‘I’m going to get a tattoo done,’ said Juliet, seeing it.
‘What do you want one of those for?’ asked Guy. ‘They’re horrible on women.’
From the way Floz dropped her eyes to her food and gulped, Guy just
knew
that Floz must have one.
Oh God!
He heard the slow toll of another dropped clanger.
‘What are you two doing for your birthdays this year?’
‘Bloody hell, Mum, that’s over two months away,’ laughed Juliet.
‘I was just wondering if you were having a party for your thirty-fifth, because it’s a mini-milestone, isn’t it? You’ll need to get somewhere booked if you haven’t
already. It’s Bonfire Night, remember.’
‘Wow, Mum,’ gasped Juliet with mock astonishment. ‘I’d totally forgotten we were born on November the fifth. Thank you for reminding us.’
‘Ooh, will you be getting those Chinese fireworks again, Steven?’ asked a delighted Perry.
‘Jesus, I hope not,’ huffed Juliet. ‘They have to be illegal. You could hear them going off in Russia. I bet they thought we were launching a nuclear attack on them.’
‘I’ll get some, no worries,’ grinned Steve. ‘I’m seeing Robber Johnny and Billy the Spark next week, so I’ll get some ordered.’
‘Does everyone you know have a daft name?’ tutted Juliet.
Perry clapped his hands together like an excited child. ‘What was that huge one called, that we had at the end? It was magnificent. Spread across the sky like a blanket, so it
did.’
‘ “The Big Bugger”,’ said Steve proudly. ‘What a magnificent beast he was.’
‘Aye, that was it. “The Big Bugger”.’ Perry heaved a fond sigh as if he had just been talking about a favourite grandchild.
‘Closet arsonists!’ Juliet levelled at them. ‘What is it about men and fire?’
‘You’ll have to tell us what you want. I have not a clue what to buy you both these days,’ said Grainne.
‘I don’t know what I want for my birthday this year,’ mused Juliet.
Guy wanted Floz for his birthday. Naked. Underneath him and screaming out his name. He had just over two months to make that happen.
‘And of course we all know what Guy will be getting for his birthday,’ smiled Grainne.
‘What?’ he gulped. For a moment there, he thought his mother had just seen the film reel of imaginary sex playing in his head.
‘Your own restaurant, son,’ laughed his mother. ‘Cheers!’ Everyone followed suit and toasted Guy and his new venture.
‘And the very best of luck with that, Guy,’ said Perry, raising his glass towards his son. ‘But I wish you’d—’
‘No,’ returned Guy quickly and firmly. His dad had been trying to give him some money towards buying the restaurant. Guy was fiercely independent and had refused it time and time
again. He had enough finances in place to take over Burgerov – he didn’t need his parents’ money for it. Kenny had given him the deal of the century. He obviously needed to get
away fast for some reason.
‘When do you think you’ll take over?’ asked Juliet.
‘I’m aiming to complete all the paperwork by mid-November at the latest, but it’ll be shut for at least a couple of months whilst the builders gut the place. I reckon
I’ll be up and running by Valentine’s Day.’
Guy bit down on a parsnip and nearly broke his jaw. It really was an appalling lunch. And there he was talking about opening his own restaurant. Today he had made Varto’s cooking look
edible.
‘What are you going to call it?’ Floz asked timidly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Guy, looking at her and feeling his heart sigh. Her eyes were so very large and green. He ripped his attention away from her before he started blushing
like a daft teenager, and addressed the table: ‘Any ideas, anyone?’
‘Anything but Burgerov!’ said Steve. ‘Where the hell did Kenny get that name from?’
‘He was trying to be funny. I think it was a message to the Tax Office,’ Guy replied, rubbing his jaw.
‘Well, I hope he isn’t leaving to become a stand-up comedian,’ said Perry.
‘No, Dad, he’s leaving to become a professional sunbather.’
‘You’ll have to make the place your own and call it something nice,’ mused Grainne. ‘What about “Guy’s”?’
‘Very original, Gron,’ nodded Perry. ‘You really have missed your calling in the advertising world.’
Grainne gave her husband a well-humoured frown.
‘Will you make a lot of changes?’ asked Juliet. ‘And will we get freebies?’
‘I might throw you the odd bread roll, Ju. And yes – oh boy, I most certainly will make a lot of staff changes,’ replied Guy.
‘I bet you don’t get rid of that Gina,’ winked Juliet. ‘She’s got the hots for you.’
‘It’s not reciprocated,’ said Guy quickly, for Floz’s sake.
Floz noted the way he said that and interpreted it as an extra sign that women weren’t his favourite beings.
‘She’s always mooning over you whenever I’ve been in,’ teased Juliet and launched into an exaggerated impersonation of Gina. ‘ “Oh Guy, will you just help me
stir this egg. Oh Guy, will you just help me cut this carrot. Oh Guy, will you just fondle my . . .” ’
‘Okay okay,’ growled Guy. ‘I get the point.’
‘Ooo-eeerrr. Touchy!’
‘She’s a good worker,’ said Guy. ‘That’s all.’
‘So you won’t be getting rid of her?’ Juliet folded a slice of meat into her mouth.
‘No.’
‘I rest my case,’ his minx of a sister mumbled smugly.
Guy was going to start another protest but Juliet was a master at contorting things so he decided to leave it. His sister would have made an excellent barrister with her quick – if evil
– wit. He just hoped that he had made the point clear to Floz that he didn’t fancy Gina in the slightest.
‘I hear you’re going to be patching Juliet’s crack this week, Steven,’ said Grainne, not knowing why everyone suddenly started to shove their napkins in their mouths.