The Country Escape - Jane Lovering Page 0,37

so I gets final say. If she wants it, job’s there,’ Karen said. ‘We gets really busy in the holidays too, and since Mags moved over to Lyme to look after the grandbabies, there’s not really enough of us. Rory was going to help out, but Neil’s got him working as part of the sound crew over to Steepleton, so he’s a fat lot of use. Mind you, he’d be a fat lot of use in here anyway, you know what lads is like.’

I didn’t really, but Karen’s absolute certainty that I’d know what she was talking about and who the mysterious ‘Mags’ might be didn’t look as though it would take denial well.

‘It would be good for her to get some work experience.’ I held out a fiver, but Karen waved it away.

‘These all pays a good markup, means we can slip the odd bun under the counter, if you see what I mean.’ She nodded at the crowded café. ‘Mind you, Zummat does a good job of clearing up any leftovers.’ She eyeballed the dog sternly. ‘Rory! You make sure you takes Zummat out before you starts your homework. He’s just eaten a full muffin and I don’t want that coming back at three o’clock on the landing, thank you very much.’

‘His name’s Summer, Mum,’ Rory said, slightly plaintively. ‘After the direwolf in Game of Thrones.’

Karen raised an eyebrow. ‘That dog’s no closer to a direwolf than I am,’ she said. ‘His dad’s called Brian and his mum’s Davin’s whippet. He’s zummat or nothin’, that dog, and he always will be. You sit down with your coffee, love, and I’ll come over for a chat. We’re near to closing here, so it’ll get quieter now.’

I sat and drank my coffee and ate the very squishy cake. Summer (or whatever the dog’s name was) came and made pathetic noises near my ankles until Karen came back, when he moved off to hoover crumbs from another table.

‘Hear they’re using your cottage up over the hill there,’ Karen said, pulling out a chair. ‘Filming going all right? Young Gabriel was over here t’other day. They’re doing some scenes up on the beach there. Serial killer, so I heard.’

I nodded. I hadn’t quite got used to the way news travelled around here, in a kind of daisy-chain way. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and be connected in various esoteric ways; if you lost your phone over in Steepleton, someone in Dorchester would ask if you’d checked the pocket of your black jacket.

‘It’s been a bit of an eye-opener,’ I said. ‘At first I’d thought they’d just use the cottage for a day and be gone, but Keenan seems to think they’re going to be there for ages.’

Karen shooed the dog away again. ‘One thing I’ve learned from this TV lot,’ she said, putting her feet up on the chair next to her, ‘they don’t hurry. Mind you, Davin is a perfectionist and I’m not sure Larch can hurry. She’s only got one speed, that girl, and it’s “waft”.’

I looked over to where Poppy was correcting something Rory had drawn, talking earnestly. Away from her usual habitat she looked older, and I realised that I rarely saw her like this. Usually we were together, mother and daughter, and she was being ‘daughter’ as hard as she could. Here she was an autonomous being, and I felt a tiny shiver in my chest. Another four years and she’d be an adult, grown and gone.

Karen had obviously seen my look. She leaned forward over the table, her arms spread across the slightly sticky surface. ‘They’ll be fine. You’ve no need to worry,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘My Rory knows what’s what and he’s keen to get good exam results and go up to college. He won’t go messing her about.’

I realised what she was really saying, and felt a momentary flood of relief. I’d had The Talk with Poppy, met with a curled lip and a dismissive eye-roll, but it was nice to know that Rory’s mum seemingly had had a similar talk. Poppy was assertive and not one to be easily persuaded into a situation she might have trouble getting out of, but fourteen-year-old girls can get put in some tricky positions, some of them not entirely unwanted, and I was glad that Karen wasn’t any keener to be a precipitous grandmother than I was.

‘And you’ve got Granny Mary’s van in your orchard too,’ Karen carried on, a little louder now,