‘Not any more, we aren’t!’ My mother stepped out from the doorway, cinching the cord of her quilted dressing gown tighter.
‘What on earth is all this ruckus?’ Dad asked, his bushy eyebrows bristling. ‘This is a reputable establishment!’
‘This woman stole my umbrella!’ Grandma said, her face shining with glee as she pointed both index fingers at me.
‘Hi, Mum. Dad.’ I leaned past Grandma and gave them a wave. After a brief flash of surprise, they nodded in return, which was about as warm a welcome as a non-residential guest of the Tufted Duck would get. The older they grew, the more similar my parents looked. With only an inch between them in height, by day they lived in a uniform of plaid shirts and jeans so old they were fashionable again, and by night it was furry pyjamas and brown dressing gowns. Now both approaching seventy, their matching salt and pepper hair was kept short. Hands worn rough from all that cleaning, faces permanently tanned from all the gardening. Laughter lines were scarce, but years of worry were etched in permanent wrinkles. Solid, practical, predictable. Right then, it was precisely what I needed.
‘Well, what are you doing turning up here at this time and scaring your grandmother and most of the guests half to death?’ Mum retorted, ushering Grandma back inside.
‘I did tell you in my message that we’d be arriving after ten,’ I said, following them in.
‘We?’ Dad asked, eyebrows beetling in consternation as he waited for Daniel to pass him before closing the door.
‘Yes!’ I blew out a sigh of exasperation. ‘I left two messages on the answerphone. Didn’t you get them?’
Mum and Dad exchanged blank glances before turning to look at Grandma. ‘Have you been pressing buttons on the phone again, Mother?’ Mum asked, sternly.
‘Well, how else am I supposed to listen to the messages?’ she replied, shaking her head in bemusement. ‘I’ve been answering that phone since before you were born. I think I know how it works.’
‘So you didn’t know I was coming?’ I asked. ‘This is ridiculous. I’ve called several times and emailed over the past few weeks. What if there’d been an emergency?’
‘Well, has there been?’ Dad asked, glancing around as if it might have snuck into his kitchen.
‘No.’Sort of. But that was back in January and I knew better than to try to drag you into that sorry mess.
‘What’s the problem, then?’
I didn’t add what I really wanted to say:What if I wanted to just talk to my parents? Tell you how I was? Ask for advice or even find out how you were doing?
‘I hope there is no problem,’ I replied. ‘Because we’ve driven all the way from Nottinghamshire and were expecting a comfortable bed followed by an infamous Tufted Duck breakfast.’
‘Do you have a confirmation number or booking reference?’ Mum asked, her eyes darting.
‘Clearly not! I didn’t think I needed an eight-digit number to visit my family home!’ I couldn’t bear to look at Daniel, the man who had welcomed a strange, bedraggled woman into his farm and given her a room and a hot meal. Plus a whole new life.
‘Well, this is most inconvenient! We don’t do walk-ins at this time of night. And besides, it’s the Weighbridge Walkers’ annual Windermere Walking Week.’
‘Mum, I am not a walk-in! I’m at the very least a customer whose booking you misplaced, and hopefully even more significantly than that I’m your daughter!’
‘Well, this man isn’t a relative.’ She looked at Daniel and then jumped her eyes back to me. ‘Is he?Are they?’ she added, jerking her chin towards Hope.
‘This is Daniel, Charlie’s brother, and Hope, his daughter. And they’d like a room and a cot, please.’
‘Well, I simply don’t know…’ The dressing gown got another tug. Dad said nothing, deciding instead to take Grandma back to bed.
‘They can have the Mallard room,’ Grandma called over her shoulder, in a flash of lucidity that put my suspicions about her previous nonsense in a whole new light. ‘That walker cancelled at the last minute, remember, after tripping over their walking stick.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well, that’s fine then, isn’t it? If we can grab a hot drink then I’ll get the room sorted.’
‘Fine,’ Mum frowned. ‘As long as you’re happy to share a double. I didn’t want to presume.’
I felt a wave of embarrassment, quickly followed by an even warmer wave of something else at the thought of Daniel and I spending the night curled up in bed together.
‘No! We won’t be sharing a room.’ I turned to Daniel and pulled my most apologetic face. He raised his eyebrows, the smile dancing at the corners of his mouth shooting my temperature even higher. ‘Daniel is my landlord. I work for him, helping with childcare and housekeeping.’Keep reminding yourself of that, Eleanor.
‘It’s fine, Eleanor. We’ve become very open-minded in recent years in order to maintain our customer base. We don’t ask those types of questions any more.’
‘I should hope not! However, it won’t be an issue because, as I’ve just said, we needseparate rooms.’
