Mrs. Fry's Diary Read online

  16 Thursday

  Chapter 12. Curiouser and curiouser. Lady Fitzmaurice’s personal trainer, Girth Johanssen, couldn’t have done it because he was in the potting shed at the time with porn star and UN peace envoy, Viagra deLay. Meanwhile, Old Seth the gardener was occupied in the rhododendrons with Professor Hadron’s second cousin twice removed, and Lord Fitzmaurice was at it with the lady who runs the gift shop. Of course, the fact that it’s a bank holiday and one of Wendlebury Hall’s busiest weekends only adds to the confusion. I’d better check my notes again. And the Venn diagrams.

  17 Friday

  What good news! We’re terribly proud of Stephen Junior. He’s just got a part in the school orchestra – he’s on air triangle.

  18 Saturday

  At last the momentous day has arrived. The day we choose our new three-piece suite! I’ve looked through countless brochures and catalogues without success, so Stephen’s driving me to Wicker World this morning so I can make my choice in person. He wasn’t terribly enthusiastic until I informed him that I’ve already arranged for the current sofa to be collected the week after next (the anthropology department of the local college is very keen to have it. They believe some of the stains on it may hold the key to the missing link).

  Lunchtime. I’m enjoying a passable cup of tea and some kind of muffin while Stephen paces round the service station looking for a map. I knew we shouldn’t rely on that sat nav. Last time we tried to go to Salisbury Cathedral, we ended up in Sainsbury’s car park. Or was it Tesco?

  Teatime. Another cup of tea, and another muffin. I must say this is better than the last services we stopped at, though, on balance, probably not quite as good as the third or the fifth one. Stephen’s still having no success buying a map, although he does have six Ginsters’ pasties, an I ª Llandudno T-shirt and a giant inflatable Loch Ness monster. Looks like we’ll have to try again with the sat nav.

  19 Sunday

  20 Monday

  21 Tuesday

  Finally arrived at Wicker World. Apparently. Can’t wait to look around. Just as soon as Stephen’s finished beating the sat nav with his shoe.

  Once Stephen had calmed down and put his shoe back on, we tried to locate the store. Unfortunately, we were hampered a little by the lack of daylight, despite it being the longest day of the year. Thank goodness for the flashes of lightning, one of which revealed we had parked in the middle of a roundabout, another, a large hand-painted sign – Wyckham-on-the-Wold welcomes careful drivers. Stephen picked up what was left of the sat nav and threw it at a tree. As our eyes adjusted we could make out a handful of dark houses surrounding us, the only light peeking through the curtains of a squat stone building ahead. Another bolt of lightning illuminated a wooden sign hanging above the door – the Sheep’s Clothing Inn.

  It’s surprising how quickly Stephen can move, for a big man. By the time I squeezed through the heavy oak door, he was already seated at the bar with a pint glass at his lips. His second.

  I looked around the pub as I removed the wedge of lime and sipped slowly from my bottle of brown ale. It was everything a good old-fashioned British pub should be – assuming we were still in Britain. The horse brasses on the walls, the well-worn dartboard, the roaring fire, the pentagram-patterned wallpaper. It would be a shame to go back out into the rain but, as I pointed out to Stephen, we needed to find somewhere to spend the night.

  The landlady told us there was a hotel in the next village, not three miles away, but that it would be foolhardy to venture out now, what with this terrible storm, the full moon, the recent rash of unexplained killings and the hotel’s lack of satellite television. Instead, she offered us a room upstairs. It was her daughter Tatanya’s room, but the bed was big enough for three. She knew that for a fact. She nodded towards the blonde, well-developed 19-year-old who was at that point entertaining the clientele with her oak-beam dancing. The roof rattled beneath a blast of thunder. I asked if there was another room available.

  The landlady rested her heavy arms on the bar. And then her heavy bosom on her arms. And then her heavy chin on her bosom.

  ‘Well, there is my husband’s room,’ she said, staring over my shoulder. ‘That should be free … tonight.’

  I looked back through the window at the full moon.

  ‘He and I have separate rooms, you see,’ she went on. ‘Ever since … well, you know what it’s like.’

  As she spoke, I felt my body gripped by a cold, clammy sensation. It was Stephen. I gave him a £10 note and turned back to the landlady.

  ‘So, this room is free, then?’ I asked, hesitantly.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure you’ll be perfectly all right in there. He’ll be out for the night now … hunting.’

  ‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘On a night like this? What does he hunt?’

  The woman reassembled herself and stood up from the bar.

  ‘Oh, you know. All manner of creatures. Anything that happens to … venture out.’

  The room was lovely – en-suite bathroom, bedside radio. But most striking were the walls. They were covered with an array of animal heads, presumably her husband’s trophies – antelope, deer, donkeys, cows, all sorts.

  Whether it was the local ale or the 85-hour journey I don’t know, but all of a sudden a great weariness came over me. I flopped onto the dog-skin duvet and stared blearily up at Stephen. He was spinning round. I closed my eyes. I opened them again. He was still spinning around. I switched off 80s FM and he stopped. He cut a forlorn figure. Clearly the ale had had the opposite effect on him. He was in his ‘party mood’. All tanked up and nowhere to go.

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I hoped it wasn’t the landlord back early from his hunting trip. It wasn’t. It was his son, sporting a jester’s cap, and Tatanya in a crown and a pair of fairy wings.

  ‘Time to play!’ exalted Puckwit, waving a long stick with bells on.

  Oh dear, I thought. This wasn’t one of those places, was it? There really should be some kind of a sign outside. Perhaps there was.

  Luckily, it wasn’t one of those places. Apparently, we’d happened on the village’s midsummer night carnival – according to the boy, a night of revelry, excess and celebration. Stephen looked pleadingly at me as if revelry, excess and celebration were his middle names, which I’m reasonably sure they’re not.

  ‘Off you go,’ I said, wearily waving a dismissive hand. Stephen grinned, planting a wet kiss on my forehead, and made for the door.

  ‘You must have a costume,’ I heard the boy say as my eyelids closed.

  ‘Yes, you must have a costume,’ echoed his sister’s voice.

  I heard shuffling of feet, a fumbling sound, then the door banged shut and I fell asleep.

  22 Wednesday

  Woke up with a splitting headache. It took me a while to remember where I was. It was still dark. I reached over to Stephen’s side of the bed but it was empty. I switched on the bedside lamp and squinted at my watch. Half past two. Where on earth had he got to? Tentatively, I got to my feet and pulled on my coat. I stumbled down into the empty pub and out into the night. There was nothing to see apart from an abandoned Ford Viagra. Then I heard something. It sounded like singing. Or chanting. It seemed to be coming from the top of the hill behind the pub. I hitched up my skirt, adjusted my hat and strode upwards. As I neared the brow of the hill, the noise became louder – a kind of joyful, rhythmic wailing – and the night sky became suffused with an orange glow.

  When I finally made it to the top, I was greeted by the most amazing sight. Around a huge, blazing fire danced a troupe of the most astonishing-looking creatures I’d ever set eyes on, each gyrating, waving their arms in the air and howling what sounded like a type of mystical incantation. I had clearly wandered into some kind of pagan ritual. I ducked behind a bush and stared as I tried to make sense of the ghoulish scene. Then it came back to me. Of course. How silly of me. This must be the midsummer night carnival Stephen had been dragged to. But then, wh
ere was he? Which one of these masked, drunken revellers was he?

  Then I heard it. Unmistakeable, even above the thunder and wails. Stephen’s snoring. My eyes darted around wildly until … yes, there he was. Flat out on a large wicker sofa. On top of the bonfire. Typical.

  The next few minutes are a bit of a blur. I remember screaming, panic, water … And then it was all over and I was standing alone on the hilltop, staring down in dismay at the charred remains at my feet. I turned round and knocked the donkey’s head off Stephen. Trust him to find the perfect sofa and then set it on fire.

  23 Thursday

  So nice to spend last night back in our own bed. Slept like a log until I was woken by the telephone. It was a gentleman from Wyckham-on-the-Wold council, apologising for the inconvenience. Apparently, the ‘non-fatal incident’ occurred as a result of a couple of ‘over-zealous’ employees failing to notice Stephen when they were preparing for the weekly wicker incineration. He assured me that this was in no way an admission of liability but as a gesture of goodwill he would like to negotiate an acceptable amount of compensation. Of course, I said I was shaken, distraught and traumatised. And how much did they usually pay?

  24 Friday

  Read in the hairdressers the other day how parents these days don’t spend enough quality time with their kids, so we’ve decided to drive to the coast tomorrow and have a lovely picnic by the sea. If the weather isn’t too bad we may even get out of the car.

  25 Saturday

  So lovely to see the kids enjoying themselves, paddling amid the seaweed and used condoms while Stephen wanders up and down the beach, playfully trampling on sandcastles. Ah, there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned trip to the British seaside. Sitting on a deckchair in three cardigans and a Kill Me Quick hat.

  26 Sunday

  Bought a lovely new three-piece suite at Ellis Bextor Sofas with Stephen’s compensation. With the remainder there should be enough for a holiday and still some left over. I can only imagine how much we’d have if the incident had been more serious. Or I’d have, I should say …

  27 Monday

  Spent all day staring at the walls, trying to decide what to spend the remaining money on, then finally it came to me. New wallpaper. I talked to Stephen about it. He thought it was a great idea, although we do have differing views on the design. I favour a William Morris print whereas he prefers giant killer robot dinosaurs. This could take a while …

  28 Tuesday

  Spent the morning in B&Q looking at wallpaper. Stephen and I finally reached a compromise. We’re going to paint the living room instead. Magnolia Sunrise with a hint of triceratops.

  29 Wednesday

  Just finished The Vicar Crack’d in time for tomorrow’s book club meeting and I’m ashamed to admit my legendary powers of perception have eluded me. In the final chapter, Detective Lazenby gathered the remaining guests in the drawing room and announced that he would reveal the name of the killer, there and then. He promptly collapsed and died without uttering another word. According to a footnote, the author apparently decided not to reveal the murderer’s identity because ‘it was so blindingly obvious, to do so would be an insult to the reader’. How ludicrous! If I can’t figure out who it is, what chance does anyone else have? Especially those three literary dimwits!

  30 Thursday

  Book club this morning. Don’t think I’ll bother going again.

  July

  1 Friday

  It’s end-of-year photo day, so the kids have all gone off to school this morning looking even more immaculate than usual – hair brushed, ties neatly knotted, tattoos covered. This year, Long Range Len is offering a variety of options – there’s the panoramic view, the soft focus for the more aesthetically challenged pupils, and his personal favourite – the unposed, infra-red special. As usual, we’re just going for the cheapest in the range – the mouth open, eyes closed option.

  2 Saturday

  Weekend mornings just aren’t the same without Stephen. They’re so much quieter and less sweaty. Goodness only knows who needs a cab at this time on a Saturday. And when he’s not driving, he’s in that shed of his. I barely see him at all these days. There’s no doubt about it, we need a holiday. Preferably together, this time. And preferably to the actual destination.

  3 Sunday

  Discussed my thoughts about a holiday with Stephen when he finally showed his face this afternoon. At first he seemed oddly reluctant, but after a little consideration he said it ‘might be good to get away from it all’ for a couple of weeks. Get away from just what, exactly, I have no idea, as all he does all day is drive around without a care in the world – or a needle in the speedometer.

  Of course, booking a holiday is inevitably a compromise when you’re a family of eight. Or is it nine? If only they’d stand still long enough for me to count them. It can be extremely difficult to find a destination to suit everyone’s tastes, and it doesn’t help that Stephen has never been much of a traveller. He prefers the British way of life – curry, vodka and karaoke – whereas I’m far more adventurous. I like nothing better than to wander carefree down a cobbled street, exchanging greetings with villagers in their own tongue, sampling the local cuisine, however dreadful, and bartering with an artisan for a hand-painted vase or gin and tonic.

  And then there are the children to consider. They need to be entertained – or so the guide says – ideally, 24 hours a day. We keep quite a range of travel brochures in the house, mainly because without them the only things on the bookshelf would be Stephen’s battery-operated Joe Pasquale doll and the Encyclopaedia of Meat he received when he joined the Kebab of the Month Club. (I have to keep all the real books in a locked cupboard otherwise Stephen gets terribly anxious.)

  After a great deal of discussion, we settled on the Mediterranean island of Stelios. We’ve booked a fortnight in the Socks ’n’ Sandals resort on the east coast. And the west coast. And the north and south coasts. In fact, it occupies the entire island, ensuring visitors ‘never have to face the inconvenience of encountering the indigenous population during their stay in paradise’. Fortunately there’s a regular ferry service to the mainland to satisfy my wanderlust, a water park to keep the children amused and a lager park to keep Stephen amused.

  Stephen’s booked us an all-inclusive family room. He says it will be nice for me not to have to slave over a hot oven for a change. I expect he’s right, although I’m sure that after two weeks without my culinary masterpieces, the whole family will be begging me to pick up my tin opener again. I must say, the hotel looks rather nice. Each room boasts an unobstructed view of the sea, en-suite corridor and a complimentary telescope.

  4 Monday

  Stephen Junior’s teacher was off again today with yet another stress-related hangover. I have to say, I can’t understand the problem. With the school’s record truancy rates she rarely has to teach more than 10 children at a time. Anyway, according to the head they couldn’t justify bringing in a supply teacher for such a small class so they brought in half a dozen supply pupils as well.

  5 Tuesday

  Brangelina’s just come back from her school trip. Sounds like she had a wonderful time. They took her class to a new educational centre, Science, Innit! According to the leaflet, they ‘teach through the media of play and fun’. I have to admit, I’m not entirely convinced that play and fun have a place in a child’s education – or anywhere else in their life, come to that – but it would appear that Brangelina actually learned quite a lot from her visit.

  According to the leaflet, the entire primary science curriculum is covered – children learn about gravity by crossing the 200-foot-high grease-covered rope bridge, friction from the broken glass and gravel ski slope, and forces of attraction by wearing a magnetic suit and being thrown at a giant fridge. They even combine the teaching of Brownian motion with animal behavioural studies by leaving the class inside a specially constructed steel box for half an hour with a wolf.

  Of course, Brangelina’s
favourite bit was the gift shop, where she purchased a Science, Innit! T-shirt, a Science, Innit! pencil case and a Science, Innit! tetanus injection.

  6 Wednesday

  Had a surprise when I was cleaning Viennetta’s room this morning. I was dusting behind the secret panel at the back of her knicker drawer when I accidentally came across a book. I like to think I’m as broad-minded as the next person – unless the next person is Mrs Norton, that is – but I was quite shocked by the language used and the range of physical endeavours described. I’ve never read anything quite like it. I have to say I was very relieved when I realised it was only her diary!

  7 Thursday

  Just tried on my swimsuit. Obviously I look sensational in it, particularly with my red velvet bathing hat, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shed a pound or two so I’ve decided Stephen and I are going on a diet (although he doesn’t appear to the casual observer to be overweight, I’m convinced all those takeaways and nights down the pub are stored up somewhere inside him like some kind of saturated time bomb, and he lacks the willpower to do this on his own).

  I did consider using the project as an opportunity for the whole family to participate in collective activities. After all, we’re constantly being bombarded by stories on the television and in celebrity magazines of an obesity epidemic among the nation’s children. I’m not too worried, though, as I did have them all inoculated when they were younger, and I make sure I keep their fitness levels up by feeding them as much and as often as possible.

  8 Friday

  It’s so warm tonight, Stephen’s not wearing his pyjama bottoms. I don’t think the rest of the pub has noticed.

  9 Saturday

  Stephen and I joined the gym up the road today to help get us into shape for our holiday. They have their own special exercise plan, Supa-cise. Stephen wasn’t particularly keen at first, but after the introductory session with our personal fitness co-ordinator he seemed far more inspired. He even insisted we purchase her personal training video, Kelly-Ann-Marie’s Jiggle Your Way to a Joyful Body, just to ‘help keep up our enthusiasm’.