William_Chapter_Six
William
By Paul Jamison
Chapter – 6
“Did you see his face just then?” Rick giggled at me.
“No I was peeling carrots, why what’s up?”
“Something’s new for sure between those two.” He said. “Justin’s making cow eyes at Will, Will can’t stop looking at him, he’s coloured up like a pillar box again, they’ve rushed upstairs giggling all the way… what do you think?
“Methinks perhaps you are right… you often are in these circumstances. Always takes me ages to spot signs everyone else has seen for yonks. We’ll just keep an eye out over dinner and see if they start playing footsie?” I said.
“Footsie!!” Rick exploded. “You must be joking…. Teens don’t do that sort of stuff these days, what century you in? They’ll make eyes; giggle a lot at stuff each other says, things like that you’ll see.”
“Oh so ‘footsies’ out now is it? I’ll remember that when we next have a pint down the ‘Cricketers Arms’ and you start!” I said.
“Oh well… um we’re older so that’s okay.” He said.
Oh old am I… we’ll see who’s old when it comes to playing ball games later.” I retorted grinning widely. “That’s if your so addled brain can still cope with the sooooo distant memory of this morning in bed!”
“Um…”
The phone rang again interrupting my train of thought instantly. Rick who was nearest picked up the receiver.
“Rick Masters… Oh hi Adrian… Yes, see you later, any time between seven and seven-thirty’s fine by us… Yes indeed looking forward to it…Oh by the way we have acquired a young house guest for a few weeks. Our neighbours’ son Will, family disaster and his father asked for our help. I’ll explain all when you’re here tonight… you two want to stay over?...Okay… see how much you drink…right, bye for now.”
Rick had just replaced the receiver and was about to say something when it rang again. He closed his mouth and picked up again.
“Rick Masters… Hello Frank, what’s happening? ...Oh! That is good news...Will’ll be delighted to hear that...do you want to tell him? ...okay we’ll do that: you must be knackered too! Right we’ll pass that on and see you on Thursday. Bye Frank.”
“Frank?” I queried looking round at Rick.
“Yes, his dad has come to and is lucid as well!”
“Oh! That certainly is wonderful news. Call Will and tell him now?” I said.
“No, no rush it’ll wait till he comes down. His granddad’s still quite poorly and doesn’t yet know that his wife’s gone. That could cause a setback to his recovery. Seems the swelling in the head’s down and that the doctors say its good news for a recovery.”
“Right it’s time to get this meal under way.” I announced.
I went to the fridge and took out the pork joint. Setting it into a stainless oven tray on the hob top I took out from a nearby drawer my cook’s gas gun. After wiping down the pork rind to get rid of any condensation moisture I flicked the ignition and waited a few seconds for the blue flame to settle. I had previously heavily scored the rind to give strips of crackle once roasted and had rubbed in a handful of sea salt. By applying the flame to the rind I had it thoroughly dried and ready for the oven pretty much guaranteeing crunch in the mouth crackling. I’d had the oven warming up to 200deg.C and as soon as the thermostat indicated we were at temperature, quickly transferred the joint to the ovens top shelf, setting the timer to 25 minutes. Then I turned on the heat under the pan of peeled potatoes. I next took four large Bramley apples peeled and cored them cutting them into two thick slices each a bit like car tyres. Placing those into another pan and pouring over half a pint of cider I simmered for a full minute, turning out the heat I allowed those to rest for now.
At this point Rick re-appeared in the room carrying a silver tray with pre-dinner sherry glasses set out. He placed the sherry into the fridge to cool and turning to me.
“Ready for your ‘chef’s nips’ yet?” He asked.
“Oh I rather think so don’t you?” I replied.
Rick busied himself preparing a couple of gin and tonics for us; he also set out two tall glasses for the boys to have a coke when they appeared. I turned my attention back to the potatoes they now having boiled for some eight or so minutes. Turning off the heat I quickly transferred the pan to the sink and fully drained them; with a large cloth I then held the lid firmly in place inverting the pan vigorously several times to give a floury surface to the par-boiled spuds. I set the pan back onto the hob to rest and took a good slug of my G&T.
Taking a few moments to have a nice long kiss with Rick, I broke away as the oven timer sounded. Turning to the oven, I quickly checked the joint turned it on the shelf and reset the timer for another 25 minutes. Then I took a roasting tin and covering the bottom with a mixture of olive and ground nut oil, placed the tin onto the hob I turned up the gas. When the oil began to stutter I added the potatoes one by one turning them in the sizzling oil as I did so. When I had finished, I turned off the heat, transferred the tray to the top shelf of the main oven after taking the joint down onto the middle shelf. Closing the oven and checking the timer. I turned to Rick.
“I’ll go shower and change now ready for our guests.”
“Okay, I’ll just check the jelly now.” Rick said.
As I entered our room on the second floor I heard running about and giggling from the floor above. I smiled inwardly to myself that Will and Justin were having fun. His weekend so far had had a very sombre beginning with more to come later the next week as the funeral of his grandma approached. The more that could be done to take his mind away from that the better I thought to myself. I just hoped they wouldn’t find the dinner to be ‘too adult’ and therefore humongously boring for them both.
I quickly got down to showering and dressing and some fifteen to twenty minutes later rejoined Rick in the kitchen to find both boys had appeared and were enjoying cokes and chattering away to Rick about his car. Rick was in the window seat sipping his G & T, fielding questions about the technicalities of his car and when Justin might get a ride in it. Will was busy enthusing about the ride he had had the previous evening to the Italian restaurant. Rick turned to the boys.
“Right be good you two, I’m just off to shower and change, our guests won’t be too long in arriving now.” Rick said to the boys.
“Okay.” They replied.
Justin nudged Will and got up from his chair and went to look at a framed print hanging in one of the alcoves either side of the now purely decorative fireplace. I caught the move from where I was at the worktop preparing salad leaves for our starter course. I’d decided upon a simple pâté on dressed salad leaves with thin wholegrain toast, just as an appetiser for the main course. I’d bought the pâté from the farm shop and knew it’d been locally made.
“We’ve three of that artist’s prints in the house.” I said to the boys who were nudging and smiling a little. “There’s one in the dining room over the sideboard and the third’s in our room, on the wall facing the bed. The one here’s called ‘The Bathers’ *. The dining room one’s called ‘Two Boys and a Dog’ * and our bedroom one, which, you may see after Paul’s come down is called, ‘Ruby gold and malachite ' * They’re all by Henry Scott-Tuke * who died sometime around 1930. He’s from the West Country; Falmouth I think and was a member of the Royal Academy_._ I can’t recall dates exactly right now.” I continued. “Go and look at the one in the dining room, we only got that this year. Rick wanted a dog. I didn’t think we could with us both working, not fair on the dog! A good friend gave us the print instead.”
Will and Justin left the kitchen and went through into the dining room to look at the picture. It was a fair sized print of the original around a metre by three quarters depth and width. It took pride of place in that room. A few minutes later they re-appeared smiling away to each other.
“Well? Do you like them?” I asked.
“Oh yes.” Will replied. “They seem so much nicer than some of the pictures I’ve seen on the internet.”
“You’re beginning to appreciate there’s a difference between porn and art then.” I grinned at them. “Which do you like the best?” I asked.
“Well, we haven’t seen all three yet.” Justin said, “But so far I like ‘The bathers’ best.” He said.
“Ah, that print came from the City of Leeds art gallery; we went up that way on holiday and stopped with friends, visited the gallery on a wet day, saw the picture and bought a print from the shop. One of the biggest private collections of the original oil paintings is owned by Sir Elton John.” I said.
While we had been chatting I had continued with the preparations. Just at that moment Rick came back into the kitchen.