Not just another Summer - 12. Welcome to Philpott Towers!

When I got to Treasures shortly after it opened at eight the next morning, Matt had laughed. He was on the early shift, so as far as I was concerned it made sense and gave me time for all the other jobs that needed to be done before Bas arrived.

I came away with bread, cake for tea and even some cookies. We had time for a quick chat as Matt slipped out for five minutes and I told him about the successful meeting with Simon. When I mentioned about dinner on Friday, he repeated his ‘you sure?’ but I told him he couldn’t hold back now, and he had grinned.

Shopping was a quick whiz around the supermarket, then back to The Grange. Hortensia had been a brick and set everything up nicely in the guest rooms. But it was weird, wandering about the house on my own knowing that I was planning to sleep upstairs.

---

“It’s a monster.”

“I told you, Bas. Anyway. Welcome to Philpott Towers.”

Bas stood in the middle of the hall and stared around. He was slight, with dark hair cut short to disguise the way it was thinning. When I had first known him, Bas had had shoulder length hair, but as his hairline receded, he had trimmed and reduced accordingly.

“I know you described it to me, but this place is crazy. Who the hell lives here?”

“Just Vince and Freddie, in the main house. It has never been busy; neither Dad nor Grandad ever had the huge family and hordes of grandchildren that the place needs.”

“This room”, he did a crazy twirl, “just demands a party.”

I rolled my eyes, “Well, don’t look at me. I know about three people, and Vince isn’t much better.”

I made us coffee whilst Bas had a mooch around. We went into the garden with our coffee and cake.

“Well, it’s not my style, but”, he shook his head, “wow. Doesn’t your brother use if for all his business soirees?”

“You what”, I gave an amused snort. “Vince! He keeps business and family separate; besides I don’t think he has much interest in being a mover and shaker like Dad. Vince’s work is mainly with individuals and families, whilst his politics is a long way from Dad’s.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Dad used to have the occasional bash, people he wanted to rub shoulders with and glad-hand, but that was the last time this place was used properly. Even then, as he got older Dad started to prefer smaller events, meals in backrooms of restaurants.”

“All men in dark suits and shady deals.” Bas grinned, “You know the big room would be ideal for concerts.”

“As if I hadn’t got anything better to do. Besides, I would need to get a piano first.”

“You used to have one?”

“Baby grand. Fitted the room like a dream.”

“Nice.”

“Couldn’t afford that, now.”

“I agree an upright wouldn’t be quite the same, but still, a piano is a piano.”

“True.”

“You live over there?”

“In the annexe, yes. It’s still bigger than some of my flats.”

“What happens when Vince remarries?”

“Fuck knows. We all live here like a happy family?” I rolled my eyes, “I get a proper job, I suppose.”

“Come on, that’s not the spirit. Has he got a girlfriend?”

I wrinkled my nose, “He spends most of his spare time at the Horniman Centre.”

Bas blinked, “Translation please!”

“Charity that supports those who have recently been homeless or those that have experienced it. Helps them get on their feet again.”

“All very worthy, but why that?”

“He does pro bono work for them and now volunteers as well as being a trustee. Vince still has strong political convictions, and I think it’s a way for him to feel he is putting them into practice.”

“But no social life?”

“Not to speak of, at least as far as I can tell. I had wondered if there was someone at the centre, one of the volunteers or something.”

“He mention anyone?”

“Not a bit. He’s friends with the assistant manager, but that’s a bloke.”

Bas simply raised an eyebrow and looked enquiringly.

“Oh, come on, Bas. Vince isn’t gay.”

“Stranger things, honey, stranger things.”

We spent the time with me showing Bas around town, visiting the Castle, walking along the river, having tea at the Arts Centre and tutting over their alarmingly populist programme. Bas’ comment ‘Not what I’d call the arts, honey’ rang true as there was nothing classical or queer in sight.

“You live in a cultural desert.”

“Chatting to Simon, who runs the Castle gift shop...”

“Oh, please don’t tell me that’s the ultimate in culture this place offers.”

“Now! His wife plays the violin, in a local orchestra and there are a few small festivals, and private chamber events.”

“So, you need to get your concert series organised, I can just see it – Philpott Towers Presents.” And he emphasised with grand gestures, rather getting us stared at in the high street.

I cooked that first evening; we listened to Radio 3 and had a good old catch-up. Bas was never an early morning person, so I got plenty of work done first thing. Thursday, we went down to the Nature Reserve, and he insisted on doing the long walk rather than just lurking on the boardwalk. Nature and birds weren’t Bas’ thing, really, but because this landscape was central to my poetic life, he embraced it.

“Fuck, this is bleak.”

“I know this is in danger of sounding stupid, or pretentious, but it really speaks to my soul.”

“You missed it”, it was a statement rather than I question.

“Yes. I hadn’t realised quite how much. I’ve been writing.”

“Good?”

“A lot. Much more than when I was at UEA.”

“I know, hon, but teaching in that place sapped the soul, too.”

As we continued our walk, I explained about the poems for the gift shop.

Bas giggled, “Sorry. It’s just the idea of Graham Philpott going commercial.”

“I wrote more about the Castle than I thought I would.”

“And that’s good?”

“I had an idea to do more, sort of historical, the Castle in past ages.”

“Does that work?”

“Think so. Excites me more than fucking North Norfolk.”

“Admit it, it’s not North Norfolk that was the problem, it was teaching at UEA and Nasty Norbert.”

“Maybe.”

“Face it, hon. The whole teaching thing sapped the energy. I know after a week at work my brain’s mush and I haven’t a creative thought.”

“But starving in a garret’s hardly my style, is it?”

He laughed, “Not that you are high maintenance. Look, you’re not planning on going back into full time teaching, are you?”

My laugh as perhaps a bit bitter, “At the moment, I’m not going into full time anything.”

“Fair enough.” He peered at me, and I knew something was coming. Bas could be positively forensic when it came to nagging away at problems. My problems. “Are you sure that the department’s ‘restructuring’”, he put the work in air quotes, “wasn’t a bit of creative accounting so they didn’t have to come right out and say it.”

“Say what?” I glared at him, but I knew what he was getting at.

“Oh, come on, Gray. That you’re a shit teacher and not much better as an academic and probably put no end of people’s backs up.”

I sighed, and glared, but didn’t say anything.

“The prickly poet.” He grinned, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

I let out a gusty sigh. “Yeah, right. Probably. It was just…” Another sigh, “So, not my world. All politics and back-stabbing and worrying about who’s published what.” Then I glared at him, “But it’s true, the classes I wanted to teach were canned, not enough interest and not the direction the department was going in.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s OK. I sort of knew before then. Everyone’s worried about money, and the most important thing were the paying customers.”

His eyes widened.

“Yeah, right. University as a consumer experience. Sorry. I’m trying not to be bitter.”

“What are your plans, then?”

I shrugged. “More writing. More creating. I’m getting more reviews published and have a think piece in a journal next year.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“But I need a way to broaden my appeal.”

He cackled, “A bit of sex, bits ‘n arse?”

“Come on, whenever did my stuff touch things straight on. At the moment it looks like a mix of writing and residencies. And to keep that fresh…” I grunted.

He smiled, “You need more poems, and even a new book.”

“Got it.” I shrugged, “So, there we are. I am being creative and maybe…”

He patted my hand, “Sorry, but I just wanted to be certain you weren’t going to jump into another similar situation.”

“Don’t worry. The next disaster will be entirely different!”

I gave him a rueful smile and we were silent for a bit. Bas could always be relied upon to nag away at those awkward corners I tried to pretend weren’t there. He was good for me, really.

“So, is there anyone?” He peered at me.

“Bas. I have only been here a month.”

“Never stopped that magic dick of yours before, did it?”

“No. No-one. Simon, the gift shop manager, is an enthusiastic but blobby straight bloke who loves his wife.”

“And the guy you’ve been having all these romantic breakfasts with?”

“Eight in the morning. Romantic. Look, he is a friend. That’s all.”

Bas looked at me quizzically, “Gay, straight, cute, what?”

“Look, he is around five years younger than I, tall and thin with curly hair. Not my type. He had to repeat a year because he missed so much school time because his Mum was ill.”

“Shit. So…” He stared at me, “You collecting lame ducks in your old age.”

“You’ll meet him tomorrow. He is sweet, and I enjoy chatting with him. I would say he was not experienced, and he works like fuck, job and college, the lot. He has confided in me, and I am not telling. Right?”

“Sorry. I’ll behave.”

“Be funny, by all means, but no cracks about being boyfriend material. I have already done that.”

Bas’ eyes widened, “As in…”

“Stupid throw-away remark.”

Bas nodded, “That wasn’t so throw away. I get it. OK. I’ll keep it PC.”

“Thanks.”

“So…” He wrinkled his brow, “What do you talk about?”

“Well, he’s a twitcher.” Bas rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “So, birds, a bit of poetry and no he’s not an expert. I think…”

“What?”

“I think he sees me as a way out.”

“You mean leaving town?”

“Not physically, mentally. He is stuck here with his Mum.”

“Getting it, now. You’re a bit of the outside world?”

“The first day, we happened to be sitting near each other. I overdid the cycling, first big cycle ride for an age and a half. He was worried I wasn’t well. When the poetry came up, he could simply have stepped back.”

“Not my thing guv.”

“Precisely. But he asked about it, was interested.”

“I’ll be nice.”

We had a trip into town to buy supplies. Having the car was proving to be a great novelty. That evening Bas cooked, he was way better than me, and he was appreciative of the facilities in the kitchen. Built for whom, I wondered? So that Dad could entertain?

“You say that Matt isn’t your type, but it’s not as if you had a run of successes.”

“Well, there’s…”

“Don’t say it. Right. The closest you came to a relationship was Norbert, who was mainly looking for a nice nest to perch in whilst he was in England. True?”

“True. So, what are you saying?”

“Forget the thinking with your dick. Make a few friends and see what happens. That’s all. Advice over.”

“And you’re such a good example, when it comes to relationships.”

He had the grace to grin, “Touché!”

---

It was definitely weird, waking up in a strange yet familiar place. The house was quiet, and the sounds that percolated were pretty much what I remembered from when I was a teenager. If I closed my eyes, I could have been the sixteen-year-old me. Freaky and scary.

I went downstairs and made coffee. The weather was nice, so I dragged the laptop outside and set to work. Eventually, an orange cat made an appearance, sniffing at me suspiciously, then stalking away. The famous Moggie.

“You’ve got a cat!”

Bas appeared looking dapper in t-shirt and patterned cotton pants.

“It is Vince’s, and the cat adopted him, I think.”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s she. Moggie.”

He rolled his eyes and went towards her; she was curious and graciously allowed herself to be petted.

“More than I am allowed to do.”

“Would you want to?”

“Hardly, but that is not the point.”

“Oh, it is.” He laughed, “They can tell.”

“Well, thanks, perhaps I will just not bother feeding her.”

“Now who’s having a hissy fit.”

---

“How do like the house?”

Bas’ eyes twinkled as he asked the question. We were sitting in the garden with a glass of white wine. Matt had had a tour and clearly been a bit overwhelmed.

He glanced at me, but I just shrugged, “Go ahead.”

He knitted his brow, “Well, it’s rather ugly and I can’t work out what all the space is for.”

Bas smiled, “I like this man.”

“It was designed for showing off, I’m afraid. Grandad and Dad telling people how important they were.”

“Was it nice to live in?” Matt turned to me.

“My bedroom was my haven and after Vince moved out, I sort of turned his room into a de facto TV room.”

“And your Dad?”

“The rare time he and Mum watched TV, he’d shout up and tell me to come down and be sociable. Thinking about it, as long as I kept within the boundaries, I had a lot of freedom.”

“Dead right.”

We retired to the house, Bas finished cooking and was a brick. He chatted about people he had seen, places he had been, concerts he attended, nothing heavy, and he kept Matt involved.

“What sort of music do you like, Matt?”

“You like classical?”

Bas shrugged, “It was what I studied. I do fun stuff too, but not much pop, though some rock. I had a boyfriend who was into heavy metal, and so I’ve dipped my toe there. And you?”

“Mum says I’m a weird throwback. I like old bands, Led Zepplin, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd, that sort of thing.” He went a bit pink, “Some mates from college went to one of them tribute acts.”

“How was it?”

“OK. But me recordings of the real thing are better.”

“Fair enough, though. I like a live band myself. You download the music?”

“Nah. Got CDs, with proper album covers.” He grinned, “Guy at college collects vinyl and has a great collection.”

“Does he play the discs?”

“Claims to. I’ve never heard them. Would be nice to have vinyl, but we don’t have space and, well a decent deck is pricey.”

I stood up abruptly and grinned, “Come with me.”

Mum had always had a radio in the kitchen. That had been her room, where she would sit in a chair to read, supervise Hortensia or whoever was doing the cooking, or cook herself. Mum liked cooking, but Dad preferred her not to fuss herself if there were other people present. I think she would have been happier if he had just left her to it.

We had had some sort of stereo system in the hall, but Vince had replaced this with a system that covered all the main rooms and could be controlled from your phone. But Dad had had his own stereo in his study. Vince had only partially occupied the study. Dad’s desk was still there, stripped of his stuff, the shelves were largely empty, but a few held a motley collection of Vince’s books, mixed between legal and standard reference books. Vince kept his detective novels and contemporary fiction in his bedroom. The rest of the study looked spartan and severely in need of TLC.

The shelves were part of a custom built-in unit that covered two walls, including a large cabinet. I opened this and the shelf emerged on its mechanism, presenting us with the record turntable.

“I do not remember Dad ever playing compact discs. It was always vinyl, LPs. Vince said he had not touched the record player because it is wired in and so a bugger to remove, or something.” I shrugged.

“Wow.” Matt’s eyes were wide, and Bas smiled with interest too. The two squatted down and started fiddling with the controls.

“I think it still works.” Matt looked up eagerly.

Bas pulled a face, “Needle’s probably gone to shit.”

“As if that mattered”, I gave an amused snort, “all the discs are gone.”

Matt looked puzzled, “Where?”

Bas leaned over him and let out a triumphant cry, “There!”

He brandished two discs that had been wedged at the side of the unit.

“The Best of the Beach Boys and Gisela May sings Brecht.” Bas grinned, “Catholic taste your Dad.”

Matt looked eager as puppy, “Can we?”

I shrugged, “Go ahead.”

Very carefully, Matt took a disc out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable. There was the familiar click and a bit of hiss then suddenly a throaty female voice singing German. Matt had a blissful smile on his face.

“I take it this isn’t the Beach Boys.”

Bas simply rolled his eyes.

We were quiet for a bit then Matt turned to me, “What happened to the rest of the LPs. then?”

I shrugged, “No idea.”

“But…”

Bas pulled his mouth into a line, “Forgive him, Matt. He’s still pissed off with his Dad. You know the sod only left the house in trust for them?”

“Yeah, and only as long as they live in it.”

“Well, before they could get access, it was cleared of all personal stuff.”

“Dad’s solicitor organised everything.”

“But that’s…”

Bas nodded, “Precisely. But fuck all Gray could do.”

“You don’t have anything, then?”

“Some. Vince came and sorted any of our personal things that were left. Not that there was much, we had both stopped living in the house long ago.”

“Oh.”

Bas smiled, “And what you need to understand is that his Dad wasn’t the sort of person to have a favourite sweater, book or nicknack to remember him by.”

“I do have his watch.”

“Which is a big, fuck off expensive thing that Gray won’t wear.” Bas smirked at me.

“You didn’t come back to get stuff?”

“No way. I was too angry with Dad. Oh, it wasn’t a shock, we knew what he’d planned, but you just…”

Bas blinked, “Hoped that the old sod might have had a bit of feeling.”

“Mum says that when Gran died, that’s Dad’s Mum, his sisters all gathered to choose a memento, and they all wanted the same things.” He giggled, “It were very unseemly, according to Mum.”

We smiled, “What did your Dad do?”

“Just waited, I think. Dad always took second place to his sisters, Mum says.”

“Families.”

“Can I…” Matt came to a halt.

“If you find some vinyl records, then you can come round and play them. Might be a good idea to check the needle too, so we can get a replacement. Assuming they still make them.”

“What about your brother?”

I purposefully misunderstood, “Well, I have no idea of his taste in music.” Matt looked as if he might interrupt, “And remember, half of this is mine to use.”

Bas smiled, “Some timeshare, eh?”

I arranged to see Matt the following week and once he had gone, Bas and I did the washing up.

“I see what you mean, he’s cute, in a way.”

“A bit inexperienced.”

“I’d imagine he knows more than you’d suspect, don’t underestimate him. Bet he’s spent a lot of time on the edge of things, looking and observing.”

“I like him, and I am not planning on pouncing.”

Bas frowned, “I think he would be surprised if you did so but might not object.”

“Well, I am not. I am going to cultivate a few friends here. Try and put down a few roots.”

“You!” Bas looked almost derisive, then softened and he looked at me, “About time.”

 
Just to show the disc was real: