‘Are you back for good now. Lu Lu?’ He asked as I remembered all the reasons why he irritated me as a child, not least his nickname for me. Nobody calls me Lu Lu, except for Kevin. Lu Lu sounds like a character from the chorus of the Mikado, who understudies for Yum Yum, and Nanki Poo. Still, I was very grateful for his help. So, when he asked me the question I knew he had been dying to ask me, I agreed to meet him for a drink and left him cock-a-hoop at the brow of Ashdown Hill.
‘I’ll call you!’ He yelled, thrusting his arm in the air like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, his ambling gait suddenly turbocharged as he made his way back into town. He had been asking me to go out with him since we were in Year 9.
The year is 1965 and, despite her own infidelity, Elizabeth divorces Fergus after exposing his love affair with fellow polo player, Thomas. Fergus and Thomas are made to feel outcasts amongst their friends and are banished from their homes, which makes it impossible for them to stay in the UK. Fergus hears about a remote, ailing vineyard inland from Guia in the Algarve, in need of a little renovation, and they leave the UK to start a new life together in Portugal.
The reading of Arthur’s Will was expected to be straightforward and that he would dutifully leave his fortune to his grieving widow. A few minutes before her outburst, Lisa had been fighting to control her anger and Elizabeth, as usual, was the focus of her irritation. She’d arrived late, dressed like the Queen about to meet a head of state but, thankfully, not wearing a hat. She waited for the solicitor to pull up a chair for her and sat in wide-eyed anticipation waiting for the reading to start, whilst stifling the odd theatrical tear.
The Endeavour Morse infatuated DCI Humphrey Middleton arrives in the sleepy market town of Didsbrook to investigate the unexplained death of its highest-profile resident, Jocelyn Robertshaw. In this sequence, he looks over the crime scene, and the corpse, and we find out that, when Humphrey first meets a cadaver, he likes to engage in a little one-sided banter.
‘Lucy, dear, welcome to the fold, welcome to DADs! The part of Dorothy is indisputably yours!’
‘She’s a writer too, Joc. She’s won some prestigious competitions.’ I remember being mortified. How could my Mother tell a multi-published author that I’d won a few school writing competitions and make it sound like I’d won the Booker Prize?
‘If she writes anything like as well as she sings and acts, she’ll be a member of the Didsbrook’s Writer Group before she can say, Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. Thank you, Lucy. We’ll see you at rehearsals on Monday eve. Right… time to crack on, who’s up for the part of the cowardly lion?’
They both laughed until they cried; as if cavorting naked was something they had been doing together for years. But the show wasn’t quite over. Lisa, sitting naked and cross-legged on the bed, began to read from her manuscript of They Always Look At The Mother First in her best pissed Foghorn-Leghorn-upper-crust voice.