A Bottle of Plonk Read online

  A Bottle of Plonk

  Jacquelynn Luben

  First published by Goldenford Publishers Ltd 2005

  Electronic edition 2011 published by Jacquelynn Luben

  This book is available in print and as an ebook

  Copyright 2005 & 2011 Jacquelynn Luben

  The right of Jacquelynn Luben to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of bind or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover design by Janice Windle, based on her original painting

  A Bottle of Plonk

  Jacquelynn Luben

  Originally from London, Jacquelynn Luben lives with her husband in a Surrey village, their children having fled the nest, and she acts as her husband’s reluctant secretary. A Bottle of Plonk was her first work of long fiction, and she has also written many articles and short stories. Having studied with The Open University and Surrey University, she gained a degree in 2002 with a dissertation on the Harry Potter series and other children’s books, but still prefers to write adult fiction. She subsequently wrote Tainted Tree, which was awarded Second Prize, Novel Section, at the 2007 Winchester Writers’ Conference.

  .

  Also by Jacquelynn Luben

  Fiction

  Tainted Tree

  Published by Goldenford Publishers, www.goldenford.co.uk and on-line in all formats

  Various short stories on-line at www.untreedreads.com

  Non-fiction

  The Fruit of the Tree

  Published by Nelson Houtman and on-line by www.untreedreads.com

  Jacquelynn Luben’s website: http://freespace.virgin.net/jackie.luben

  A Bottle of Plonk

  Jacquelynn Luben

  Goldenford Publishers Ltd

  Guildford

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Sons & Lovers

  Chapter 2: The Generation Game

  Chapter 3: Macho Man

  Chapter 4: 1001 Nights

  Chapter 5: Behind Net Curtains

  Chapter 6: Crime and Punishment

  Chapter 7: Lavender

  Chapter 8: Charlie Girl

  Chapter 9: Tombola

  Chapter 10: Going Solo

  Chapter 11: After Eight

  Chapter 12: Mother’s Day

  Chapter 13: Wine and Roses

  Chapter 1: Sons & Lovers

  (Sunday night, Spring Bank Holiday)

  The remains of the dinner littered the table, together with two bottles of wine, one empty, one unopened. The dimmed lights in the living room softened the uncluttered lines of the small flat. Two candles cast shadows transforming the faces of the couple as they held hands across the table.

  Julie Stanton, with her slanted green eyes, looked almost Oriental in a tangerine coloured caftan. The effect was enhanced by the spiky black hair framing her face. Her expression was transparent, and the glow not just from the wine.

  ‘This is such a special day, Richard. I think we ought to commemorate it.’

  She withdrew her hand from Richard’s and, with a pen left on the table, she carefully executed a heart and arrow on the label of the unopened wine.

  ‘Very artistic,’ Richard commented. ‘No wonder you were the star of our art class. Shall we open it now?’

  Julie didn’t answer. She was concentrating on adding the date to the label, 28th May 1989.

  ‘If you’re going to put it in the wine cellar and open it in twenty years’ time, you should have chosen something better than this supermarket plonk,’ Richard commented.

  ‘You don’t understand. Tomorrow, I’m going to paint the bottle. I’m going to stand it in the centre of the table on a silver tray, and when we look at the painting in twenty years time, we’ll remember what an important date it was.’

  Richard laughed softly. ‘Well in that case, let’s round off the evening...’ He reached for the corkscrew.

  Julie smiled at him. She was satiated by the meal, and foolishly happy at being with the man she loved. She embellished the heart with ‘J loves R’ in minuscule letters and put her hand on his.

  ‘We’ll have it after...’ she said, the rest of her words lost, as she leant across the table to kiss him.

  ‘Shameless hussy,’ Richard said, pulling her closer. ‘You’ve been listening to those delinquents you teach.’

  Julie laughed. She thought it was odd that sitting here with the man she adored, she was one person - a young woman, vulnerable at times - while to her class of seven year olds, she was ‘Miss’, very confident and at twenty-five, very old.

  ‘My mother always told me not to get involved with school teachers. Mind you that was when I was nine.’

  Julie frowned a little, and dropped her arms to her side.

  ‘Your mother’s not going to like me, Richard.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Must we go to Exeter this week? I’m worried about meeting her.’

  ‘There’s no need to be. You can control a horde of felons. My mother should be a piece of cake.’

  ‘It’s not as if we’re engaged. Why do we have to be so formal?’

  Richard sighed. ‘You know I go down there every month. I don’t want to keep leaving you behind.’

  ‘She wouldn’t listen when you phoned and told her I was moving in here. And she didn’t reply when you wrote and told her about me.’

  ‘There wasn’t anything to say. I just told her I’d be bringing you down at the end of the week. She’ll be fine when we get there.’

  ‘She’s going to think I’m not good enough for you.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous. Why are you making a drama out of this?’

  ‘Because you’ve been to a posh public school and university and all that, and I went to the local comprehensive and teachers’ training college.’

  ‘You know none of that matters to me. I love you as you are.’

  ‘But your mother won’t.’

  Richard took her hand again and squeezed it. ‘Look. Let me tell you something about my mother. She jumps to conclusions very quickly but, after a little while, she settles down. She’s also a bit protective of her children.’

  ‘In what way, protective?’

  ‘She was married rather a long time before Liz and I showed up. She was forty when I was born and Liz came along a year later. Obviously, she thought she wasn’t going to have any kids. Then my father died suddenly. That made us more special, I suppose.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In fact, she hasn’t really taken to any of my girl-friends. ’

  ‘And what about your sister? Liz?’

  ‘Liz had the same sort of problems, when she brought her boy-friends home. Particularly Gary. Which is rather a shame, because he’s the one that Liz ended up marrying. Mother created quite a fuss about that. She does get at poor old Gary quite a lot. But mostly he seems to be able to deal with it.’

  Julie was far from reassured. ‘But will I be able to?’

  ‘Of course you will. Now I don’t want you to worry about it. Let’s enjoy the next few days.’

  Julie relaxed at the thought of the half-term holiday ahead. There would be plenty to do in the l
ittle flat, squeezing in her possessions. She would collect the rest of her things from her bed-sit during the week.

  ‘Did you see what I brought with me?’ she said. ‘Your painting.’

  ‘Oh, that. Why didn’t you leave it in the flat with Sue and Sally?’

  ‘Because it’s our only shared possession. Perhaps we could hang it now? It’ll be symbolic.’

  Richard’s expression changed.

  ‘You must be mad, Julie. I’m not going to do that tonight. It’ll take me ages.’

  His lack of enthusiasm spurred her on.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Why, my brothers could put something like that up in five minutes.’ The dig was to punish him for his mother’s misdemeanours.

  His blue eyes flashed. He got up and found some tools. She was aware that he was ill at ease and clumsy with a hammer in his hand.

  ‘Gently, Richard.’

  He glared at her. ‘Do you want to take over?’

  We’re going to row over nothing, Julie thought. This shouldn’t have happened on our first night together.

  She mollified him, ‘No of course not. Just be careful.’

  Steadying the nail with his fingers, he aimed a blow at the wall. The lights flickered and went out.

  ‘What have you done now?’

  ‘Goodness knows.’ replied Richard. ‘I must have hit a wire in the wall.’

  ‘Pull the nail out, then.’ It occurred to her that he might not know how. ‘Pull it out with the claw on the back of the hammer.’

  There was enough light in the room for that at least, but after this effort, Richard, it seemed, had had enough. ‘Well that’s it. Let’s go to bed and worry about it tomorrow?’

  ‘Don’t tease.’

  His voice became tender.

  ‘In bed with you, I shall have everything I need.’ Then he added, ‘And there’ll be less likelihood of us tripping over something and killing ourselves.’

  Julie laughed, ‘Stop joking and deal with it.’

  ‘This is no joke. Put me in an office with the FT, and I’ll make an illuminating comment. But when it comes to how things work, I haven’t the foggiest. My plugs try to electrocute me; taps I’ve just washered leak all over me.’

  Well, this was quite a revelation, thought Julie. You imagined you knew someone well enough to move in with them, and then they surprised you. Well, disappointed you, to be precise. Everyone in Julie’s family could get themselves out of trouble. They were practical people, the Stantons. Richard was quite unlike them. Was it going to work?

  Richard was continuing, ‘If you want to play DIY games, go to B&Q on a Sunday. You’ll find plenty of playmates.’

  He was getting tense, she could tell. What did his impracticality matter? She’d always known he was a bit of a dreamer. She loved his sense of humour, his looks, his sex appeal, and his occasional romantic gestures.

  She kissed his ear.

  ‘I’d rather stick with you, my love. But we can’t leave this. Let me try to fix it. I’ve learned a lot from Frank and Barry.’

  ‘The more I hear of your accomplished brothers, the more I dread meeting them,’ interrupted Richard.

  ‘In that case, you ought to understand how I feel about your mother.’ Julie said. Then relenting a little, she added, ‘But you’ve no need to worry.’ She placed a hand on his arm and tried to get her bearings in the semi-darkness. ‘Frank is an absolute sweetie. You’ll get on fine with him.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘And as for Barry, he’s the original MCP and I avoid him like the plague. Anyway, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Let me demonstrate my talents.’

  ‘A great idea!’ said Richard, still holding on to the hand, and succeeding in grabbing the rest of her. ‘Why don’t you?’

  The light scent of his after-shave was clean and refreshing. The touch of his hand affected her like no one else’s.

  She hesitated, but resisted the temptation.

  ‘You see, with the nail out, I may only need to reset the fuse,’ she explained. But she knew it was more complex than that. She was being bloody-minded, all because she felt threatened by a woman she had never met. A woman who, in her mind, had taken on all the attributes of Maggie Thatcher.

  She climbed the pair of rickety steps in the electrical cupboard, torch in hand, with her mind on what should have been the romantic end to the evening, which had now been delayed by her actions.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘The fuse box is a bit high up. What a pain it is to be vertically challenged. Ouch, I think I’ve caught my caftan on a nail. It’ll never be the same again.’

  ‘You poor thing. I’ll buy you a new caftan. But don’t injure yourself. I can’t get another you.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ said Julie, smiling in the darkness at his words. She’d sort this out and everything would be fine.

  A hollow banging sound penetrated the dark cupboard. ‘What was that noise? Is there someone at the door?’

  ‘Not sure,’ replied Richard, feeling his way, ‘We’re not expecting anyone.’

  He opened the door.

  The street lights illuminated the face of a small woman in the entrance. Violet Webb stood before him, erect and dignified, looking taller than her five feet.

  ‘Mother!’ he said shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Why are you in darkness?’

  ‘We were trying to hang this picture. I must have grazed a wire. Julie’s doing a repair job.’

  ‘Julie?’

  He took her arm and escorted her through the dark hall.

  ‘I think I’ve found the fuse!’ came Julie’s voice from the electrical cupboard. ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘Just a second,’ Richard called. ‘That’s Julie,’ he told his mother. ‘Remember I told you she was moving in.’

  Lights suddenly flashed on, but Julie’s success was followed by a crash and a scream, and she descended from the electrical cupboard, pulling the steps down with her as she fell, landing directly in front of Richard and his mother. Her caftan was ripped down one side revealing a white flash of underwear and a great deal of leg.

  The older woman looked down at her, and the blue eyes might have been carved from marble.

  ‘I think your friend needs some help, Richard.’

  Julie struggled to reinstate her clothing. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, feeling a bruise forming at the side of her face. Her eyes were smarting, partly from pain and partly from humiliation at being stared at by that ice-blue gaze.

  Her immediate impression was that Mrs Webb was the archetypal English lady, with silver hair, and a youthful pink and white complexion, more like Barbara Cartland than Thatcher. But those wide eyes undoubtedly hid a steely character. Only the hands, gnarled and distorted by arthritis, and the stick that supported the frail legs, gave a clue to her advancing years.

  Richard relinquished his mother, disentangled Julie from the steps and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Oh Richard. I’ve left a bag with one or two things at your front door,’ Mrs Webb interposed. ‘Go and get it for me, would you?’ She limped towards the living room, where the offending painting sat on the floor beneath its proposed position.

  ‘Go on. I’m all right,’ said Julie. She freed herself, followed the other woman into the living room, and she too sat herself down to recover. The painting, conspicuous in the small room, drew their attention. Violet turned to look at Julie, their eyes met and then Violet’s returned to the picture.

  Violet Webb didn’t say a word, as she viewed the subject’s legs, so recently observed in the flesh, the round pink curves topped by Julie’s face, the lithe young body decorated with flowers and chiffon scarves, but otherwise, very little else.

  Then she looked carefully at Julie again. ‘Are you sure that’s suitable for the living room?’ she asked, and from the way she said it, Julie felt as if she had been portrayed on a giant size page three in one of the popular tabloids. She marvelled at the fact that in a single sentence Mrs Webb had man
aged to encapsulate her disdain for the painting, her antipathy for her son’s relationship with its model, and her total dislike of Julie herself.

  Nevertheless, Julie protested, ‘Richard is really talented - he ought to be painting for a living instead of carrying out boring audits.’

  ‘Your faith is touching, my dear,’ said Violet. ‘But money is a great motivator. You must surely have been in that situation yourself, when you modelled for Richard’s art class.’

  ‘I didn’t model for the class,’ Julie replied, startled. ‘This was between me and Richard. But in any case, I really don’t feel there should be any stigma attached to that. Someone has to model, otherwise ordinary people simply miss out on the opportunity to paint from life.’

  ‘How very avant garde of you, my dear. I must say at my age, one longs for the days when a little was left unrevealed.’

  ‘Really mother,’ Richard intervened, having returned for the tail end of the conversation, with a large hold-all. ‘If everyone was so narrow-minded, we would have missed out on goodness knows how many paintings and sculptures.’

  ‘Please don’t start an argument, Richard. You know I can’t stand it. Elizabeth is just the same. Losing her temper at any little thing. I can’t put up with that. That’s why I’ve had to leave Exeter. I’ll be staying here for a while.’

  ‘It’s impossible for you to stay here,’ said Richard, horrified. ‘Let me book a hotel room for you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, dear. But with my angina, I’m very reluctant to be abandoned with strangers. And since you seem to have worked out some way of accommodating er Judy,...’

  Julie felt her temper rising, as Richard said, his face reddening, ‘Julie! That’s hardly the same, mother.’

  ‘Oh really, dear. Why is that?’

  ‘Well Julie and I are going...’

  ‘.. are living together,’ said Julie, seeing that Richard was going to spend all day thinking up delicate ways of phrasing their relationship.