LITMIR.BIZ

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handle it, Gran. Day after day I dream of counting our cash, breaking out the champagne and letting the good times roll. And what could be better than being guided to my first million pounds by Dad?”

      Gran nodded. “You should keep thinking that way. The hard work will not only be fun for you and your gramps, but it’ll help take all of our minds off losing Alice.”

      Next day an enormous surprise. Gran and Gramps wanted in.

      “Why the change of heart?” I asked.

      They exchanged knowing looks before nodding their approval. “It’s better than

      sitting in our little Barlby Road flat gumming on a Gingernut biscuit,” Gran sighed, “and I suppose everybody needs something to do while they’re waiting for death at the pointy end of the queue.”

      Gramps lit another cigarette. “We can’t help thinking this crazy enterprise of your dad’s might just work out. And we want to be part of it, don’t we, Girl.”

      Gran nodded.

      The following day when Dad asked for their life savings and pension in they went

      without hesitation. Dad offered Gramps a written agreement up-front.

      He and Gran exchanged another knowing look after which Gramps shook his head. “No. If I can’t trust my own son to do the right thing, who can I trust?”

      Pandy continued to be whiney about everything.

      Gran sighed her deepest sigh. “We’ll have to make allowances. She is after all only a typical nine year old. And she’s lost her mum.”

      Dad tried to compensate as any parent should. He took time out to buy Pandy’s clothes. Gran helped him with sizes and after school they were laid out on her bed as a big surprise.

      “I get up each morning hoping things will turn out better than yesterday,” Gran said with a sigh. “I’ll continue to look after Pandy and you three men as best I can.”

      We were as optimistic as salmon swimming upstream.

      Chapter 5

      Beau Nash

      We’d inherited an old man with the hotel lease. His official title was Kitchen Porter and

      because of his age the landlords had requested Dad keep him on.

      “He reminds me of Mr Potato Head,” Pandy giggled.

      “He’s a shuffling little basement dweller with wayward eyebrows,” Dad smiled.

      “Age wise he looks like he’s about ready to celebrate his centenary birthday.”

      “Even with the assistance of his sturdy walking cane he’s slower moving than a

      glacier,” I commented. “Rarely does he venture from his basement haven to our brightening improvements upstairs.”

      “And when he does, have you noticed? He’s got pieces of toilet paper adorning his shaving mishaps,” Gramps added.

      Dad smiled. “He conducts his ablutions in a bucket rather than use a bathroom, but aside from his alarming lack of personal hygiene, I suspect he’s been down there since the days of Beau Nash.”

      “Who’s Beau Nash?” Gramps asked.

      I knew this one, I piped in. “About two hundred years ago, when Tunbridge Wells had its Georgian period of elegance, Beau Nash was a famous dandy who organised their social scene.”

      Gramps shared my light, then between puffs I continued. “It was a time when

      gentlemen were responsible for their own rules of social behaviour.”

      Gramps grinned. “Regrettably, none of the grandeur of yesteryear has rubbed off on our small basement dweller. But as a nickname, I suppose Beau Nash fits him well; especially as inside his room looks like the bottom of a whore’s handbag.”

      “I wonder if he’s found Amelia Earhart down there, yet?” Gran asked, with a rare smile.

      Pandy laughed. She was laid on the floor doing her homework. She called out, “He’s where flies go to die, you can see their feet dangling down his nose.” She then rolled on the floor and continued laughing at herself.

      Dad smiled at Pandy. “Be benevolent family, he doesn’t eat much, gets paid sweet

      fuck-all, and in return for his board he stokes the coal-fired boiler for the hot water system.”

      “When he remembers,” Gramps reminded us with a shiver. “There are a few too many times when hot water is not available.”

      “I agree. Often I leave the tap on in the vain hope that hot water will eventually appear. Too often it doesn’t.”

      “Oh, and he says he’ll peel potatoes when asked,” Dad added.

      “Provided we give him about a week’s notice,” Gran sighed, “but fresh potatoes should never be peeled, only scraped because they taste better.”

      “That’s not going to happen, Gran,” I cut in.

      “Why not?”

      “Because scraping takes too long. Like it or lump it, you with a fifty pound bag of spuds in your lap, paring knife in hand, isn’t our best solution.”

      Silence.

      “Beau Nash is amazing,” Pandy announced, almost as if she’d sensed a change of

      subject was called for. “He reads tea cups.”

      “Him reading tea leaves? How come, if he’s clairvoyant, he doesn’t know when he’s about to let our boiler go out?” Gran sneered.

      We came to learn that Beau had a penchant for repeating tired, old jokes. Later that evening he gave Gramps some advice.

      “When you reach my age, governor, never ever walk past a urinal, never waste an

      erection, and never, ever trust a fart. And if you do get an opportunity,” he winked, “if you know what I mean. Don’t pass it by.”

      “Aren’t you afraid of having sex at your age?”

      There was a long pause.

      “If she dies, she dies,” Beau replied, before lumbering away.

      Chapter 6

      Harewood Hotel

      Gramps lit a cigarette. “Most of your permanent resident guests have departed, Son.”

      Gran nodded. “There’s only one couple prepared to tolerate all the noisy disruptions, and only then for drastically decreased rent.”

      “Oh well, family, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise,” Dad said. But he sounded as

      tentative as a tightrope walker in a stiff breeze.

      “How come?” Gramps asked.

      “Now we can push ahead without concerning ourselves with the comfort of guests.”

      Gran was thoughtful. “Why not have a grand debut of your new bedroom especially for them? That is if they’re still here, they get first pick.”

      “Good idea, Girl. When word gets around about the bright new rooms and modern

      facilities they’ll all want to come back.”

      Dad inserted his empty pipe into his tobacco pouch and began to fill the bowl. “That’s a splendid idea you two, and agreed, what better way to spread the word.”

      Gran and Gramps beamed with pride.

      Within a week our feature bedroom was ready boasting clean white paint, brighter light bulbs, pristine carpet, a colour television set

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