Roar Talent

I've never really analysed why Cecile and I get on. She's the boss, of course. That suits me just fine.

 

 

Important decisions we take together, but day to day living tends to be dominated by her influence. She knows me, considers me and proceeds on that basis when forging her path. I'm incredibly lucky. One might think that - with me working from home - our constant companionship might get tedious. But no. Cecile doesn't allow that. Cue an example from a few days ago.

 

"You're not songwriting at the moment, dear?" she said, noting my attempts at the crossword in the Mellowdene Examiner.

"Not today, sweetness," I replied. "I thought a break might refresh my creative juices."

"Good," she said. "You can get out of the house. Leave me to get some work done. I thought I'd give the living room a thorough vacuuming."

"Well, I could help..."

"You will, dear. You'll be out from under my feet."

I saw instantly that she wanted some alone time. It happens occasionally.

"If you're sure. Merlin's at work so..."

"You don't need him to hold your paw," she said, moving closer. "I saw Jane Seadog this morning. She mentioned that her brothers-in-law are at a loose end for the next couple of days. Why not go and see Amos and the others?" 

Acknowledging the fact she'd predetermined where I might wish to go, I thought it easiest to comply.

Off I went. 

 

o 0 O 0 o

On my return from the snack bar on East Dock Lane (I'd had an enjoyable chat with the Seadog brothers and had played a few games of jindik with Irwin, losing three and winning one) I ambled back to Butterglove House. I could still taste the blackcurrant tisane, which had been spicier than usual.

 

Passing the track that leads down the side of the house I noticed a strange car parked there. It seemed someone had a visitor. We weren’t expecting anyone.

 

I heard the motor of the vacuum cleaner humming away in the living room so made a beeline to ask Cecile about the car. However when I entered, the figure facing away from me busy vacuuming wasn't Cecile. It wasn't any other family member either. 

 

 

I was confused, and when the figure turned there was recognition... but I was still confused.

It was Lionel Grand - the famous pianist.

 

"Ah! Hello Jackson," he smiled, his rich voice cutting through the noise of the motor, "I'll just turn this off."

I stared. "You're vacuuming?"

He looked down. "Why yes, I seem to be, don't I? I took over whilst your good lady wife had to... do something. Don't recall what."

I nodded, uncertain as to the situation. Lionel continued to talk.

"Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm here. And why wouldn't you? I drive all the way to Mellowdene... through miles of countryside..."

 

 

"...and you find me doing your housework... That's not the reason, by the way. No, I came to meet with Roxy, and decided I should pay a call here whilst I was in the village." He paused. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No..."

"Oh, good. Because I do want to talk to you. Only fair. And I suppose I'd better have a chat with Christian too..."

"Lionel," I interrupted, "there's no need to explain everything all at once. Slow down. Sit down. Relax. Take your time."

 

The garrulous lion took a deep breath. "You're right. This isn't city life. I live a hectic life and I do need to slow down." He took a seat.

 

At this point Cecile entered and she looked at me. "Oh good, you're back. Mr Grand is here to see you..."

"Lionel," said our visitor.

 

"Yes. Lionel. He's here to ask about some of your songs, Jack."

A nod, and Lionel explained. "That's right. You recall I had five of your songs and we used three on the record with Tamara Lynx?"

 

"Yes?"

"Good. Well, as they were particularly popular with my fans, my record company thought I should include the other two on my next release."

Cecile beamed. "That's great, isn't it, Jack?"

Lionel spoke before I could respond. "There's just one thing, Jackson. I don't feel Tamara's voice will do them justice. I thought that it should be a contralto and our mutual friend Roxanne Renoir would be a better match. Except..."

"It needs to be in a lower key."

"My thoughts exactly. Do you think dropping everything two tones would be sufficient or would you want to rearrange anything?"

I pondered, playing one of the songs in my mind, delaying my answer with a "let me think..." before moving on to consider the second song. Lionel watched me, expectation on his face.

Cecile nudged me. "Well?"

 

 

"I don't think they would need much revision. A few tweaks."

"And do you have time to do that within the next couple of weeks?" Lionel ventured.

"I could make a start now." 

 

"That would be marvellous. But hold off until I've seen Roxy. I think she'll go for it but I need to confirm."

He sighed. "It's nice to be here, Jackson. It feels more grounded, somehow, than the city."

 

Cecile fixed him with a look. "I told him that he was working too hard, Jack. He was telling me of his workload."

Lionel laughed. "And Cecile was telling me I needed - what was it? 'Simple time?'"

"That's it," said Cecile. "Do uncomplicated things without pressure. Sit down and..." - she glanced at me - "...do a crossword. Or domestic tasks."

 

"Like vacuuming?" Lionel winked at me.

"Did it help?" 

"It was... oddly refreshing, Cecile," he smiled. "You've got a special woman, Jackson."

"Oh, I know that."

 

"And living in a lovely village like this. I could manage a little of that."

He paused. His eyes widened. "And why can't I?"

Cecile and I exchanged looks as Lionel thought aloud.

"I could buy a house here. Come here when I need Simple Time. It would do me good. I think my music would benefit. Sometimes I think my playing is in danger of becoming too synthetic, too processed. Maybe I need a little rawness. Tap back into the raw talent."

 

He looked up. "Is there anywhere in Mellowdene I could stay for a few days?"

"There's Bassett's Boarding House," said Cecile, "although maybe an apartment at Minestrone House would be better. There's even a soundproof music practice room that a couple of the residents use. And I'm sure you could rent rooms for a short time. Have a word with Bruno Bearbury. He works on site and his brother owns the place."

 

"Sounds ideal. And isn't that where Roxy lives?"

"Yes."

"Great. I think a week should do it."

 

Cecile frowned. "Didn't you say you had a meeting at the record company in a couple of days?"

"I'll phone them and postpone. Call it car trouble."

"Your car is acting up?" I said. "There's a garage attached to Mellowdene Van Hire."

 

"Ah, no," said Lionel with a conspiratorial grin. "The car trouble is the driver. He doesn't want to drive out of Mellowdene just yet."

o 0 O 0 o

Pearl's Pie

Hello world!

Yes, it's me - newspaper supremo Darcy Fielding! (Well, there's no harm in a little confidence.) Before Jackson submits his next piece of writing, I thought I'd offer a few words. Actually, Jackson inspired me with something in his last work; he mentioned Pearl Babblebrook's cooking.

It seems to be a common belief that Pearl's cooking is always flawed, that she is always unaware of this, and that people always go to great lengths for it to stay that way. They do this because they think it will save her feelings. Unfortunately this isn't always the best course. But with Sylvanians being naturally nice people, what is the alternative?

A few years ago we needed an alternative. Pearl's cooking got worse. Despite the attempts of those close to her, the food escaped (for want of a better word) and some people got ill.

I found out what happened. I have sources...

o 0 O 0 o

Crystal Babblebrook broached the subject with her husband.

"Rocky," she said, "someone really must have a word with your mother. You know we get on well, but her cooking is getting dangerous. And I'm not always there to fix things. I'd say something but I'm worried that her competitive nature will think I'm being cruel."

Rocky squirmed. "You know that I recently found a reason that convinced her to stop sneaking her cooking into the store. If I berate her cooking she'll want to know why I didn't tell her the truth before."

"It will be devastating for her however we do it."

"This level of hiding things from her - it shouldn't have gone on so long. I don't know how we'll tell her the truth."

"It needs tact."

"It does. Who can we ask?"

o 0 O 0 o

They didn't find anyone suitable. Everyone they approached felt the same way. They'd made allowances so long that they were concerned they'd be considered liars if they told Pearl Babblebrook the truth.

As it transpired it wasn't necessary to find anyone.

o 0 O 0 o

"Bleeugh!"

Buster Slydale pulled his face into exaggerated contortions, rolled his eyes and continued to make retching noises.

"Whatever is the matter, child?" Pearl asked, consternation upon her face.

"There's something nasty in this pie!" he said, spitting out into his paw.

"Buster, where are your manners?" said Velvette, his mother. "You don't say things like that. That's not how you've been raised."

"Sorry mum, but you've not tasted it."

 

"I do apologise, Mrs Babblebrook. Pearl," said Velvette, turning to the unsettled grey rabbit. "I don't know what's got into him."

"Yukky pie, that's what," muttered Buster.

"Buster! Again, I'm so sorry, Pearl," Velvette said, taking Buster's arm and propelling him away.

Pearl regarded the remainder of the pie resting on the table. Why had it caused such a reaction in the young fox? She took a small piece and dipped her tongue into the filling. Her eyes widened.

 

"Oh dear!"

o 0 O 0 o

"I can't understand it, Crystal," said Pearl. "I've made this sweet treat dozens of times. Why did I get so much wrong?"

Crystal wondered if this was the opportunity to tell her the truth about her mother-in-law's cooking, but still hadn't decided on the best words. As she hesitated, she realised Pearl's question was rhetorical when the self analysis continued.

"I mean, how did I mistake gravy browning for cocoa powder? Baking soda for baking powder? Cornstarch for flour? Or use beetroot instead of plums? I'd even used salt instead of sugar."

Crystal stared. "That's more than... a simple error," she said, changing her words mid sentence. More than usual was what she almost said.

"I know. Why didn't I see I was choosing the wrong ingredients?"

"I don't know. You did read the labels, didn't you?"

"I don't read much these days. I went by the appearance. That must be it, Crystal."

The mystery seemed solved but Crystal picked up on something. "You used to be an avid reader. What's changed?"

"It must be my age. It's harder to do these days."

"Harder? Hmm. I think a visit to Henry Bearbury is in order. To check your eyesight."

o 0 O 0 o

It was the right decision. It emerged Pearl was developing cataracts in both eyes. 

 

 

Over the next few months she had eye surgery performed by Terence Murdoch. Each operation was a complete success. The cataracts had reduced her ability to focus and had leeched her sense of colour, both aspects being gradual over a period of time. Afterwards, she could see with amazing clarity and the world was a more colourful place.

During her recuperation she reduced the amount of cooking she did. Chatting with her friend Mabel Periwinkle, she was convinced that she could be a big help working some shifts on the village's telephone switchboard. Crystal encouraged her to check out the Cake Club, thinking that decorating cakes gave less opportunity for disaster than baking.

This brings us up to date. Pearl cooks less and takes more care with ingredients. 

 

 

That doesn't mean her food is suddenly good. It's still poor but it doesn't cause the same horror in the villagers. And with the reduced risk, everyone decided there was no benefit in telling Pearl the truth.

Are we too nice, or simply cowards?

I suppose it doesn't matter, and we should thank Buster Slydale for... being Buster. And I never thought I'd ever say that!

o 0 O 0 o

Muffin Roulette

Cecile reminded me of this tale from a few years ago. I didn't personally witness the events, but together with Cecile's information and other independent sources, it seems fairly accurate. Given the people involved, I don't have any doubts.

Cecile was in the middle stage of pregnancy with Russell. Beverley was trying to be helpful - overly so, bless her - and Brendan was... Brendan. I could see that my darling wife would benefit from a day or two of peace, and knew that I could care for her with the balance she needed.

Her cousin Coltsfoot Ivory had suggested that Brendan could go to his house on Cherry Blossom Avenue to participate in an overnight board game extravaganza. His son Chervil had been pressing for this for some months. Now seemed a great time.

That left Beverley. 

 

 

Cecile had been chatting with my cousins Samantha and Barbara (Bobbie) when they came over from Butterglove Lodge, and they thought their daughters would enjoy a sleepover together. This, of course, was long before Sam and Denzel had their quads. Also, my other cousin and resident there - Jonathan - was as yet unmarried to the bunny who had claimed his heart (Tabitha Cornflower). Consequently, there was space at Butterglove Lodge to have a slumber party without the restrictions there would be at the time of writing.

It was arranged. Beverley would join Sam's daughter Lena, Bobbie's daughter Biddie, and Colt & Celandine's daughter Anise for a sleepover and all that entailed. Beverley needed a little persuasion - her "mummy needs her" - but she finally acquiesced. Brendan just said, "Great. I'll get my stuff."

 

I subsequently heard the sleepover details from Beverley via Cecile, and from my cousins. I'd expected to hear about talk of food, music, clothes and schoolmates. There was, but that wasn't all. 

o 0 O 0 o

"Have you heard Dingle Boy's latest record, Beverley?" asked Lena. "It's marvy."

"I've only heard Fleece Oddity"

 

"No, that was last year. This is The Lamb Who Sold the Wool. Look," she said, showing the album cover.

 

"He dresses funny," said Biddie, then she giggled. "You should get your dad to wear funny clothes too, Bev. He'd be a proper pop star."

Beverley dismissed Biddie's teasing with a tolerating smile. "He doesn't need to be. Lionel Grand is going to record some of daddy's songs with Tamara Lynx."

 

Lena stared. "You're joking, aren't you?"

Anise put her arm around Beverley's shoulders. "It's true. I heard Aunt Cessie tell my mum. Mr Snow-Warren is doing the words but Uncle Jackson is doing the tunes."

 

Biddie regarded Beverley and Anise whilst she pondered this information. Then, a smile. "Okay. No funny clothes for him. He could buy you some, though."

 

"I think," said Beverley, "if there were any funny clothes to be worn in our house, my brother would have first dibs."

"Brendan's funny," said Biddie, nodding sagely.

 

 

"Brothers are," said Anise. "It's an unwritten rule."

o 0 O 0 o

Elsewhere, the rule was being demonstrated. Brendan was laughing as his cousin Chervil told him of his recent activities. 

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Before the girls retired to their sleeping bags, Anise delved into her bag to produce a cake tin. She opened it and revealed the contents. Chocolate muffins.

"You see, Beverley?" she said, "I told you that I'd fix it so that your mum wouldn't need to bake for us. I've brought cake for us."

"They look yummy," said Biddie, poring into the tin. "Did you make them?"

 

Beverley's mouth twitched. "If she did, she's kept that skill a secret. Must be her mum. Is that right? Was it Auntie Celandine?"

Anise shook her head, smiling widely. "No. These are from Breezy Babblebrook's mum."

"Ooh!" said Lena, and there was a shared delight that they were going to sample something made by one of the best home cooks in Mellowdene. Crystal Babblebrook's reputation was long established, and the girls were almost bouncing in anticipation. 

"I used some of my pocket money to buy Breezy a present when she was poorly. As a thankyou, Mrs Babblebrook said she'd reserve some cakes for me when she next baked. I thought tonight was just the right time to enjoy them."

"That's very generous, Anise," Beverley said. "You're a good friend."

Biddie was still looking in the tin. "There are two layers too!"

They started upon the top layer, each approaching their treats in different ways. Lena nibbled hers daintily. Biddie bit off large chunks and held the food in her mouth to savour the flavour. Anise attacked the edges of her cake, turning it so that the shape was roughly maintained, shrinking as it was consumed. Beverley tended to break pieces off and eat it in regular portions. All made yummy noises.

"Well," said Anise, once the top layer had been decimated, "they didn't disappoint! Should we leave the second layer for later?"

 

She replaced the lid teasing her friends because she knew they would have other opinions.

 

"We could," said Biddie, still licking her lips, "but then we'd need to brush our teeth twice. If we ate them now..."

"Yes. We should definitely eat them now," said Lena. "It makes sense."

"Beverley?" said Anise, smiling when she received a nod in reply, "Then we're all agreed. Let's enjoy some more Babblebrook baking!"

 

Off came the lid again, and four paws reached forward. However, before any cakes could be removed, Anise took the piece of paper separating the layers and paused.

"Wait a minute. There's something written on this. It's Chervil's writing."

Anise read out the short message for the others to hear.

"Hello dear sister,
Just to remind you of a cake you gave to me a few days ago.
Granny Babblebrook's baking, you remember?
To return the favour, I'd like to include one amongst Mother Crystal's tasty cakes.
Make sure your sleepover friends don't eat it.
Your loving brother,
Chervil."

Beverley stared at the cakes. "Anise! There's one of Granny Pearl's 'things' in there?"

I should point out that, whereas Rocky Babblebrook was fortunate to have a culinary queen as his wife Crystal, his mother's cooking skills were widely recognised as... notably different. Pearl is blissfully unaware that her efforts are poor - and that's a kind description - as nobody wants to hurt her feelings.

Anise stared into the distance. "Surely he wouldn't..."

"But if you gave your brother one - and he ate it..."

The four young rabbits murmured, eyes fixed on the remaining cakes, and then all went quiet.

o 0 O 0 o

A few minutes passed. Biddie broke the silence.

"But most of the cakes will be alright. We could take one each..."

"Do you really want to take the risk?" Anise whispered.

"We could test it by nibbling, couldn't we? And how bad was Chervil affected?" 

"It was messy."

"Urrr!" said Lena, "Well, I'm not nibbling any."

"Nor me," said Beverley.

Anise was sniffing each cake and replacing them in the tin. "They look the same, they smell the same... but I'm not risking it."

She started to put the lid back on the tin.

 

Biddie pouted as she went to get the sleeping bags. "It seems such a shame."

 

 

Lena shuddered. "No. No, we'd best not risk it, Biddie. Anise has closed the tin anyway. Let's go clean our teeth."

And so the evening came to a close. Four disappointed bunnies crept into their sleeping bags and fell asleep. Biddie was the last to close her eyes, no doubt thinking about cake.

 

o 0 O 0 o

The following morning, when Beverley went with Anise to Cherry Blossom Avenue to collect her brother, they were greeted by Chervil and Brendan who were waiting outside.
Anise thrust the cake tin into Chervil's arms.

"Well I hope you're happy. You spoiled a lovely evening. All those lovely cakes wasted. When you ate Granny Babblebrook's cake you know I didn't expect you to be sick. I never thought you'd put us at risk knowing what you went through."

Chervil smiled brightly and opened the cake tin. He offered a cake to Brendan and took one for himself. In unison the two bunnies took large bites.

Anise and Beverley looked at one another then returned their gaze to their two brothers munching away with joyous abandon.

"They're all made by Breezy's mum?" Anise asked, although she knew the answer.

 

Chervil pointed to the tin. "You already said it, sis. I'd never put you at risk. Eat up."

Tentatively, Anise took a cake.

Beverley wasn't as tentative. She did cough a little - but that was because she was laughing as she ate.

o 0 O 0 o