The Decorators

My English godson Harry looked up at the stain on the ceiling left by the flood in the upstairs bathroom.

“We’ll have to call in the decorators,” he observed.

Photo by kiryl on Unsplash

His American bride Amy looked around the modest but tastefully appointed living room of their terraced house in Bristol.

“Do you think?” she said. “I guess, if you want.”

Then I saw her eyes light up.

“I could call Felix,” she said.

Felix is a friend from Amy’s yoga class, who happens to work in interior design. Amy has been known to swoon just a little when she talks of Felix’s dining room curtains.

“Pain in the bum, decorators,” grumbled Harry. “But there’s no getting around it this time.”

“Felix is nice,” said Amy. “He had me over to tea last week and it was delightful. He made elderflower butterfly cakes.”

“Andrew knows a couple of blokes,” said Harry.

Amy’s eyes now widened a little in alarm. Amy genuinely loves her bachelor brother-in-law, who is a good and kind and honorable man. Amy has also visited Andrew’s house.

“They’re brothers,” said Harry. “Jason and Dave.”

Amy’s eyes widened further. Amy has not lived in England for a very great length of time; but she has been there for long enough to know that blokes who are called Jason and Dave are unlikely to be those who would hold discriminating opinions on throw pillows.

“They’re sort of odd bods,” said Harry. “But they’re good enough, and they’re cheap, which is the main thing for decorators, isn’t it?”

“Cheap decorators,” repeated Amy, her eyes beginning to dart in what in a lesser young woman one might have described as burgeoning panic. “That your brother Andrew uses.”

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” said Harry. “He’s out at his Tolkien discussion group now, they’re playing Scrabble in Sindarin, so who knows what time he’ll be home?”

Amy cleared her throat.

“You know,” she said. “Before we make any big decisions here, I really would like to talk to Felix first.”

Harry looked up in surprise.

“Felix?” he said. “The buttercup fancies merchant? Why on earth would you want to talk to Felix?”

Amy smiled thinly.

“They were elderflower cakes,” she said. “And decorating is what he does for a living.”

Harry frowned in astonishment.

“Felix from yoga?” he said. “Standing up a ladder painting ceilings? I mean, you never know, but still.”

“No,” said Amy. “Not painting ceilings. Decorating interiors.”

Harry sighed.

“In England,” he said, “painting ceilings is what interior decorators do.”

Amy sighed too.

“Oh,” she said.

“You’ll have to deal with them,” said Harry, “ because I’ve got that work thing on. Like I said, they’re odd bods, but don’t worry, that’s just who they are. Just remember that they come and go when they decide to, they don’t really believe in cleaning up after themselves, and they can be grumpy if they’re in a bad mood, but it’s nothing you can’t deal with. Oh, and they don’t like Americans, but don’t worry, you’ll be OK.”

“Hold on a moment,” said Amy. “Why don’t they like Americans?”

“Because they’re American,” Harry explained. “But don’t worry about it, it’ll be fine. Just give them tea, don’t say wunnerful or gen-yew-wine, don’t ask them about their feelings and don’t tell them about yours, and they’ll be OK.”

“Tea?” said Amy. “You want me to give them tea?”

“Well, yes,” said Harry. “Tea. You know. T-e-a. Tea.”

“Tea like Felix gave me?” said Amy. She brightened: Amy likes an occasion. “With the bone china cups and the cute little finger sandwiches and the butterfly cakes and such? I can do that. What do they like in their sandwiches? Felix had cucumber and smoked salmon, but that doesn’t sound like Jason and Dave’s kind of thing, maybe I should get something manly like roast beef.”

Harry sighed again.

“Felix didn’t give you tea,” he said. “He gave you afternoon tea. Jason and Dave won’t want afternoon tea. They’d think you very strange if you offered them afternoon tea.”

“Oh,” said Amy. “I guess they’re coming in the morning then. Do English people not eat sandwiches in the morning?”

Harry blinked just a little.

“They might come in the morning,” he said. “Or they might not. Like I said, they come and go when they decide to. That’s one reason why they’re so cheap.”

“Then how will I know whether to make sandwiches or not?” said Amy. “Or maybe they’d just want cake? I could ask Felix for the elderflower recipe, those would look pretty on your Mom’s china.”

Harry set his jaw.

“They won’t want sandwiches,” he said. “They won’t want cakes. And if you broke out the bone china they’d think you were seriously off your head. Just give them a mug of tea, don’t say anything in American, and they’ll be happy.”

“Tea,” mused Amy, who is herself a coffee drinker. “You mean tea like Felix gave me?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “What sort of tea did Felix give you?”

“He offered me a choice,” said Amy. “Earl Grey or Lapsing Soupçon. Which do you think Jason and Dave would prefer?”

“It’s called Lapsang Souchong,” said Harry. “And if you started to fiddle around with it in front of Jason and Dave, they’d walk out. OK, here’s what we’re going to need to do. On my way home from work tomorrow, I’m going to go into Sainsbury’s and buy us a box of PG Tips.”

“PG tips on what?” said Amy.

Harry’s left leg began to jiggle: he steadied it with a hand.

“What do you mean, PG tips on what?” he said. “It’s a brand of tea. A very popular one. PG Tips.”

“Well, it’s a weird name for tea,” said Amy. “I thought English tea brands had those funny Dickens-type names like Bumbleby & Twytte or Cheerybelly of Cheltenham. PG Tips sounds more like a guidebook to borderline raunchy moviemaking. Why would they call it that?”

A vein began to stand out on Harry’s temple.

“I don’t know why they call it that,” he said. “It’s just what they call it, OK? But I’m going to buy us a box anyway, and when Jason and Dave arrive for work, whatever time of day it is, you’re going to get out two of the big sturdy mugs, put one teabag in each, pour boiling water over it, stir it up strongly, and wait for five minutes until the tea’s almost black. Then you take out the bags, add milk and sugar, stir it up again, and give it to them. Strong tea, milk and sugar. In a mug. Have you got that?”

“I think I’ve grasped the elements,” said Amy just a little coolly, since she is, after all, a professor of particle physics.

“Good,” said Harry. “That’s settled then. A good cup of builder’s tea should put them in a good mood.”

“Builder’s tea?’ said Amy. “Are we having an extension put in?”

“I think I need a martini,” said Harry.

“Can I have one too?” I said.