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The Surprise Party
Sue Welfare
One idyllic family, or so it seemed…A wondrous tale about the joys of family and how sparse our lives would be without them! A perfect read for fans of Carole Matthews and Kathy Lette.The party was supposed to be the ultimate surprise, but instead it turned out to be the most ordinary event of the day…When warring sisters Suzie and Liz come together to organise a 40th anniversary party for their parents, they struggle to keep their personal dramas in check and make it a magical day.Suzie is struggling to keep her marriage afloat and Liz is keen to retain her Queen Bee status. Their aunt and mother are much the same, with Lilly and Fleur at loggerheads over their very different lives.Meanwhile Suzie's daughters Hannah and Megan are learning that growing up isn't as easy as their parents profess.As the champagne flows and the drama unfolds, it quickly becomes clear that this is a party that no-one will ever forget – but will there be a happy family left at the end?


SUE WELFARE
The Surprise Party


Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper Press
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Sue Welfare 2011
Sue Welfare asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9781847561183
Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007432493
Version: 2018-07-10
With thanks to the wonderful Maggie Phillips, the brilliant Sammia Rafique and the fantastic team at Avon.
This book is dedicated to my new husband, my old children and my faithful dog, along with my fabulous friends – you know who you are.

Contents
Cover (#u1df55caa-fa5e-5c6a-8147-a6f527f919d0)
Title Page (#u059d60d7-fa0a-5fbf-900e-2f16687501ae)
Copyright

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
A guide to Family Get-Togethers And How To Survive Them

Read on for an exclusive extract from Sue Welfare’s new novel
Prologue
Chapter One
Mum on the Run - Fiona Gibson

About the Author
By the same author
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
‘If you could just take the balloons and the rest of your equipment round to the back, please. We don’t want anything to give the game away, do we?’ Suzie said, pointing the way to the young man who was standing on the front lawn of her parents’ house with a helium cylinder and a large cardboard box on a trolley. ‘And then if you could just move your van?’
The young man was wearing spotless navy blue overalls and a baseball cap emblazoned with the legend: ‘Danny from Cheryl’s Party Paradiso – we help you live your fantasy’. His van was topped with big glass-fibre balloons and a trail of lurid candyfloss pink and silver stars.
If acne was your fantasy, Danny was your man. He didn’t move.
‘It’s meant to be a surprise,’ Suzie said as brightly as she could manage. It had been a long, long day, and there were still lots of things to do, but there didn’t appear to be so much as a flicker of comprehension from Danny.
‘For my parents? Rose and Jack? It’s their ruby wedding anniversary – it’s written on the balloons? We’re having a party. Round the back?’ she said in desperation.
Still nothing.
‘You really can’t miss it, there’s a great big marquee in the garden.’
Finally Danny smiled. Suzie couldn’t help wondering if he had been sniffing the contents of the gas cylinder in his spare time.
‘Is that that woman off the telly?’ he said, pointing towards the front door.
‘Ah,’ said Suzie, groaning inwardly. ‘Yes it is. She’s my sister.’
‘No!’ said Danny, eyes wide with amazement. ‘Wow, really? That’s awesome.’
Suzie stared at him and sighed.
Lizzie was standing on the doorstep of their parents’ cottage, perfectly framed by a mass of pink roses climbing up over the porch. She was wearing something artfully casual and horribly expensive and was apparently just taking in the view. She had arrived about half an hour earlier and, to the untrained observer, it might look as if she was standing in the porch by accident, but a lifetime of having Lizzie as a little sister had taught Suzie that she was standing there waiting to be noticed.
Danny reddened as Lizzie apparently noticed them. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, beamed in their direction and did one of those little show-bizzy fingertip waves before sashaying over.
‘Well, hello there,’ she purred, taking in the logo on the young man’s overalls as she extended her hand towards him. ‘Lovely to see you. You must be Danny.’
The boy, all embarrassment and eagerness, looked as if he might explode. ‘That’s me,’ he said, as they shook hands. ‘Danny.’
‘And how are you, Danny ?’
‘Oh right, I’m fine – yeah, really great – thank you,’ he spluttered.
‘Good, now would you mind awfully taking all this lot round the back of the house and getting rid of the van? This is supposed to be a surprise party and it’s a bit of a giveaway.’
‘I’ve already told him that,’ Suzie began; not that the boy was listening.
‘Right-oh,’ he said to Lizzie. ‘Course, not a problem. I watch you all the time on Starmaker, you know.’
‘Really?’ Lizzie smiled. ‘Well, thank you, Danny, that is so good to know. And you’ve been enjoying the new series, have you?’
‘Oh God, yeah, this last lot was the best one yet – and that Kenny – I mean, who would have thought he’d a won? I was thinking Cassandra . . .’ Danny stopped and reddened up a touch. ‘I don’t suppose I could have your autograph, could I?’ he said, thrusting his clipboard out towards her. ‘Only my girlfriend is never going to believe me when I tell her that I’ve met you. She really likes you as well.’
Lizzie’s smile warmed a few degrees more. ‘Of course you can, Danny.’ She took the pen from between his fingers. ‘What would you like me to put?’
‘Oh I dunno. I can’t think . . .’ he said.
Now there’s an understatement, thought Suzie grimly.
Lizzie pressed the pen to her lips, apparently deep in thought. ‘How about “To Danny, thank you for making my party so very special, lots of love, Lizzie Bingham, kiss, kiss, kiss”?’ She purred, barely breaking eye contact as she scribbled across what looked like it might be their delivery note. ‘Would you like me to put, “You’re the star, that’s what you are?”’
It was the Starmaker reality show’s catchphrase, but on Lizzie’s lips it sounded positively erotic.
Danny giggled and blushed the colour of cherryade. ‘Oh my God, right, well yeah, that’d be lovely, thanks,’ he blustered, waiting to take back the clipboard. Making an effort to compose himself, he said, ‘So are there going to be a lot of famous people here tonight then?’
All smiles, Lizzie tipped her head to one side, implying her lips were sealed, while managing to suggest that anything was possible. ‘We’re just glad that you’re here,’ she said after a second or two.
Suzie shook her head in disbelief; the woman was a complete master class in innuendo and manipulation. Poor little Danny was putty in Liz’s perfectly manicured hands.
‘Righty-oh,’ said the boy, coming over all macho and protective. ‘Well in that case best I’d get a move on then, hadn’t I? Get these balloons sorted.’
‘Thank you, that would be great. Hope to catch you later,’ Lizzie said, all teeth and legs and long, long eyelashes.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, put him down,’ said Suzie under her breath as Danny strode away like John Wayne, dragging his gas bottle behind him. ‘Do you have to do that?’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Lizzie, switching off the glamour like a light bulb. ‘You’re just jealous and I was listening, remember – you weren’t getting anywhere with him. Besides, he loved it. Did you see his face? It’s made his day, probably his decade. You know you always have to remember the little people, darling,’ she said in a mock-starry voice, with a big grin. ‘They’re the ones who can make you or break you; although I have to say it really pisses me off that after ten years of a career in serious journalism, it’s two series of that bloody reality TV show that’s finally put me on Joe Public’s GPS.’
‘Come off it, Lizzie, if you’re looking for sympathy you’ve come to the wrong place. You told me you hated roughing it – living out of a knapsack with no toilets, constant helmet hair, and how being embedded with the troops played hell with your skin.’
‘Well it does – just look at Kate Adie and that Irish woman – have they never heard of moisturiser?’ Lizzie peered myopically at her watch. ‘What time did you say Mum and Dad are due back?’
‘Still not wearing your glasses?’
‘Oh please. It’s fine if you’re Kate Silverton, all feline and serious, the thinking man’s love bunny, but trust me it really hasn’t worked in light entertainment since Eric Morecambe.’
‘What about contacts—’
‘Darling, I’ve got more contacts than you could wave a wet stick at,’ Liz said slyly with a wolfish grin.
‘You know what I mean, and don’t come over all starry with me, kiddo. Remember I was there with you when you were in your jarmies interviewing Billy the guinea pig and Flopsy rabbit with a hairbrush.’
Liz laughed. ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’
‘Well, don’t worry, I haven’t. Anyway, Aunt Fleur says she’ll try and keep Mum and Dad out till six if she can.’ Suzie checked her own watch. ‘She’s going to give us a ring when they’re on their way back. So that’s just on two hours, I reckon, if we’re lucky. So can you come and give us a hand? We’ve got to put out the tables, get the chairs sorted out, then there’s the flowers, the banners to be hung, the red carpet, the balloons. After that we need to get the cake sorted, check on the glasses and then there’s the fireworks . . . God, actually there’s loads more to do, so which do you fancy doing?’
Lizzie pulled a face. ‘You know, sweetie, I’m useless at all that sort of thing. I’ve got some calls to make and I need to get ready. It sounds like you’ve got it all covered. You won’t really be needing me, will you?’
At which point Sam, Suzie’s husband, appeared from around the corner of the garage wheeling a great pile of chairs. ‘Oh there you are. For God’s sake you two, we haven’t got time for a girlie chat,’ he said, talking and walking and heading for the back garden. ‘It’s total chaos round the back there. Can you catch up later and get round there and give us a hand?’
Suzie glared at his retreating back: as if she hadn’t been working like a dog since the instant her mum and dad pulled out of the drive. Not to mention all the planning and hiring and booking and worrying about whether the party would all come together.
‘So what’s up with Mr Happy?’ asked Lizzie.
‘Don’t take any notice, he’s just a bit stressed, that’s all,’ Suzie said, wondering why on earth she felt the need to defend him. ‘Work and things, and the girls are a bit of handful at the moment – well, Hannah is. Teenagers, you know how it is.’
Lizzie wrinkled her nose. ‘Fortunately I don’t and to be honest the man’s got no idea what real pressure is.’
No, thought Suzie, but I certainly do. The last few months had been a mass of subterfuge, stealth and planning, culminating in today’s big event for Jack and Rose’s fortieth wedding anniversary – forty years. Given Sam’s current frustrated and grumpy mood, Suzie was beginning to think that another forty minutes together was starting to look close to impossible.
The wedding anniversary party had grown out of a chance conversation they’d had when Liz came to stay with them for a few days over Christmas, after a trip to the Caribbean with the guy she had been dating had fallen through at the last minute.
One dark winter afternoon, they had all been sitting around in front of the fire, looking through the family photo albums in the sentimental way you do when everyone gets together, and along the way Suzie had realised their parents’ fortieth anniversary was approaching. Somewhere between the wine and breaking out the Baileys they had come up with the idea of throwing a party, which had somehow transformed into a surprise party and then snowballed from a small family get-together to a blow-by-blow recreation of their mum and dad’s wedding reception.
‘It’ll be absolutely brilliant,’ Liz had said, topping up her glass. ‘I can see it now. Masses of flowers, wedding cake, photographer – I know this brilliant guy. And maybe we could sort out a second honeymoon for them? What do you think? Where did they go first time around?’
‘Devon, I think,’ said Suzie.
‘Perfect. I know this lovely little hotel. Do you think there’s any way we can get hold of the original guest list?’
At which point Suzie had turned over a group photo that her mum had given one of her daughters for a family history project and said, ‘Actually I think quite a lot of the names are on the back here.’
Liz had grinned. ‘Fantastic, that’s a start and I’m sure between us we can come up with the rest of them. Maybe you could email Aunt Fleur? Wasn’t she Mum’s chief bridesmaid? The woman’s got a memory like an elephant; she’s bound to remember. Hang on, I’ll grab my diary.’ Liz leant over the arm of the sofa and, grabbing it from her bag, had started thumbing through the pages. ‘Okay, so their actual anniversary is on the Thursday but that weekend is free – how about we tell Mum and Dad that we’re taking everyone out to dinner at Rocco’s on the Saturday evening – my treat?’
‘You’re saying we can’t afford to take everyone to Rocco’s?’ asked Suzie.
‘No, no, of course I’m not, what I’m saying is that we want to make them think we’re taking them somewhere really special just in case they come up with a better idea.’
‘They don’t usually make a lot of fuss about their anniversary,’ Suzie pointed out.
‘Well, it’s high time they did,’ said Liz. ‘Forty years has got to be worth celebrating. Right, so, now guests . . .’ she said. ‘Have you got a piece of paper there? What do you think, a hundred? Hundred and fifty?’
Suzie shrugged.
‘Let’s say a hundred and fifty to be on the safe side,’ Liz said, sliding the photo album she had been looking through over onto Suzie’s lap. ‘We could have their original wedding cake copied and those table settings don’t look like they’d take much and all this bunting. I mean, we’ve all got the photos, haven’t we? It wouldn’t be that hard to do. It would be lovely. Mum would love it.’
Suzie turned the album pages and looked down at a picture of the bride and groom outside the church looking impossibly young and happy. Someone had glued a piece of paper to the front and written ‘Mr and Mrs Jack and Rose Bingham’ on it in a rounded, bubbly hand. The handwriting looked very much like her mum’s, bringing tears to Suzie’s eyes. All those years ago, all that joy and hope – a life crammed full of possibilities and plans, their gaze fixed on the future they had together.
‘We could easily do Mum’s bouquet. I mean, looking at these—’ Suzie said, infected by Liz’s enthusiasm. ‘Red roses and gypsophila, it’s not exactly rocket science.’
Liz pulled a whatever face. ‘If you say so. Let’s face it, flowers are really your thing, not mine.’
‘Actually, if you want to be accurate, vegetables are my thing and Mum’s not going to be too chuffed if she ended up with a bouquet of radicchio and curly endive.’
‘Well, you know what I’m saying here,’ said Liz, waving the words away. ‘You can sort that out. You’re the family gardener.’
‘And you’re the family star?’ said Suzie, raising her eyebrows.
‘Well, if the cap fits . . .’ said Liz with a wry grin.
Suzie struggled to bite her tongue. Five days of Liz’s ego, of her hogging the bathroom, taking all the hot water and constantly being on her phone even during dinner, had worn Suzie’s Christmas spirit right down to the canvas, particularly as Liz had invited herself. Her idea of mucking in was – in her own words – to stay out of the way when there was any sign of work, whether it was washing up or anything else that might risk chipping her nail polish. Her Christmas present to them all had been tickets to a show in London, which Suzie knew damn well Liz had been given as comps, and which would cost them a mint in train fares to actually use.
‘Play nicely, you two,’ Sam had said, mellowed by a couple of glasses of Christmas cheer. ‘And tell me again how come we didn’t throw a big party for Jack and Rose’s twenty-fifth?’ Up until the party plan had emerged, Sam had been sitting on the sidelines drinking margaritas and watching Wallace and Gromit.
‘I don’t know really,’ said Suzie. ‘Mum and Dad have really never made that much of a fuss about wedding anniversaries. You know what they’re like – no fuss, no frills – and for their twenty-fifth we were probably too young to organise anything.’
‘Or to care, come to that,’ said Lizzie. ‘I must have been at uni and you two were all loved up and getting married.’
‘For their thirtieth they went to Rome, I think,’ said Suzie, flicking back through the album. ‘And our girls were little then and it was Mum’s fiftieth the same year. I think their anniversary just got forgotten in the rush. So actually you’re right, a big party is well overdue. The only downside if we really do want to recreate their wedding reception from scratch is that the church hall where they held it burnt down years ago.’
‘Don’t worry about that. It’s the spirit of it that counts. I was thinking maybe we could hire a marquee,’ said Liz. ‘Stick it up in the garden behind their cottage. There’s plenty of room on the lawn.’
Suzie raised her eyebrows. ‘Have you got any idea how much those things cost?’
‘No, but it’ll be my treat, instead of picking up the tab at Rocco’s,’ said Liz.
‘Probably work out about the same if you pair have a dessert there,’ Sam had said wryly.
And so here they were, six months, many phone calls, a lot of Googling and a complete logistical nightmare later.
Suzie took another look at her watch. ‘I’ve told the guests to be here by 5:45 p.m. at the latest.
‘And they’re all going to hide in the cottage?’ asked Liz incredulously.
‘No, we’ve asked everyone to go round the back into the marquee so we can keep them in one place. I’ve also asked people to park down on the recreation ground so we don’t give the game away.’
Liz nodded. ‘Right, in that case I’m just going to go upstairs and grab the bathroom before everyone else arrives. Grant will probably be getting here at around six. I know he’s just dying to meet you all and I’m sure you’ll love him. Anyway, I really need to go and get ready. I don’t want him to think that I’ve let myself go just because we’re out in the sticks,’ she said cheerily.
‘Lizzie, wait—’ Suzie began, but too late, her little sister was already heading for the house. ‘You’ve only just arrived and you’ve been on the bloody phone ever since you got here,’ she mumbled.
‘Where the hell’s she going now?’ said Sam in exasperation as he rounded the corner on his way back from the marquee with a chair trolley.
‘Apparently she’s just going to get ready,’ said Suzie as casually as she could manage. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’
Sam stared at her. ‘Well, that’ll be a first. Just bloody great, isn’t it? Why on earth did you let her go? There are loads of things still to do and we could really do with another pair of hands. Oh, and while I’m on the subject of helping hands, I can’t find either of our dear daughters either,’ he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘The band have rung up to say they can’t find us, the caterers can’t find anywhere to plug in their equipment without blowing all the fuses, Liz’s fancy photographer just texted to say he’s running late and the fireworks have only just shown up. And you know what? I’m getting fed up of being the one who is supposed to have all the answers. We never agreed that we’d do all this on our own, Suzie, and so far it looks to me like we’ve done the lion’s share. I thought madam there said she’d arrive early and give us a hand?’
‘I know, you’re right – and we have, but Lizzie has paid for a lot of it,’ said Suzie, caught in the badlands between agreeing with Sam (which she secretly did) and defending Liz (which she felt some irrational instinctive urge to do), all the while thinking that being caught in the middle was no place to be.
‘I know, but that still doesn’t mean she can just swan off when we need her. We’re not the hired help here, you know – and she was the one who offered, nobody twisted her arm, although I’m sure Lady Bountiful isn’t going to let us forget who signed the cheques in a hurry.’
‘Please don’t be so snappy, Sam, it’s not like you. She said she needed to get ready, what could I say?’ Suzie said lamely.
‘Oh, come off it. Liz always looks like she’s just stepped off the front cover of a magazine,’ said Sam. ‘Never a hair out of place . . .’
He didn’t add, ‘unlike you,’ although Suzie suspected she could hear it in his voice. She glanced down at her outfit – faded, world-weary jeans and an equally faded long sleeve tee-shirt worn with a pair of cowboy boots that had seen far better days. Suzie knew without looking in a mirror that her hair was a bird’s nest and there hadn’t been time to put on so much as a lick of make-up because the whole day had been manic since the moment she’d opened her eyes.
‘To be honest, I don’t know how she does it,’ Sam said, his gaze fixed on the front door through which Lizzie had so recently vanished.
Suzie stared at him and laughed. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? A professional stylist, twice weekly trips to the beautician, the manicurist and the hairdresser, a personal trainer, Botox and a grooming budget that would make your eyes water. Not to mention the fact that she hasn’t got a husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, a rabbit and a business to run, which probably gives her a bit of a head start,’ growled Suzie sarcastically, snatching up the boxes of table decorations that she had been taking to the marquee before life got in the way.
‘Do I detect a modicum of jealousy there?’ Sam said as he headed off back towards the car.
Suzie swung round to say something but he was too quick for her.
Jealous of Liz? As if, although even as she thought it, Suzie knew that the thought came too quickly to ring completely true. There were days when Liz’s life looked like a total breeze in contrast to her own.
Chapter Two
‘My feet are absolutely killing me,’ said Rose with a groan, prising off her shoes and wriggling unhappy toes. She and Jack had managed to find a table outside the café in the shade and Rose had no plans to walk a step further. ‘That is just so much better,’ she sighed, stretching her feet. ‘I don’t think I can walk another step. What do you think Fleur’s up to?’
‘She said that she was going to get a pot of tea and some cake,’ said Jack, glancing towards the dark interior of the tearooms.
Rose looked at him and laughed. ‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said. ‘All this—’ she waved a hand to encompass the day – ‘out by ten, slap-up breakfast on the way here, God knows how many hours spent trudging around a stately home and gardens. This from a woman who usually wants to stay put and be waited on hand and foot while she’s staying with us. Can you remember the fuss she made last time she was over and we suggested a day out at the seaside?’
‘Maybe she’s had a change of heart.’
Rose sniffed. ‘Fleur’s never had a heart, Jack, she’s got a calculator.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Play nicely. You have to admit she’s been all right while she’s been over here this time. Maybe she’s mellowing in her old age. Maybe she’s beginning to realise what she’s missing. And like she said, she’s only over here for a couple of weeks this time around and the gardens are only open to the public for a month every year.’
‘Fleur hates gardening.’
‘Yes, but she knows that you like it,’ said Jack.
Rose looked sceptical. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. When was the last time Fleur thought about anyone but herself? When she gets back I’m going to ask her what she’s done with my sister.’
Jack laughed and then, changing the subject, said, ‘Actually it’s been a really nice day all round, hasn’t it? I’m really looking forward to a pot of tea and some cake.’
‘And that’s another thing – buying us tea and cakes,’ said Rose. ‘Fleur’s purse is usually welded shut. So far she’s insisted on paying for us to get in and fought like a tiger when we offered to buy her lunch.’ As she spoke Rose counted the things off on her fingers. ‘And now she’s gone trotting off to go and get the teas. I don’t understand it at all. There’s something up. You don’t think she’s ill, do you?’
‘What?’
‘There’s bound to be something more to this. I’ve been trying to work it out all day. Maybe she’s softening us up so she can break the bad news.’
‘What bad news?’ asked Jack anxiously.
‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Maybe she’s coming home for good. Maybe she’s finally outgrown Australia. Oh my Lord, you don’t think she wants to come and live with us, do you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, of course not. Maybe she’s just . . .’ he began, obviously struggling to come up with some explanation, while fiddling with a sugar packet, tipping it end over end so it made a sound like waves breaking on the beach. After the tide had rolled in and out half a dozen times, he shook his head. ‘No, actually, Rose, you’re right. I have no idea what Fleur’s up to, but to be honest it makes a nice change. In all the years I’ve known her she’s never so much as offered to buy a cup of tea, let alone treat us to a day out. And you have to admit she’s been really cheerful and good company today. I’m really rather enjoying myself.’
As if to underline the point, Fleur reappeared from inside the teashop carrying a huge tray. Jack leapt to his feet to rescue her. Rose smiled. Jack was always the perfect gentleman even when it came to her grumpy sister.
‘Here, let me have that,’ he said, taking it out of her hands. ‘Bloody hell, that looks amazing, you must have bought half the shop. Are you trying to feed us up?’
‘Thanks, Jack,’ said Fleur with relief. ‘I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a selection of little sandwiches and cakes. There’s salmon and cucumber, egg and cress, Victoria sponge, and a lemon drizzle cake. Oh, and Danish pastries.’
Rose looked at them in astonishment. ‘We haven’t long had lunch, we’ll never eat this lot.’
‘I know, I got the boy behind the counter to give me a box so we could take home what we don’t eat. Waste not want not.’ Fleur settled herself down at the table. ‘So have you enjoyed your day so far?’ she said, in a tone that suggested it was a leading question.
‘Yes, we were just saying that it’s been lovely,’ said Rose, watching her sister’s face for clues. ‘I was going to talk to you about that.’
‘The thing is,’ said Fleur, leaning forward to unpack the cups and pour the tea. ‘Coming here today. To the gardens. It wasn’t really my idea.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ said Rose, shooting Jack a knowing look.
‘Actually it was Suzie’s. She said that you’d always wanted to come here and as it’s your fortieth wedding anniversary she thought it would be a nice gesture—’
‘If you brought us?’ asked Rose sceptically. ‘Why didn’t she bring us herself?’
‘Well, the thing is, Liz is taking us all out to dinner tonight and Suzie got you those lovely olive trees and to be perfectly honest I couldn’t think of anything else to buy you. So I thought this would be the perfect present – a nice day out. Just the three of us.’
‘I don’t know why you bothered. You never bought us anything before,’ Rose said, the words out before she could stop herself.
‘That’s hardly fair,’ said Fleur. ‘I gave you that lovely cut-glass decanter, remember?’
‘Which someone gave you,’ Rose fired straight back.
‘Only because I thought it was more your sort of thing than mine and how was I to know that you knew the man at the garage?’
‘They were giving them away with petrol tokens,’ said Rose to a bemused-looking Jack by way of explanation.
‘Yes, but the promotion was over,’ protested Fleur.
‘I know,’ said Rose. ‘The man in the garage told me they were throwing the rest of them out and asked if I wanted one to match the one I’d already got.’
‘You said you liked it.’
‘I was being polite,’ growled Rose, ignoring the sandwiches and helping herself to the chocolate éclair from the selection of cakes on the plate.
‘I was going to have that one,’ Fleur said, sounding hurt.
‘I know,’ said Rose, biting off the end.
Jack, who had been watching the exchange, looked from one sister to the other. ‘When did we ever have a cut-glass decanter?’ he asked.
‘Fleur gave it to us as a wedding present,’ said Rose, through a mouthful of éclair. ‘I gave it to your mum for Christmas.’
Jack sighed and made a start on the sandwiches.
Chapter Three
Across the garden of Jack and Rose’s cottage, in a secluded spot behind the summerhouse, and as far away from the marquee as it was possible to get without actually being in the neighbour’s vegetable patch, Hannah – Suzie and Sam’s older daughter – threw herself down on the grass alongside her little sister, Megan. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.
‘That’s it. If anyone asks me to carry just one more thing round to that bloody marquee I’m seriously going to flip out. Really. And Mum is just so stressy about everything at the moment. I mean, I was just getting myself a drink from Grandma Rose’s kitchen and she comes in and reckoned I was skiving off. As if. I mean, just how unfair is that? I said to her, I don’t have to be here you know. We’re volunteering, it’s not like we’re getting paid to help out or anything.’
‘It’s Grandma and Granddad’s party,’ said Megan.
‘I know that,’ said Hannah. ‘I’m not totally thick, you know.’
‘Well, you don’t get paid to go to a party.’
‘You do if you help. Those waiters and the people in the kitchen aren’t doing it for nothing, are they?’
Megan considered her answer and then after a second or two said, ‘That girl was round here looking for you a little while ago.’
Hannah opened her eyes and pushed herself up onto her elbows. ‘What girl?’
‘You know, the one that came round to tea. The one Mum says is trouble.’
‘Sadie Martin.’ Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘It’s only because she dyes her hair. And she’s fine. It’s Mum and Dad – they are just so narrow-minded about anybody not like them.’
‘She took the mickey out of everything, doing that funny voice, all that “Thank you, Hannah’s mum”.’
‘She was just being polite,’ Hannah grumbled. ‘She was not,’ said Megan. ‘And then she did that thing when Mum asked her if having her nose pierced hurt.’ Megan mimed an eye-rolling, sarky face. ‘And when Mum said about her having her hair streaked and how she’d done hers when she was a teenager and Sadie said, “I didn’t know they had hair dye then.”’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what did she want?’
‘She’s the one who swears a lot?’
Hannah nodded. ‘I do know who you mean, Megan. She’s okay.’
‘Mum says she probably takes drugs—’
‘Well she probably does but that doesn’t make her a bad person. Okay? Or me a bad person for knowing her, come to that. All right?’ Hannah snapped.
‘Don’t have a go at me,’ growled Megan. ‘I’m just saying.’
‘Well, don’t,’ growled Hannah, closing her eyes again.
There was a moment or two of silence and then Megan said, ‘She came round with some boys.’
‘Yeah,’ sniffed Hannah, not stirring. ‘What boys?’
‘I dunno, just boys. One was sort of blond with cut-offs and a hoodie – like a skater, you know – and the other one was tall and thin with spiky hair.’
Hannah pulled a face, feigning nonchalance; it sounded like Simon Faber and Stu Tucker. Tucker had been seeing Sadie on and off for months and Simon . . . well, he was really cute and Sadie had told Hannah that he fancied her, but Hannah was playing it cool because Sadie could be cruel sometimes, and it might just be a joke and then how stupid would Hannah look?
‘How long ago were they here?’
Megan considered; time wasn’t really her thing. ‘I dunno, maybe twenty minutes. Dad sent me over to the summerhouse to find the extension lead for the lights. You were in the house getting a drink – so not that long really.’
‘So what did you tell them?’
‘I didn’t tell them anything. I just said that you were around somewhere and wouldn’t be long, but she said they didn’t want to hang about.’
‘Right, and did you say what I was doing?’
Megan looked at Hannah warily, sensing a trap. ‘No, not really, did you want me to say something?’
‘You didn’t say we were helping out or anything, did you?’
Megan shook her head. ‘No. Why would I?’
‘Good, only I told her there was a party here tonight.’
‘Oh my God. You haven’t invited Sadie Martin to Grandma and Granddad’s anniversary party, have you?’ asked Megan, incredulously.
‘No,’ Hannah spat contemptuously. ‘Don’t be such a moron, of course I haven’t, Mum and Dad would go ape if Sadie turned up with all the wrinklies and crinklies about. No, I just said there was going to be a party here and that there was going to be booze and food and stuff.’
Megan nodded. ‘And what, they came round to see if you were telling the truth?’
It was a possibility that hadn’t occurred to Hannah. ‘No, course they didn’t,’ she said angrily. ‘They probably just came round to see if the booze was here yet, and see if I wanted to hang out with them this afternoon, that’s all. Did they say where they were going?’
‘Down the Rec—’
Hannah got to her feet and brushed her clothes down. ‘Okay, well, if they come back tell them that’s where I’m heading.’
‘You’re not going down there now, are you?’ asked Megan anxiously. ‘Only Mum said—’
‘I know what Mum said,’ Hannah snapped. ‘And anyway I won’t be very long. They’ve got loads of people to help. They won’t miss me if you don’t say anything.’
‘But what about all the stuff we’ve got to do?’ Megan protested. ‘You told Mum you’d help her with the tables and the buffet. You said.’
Hannah dismissed Megan with a wave of her hand. ‘Give it a rest, will you? I’ve just said I’m not going to be that long; besides, we weren’t at Grandma’s wedding first time round, and the whole point of a buffet is that you help yourself, all right? It’ll be fine, just don’t let on to Mum that I’ve gone with Sadie, all right?’
And with that Hannah was off across the grass, heading towards the back gate and the lane beyond.
‘Hannah, Megan? Are you there?’
Right on cue, Megan heard her mum calling from the other side of the garden. She turned towards Suzie’s voice and then turned back again to see if Hannah had heard her, but her sister had already gone.
‘Oh, there you are,’ said Suzie smiling, as she watched Megan skipping over towards the marquee. Both of her daughters were growing up so fast. She looked around to see if she could spot Hannah among the girls working around the marquee. Probably off sulking somewhere, knowing Hannah. Over the last few months it had felt as if someone had stolen her lovely, happy, helpful, funny daughter and left a grumpy, sulky, argumentative troll in her place. Suzie was almost relieved not to see her and have to badger her into pulling her weight.
‘I had to go and get Dad an extension lead,’ said Megan in reply to Suzie’s unspoken question as they headed into the tent. ‘I put it round the back with all the rest of the lights and stuff.’
‘I wondered where you’d got to. Do you mind giving me a hand with the tablecloths? It’s really simple. Big white one on first and then a red one over the top at an angle – I’ll show you. And then I’ve got a box of table centres,’ Suzie pointed to the bar that had been set up in one corner of the marquee, alongside which was a stack of cartons. ‘They’re in those. If you could just put one on each table, then the girls can come and set up. Have you seen Hannah anywhere?’ she said, looking past Megan into the little knot of people who were unfolding the long buffet tables.
Megan hesitated for a split second; she didn’t like to lie, especially not to her mother, although not for any particularly high moral reason so much as her personal experience of the big, big trouble she could get into if she was found out.
‘I saw her a little while ago,’ Megan began, deploying the semantic defence of youth. ‘In the garden.’
‘Right—’ Suzie began, but before she could ask the follow-up question, someone called out to her.
‘Suzie?’ One of the caterers waved from the prep area. ‘I was just wondering if I might have a quick word with you?’
Suzie nodded. ‘Of course.’ Turning back to Megan, she said, ‘Do you mind carrying on on your own? I won’t be long, I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Sure,’ said Megan, flicking the first of the snowy white cloths out over the table. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Good girl,’ said Suzie warmly.
Megan smiled. She had a strong sense that there might be extra brownie points awarded to those people who actually stayed around long enough to help with the party.
*
Jack and Rose’s cottage was the last house at the end of the lane, and was bordered by the hedges that the two of them had planted when they had first moved in, a mix of black-thorn and dog rose that filled the gaps between a row of great polled limes. The trees had been there as long as anyone could remember, and today were heady with perfume in the late afternoon sunshine.
In the middle of a sea of summer colours, the low pan-tiled roof of the cottage swept down to frame sleepy-eyed dormers drowsing in the summer heat, and a heady old rose rambled lazily around the door and up the walls, the faces of its flowers tipped towards the sunshine. And if the cottage looked a little weather-beaten and tired after all these years, then the garden was a glorious homage to the English country garden at its best, set with great drifts of peonies and lush beds of lupins, hollyhocks, delphiniums and foxgloves.
Upstairs in the guest bedroom, Liz had her mobile phone pressed tight to her ear.
‘Hello, Grant darling, I was just ringing to see what time you’ll be getting here. And I wanted you to know that I’m missing you lots and lots. I’ve made sure there’s some decent champagne tucked away for us, and I’ve booked us in to a super little boutique hotel – we can grab a cab and head back there after the party. We don’t have to stay here obviously, and we can always leave early if it’s too dull. I mean, people will understand. Kiss, kiss, darling. I can’t wait to see you,’ Liz purred, all the while watching herself in the bedroom mirror.
She pushed up her hair on one side to judge the effect; the tumble of hair and a little pout made her look sexy and vulnerable. She made a mental note to try out the look on Grant later at the hotel.
She didn’t really want him staying at her parents’ place among the faded florals and nasty cranberry colour carpets with no en suite and a bed that squealed like a wounded buffalo when you so much as turned over.
Nothing much had changed in all the years since Liz had left home: downstairs in the hall they still had the chart measuring how much the girls had grown every birthday, now with a new column added for Suzie’s two; and on the hallstand, she knew if she dug deep enough into the pile of coats she could probably still find her old school coat in among them.
The whole house was furnished with a mishmash of furniture, some bought second hand, some given, some picked up from the local auction. There was nothing new, nothing matching, with an assortment of chairs around the farmhouse table in the kitchen and a Welsh dresser stacked with odd plates, things Suzie’s kids had made at school and cards that went back to God knows when. While in some ways it was deeply comforting, it wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to inflict on Grant.
Suzie’s house was not an option either – in lots of ways it was worse, with noisy children, dog hair, cat hair, a hall full of gardening tools and furniture which owed far more to shabby than chic. No, a nice little hotel was the best option.
The place she’d booked into had a really good write-up in the Telegraph and had been awarded all kinds of stars and crowns and crossed cutlery for being tiny, hard to find, pernickety about who they let stay and very, very expensive. Grant would adore it.
Liz turned left and right to admire her reflection in the three-paned dressing table mirror. Her new hair extensions really worked. She’d bought a new robe in jade-green silk especially for the weekend – a colour which the girl in the shop had said really brought out the colour of her eyes – although however good it made her look, it was a bit flimsy for Norfolk and Liz wondered if she wouldn’t be better off in the old woolly tartan that still hung on the back of the door in the bedroom she used to share with Suzie.
‘If you would like to re-record your message . . .’ The high-pitched nasal female whine of Grant’s voicemail cut in, breaking her train of thought. Liz frowned and cut off the recording; she didn’t like to think of anyone getting between her and Grant, especially not another woman.
Grant – Grant Forbes. She let the name roll over her tongue. Businessman, entrepreneur, man about town, man with more than one house in more than one country, man with several cars. Man who had sent the maître d’ across a crowded restaurant in Paris with a single rose to ask if he might join her and then wooed her with champagne cocktails – now that was style.
Just the sound of his name made Lizzie smile. It sounded solid and at the same time sexy in a sort of American, cosmopolitan way – and Elizabeth Bingham-Forbes sounded really, really good.
Enjoying the flight of fancy, which had occupied quite a lot of her time over the last few weeks, Liz imagined what it would be like to be Mrs Bingham-Forbes.
‘Do come through and let me introduce you to my husband, Grant,’ Liz would say at the elegant dinner parties she would host for the great and good in their perfect, perfect townhouse in Hampstead. Or maybe they’d have friends to stay down at their country place – there would be staff obviously, and someone to walk the Labradors while they were away. As one fantasy gave way to another, Lizzie held up her showbiz personality of the year award, very slightly teary but not completely overcome, and through a brave, brave smile said, ‘Before I thank anyone else, I want to say a big thank you to my darling husband Grant for believing in me and for always being there for me.’
She could see the pictures in the tabloids now. Their eyes locked in love, lust and utter undying devotion across a crowded room. They’d have to have a table near the stage obviously, or the camera angle wouldn’t work. Liz made a mental note to find out exactly what it took to get a table right at the front at those things.
Grant was perfect. They had been dating for almost five months now. And okay, so maybe he was just a teensy-weensy bit overweight and his teeth weren’t that great, but she had given him the number of a guy who did the most fabulous cosmetic dentistry and sent her dietician his email address. And after Grant had sent the third or fourth bunch of roses Liz had explained to him that the whole red roses thing was a bit tired and sent him the link to the website of a little florist she always used; they knew what she liked.
Grant seemed quite keen too, even though they were both really busy and didn’t get that much time together. They’d been to see some new play written by some chap Grant had been to university with, and a private view at Tate Modern of a sculpture exhibition by some foreign woman with big hair who kept going on about how cuttlefish were a metaphor for disappointment, which apparently wasn’t a joke, even though Liz was absolutely certain she wasn’t the only one who had laughed. They hadn’t quite got around to the whole cosy nights in together yet, but she was sure that would come once she’d got Starmaker ’s new season’s preliminary meetings and photo sessions sorted and out of the way.
They had also been to a couple of premieres and been out to dinner a few times, although Grant had seemed a bit put out when the PR girl from Starmaker had rung half way through the first course to see where to send the photographers.
When Liz had suggested Grant drive up to her parents’ party and meet the family, he had hesitated for a split second, and then said he would really love to come, and then something else, although Liz hadn’t quite caught what he said because the shampoo girl was ready to rinse her off, and Dieter, who looked after her nails, had just brought over the new shade card for her to take a look at.
Liz had emailed Grant the directions and the postcode and then, just in case he still couldn’t find it, had popped round to his house while he was at the office and got his Polish cleaner to let her in so she could programme the route into the sat nav in his new 4x4 and the Audi. Grant had taken the Aston to work, which was a real shame because she had been hoping that that was the one he’d come up to Norfolk in.
Mrs Elizabeth Bingham-Forbes. Lizzie Bingham-Forbes. It sounded so good, so natural, it just rolled off the tongue.
Liz glanced down at her newly manicured hands; obviously it was a way off yet but she was thinking maybe a big solitaire might be nice, with something really special inscribed inside the band. Or maybe there was something antique and elegant in Grant’s family that had been passed down from generation to generation. That would be nice. It would probably need remodelling but people with taste understood that.
If the ratings for Starmaker carried on as they were then they could probably swing a deal with Hello! or OK for the rights to the wedding. It had crossed her mind on the drive up to Norfolk that maybe she should get her agent onto it now – or at least dip a toe in the waters to see if they would be in with a chance.
Lizzie wriggled her fingers in anticipation, then leant forward to look more closely at her face in the magnifying mirror she’d brought with her, turning her head one way and then the other, gently pulling the skin of her cheeks up a little with her fingertips, wondering whether the time had come for a little lift.
One of the make-up artists on the show had recommended she try a new Russian cosmetic dermatologist called Gregor who had been working on a radical new treatment to deal with lip lines, crow’s feet and loss of elasticity. Not that Lizzie had any of those problems yet of course, but Gregor said he was always keen to start early – better to preserve rather than repair – and that she had the most wonderful skin tone and quality for someone of her age.
Lizzie had managed a smile: someone of her age – for God’s sake, she was thirty-four not sixty-four. Anyway, apparently she was an ideal candidate for Gregor’s new treatment, needing just six initial diagnostic consultations and then twelve holistic in-house therapy sessions, followed by a regular regime which he promised Lizzie would help restore, retain, and maintain that springy dewy look that teenagers took for granted.
Lizzie leant in close to the mirror and screwed up her eyes, trying to judge how the new regime was coming along. Her glasses were in her bag but there was no way she was going to use them if she could manage without.
In an ideal world Gregor recommended four applications of his patent skin cream a day, although he understood most people (the implication being the lesser mortals) could manage only two. Gregor had looked a little disappointed when he’d said it. There were two little tablets to be taken with Gregor’s specially electro-neuro-something-ed mineral water, at fourteen quid a bottle, followed by an intensive facewash night and morning, bi-weekly facepacks, and then daily sessions with a strange silver machine with a long handle that you passed over the skin on your face, neck, hands and bosom before you went to bed.
Bosom was a very Gregor-esque word. He had lovingly lingered over the sound of it, extending the first syllable so that it sounded like something warm and liquid in his mouth, while his assistant had demonstrated the technique on a medical mannequin, pointing out the layers of deep tissue that the machine’s special rays reached and improved.
Apparently it did something really impressive with oxygen and magnets and ions . . . or maybe it was crystals and ozone and crushed rocks from Tibet. Liz couldn’t remember which now. Anyway, it puffed out air, smelt a bit like a mixture of cloves and seaweed and cost about the same as a really good holiday.
Slipping off her robe, Liz plugged in the machine and set the dial to high; after all, she wanted to look her fabulous best for Grant.
Chapter Four
In the marquee it was getting warm. Suzie was showing a copy of one of the original wedding photos taken at her parents’ reception to Matt Holman, whose company she had hired to do the catering.
‘God, it’s so romantic all this, isn’t it?’ he said with a smile, his gaze moving backwards and forwards between the photo and her face and then around the inside of the marquee. He took another long hard look at the photo. ‘I reckon we’ve just about got the look right. What do you think they’ll say?’
Suzie shrugged. ‘I genuinely don’t know. Mum and Dad are both a bit low key. I’m just hoping they’re going to be pleased with it. Actually I’m sure they will be, they’ll love everyone being together, having a good time. They’ve always had a lot of friends and most of them are going to be here tonight, but they’re not too keen on big displays and big fusses if you know what I mean.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So a buffet supper for half of Norfolk?’
‘Might be a bridge too far, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and I’m sure they’ll be okay. I mean, how often are you married for forty years?’
He smiled and moved in a little closer. ‘You know, you look fabulous. I can’t wait to see you in your new outfit.’
Suzie reddened and hastily stepped back. ‘Stop it,’ she said in an undertone. ‘People will see us.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do,’ she hissed. ‘Let’s get back to the arrangements, shall we? We’re going to put giant-sized copies of the original photos up on the display boards on the screens in front of your prep area,’ she said, pointing over to the far corner of the tent. ‘I thought people might like to see how everyone’s changed over the years and I’m hoping it’ll break the ice a bit.’
Matt nodded. ‘Great idea – you know this is a lovely photo. Has anyone ever told you, you look just like your mum?’
Suzie raised her eyebrows, warning him off.
‘Don’t look at me like that. It was meant as a compliment,’ said Matt defensively. ‘Good bones. Anyway we’re more or less bang on schedule; all tables in all the right places, garlands and swags look great. The top table is a picture,’ he continued. ‘Food’s all under control. Champagne’s chilling. So all we need now are the guests and the happy couple.’
Suzie nodded. ‘And we’ve still got the banners to put up.’
‘The banners?’
‘Uh-huh. Ten feet long, three feet high – “Happy Fortieth Wedding Anniversary to Rose and Jack”. I know it sounds a bit tacky and it probably is, but I was persuaded into buying them by the woman I bought the flowers from—’
‘Conned more like, you mean,’ Matt said with a grin. ‘Come on, before we break out the step-ladders, how about we grab a little drink? The outside bar is up and ready to roll. Steady the old nerves – or do you fancy road-testing a bottle of champagne?’
‘Nice idea, Matt, but I really need to be stone cold sober for the next couple of hours.’
‘Don’t be such a control freak, Suzie, relax. One little glass isn’t going to hurt anyone.’ Matt moved in closer and slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘And besides I want to have a quiet word with you,’ he murmured. ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Sam about us yet?’
‘Will you stop it? This is a family party. There isn’t any us,’ Suzie hissed, pushing him away as she glanced nervously towards the open door of the marquee where she could see Sam pacing up and down, talking into his mobile. ‘No us – all right? The last thing we want is anyone seeing us and jumping to conclusions.’
‘Come on, you know what I mean. You’ll have to say something to him sooner or later. And he’s going to be hurt if he finds out from someone else.’
‘Don’t,’ said Suzie, raising a hand to silence him. ‘It’s just really difficult to know where to start,’ Suzie began, stepping away from him.
Matt looked heavenwards. ‘Come on, Suzie, this isn’t on. You are going to have to tell him. We can’t go on like this, all this creeping around. I mean, for God’s sake, it’s ridiculous. This is such a good thing for both of us. It’s a match made in heaven – you know that.’
Suzie bit her lip. ‘I do know, Matt. I do, but I’ve got no idea how he’ll take it. You know how he’s been recently. I can barely talk to him, and when we do talk it seems to end up in a row. You’re not seeing the best of him. I’m not sure what the problem is; we used to talk about everything, which makes all this worse. I’m worried about him. I don’t want to upset him any more than he already is. I just need to pick my moment.’
‘You are such a softy. You know that’s what I love about you, don’t you?’ purred Matt, leaning in to kiss her on the top of her head. ‘Trouble is, the longer you leave it to pick the moment, the harder it’s going to be to say anything to him, and the more upset Sam’s going to be when he finds out what you’ve been up to behind his back. Now, if you’re not going to have a drink with me I am going to get on, unless of course you want your guests sending out for pizza? See you later. Here, you’ll be needing this,’ he said, handing her the wedding photo.
Suzie sighed and glanced down at it. It was one of her favourites – the one where her mum and dad were cutting the cake, while on either side of them family and friends looked on with delight.
Suzie’s mum, Rose, was looking up at her dad with a grin, her eyes bright with mischief and warmth and the promise of things to come, while her dad, Jack, looked down at his new wife with such love and tenderness that, even forty years on, it was impossible not to be moved by his expression.
There was so much love in their faces, so much hope and joy and optimism caught in that single glance. Even now, after all these years, Suzie sometimes caught her dad looking at her mum in the same tender way and the look still tugged at her heart strings. How the hell had they managed to keep it like that, so fresh, so tangible and so alive after all those years together? She had always been aware that there was something really special between them, and for an instant Suzie felt envious and tired.
For years she and Sam had been best friends, best of everything to each other but recently it felt like she was running a marathon with him, all work and no reward, struggling to keep something going that felt battered and heavy and dead in the water. While she loved Sam dearly, at the moment it felt like their love, their marriage, was a bit dog-eared and beaten down by life. It was a real shame because in lots of ways the rest of their lives had got better and better over the last few years.
Once Hannah and Megan had started school, Suzie had gone back to college to take a horticultural course. After a few years of odd jobs and scrabbling around for work, a chance conversation in the local shop had led to the local estate owner offering to let her take over the running of a dilapidated Victorian walled kitchen garden, which belonged to the manor house just up the road from where Suzie, Sam and the girls lived.
‘Take over’ had proved to be a bit of a joke; there had been nothing to take over besides the lovely old brick walls covered in ivy, with buddleia and elder growing out of them, a dilapidated row of greenhouses, a few crumbling sheds and a cluster of outbuildings in various states of disrepair. Suzie had spent months clearing out brambles and nettles, bed frames, bicycles and broken glass.
But now, five years on, with the help of a start-up grant from the local council, Suzie had it up and running, selling vegetables and fruit and opening to the public for a few weekends over the course of the year. Then there had been the newspaper column and a regular slot on local radio, garden design work and various commissions to help other people set up productive gardens. Unknowingly she had stepped into the vegetable garden, ‘grow your own’ business at just the right moment.
Now, Suzie had kids coming from local schools and students to help out, as well as half a dozen dedicated volunteers, and so she had been able to turn her passion into a full-time job.
Meanwhile Sam had been busy working as an IT manager in a local electronics company, which had fared remarkably well over the last few years despite the recession – a large part of which was down to Sam’s management style, and the previous year he had been offered the job of Managing Director.
In some ways their lives couldn’t be better. They should have been happy – except that hadn’t proved to be the case. The last couple of years or so, Sam had seemed increasingly distant and cool and a long, long way from the warm, happy, relaxed man she had married.
And now of course there was Matt, and all the potential trouble that he brought with him. Having read a feature about the walled garden in the local paper he had turned up one day to take a look around. Six foot three in his expensive hand-tooled brogues, dressed in designer jeans and a white shirt open at the neck to reveal a light natural tan and just the merest hint of chest hair, he was a feast for the eye. And from the first moment she had clapped eyes on him Suzie had had no doubt that he was trouble. Trouble with a capital T.
‘You know what you need, don’t you?’ he’d purred as she showed him around one of the newly restored greenhouses. Suzie had looked up at him, not daring to ask.
That had been just over a year ago. Suzie glanced across to the servery area where Matt was helping one of the girls sorting out champagne glasses. As if sensing her looking at him, he looked up and smiled and then winked at her. Suzie felt herself redden. This was madness; she really needed to talk to Sam about him before someone else did.
‘Suzie?’ At the sound of her name, Suzie swung round.
‘You made me jump,’ she said, flustered, wondering if her face betrayed her thoughts.
‘Are you all right?’ Sam asked, looking concerned.
‘Yes, I’m fine, just thinking,’ she said, waving the words away and pasting on a smile. ‘There’s just so much to do. How’s it going out there?’
‘Well, the good news is the band are on their way here, they shouldn’t be long.’ He looked across the marquee towards their daughter Megan, who was still valiantly shaking out tablecloths. ‘I see you’ve found Megan. Do you have any idea where Hannah is? She said she’d help me put up the fairy lights and pin up the photos on the boards.’
‘I haven’t seen her for a while,’ said Suzie, glancing over her shoulder in a lame attempt to track her down. ‘Megan said she was around earlier.’
‘We know that,’ Sam said, sounding exasperated. ‘I was hoping you might know where she is now.’
‘Hannah did promise she’d be here,’ said Suzie.
Sam sighed. ‘Yes, well we all know what Hannah’s famous promises are like at the moment, don’t we? You know, you’re way too soft on her, Suzie – always making excuses. You’re going to have to make it plain that you’re not going to put up with this kind of behaviour. She knows tonight is important to you and that you need her to be here.’
‘We,’ said Suzie, feeling a flare of indignation.
‘What?’
‘We need her here, Sam. She promised both of us. You make it sound as if she is nothing to do with you.’
‘There are days . . .’ he said grimly, before turning to Megan and yelling, ‘Megan!’ Their younger daughter swung around as if she had been bitten.
‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Suzie. ‘Have a go at the one who did show up and is helping, that’ll really help things go with a swing.’
‘I wasn’t going to have a go at her, I was just going to ask her if she knew where Hannah was,’ protested Sam. ‘Is that all right with you?’
Suzie stared at him not knowing what to say. Exactly how had things got this bad between them? They never used to be snippy and sharp with each other; they had always been not just lovers but best friends. Yet now all they seemed to do was snap at each other.
Tablecloth in hand, caught like a rabbit blinking in the headlights, Megan was standing very still as she watched the two of them.
‘I’ve already asked Megan – she doesn’t know where Hannah is either, do you, honey?’ said Suzie. Megan, still rooted to the spot, swallowed hard. ‘It’s all right, don’t look so worried, you’re fine,’ Suzie said with a wave. ‘You’re doing a great job. And the tables look great, don’t they?’
It wasn’t hard to see where Megan had been; each table had been neatly laid with a white linen table and a ruby red linen top cover and in the centre of each table a cut-glass bowl of roses, greenery and a froth of gypsophila.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t really help us find Hannah, does it?’ said Sam with a frustrated sigh.
Megan smiled at her mum and dad and said not a word.
Chapter Five
Hannah made a point of staying off the main road, instead cutting between the houses and cottages, along the back lanes and down the footpath to the Rec, just in case her mum and dad were looking for her. The last thing she wanted was a lecture on how irresponsible she was and how everyone had to pull their weight. When she got to the gate of the playing field Hannah slowed down; it wouldn’t be cool to look as if she had hurried.
The Rec was on a slight incline, flanked on two sides by the church yard, with a footpath cutting through it, the neatly clipped grass rolling down past sandpits and swings, a roundabout and slides, to the village hall, and beyond that the football pitch, the pavilion, the bowling green and then the road.
Sadie was sitting on the swings, all alone in the play park.
‘You took your time,’ said Sadie as Hannah, with forced nonchalance, ambled over to where Sadie was sitting. Sadie was chewing gum. ‘We didn’t think you were going to show up. Me and the lads were just thinking about going down the river, maybe having a swim or something.’
‘I’d got stuff to do,’ said Hannah.
‘Right, yeah. For the party,’ said Sadie, more statement than question.
‘Yeah, for the party.’
‘So, did you bring any booze with you then?’ Sadie asked as Hannah sat down alongside her. Sadie had her heels buried in the bark chippings, her legs braced and arms at full stretch so it looked as if at any second she might launch herself into space. There was no sign of either Simon or Tucker.
‘No,’ said Hannah, starting to swing backwards and forwards. ‘No one said anything about bringing any booze.’
‘Oh come on, you could have brought something,’ Sadie said. ‘Least you could do, seeing as we weren’t invited to your stupid party.’
‘I told you, it’s not my party,’ replied Hannah. ‘If it had been mine you could have come. It’s more like a family do, you know.’
‘Right and so, what? You couldn’t invite any of your friends? Nice family you’ve got,’ said Sadie, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long pull on it. ‘Or is it just your nice friends who can come?’
Hannah didn’t know what to say, because the truth was that her mum had said she could invite anyone she liked, although Hannah knew that what her mum really meant was anyone she liked, and Suzie definitely didn’t like Sadie. So Hannah hadn’t even bothered to ask if she could come. Her mum didn’t think Sadie was a good influence, and Hannah knew without a shadow of a doubt that Suzie was right.
‘Yeah well, you know what my mum’s like,’ she said. ‘Like really straight, anything out of left field like you lot showing up and she’d go mental.’
Sadie sniggered. Hannah joined her.
Sadie was different and funny and her mum let her stay out as late as she liked and treated her like an adult, and she didn’t check up on her all the time. Sadie’s mum treated Sadie like she was a proper person with her own opinions and everything. Sadie came and went as she liked, wore what she liked, ate what she liked – and her mother trusted her, at least that’s what Sadie said. ‘She doesn’t treat me like I’m a baby – it’s always been like that. I live my life, she lives hers. It’s the way things should be.’
They had been listening to music up in Sadie’s bedroom when Sadie had been telling Hannah this, and ironically enough, just at that moment, Hannah’s mum had sent her a text to tell her that supper was ready and to remind her that she had homework to do – just like she was a little kid or something.
And Sadie had grabbed the phone and said, ‘Oh for God’s sake. There is no way my mum would do that to me. She knows the boundaries. That is just so out of order. Do you want me to text her back for you?’
Hannah had shaken her head and grabbed the phone because she had seen some of the text messages Sadie sent.
‘So you going back?’ Sadie had asked, taking a pull on her cigarette and flicking the ash out of the bedroom window.
‘No,’ Hannah had said. ‘No way.’ She pretended to be offended at the very suggestion, all the while wondering if there was any way she could secretly text her mum to let her know she was all right, that she would be back later and to save her some supper.
Suzie had made chilli, which was Hannah’s favourite, and she was cooking it because Hannah had asked her to. They had been talking about it over breakfast, planning to have tortilla chips and salsa, nacho cheese and guacamole and sour cream, the whole works, because Hannah had asked if they could. When she got home Suzie had saved her some of everything and Hannah had felt guilty and sorry, although she hadn’t said so.
Suzie hadn’t told her off for being late, simply saying, ‘Oh hello, honey, glad you’re back. Megan and I made a trifle too if you want some. You know what your dad’s like – I’ve been trying to keep him from eating it all. Have you had a good time?’
And Hannah had just shrugged.
‘Did you go out with Sadie?’ Suzie asked.
What could she say?
As she handed her the chilli, Suzie had said, ‘I don’t like to criticise your friends, Hannah, but be careful, won’t you? We trust you but we don’t want to see you hurt or in trouble, darling.’
Hannah had considered storming out in a huff but decided on balance that she was too hungry and the chilli smelt too delicious to miss. ‘You don’t know anything about Sadie,’ she’d said instead. ‘Not really. Not what she’s really like.’
‘You’re right,’ said Suzie, ‘but I have known people like her. I’m just saying, be careful.’
‘I’m going to eat this upstairs,’ Hannah had said, expecting her mum would protest.
‘Okay,’ said Suzie, putting a bowl of tortilla chips alongside a little bowl of sour cream. ‘Can you just make sure you bring the tray down when you’re done, please?’
Hannah had rolled her eyes and sighed. God, it was just so annoying to have a mum who was so understanding and so nice.
* * *
Today, sitting on the swings, Sadie looked as if she might have slept in her clothes. Her make-up was thick and as subtle as a car crash, and she was dressed in a long white vest top belted at the waist over black leggings and ballet pumps, teamed with a battered and oversized leather biker jacket. Her bleached and blue-streaked hair was bundled up into a messy pile on top of her head, held in place with a scrunchie and wrapped around with a bit of lace.
The thing was, Hannah knew it wasn’t just how Sadie looked or even how she behaved that her mum was concerned about. Suzie had said that there was something cruel, something spiteful about Sadie, you could see it in her eyes – and Hannah had known straightaway that her mum was right, although there was no way she would ever say so.
A lot of the things Sadie thought were funny were actually quite cruel, but Sadie was cool and diamond-hard, really mature and right up there with the best of them when it came to attitude, and that was what something Hannah really wished she had more of. Attitude. Don’t mess with me, take me as I am or leave me the hell alone attitude. If just a little bit of that rubbed off, then it would be worth it.
Ever since Hannah could remember, she had always been the good girl, the nice girl, the one who worked hard and went to after-school clubs and joined the Brownies and the Guides. She had been doing her Duke of Edinburgh’s Award until Sadie had shown up.
Teachers and grown-ups liked Hannah, but it was horrible always being good. The pretty bitchier girls had never wanted anything to with her and although they didn’t exactly bully her, they didn’t want her in their gang either. The girls Hannah used to hang around with were never cool; they were the clever, nerdy, ugly, fat ones – at least, that was what Sadie said.
Sadie had blown in at the start of Year 10 and for some reason, completely lost on Hannah, had decided to buddy up with her. Hannah’s change of fortunes had been instantaneous. Now she didn’t care what the other cliquey girls did or thought or even said, because she and Sadie were in a gang all of their own.
Boys liked Sadie, and she was clever too – clever enough not to get caught doing stuff, and clever enough to ensure she did just enough work to keep out of real trouble. Nonetheless, Hannah sometimes felt that having Sadie for a friend was a bit like sharing your life with a wild animal: she might be exciting to be around but you never quite knew when you were going to get bitten. Sadie could be unpredictable and moody and, although she liked her, Hannah had to admit that she never felt quite at ease with her. It wasn’t a warm, friendly, giggly friendship like she used to have with Lena Hall and Caroline Hunt. They didn’t go round each other’s houses for tea all the time, or camp out in the garden or drink hot chocolate around the kitchen table or laugh with her mum any more; in fact Lena and Caroline hadn’t spoken to her since Sadie had told the boys in their class that they were lesbians.
There was still a part of her that thought that maybe Sadie wanting her as a friend was a big joke and that Sadie would turn on her, or worse. But Hannah wasn’t planning to tell her mum that.
Sitting beside her on the swings, Hannah realised that Sadie was staring at her, blowing out a long dragon’s breath of smoke. She looked disappointed.
Seconds later Simon and Tucker arrived running, whooping and laughing like baboons. Tucker leapt up and swung from the bar between the swings where the two girls were sitting.
‘So – what’cha doing, Hannah-the-spanner? Bring me and Sadie any vodka, did you?’
‘No,’ said Hannah, on the defensive, as Tucker hung one-handed and leered close up at her. ‘They hadn’t set up the bar before I left.’
‘There’s going to be a bar? Cool. You didn’t tell me there was going to be a bar at your party. How about we go back to your place and suss it out?’ said Sadie, slyly.
Tucker grinned as he dropped to the ground. ‘Sounds like a blazing idea to me, what do you reckon, Si? Back to Hannah’s place, grab us some booze and then – what? Back to your house, Sadie?’
‘Yeah, all right, if you like. My mum’s going to see her new bloke later on tonight so we should have the place to ourselves.’
Tucker grinned. ‘Sweet. I’m thinking party, party, parteee.’
Simon, who was standing beside the swings, nodded. ‘Yeah, sounds cool. I’ve got twenty quid. We could send out for some pizza and stuff.’
Sadie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Oh right, mister family man – we’ve got to eat, haven’t we? I can think of a lot of other things we could get with twenty quid . . .’
‘Oh yeah,’ Tucker whooped.
Simon looked hurt. Hannah glanced up at him, longing to offer support, but at the same time not really wanting the spotlight to fall on her. Although as it happened it was coming her way, like it or not.
‘So it looks like back to your place first then, Hannah?’ said Sadie, as she hopped off the swing.
Hannah hesitated for a second before nodding.
‘Sure, okay,’ she said, as casually as she could manage, although as they fell into step alongside her, Hannah wondered how she was going to get round this one. Home to her grandparents’ anniversary party really was the last place she wanted to take any of them.
Chapter Six
‘I was thinking we really ought to go and see the folly before we go home,’ said Fleur, moving aside cups and tea plates to make enough room to spread out a map of the stately home’s formal gardens on the picnic table. ‘I reckon if we go down that way—’ she pointed towards an impressive row of topiary arches, ‘and then turn right, that takes us down past the lake and out through the woods.’
‘Are you completely out of your mind?’ said Rose, finishing off a Danish pastry. ‘The bloody thing is miles away. When in heaven’s name did you ever want to see a garden folly?’
‘But you like gardens,’ protested Fleur. ‘That’s why we came.’
‘I know and I’ve had a really lovely time looking round this one, but my feet are killing me. We’ve been here all day. I’m dog-tired and to be honest I just want to go home now,’ said Rose.
‘Oh right, that’s it, it’s always what you want, isn’t it?’ snapped Fleur. ‘I’m only over here for a couple of weeks.’
‘So you keep telling everyone,’ said Rose with a theatrical sigh.
‘And it wasn’t cheap to get in.’
‘If it’s about value for money,’ said Rose, opening up her handbag and pulling out her purse, ‘please let me pay for me and Jack – that way you won’t feel as if you’ve been robbed.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ protested Fleur, holding up her hand. ‘It’s my treat.’ She said it with no grace whatsoever, making it sound more like a threat than a gift. ‘As I said, we don’t see each other that often and I’ve only got a few more days left before I go back and I didn’t know what else to buy you.’
‘And you’re telling me that your trip back to England won’t be complete without a walk down to this folly?’
‘It was built by the late fourth Earl and is designed to represent the ruins of a gothic fairy-tale tower,’ said Fleur, reading from the description on the map. ‘Complete with a spiral staircase, and one remaining stained glass window showing the slaying of the dragon by St George, it is considered one of the finest examples of architect Cornelius E. Fletcher’s early work.’
‘Really? Well, in that case you’d better go,’ said Rose sarcastically, waving her away. ‘We’re all right here, aren’t we, Jack? We’ll get ourselves another pot of tea and have a crack at the rest of the cakes. Don’t you worry about us. We’ll be fine. We’ll wait for you here. Knock yourself out . . .’
Fleur stared at her open-mouthed. ‘What?’
‘Well, you want to go and see it, don’t you? We’ll wait for you here,’ said Rose, glancing at her watch. ‘You’d better get a move on if you want to get a good look at it before closing time.’
Very slowly, Fleur got to her feet. Meanwhile Jack picked up the map and began to fold it up for her. He folded it carefully so that the route to the folly was uppermost. ‘There we are,’ he said smiling benignly. ‘You’ll be needing this . . .’
*
After checking her watch for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Suzie made her way across the garden towards the house. The guests should begin arriving soon. She had been hoping that Liz would have reappeared by now, all buffed and puffed and oh-so-beautiful, to act as the chief meeter and greeter for their guests. Suzie’s baby sister Lizzie had always had a natural gift for the kind of social handshaking and air kissing that made people feel as if they were the centre of the universe. And who wouldn’t want to be met by Lizzie Bingham, the golden girl off the TV? So far, however, there was no sign of her.
Suzie glanced around: there were drinks on standby, canapés . . . Mentally she ran through the checklist, working out what else needed to be done.
She glanced at her watch again; all this clock-watching was getting to be a nervous tic. She really wanted to hand over responsibility to Liz for a while so that she and Sam could nip home, grab a shower and get changed. While she was there she’d have a chance to see if Hannah had sneaked home, she could feed the animals, let the dogs out, check the phone in case anyone had rung to say they were on their way or were lost or God knows what else. Even as she thought it, Suzie smiled to herself: actually, maybe going home wasn’t such a bright idea. There were almost as many jobs to do at home as there were at her parents’ house.
Pushing open the kitchen door of her parents’ cottage, she made for the hallway and called up from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hello? Liz? Are you going to be much longer?’
Not a sound.
‘Lizzie, are you up there? How much longer are you going to be? Only Sam and I would really like to go home and get changed. Liz?’
There was still nothing.
Suzie climbed the stairs two at a time and knocked on Lizzie’s bedroom door. There was no answer.
‘Lizzie? You’re not still in the shower, are you? Liz!’ She knocked harder and then finally pushed the door open. Inside, her younger sister was lying spreadeagled on top of the bed wearing nothing but the skimpiest pair of knickers, basking under some kind of lamp. Her eyes were firmly closed, her head tipped up towards the light, with her iPod on and earplugs in.
The sound of the door as Suzie slammed it shut made Liz jump, her eyes snapping open. She leapt off the bed and snatched up her robe.
‘What the hell!’ she shouted furiously, pulling it on. ‘What are you doing? Why didn’t you knock?’
‘I did. I knocked and I called and then I knocked some more. What are you doing?’
‘It’s my new holistic body therapy, it energises and revitalises your skin from the cellular level. I need to—’
Suzie held up a hand to stop her. ‘What you need to do is to come downstairs and hold the fort while Sam and I go home and get changed. People will be arriving soon.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Look at me, I can’t go down like this, I haven’t done my hair or my make-up yet.’ Liz protested, tying up her robe. ‘I’m not ready—’
‘For God’s sake, Liz, you’ve been up here for ages. And don’t look at me like that. Sam and I haven’t stopped all day. You’ve had plenty of time to get ready, you swanned in and spread a little star dust around the place and basically you’ve done nothing else since.’
Liz squared her shoulders indignantly. ‘That’s not true. I’ve paid for all—’
Suzie spoke over the top of her. ‘I know exactly what you’ve paid for, Liz, we’ve chipped in too and we’ve done the lion’s share of the work, so please can you come downstairs and give me and Sam a hand?’ Suzie could feel her frustration bubbling over.
‘I’ll be down in half an hour,’ said Liz, sitting down at the dressing table.
‘But people could start arriving in half an hour,’ protested Suzie.
‘Well in that case it’ll be perfect timing then, won’t it?’ Liz snapped. As she was speaking, Liz opened up a Pandora’s box of potions, lotions and creams and started to unpack a selection of brushes.
‘I need to go home and get ready,’
‘Well, off you go then,’ said Liz, waving her away. ‘I’m not stopping you, am I?’
‘But—’ Suzie began.
‘But what? Oh for God’s sake, Suzie, stop being such a bloody martyr.’ Liz said furiously, spinning around to glare at her. ‘You’re not indispensable, you know. The whole world isn’t going to fall apart just because you’re not there to sort it all out. People can manage perfectly well without you. We can manage without you – now just go. It’ll be fine. Go!’
Suzie was about to protest and then stopped and stared at Liz, all the words jammed up in her throat in a tight and angry knot. Finally, not trusting herself to say anything civil, Suzie stalked out of the room, down the stairs and out of the front door. Pulling her keys from the pocket of her jeans, she headed for her car.
*
In the grounds of the stately home, Fleur, who was hurrying along one of the gravelled side avenues, glanced back over her shoulder to see if Rose had had a fit of conscience and decided to come with her after all. When she saw nothing, and was out of sight, Fleur sank gratefully onto a stone bench beside a bubbling rill. She wondered if anyone would complain if she slipped off her shoes and stuck her tired, aching feet in the glittering tumbling water.
The irony of today’s day trip wasn’t lost on Fleur. Ill-named, Fleur loathed everything to do with gardening and flowers – although it wasn’t just that that was worming away at her. Being a confirmed singleton, there was something rather grisly about being asked to help celebrate forty years of someone else’s happy marriage. Talk about rubbing it in.
Fleur opened her handbag, took out her cigarettes and lit up – her last guilty pleasure. She blew out a long plume of smoke into the warm afternoon air and contemplated the present turn of events.
Forty years; it seemed impossible that it had been forty years ago since her little sister Rose’s wedding. She remembered it as if it had been yesterday. She had been chief bridesmaid in a blue and white Laura Ashley print dress with puff sleeves and a floppy hat. After the wedding, a few hours after the happy couple had driven off for their week’s honeymoon in Devon, Fleur had boarded a train to Heathrow to catch a flight to Australia.
Although Fleur had never said anything to anyone else, Rose getting married to Jack had been one of the factors that had finally convinced her to take the job in Australia.
Her little sister Rose had always seemed to have life so easy. Whereas Fleur was big and clumsy, Rose had always been petite and pretty, with those great big blue eyes and a mass of curls. Unlike Fleur, who had a gift for telling it as it was, Rose was more circumspect about what she said and how she said it. Rose had always been sweet and obliging, always laughing and kind, the apple of her parents’ and everyone else’s eye.
While Fleur had had to struggle every step of the way and work like a dog to succeed, things just seemed to drop into Rose’s lap. It all felt so unfair and it was difficult – even though she loved Rose with all her heart – not to be envious.
So while Fleur had slaved away at college, and spent all her money on books and cookery courses, no one had been at all surprised that it was Rose who managed to bag Jack, tall, dark, handsome Jack. Jack who owned his own business, Jack with money and prospects, a house of his own and a car.
Fleur sniffed; prospects – what an old-fashioned idea that was. While she had been working her fingers to the bone, no one would ever had said Fleur had prospects.
Fleur had studied and worked all the hours that God sent, taking poorly-paid jobs in good kitchens, and made herself comfortable up there on the shelf. Rose made jewellery and painted things and sold hand-decorated bowls of bulbs on a market stall, and always got on with her parents, while Fleur didn’t. Sadly, they were both gone now, which meant that she had never had a chance to heal all those rucks and scrapes and scratches that they’d had over the years. She had known deep down that they were proud of her, always pleased to see her when she came home, but there was a part of her that always believed they were even more pleased when she left.
Oh yes, Rose was most definitely their blue-eyed girl, but even so Fleur was expecting – hoping – that, when she announced she was considering going to Australia to take a job managing a restaurant, there would be someone in the family who would beg her to reconsider, tell her not to go, tell her it was a step too far, that they wanted her to stay. But – all caught up in plans for Rose’s wedding – no one had raised a single word of protest, not a single solitary word. Looking back at her younger self, Fleur knew she had come across as independent and bolshie, and that the lack of attention her family had showed was a matter of poor timing, not indifference. Nevertheless, even after all these years, it still hurt.
Fleur backhanded away an unexpected flurry of tears. They had let her leave, just like that, all those years ago when she had wanted everyone to tell her to stay, wanted them to tell her that they loved her too much to let her go. They had said nothing.
But pride is a strange thing. When no one had spoken up, Fleur had gone to work in a diner in Sydney, cutting off her nose to spite her face. Forty years on, she had ended up in Queensland, single, successful and still – despite plenty of relationships along the way – all alone, a wealthy woman with a chain of restaurants and enough money to do more or less anything she wanted. If only she could decide exactly what that was.
Forty years. Fleur sniffed back a fresh crop of tears. Where had all the time gone? And here were Rose and Jack, still up there in the spotlight with their perfect bloody marriage.
And now, just when she thought it was over, Fleur had finally met someone, Frank. Not that she had told Jack or Rose – or anyone else come to that. The trouble with relationships was all that love nonsense didn’t get any easier as you got older.
They’d been seeing each other for months now but she still couldn’t work out how he felt. What if he didn’t care after all? When she’d mentioned the idea that he might come with her to England he’d said he couldn’t get away.
‘Well okay, that’s fine,’ she had snapped. ‘Maybe that’s a good thing. It wasn’t going anywhere anyway, was it?’
And with that Fleur had left Frank sitting in the restaurant with his coffee, her dessert and the bill, and not so much as a backward glance.
She stubbed out her cigarette in an ornamental urn. God, there were times when she wished she had learnt how to keep her mouth shut.
*
Back at Jack and Rose’s house, Suzie was heading for the car.
‘Where the hell are you going now?’ shouted Sam, hurrying to catch up with her.
‘I’m going home to get changed and so are you. If anyone wants anything, just tell them to talk to Lady Bloody Bountiful upstairs.’
Sam stalled and came to a halt. ‘So now what’s happened?’ he said.
‘What do you mean “So now what’s happened”? You make it sound like I’m about three. I just want to nip home and get changed out of my jeans and put something nice on and Liz is upstairs being her usual self. When I asked her to come down and help she told me to go. Apparently you can manage without me.’
‘I can?’ said Sam, looking confused.
‘Not just you – everyone. I’m not indispensable, you know.’
‘Is that what she said? Oh come on, Suzie, you’re over-reacting.’
‘Oh right, so take her side why don’t you? I’m over-reacting? Oh, so it’s my fault that Liz is a lazy, selfish, spoilt, self-centred . . .’ Suzie ran out of air and words. ‘You know what she’s like. She thinks the whole world revolves around her. She drives me mad.’
Sam raised his eyebrows and, for the first time in weeks, laughed. ‘You don’t say.’
‘It’s not funny. She said that everything would be just fine here without me, without us.’
‘She’s probably right – come on, let’s go.’
Suzie stared at him. ‘But we can’t do that, you know she won’t do a thing. She’ll be upstairs painting her face and doing her hair and not taking a blind bit of notice of what’s going on out here. After all the planning and arranging and trying to keep it all secret that we’ve been through I want everything to be perfect—’
‘And it will be. I’ll go and pin a notice up on the marquee to say Liz is in charge and inside, and let everyone else know that if they’ve got any queries they just ask Liz. Oh and I’ll fetch Megan while I’m at it and leave a message with Matt just in case Hannah shows up. It’ll be fine.’
‘How will it be fine?’ Suzie protested.
‘Because when it comes down to it, these things always are. Why don’t you go and get the car. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’
Suzie watched him go. He was right of course. They’d hired good people, and had already done most of the donkeywork themselves – the whole thing wouldn’t crumble and fail if they took half an hour out. Would it?
The trouble was that Suzie couldn’t help thinking that if they were going home, there really ought to be someone in charge. She had wanted to hand the baton over, not have it thrown back in her face. Liz always had a knack of getting out of things, as well as getting under her skin. Although Suzie had no doubt at all that when it came to handing out medals for who did the most on the day, Liz would be right up there, elbowing her way to the front to take the applause.
By the time Suzie had unlocked the car and moved a pile of boxes and bags off the seats, Sam was hurrying back across the grass.
‘Okay, let’s hit the road. I’ve told everyone that if they want anything Liz is in the house, and Megan said she wants to stay and get the rest of the tables done. I said we’d bring her dress and shoes back with us. Okay?’
Suzie was about to protest and then nodded. ‘Okay.’
Sam looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Okay? Really? You’re not going to say it can’t be done, and that we can’t go and that we should hang around until Madam decides to put in an appearance?’
‘I’m not really like that, am I? Liz said that I was a control freak.’
Sam tipped his head to one side. ‘If the cap fits. You know as well as I do that someone’s got to take charge of things and you’re just naturally good at it. If that’s control freakery – who cares?’
Suzie glared at him and then gave in and sighed, ‘Actually you’re right and to be perfectly honest I’m way too knackered to argue. I just want to get home, grab a shower, have a cup of tea and put my frock on. Although at this rate I’m going to be too tired to enjoy the party.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Sam said, which Suzie realised was pretty much his answer to everything.
*
‘Just how much longer do you think Fleur’s going to be?’ said Rose, peering off into the middle distance beyond the topiary arches and the rose beds and the great borders of perennials and expertly trimmed shrubs. ‘She’s been gone ages. I want to have a shower and get changed before we go out to dinner. What time did she say Liz had booked the table for?’
Jack glanced at his watch. ‘Seven, I think. I’m sure Fleur won’t be much longer. I mean how long does it take to look around a ruin? Maybe we should go and look for her?’
Chapter Seven
‘My parents don’t really like people smoking,’ said Hannah apologetically as Sadie, Tucker and Simon arrived at the back gate of her grandparents’ cottage.
Sadie pulled a face and then peered down at the cigarette she was holding between her fingers as if it had appeared by magic. ‘They are just so bloody straight, aren’t they, your parents?’ she grumbled, bending down to tap it out on the sole of her shoe. ‘I mean, you know, it’s not like I’m asking them to smoke it for me or anything.’
‘Yeah, like it’s a free country,’ said Tucker, making a meal of putting his out.
Hannah hesitated, hand on the gate. Taking the three of them in with her would be a recipe for potential disaster. She could almost hear her mum now, putting down whatever she was doing, putting on her cheery face and waving them over, while giving Hannah one of those sideways looks that she did. The one that said, ‘I’m not going to make a fuss now but we’ll talk about this later.’ And then Suzie would smile and say, ‘Come on in,’ to Sadie and Tucker and Simon. ‘Would you like some juice? I think we’ve got some Pepsi here somewhere. If you want to hang around that would be great, there’ll be food later on. Oh and maybe while you’re here you could give Hannah a hand? I know her dad needs some help with the fairy lights – you look nice and tall, Simon.’ And then Suzie would laugh and smile and be nice to Sadie even though she didn’t like her, and find them all a glass or a can and some crisps or something.
Hannah cringed; just how bad would that be? Sadie would never let her forget it. Sadie had told her how much she hated all that being treated like a baby stuff. Hannah could already picture Sadie pulling sarky faces, mouthing “Mummy’s little girl”, while rolling her eyes and making chatty mouth mimes with her fingers behind Suzie’s back, swearing under her breath while Suzie was nice to her. She knew it would happen because that was just what Sadie had done when Suzie had suggested Sadie come round for tea. God, what a mistake that had been.
And this would be worse, because however much trouble Hannah got into from her mum for hanging out with Sadie, it would be nothing compared to the stick she would get from Sadie for them being treated like they were babies. Hannah looked from face to face. Sadie was chewing gum; Tucker was fishing something out of his ear. Simon looked as if he was waiting to see what happened next.
‘Actually, you could stay out here if you liked. I mean, I could just nip in and get something. It would probably be easier that way, you know, in and out,’ Hannah said, making it sound all very casual. ‘Lot less chance of us getting caught, and way less hassle than us all going in together.’
Sadie let out a long theatrical sigh. ‘Great, so now you tell us. We could have stayed down the Rec and sent you all on your own,’ she said, retrieving the dog end from behind her ear. ‘All right then, we’ll wait out here, but don’t be too long, will you – or we might just have to come in and find you,’ she added with a sly knowing wink.
‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ volunteered Simon. ‘You know, give you a hand with stuff.’
Sadie raised her eyebrows and grinned at him. ‘How much booze are you thinking of getting?’ she asked. Simon ignored her and, catching hold of the gate, held it open for Hannah.
‘Oooooo, get you,’ said Sadie, grinning. ‘Real knight in shining armour, aren’t we?’
Tucker suppressed a snort of laughter while Hannah felt herself reddening furiously; she daren’t even look at Simon.
Sadie settled herself up against the garden wall, one leg cocked so that her foot sat flat against the old bricks; closing her eyes, she tipped her face towards the sun.
‘Go on then, don’t hang about,’ she said, waving them away. ‘We haven’t got all bloody day, you know. See if they’ve got any vodka, or if not vodka then get some gin or something. Not whisky though. I hate whisky.’ Reaching into her jacket she pulled out a lighter and relit her cigarette. ‘What about you, Tucker? Want to order anything from the bar, do you?’
‘If they’ve got any cider—’ he began.
Sadie snorted. ‘Yeah right, it looks like just the sort of do where they’d have laid on a shedload of White Lightning for head-bangers like you, doesn’t it? You can be so dense sometimes – they’re more likely to have champagne than cider, you pillock.’
Tucker looked hurt. ‘Yeah, all right in that case I’ll have a bottle of that then,’ he said self-consciously, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Hannah stared at him, thinking about how things were very slowly shifting, how she used to be really pleased that Sadie was her friend and how it was that now, all this time down the line, she had ended up being as intimidated and nervous of her as she had been of any of the cliques in school.
Hannah glanced up at Simon. He shrugged and then winked, which made her smile.
‘C’mon then,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
They went through the gate, circling around the back of the summerhouse before stepping out onto the lawn. Hannah made a show of nonchalance. There was a buzz of activity behind the big marquee and nobody appeared to notice them as they wandered in among the hired help. There were girls dressed in black and white checked chef’s trousers with snowy white jackets carrying in trays of food, and boys dressed all in black, with waistcoats and slicked back hair chatting in a corner. A trail of older men were ferrying musical instruments, speakers and all sorts of other paraphernalia from the front of the house around into the big tent. Hannah looked left and right, wary as a feral cat. There was no sign of her mum and dad, or in fact of anyone else that Hannah recognised.
‘This way,’ she said to Simon. ‘We need to be quick, while there’s no one about. The bar’s in here.’
Without another word, Simon followed her into the marquee. Away from Tucker and Sadie, he looked more normal, the kind of boy her mum would think was fun and nice to have around and would smile at and mean it.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he said, loping along beside her. ‘You know, getting the booze and stuff?’
Hannah sighed. ‘I can’t see I’ve got a lot of choice really. If I don’t Sadie’s going to come bowling in here causing trouble.’
‘So you’re okay with it?’
Hannah sighed. ‘Yeah, well, kind of . . . You know, yes and no. It’ll be all right as long as my mum and dad don’t catch us. They don’t like me hanging out with Sadie very much. But it’ll be cool.’
‘So what are you going to say?’ he said. ‘“Hello. I want some booze for my mates?”’
Hannah hesitated, considering her options. Lying really wasn’t her forte, better to tell the truth. ‘More or less. I was just going say someone sent me to get a bottle of vodka and a bottle of champagne,’ she said looking up at him with a grin.
He grinned right back at her, which made something tingle inside her. ‘And you think that’s going to work?’
‘Dunno,’ said Hannah with a shrug. ‘It’s worth a shot though I reckon.’
Inside the tent, despite the activity, the air was flat and hot and heavy, muffling the sounds from outside. A couple of waitresses were busy setting up the tables with cutlery and glasses. On a dais to the left of the door was a long table with a screen hanging behind it, and behind that was an area being used to organise the food for the party. To the right, in the corner, was the bar, while in the far corner the band were setting up their instruments. A large man with a beard and glasses was putting together a drum kit, and another was running wires out for the various guitars and amplifiers.
‘Looks like it’s going to be a good do,’ said Simon, nodding towards the group.
‘Yeah.’
‘Shame we can’t stay really,’ Simon said.
Hannah glanced at him. ‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, food, drink and a band – it’d be great.’
Hannah tried to work out whether he was being serious or not. ‘We could maybe come back later if you like,’ she said, testing the waters.
‘Okay, sounds good,’ he said. ‘But not with Sadie. I mean – well, you know . . .’ Simon hesitated, as if waiting to see if Hannah was going to protest and then, when she didn’t, he smiled and added, ‘It’s not exactly her kind of thing, is it?’
‘No – I suppose not. Not enough thrash metal and swearing.’
Simon laughed and then shifted his weight. ‘You know my mum won’t let her and Tucker come round ours any more. Did I tell you that?’
Hannah shook her head and was about to ask why when she saw Megan hurrying across the marquee towards them.
‘Where on earth have you been? Mum’s looking all over for you,’ Megan said indignantly, casting a cool appraising eye over Simon. ‘Dad’s going leery because you said you were going to be here to help him with the lights and the photos and stuff. It’s not fair, I’m not going to cover for you – you’re in big trouble, they’re really annoyed that you cleared off.’
‘All right, all right, I know, I know,’ said Hannah, not wanting to be shown up by Megan in front of Simon. ‘Did you tell them where I was?’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ snapped Megan. ‘But what if they ask me again?’
Hannah shot a sharp look at Simon who took the hint and wandered off.
‘It’s all cool, okay? I’ve just been hanging out with Sadie for a bit and now I’ve come back to pick up a couple of things,’ she hissed angrily.
Megan eyed her suspiciously before taking another look at Simon. ‘What do you mean, like running an errand or something?’
Hannah nodded. ‘Yeah, like running an errand or something.’
Megan didn’t look convinced. ‘Who for? I thought you just said that you were hanging out with Sadie—’
‘I was,’ said Hannah ignoring the question. ‘But I’ve come back to get this stuff sorted out. All right? So where did you say Mum and Dad are?’
‘They’ve gone home to get changed. They shouldn’t be very long. Dad said if we want anything before they come back then we’ve got to go in and ask Liz.’
‘And where’s Liz now?’ asked Hannah, glancing around the marquee.
‘Still upstairs getting ready as far as I know. So are you going to stay and help now?’
Hannah looked over towards the bar, where a woman with big earrings was busy fitting bottles up into the optics. ‘No, not at the minute. I just told you, I’ve got to get stuff.’ Hannah was hoping that if she said it forcefully enough that Megan would assume it was one of the grown-ups who had sent her.
Megan looked as if she was about to argue and then said, ‘Well, all right, but you’d better hurry up and get back. Mum said they were only going to be gone for half an hour and they’re expecting you to be here to help.’
‘I know, I know, now just get off my case, will you?’ snapped Hannah. ‘I just need to do this first, all right ?’
‘Can I come?’
Hannah stared at her in amazement. ‘What? What do you mean, can you come?’
‘With you. It’s going to be so boring here.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Hannah.
‘You’re going to do something, aren’t you? You’re up to something.’
Hannah sighed. ‘What’s it got to do with you what I get up to?’
‘Why don’t you just let me tag along? I won’t be any trouble, I promise. Please.’
Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Why would I want to drag you along?’
Megan flinched. ‘I’ll tell them you were here.’
‘Tell them what you like.’
‘You know Mum’s really worried about you going around with Sadie, she thinks you’re going to get into drugs or get pregnant or—’
Hannah swung round. Stepping in close to her little sister, she loomed over her. ‘Why don’t you just shut up? What I do is my business, all right ?’
‘You used to like it when we did stuff together.’
‘Uh-huh, and I used to think there was a tooth fairy too,’ snapped Hannah.
‘I miss you,’ said Megan miserably as Hannah turned away. The words caught hold of her heart and made her wince but Hannah didn’t turn back.
Instead Megan sniffed and went back to her job while Hannah made her way to the bar with a certain determination in her step.
‘You okay?’ asked Simon, hurrying across to catch up with her.
Hannah nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
The barmaid had just put up a bottle of gin on the bar.
Hannah hesitated for a second or two and then, putting on her most helpful-child-on-an-errand face, said politely, ‘Excuse me?’
The woman turned round and smiled. ‘Hi there, honey. You all right? What do you want?’
Hannah took a deep breath and, pretending that she was reciting a list, said, ‘I’ve got to come and get a bottle of vodka and a bottle of champagne, please.’
The woman laughed. ‘Really? What sort of cocktail is that for then? Do you need any mixers? Orange juice or something?’ She indicated the rest of the bottles stacked up in crates.
Hannah glanced up at Simon who pulled a face. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking back at the barmaid. ‘I don’t think so. I just had to come and get vodka and champagne.’
‘Righty-oh, well, if you want anything else you’ll have to come back and I’ll sort you out. Hang on.’ The barmaid reached in under the bar. ‘There we go, me dear,’ she said, sliding a bottle of vodka across the counter. ‘You’re not planning a little party of your own somewhere, are you?’ she added, although it didn’t sound as if she was expecting an answer. ‘I just need to book it out. It’s not a problem. I can get the boss to bring me down another bottle when he comes. I’m not in charge of champagne though, you’ll have to go and ask one of the catering staff for that.’ As she spoke the woman took a pad of paper off the bar and began to write. Hannah could feel her colour and her heart rate rising and waited anxiously for the hammer to fall. Instead the woman looked up at her. ‘Was there anything else you wanted, pet?’ she said. ‘Orange juice? Maybe a lemonade or a Coke for you and your friend?’
Hannah realised with a start that it had worked and said hastily. ‘No, no that’s everything. Thank you.’ And grabbing the bottle, she headed off towards the caterers.
‘Bloody hell,’ hissed Simon, stepping up alongside her. ‘That was easy.’
Hannah looked up at him. ‘You think so?’ she said between gritted teeth. ‘I thought she was going to make me sign for it. Here, you can carry it.’
He grinned. ‘Fair enough.’
With Simon holding onto the vodka, Hannah decided to try the same tactic on one of the waitresses, who was busy unpacking a box of glasses. ‘Hello, we’ve come to pick up a bottle of champagne,’ Hannah said brightly, with a confidence that she didn’t feel.
The girl half turned to check her out and then yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Matt, can you come out here and sort this out, please? Someone wants champagne.’ At which point Hannah felt a great rush of panic and willed the ground to open up and swallow her whole, but instead her mum’s friend Matthew, who was busy in the prep area, looked up and smiled at Hannah.
‘Hi there,’ he said, ‘Yeah, that’s okay, it’s Suzie’s daughter. For Liz, is it? It’ll be fine.’ And with that he went back to whatever it was he was doing.
The girl disappeared out into the kitchen area and returned seconds later carrying a chilled bottle of champagne, which she handed to Hannah with a wink. ‘Don’t go drinking it all at once now, will you?’ she said.
‘Course not. Thank you,’ said Hannah, turning away and letting out a long slow breath as she and Simon made their way towards the door.
‘Whatever you do, don’t run,’ said Hannah out of the corner of her mouth.
Chapter Eight
‘So where exactly are you at the moment, Fleur?’ said Suzie, pressing the mobile phone tight to her ear. ‘The signal’s absolutely terrible. It’s really crackly.’
‘That’s probably the twigs,’ said Fleur. ‘I’m hiding.’
‘What?’ said Suzie in surprise. ‘What do you mean you’re hiding?’
‘In a shrubbery, near the lake.’
‘What on earth are you hiding from?’ asked Suzie.
‘Your mother and father. I thought I just saw them coming down this way. I’m supposed to be looking at some folly in the woods but my feet are killing me and it’s bloody miles away. I don’t want the two of them to catch me.’
‘Right . . .’ said Suzie, deciding that whatever the explanation was she could do without hearing any more of it; but Fleur was on a roll.
‘This is all your fault, you know. I’ve been trying to keep them out of your way as long as possible. Your mother’s been really rude to me.’
Suzie considered for a split second whether she should carry on with the family tradition. She had wet hair, was naked except for a bath towel, couldn’t find the new shoes that went with the new dress she’d bought for the party and would still be in the shower if Fleur hadn’t rung and insisted that she really needed to speak to Suzie now. Sam had assumed it was some sort of emergency and had practically dragged her out of the bathroom.
‘So how long do you think it’s going to be before you get home?’ Suzie asked, taking a long hard look under the dressing table as she spoke. Her new shoes had got to be somewhere.
‘I’m just going to go back and find your mum and dad. It’ll be a least another half hour before we leave.’
‘Okay. Perfect. Fleur, I’m really sorry but I’ve got to go—’
‘Oh that’s right. It’s all right for you, I don’t know why you couldn’t have taken them out for the day and come here with them instead of me. You know I hate all this garden lark,’ said Fleur miserably. ‘It’s been my idea of hell dragging them round this place all day.’
‘You’re doing a brilliant job,’ said Suzie as brightly as she could. ‘We couldn’t have managed to do it without you.’
But Fleur was in no mood to be interrupted, or flattered, come to that. ‘My place, I’ve got gravel, couple of strips of Astroturf, bit of paving and some plastic trees. You just hose the whole lot down once in a while to wash the dust off. I don’t hold with all this weeding, cutting and pruning palaver. Talk about a waste of time. You know your mother knows the name of all the plants, don’t you? In Latin. I’ve never been so bored in my entire life – red flowers, yellows flowers, why would anyone get excited over a bush, for God’s sake?’
Sam, who had leapt into the shower as soon as he had dragged Suzie out, walked into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. He looked at her anxiously. ‘Everything all right?’ he mouthed, indicating the phone.
Suzie nodded and gave him the thumbs up as she continued the conversation with Fleur. ‘Well, you can come home as soon as you like now, we’re more or less ready here.’
‘Thank God for that,’ sighed Fleur. ‘I’m totally petunia-ed out.’
*
Meanwhile, up on the terrace outside the stately home’s tearooms, having decided not to go looking for Fleur, and having finished off a pot of tea and the best of the cakes, Rose had left Jack sitting in the sunshine reading the guidebook, while she went off to wander around the gift shop. She had intended to go looking for plants, but what caught her eye instead was a large notice standing slap bang in the middle of the main aisle that read: ‘Unfortunately our fairy tale folly will be closed this summer for refurbishment. We apologise for any inconvenience to our visitors and invite you along next year for the grand gala opening. Special rate tickets are available at the counter.’
Rose raised her eyebrows; it looked as if Fleur was going to be disappointed after all.
*
Back at Rose and Jack’s cottage Liz was becoming increasingly flustered and annoyed. She hated to be rushed: it made her feel uneasy. Usually she allowed herself at least two hours to get ready, that was the absolute bare minimum; and as far as she was concerned it was two hours well spent.
Suzie’s daily regime appeared to involve slapping on a bit of moisturiser, some mascara and an old pair of jeans. But then again there was nothing in Suzie’s precious organic vegetable patch that was going to think she’d let herself go just because she wasn’t in full make-up at six in the morning for some stupid promotional do in a park in the middle of nowhere. No cabbage, courgette or cauliflower was ever going to suggest Suzie needed to lose a few pounds, no leek would ever mention in a meeting that they had seen this fantastic new girl on some obscure cable show who was really hot and incredibly talented and only twenty-bloody-three.
Oh no, in her line of work Suzie could go on till she had a face like a badly worn moccasin, whereas in Liz’s profession one slip, one slide, one filler session gone wrong, and you could find yourself hosting an afternoon car boot show. Once you reached a certain age it was easy to glide from golden girl to Granny’s collectibles in one short step, and while Lizzie actually felt that she was at her peak and had several good years ahead of her yet, it was important to be ever watchful, to keep herself in shape, keep up with those facials and not let time get the upper hand.
The gym, Botox, fillers, Gregor and his diabolical machines were going to be an occupational hazard for as long as she wanted a face and figure that fitted on prime-time TV.
For her parents’ party, Liz was planning to go with a subtle but sexy local-girl-made-good-comes-home look. Dewy, bright, natural-looking skin, pink, pearly lips, bright but subtle eyes, her hair lightly styled and looking very slightly windswept.
Laid out on the dressing table was a palette and selection of brushes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an artist’s studio. Liz leant in a little closer to check how she was doing – looking natural and girl-next-doorsy was the toughest look of all to pull off.
Her stylist at Starmaker had sorted out three possible outfits for the party: a little Victoria Beckham number with its trademark full-length zip, a Hervé Léger bandage dress and something from Burberry that Emma Watson had worn to some daytime thing, although this one was in jade not grape. While the outfits had looked just fine in London, looking at them now on their hangers with the shoes standing underneath, Liz suspected that they were all too dressy for West Norfolk. For the girl who styled her at Starmaker, Camden was probably her idea of rural.
It all looked way too show-bizzy – and those Louboutins were going to be a complete nightmare on the grass. Liz took a deep breath and tried not to let Suzie unsettle her. ‘Calm, calm,’ she murmured. ‘Deep breaths, inner strength. Do not let her get to you.’
Just why the hell should she be expected to rush when she’d paid for almost all of the party?
Liz picked up a make-up brush, closed her eyes and took another calming breath. Breathing; for the last six weeks Liz had been paying her yoga teacher a small fortune to teach her something she had been doing all her life without giving it a moment’s thought. She tried to visualise being at one with the open plain, the rolling woodlands, the mighty ocean, the whole of creation – but all she could think about was getting one over on Suzie.
Bloody woman, bursting in her telling her what to do. Had she any idea how much a marquee cost? Half an hour, my arse, Liz thought furiously. It was going to take her that long to get her foundation right. And no one was going to show up this early, surely?
Breathe.
Anyway, Suzie was such a control freak, Liz couldn’t see her being away for very long. After all, how long did it take to have a shower and towel-dry an unstructured bob for God’s sake?
Liz made the effort to concentrate on her breathing and inner peace and radiant beauty, imagining her body was light as a butterfly and suffused with joy and contentment, at one with the universe.
From somewhere downstairs Liz heard the doorbell ringing.
‘Bugger it,’ she spat as her eyes snapped open.
*
‘My new shoes have got to be here somewhere,’ said Suzie, coming up for air after a prolonged hunt under her side of the bed. ‘This is absolutely ridiculous. Where the hell are they? They can’t just have disappeared. I put them in the bottom of the wardrobe, I know I did.’
‘So why are you looking under the bed?’ asked Sam, who was busy towelling his hair dry.
‘Because they’re not in the wardrobe, I’ve looked.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve had everything out,’ she said, pointing to a jumble of things piled up on the bedroom floor. ‘They’ve got to be here somewhere; shoes just don’t vanish.’
The family cats sat on the bed and watched with considerable interest as Suzie folded back the duvet and dived under the bed again. So far she’d found a stray trainer, a vacuum cleaner attachment, a sprinkling of coat hangers, some spilt cotton buds, enough fluff to re-carpet the sitting room – but no shoes. Still wrapped in her towel, Suzie sat back on her heels.
‘They’re brand new, they’re in a box, they’re peacock-blue silk. I mean, where the hell could they have got to?’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said Sam, busy sorting out his own clothes. ‘I’m not into high heels.’
‘They’re not that high,’ she said, not bothering with the joke. ‘They’re just gorgeous and I bought them specially and I haven’t got anything else that goes with my new dress.’
He looked at her sceptically. ‘You must have something else you can wear . . .’
‘Well, I haven’t. All I’ve got are flip-flops, sensible dog-walking shoes, gardening boots and wellies. The only other pair of going-out shoes I own are the ones I wore with my going-away dress, and how many years ago was that? They’re so out of fashion I’m expecting a call from the V&A any day now.’
‘Don’t have a go at me, I was just saying,’ Sam said, sounding hurt as he headed back towards the bathroom, making Suzie feel guilty that she had snapped at him. She sighed; if she was honest, it wasn’t only Sam’s fault that things weren’t great between them. She had too many secrets to make life easy for either of them.
Suzie also knew that if she had worn her old shoes to the party, Sam wouldn’t have said a word, and even after all these years she couldn’t decide whether that was because he just didn’t notice or he just didn’t care. He always used to say that he loved her just the way she was, which in one way was wonderful, but as time had gone on – and particularly at the moment, when things between them were so tense – Suzie had begun to feel less certain. There was a very fine line between acceptance and indifference.
Giving up on the shoes, she took her new outfit out of the wardrobe and held it up against herself. It was a rich Persian blue, beautifully slimming, beautifully cut, column dress, with a little matching jacket that had cost a small fortune even though it had been in the sale. She ran her fingers over the fabric. With her job and the girls growing up it had been so long since Suzie had bought anything really nice for herself. She turned to look in the mirror to gauge the effect. The colour brought out the deep blue of her eyes and looked lovely against her lightly tanned skin. It had been a great choice.
And okay, so it was more than twice what Suzie had ever paid for an outfit before, but she had needed something new, something special for tonight and Sam could hardly complain – she was earning her own money these days, proper money, not peanuts. Now that she was more successful it was time she started to make more of an effort, that was what Matt had said. ‘Dress for success,’ he had said, and if this dress was anything to go by, success was a foregone conclusion.
Seeing her sister Lizzie, even when she was dressed down, had made Suzie feel dowdy and plain, so she was even more pleased that she had made the effort to find something special to wear for the party.
She and Sam had been together so long that she wondered if he still really noticed that she was a woman. Not that Suzie had ever been a girlie girl and these days working in the garden all day meant that she had a lot of checked shirts and jeans and hands that said more about manual labour than manicures.
But all that was going to change if Matt had his way.
Matt. She sighed.
Matt had insisted on going to Cambridge with her to help choose the dress for the party, and when – after half a dozen outfits – she came out of the changing room in the blue outfit, he had given her a round of applause, saying she looked lovely, really gorgeous. For the first time in years, as she did a little twirl for him and the shop assistant, that was exactly how she felt.
Hidden away in the back of the wardrobe were the other outfits Matt had insisted she should buy. When she had protested that they were far too expensive and she couldn’t justify spending that much money on anything, let alone clothes, Matt had insisted on buying them for her as a treat. An investment was what he had actually said, as he had had them wrapped, and after a token stand-off she had let him settle the bill. And now they were yet another guilty secret that she was keeping from Sam. How had things gone this far?
Out on the landing Sam was pulling on the crisp white shirt she’d ironed for him. Watching him doing up the buttons, she felt a pang of sadness. It used to be that he said thank you when she did those things for him. It used to be that he thought she was lovely, and said so.
Just when exactly had they started to take each other for granted? There was a time when he used to come up behind her and slide his hands around her waist while she was at the ironing board, snuggling up, kissing her neck and making her giggle, till she had to push him away, afraid of burning herself or the thing she was ironing. Sometimes just recently it felt as if she was remembering a different lifetime, with two different people.
‘Penny for them,’ Sam said, as he caught her staring.
Suzie managed a smile, not knowing how to start the conversation that she needed to have with him.
‘No, it’s fine, nothing important,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘Well, we haven’t got time for any of that,’ said Sam, buttoning his cuffs. ‘We need to be out of here.’
*
‘All right, all right – I’m coming, I’m coming, take your finger off the bloody bell,’ growled Liz as she hurried across the landing and down the stairs of Rose and Jack’s cottage. The bell kept on ringing and ringing until finally Liz threw open the front door.
‘Yes?’ she barked. ‘What is it?
‘Oh hello, love, I’m sorry, we’re not too early, are we?’ said the woman on the step, as she looked Liz up and down, all smiles and a big hat. ‘Have we got the right place? Only I wasn’t sure if there was anyone home. We didn’t want to arrive late and miss the big surprise. I’m Beryl and this is Charlie – Charlie and Beryl? Here for the party, Jack and Rose’s wedding anniversary?’ She waved an invitation under Liz’s nose. ‘We were there first time around, weren’t we, Charlie? I used to work with Rose years ago. And I wore this hat for their wedding. I thought it would be a nice touch to wear it again. What do you think?’ She turned left and right so that Liz could get the full benefit of all those chins in profile.
‘Charlie nearly gave it to Scouts for their Guy on Bonfire Night, cheeky monkey, but I’m glad I hung onto it now. Although I can’t get into my dress these days and we gave Charlie’s suit to the local amateur dramatics for some kiddies’ thing they were doing, didn’t we, Charlie? Are we the first?’ she said, peering past Liz into the confines of the hall. ‘Where have you got Rose and Jack hidden then?’
Liz was about to reply when a noise from the road made the woman look back over her shoulder.
‘Oh my God,’ she squealed, clapping her hands together. ‘Look at that, there’s June and Roger Bell – I haven’t seen them for donkey’s years. Always among the front-runners, those two. We were always the first to arrive everywhere, me and Charlie, June and Roger. Do you remember, Charlie?’ And with that she scuttled off back down the path to embrace the new arrivals.
‘You’re early,’ said Liz grimly to Charlie, who was standing on the doorstep holding a card and a present.
‘I know, Beryl always likes to be early, doesn’t like to miss anything. All the clocks in our house are set fifteen minutes fast, just in case,’ he said, eyes slowly taking in Liz’s tanned legs, bare feet and skimpy little robe. ‘Anything I can help you with, is there?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said briskly. ‘Everything is under control.’
‘Righty-oh. So, where would you like us then?’
Liz hesitated. Trust Suzie to be somewhere else when Liz needed her. Typical.
‘If you’d like to go round into the back garden,’ said Liz, managing a thin smile. ‘The marquee, on the lawn, you can’t miss it if you just go round the side, through the gate.’ She pointed to make sure he’d got it. ‘My sister will be back soon. She’s actually the one doing all the hands-on stuff. She shouldn’t be very long.’
He grinned. ‘Righty-oh, well in that case we’ll go round there then and wait,’ said Charlie, although he didn’t move. Instead he looked slightly sheepish and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if working up the courage to speak.
‘Was there something else?’ asked Liz.
‘I was just going to say that you don’t look anything like your photo in the paper. It doesn’t do you justice – you’re not how I imagined at all.’
Liz’s smile broadened a little, wishing that she had been a bit more gracious; after all, it wasn’t every day you met a real-life celebrity. Dressed in her robe all fresh from the shower, she must be a fantasy come true for someone as old and wrinkled as Charlie. Famous TV star opens the door half naked; she could almost hear him telling his friends down at the bowls club or wherever it was people like Charlie hung out. ‘Ohhh she was so nice, lovely legs – and so natural.’
From the path they could both hear Beryl and the other new arrivals giggling and whooping with delight.
‘And fancy you being one of Rose and Jack’s girls,’ Charlie said, beaming now. ‘They must be very proud of you.’
Liz nodded, making a good show of looking modest.
‘You’re really famous round here, you know.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she began, all smiles and self-effacing charm.
Seeing her response, Charlie had brightened visibly. ‘You’re a lot smaller that I thought you’d be. I was saying to Beryl on the way here that I was hoping we’d see you. You know, I read your gardening column in the Gazette religiously every week, never miss it. I keep meaning to write in and tell you about how good that tip was about the hot manure bed under the melons. Last year I had four real beauties. Absolute crackers. And this year I reckon there’s going to be even more. You ask Beryl. We call it Suzie’s Magic manure—’
Liz managed to hold the smile. ‘Really, well gosh . . . fancy that – that’s lovely, marvellous,’ she said. ‘Now why don’t you and Beryl go round to the back and hide just in case Jack and Rose show up early too? I’m sure someone round there will find you a glass of champagne and some canapés.’
‘All organic I expect?’ said Charlie with a big stagy pantomime wink. ‘If we get the chance while we’re here I’d really like to have a quick chat with you about my brassicas.’
Liz smiled. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she murmured.
At which point a minibus pulled up in the driveway and people started clambering out, laughing and waving, bearing presents and outrageous hats and calling hello. From the shrieks of joy and squeals of laughter it seemed there was a good chance that Beryl knew them all.
Chapter Nine
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, why couldn’t you have gone while we were at the tearooms?’ said Rose testily, as Fleur bundled out of the car and headed for the toilets behind the service station.
Ungrateful bugger, thought Fleur, as she scurried across the tarmac, rooting through her handbag as she went. Fleur wanted to let Suzie know they were on their way home and couldn’t think of any other way of doing it without drawing attention to herself. She had planned to text as soon as they left the gardens, and then half way through had started to worry that if she did there was a chance Suzie might not pick up the text if she was still busy getting everything else ready. Phoning seemed like the only sensible option.
Fleur scrolled down to find Suzie’s mobile number and pressed ‘call’. The phone began to ring just as she pulled open the door to the lavatory.
The service station toilet smelt like a monkey cage. It was the kind of place where you’d feel dirtier after washing your hands, if you could bring yourself to use the hand basin. Liquid soap had formed a slimy grey stalagmite on the splashback and damp paper towels and crumpled tissue littered the scuffed, dirt-caked floor. The toilet seat was up, but there was no way Fleur was going close enough to even think about lowering it. Above a pitted and stained mirror a chipped yellowing sign read: ‘These facilities are inspected regularly.’ Fleur wondered by whom – trolls?
She let the door swing shut. On her mobile someone had answered.
‘Suzie?’ she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘Are you there? I just wanted to let you know that we’re on our way back, we’re—’
‘Who are you ringing?’ said Rose from behind her.
Fleur almost jumped out of her skin. ‘You frightened the life out of me,’ Fleur stammered.
‘I was worried about you. I thought you said you wanted to go to the loo?’
‘I did, I mean, I do. There’s a queue,’ said Fleur lamely.
‘No, there’s not; look the thing’s on green,’ said Rose, pulling open the door. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
‘Oh, I’m just tickety-boo,’ said Fleur, phone still clamped to her ear as she stepped inside.
*
‘That was Fleur again, she said she couldn’t talk for long – they’re now on their way home,’ said Sam, handing Suzie her phone. ‘They’ve just stopped at the service station at Hunter’s Cross. What on earth are you doing in Hannah’s room?’
‘Looking for these.’ Suzie, on her knees and still wrapped in a towel, triumphantly held up her new shoes. The family cats, Sid and Harry, had padded in behind her to watch the rest of the show. ‘They were under Hannah’s bed, although I’ve got no idea what she’s done with the box. She must have been trying them on. I just can’t believe her sometimes,’ Suzie sighed. ‘She knows they’re mine and they’re new and that I bought them especially for the party. I don’t take her clothes. She would be furious if she thought I was going through her things.’
‘You should take it as a compliment.’
Suzie pulled a face. ‘Well, excuse me if I don’t. I wouldn’t mind if she asked but she just helps herself – my shoes, my perfume, my make-up. Last week I caught her sloping off in my boots and the jacket Mum and Dad got me for Christmas. I’m going to have to say something.’
She looked around the bedroom. Vampire posters and right-on, edgy, slightly grungy slogans had taken the place of Hannah’s pony posters. Her teddies and toys were stuffed into a box on top of the wardrobe. The room was a tip, despite Suzie’s constant efforts and pleas for Hannah to clear it up. You couldn’t see the bedroom floor for clothes and crumbs and books and magazines, and every flat surface was covered in mugs, empty packets, make-up and hair paraphernalia.
In one corner a pile of freshly ironed clothes lay alongside a black plastic sack spilling out crumpled papers and rubbish, abandoned half way through an enforced clear up.
Suzie sighed; she longed for the old Hannah to come home: the one who used to giggle with her in the kitchen; the one who couldn’t wait to get home from school to tell her how the day had gone; the one who enjoyed helping her cook; the one who didn’t sulk and who would have loved tonight’s party. The old Hannah would have joined in and had fun with everyone, not crept off somewhere to moan and feel all grumpy and hard-done-by.
‘We really need to be getting going,’ Sam was saying.
‘I can hardly go anywhere like this, can I?’ said Suzie pointing to her towel. ‘And I need to put a face on.’
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘No, you don’t, you know you look gorgeous just the way you are. Come on, just put your frock on – it’ll be fine. I’ll go downstairs and let the dogs back in.’
‘Can you leave the dogs in the kitchen, I don’t want muddy pawprints all over my dress,’ said Suzie, hurrying into the bedroom. ‘Just give me ten minutes.’
‘You’re the one who was worrying about it all going wrong if we weren’t there,’ called Sam, shucking his jacket off the hanger and pulling it on. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Suzie didn’t reply. At least she had found her shoes. She took a quick look at the clock beside the bed and made a start – towel off, underwear on. Then she slipped the dress off the hanger and slithered into it, tugging it on over damp shoulders, before pulling on the jacket. She sat down at the dressing table, dragged a brush through her hair, added a slick of kohl pencil around her eyes, a little lipstick and a dab of perfume – and was all done and ready to go with time to spare.
Checking her reflection, Suzie grinned. Matt had been right – despite getting ready in a rush, her new outfit was absolutely perfect, fitting her like a dream and making her both look and feel wonderful.

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