by Sarah Mason
The three of us are still standing in a little huddle. “Holly, Clemmie, perhaps you should come into my office.”
Could we bring Sophie too? I don't want to leave the comforting warmth of her armpit right now. She is certainly going to be added to my Christmas card list after this. I think Sophie is quite pleased to see the back of us, though, and we slowly follow Joe down the corridor. We positively dawdle outside his door and then unwillingly follow him in.
Joe goes round to his side of the desk, runs his hands through his hair and sits down.
“So that was Martin Connelly, was it? What a charming man. I can see why you believed his every word, Holly.” Ah. Sympathy might be a little short on the ground here. “Lucky I got there just in the skin of time, otherwise murder might have been added to his police record too.” I instinctively put my hand to my neck. He is talking about Holly, isn't he? Surely Martin wouldn't murder me?
“Look, Joe, I'm sorry about—” starts Holly.
“No, Holly. This really is the thin end of the toast. Sir Christopher has been on the phone to me non-stop since his beloved daughter called him yesterday and told him about your role in this little drama. He's threatening to sue the paper and he's threatening to charge you with breaking and entering.”
“But we didn't break or enter anything!” protests Holly. What's with all this “we” stuff?
“Well, he's saying you did. And I couldn't really give a stuff if he does charge you because at least it will take the heat off the paper. How on earth did this happen? What did I tell you about doing your research? And be careful how you answer this because you're close to joining the ranks of the unemployed at the moment.”
“We did do our research!” She had better stop using the plural or else she's going to get a good kick on the shins. “That was the problem! All we were trying to do was ascertain whether Emma was going to marry Martin Connelly and she was! How was I supposed to know that her father put him away! We simply found out that Emma was getting married and then tried to reunite them.” Joe starts to look slightly mollified. “It would have made a great story. Anyway . . .” she rushes on hurriedly as she sees Joe's face, “James wants us to take Emma down to Cornwall for a few days until her father can find somewhere permanent for her and I was wondering if it would be okay—”
“Bloody hell, yes! Go and look after the girl! Do not let her out of your sight! Anything to get Sir Christopher McKellan off my case!”
“Will I still have a job when I get back?” Holly asks in a very small voice.
“That depends on how you do,” he says dryly. “And since you are partially responsible for the loss of our social diarist, you can bloody well write copy for ‘High Society' until I find a replacement. E-mail it to me. You know the drill.” And with a wave of his hand he dismisses us.
Sam turns up to collect us at about ten-thirty, which is not a moment too soon for me. I rush downstairs with my bag leaving Holly and Emma to bring up the rear.
Sam is leaning against his BMW as I gallop toward him. “What on earth have you been doing?” he greets me. “And what on earth are you wearing?”
I still have on my suede jacket and bobble hat. “I'm in disguise.”
“You're in delusion. You stick out like a sore thumb. I suppose it's only marginally worse than your usual garb.”
I'm just about to give a particularly scathing reply when Emma and Holly come clattering down, followed by James. I'm already in the front seat with my seatbelt on by the time they finish their hand-shaking and greetings. I briefly think about honking the horn at them. It is intensely irritating whenever Sam does it to me.
Sam loads Emma and Holly's luggage into the boot and after some good-byes to James (I do mine through the window and I notice a definite chilliness between him and Holly, no kissing) we set off toward the M5.
Sam must be absolutely bursting with curiosity but he doesn't show it. Emma politely but firmly bats back every question Sam asks until his conversational gambits on everything from the weather to politics have all been exhausted. She then looks firmly out of the window to make it clear to everyone that she is unavailable for comment. We can't talk about what's been happening with Emma present so I plump for a neutral topic.
“How's Norman?” I ask.
“Still eating your father's sardines. Sorrel thinks he's missing the sea so she keeps filling the bath and tipping in half a ton of rock salt for him to bathe in. Norman, that is, not your father. So now Norman spends half the day floating about in the bath. Enormously disconcerting when you're trying to have a pee with Norman watching you.”
“And how's Calamity Jane coming along?”
“Much like the title, I think. Rehearsals are full steam ahead. Barney and I went to one last night and your mother tried to rope me in as one of her extras.”
“Are you going to do it?” I ask.
“I will if you will.” He grins at me disarmingly.
I have been an extra for my mother on many occasions but the last time was when I was about fourteen and I was a Munchkin in the RSC version of The Wizard of Oz (my mother was the Wicked Witch of the West, a role she took to with great gusto). I have a startling allergy to avocados which makes my face swell up spectacularly. There must have been some lurking in my lunchtime sandwich because I made all the children in the front row cry. Funnily enough I have avoided being an extra since then.
“I'll think about it.” As long as I avoid avocados, it might be quite fun with Sally playing the lead. “Has Barney been roped in too?”
“Ages ago.”
“How was the rehearsal last night?”
“Catherine was making moon eyes at the vicar. And Bradley insisted on wearing a cowboy hat for most of the evening. Then we all went back to your house for coffee and cake to be greeted by the sight of Norman chasing Morgan around the kitchen table. I was hard pushed to know whose side I was on.”
I grin at this. I could nearly miss being at home.
Well, almost.
I glance at the backseat. Holly has fallen asleep and Emma has joined her. Sam surveys them both in the mirror.
“So what has been going on, Clemmie?” he asks quietly as we are now free to talk. “Your mother was quite hysterical on the phone. What trouble have you got yourself into this time?”
“Why do you always presume it's me?”
“Because it is always you.”
“It was Holly this time,” I protest. “I was an innocent bystander who got caught up in this miserable business.”
He snorts. “You seem to get caught up in an awful lot of things.”
“The statistics are stacked against me,” I huff and look out of the window.
“I suppose I can't ask what all this is about?”
“I wouldn't tell you if I could,” I say childishly. I hope the suspense is killing him.
“Fair enough.” He looks annoyingly unmoved and goes on to talk of other things.
Chapter Twelve
A welcoming committee is waiting to greet us in the kitchen when we arrive. I have never been so pleased to see my family in my life. The ratio of Emma to other people is now much higher, nowhere near the statistic I would actually like but definitely an improvement.
My mother's eyes widen with amazement when she clocks my orange bobble hat and brown suede jacket which I haven't managed to take off yet. “Dear God, Clemmie. What on earth are you wearing?”
Holly breaks off from giving my father a hug to call over, “She's in disguise.”
“Take them off, Clemmie. You'll frighten the locals.”
My father is more concerned with the welfare of his daughters and is murmuring something to Holly, whereas my mother has a sod-them-who's-the-interesting-stranger attitude as Emma steps through the back door, followed by Sam who is carrying a ton of luggage.
“This is Emma,” I announce.
My mother steps forward and gives her two big kisses on each cheek. I wish she wouldn't do that to complete strangers. Sh
e is clearly absolutely goggle-eyed with curiosity but feels it is slightly beyond good manners to introduce herself and then ask for Emma's life story. “Emma, welcome to Cornwall! My goodness, you must be so glad that Holly found you and thwarted the madman!” I quickly maneuver myself into a position to make faces at her behind Emma's back. “I mean, Holly has always been wonderful at her job and I'm so proud she is really helping people.” I move on to more blatant waving, and Holly joins me while my father and Sam look on in amazement. “I like to think of her as some sort—” The back of Emma's head is looking decidedly frosty so I step in before any more damage can be done.
“Actually, em, Mother, the thing is that Emma didn't really want to be found . . .”
“That's right,” spits out Emma. “The only reason I'm here is because Holly managed to actually lead the madman, as you so succinctly put it, to me.”
“But you had disappeared.”
“Because of the madman,” I put in, feeling that some sort of clarification is needed.
My mother opens her mouth and then shuts it again. She is rarely lost for words.
My father, always sensitive to the delicacies of social situations, asks Emma kindly, “Would you like to see your room?”
“Thank you,” she says quietly, which is the best we've had out of her for the last twenty-four hours.
She and my father select her bag from the mound of luggage Sam has dumped on the floor and make their way upstairs.
My mother immediately turns to us. “What on earth have you been doing?”
“It was all Holly,” I get in before any nasty retributions start.
“BUT SHE'S PREGNANT,” my mother mouths while indicating a huge belly with her hand.
“That wasn't Holly,” I say, just to make these things clear. None the less, I look at my mother in baffled amazement. How can she tell? Can she smell the hormones or something?
Barney comes bursting through the back door and leans forward with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. “What the hell have you two been up to?” he asks, looking between Holly and me without so much as a how-are-you.
“It's all Holly.”
“I doubt that,” says Sam from the kitchen table. God, he's eating a yogurt already. It's another rhubarb one—I can spot a multipack from a mile off.
“I have been dragged into this very much against my will,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
“Clemmie, you're never dragged into anything against your will.”
“Are you and James okay?” my mother asks Holly. “He sounded pretty mad with you last night.”
“He is,” says Holly weakly. “I'm just hoping I can make up for it somehow.”
Just at that moment we hear my father and Emma coming back down the stairs and we all shut up. My father is busy telling Emma all about the village and where she is in relation to the sea.
They come back into the kitchen and Emma's face is already a bit cheerier. She looks lighter somehow; my father can have an amazing effect on people.
“Thank you for the flowers in my room, Mrs. Colshannon,” says Emma quietly. Flowers and my mother? Holly and I exchange a look. That must mean that my mother has been in the garden. She must be absolutely desperate for information.
“Please do call me Sorrel.”
Barney leans over and introduces himself. Emma can't have been expecting all these people and I almost feel quite sorry for her. Well, almost.
“Now, you must be starving. I've done some soup and sandwiches for lunch.” My mother glares at Sam, who is eating another yogurt, and shoos him away from the table.
Barney and Sam move all the luggage upstairs before Morgan can pee on it and then we sit sedately down at the table. It feels like we're back at school again and we've just brought some friends home for tea. Everybody studiously keeps off the reason for Emma being here.
I glance over at Holly who has been really quiet for most of the morning. “Are you okay?” I lean over and ask quietly.
She makes a so-so face.
“Is it James?”
“God, Clemmie. It's everything. I've made such a cock-up of everything, haven't I?”
Tears fill her eyes suddenly and I feel somewhat alarmed. I bite my lip and pat her arm rather uselessly. Luckily everyone else is looking curiously at the stranger in our midst and completely ignoring us. “Well, it's not really your fault. Charlie was very convincing. He had me fooled and don't forget . . .” I lower my voice to an undertone, “. . . he had Emma fooled too.”
Holly nods slowly at this and looks slightly happier. “But James is right, I should have checked my facts more thoroughly. And now I've messed everything up for Emma, may have lost my job and even James too.”
I am vaguely shocked at this. “You and James will be fine though, won't you? Goodness, Holly, you didn't mean for all this to happen.”
“I don't think he quite sees things like that. I have put him in a pretty awful position.”
“He'll come round,” I say comfortingly. “All we have to do is keep Emma safe and deliver her to those friends in one piece. How hard can it be?”
Holly and I are given an Emma reprieve as my father takes it upon himself to drive her up to Watergate Bay for a walk on the beach and some tea at Barney's café. God bless him, he should be canonized. Sam has to go back to work and my mother is clearly torn between eliciting some juicy gossip from Emma and having to breathe great lungfuls of fresh sea air but, after making my father promise to relate everything he learns (but I will not press her, Sorrel), she elects to stay at home and smoke cigarettes instead.
I'm expected back at Mr. Trevesky's café tomorrow so I make the most of my last day of freedom by lying on the sofa and reading a magazine. Just as my mother is attempting to extract the juicy details of the Emma story out of me, the vet calls to tell her she is late for an appointment with Norman that she has completely forgotten about and she has to rush off. Holly wanders in at teatime demanding attention and together we walk down to the village to see if Barney has started his evening shift yet.
Because both Holly and I refuse to go into Barney's house, we coax him into the pub for a quick drink. After all, it is nearly four o'clock.
“So what news do you have, Barney?” asks Holly, sipping on a vodka and orange. At least I have made some sort of salute to the earliness of the hour by putting some soda water in my white wine.
“I've joined the cricket team,” he announces grandly.
We both look at him doubtfully.
“Do you play cricket?” asks Holly politely.
“Well, not really, but they're desperate.”
“They must be,” I put in. The last time I remember Barney playing cricket was when he was at school and he got smacked in the eye by the ball because he was too busy chatting to the other fielders. He had to wear an eye patch for a month and his eye changed color. “Have you got any whites?” I ask. I quite like those chunky cricket jumpers and am hoping I'll be able to borrow Barney's.
“I've got a white T-shirt,” he says.
“Barney, if you're going to impress this girl, I really think you ought to at least get some whites. I mean, she's hardly going to be won over if you turn up in a white T-shirt and a pair of swimming trunks.”
“Do you think?” he asks anxiously.
“Maybe Sam will lend you his,” suggests Holly. Sam very occasionally plays for the village but only if it's a choice between Trevor the organist and him.
Barney looks cheered by this. “I'll ask him. Will you come and watch me?”
Both Holly and I wince slightly. The last time we went to watch the village cricket match we were severely yelled at. The grass was slightly damp so I took a very handy round circle thing out of the ground to sit on it. How the hell was I supposed to know it was the ruddy boundary marker?
“When are you playing?”
“First game is this weekend.”
“Of course we'll come.”
“Will this girl
be there?” asks Holly sneakily.
“She might be. She lives in the village. And that's all I'm going to tell you.”
“Any developments?” I ask.
He shakes his head gloomily. “Nothing. She doesn't even know I'm alive.”
“God, Barney, is she really worth the trouble? You've got tons of girls running after you. Why do you want this one?” Holly asks.
“Because she's different,” he says defensively. “And I like her.”
“She must be some sort of goddess!”
“I think so.”
“Who is she?”
“No, no. I'm not telling you that. You and Clemmie will moon around making faces behind her back and then Mum will find out and start chucking herself about and it will all get very embarrassing and out of hand. Anyway, enough of the spotlight on me, tell me about Emma. She's hardly full of the joys of spring, is she? What on earth have you two been doing to get her in that state?”
“It was all Holly,” I announce again.
Holly shoots me an evil look and then launches into our tale of woe.
“Bloody hell,” says Barney at the end of it. “That Charlie doesn't sound like good news.”
“His real name is Martin. Martin Connelly.”
“Is he dangerous, do you think?”
“What do you mean, dangerous?”
“Well, would he do anything?”
“What? Like murder us all?” I question.
“Well, yes. I suppose I do mean that.”
“Put it this way, I'm not going to give him the opportunity to try. I am firmly in the don't-be-a-hero camp. If I see him at the window, I'll be the first person to shove Morgan out and call the police.”
“You might be better off shoving Norman out first,” suggests Holly.
“I'll shove them both out.”
“How long is Emma staying for?” asks Barney.
“Not long, I hope. Her father is supposed to be arranging for her to go and stay with some people.”
“I'll call James tonight and see if any arrangements have been made,” murmurs Holly.
“He has probably forgiven you already,” I say brightly. She looks cheered by this and we finish off our drinks.
