A vivid streak of lightening skeetered across the sky as Alison, fumbling, undid his belt and thrust her hand down to touch shyly, for the first time, his warm, hard penis.
He groaned deeply, and started to remove her underwear. She had just managed to pull his jeans over his backside when the skies opened. The rainfall was vertical, heavy, unremitting, and unlike the thunder and lightning, could not be ignored. Within seconds, they were drenched.
The interruption was violent, and distracted, shrieking with shock, the sexual frustration racing around their bodies like electricity trying to find earth, they pulled their clothes back on and, laughing hysterically, ran back, hand in hand, to the shelter of the nearest marquee.
Pushing into the crowded, hot interior, they came face to face with Paula and Lenny. Paula’s eyes widened with shock.
‘Alison, I didn’t realise…blimey…you and Anthony… I’d never ’ave guessed.’
‘Hello Paula,’ said Al, without enthusiasm.
Without any warning, it seemed to Alison, she had passed into a strange dimension of time and space. The overwhelming throb of the speakers drowned all sensation; conversation was conducted at the edge of audibility: nuance, all subtlety, was a waste of time, and her brain was so numbed, everything she heard and perceived seemed to take place in slow motion.
‘I never expected to see you here, Anthony. I never put two and two together…you and Alison…’ Paula shrieked.
‘What are you talkin’ about, woman?’ Lenny shouted in Paula’s ear. ‘What’s it to you who Ali goes out with? How do you know this bloke, anyway? I’ve never seen him before.’
‘He’s Anthony Lester, you great ape. He’s Veronica’s son. I’ve known him since he was ten – and it turns out he’s Ali’s mysterious biker boyfriend… I’d never’ve guessed!’
‘How very sweet,’ bellowed Lenny. ‘Come on darlin’, I like this number, let’s go strut our stuff!’ And the crowd swallowed them up before another word could be uttered.
Alison stared at Al, the blood draining from her face, her body, leaving her shaking and weak.
‘You’re Anthony Lester?’
‘Yes.’ Al immediately guessed from the strain in her voice that something was wrong. Her long blond hair, dripping with rain, clung to her face, emphasising the wildness in her huge green eyes as she stood staring at him. ‘ What’s wrong, Ali?’
‘Why did you say your name was Al?’
‘That’s what my friends call me. I don’t like the name Anthony. Never have; so when I went away to school, they put my initials together and called me Al. My parents are the only people to call me Anthony.’
Alison backed away to the entrance of the tent. The rain was a solid curtain beyond. Thunder rumbled and cracked. Tears started to stream down her face. Distressed, puzzled, Al put out a hand to comfort her.
‘Don’t touch me!’ She screamed so loudly, she topped the output of loud-speakers and storm combined. A few people, gazing out of the marquee at the rain, turned and stared.
‘Ali, what is it? What’s the matter? What the fuck does it matter if my name is really Anthony?’
‘What the fuck does it matter?’ she shrieked back at him. ‘You’re fuckin’ Hugh and Veronica fuckin’ Lester’s son, that’s what matters. They’re gonna destroy us, however they can; and they probably will because they’ve got money and influence and we’ve got nothing, except this snivellin’ little farm, which means everything to us. But they don’t care, oh no – they want it, so they’ll get it – their sort always do – and you’re one of them and I very nearly gave you what you wanted. I was about to sleep with the enemy – give you my…’ She hiccupped with anger and misery. ‘I thought you cared about me…how bloody stupid can you get! The Lesters don’t care about anything, except getting what they want…’
Confused by the turn of events, Al started to get angry himself. ‘What are you talking about, Alison? It’s fucking rubbish…’
‘Is it? Is it? I don’t believe you don’t know who I am. I don’t believe you didn’t think it would be a bit of a laugh to screw me at the same time your parents are screwing my family. I hate you, Anthony Lester – go boil your head in hell!’
And so saying she turned, ran out of the tent and disappeared into the darkness and the torrential rain.
* * *
It was still raining hard nearly twelve hours later, but Jenny, happily bustling around the kitchen, hardly noticed. Jeff had dropped her off earlier with a bagful of groceries, promising to return for the lunch, which she was now busily preparing.
The house seemed unusually quiet, but as Alison had spent the night with Hannah and she presumed both Stephen and Charlie were busy about the farm, she was not worried. In fact she was quite glad there was no one about to witness her late return, to see Jeff kiss her goodbye, or to notice the fact that Jenny, today, was a very different person from Jenny, yesterday. She felt she was about to burst with happiness, but she wasn’t ready yet, to share it with anyone, not even Rita.
Charlie, suddenly poking his head round the kitchen door, didn’t notice anything different. ‘Oh, hi Mum. I’m gonna give lunch a miss today. Lin’s a bit short-staffed so I’d said I’d give her a hand. I’ll catch something to eat at the pub. I’ll see you later. Bye.’ And not giving her a chance to say anything, just in case she had caught a whiff of the event and was waiting to give him an earful, he was gone.
The onset of the storm, far from being a disaster, had delighted the event’s organisers. As Dark Glasses explained, when he counted out the money owing to Charlie, virtually all the punters who were going to come had arrived, and the rain meant they didn’t hang on till the last possible moment, which made the clearing up operation swift and efficient.
‘Nice doing business with you.’ Charlie had never had so much money in his possession before and although he knew most of it was destined elsewhere, for that particular moment, he felt exhilarated. ‘You planning any more of these…these events?’
‘Not around here. We’ll be in touch when we do. It’s a good site.’
‘The fuzz…’ Charlie was curious, ‘gave me a nasty turn when I saw them…’
‘Look mate, the days of those sort of parties are over. It’s strictly legit these days; we get a temporary licence and we pay the fuzz for their policing. It’s in all our interests to keep it quiet – reduces the risk of gatecrashers, bikers, druggies, all those undesirable elements, as well as complaints from people like your neighbours…’
As Charlie drove his van through the pouring rain to The Grapes, the expression on Hugh Lester’s face, when the police had ordered him to move on floated across his thoughts. He chortled aloud. ‘One up to the Tuckers!’
Linda looked tired and pale when she opened the door to him, and Charlie, who was not by nature very sensitive, felt a strange mixture of sympathy and protectiveness. She was one of his oldest friends. In his opinion, she deserved better than this. He put his arm around her. ‘Come on, Lin,’ he said gently, ‘You tell me what to do and I’ll do it. And then – only if you want to, that is – then you can tell me how things are with Stan.’
* * *
A short while later, at Marsh Farm, the kitchen door opened again and Stephen ushered Angela in. They were both drenched from the short run from the yard to the house. Angela looked like a half-drowned mouse thought Jenny to herself, with her hair plastered to her head and rivulets of water running down her cheeks and down her specs. Stephen fussed around her and, finding a towel, vigorously rubbed her head, in much the same manner, Jenny thought, as he would dry Gip, his dog.
Angela glowed, and watching her, the ‘new’ Jenny recognised the symptoms. ‘She really loves him,’ she thought. ‘She’s just what Stephen needs, Jeff’s wrong about her. Such a nice little girl…’ And she sighed to herself, thinking of Nicola and Stephen.
‘It won’t be long
till dinner,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve got the meat on. Just the veggies to do… Uncle Jeff is coming, too.’ She added, as casually as she could, but acutely aware of how unnatural her voice sounded.
Stephen didn’t notice. ‘That’s nice. Did you stay there last night?’
It was all Jenny could do to nod.
‘That’s good. Ange and I will give you a hand with the veg, if you like. I’m afraid we’ll have to shoot off straight after, Mum…’
‘For the rehearsal. It’s going to be the first run without scripts…’ piped up Angela.
‘We weren’t goin’ to go…’
‘We thought they could manage without us…’
‘We were goin’ to visit an ostrich farm that Ange had found…’
‘But with this rain…’
‘It’s not worth it…’
‘We can go another time, can’t we Stephen?’
‘First bit of clear weather, Ange.’ And he smiled at her.
Jenny stared. Something was different about them, too.
* * *
Alison lay on her bed, dry-eyed, staring at the ceiling. For hours she had stormed and wept; then a deep lassitude overcame her. She didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. She had turned her phone off and locked her bedroom door. Headphones on, the music thudded in her ears, the lyrics irrelevant and unheeded, an effective sound barrier between her and the outside world.
Her mind still churned over the events of the night before, the revelation of Al’s identity and all the implications; all the different times they had spent together; what he had said; what she had felt… There were moments when she felt she might have been too hasty in her judgement – he genuinely might not have known who she was… After all, until bumping into Paula, she’d had no idea who he was or where he came from. But then she would scold herself out of this softer train of thought by reminding herself that he knew Nick and Hannah, and they would have had no hesitation about filling him in on her details. ‘He must have been laughing up his sleeve, watching me swoon all over him, the wanker!’ she said aloud, bitterly.
The track on her CD came to an end, and in the interval between that and the next, she became aware of a knocking on her door.
‘Ali? Ali? Are you in there?’
It was her mother. Reluctantly, wearily, Alison pulled off her headphones, sat up and tried to sound as normal as possible.
‘Yes, Mum, what is it?’
‘I thought you were still over at Hannah’s, dear…’
‘I came back early…party was boring…’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, love, and you was so looking forward to it… Hannah’s on the phone, now. She says she’s tried your mobile but you’ve got it switched off…’
‘Tell Hannah I’ll phone her back later.’
‘Won’t you come and have some lunch? It’s on the table.’
‘No thanks, Mum, I’m not hungry.’
‘Uncle Jeff’s here…’
‘I’m not hungry, Mum’
‘You must eat something, dear…’
Motherly concern – Alison would have sworn, if she’d had the energy. ‘I’m all right Mum, I’ll eat later.’
‘I’ll save you some meat and veg then, dear. Ange, Stephen’s friend, has made some lovely-looking roast potatoes.’
Alison gritted her teeth. ‘I’ll have some later, Mum, please!’
‘All right love. Oh, Gran says you’re planning to take her to Simon’s, for tea this afternoon? That’ll be nice, dear.’
Alison cursed. She had completely forgotten the arrangement, and in this mood, the last thing she wanted to do was see Simon. Or her gran, for that matter. She hunted for an excuse, a reason to cancel. They would spot something was wrong and the last thing she wanted to do was to have to explain anything.
She was saved, temporarily, by Jeff, at the bottom of the stairs, shouting for Jenny to come and eat her lunch before it got cold.
‘Must go dear, Jeff’s calling me. We’re going to the cinema this afternoon, so I’ll leave you some food in the oven.’
Alison listened to her mother’s footsteps receding down the stairs, then turned to the window and stared at the rain cascading down the panes. How different everything was from yesterday. Yesterday…
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so flat and miserable. And she had been so looking forward to the time when Simon should meet her Gran and they would plot against the dastardly Lesters. The bastards…the bastard! A lick of anger at the thought of how near – of how she’d been conned – brought a flush of colour to her face. She clenched her fists, ground her teeth and growled.
She’d show them!
* * *
Lunch at Summerstoke House was a bad-tempered affair. Veronica and Hugh blamed each other for the humiliations of the night before. Veronica’s ill-humour had been further exacerbated by not having been able to get hold of Simon since last Thursday, to fix another tennis date. The more she thought about him, the more she wanted him, and the more frustrated she became at the lack of contact, the more irritating she found Hugh and the rest of her family.
Cordelia was sulking because the unexpected change in the weather meant that a planned ride and picnic had been called off; and Anthony, apparently deaf to the exhortations of his mother, had not come down to join them, which further added to the tension at the table. And in the kitchen, Paula, who had arrived very late that morning to clear up after Veronica’s dinner party of the night before, clattered and banged her way resentfully through the piles of pots and pans.
‘Why can’t we have Sunday lunches like everyone else?’ complained Cordelia, trailing her spoon through her soup.
‘What do you mean?’ snapped Veronica.
‘I like roast meat and vegetables. That’s Sunday lunch. Not soup and cheese. It’s boring!’
‘If I spend Saturday evening slaving over a dinner party, I don’t want to spend Sunday morning cooking a roast dinner, thank you, miss!’
‘For goodness sake, stop playing with your food, Cordelia. Be thankful for what you’ve got,’ Hugh growled. ‘Does Paula have to make so much of a bloody racket?’
‘She’s in a mood – says she didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘She’s not the only one. Do you know what time Anthony came in?’
‘No, but I’ve no doubt you’re going to tell me… Cordelia, Anthony should be here. It’s virtually our last meal together before he’s off to France. Go and bang on his door, would you?’
‘Do I have to?’
‘For goodness sake,’ Hugh exploded, ‘why do you make such heavy weather of anything you’re asked to do? Go and fetch your brother. Now!’
With bad grace, Cordelia left the table, passing Paula on her way out of the room.
‘What is it?’ Veronica was in no frame of mind to humour Paula.
‘It’s Lenny,’ Paula said sulkily. ‘You said you wanted to speak to him, Mr Lester. He’s waitin’ in the kitchen.’
‘I wanted to speak to him two weeks ago!’
‘He’s bin busy with the harvest. But with this rain, he thought he’d take advantage and pop up to see you. Still, if you don’t want to see him, I’ll tell him…’
‘You bloody well do that. Who does he think he is? Farting about with my time. I’m a busy man, Paula, and…’
‘Tell Lenny to wait in the study, Paula. Mr Lester will see him in a few minutes.’ With a forcible glare at Hugh, Veronica silenced any further objections on his part until Paula had left the room.
‘I don’t want to employ that man!’ Hugh snarled. ‘He’s given me the runaround and I don’t like it!’
‘I know, I know,’ replied Veronica, soothingly, ‘but it doesn’t alter the fact that he is important to us.’ She didn’t notice her son, a haggard shadow, standing in the doorway. ‘You said,
last night, you wanted to see the Tuckers on their knees. If we’re to get Marsh Farm, we have to keep the squeeze on. Offer Lenny Spinks double his current rate, on condition he doesn’t work for anyone else. He’ll jump at it. His sort always do. It will be the last straw, I guarantee it. The bank has already hauled them in and imposed conditions on their loan they won’t possibly be able to meet. Gordon personally put the noose around their necks. He told me as much the other day. The Tuckers will not be able to meet their repayments, so, with or without the Merfields’ meadows, they’re done for. Helped, my darling,’ Veronica was positively purring, ‘by a little call I made the other day…’
‘Who to?’ Hugh smiled, his bad mood melting in the face of his wife’s ruthlessness.
‘To the local Dairy Hygiene Inspector. I told them the Tuckers were having problems with their milking parlour and were struggling to keep the dairy up to scratch. They took it very seriously…’
‘God, darling, you’re brilliant!’
‘Brilliant is not a word I’d have used.’ Anthony finally made his presence known.
Veronica looked up at her son. He was leaning against the door frame, as if the effort of standing without support was too much for him, his face was startlingly white, his eyes dark and sunken.
‘Darling, you look ghastly! Why on earth did you stay out so late last night? You look exhausted. Come and have something to eat.’
Anthony shook his head. ‘No thank you. I think the food would choke me.’
The venom in his voice disconcerted both his parents. Nobody noticed the kitchen door open and Paula appear, about to show Lenny to Hugh’s study. She froze, motioning Lenny to remain silent as Anthony raised his voice.
‘Tell me, Mum, Dad, why do you want the Tuckers’ land? We have so much already… Why do you want their tin-pot little farm? From what I heard you say, Mum, you are stooping to really devious measures to get it. Why?’
Hugh started to bluster. ‘Come now, Anthony, you shouldn’t talk to your mother like that. It’s business, not devious at all…’
A Tangled Summer Page 30
