‘And where was that?’
‘Notting Hill.’
‘That was Clare’s favourite film.’
Clare. He’d mentioned her at last.
‘I’m sorry. I heard she – you know – you lost her.’
He looked at his watch and then took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t lose her, she died, Louisa. I can say it now, although it did take some time to get to grips with it.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Look, I have a busy couple of hours ahead before Ivy gets home.’
I was practically walking away before he got to the end of the sentence.
‘Wait, I think we need to meet up for a proper chat. There are a few things I want to say to you. Things we need to clear up.’
I spun round so fast I nearly fell over. ‘I’d love to,’ I said.
‘Not the Cat though. I know a place the other side of Stokeley.’
‘Fantastic!’
‘Maybe Saturday evening would be okay? Ivy has a sleepover birthday party that night so I won’t have to get back early.’
‘Any night. I mean, any evening, suits me,’ I said, my brain racing ahead, wondering what bra I would choose to wear.
I looked up at him, which was quite difficult when we were standing so close to each other. His six feet four next to my five foot two.
‘Saturday then?’ he said.
‘Saturday,’ I said rather breathlessly.
I really was going to have to work on my playing hard to get routine.
‘I’ll collect you about six thirty?’
‘Absolutely. So—’ I hesitated again ‘—are we good? I mean are we okay?’
He looked very serious. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday. Now I must get on.’
I got into my car and drove back to Barracane House, my head spinning. It was the same sort of feeling I’d had when I’d been in the fifth form and Greg Knox, known as Knox the Fox, had invited me to his birthday bash. Okay, nothing happened and he had been discovered behind the greenhouse fumbling with Jackie Green’s bra, but the anticipation was similar. God I was in real trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Just as I pulled into the lane, my phone rang. It was Jassy.
‘I’ve still got morning sickness,’ she said, not messing about with any pleasantries. ‘I’m pregnant with something the size of a grape and I feel like death. This is going to go on for months, do you realise this? For months. I have so much to do and no one to help me apart from Maudie and she’s worse than useless. She’s been back to the hairdresser again and she’s beginning to look as though she’s set the ends of her hair on fire. It looks terrible. The ends are practically bleached white.’
There was a clatter on the other end of the phone and Jassy shouting hang on and then there was silence apart from the sound of running feet and a door slamming somewhere. A few minutes later she was back sounding rather sorry for herself.
‘I’ve been sick again,’ she said.
‘Poor thing, it will pass though won’t it?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Careful, the baby is probably listening. You don’t want its first word to be embarrassing do you?’
‘I couldn’t give a sh … shampoo.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘I keep getting palmed off with some woman who talks about “Baby” and “Daddy” and isn’t interested in me other than as a receptacle of Nature’s Little Miracle. I keep wanting to tell her Nature’s Little Miracle is being a frigging pain in the arse at the moment and smack the smile off her face.’
I laughed. ‘I still can’t believe you’re going to be a mother.’
‘Nor can I. Well, apart from the fact that I can’t smoke, drink alcohol or eat pâté. Or soft cheese. Or rare meat. Or the sixty-three trillion other things I used to enjoy. I’ve gone off coffee, fish and tomatoes and I can’t brush my teeth without retching. I really thought you would be a bit more involved. I mean, I’m your only sister. Surely …’
Jassy went on in this vein for some time while I parked the car and let myself into the house. Of course she was right. I was being worse than useless and I felt a spasm of guilt.
‘Look, I’m sorry.’
‘Yes that’s all very well.’
‘It’s Devon, Jassy, not Outer Mongolia.’
‘It might as well be! Do you know your flat is sold subject to contract? I looked on Rightmove. And you haven’t even bothered to tell me.’
‘It only happened the other day. I’m sorry.’
‘So how is the book coming along? The one that made you go off in a tearing hurry?’
‘Choose Yes?’
‘Well?’
‘It turned into Choose No. I gave up with it. I thought I’d told you. I’m working on something else.’
Jassy clicked her tongue at me. ‘I’ve given Sally my latest. It’s now called The Girl with the Gun and she loves it. She was asking about what you were doing with Choose Yes. I mean how are we to do another joint book launch if there’s only one book?’
‘Choose Yes got a resounding No from her too. So I’m writing something else. You might have to have a book launch of your own this time.’
‘What?’
‘Think about it, Jassy, you could have all the limelight, all the press coverage, all the flowers and the fuss.’
There was a deafening silence while the thought of this sank in.
‘Well, I suppose.’
‘It would be fabulous. A big do, lots of champagne, chocolates, pictures of your book cover on some cupcakes. You’d be brilliant.’
‘I suppose so. You mean you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Not at all. You’ve done these things loads of times; you’re brilliant at it. Anyway, I’m the one who is struggling. You are the one who isn’t. I’m not going to hold you up.’
Jassy dealt the killer blow. ‘Even so, if you’re not slaving over a hot typeface you could at least organise my baby shower.’
I felt a swoop of horror. ‘God you’re right, I’d forgotten.’
‘Obviously,’ Jassy said rather acidly.
‘Isn’t it a bit early to be thinking about that?’
‘No it’s not,’ Jassy said firmly.
‘So where do you want to go?’
‘It’s supposed to be a surprise.’
For a mad moment I considered asking if she would like to come to Barracane House. Jassy, Ralphie’s sister Maudie, and the high maintenance bride-to-be Keira. Some champagne, alcohol-free obviously, cheese board – perhaps not soft cheese, one of my highly unusual soups? But then there were so many other friends who would want to be invited.
‘And don’t suggest Barracane House,’ Jassy added quickly.
Of course she wouldn’t want to come here again. What a stupid idea.
‘And not a spa, I don’t want to be in the birthing pool with burn marks on my back from a hot stone treatment. Remember Saskia when she got married? She looked as though she had ringworm or something. They had to Photoshop the marks out of the pictures.’
‘No, of course we won’t do that.’
My mind skittered from one possibility to the next.
Before I could suggest anything, Jassy was back.
‘And I don’t want to go abroad. Ralphie is going to Prague for a boy’s weekend sometime soon. You just know someone is going to get left behind or end up in hospital.’
‘Okay, something different then.’
‘Obviously nothing that requires specialist equipment or safety nets. No mud, water, pottery painting, or stupid games. Diana had a baby shower recently where someone microwaved different chocolate bars in disposable nappies and you had to guess what type of chocolate it was. It was revolting and the only one anyone got right was the Bounty because of the coconut.’
‘So what do you want to do?’
‘I don’t mind. I’m easy. Anything. It’s up to you. Have you spoken to the others?’
‘No, perhaps I should.’
‘
I don’t see why it should be so difficult. You’ve got months to come up with something. I’d just prefer it to be before I get too huge and look like a hippo in the pictures. Or perhaps I should leave it until after the baby is born,’ she added thoughtfully.
I grasped at the opportunity.
‘If you did that we could all go to a luxury hotel in a gorgeous suite. Indoor pool, afternoon tea in a conservatory. Absolute relaxation interspersed with vats of Prosecco that you could drink,’ I babbled, ‘and we can tell you how marvellous you look and what a fabulous mother you are. We might even ask someone to take some carefully staged photos for the glossies. You know the sort of thing, you up to your neck in the Jacuzzi looking glamorous, surrounded by the rest of us with mud packs on, looking slightly crazy.’
‘Well it’s not very imaginative but yes that might do.’
‘Phew, thank heavens for that.’ It didn’t sound too difficult.
‘But it better be good or I’ll really kick off,’ Jassy muttered.
‘Thank you, Mumzilla.’
‘Something luxurious. And exclusive. Nothing tacky. No nasty sachets of instant coffee or little pots of UHT milk.’
‘Okay, I’ve got the idea,’ I said.
‘Though I’ll have to pump and dump first.’
‘What?’
‘Express some breast milk beforehand. Otherwise Sparkler will get her first hangover second hand. The woman at the clinic keeps going on about Sparkler ‘‘latching on’’ as if she’s going to be a new girl at school trying to join the cool gang. And I want a free mini bar in my room. If I’m off alcohol for months I’ll have some catching up to do. I’m not going anywhere where there is a five-quid pack of Pringles in the fridge or those revolting biscuits with a ten-year use-by date.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Hang on, where would Sparkler fit in to all this?’ Jassy said after a moment.
‘We’d leave her with Ralphie for the weekend.’
‘You’re joking. I’ll have to get a nanny. I can’t leave Ralphie in charge of changing the loo roll. He’s going to be a useless father. He said yesterday don’t forget he’s off to Australia at the end of November for The Ashes tour and could I make sure I have the baby before he goes. Bloody cheek.’
‘I’m sure he will be fine when it happens. He’ll step up and be besotted before you know it.’
‘Well that’s okay then. If you’re sure. So then, what time do we expect you?’
‘I … er … remind me?’
She sighed. ‘This weekend. Keira’s wedding dress fitting. Your bridesmaid’s dress? You agreed on the date. You suggested it. You’ve got to be there. At midday on Saturday. Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’
‘No, of course not. You mean this Saturday?’
‘It was your idea, Lulu. Of course I mean this Saturday. I mean it’s not as though you have anything better to do, is it? Not like you’ve planned a weekend of debauchery. Or have you?’
I laughed carelessly. ‘Of course not.’
The very idea.
‘Right then, I’ll see you soon. And then you can tell me all about your ideas for my baby shower. Will you come up on Friday? I’ll have the sofa bed ready for you if you can’t use your flat.’
‘It’s not sold yet – don’t worry, I’ll stay there. I don’t particularly want to listen to you and Ralphie frolicking all night in the next room.’
Jassy gave a hollow laugh. ‘Trust me, there is no question of any sort of frolicking. I’ve told him that sort of thing is strictly off limits. Unless he’s prepared to hold the bucket by the side of the bed while I throw up. Talking of which … I’m going to have to go …’
‘So like the home life of our own dear Queen.’
Seconds after I’d rung off I remembered with a clang that I had just arranged a date with Joe on Saturday. It was vital I was there. He wanted to talk to me. Thoughts skittered around my head for a few minutes wondering if it was possible to do both. Obviously it wasn’t. There would undoubtedly be a gathering of the Gang that evening when I would be expected to discuss Jassy’s baby shower, a weekend of fun and games. Well, fun. Well a weekend anyway.
The possibility of getting back to Devon by six thirty on Saturday evening was nil. I’d have to change it with Joe. He would think I was a right flake, which possibly I was. Jassy was quite right: this weekend had been set aside for Keira’s wedding dress fitting months ago. You didn’t change appointments with Evanka Mila unless there had been a nuclear war or at least a death in the family.
*
Of course Joe wasn’t at home when I called in to rearrange our date. Why was nothing ever easy? But the chap I had met on my first visit was there. It looked like he had just returned from somewhere muddy.
‘Joe’s not yere,’ he said.
He still had the same tweed cap and today had accessorised it with a washed-out blue boiler suit, some battered old rigger boots and the same incomprehensible accent. This must be Frank. No, Frank was the terrier. This must be his farm manager Jim. Or it might be Ken.
‘Any idea when he will be back?’ I asked.
He pushed out his lower lip thoughtfully. ‘Gorn up tarp field,’ he said.
Top field. ‘Where’s that?’ I asked, knowing the answer already.
‘Backalong.’
By dint of his pointing and waving up towards the hills behind the house I gathered Joe was somewhere up there.
‘Jest a step, maid,’ he said, ‘no more ’un a step. Thee’ll be there’un back in no time.’
‘Fine,’ I said cheerfully, locking the car and zipping up my coat. It looked like a nice sort of day, it didn’t look like rain and it wasn’t far according to Jim/Ken.
I was glad I’d had the foresight to put my boots in the car and I pulled them on before confidently stepping out towards the hill.
I was surprised to discover that despite having gym membership I was far from fit. (Yes I do realise I have to actually go there.) It might have been jest a step for Jim or Ken but it was like an army assault course for me. I followed the muddy path, found a stile and hopped over into the first field. I had been told to expect to go through three on my journey. A field to me meant something the size of a pony paddock. These were massive, vast swathes of scrubby grassland, interspersed with dry stone walls, hedges blasted by the wind to strange angles and the occasional optimistic tree. There were rock outcrops, grassy tussocks, the remnants of cobbled paths, and metal gates held closed with loops of orange twine.
By the time I got to field number two I had unfastened my coat and put my scarf into my pocket. I could feel I was red-faced and I had to stop several times to catch my breath. A few minutes later I saw another stile in the distance and I made my way towards it, puffing with every step like a consumptive.
I was nearly there. In fact, I could see someone who resembled Joe on the other side of the field. It looked as though he was mending something. I stopped and wheezed a bit before I clambered over. Everything was going to plan. We could have a nice chat about the farm and the sheep and stuff. I’d explain everything and he would understand.
I stood up as I crossed the stile and saw he was waving at me. I waved back at him, exultant. But then somehow I lost my balance, caught the buckle on the side of one boot on a loop of wire sticking out of the hedge and began to topple over.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
I described a slow parabola down into deep tyre tracks filled with water and landed with a loud, despairing scream. Instantly the water filled my boots, seeped up my sleeves and soaked my jeans, enveloping me in a cold, wet, muddy bath. I lay there wondering which bit of me hurt the most. Had I broken anything?
I hesitated. I could scramble up and start trying to pretend nothing had happened or I could just lie there howling.
I tried to get up – I certainly didn’t scramble, because I didn’t have the energy and I’d landed on my boobs, which had probably been the nearest thing I had to a soft landin
g. I put my hands over them sadly and whimpered a bit. Then I grabbed hold of the stile plank, which promptly collapsed, pitching me face first back into the mud.
I got onto my hands and knees and grabbed at the stile again earning myself a few splinters in the process. This time the wood held, and I dragged myself up, inch by painful inch, spitting and swearing, mud streaming down my coat and into my boots. I stood there, arms stretched out like a scarecrow, feeling utterly ridiculous. I had no idea what to do next. I would have to walk back through the fields to my car, my feet squelching at every step.
I needed to get home, take off my clothes and have a hot bath. But could I get into my car like this? Would I need to strip in Lower Tor farmyard first? Would Ken/Jim still be there? I could just imagine him averting his gaze under his tweed cap and shuffling off, filled with confusion at the ways of townies.
I heard the noise of an engine coming towards me. I looked up. My heart soared and then plummeted. It was Joe on a quad bike, making his bumpy way across the field towards me. One sheepdog was running full pelt behind him, and when he drew nearer I saw the other one was balanced on the back of the quad bike, tongue lolling, front paws on Joe’s shoulders.
‘What are you doing? Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself?’ Joe said as he reached me. He got off the quad and came towards me, his wellingtons sinking into the quagmire. He reached out to help me onto more solid ground at the edge of the field.
I took hold of his hand and squelched after him, almost losing one of my boots in the process.
I could see mud on the side of my nose but my hands were even filthier so I couldn’t wipe it off. Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a large blue cotton handkerchief. He held me under the chin and gently wiped my face.
‘What on earth are you doing up here?’ he said.
I realised I was screwing up my face exactly as I had when I was a child and my mother gave my face a spit wash. His hands were shaking. Then I looked up and realised he was chuckling.
The Mini-Break Page 23
