Stealing the Show

by Christina Jones

  Clem patted her shoulder, his eyes gleaming. The doctor was muttering in excitement. The tracks swirled, the cars swung and tumbled and the heavy metal music was interspersed with terrifyingly real special-effect screeches of metal-on-metal. It seemed impossible that the cars wouldn’t collide as they swung apart at the last possible moment. Through it all, the sandbags stayed motionless.

  The minute-and-a-half could have been a lifetime. Adele was shaking. Bradleys would never be the same again.

  ‘Phew.’ The doctor exhaled as the cars rocked back to earth and the tracks glided to a majestic halt. ‘That’s the best yet, Clem. Totally awesome. Right, then? Who’s next for the joyride?’

  Most of the workforce had removed the sandbags already and were scrambling into the vacant seats. The engineers fastened the padded bars over their shoulders. Clem followed the doctor and grinned at Adele. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind?’

  She shook her head. As soon as the engineers were satisfied that the weight load was evenly balanced, the Crash’n’Dash hissed into life again. It was even more terrifying the second time round, Adele thought, watching the very human legs flailing, the mouths open in silent screams, as the cars plunged together and spun apart high above her. She hoped the doctor had got his sums right.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ The exclamation echoed her thoughts.

  Adele turned and looked at Ross. Above the roar of the Crash’n’Dash she hadn’t heard him approach. She always wanted to greet him with motherly enthusiasm, as she would Danny or Sam. After all, he’d been part of her life for almost as long. Good manners and Nell always prevented her from doing so.

  She flashed him a nervous smile, trying to ignore the grinding metallic noises as the Crash’n’Dash started to unwind. ‘What do you think? Will it be well accepted?’

  ‘Danny and Sam will think they’re in Heaven. Claudia will happily translate it into shock frocks or whatever she’s into at the time. Nell,’ Ross shook his head slowly, ‘Nell will probably never speak to you again.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I was afraid of as much. I just thought –’

  ‘I know.’ Ross shrugged. ‘I know why you’ve done it. Dad told me. And it’s a brilliant idea – but you know Nell. It isn’t what she wants.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it’s what she’s got.’ Adele had stopped feeling quite so queasy. This machine was going to make the children’s fortune. This machine would ensure that Peter lived quietly and happily – and yes, proudly – into a healthy old age. ‘And it’s about time she bucked her ideas up. This will be delivered to Haresfoot with or without her approval. Have you decided how you’re going to play it?’

  Ross nodded, watching his father, the doctor, and the workforce unfasten themselves and totter across the concrete apron. ‘Actually, yes. I thought I’d feign huge surprise and amazement along with everyone else – and then suggest that as Bradleys will now be pulling in even more punters, my joining them with my Moon Mission or whatever, and splitting the inflated takings four ways instead of three, would be an opportunity not to be missed and should put us somewhere near the ranks of Wilsons or Irvins.’

  ‘Premier League,’ Adele smiled. ‘Yes, I like it. A softly-softly approach.’

  ‘But don’t you want to make money out of it? Dad said you weren’t doing it as an investment, but even so …’

  Adele took a deep breath. ‘I’m doing it for two reasons. First, to get you and our Nell together. If it benefits Danny and Sam and Claudia along the way, then that’s all to the good. But I want Nell to marry. And I want her to marry you. And secondly, for Peter. I don’t want the family bickering over which way Bradleys should go, to cause him any more problems.’

  Ross looked less than convinced.

  They ran the Crash’n’Dash twice more. The doctor clambered on for each ride and had to be lifted off. The engineers were delighted and kept giving everyone high fives. There were only a few minor adjustments to be made before the final HSE checks the following day. Clem, who for all his bravado had taken at least ten minutes to regain his breath, rubbed his hands delightedly. ‘Going to hot-foot off to the regatta and break the happy news to your lot, then?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Adele shuddered at the thought. ‘Even I think I’ve done enough driving for one day. No, I’m sticking with my original plan. No one is going to know anything about it until the trucks arrive at Haresfoot. I hope to God it hasn’t been leaked to The World’s Fair.’

  ‘Not by me. They’ve asked each week for new orders, of course. I didn’t name no names. Just what machines had been commissioned, and whether they’re for the home market or export. Nothing else. Don’t panic, Princess. No one will know until you want them to. Now, if you’ll just give me a couple of ticks. One or two minor details –’ He bustled away to mull over a few salient points with the engineering boffins.

  Ross raised an eyebrow. ‘Dad did mention that you were going to tell Danny about your plan. I gather you didn’t.’

  Adele walked towards the Crash’n’Dash – her Crash’n’Dash – and ran a tentative hand across the multi-coloured fibreglass framework. It was warm to the touch and seemed to purr with life. ‘I never actually found the right moment. And Danny and Peter are close – I wasn’t sure that Danny wouldn’t blab before I wanted him to. And recently, Danny has been a bit— well – odd, you know? Very short-tempered. Shorter than usual. And Claudia has been vague – again.’ She looked up and intercepted the slightest frown. ‘You know what’s going on, don’t you? Spill the beans, Ross. You owe me that much.’

  He grinned at her. It was a very young sort of grin. She really couldn’t see why Nell didn’t adore him. ‘I suppose it’s not everyone’s future ma-in-law who spends half a million on her daughter’s dowry. Look, Nell did say there had been a bit of a to-do on the last night at King’s Bagley. Danny seemed to have the idea that Claudia was – well – you know –’

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘Having an affair.’ Ross looked extremely embarrassed. ‘He sort of found some evidence in the trailer and –’

  ‘What sort of evidence?’ Adele’s secure world was shifting beneath her feet as though she’d taken part in each of the Crash’n’Dash’s test runs. Why hadn’t anyone told her about this? ‘What, letters, do you mean? That sort of thing?’

  Ross shook his head. Adele wasn’t going to let him off the hook now. She sighed heavily. ‘What sort of things, Ross?’

  ‘Condoms.’

  Dear God! Danny and Claudia wouldn’t be using them, would they? Adele always had trouble with the nonchalant way people said condoms these days. They’d always been referred to euphemistically, if at all, in her youth. But they wouldn’t need them if they were trying for a baby, and – oh, God. She tried to look casual. ‘In their living wagon? And they weren’t Danny’s?’

  ‘Definitely not Danny’s.’ Ross looked as though he wished he’d never started this conversation. ‘Nell said that Sam claimed them –’

  ‘Sam! Why would Sam be using condoms in Danny’s living wagon?’

  ‘He wasn’t. Sam said they fell out of his pocket.’

  ‘Well, so they might have done.’ Adele felt the earth start to solidify again. Bloody Danny, making mountains out of molehills.

  ‘Nell said no one believed him. She said it was really obvious that they weren’t his, actually. Nell thinks they might belong to one of the gaff lads.’

  ‘One of the what? Christ, Ross. You know none of the lads would ever set foot inside a living wagon. They couldn’t – wouldn’t – Claudia wouldn’t – would she?’

  Ross bit his lip and scuffed at something on the ground. Adele, knowing that she wasn’t going to learn any more, rubbed her hand wearily across her eyes. Most of her mascara came off on her fingers.

  Clem clapped her on the shoulder. ‘We’re right on course for a Haresfoot delivery. And if you’re not going to the regatta, what about the do at Blenheim Palace? I’ve leased my ground to your lot – did they tell you?’

  Adele
nodded. Somewhere, long ago, before the reality of the Crash’n’Dash and the news of Claudia and the condoms, she had a vague recollection of Nell telling her something along those lines.

  Clem chuckled. ‘Should be a mega-do. Posh band, fireworks, that sort of thing. Tell old Peter to put on his best bib and tucker and I’ll get Marcia into a swish frock and we’ll make a night of it. Ross can come along as well – probably put your Nell in the right frame of mind for a bit of the old romance, huh? OK, Princess? You up for it?’ He peered into Adele’s glazed eyes. ‘Bit too much to take in, the Crash’n’Dash, was it? Never mind, gel. I’ll take that as a definite, then. It’ll be nice to see old Peter again and have a bit of a knees-up. All the families together again. Blenheim Palace won’t know what’s hit it.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  There should, Nell thought, trailing her bare toes in the warm shallows of the evening Thames, be a Showmen’s Guild law governing occasions like this.

  The last day of the regatta had brought Pimms-drinking ladies in Jasper Conran hats and their striped-blazered, boatered escorts, out in droves. The finals had been sculled and won; and now the leisurely Henley river was awash with inebriated varsity boys and celebrating Eights and Pairs, skimming through the water and only narrowly missing being mown down by jolly parties on cruisers or the occasional rubber-necking tourist on a hired Bluebird.

  The blue-and-white-striped marquees along the bank had housed the crews, their boats, and their camp followers all week. Tonight this organisation had dissolved into glittering, chattering chaos as the champagne cocktails became larger and the portions of strawberries and cream more massive.

  It was, Nell decided, a perfect picture of Old England. As it had always been. As it should always be. The setting sun on the water; the sky changing from the palest blue to lilac and gold; the whispered slap of the tide against the reeds; the laughter; the chink of glasses; the absolute timelessness of it all.

  There should definitely be a Guild law passed to say that the entire entertainment provided for functions of this type should be restricted to fairground rides of a bygone age, she thought. Machines which would, by their very antiquity, serve to enhance the ambience. True, the waltzer, dodgems, paratrooper and assorted paraphernalia had been built up out of sight in one of the far meadows and really couldn’t be accused of detracting from the tranquillity, but Nell, in her state of drowsy euphoria, could see Petronella Bradley’s Golden Galloping Horses taking pride of place on the bleached bank.

  She could visualise the Sloanes in their Laura Ashleys and the Hoorays in their cravats astride the gleaming wooden horses, rising and falling in time to the Gavioli’s rich orchestral notes as the ‘Blue Danube’ or ‘The Carousel Waltz’ flooded across the glistening water, looking like the fairground scene from Haifa Sixpence. The ex-members of the Downland Trust would be moving between the horses, leaning backwards against the motion, taking money, and she’d be in the centre, surrounded by mirrors and shields, feeding the fat cardboard music books into the organ. She felt a shiver of excited anticipation judder inside, as she imagined the whole gorgeous colourful concoction turning in stately circles of reflected glory. It would simply steal the show.

  A blast of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ from somewhere under her denim shorts interrupted this reverie. She groaned as the bubble burst, and scrabbled for her mobile.

  ‘Nell Bradley. Oh, hello, Jack. I was just thinking about you – well, not you as such – more the gallopers. What? Tomorrow? God … Really? Brilliant. Yeah – no problem. We pull down at Henley tonight and we’re driving straight to Woodstock for a one-night stand at Blenheim Palace … What? Yes, it is, isn’t it? No, I’ll be free during the day. I can be at Fox Hollow by two and – Jesus!’ She stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open.

  Claudia had just shimmied along the tow-path away from the fair field. Everyone was staring in suspended animation. Even the rowers had abandoned their oars to get a better look. Champagne glasses were held midway to mouths, conversations halted, strawberries toppled from gilded forks. Claudia had shed another skin.

  Nell could hear Jack still speaking, and not taking her eyes from Claudia, lifted the phone. ‘No, sorry. It’s not you – it’s – um – my sister-in-law. What?’ She really couldn’t stop the gurgle of laughter escaping. ‘God, if I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe me … Well, she’s wearing Adam Ant make-up and PVC hot pants and a cut-off white vest. Oh God, and she’s back in the thigh boots … What? Yeah, I bet you would! Fiona probably wouldn’t agree with you on that one! Look, I’ll have to go before she gets arrested. I’ll see you tomorrow … Yes – yes, of course. And you … Bye.’

  She snapped off the mobile and scrambled to her feet. The gallopers and the organ would be at Fox Hollow tomorrow! Nell raced barefooted along the dusty tow-path, hardly able to contain her delight. Her dream had edged one step nearer to reality. Of course there were minor problems to overcome – like telling the rest of the family, but that could be shelved for weeks. No one was going to go near Fox Hollow until back-end anyway, and –

  ‘Claudia!’

  She tore through the crowds, wincing as stones nicked at her bare feet. Claudia was still undulating towards the main road. Another few minutes and there’d be a major pile-up.

  ‘Claudia!’

  Parties from several of the hired cruisers were standing up and clapping. An entire university boat club was whistling. Everyone else just stared. Sod it, Nell thought, glancing downwards. Her skimpy shorts and red gingham bikini top were hardly de rigueur either.

  ‘Claudia!’

  Oh, joy. At last! Claudia stopped sashaying and turned, her head. Nell panted to a dusty halt. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going to see how much money I can earn on street corners – just like your darling brother suggested.’

  ‘You’ll probably earn a fortune right here.’ Nell pulled a face. ‘Come to think of it, I might not do too badly, either. But I thought you and Danny had sorted it out – about – you know?’

  Nell really wasn’t sure what had happened after the condom incident. Most of her hadn’t wanted to know. That the packet hadn’t belonged to Sam was painfully obvious; that it might have belonged to Terry didn’t bear thinking about. Whatever third-degree had taken place that last night at King’s Bagley behind Danny and Claudia’s closed door hadn’t been for public broadcast. Neither of them had mentioned it again – and until now Claudia had seemed quite happy with her hippie look. It must have been a big row tonight for her to drag out the thigh boots.

  The crowd were still watching. Nell linked her arm through Claudia’s. ‘Come on. It can’t be that bad. What happened?’

  ‘My period.’

  ‘What?’

  Claudia sighed as they edged through the onlookers and back in the direction of the fair. ‘I started my period. You know what Danny’s like about wanting a baby? He went ballistic – and started yelling about how I’d never get pregnant if all my lovers used condoms.’

  ‘The insensitive bastard. Anyway, you haven’t got any lovers. Oh, shit –’ Nell stubbed her toe on a clump of couch grass. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course not. But Danny won’t believe it.’

  Nell groaned. The disintegration of their marriage was hurtling ever nearer. ‘But, if you haven’t got any lovers, and Danny doesn’t use a condom, then maybe there is a problem? I mean, I know you’ve had tests and things and –’

  ‘I’ll never get pregnant.’

  They’d reached the gate to the fair field. No one was watching the antics on the river. All eyes were focused on them.

  ‘But you don’t know that.’ Nell trawled round for something to say. ‘Maybe you should go back to that doctor in Oxford, at the private clinic, have some more tests done.’

  ‘I won’t get pregnant,’ Claudia stopped walking again, ‘because I don’t want to. I don’t want to have a baby. I hate the thought of being pregnant, of giving birth, and of being responsible for another
human being for the rest of my life!’

  Nell swallowed, and was just about to make some soothingly fatuous remark about how all women probably thought like that but once the hormones took over it was sure to be different, when a debonair man stepped forward from the throng.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies.’ His accent was cut-glass, his vowels impeccable. ‘I wonder if I might have a word.’

  ‘If it’s the word I think it is, then no.’ Nell frowned, trying to squeeze her denim hips and Claudia’s PVC ones through a six-inch gap in the gate. ‘I think you’ve got us muddled with the skiffs and sloops over on the causeway. We’re not available for public hire –’

  ‘Aren’t you the Bradley girls?’

  He made it sound a bit like the Mitford sisters – although they may not have been quite so scantily clad on a Henley tow-path – or as though they should be making regular appearances in Nigel Dempster. Claudia started to giggle. Nell smiled.

  ‘Wonderful! Hold that!’

  The flash had blinded them before they realised he was camera-toting.

  ‘Super shot for The World’s Fair, ladies. Thank you.’

  If he’d been wearing a hat he would certainly have doffed it. Nell found it impossible to be angry in the face of such well-spoken chivalry, although if she and Claudia were going to become centrefolds she would have preferred it to be in some publication that didn’t drop onto Graceland’s doormat each Saturday morning.

  He beamed again. ‘Probably be in next week’s edition – maybe the week after. I’ll send you some proofs. Haresfoot next, is it? Post office do you? Right-oh.’ He turned away, then looked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve been in and taken shots of your machines. I must say, I thought they were eye-catching – but you two take the biscuit.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Nell said half-heartedly. ‘Ross’ll love that.’

  ‘Danny’ll love it even more.’ Claudia tried not to smile. ‘Hell’s teeth, Nell. We’ve probably just got rid of two of our major problems in one hit.’

  Delighted that Claudia’s good humour had been restored, Nell thought the next step was to suggest that she take off at least one pair of eyelashes and perhaps the thigh boots, and maybe even covered the PVC shorts with something a little more decorous for the remaining stint on the hoopla. She didn’t want to think of anyone’s reaction to the photograph – least of all Ross’.