Stealing the Show

by Christina Jones

  She shook her head. She liked the comfort, the security, of Sam’s arms around her. Of not having to apologise. Of not fighting. Danny was best left to simmer for a while. It’d all blow over, probably. It usually did.

  ‘Those condoms – in the van – at King’s Bagley. They were Terry’s. Oh, no – not like that. I let him and Karen use the living wagon, and he must have left them in there. You were very kind to say they were yours.’

  ‘I was bloody angry to know they weren’t.’ Sam’s voice sounded relieved, as if it was smiling. ‘And Danny would have divorced you if he’d known you’d let a gaff lad into the trailer. You’re really daft sometimes.’

  Claudia sighed. She knew. ‘Most times, actually.’

  She moved her head, turning to face him. His eyes were watching her face. His lips were parted. She moved her head a little bit more, tentatively brushing her mouth against his, feeling the muscles contract in his shoulder. Slowly, very slowly, she kissed him.

  Sam’s eyes were still open, wide, surprised. Then they closed. He returned the kiss with gentle passion and Claudia’s world simply tumbled upside down.

  It wasn’t, she thought dreamily, leaning on the edge of the hoopla and watching the crowds in their finery drift through the fair, as if she’d done anything wrong. Wrong, she reasoned, was merely the way other people saw things. Right and wrong was a matter for your own conscience. She’d kissed Sam. And enjoyed it. And he’d kissed her, a lot, and it had got quite serious as kissing went. She smiled to herself, reliving the sensation – the way her body felt as though it was melting. Quite a revelation. Not threatening or frightening – just thoroughly delightful. It was, she was sure, because Sam didn’t act as though he possessed her – or even wanted to – he merely gave her pleasure and received it in return.

  Maybe, she thought, as she sold a whole armful of hoops to a man in a tuxedo, that was what everyone went on about. What she’d been missing. If it was, then she had no intention of missing it any longer.

  The sky was still cloudless; there was no wind. The picnic parties covered the South Lawn like racegoers on Derby Day. The fair was in full swing, and they had agreed to lower the volume of their music when the concert started. Claudia was determined to abandon the hoopla to Rio and watch the entire concert from the lawn. Danny had stormed past the hoopla without looking at her and immediately blasted aggressive strains of The Buzzcocks and Generation X from the waltzer. She really didn’t care.

  She sneaked a look at Sam who was in the pay-box of the dodgems covering for Nell, who had been late getting back. Claudia was absolutely itching to talk to her. He saw her looking and winked. She bit back a giggle and was pretty sure she was blushing. Crazy!

  She was very busy for the next ten minutes, and watched with amusement as people with haw-haw voices took careful aim and became ecstatic over winning a naff digital watch or a tiny, lopsided teddy bear. The rides were full – even the swinging boats – and the punters were spending well tonight. She presumed that if they could afford tickets to a Blenheim concert they’d probably got oodles of small change. And the middle classes, she’d discovered, were stalwart supporters of fairs at gaffs such as this. They’d probably never set foot in a street fair or visit a village green, but give them a fair at a stately home or a venue like Henley or Epsom, and they were in their element. Almost as though the whole rather grubby and doubtful travelling process had been sanitised especially for their benefit.

  She looked across at Sam again. He was busy now, not looking at her. It made it easier to stare. She had known him for so long and never really thought of him as anything other than her brother-in-law. Now – she sighed. Now it was completely different. Sex, of course, was out of the question. She didn’t like it – and anyway, she was married. Shame really. She thought Sam might be quite good at sex. He was certainly bloody brilliant at kissing.

  ‘Can’t stop.’ Nell leaned into the hoopla and touched her arm. ‘I – er – got delayed earlier so I’m ages late.’ She didn’t look as though she cared too much, actually. ‘I’m supposed to be on the dodgems, and with Terry absent, we’re shorthanded. Sam’s been brilliant – he told me what happened last night – and about Danny – poor you. Look, when the concert starts we’ll grab a bottle of champagne and talk, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Claudia peered warily at Nell. She looked sensational in a long, strapless, dark blue dress; but it was more than that. Everything glowed: her skin, her eyes, her hair. It was as if someone had turned on a light inside her. ‘You’re not going to work dressed like that?’

  ‘Too right. Look at you, Lady Muck! Anyway, Ross is coming over with the family. I thought I ought to make an effort. See you later.’

  Claudia nodded. Nell might well have been making an effort, but she’d lay a pound to a penny it wasn’t for Ross Percival’s benefit; and she’d bet even more that it wasn’t Ross who had made her sparkle like that.

  ‘Snap!’ She beamed at a rather surprised woman in faux pearls. ‘The Bradley girls do it again!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The pair of high-heeled golden mules was possibly not the most sensible footwear for trekking over Blenheim’s South Lawn, Adele conceded as she wobbled in Peter’s wake. In fact, she thought, tonight might turn out to be a bit of a disaster all round.

  They’d booked into the Bear at Woodstock, along with Clem and Marcia. It was truly sumptuous and Adele adored the elegance. She didn’t, however, adore Marcia’s constant company.

  Neither was she really looking forward to meeting Nell. It had been easy to talk on the phone, but face to face was an entirely different matter. The purchase of the Crash’n’Dash still gave Adele nightmares – and its delivery to Haresfoot was looming ever closer. And she’d never been any good at lying. Nell was so astute, she would sense something was up straight away, she just knew it. And then what was she supposed to say? Admit that she’d just spent a terrifyingly large amount of money on a ride that at least one of her children didn’t want, and none of them – or, even worse, Peter – knew about?

  No one knew about the Crash’n’Dash – except Clem and Ross, of course – and, should such momentous news break tonight, it wouldn’t do Peter’s heart any good at all. Adele had confided in Priscilla during a hot flush, and Priscilla had responded with a disdainful stare and stalked dismissively away, her tail ramrod straight. Adele was beginning to wonder whether she might not have made the biggest mistake of all time.

  Her hormones had started playing up as soon as they reached the Bear, egged on, she had no doubt, by nerves and guilt, which was when she’d discovered that she’d left her supply of evening primrose at Highcliffe. Peter, bless him, had volunteered to go into Woodstock for fresh supplies. In the middle of a real drencher he’d returned with Yeast-Vite. And, to cap it all, there was this hoo-ha about Claudia and Sam and one of the gaff lads. Ross had made some pretty scurrilous allegations and Marcia’s eyes had flickered with predatory pleasure as she recounted them.

  ‘Poor Adele.’ She had oozed saccharine sympathy. ‘Your children are such a worry, aren’t they? Thank goodness mine are no trouble. No trouble at all. Never have been. Still, once your Nell has married Ross he’ll soon bring her to heel, you mark my words.’

  Adele had thought she’d like to see him try, and experienced the first flicker of doubt over the suitability of the match. Oh God – it was too late now. She’d bought the Crash’n’Dash – Ross Percival would be only hours behind it.

  Then tonight, when she’d come downstairs at the hotel still fastening her rather outrageous Isle of Bute topaz earrings, Marcia had clasped her claws together and shrieked. ‘Oh, I say! What an unusual frock! Is it British Home Stores?’

  Adele, who had lost over half a stone at the Body Beautiful, and had been very proud of the fifties-style, gold lamé creation which clung and moulded and which, she thought, made her look like Mitzi Gaynor, wanted to rip it off and change into something sharp and understated. Something like Marcia’s stark black-and-
white Chanel which might have been a small size eight and screamed ‘cost a fortune’. It didn’t matter that Peter had told her that she looked wonderful, or that Clem’s eyes had lit up when she walked into the bar. She felt like a turkey basted and wrapped in tin foil.

  ‘Here should do us nicely, ladies.’ Puffing slightly after the climb to the South Lawn’s best vantage point, Clem eased himself between two picnicking groups and shook out a massive tartan rug. ‘Good view of the bandstand and the fireworks. And you can just see the fair from here. So, Princess –’ he gave Adele a very theatrical wink, ‘do you want to go and speak to your offspring now or later?’

  ‘Later.’ Adele sat down, carefully avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want any references to her duplicity, however veiled. ‘Is Ross joining us? Will he know where to find us?’

  ‘With you in that dress, Adele dear,’ Marcia arranged her greyhound legs, ‘he should have absolutely no trouble at all. Come along, Peter, let’s be at the bubbly.’

  Peter unpacked the Fortnum & Mason hamper which Marcia had insisted on, despite them having had a four-course dinner at the Bear. Adele knew Emma at the Body Beautiful would throw up her hands in horror at the sight of so many calories all in one place. There was pâté and salmon and various roast meats and cream sauces and Belgian chocolates and a gateau that looked like it had been designed by Gertrude Schilling. Four bottles of Krug nestled among a lot of shredded green paper and Adele thought secretly that if they managed a quarter of it between them, then someone would have to carry them back to the hotel.

  ‘Here comes the band!’ Clem roared, as the Oxfordshire Philharmonic climbed on the dais. ‘Give ’em a cheer.’

  ‘I think it’s an orchestra, actually,’ Marcia said, her buck teeth resting on the rim of her champagne flute. She had once been to the Last Night of the Proms. ‘Band conjures up an image of something altogether different.’

  ‘Like the Grimethorpe Colliery – or Bob Dylan,’ Peter said. He’d already knocked back a fair bit of champagne. Adele was slightly concerned as to how it would react with his Warfarin. ‘Bob Dylan’s backing band was called The Band,’ he explained to Marcia. ‘Showed a total lack of imagination, if you ask me. Should have been called Under Milk Wood – or was that someone else?’

  ‘Dylan Thomas,’ Adele hissed, trying to recork the Krug.

  ‘Ah, right,’ Peter nodded happily. ‘Thomas Dylan. Welsh bloke. Any more champagne going?’

  The music was wonderful. Dvorak, Rachmaninov, and Mozart played against Hoist, Britten, and Dankworth, and at half-time it was a well-deserved score draw.

  ‘Wasn’t that brilliant?’ Ross picked his way through the rapt groups, and squatted beside his parents. ‘Sorry I didn’t get up here in time for the first half but I was talking to Nell. Or at least trying to.’

  Ross looked altogether grand, Adele thought, in his navy canvas trousers and his very expensive blue lawn shirt, with his hair and shoes gleaming and his very white teeth. He looked, she decided, the way ‘preppy’ boys did when she was at school. Physically, financially, Nell couldn’t do better. But she wouldn’t settle for that, would she? She wanted to be in love – and for some unfathomable reason she didn’t love Ross Percival. Adele wished she had some of the love-dust which was being sprinkled around in the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that she and Peter had seen at Stratford last year. It would solve an awful lot of problems.

  ‘Where is Nell?’ Adele looked quickly over her shoulder. ‘On her way up?’

  ‘No. Still in the pay-box. The dodgems are packed. Everything’s riding full. They should make a bomb tonight. Nell’s a bit – well – strange, actually.’

  ‘Not well, you mean?’ Adele was scrambling to her feet. ‘Is she still, upset about last night, do you think?’

  ‘Hard to tell – is this a quail’s egg, Mother? I couldn’t get a word of sense out of her, to be honest. She looks totally divine, though. And when I told her she just started humming something.’

  Peter nodded. ‘Probably one of the tunes from just now. “Figairo” or “Jerusalem”, maybe?’

  ‘We haven’t had “Jerusalem”, yet.’ Marcia was pecking at a peach. ‘That was “Jupiter”.’

  ‘I think I’ll just pop down now and see her during the interval.’ Adele decided to take the bull by the horns. At least if Nell was in the pay-box they could get this initial meeting over without an audience. She just hoped she wouldn’t give the game away. ‘No, you all stay here. I’ll be back in next to no time.’

  She tottered slightly on the mules as she started to make the downward descent. Peter had already seized the opportunity and another bottle of Krug. She heard Ross laugh and then say, ‘Do you know, I think the tune Nell was humming was “Sabre Dance”. God knows why. They didn’t play that one, did they? Does anyone want that last truffle?’

  Having reduced the volume to accommodate the concert, the fairground sounded strangely muffled. There was nothing strange about the punters, though. Adele nodded with professional pleasure, watching the elegantly dressed throng clambering on and off the three Bradley rides, crowding round the joints; spending, spending, spending.

  Maybe the Crash’n’Dash was going to be a good idea after all, she thought hopefully, then remembered that it was because Clem Percival had modern machines that he’d had to lease this gaff to Nell and the boys. Places like this would always want traditional accompaniments. The Crash’n’Dash would be like a big, brash kid in torn Levis gate-crashing a black-tie supper. Adele’s fragile moment of hope crumbled.

  She exchanged greetings with the Macs, marvelling at how the three older girls had grown. Rio was really very pretty and the twins – well! In their matching Lycra dresses they looked like pop stars, she thought. Surely they’d just been schoolgirls when she and Peter had retired? How time flew.

  They were three-deep round the hoopla but she just caught a glimpse of Claudia in something floaty and pink and looking gorgeous. She’d talk to her later. Have a bit of a laugh. Whatever unhappiness Nell was suffering, or whatever temper Danny was in, or whatever problems Sam was having with the never-smooth-running paratrooper, Adele knew she’d get a giggle out of her daughter-in-law.

  She elbowed her way through the droves and fetched up beside the pay-box of the dodgems. Nell, taking money from one of the gaff lads, hadn’t seen her. Good Lord! Ross had been right. The dodgems were packed, with crowds waiting. And Nell looked simply out of this world. Her hair tumbled like a red-gold river over her creamy shoulders, and the blue evening frock made her eyes look turquoise. She smiled to herself, noticing that despite the heat, Nell had covered her face with a veneer of foundation. She was still trying to obliterate the freckles.

  Negotiating the pay-box steps – a tricky manoeuvre in mules – Adele eased herself in beside her daughter.

  ‘Oh – you made me jump!’ Nell’s starburst smile of welcome wasn’t lost on Adele. ‘How long have you been here? Where’s Dad? Wasn’t the concert lovely? I’m going to get out of here for the second half. Gosh, your dress is great, Mum. Hang on. All ready for the next ride? Press your pedals! Turn your steering wheels! There – isn’t this wonderful?’

  Drugs, Adele thought, or a man. It had to be one or the other. Nell was positively buzzing. Please God let it be Ross. Let her daughter have seen the light. Let the Crash’n’Dash not tear the Bradley family asunder.

  Nell sat back, still beaming, swinging one of her sandals from the end of her bare foot in time with the music. But not the track playing on the dodgems, Adele thought. Nell’s foot was beating to an entirely different rhythm.

  She pushed her hair behind her ears and leaned towards her mother. ‘I’ve nicked Barry from the paratrooper to sit in the pay-box for the second half of the concert. We can’t talk properly in here. Give me five minutes.’

  Waiting until the cars had crashed their way round the track twice more, and Barry had been given his pay-box instructions, Adele followed Nell down the steps. Nell, she noticed, had
stopped the perpetual stooping which she’d adopted since puberty to try and disguise her height. Her shoulders were back and her head was high. It was almost as though tonight she was delighted to be nearly six feet tall.

  ‘That’s better. I can hear now. Where are you all sitting?’

  ‘Clem took the high ground,’ Adele said. ‘Ross is already up there. There’s loads of food left.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Nell’s eyes were focused on something in the distance. ‘I’m not really in any rush to see Ross again, either, come to that. Or mardy Marcia. No doubt Ross has told everyone about last night? Made a big fuss out of nothing, of course. Still, he was a great help when Sam and Claudia didn’t come back. I suppose we couldn’t have managed without him – much as it galls me to have to say it. He’s so smug about things like that. Did you get the whole story?’

  ‘In fine detail,’ Adele agreed, being knocked sideways by a group of teenagers in hired evening dress. ‘Although I feel I might have missed out on some of the salient points.’

  Maybe that was just as well, her daughter thought, under the circumstances.

  Nell was still humming, with a faint smile on her lips. ‘I’ll fill you in on the gory bits later. But a word of warning, Mum. Danny and Claudia have had a real humdinger over it – so it might be as well not to say anything to either of them, OK?’

  Adele nodded, trotting now to keep up with Nell’s long stride. Blast! Whatever had made Nell this high had nothing to do with Ross. And now Danny and Claudia were daggers drawn – and it was ten to one on that there would be some problem with Sam.

  They scrambled up the hill, stumbling over discarded wine bottles and chicken-bones, and reached the tartan rug just as the orchestra retook the stand. Nell hugged Peter, smiled at Clem and Marcia, and then plonked herself down on the farthest corner away from Ross. Adele wondered, as she tugged the gold lamé neatly behind her knees, whether she could move everyone round a bit, the way she used to when the children had birthday parties and best friends were sharing jelly and ice-cream with sworn enemies. She had a feeling that Nell might object fairly strongly.