Stealing the Show

by Christina Jones

  The centre drum panels, which would surround the organ on three sides, were lavishly carved and he was enjoying painting the gilded scrolls against the crimson background. They looked rich and gorgeous. He wished Nell could be there to see them. It might just persuade her not to let go of her dream.

  ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Christ!’ He jumped and looked up at her. ‘It must be thought transference. I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘I didn’t think you needed to. I thought you could sniff me out.’

  ‘All my senses are a bit slow today.’ He could smell the scent now. He ought to ask her what it was. He’d buy some for Fiona. ‘I like your hair.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Nell squatted down beside him. ‘It’s nearly ready, then?’

  He wanted to laugh. The dream that had kept him going was almost over. He could practically hear her saying the words. Every sentence would begin with ‘Ross thinks that.’

  She studied his painting without speaking, occasionally closing her eyes as if visualising the whole. Then she stood up and walked across the shed to the laid-out platforms. She still said nothing. She was wearing jeans again, and a pale blue angora cardigan. Her name on the rounding boards seemed to hypnotise her. It was almost as though she was weighing everything up. He prayed that she wasn’t going to ask him to paint out her name ready for a new purchaser.

  Now she was looking at the horses. He washed his brushes vigorously, holding his breath.

  ‘Oh, my God! You didn’t tell me!’

  He wiped the brushes deliberately slowly. ‘I didn’t know if you’d be happy with it.’

  ‘Happy with a horse called Petronella? I’m ecstatic! Oh, God – it’s immortality! You are brilliant!’

  Her delight was infectious but the anaesthetic of shock was already wearing off and the reality was already creeping in.

  He felt his face grinning back although his heart was crying.

  Nell stopped smiling, ‘Jack? What’s the matter? You look awful. Well, no, I mean you don’t – that is – Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy another trip on the Roadster, a pint in the Maybush, and an incredibly soggy shoulder?’

  He insisted that she wore the crash helmet this time even though she laughingly protested that it would ruin her new hair-do. He thought, as they powered towards Newbridge, that he should invest in a second crash helmet, just for moments such as these. It really wouldn’t do, on top of everything else, to have a criminal record – however minor the offence. Still, if Nell was about to become a Percival, there probably wouldn’t be too many more Roadster rides to share.

  He enjoyed her hands gripping his waist – he could actually see the freckles on her wrists – and the waft of that evocative floral scent that every so often filtered through the cold spiciness of the wind and the heat of the petrol.

  ‘Do you always drive so fast?’ Nell was smiling as she unfastened the skid-lid and freed her hair in the Maybush’s car park. ‘Or was that a catharsis?’

  She seemed less shaken by the journey this time – but then she’d just experienced the Crash’n’Dash.

  They walked into the cool interior of the pub and she headed straight for the bar. ‘Shandies again? I know they’re probably not good for soul-baring sessions, but anything stronger would probably have us both in tears.’

  ‘I’ll pay.’

  She shook her head. ‘You get the next round. I – I want this to be the same as last time.’

  So did he, but he had a feeling it was going to be very different. He noted with pleasure that all the businessmen, in the pub for their lunch-time ploughman’s and lager, were gazing at Nell with admiration. Beautiful women who were nearly six feet tall with a waterfall of red-gold hair were probably a rarity round here. Or maybe they’d seen her on the television news and were trying to place her. Either way, their interest was tangible. Fiona, he realised with a jab of guilt, never turned heads. And Nell wasn’t with him, as such. Still, no one knew that, did they? He experienced a glow of pride as the office eyes continued to follow them as they walked outside.

  They sat at the same table. It wasn’t quite so hot, and today a breeze rippled through the overhanging trees and stirred the surface of the river. High-piled clouds hovered on the horizon. He thought, inconsequentially, that it might rain and wondered if it would put the punters off the Crash’n’Dash.

  ‘You first then,’ Nell said over her glass. ‘But don’t think this is going to be one-way traffic. I’ve got a few minor problems of my own.’

  They talked. They had two drinks but the conversation well outlasted them. When he told her about his resignation she nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Good for you. I mean it must have taken some guts to do it. But now it’s over. It can’t get worse. And I’ve always said you’d make a fortune as a painter – you could advertise in The World’s Fair and have people snapping your hand off.’ She laughed. ‘Which would, of course, defeat the object a bit, I admit. Anyway, I told you I’d pay you for the work you’ve already done. I could start right away. I owe you so much.’

  ‘You haven’t got any money,’ he reminded her gently. ‘You spent it all on the gallopers and the Gavioli.’

  Nell shrugged happily. ‘I can start taking my share from the Brain-Scrambler. I don’t see why that shouldn’t subsidise you for a bit.’

  ‘No way! That’d be like prostitution. But you really don’t think I’m mad? Giving up my career? Walking out?’

  ‘Completely crazy.’ She sat back in her seat. ‘I only wish more people were as mad as you. So, what does Fiona think?’

  They’d gone on eventually to discuss the Crash’n’Dash – and her mother’s involvement and convenient disappearance – and Ross Percival. Jack had a thousand questions bubbling in his head. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear the answers.

  ‘So, what happens now?’

  ‘God knows.’ Nell was fiddling with the flaking wood on the table top. The sun glinted on the old rose gold of her bracelets. The freckles on her fingers fascinated him. ‘He’s playing it very cagily. Not pressurising me or anything – and I must admit I was wrong about the Brain-Scrambler. Oh, I still hate it, but it hasn’t changed things the way I thought it would. I mean, we’re doing even better than before and we’ve taken on a couple of extra lads. I just get the feeling that Ross is biding his time. I think he’ll let me get used to the idea of the Crash’n’Dash – and then suddenly produce a whole fleet of Jessons rides before back-end.’

  Jack took a deep breath. ‘And if he does? Will you sell the gallopers?’

  ‘What?’ Her shout of disbelief made people turn and stare. He didn’t care. ‘Why on earth should I want to sell them? What gave you that idea? No way. Not a chance. In fact, ever since the Brain-Scrambler arrived, Ross and Danny have been banging on about diversification – splitting the fair for various gaffs – and I’ve been thinking along very similar lines.’ She was almost glowing again now. ‘I think that it’s high time I applied to the Guild for my own sites. I also think that it’s high time that I came clean about the gallopers – and the ghost train and the caterpillar. I think the Memory Lane Fair should clamber from the closet.’

  Jack wanted to kiss her. He compromised by nodding enthusiastically. They made a pact that he would tell Fiona and she would tell Ross. Nell, of course, would have the added hurdle of approaching Clem Percival over Guild Rights for ground – but she was a member. There shouldn’t be a problem.

  Jack felt elated. Everything was going to be all right. Or almost everything. ‘What about when you and Ross get married?’

  She flickered a frown. ‘I don’t see what difference that would make, honestly. I’d still be running the Memory Lane Fair, while Ross and Danny – and I guess Sam – will be splitting with the bigger rides. It’ll be a further expansion of the business – and none of them will complain about that. We’ll do some places separately and others together. Bradleys
and Percivals amalgamating to become big-time. I suppose,’ she stared out across the river. ‘that this was what my mother had planned all along.’

  He nodded. He didn’t – really didn’t – want her to marry Ross Percival, not even for business reasons. It was entirely unreasonable, he knew, as he would be marrying Fiona in a few weeks’ time. It just wasn’t the same, somehow.

  They talked round in circles, covering the same ground, convincing each other that things would be just fine. They agreed that he would contact all the Downland Trust members and fix a date for their first build-up of the gallopers in the yard at Fox Hollow. They might even invite Ross and Fiona …

  They were, Jack knew, encouraging each other to take drastic and irrevocable steps.

  The chicken was sizzling in the pan when Fiona walked into the kitchen. Jack scooped the vegetables from their marinade and stirred vigorously. ‘Good journey? You look tired. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Pour a couple of glasses. Supper won’t be too long.’

  Fiona dropped her briefcase on the table. ‘I don’t want anything to eat. You shouldn’t have bothered. I had something before I left London.’

  Jack was starving. He felt like switching off the cooker and storming down to the Turlington Arms for a pie and a pint. He counted to ten and continued stirring. ‘You might change your mind when it’s ready.’ He leaned across to kiss her cheek. She was already opening her briefcase, flicking through papers. ‘Leave that for a moment. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘OK, but not for long, Jack. I’ve got tons to do.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘I’ve got this brilliant proposal lined up that you can help me with, actually. I think I may just have captured the Wiseman market.’ She sighed at his non-comprehension. ‘For God’s sake! They produce brochures for new housing developments. All those misty soft-focus shots of lavish houses in tree-lined avenues. They were very impressed with our laminate prices. I’m practically sure we’ve got them in the bag. If you could persuade all your potential sites to go to Wisemans for their brochures, and I could let them know of the increased business, I’m pretty sure I could swing this one before the end of the week.’

  Jack exhaled. The chicken was beginning to catch. He had to do it. Now. He’d promised Nell. Nell was probably confessing all about the gallopers to Ross Percival at that very minute. He opened the fridge, took out the Chardonnay, and poured two careful glasses.

  ‘Actually, that might be a bit tricky. You see, I’m not working with Dad any more.’ Oh, Christ. There was no easy way to do this. ‘I resigned from Morlands this morning.’

  To his amazement, Fiona laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, Jack! You can’t resign! You’re a partner!’

  He hitched his hip against the kitchen table, and told her all about it. Not about the gallopers, of course. One step at a time. He even threw in the bit about being a house-husband, looking after the baby, working from home …

  ‘At what?’

  ‘Well, painting and restoration and stuff.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid!’ Fiona drained her glass and refilled it. ‘I’m not prepared to support you while you daub, for Christ’s sake! You get on the telephone and apologise to Bill this minute! Tell him you’re sorry – things said in the heat of the moment and all that – and tell him that you’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning, OK? I’m going to have a shower – and switch that bloody stuff off. The smell’s making me feel sick.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After all the media interest, the following days at Marsh Minster seemed very flat. Apart from the time spent at Fox Hollow with Jack, the only excitement in Nell’s life was finding different excuses not to sleep with Ross. Her ingenuity was being tried to its limits.

  She was also disgruntled by the continued absence of her parents on their conveniently-timed holiday. How on earth was she ever going to hammer things out with her mother if she insisted on trekking round America on the Elvis Presley Memorial Trail? Despite her assurances to Jack, she didn’t want to mention the purchase of the gallopers to Ross until she’d sorted out the business implications with Adele. The Crash’n’Dash of course continued to pull in the crowds – takings were doubled – and everyone was delighted. It was all extremely frustrating.

  Claudia had been seriously subdued since the day of the makeover and the filming. No one was sure which had screwed Danny up most, and he’d spent two days grizzling about women with short hair being halfway to dungarees and testosterone implants. Nell was beginning to agree with Sam that Claudia and Danny really should separate. Claudia, however, hung on with dogged determination.

  ‘Fancy escaping for the evening?’ Nell paused beside the hoopla on her way to the dodgems. ‘We haven’t had a break for ages. We used to have fun on our girls’ nights out, didn’t we? You could get Rio or the twins to take over in here, and Terry’s ace on the dodgems now that he’s turned respectable. Why don’t we –’

  ‘Danny wouldn’t agree.’ Claudia, who was wearing very drab jeans and a black T-shirt, didn’t look at Nell, but handed two hoops to a child of indeterminate sex which was far too small to see where it was throwing.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of including Danny in the invitation.’

  The child had hurled both hoops into the side of the stall. Its mother rapped smartly on the scarlet panels. ‘Excuse me! I think this is unfair!’

  ‘So do I,’ Claudia muttered, leaning over to retrieve the rings and displaying a fist-sized bruise just below her rib-cage. ‘Have a free go on me. Have several free goes on me.’

  She handed half an armful of hoops to the mother who yanked the child on to her hip and started raining them against the plinths.

  ‘Claudia!’

  ‘What? She probably won’t win anything and anyway, I’m feeling generous.’

  ‘Not the freebie,’ Nell said quickly. ‘The bruise. On your side.’

  ‘Is it?’ Claudia sounded bitter. ‘It must be the only one who is, then.’

  Nell leaned across, and grabbing at Claudia’s T-shirt, pulled it away from her waist. There were several red marks as well as the bruise. ‘Jesus! When did he do this?’

  ‘Who do what? Oh, that? It wasn’t Danny. Well, it was – but not in anger. I mean, we got sort of passionate and –’

  Nell shook her head. She didn’t believe a word. Someone had to do something. The mother squawked excitedly as she lobbed one of the hoops around an unpleasantly-coloured plastic Teletubby and Claudia drifted across the stall.

  ‘So you don’t want to come out tonight?’

  Claudia shook her head. ‘No thanks. You go. Have a nice time.’

  Nell wandered along the pavement between the back of the joints and the now empty High Street shops, stepping over cables and being deafened by the massed ranks of generators reverberating from the lichened walls. Who could she talk to about this? Danny was the obvious choice but he and Claudia had clearly worked out their story, and it would probably do more harm than good. She didn’t want to risk Claudia gathering more bruises. Sam? Sam was likely to tell her to leave things alone; much as he was into love and peace and thought they should split up, he wouldn’t actively interfere. Ross? Ross and Danny were currently joined at the hip. And Ross might frown on physical violence but he’d believe the moment-of-passion story because he’d want to. And even if Adele and Peter were in the country, she wouldn’t tell them.

  She reached the dodgems. It was early evening and the riders were all safe drivers: fathers with small children, and chubby pre-pubescents kitted out in the latest glittery fashions and their first lipstick.

  ‘Nice and steady.’ Terry indicated the piles of notes and coins in the cash drawer. ‘Nothing spectacular, but no doubt it’ll hot up when the Crash’n’Dash starts.’

  No doubt. She watched him leap back across the track from car to car. She was able to rely on him completely these days. He was a good kid with a pretty astute head on his shoulders. It would be a shame to lose him. I
t would be a shame to lose any of them. And she would have to leave them all behind, she was sure, when the Memory Lane Fair made its breakaway. They wouldn’t be remotely interested in a gaff full of nostalgia.

  ‘All ready for the next ride!’ She spoke mechanically into the microphone. ‘Pay in the car!’

  Thinking of the Memory Lane Fair led to thoughts of Jack. Of course, she’d be able to talk to Jack about Claudia and Danny. She could talk to Jack about anything. It was a pity that she didn’t know when she’d see him again. The pull to go to Fox Hollow was increasingly insistent. Idly watching the cars skitter round the track, she wondered how he’d got on with telling Fiona about his plans for the future. Better than her non-attempt with Ross, she was sure. Fiona would probably have been pleased that he’d made the break from a job he hated and would be able to spend more time at home once they were married and had the baby. Nell had tried not to think too much about either of those things.

  ‘Press your pedals! Turn your steering wheels!’

  She turned up a revamped Deep Purple CD to full volume and knew that she was bored. This wasn’t what she wanted. There were no highs and lows in the business any more. Not since the Crash’n’Dash’s arrival. It had changed things – not necessarily in the way she’d feared, but changed them none the less. There wasn’t the speculation of turning up at gaffs and wondering if they’d make enough money to buy diesel and food. There was no more peering out of the pay-box and wondering if anyone was going to stagger out from in front of their television screens to ride on anything.

  Danny and Ross had been right. The punters wanted machines like the Brain-Scrambler to bring them back to fairgrounds. Ross would now add a Moon Mission – and who knows, they could have their own Ice-Breaker before back-end. They’d been right – and she’d been wrong. Of course, Nell thought, anyone else would relish this sort of secure expansion – but she didn’t. From now on it was just going to be bland. And to Nell, bland was about as exciting as death.

  That was why she fancied a night out, she told herself, taking a further pile of coins from Terry, just to break the monotony. She’d never felt dissatisfied with her life before. She had changed since the arrival of the Brain-Scrambler and Ross. Or had she? No – it was before then. The dissatisfaction had started to creep in since she’d met the Downland Trust and found the gallopers and Jack Morland.