by Sue Margolis
“And you’re taking that instead of the movie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“What? But I thought that’s what you’d want.”
“Hugh, have you listened to anything I’ve said to you? I’ve always been clear that I’d never want you to give anything up—least of all acting. Being an actor is who you are. I can’t believe you’d think I’d want you to turn down an offer from Hollywood. It’s a truly amazing thing to have happened. Of course you must go for it. This is going to be your launchpad. I just know it.”
“Hang on. I’m really confused here. I thought you wanted me to stop living like an overgrown adolescent.”
“I do, and to that end, all I’ve ever wanted is for you to stop spending thousands on gallivanting around the globe and start putting some money away.”
“Actually, that was the next thing I had to tell you. I’ve opened a savings account.”
“What? You have to be kidding.”
“Nope. And there’s already money in it. I realized that now your business has hit the big time, you’d be putting money aside. I couldn’t let you be the only grown-up in our relationship.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a deposit slip.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. A thousand pounds. I’m impressed … not just with the amount, but the fact that you did this. It means such a lot to me. Thank you.”
“I just want you to know that I’m serious about us and that I want to start planning the future—our future.”
I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Well, you can start by taking this job in Hollywood.”
“But it’s a huge risk. There are no guarantees the movie will even get made.”
I said that I didn’t care. “I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve spent the last few months putting my future and my children’s futures at risk. And it’s paid off—not quite in the way I expected or hoped, but it has paid off. I have absolutely no right to prevent you from doing the same.”
“But suppose the movie’s a flop. Suppose I end up penniless.”
“Then you’ll do something else. If you think for one minute I’m letting you give up on this opportunity, you can think again.”
“You know I love it when you take control.”
Lucy came back with our beers and took out her notepad. “So have you decided?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think we have.”
• • •
Hugh slept over that night, not that we did much sleeping. As the sun came up, we were still lying awake, in each other’s arms. “I don’t half love you, Hugh F-fanshaw.”
“I love you, too, but would you mind if we got some shut-eye now?”
We dropped off. What felt like ten minutes later, but was probably a couple of hours, Ella came running into the room, demanding a morning cuddle. She saw Hugh and stood at the foot of the bed, head tilted.
“Have you been doing your sex on my mummy?” she said by way of greeting.
“Hi Ella,” Hugh said. “And good morning to you, too.”
“Ella, do you have to say stuff like that?” I said.
“But it’s what grown-ups who love each other do in bed. You told me about it and you said that it was normal… .”
“Yes, but there are times when it’s OK to discuss it and times when it’s not so OK.”
“Like in front of Betty or Grandma and Granddad?”
“Exactly.”
“Goddit.”
Then Dan appeared and started bouncing on the bed.
“So have you two made up?” he said.
I told him that we had.
“So, Hugh, are you going to be our new daddy now?”
“I’m going to be around a lot more, but I don’t think you’d want anybody to take the place of your real dad, would you?”
“No, but we could call you Dad Two. That would be OK.”
“So can you help me with my solo now?” Ella said. “It’s the summer fair this afternoon and I need to have one final practice.”
I made toast and put on some coffee. Hugh and Ella went into the living room to practice. They made me switch on the radio so that I couldn’t hear.
I was listening to some tedious report on fiscal deficit when the phone rang. It was Rosie.
“Hey—how did the Delphine meeting go?”
“Really well. They want to use me on a freelance basis to start with. After that, assuming they’re happy, I’ll be given a year’s contract. The two women who interviewed me said that unofficially they were looking for the new ‘rack of Delphine’ and that I could find myself in the running.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am so not kidding. I mean, me as the rack of Delphine. Can you imagine? It’s funny, isn’t it, how life can be crap for ages and then suddenly everything changes?”
“Tell me about it.”
“How do you mean?”
“I have news, too. Hugh and I are back together.”
“Noo! So you finally came to your senses.”
“Yeah. But he compromised, too. He’s opened a savings account. But the really massive news is he’s got a film gig in Hollywood.”
“Get out of here.”
“Listen, I’ll give you all the details when I see you, but suffice it to say things are looking up.”
“Sarah, you have no idea how happy I am for the both of you. Give Hugh a kiss from me and say hi.”
“I will.”
“You know, all I need now is a bloke in my life and things would be perfect.”
I told her that modeling was going to bring her into contact with loads of men.
“Yeah, gay ones.”
“Oh, stop it. You’re back in the outside world, that’s the important bit.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right. I need to keep the faith. So anyway I’m off to Rome on Monday to do my first photo shoot. I’ve got it all organized—Betty’s going to come and look after Will.”
“Listen, why don’t you come to the summer fair this afternoon and celebrate with a cream tea. The aunties will be there. They’d love to hear your news.”
She said she couldn’t because she was going to see her sister. She asked me to pass on her news to the aunties. “I’m really sorry I won’t be with you to give you moral support.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll have Hugh there. And what’s the worst that can happen?”
“You have to flee the country?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“But that Tara woman is going to hound you wherever you go. I think Mexico might be your only answer.”
“Thanks for that. I needed cheering up.”
• • •
“You know, Ella’s actually got a great little voice,” Hugh said later, as we sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. “And she certainly belts it out. I think you’re going to be dead chuffed when you hear her.” He took a mouthful of coffee. “So how do you feel about the summer fair?”
“Crap, thank you for asking. But it has to be done. I owe it to everybody to confess my sins. Rosie thinks I should run away to Mexico.”
Hugh laughed. “Stop panicking. It’s going to be fine.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s going to be terrible and I’m going to be a laughingstock and everybody will refuse to speak to me. The kids will probably have to leave the school.”
“Stop it. Nothing like that is going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, that’s all.”
I said I wished I had his confidence. “So anyway … changing the subject, how do you feel about becoming the children’s daddy?”
“Great, but I’m thinking it might feel a bit odd if we’re not actually married.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“So what do you think?”
“About what?”
“Getting married?”
I started laughing. “Hugh, is this a proposal?”
�
�Yes … Look, I know it’s not very romantic, but how about I do a repeat performance tonight over a posh, candlelit dinner? You know, get down on one knee… .”
“That might work.”
“But for now, what do you say?”
“Er … let me think… . OK, I guess that would be a yes.”
With that, he reached over and pulled me towards him.
Just then Ella appeared.
“Dan, quick,” she called out. “They’re snogging.”
• • •
For days, I’d been praying for the fair to be rained out, but it wasn’t to be. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky, the school playing field had been mowed and rollered to perfection and bunting had been strung between the trees. Women were out in their Tommy Padstow Breton tees; kids were white with sunblock; daddies had dug out their brown sandals and Panamas. The stalls were ready to go. Dan and Ella had gone off with Fiona and her kids. Dan was busy telling Tom that he had already worked out the order in which he was going to visit the stalls: guess-the-number-of-sweets, the tombola, coconut shy, hoopla, lucky dip and finally, leaving the best until last, the throw-a-wet-sponge stall.
Imogen came charging across in her giant floppy hat and Crocs. “All ready for the off? I have to say everybody’s absolutely dying to meet Greg Myers. We’re all so grateful to you for persuading him to come. And as for you organizing this rockabilly band. What can I say? It’s incredibly generous.”
“It’s nothing. My pleasure … Imogen, before things kick off, there’s something I need to—”
“Sorry—must dash, the donkeys have just arrived and apparently one of them has just wandered into the hall and taken a gigantic dump.”
I was aware that Hugh was looking at his watch. “You got a bus to catch?” I said.
“No, it’s nothing. Nervous habit.”
“Really? I’ve never noticed it before.”
He said he needed to go to the car park to check on something.
“What?”
“I think I may have left my wallet in the glove box.” With that he was gone.
Just then Tara and Charlotte appeared. They looked like they were on their way to Woodstock, but had taken the wrong exit. Tara was in a cheesecloth maxi-dress and platform sandals. Charlotte was sporting flowery flares and big round shades.
“It’s almost three,” Tara said, all faux smiles. “Greg Myers is cutting it a bit fine, wouldn’t you say?”
I managed a thin smile, but said nothing. Knowing that my personal Armageddon was no more than a few minutes away, I felt tears forming behind my eyes.
Just then, the aunties appeared—along with Roxanne and Sanjeev. Tara and Charlotte offered everybody perfunctory smiles and took their leave.
As I wiped my eyes, I realized that I wanted nothing more at this second than to throw myself into the aunties’ arms and tell them that Hugh and I were getting married, but I couldn’t. We’d agreed that nobody could know until we’d told the children and our parents.
“Sarah—you remember Roxanne,” Aunty Sylvia said.
“Of course. How are you? Long time no see. I was sorry to hear your film didn’t work out.”
Roxanne hadn’t changed. She was just as skinny and orange with a fake tan as ever. “I think the film not happening was probably for the best,” she said.
“I agree,” I said, lowering my voice and pulling her a few feet away so that Aunty Sylvia couldn’t hear. “I’m guessing that sadistic horror isn’t your mum’s genre of choice.”
“But I told her it was a kids’ film.”
“Yeah, but the rest of us worked it out.”
“God … if Mum had found out … Holy crap …”
“Well, luckily for you, she didn’t.”
“So,” Aunty Sylvia piped up, looking at Roxanne. “Have you told Sarah that you got into the veterinary nursing course?”
“You did?” I said. “Congratulations. Are you happy about that?”
“Of course she’s happy. Mark my words, it’s going to be the best thing she’s ever done.”
“I just need to get my own place,” Roxanne whispered. “And sooner rather than later.”
“Aunty Sylvia driving you crazy?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
Aunty Bimla had been hovering, desperate to break into the conversation. “And this is Sanjeev,” she said. I only knew Sanjeev by reputation. I’d never met him. He had to be in his thirties, but standing there in his hoodie, head down, hands in his jeans pockets, he looked like a truculent seventeen-year-old.
“Sanjeev, I want you to meet Sarah. Now, Sarah is a real entrepreneur.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that. Hey, Sanjeev.”
He shook my hand, but it was clear he would rather have been anywhere but here among the stupid fairground stalls and donkey rides.
“I just wanted to say thank you for what you’ve done for my aunt. Believe it or not, I was hoping to provide for her in her old age.”
“There’s nothing stopping you. You make it sound like this is the end.”
“It certainly feels like it,” he said.
“Sanjeev is going to live with his uncle in Bradford, aren’t you, Sanjeev?”
“Apparently.”
“He’s going to work in his convenience store, until he’s paid me and the bank the money he owes.”
“Do your time,” I said. “And then start over, but when you do, remember to keep your wits about you.”
“That is good advice,” Aunty Bimla said. “You be sure to take it.”
“I will,” Sanjeev said, but I doubted he meant it. He might be down on his luck now, but I couldn’t help thinking that once a player, always a player.
“Right now let’s all go and find some toffee apples,” Aunty Sylvia said. “I haven’t had one in years.”
They invited me to go with them, but I said that I had to wait for the Milkshakers. They arrived a quarter of an hour later, all quiffs and drainpipes, and started setting up on the small stage—the stage from which, any minute now, I was due to make my announcement.
Hugh had returned from the car park—apparently he’d found his wallet—and was starting to pace. “What on earth is it?” I said. “I’m the one who’s meant to be nervous.”
“I’m fine. I’m just a bit jittery on your behalf.”
“Please don’t be. You’re actually making me feel worse.”
By now the field was packed with mums, dads and kids; the organ-grinder music was playing; the smell of barbecue filled the air.
“I do hope he hasn’t got stuck in traffic,” Imogen said, cropping up again. “Do you think you ought to try his cell?”
Sod it, I thought. I might as well just get this over with. Without offering Imogen a reply, I climbed onto the stage, where the Milkshakers were still sorting out cables and speakers, and picked up the microphone. I gave it a couple of echoey taps. “Good afternoon, everybody. If I could have your attention. I just want to welcome you all to our annual summer fair. For once the weather has been kind, so let’s hope that this will be a bumper fund-raising event. Now, I did promise that we would have Greg Myers here to open the fair, but I’m afraid …”
The sudden tap on my shoulder made me swing round. “May I?” the voice said. I watched silently, blinking as Greg Myers took the microphone from my hand.
“Hello, mums and dads, boys and girls,” he hollered into the mic. “So, are you all having a good time?”
“Yess!”
“Are we going to raise loads of money this afternoon?”
“Yess!”
“Are we all going to buy lots of raffle tickets?”
“Yesss!”
“OK … in that case I would like to declare this summer fair well and truly open. I’ll be here for a while—I’m starting off on the wet sponge stall, so if any of you would like to come and throw a sponge at me, feel free.”
Applause, whistles, whoop-whoops. The Milkshakers got going wit
h “Be-Bop-a-Lula.” I could see Dan and Ella boogying with Tom and Grace.
Greg Myers extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Greg. You must be Sarah.”
“Yes. I mean … hello … and thank you so much for coming, but can somebody please explain what’s going on? You’re not meant to be here. Not that I’m not glad you are here—it’s just that I’m really confused.”
Hugh was looking down at the ground, smiling.
“You’re responsible for this, aren’t you?”
He held up his palms. “Guilty.”
“So that explains all the weird behavior. It also explains why you were so anxious for me not to make my big confession until today. But why on earth didn’t you tell me?”
“That was down to me,” Greg said. “I asked Hugh not to say anything because I was filming this morning and right up till the last minute I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”
I turned to Hugh. “But I remember asking you if you knew Greg and you told me you didn’t. You said you didn’t know any famous actors.”
“I don’t. But it just so happens that Greg went to drama school with an old mate of mine. So I gave him a call.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m just so grateful to both of you. You’ve saved my reputation and stopped me from having to flee to Mexico. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I gave Greg a hug and a big kiss.
“Oh, and I’m sorry I was so rude to you that night. You don’t look anywhere near old enough to be the mother of teenage daughters.”
“Hugh told you about that? Honestly, I barely gave it a second thought.”
“Don’t I get a kiss?” Hugh said.
“Maybe later. I’m still pissed off with you for not telling me you’d arranged all this.”
“Mr. Myers! Welcome!”
It was Imogen. A dozen thrilled and excited mothers hovered in the background. Tara and Charlotte stood to one side of the group, looking neither pleased nor excited. I smiled and waved at them. They looked down their perfect noses and walked off.
Greg Myers extended his hand and insisted that Imogen call him Greg.
She introduced herself. In his presence, Imogen was blushing and stuttering like a smitten schoolgirl.
Greg and Hugh disappeared with Imogen and the hovering mothers to the wet sponge stall. Hugh and I arranged to meet later in the hall where the children were due to perform their show tunes.
