After all, when Ben, Mary and Russell were doing their MA courses at the Royal College of Art in London and we all lived together in a basement flat, I still managed to grow loads of fruit, herbs and vegetables in containers liberated from skips. I sprouted mung beans, made jam, and baked bread, pies and cakes with wholemeal flour too.
And whatever Ben says, I never hated London. I may not have been much of a party animal, like him, but I used to love meeting Libby for lunch in the Museum of Garden History, or going out to Kew Gardens for the day, plus there were all those lovely parks. There are worse jobs than selling bunches of flowers all day in a florist’s too.
Rob Rafferty called in today for a chat and Noah was quite wrong about him, because he made no attempt to pounce on anything except my cakes, though I am sure the whole village is now talking about all the men visiting my cottage. Still, at least it will distract them from raking up old stories about Libby’s mum’s colourful past, which they have had a tendency to do since the wedding…Thinking about that reminded me of my horrible little secret, though I hastily pushed it out of sight.
* * *
Noah was still in London, but a few days into January I started to get all sorts of little hen-related gifts in the post, like a plastic wind-up chicken that laid eggs—and they just had to be from him, because I didn’t know anyone else who would do something so daft. Then one day I got home from walking Mac to find a fresh stack of firewood and a cockerel weathervane on the woodshed roof, which was a bit of a giveaway, coupled as it was with a note from Noah saying he’d found Aggie halfway to Blessings and returned her to her run, though he couldn’t guarantee she would still be there on my return. (Though by some miracle she was.)
I phoned him up to thank him and then I asked, ‘Noah, have you been sending me lots of hen stuff in the post?’
‘Hens? Who, me?’ he said innocently. Then he asked me if I’d like to go with him to see the Antony Gormley sculptures of a hundred iron men, facing out to sea along the beach at Crosby, near Southport.
I’d wanted to see them for ages, but not got around to it, so I agreed and, despite the icy breeze blowing along the sands, I was glad I had, because they were very impressive. They had all the dignified presence of the Easter Island statues and, like them, looked as if they’d been there since the dawn of time.
They were also stark naked and Noah said they made him feel shy and distinctly lacking in the undercarriage department—as well they might—but I wasn’t about to bolster up his ego on that point so I just nodded agreement. I expect this was why he chased me round and round one of them with a smelly dead crab, though he didn’t catch me, thank goodness.
Gina had sent a packed lunch of sandwiches and Thermoses of hot coffee and soup, which we had in the car to thaw us out before the drive back. All in all, it was the best day I’d had for a long, long time, right up to the moment when Noah dropped me off at home, windblown, tired and relaxed from the warmth of the car.
I opened the front door and scooped up the post waiting for me on the mat as Noah tooted his horn and drove off, dumping three circulars and a letter from Reader’s Digest (telling me I had won a huge amount of money—perhaps) straight into the recycled paper bin.
That left one handwritten envelope, which contained only a newspaper cutting from The Times, announcing that Ben and Olivia’s nuptials had taken place at a register office. The envelope was postmarked Wilmslow, so I knew Ben’s mother had sent it.
The sun seemed to go out of the day with Ben’s mother’s act of spitefulness. I never did anything to deserve all the enmity Nell Richards has directed at me over the years, but I hoped this would now be an end to it, for Ben and I were irrevocably parted. What more could she want?
To round the day off, Ben himself phoned me up in the evening, drunk as a skunk, to tell me his marriage was all my fault and he hoped I was satisfied.
‘I don’t see why I should have to take the blame for any of your actions, Ben Richards,’ I told him coldly. ‘As far as I know, you’re an adult, even if you don’t behave like one.’
But then his voice went all choked as he said he hadn’t done any new work of any significance since we had parted and he didn’t feel as if he ever would. ‘I never really appreciated that our life together in Neatslake was the wellspring of my inspiration until it was too late, Josie. My creativity is shrivelling, here in London!’
‘Well, presumably it shrivelled a bit whenever you were down there, Ben—and you’ve spent a lot of time in London in the last year, though admittedly not painting.’
‘I thought you’d understand,’ he said reproachfully ‘You always believed in my art!’
‘I still do,’ I replied, with a guilty thought for the rotting prawns, though I hoped by now they were little more than a faint, unpleasant tang on the air. ‘But now I come to think of it, you never did any really brilliant work while you were at the Royal College of Art, did you? It wasn’t until you moved back to Neatslake that you were truly inspired again. I hope you get your mojo back, though, Ben, I really do—only it will have to be without any help from me.’
‘My work can’t have been that bad, because I got my MA!’ he said indignantly, but then, with an effort, he added that he understood my bitterness (he has no idea!), and if he’d driven me into the arms of another man he forgave me (which was very big of him), and so surely I could forgive him for his little slip too?
He seemed to have entirely forgotten that he’d married his little slip. And if he still thinks I had a fling with Noah, then either he hasn’t seen Mary since I spoke to her, or if he has, she didn’t manage to convince him his suspicions were as unbelievable as she found them!
Unless, of course, village gossip has reached his ears via Stella and Mark, and he has drawn the wrong conclusion? And according to Libby, the village now seems to suspect I’ve got a thing going with Rob as well, but Ben mustn’t have heard that fresh titbit…
I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but luckily I didn’t have to, because at that point there was the sound of a sharp-edged, by-now-familiar female voice saying, ‘Ben? Who are you talking to?’ and the phone went dead.
Noah came over to chop more wood next morning, before going back to London, arriving just in time to catch me about to trundle a heavy load of it over to the Graces in the wheelbarrow.
‘Why don’t you fill your car boot with it?’ he asked curiously.
‘Because the car was Harry’s pride and joy, and I’m trying not to make too much of a mess of it.’
‘Well, luckily I’m not so precious about my Jag—I’ll take it across,’ he offered, and he did too, though I insisted on lining his boot with henfood sacks first.
When he came back we had a cup of tea and a slice of treacle tart and I found myself telling him about Ben marrying Olivia and then phoning me to tell me it was my fault—that everything, including his losing his inspiration, was my fault—only suddenly, through Noah’s eyes, I could see the funny side of it for the first time.
Before he left, I showed him the rush WAG wedding cake order I’d just finished making—a football topped with a pair of icing sugar Manolo Blahniks and a handbag. It was pretty straightforward, except that I had to buy a special cake tin for the football, though I expect it will come in handy for all kinds of designs now.
Because of the firewood the Graces now think Noah is wonderful and a ‘dear boy’, and Pansy asked me if I thought he would like one of her handknitted sweaters as a thank you. I said I was positive he would love one, especially if it had big, cheerful stripes, because he was very into that sort of thing.
Since Ben’s call I knew he’d come up and stayed with Mark and Stella, because he’d been seen in the village. And once I thought I saw him in the distance myself when I was out walking Mac, so I turned and made off in the other direction, just in case.
It made it a little awkward about the co-op order too. Stella was very cool when she next rang to ask what I wanted. Then she called again when i
t arrived to tell me how much I owed her and where she would leave the order for me to pick up, so I haven’t actually seen her since the day I ran into Ben in their kitchen. And that’s OK by me. My true friends are the ones who have stuck by me, like Libby and Harry.
* * *
I was wrong about the TV series, because it looks as though at least the first six episodes will be shot. I had to drive over to the wine bar in Middlemoss to meet Claire Flowers for a big discussion over lunch—not that I actually discussed anything much, since she did most of the talking.
By the time we’d eaten a plate of seafood linguini (one little plateful cost as much as I could have fed twelve people with!), she’d thrashed everything out to her satisfaction and I was committed to the project and, if truth be told, starting to get a little excited about it too.
‘So we’ll start shooting in early March then, and hope for a good dry bright spell. The budget will be tight,’ she began, then broke off and waved at someone behind me.
‘It’s Rob,’ she said. ‘I wonder if he would like to make a brief appearance in an episode—free.’
‘He might, but he’d serve no useful purpose, except decoration,’ I said, twisting round to see him. ‘He—’
‘Josie!’ Rob swooped down on me like a golden eagle, scooped me up and kissed me with his usual enthusiasm. Then he did much the same to Claire, only by then I’d noticed the tall, slim, blonde girl standing behind him.
‘This is Anji,’ Rob said, coming up for air. ‘She’s got a cameo role in an episode of Cotton Common and when Claire said you’d be here for lunch today, we thought we’d come over because Anji really wanted to meet you.’
‘Me?’ I said, baffled and a bit embarrassed. Close to, Anji looked even more beautiful than she had the first time I’d seen her but, although there was a social smile on her lovely lips, her eyes were icy and my heart sank into my boots.
‘Yes, you—my friends have told me all about you,’ she said pointedly, ‘and I’d love to have a little chat!’
And then Claire had to leave and Rob went to buy drinks and Anji more or less told me to leave her boyfriend alone!’ I told Libby, who’d come over with some curtain material samples she couldn’t make her mind up about, just after I got home, limp as a rag.
‘What, Noah?’ Libby exclaimed. ‘Good heavens, rumours do get around!’
‘It must be Olivia spreading them, because Mary certainly doesn’t move in the same circles,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Anji said they’d been seeing each other for months and everything had been fine until he came to Neatslake for your wedding, and now he was blowing hot and cold and talking about spending half his time down here, so she wanted to know what the big attraction was.’
‘What on earth did you say?’
‘That the attraction certainly wasn’t me—and by then, I think she was having trouble believing it herself. I mean—she is stunning, Libs, and even though I’d dressed up a bit for the wine bar I still couldn’t hold a candle to her. In fact, I expect she just frightened Noah off a bit by getting too serious too soon, but I expect she’ll get him back if she settles for what he’s prepared to offer.’
After all, I certainly did, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t upfront about the lack of seriousness of his intentions!
‘So what did she say next?’ Libby enquired, fascinated.
‘That now she’d seen me again, she couldn’t really square the rumours with the reality, but if I did have any designs on Noah, to lay off! And I said I didn’t, and anyway had only just broken up with my long-term partner and so wasn’t interested in men, except as friends. Then Rob came back and I said I had to go, and escaped.’
‘What an exciting life you’re leading!’ Libby said. ‘I do think Noah dumped Anji before he had his little moment with you after my reception, though, so you needn’t feel guilty about that on her account.’
‘Maybe not…but then, he was with her in London when you ran into him before Christmas, wasn’t he? And Pia saw in a magazine that he’d been to a charity event with her, so they must still be pretty friendly. Really, I don’t know what to think. But it’s his problem, it doesn’t matter to me.’
‘Oh, no?’ she said, looking at me thoughtfully.
‘No!’ I said, and then after a pause added, ‘I got another hen thing in the post today. Chicken and rooster oven mitts.’
‘I’ve never known Noah to be like this. He must really like you!’
‘I think it’s more of a long-running joke, because of the way we met, when I was trying to catch Aggie. But we get on fine now we know where we are. Like Rob, too—he’s happy just to be friends.’
She looked as unconvinced as Noah had about that.
‘And the TV series is all signed, sealed and ready to start shooting?’
‘March, early on, and I’m hoping they include a bit about the reception business, even though it won’t have opened by then, because it would be good publicity, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, brilliant.’ She fingered the swatches of material that had been her reason for visiting and said, ‘Could you possibly come back with me now and help me make my mind up about these? Or did you say you had to wait in for someone to collect the WAG wedding cake?’
‘No, that’s all right. The bride’s mother came all the way from Knutsford in a taxi for it this morning. She couldn’t see it, because it was encased in giant bubble wrap by then, but she handed me an enormous cheque without a blink—if she’d been able to blink; her false eyelashes must have weighed a pound each. I hope the cake got there in one piece.’
‘Must have done,’ Libby said, ‘or they would have rung you up by now.’
‘I’ve got another one to make. I couldn’t resist it.’ I got out my design book and showed her a rough sketch. ‘He’s a marine biologist and she’s a Butlins redcoat—isn’t that a lovely mix? There’s going to be a seaside rockpool scene on the top tier, with below it a sort of candy-striped, scalloped tented effect, folded back to reveal the happy couple sitting in deck chairs on the bottom tier.’
The rockpool would have a shiny, crackle-glazed surface, starfish, seaweed, a seagull, spade and bucket—the works. Even a dead crab, which suddenly reminded me of my day out at Crosby beach with Noah…
‘Come on,’ I said, getting up. ‘Let’s go to the Old Barn and compare fabric samples in situ while there’s still daylight.’
There were no workmen around when we got there. The main bulk of the alterations were now done and the Old Barn was acquiring its finishing touches, with the permanent stage and the sound system going in, plus a large screen where any civil ceremonies in the Great Chamber could be relayed to the rest of the guests. I’d thought this was rather an extravagance, but Libby had insisted.
The barn now had lots of subtle, rather medieval-looking lighting, a dark oak floor and a couple of large reproduction tapestries, which all gave it a sort of indeterminate historical feel that should be a good backdrop to any kind of wedding.
The former tackroom next to it was now a food preparation room, with huge fridges, worktops, sinks and a dishwasher, while the very swish new cloakrooms were done up like the Savoy, with expensive liquid soaps, a full-length mirror and piles of fluffy white towels. There were even changing cubicles (my idea!), in case the bride and groom wanted to put on their going-away clothes and leave for their honeymoon straight from the venue. This was where the fabric samples came in, though actually there was no reason why they shouldn’t be the same fabric as the cloakroom curtains, and he had lots of that left over because he’d bought a whole bolt of it off the internet.
After Libby had come round to my way of thinking we went outside so I could tell her about a brainwave I’d had.
‘When it was pouring with rain the other day, I suddenly thought how difficult it was going to be for the bride and groom to get from the car into the barn without getting soaked. There would have to be lots of dodging about with big umbrellas, and you can’t get out of a car fast if you’re wearing
a meringue dress and yards of net.’
‘That hadn’t occurred to me,’ she admitted.
‘But if you had little metal rings sunk into the cobbles in front of the doorway, which would be quite unobtrusive, you could put up an awning-covered walkway whenever necessary.’
‘Now, that does sound like a good idea, Josie, and it could be stowed in one of the stables when we don’t need it.’
‘It would be better in some kind of synthetic material, so the mice don’t eat it.’
‘Would they do that?’
‘They’d probably chew holes in it. Come on, let’s have a walk around the garden while the sun is shining. I think I need some cold, fresh air to blow away the cobwebs.’
The grounds were by now emerging from their years of neglect too, and Tim was devoting as much time as he could to helping Dorrie transform them back to their former glory. Seth Greenwood, Sophy Winter’s husband, had resurrected the small knot garden near the house as a wedding present (that’s what he does for a living). Although he’d had to put in a lot of new box planting, which would take time to grow together, it was defined with coloured gravel, so it already looked charming.
But the greatest bonus, I thought to myself as we walked around in the wintry sunshine, was that Libby had been so involved in the mad scramble of getting the business ready for opening at the end of March, that I was quite sure any idea she’d had about starting a family was pushed right to the bottom of her to-do list. Perhaps in the end she’d even decide she couldn’t do both—and she might even go off the idea. I mean, it wasn’t like Libby in the least!
I’d relaxed about my guilty secret a bit by now, since I’d come to the conclusion that there was no way I could ever tell her, so there was really nothing I could do about it. It might be an ostrich-with-its-head-in-the-sand approach, but it worked for me.
Chapter Twenty-six
Wedding Tiers Page 29
