The Jersey Scene series box set

by Georgina Troy

  Bea laughed. “You’re not big,” she fibbed, waving away Shani’s hand when she went to playfully slap her. “We have to arrange something for her.”

  “I know. How about arranging a night at Effervescence, that’s probably the easiest option?”

  “Effervescence, that’s a brilliant idea.” She thought for a moment. “What about my stepmother, though? It’s not the sort of place I’d imagine her agreeing to go.”

  “Tough. We need to book somewhere I can sit for most of the evening. We can eat and then enjoy the show.”

  “It’s the show that worries me.” Bea grimaced. She’d been to see the brilliant sketch show with the hilarious overly made-up transvestites. It was perfect for a hen party, but not one that included Joyce.

  “Why?” Shani pulled a cushion behind the arch of her back and leant against it.

  “Because its men dressed as women and some of the jokes can be a bit rude.”

  Shani straightened the loose knitted jumper over her stomach. “Yeah, I forgot about that. Well, it’s either that or a quiet meal somewhere else. Not very hen-like though. Mel’s hardly the condoms-tied-on-a-hat sort of girl and I can’t see Joyce supping her martini from a willy-shaped straw, can you?”

  “No.” Bea laughed, an image of her horrified stepmother filling her mind. “Why don’t we ask Mel, just to make sure? We don’t want to upset her and have to deal with Joyce’s ranting, too.”

  “True,” Shani laughed. “She’s tense enough about the whole thing as it is, especially now there’s the threat of Leilani competing with her in the bride stakes. Oops,” Shani winced. “Sorry, I didn’t think before speaking then.”

  Bea took a weary breath and glared at her friend. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’ve got no interest in what Luke and Leilani get up to,” she lied. “I’ll give Mel a ring now, and then we can book something.”

  Bea came back from the phone. “Surprisingly enough, it’s to be Effervescence and Mel told me Joyce will be fine, especially if we open a bottle or two of Laurent Perrier Rosé here before we set off. So that’s what we’ll do. Mel will bring the booze and I’ve already phoned and arranged it for Saturday.”

  “If I’m still around to join in.” Shani cupped her enormous bosoms as best she could. “I swear these are growing by the day. I would have given my eye teeth for these to stay this big. Why is it the only time I have enormous boobs, I have a matching belly, too?”

  Bea studied her friend. “You do look different with those, but I think the novelty would probably wear off after a while.”

  “Are you kidding?” Shani jiggled them gently up and down. “I think they are amazing. I’m going to have to get implants once these go down.”

  Bea shook her head doubtfully. “Mel said Guy and Paul are also welcome on the hen night. Apparently, they’re honorary girls. Joyce won’t be too happy, because they aren’t girls, but hopefully she’ll be too pie-eyed by then to care.”

  “You hope.”

  “Girls,” Paul said, stepping in through the French doors. “I’ve just got a text from Mel about her hen night. Excellent choice.”

  Bea stood hands on hips. “I may as well take these damn things off; I can see I’m not going to get any peace this morning.” Resigned, she kicked off her beloved boots and pushed her feet into her bunny slippers.

  Bea moved away her legal folder a couple of hours later. “I can’t wait until it’s over.”

  “What, the wedding, the court date or my giving birth?” Shani stroked her stomach with both hands. “It’s like some sort of countdown.”

  Paul thought for a moment. “Have you heard from Harry at all?”

  Shani’s shoulders drooped at the mention of his name. “I don’t expect to now. I’ll just contact him when the baby’s born, like I agreed to do, and we can take it from there.”

  Paul stroked her shoulder. “Sorry, chick, that was a bit insensitive of me.” He turned his attention to Bea. “I heard Tom’s put his new apartment back on the market. Now why would he do that? He’s only just bought the place and probably hasn’t even finished paying for that expensive furniture. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “How do you know all this?” Bea wasn’t naive enough to think there was no truth at all in what Paul was saying.

  Shani sighed. “You can’t do a thing in Jersey without everyone knowing your business.”

  ****

  “Are you insane?” Mel pushed away the silver sash bearing the title ‘Bride-to-be” on it in neon pink. “I’m not wearing that hideous thing.”

  “It’s your hen night.” Bea tried in vain to place it over Mel’s carefully straightened mane of chestnut hair. “At least we haven’t bought you ‘L’ plates.”

  Shani grabbed the other end of the sash and pulled it over Mel’s head. “Come on, let your hair down just this once. You did far worse to Bea when it was her turn.”

  “I don’t care; I’m not wearing any stupid sashes or badges. I thought I was letting my hair down by agreeing to come here.”

  “Forget it, Shan, she’s not going to give in.” Bea folded the sash and pushed it back into the paper bag. “You have no sense of fun sometimes, Mel.”

  “I don’t spend hours getting ready to go out to look completely stupid. Besides, Mum would be horrified.” She pulled on her grey silk jacket over her matching shift dress and shoes. “We’d better hurry up and get in the taxi. She’s had a couple of glasses of bubbles, so we don’t want her to sober up too much before we get there and realise what she’s in for. God, I hate hen dos.”

  Paul was waiting with Mel’s other friends at the bar. “Wine this way,” he shouted pointing at several bottles. Most of them, Bea noticed, were half empty already. “I’ve checked our table and thankfully it isn’t right in front of the stage, so we’ll have a splendid view, but there’s less chance they’ll pick on Mel.”

  “Good, I’ll leave if they do,” Mel moaned, taking a glass of wine from him and handing it to Joyce.

  Joyce sat between Mel and Bea and seemed to enjoy her meal, although Bea assumed the wine was going a long way to keep her so relaxed. She couldn’t remember seeing her stepmother so chilled. It made a pleasant change.

  “Don’t those barmaids have the most enviable figures?” Joyce tilted her head; Bea noticed her helmet hairstyle didn’t move a millimetre. “They should be models, not working in a restaurant.”

  Mel grimaced at Bea. Bea knew the moment was coming when it would dawn on her stepmother that those barmaids were in fact barmen. She winced as a vice-like grip attached itself to her wrist and her stepmother turned slightly in her direction. “Beatrice? Those are men,” she half whispered, half mouthed.

  “Um, yes, that’s right.” Bea unclenched the nails from their imbedded position in her stinging arm.

  “But they’re wearing full make up and frocks.”

  “I know.” Bea widened her eyes at Mel’s horrified expression, knowing that however she reacted to this discovery would be the deciding factor as to whether Joyce panicked or not. “Isn’t it fun?”

  “Fun, dear?” She looked aghast at the suggestion. “Fun?” she repeated, panic rising in her voice.

  “Yes, Mum,” Mel agreed, supporting Bea for once. “You know all the best people come here and it’s almost impossible to get a table unless you book months in advance?”

  “Are you certain, darling?” Joyce didn’t look as convinced as Bea would have liked and didn’t take her eyes away from them.

  “Mel’s right,” Bea assured her. “In fact, the last time I was here, I spent a good few minutes chatting with the Lakeland-Jones’, who were here for their anniversary celebration.”

  “Good grief.” Joyce looked astounded by this information. She turned to Mel and then Bea, her bony hand resting on her chest. “Well, if you’re quite sure, darling. I must admit they do look rather spectacular and the food has been sublime.”

  Bea watched Paul and Shani at their end of the table, as they tried not to laugh at J
oyce’s reaction. She rolled her eyes heavenward, pleased they had chosen to come here. The lights dimmed, and Joyce gasped as a six-foot drag queen wearing a two-foot high, candy pink wig sashayed past their table, pursing his lips at Joyce, who watched awestruck as he stepped up onto a podium and announced the start of the show.

  “How on earth does he walk in those heels?” she asked as the cast began singing an adapted risqué version of the Sound of Music.

  By the end of the evening, Bea had given her stomach muscles a far better workout by laughing at the show than she could have managed by going to the gym.

  “Thanks so much for tonight,” Mel said. “I was a little concerned about the venue, to be honest, but I have to admit it’s the best party I’ve been to in years.”

  They waved Guy and Paul off in their taxi and Bea laughed when Joyce tried to explain their evening to Dad. He looked a little stunned by her enjoyment of it, too and Bea could see his eyes twinkling as he tried not to laugh.

  “It sounds as if your mother has had an educational evening, girls.” Bea and Mel kissed him on his cheek. “I’ll bet she boasts about this to her lady friends for months to come.”

  Their taxi dropped Mel off first. “Thanks again for organising this evening, you two,” she said, ignoring their pleas and paying the driver for her part of the fare. “It was far better than I expected,” she added, a big grin on her face, before waving and disappearing into her front door.

  “Cheeky bag.” Shani sat back into the plastic back seat. “She should have trusted us to arrange an amazing evening. Mind you, despite having to go to the loo about seventeen thousand times and not drinking anything stronger than sparkling water, I had a brilliant time, too.”

  “And me,” Bea said thinking back over the evening. “I was a bit worried when you became hysterical a few times; I had a horrible feeling you might go into labour.”

  “I did get a good kicking for most of the evening, but it was worth it. The show is brilliant.” Shani slipped her feet out of her ballet flats. “Only a week to go until the wedding of the year and this little stranger makes his or her entrance. I can’t begin to imagine how it’s all going to change my life.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Eighth of May - Moonbeam

  Bea knocked at the door. She’d checked her watch and, aware that Simon was a stickler for routine and would probably be at the seventh hole of the La Rue Golf Club by now.

  “I’m coming. Hang on a sec.” The door opened. Claire stared, open-mouthed, at Bea.

  Bea couldn’t believe how untidy this usually impeccable woman looked. “I’m sorry to bother you without phoning first, but I thought you might not agree to see me,” she said, staring at Claire’s un-brushed hair and smudged make up.

  “And you would have been right,” Claire snapped, tightening her dressing gown around her stomach. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sure you’re sick of Simon ranting about our finances and me?” she asked, knowing how Simon went on about matters he couldn’t control.

  “You’re not kidding.” She looked Bea up and down. “I know you weren’t expecting him to leave you and I’m sure you’re probably resentful of me for having the baby you lost.”

  Bea winced. “Not quite, but carry on.”

  “Well, Simon seems to think, and I have to say I believe him, that you’re only dragging this on because you can’t bear to let him go completely.”

  Bea did her best not to show her irritation. Did this woman seriously believe such nonsense? She stared at her and realised that she did. “Claire, the only person who’s causing unnecessary anguish for us all is Simon. I inherited that house; I love it and don’t want to part with it.”

  “Yes, but he’s entitled to half. He told me.”

  “I was left that house by my god-mother, I shouldn’t have to pay him any part of it,” she said, not quite sure even she believed what she was saying. “It’s not as if he even needs the money, is it?”

  Claire frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose so.” She stepped back and motioned for Bea to enter the apartment. “Why don’t we sit down? I’ve got a feeling this is going to be interesting.”

  Bea walked in and sat down on one of the sumptuous cappuccino suede sofas. “It’s beautiful in here,” she said, aware how this place and her house were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to interior design.

  “Thank you.” Claire sat opposite her. “You were saying.”

  “Yes, well, Simon doesn’t need the money and if you want our finances to be settled once and for all so that he can be granted his decree absolute and be free to marry you, then all he has to do is sign a Martin Order.”

  “A what?” Bea explained that it would mean that Simon would transfer the property outright to her. “And you think he’ll agree to that, do you?”

  Bea shrugged. “It’s down to you to persuade him.”

  “Me?”

  “Think about it. I want to move on, whether Simon believes that or not. If we sort out the problem with the house, then the divorce can be finalised. You can marry Simon and your baby will be born into the sort of family unit I know he’d rather be part of.”

  “I suppose so,” Claire said thoughtfully, chewing a broken fingernail.

  “If you can’t get him to agree to this, then you’ll need to ask yourself how much influence you do have over him, despite carrying his baby. Also, I’d think you must worry that he left me and moved on to you without any conscience at all. What’s stopping him from doing the same to you?” she said, aware she was being a little spiteful, but not caring for once. “Don’t you want to prove to yourself how important you are to him?”

  Claire chewed her lower lip. “Much as I want to argue with you, I admit you’re voicing some of my concerns.” She looked at Bea, her puffy eyes showing some uncharacteristic softness. “I feel bad about having an affair with Simon behind your back.”

  Bea shrugged. “Yes, well that’s all in the past now,” Bea said, relieved that she’d at least made Claire think further than her latest wallpaper for once. “We need to think ahead and I’m sure you want me out of your life as much as I want to be away from it.”

  Claire nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “You’ll talk to him then?” Bea could barely contain her excitement.

  “I will.” Claire stood up. “He’s not going to like it though, you do know that?”

  “I do, but I think it’s time Simon was forced to put someone else’s emotions before his own, and if you’re going to have his baby then you need to know that your feelings matter.”

  Bea left the apartment. She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Simon’s reaction to the suggestion of a Martin Order. “Let him try and talk himself out of this,” she said as she unlocked her car door, grateful to Mel for coming up with the suggestion.

  ****

  The night before the wedding Bea tried on her cerise bridesmaid dress and matching bolero jacket with its three-quarter length sleeves. She hadn’t been sure about the style when Mel had first told her about it, but they’d shortened the skirt a little and now it felt a bit more like something she’d choose to wear. She picked up one of the satin shoes that had been dyed to match. Mel had also insisted her dressmaker make a handbag in the same shade. The only thing Bea hadn’t agreed to was having her shoulder-length hair cut into a neat bob. It would never be sleek like Mel’s; she had far too many curls. “Anyway, I like it wild and lose,” she murmured stubbornly, accepting a fascinator being clipped into her hair was going to be as far as she’d go.

  Bea had let Mel book her in for a manicure after her sister had shrieked in horror at the state of her nails. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to type at work with the acrylic tips attached to her own shorter nails, but they did look smart. Bea was surprised to realise she was looking forward to dressing up the following day.

  She stepped into her bubble-filled bath to enjoy an hour’s reading before trying to get a decent night’s s
leep and had only managed to read a few pages when her mobile rang. Initially, she ignored it, grateful when it stopped, but then it rang again. She knew the caller was determined to speak to her.

  “Bugger,” she grumbled, stepping tentatively out of the bath and dragging a towel around her. “Shan, why are you calling me on my mobile? I thought you were staying in tonight.”

  “I am.” Her voice was strained. “I’m in my bedroom.” There was a brief pause and some panting. “I’m in labour.”

  “Don’t panic,” Bea said, throwing her phone down on her bed. Dragging on her dressing gown, she ran down the landing to Shani’s room. “Shani, are you all right?”

  Shani was bent over, leaning with one hand on the bed and the other on her back. “I need to get to the hospital. Soon.”

  “But the doctor said you’d have hours before you’ll need to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ve been having contractions for hours. You don’t think I’d have called you at the first twinge, do you?”

  “Why the hell not?” Bea snapped, immediately feeling mean for panicking. “Sorry, I’ll calm down in a minute.” Bea’s heart hammered rapidly in her chest as she tried to remember what they should do next. “Quick, let’s get you down to the car.”

  “If you’re driving me to the hospital, I think you had better get dressed, don’t you?” Shani groaned and held onto her back. “Shit this hurts!” She panted a couple of times until the contraction passed. “I think I’ve got a bit of time still.”

  Bea panicked. “What do you need me to do?” Her brain had gone into melt down and for some reason wouldn’t cooperate with her.

  “Take a deep breath. That’s it. Now another one.” Shani rubbed her back and smiled at Bea. “This is scary. I can’t help feeling excited now that it’s time.”

  “Me too,” Bea said, concentrating on trying to look calmer than she felt.

  “I’ll get myself down the stairs and you dress and give Paul a quick ring; he should be here in no time.”