Making Hay

by Veronica Henry

  ‘You’re not the only one set on whelping. Lucy keeps banging on about having another.’

  Everyone turned to Lucy in amazement, who shrugged, embarrassed.

  ‘Empty-nest syndrome, I suppose. I’m just panicking at the thought of Honeycote House being empty.’

  ‘Bit bloody drastic, having another baby, isn’t it? Why don’t we take in paying guests?’ Mickey clearly wasn’t enamoured of the idea.

  ‘Rubbish,’ slurred Caroline. ‘Go for it, Lucy. If we time it right we could have our next ones together.’ She poured a slug of port into her glass, ignoring James’s protestations about how she would feel the next morning, and turned her attentions to Suzanna.

  ‘What about you? Don’t you want children? Or are you married to your career?’

  There was a silence that seemed cavernous to Barney, whose heart had leaped into his mouth. All attention turned to Suzanna, who looked round, her head resting lazily on her hand, with a nonchalant smile.

  ‘I’ve got years yet. I’m only thirty-two. Plenty of time to worry about that after the Honeycote Arms has got a Michelin star.’

  Everyone laughed as she mentioned the elusive holy grail of awards so coveted by ambitious chefs. There were only three pubs in the country that had been awarded one. Keith smiled approvingly at her.

  ‘I’m very glad to hear you’ve got your priorities right.’

  Caroline waved an admonishing finger at her.

  ‘You wait. Your body-clock will suddenly kick in and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.’

  Suzanna fixed her with a firm gaze.

  ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’

  At that moment, Caroline knocked her port glass over and in the ensuing chaos the subject was forgotten. Barney touched Suzanna on the back of the neck, just to let her know he understood, but she ignored him, so she obviously wasn’t unduly perturbed.

  Not long after, Suzanna and Barney pleaded utter exhaustion and they left, with many kisses and thanks and offers of help with the pub. Lucy lent Suzanna a pair of trainers for the walk home. Barney was carrying a cardboard box full of cuttings for the pub garden.

  As they turned out of the drive, Barney mused on what a great time they’d had.

  ‘That was a fantastic evening. Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Suzanna. ‘Lucy’s a fantastic cook. And a lovely person…’

  She trailed off and leaned against Barney for support, hoping he would think she’d just had too much to drink. As they made their way back down the high street, Suzanna prayed that she would be able to contain her misery. The lump was there, the panicky lump, and no matter how hard she swallowed, it wouldn’t go back down.

  She didn’t know how she hadn’t lost it at the dinner table. Hadn’t broken down when Caroline had grilled her about her body-clock. Hadn’t screamed at the unfairness when Caroline had banged on about cuddling up in front of the telly with Henry. It had been one of Suzanna’s favourite things, staying defiantly in her pyjamas till eleven o’clock, watching This Morning and sharing digestives with Ollie. Instead she’d put on that act, the one that had them all utterly fooled and totally oblivious to her agony.

  Barney had known. Barney had understood. She’d felt his sympathy but hadn’t been able to look at him, because she would have broken down. She had to be brave. She couldn’t spoil things. Not when they were doing so well.

  She desperately wanted to turn and hug him, but once she started crying she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Back at Honeycote House, Caroline insisted on more champagne, because it was her first night out since Henry had been born. James warned her yet again that she would feel like death the next day, as she wasn’t used to drinking, but she didn’t care and refused to touch the Malvern water he was trying to foist on her. Her mother was babysitting for the first time and she was determined to enjoy herself, and Bertie egged her on. Keith and Ginny didn’t protest either; everyone was very relaxed, so Mickey popped another cork. When their glasses were all charged, Bertie made a suggestion.

  ‘Let’s play “I Have Never”.’

  Lucy groaned. Bertie always wanted to play ‘I Have Never’ because he loved showing off, and no one had ever found anything he hadn’t done.

  The rules were simple. Each person took it in turns to stand up and state something they had never done. Anyone else who had never done it either stood up and joined them; the ones that had, stayed seated. It was a pointless game, but endlessly fascinating. The only real rule was that you weren’t allowed to lie. It always started innocently enough – ‘I have never eaten oysters’, ‘I have never been to Blackpool’ – but invariably turned before long to sex. That was when things became interesting.

  Once the rules had been explained to Keith and Ginny, the game began. Ginny felt nervous as her turn arrived. She felt it was a test of some sort; as if whatever she said would be an indication of how interesting she was. What the hell was she going to say? The truth was the list was endless – she had never done an awful lot of things. But what could she admit to that didn’t make her sound wet? She stood up.

  ‘I have never…’

  Everyone looked at her expectantly, and she took a gulp of champagne to give her courage.

  ‘Slept with a man apart from my husband.’

  There was a silence. Ginny felt that somehow she’d said utterly the wrong thing.

  ‘Do you mean before or after marriage?’ demanded Caroline.

  ‘Ever,’ replied Ginny emphatically.

  ‘Oh, well then. In that case, I’m not budging,’ said Caroline happily. ‘Everyone knows I was a complete slapper until I met James.’

  Round the table Keith and Lucy were the only ones to stand up with Ginny. Keith was pink with mortification, but took it in good spirit. Lucy looked very coy.

  And rightly so, thought Caroline at the other end of the table. She thought it was very interesting who broke the rules in this game. She knew for a fact that Lucy had slept with James, only months before they’d got married. Lucy and Mickey had hit a rough patch in their marriage, when the brewery was in trouble and he was drinking too much. It was almost inevitable that Lucy had turned to her brother-in-law for consolation.

  James was such a gentleman. He’d told Caroline all about his indiscretion before he proposed. And now, armed with the information, she decided to play devil’s advocate. She didn’t want to cause trouble; just make Lucy squirm a bit because everyone thought she was such an angel. Drink always made Caroline provocative.

  ‘What – you mean you’ve only ever slept with Mickey? I don’t believe you, Lucy! No fumblings with a stable lad when you were seventeen?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Lucy, smiling. ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, is it?’

  ‘I think it was probably my biggest mistake,’ said Ginny. All eyes were suddenly upon her. ‘If I’d had a bit more experience, maybe he’d never have gone off.’

  She couldn’t believe she’d said it. She must be completely gone.

  ‘Well, it’s not too late,’ said Bertie kindly.

  At his cricket dinner, Patrick watched with distaste as most of his companions started behaving like absolute buffoons. He didn’t feel like behaving like an idiot without Ned around. He missed his partner in crime. Not that he ever got as out-of-control as this lot.

  Maybe he’d go round to Keeper’s Cottage and see Mandy. They could do with some quality time together. Not to mention a shag.

  He tried texting her, but there was no response. She must be in bed. If he really broke his neck to get home, he might just be back at Honeycote House in time for port and the last of the cheeseboard. But maybe not.

  He looked round in despair and pulled a nearby bottle of wine towards him, thinking if he couldn’t beat them, he might as well join them.

  Half an hour later Caroline nearly fell asleep, knocked out by the unaccustomed amount of alcohol, and James apologized for breaking up the party. He offered B
ertie and Ginny a lift home, both of whom accepted gratefully. Keith looked a bit disappointed, as he’d been hoping to offer Ginny a ride in his car, but he didn’t have the nerve to butt in and change the arrangements. Instead he took his leave, safe in the knowledge that he would see Ginny the following Saturday.

  Bertie insisted on seeing Ginny to her front door. James rolled his eyes – this was a ritual with Bertie; he knew there’d be a ten-minute wait while he tried to charm the pants off her, literally. Caroline was asleep in the front seat, out for the count. He smiled fondly, remembering the days when she would have partied all night and been the last one standing. Motherhood did extraordinary things to one’s stamina.

  Bertie guided Ginny up the path. As they reached the front door, he turned to face her, picked up her hand and stroked the inside of her wrist.

  ‘I didn’t get to know you properly this evening. Will you come out for dinner with me one night?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  My God. Two invitations in one night. She wasn’t doing badly. She was also aware that Bertie was very close. She breathed in Acqua di Parma, closing her eyes involuntarily as he leaned in to kiss her goodnight just on the very corner of her mouth where her smile started. She opened her eyes and found him staring straight at her. She met his gaze, willing him to kiss her again, properly this time. Bertie was excellent at reading body language.

  As their lips met, Ginny leaned weakly against the wall. He was doing things to her insides that she’d never dreamed possible. She felt as if there was a tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream melting inside her, a delicious puddle dissolving into her knickers. Correction, Sasha’s knickers. Oh God – what was happening to her? Now his hands were on her waist and he was brushing her ear lobe with his lips. She shuddered as he whispered to her:

  ‘Why don’t I come and tuck you in?’

  My God – what was she thinking of? She must be mad, snogging a virtual stranger on her own doorstep. And she could hear James’s engine ticking over on the road outside. What if he could see? What would he think of her?

  She tried to look stern, but the smile wouldn’t leave her lips.

  ‘No. Absolutely no way.’

  He was kissing her jawline, her neck, imperceptible butterfly kisses that made her want to scream. She tilted her head back and dug her teeth into her bottom lip – half of her wanting to abandon herself, the other half desperate to keep control.

  Two faces at the window brought her to her senses. Shit – it was the twins. What were they doing back?

  ‘Sorry – I’ve got to go.’ She had her hand on the latch to let herself in. He made to follow her, but the look she gave him stopped him in his tracks – it was her strictest ward sister glare.

  ‘I’m serious.’

  He held up his hands in aggrieved surrender.

  ‘OK. But you’re not getting away for ever. I don’t give up that easily.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ she replied tartly, and disappeared inside.

  She found both Kitty and Sasha staring at her, arms akimbo.

  ‘Who was that?’ they chorused.

  Ginny grinned. ‘The Dishonourable Bertie. I think I might have pulled.’

  The twins exchanged shocked glances, before turning back to smile at their mother.

  ‘Result,’ said Sasha.

  ‘Respect,’ said Kitty.

  Ginny wagged a warning finger in the air.

  ‘I’m absolutely definitely one hundred per cent not interested. He’s trouble with a capital T. You can see it a mile off.’

  The twins folded their arms simultaneously and shook their heads.

  ‘You’ve got to give him a go, Mum.’

  ‘He’s completely gorgeous.’

  ‘No. I’m not going near him with a barge pole.’ She looked sharply at them. ‘And neither, I hasten to add, are either of you.’

  That was a thought. She mustn’t let Bertie clap his eyes on the twins. They’d be prime fodder for a predator like him.

  She went up to bed, took off her party clothes and folded them neatly, as if to remind herself that she was a sensible, grown woman and very much in control. Then she took off her make-up, scrubbed her teeth, put on her pyjamas and slid into bed. Thankfully one of the girls had put on her electric blanket, so she felt safe and warm and cocooned as she drifted off to sleep.

  At the Honeycote Arms, Barney had just dropped off into a contented, wine-sodden slumber, when he was woken by a noise. Startled, he sat up, and his heart plummeted when he realized it was the sound of Suzanna sobbing into her pillow.

  Immediately, he put out an arm to comfort her but she pushed him away.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m OK. Honestly. I’m just having a bit of a moment – ’

  But no sooner were the words out than her sobs redoubled and she threw herself into his embrace.

  ‘I’m sorry!’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  He patted her hair, helpless as ever, despairing himself. He’d been so relieved that life in Honeycote seemed to be working. He thought they were moving forward, leaving the ghost behind. Healing. But oh no. It had only been a temporary reprieve. As he held her to him and felt the grief pour out of her, shoulders juddering, it was like standing on the edge of a very dark abyss.

  The ghost was back.

  11

  Barney prayed that a night’s sleep would dissipate the despair of the night before, but he knew instinctively the next morning when he woke that Suzanna, too, was awake, but pretending not to be. The gloom within her was palpable. She’d slipped into one of her ‘black clouds’, those insidious and indestructible bouts of depression he had come to dread. There was no cure; it was impossible to snap her out of them. A multimillion-pound win on the lottery would leave her unmoved.

  On several occasions, he’d tried to persuade her to take some sort of medication, something to get her on an even keel, but she’d refused. She needed to feel the feelings, she said, not have them blanked out by happy pills. It was all part of the grieving process. Barney felt she was torturing herself unnecessarily, but she remained stubborn. For some reason she’d always steered clear of prescribed drugs. It was strange, when she was happy to indulge in alcohol and tobacco, which were proven to do damage, but avoided the very things that were supposed to be healing. She’d insisted on a drug-free birth, which Barney had found bizarre. Why suffer the agonies of childbirth when there was relief available? Nobody gave you a medal for it. And now, why tolerate the depression when there was bound to be a pharmaceutical solution? It was almost as if she had a slightly masochistic streak. Or – and this was Barney’s private theory – as if she was punishing herself for Oliver’s death, as if by suffering she was atoning in some way.

  He wondered what had brought this particular bout on. Whether it was hormonal, whether she was exhausted from the week’s hard labour, whether it was the upheaval from the move suddenly kicking in or whether it had been over-indulgence the night before. Caroline’s tactless questions had only been the catalyst. In a more robust mood, Suzanna might have been able to brush them off without a care.

  There was no point in analysing the cause. The black cloud was here and Barney had to try and get her out from under it as quickly as possible. The moods could, he knew from experience, go on for days, weeks, and they had no time to spare. For a moment he felt a surge of annoyance. He didn’t need this. Fuck it – he didn’t allow himself the indulgence of bloody depression, and he’d been through the same trauma. He’d never voice that, of course, didn’t even like it when the thought popped into his head. But he was already overwhelmed at the thought of the work he had to get through in the next week and he needed to be firing on all four cylinders to get through it. And Suzanna needed to be on top of it as well – of the two of them, in fact, she was the linchpin, the one with the creative drive, the one that was going to give the Honeycote Arms its soul. If he got run over by a bus, he was eminently replaceable, but she wasn’t.

  Barney
had never kidded himself that he had anything to do with getting them where they were. He’d seen it in both Mickey’s and Keith’s eyes when Suzanna had spoken at their interviews: she was the one who had sparkled with ideas, creative energy, enthusiasm, had breathed life into their dream. She was passionate, driven, focussed yet at the same time totally open-minded, receptive to suggestions, happy to take other people’s ideas on board. Though somehow she always managed to incorporate a change that would give it her own stamp, a twist that was indicative of her own inimitable style. It had been Suzanna that had convinced them to take the Blakes on, not Barney’s reassurances that he had a handle on profit and loss, portion control and the minutiae of licensing laws.

  In fact, Barney was undermining himself by making this assumption, because at the end of the day, what they were was a team. Neither could operate without the other: they were yin and yang, two halves of a whole, they each had qualities which when combined made up the complete package. But put the black cloud into the picture and that package was in danger of collapse. Barney remembered a time eight months ago when Suzanna hadn’t got out of bed for three days. He’d had to cancel a christening she was supposed to be catering for. He’d had to plead shingles, as it was indefensible to bail out at the eleventh hour and her reputation would have been in tatters had the excuse been any less serious.

  Barney lay still for a few minutes, trying to work out his next tactic. He had to shut his eyes. Kelly’s bedroom was doing his head in: the pink walls made him feel like he was living inside a Barbie world. He groped round for a solution. Iris, Suzanna’s mother, sometimes managed to resuscitate her, but that meant driving up to Richmond to fetch her and then where would she stay? They were only coping with the accommodation because it had been their choice. A seventy-two-year-old couldn’t be expected to put up with it.

  Suddenly he had a brainwave. The perfect diversionary tactic! Sometimes, just sometimes, it was possible to snap her out of her gloom with a totally new thought, a novelty. He slipped out of bed, picking up his clothes and shutting the door very gently so as not to disturb her.