He’d got at least another hour to wait before half past eleven, when he’d arranged to pick up Ginny.
If his skirmish with the dating agency last year had taught him anything, it was to try and enjoy his own company. He’d figured it was all he was going to get until someone else came along. Now, miraculously, he thought perhaps someone had. As he sat at his breakfast bar, fingers drumming lightly on the granite worksurface, he determined to play it cool with Ginny; not show any hints of the neediness his previous dates had shown him. Nothing was more of a turn-off. Confident but casual, that was how he had to play it.
He looked at his watch. Five minutes had gone since he’d last looked. He could make a pot of coffee, but he knew it meant he’d need the loo again when he got to the point-to-point. He fetched the paper, but he couldn’t take anything in.
Confident but casual. Who was he trying to kid?
Eventually the long hand dragged itself round the clock. At ten past eleven he loaded up the car: picnic basket, plastic-backed picnic rug, two extra blankets in case it was cold, umbrellas, two thermos flasks – one tea, one coffee – binoculars, Wellington boots, four folding chairs.
Twenty past eleven. It would take him five minutes to drive to Honeycote, three minutes to nip into the post office for bread. If he left now, he should be exactly on time. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life.
Ginny woke up on Saturday morning with a feeling of luxurious optimism that she was determined to wallow in. The sort of feeling you had when you knew all your exams were over and you could start enjoying yourself, because you’d done all your hard work and you deserved it. It had been a long time coming, this feeling. There had been times when she’d thought there was no way out of the gloom. She’d never been in the depths of despair, exactly, but there had been a tedious nothingness to life that made her feel tired and languid, as if everything was rather too much effort – and pointless to boot. Ho-hum-ish, she called it.
But now she’d turned a corner. She’d had an amazing week and, she had to admit, it was all down to her. All those articles she’d read in magazines about the power of positive thinking and grasping the nettle and meeting challenges head on weren’t just clichés.
As soon as the twins had gone to college on Monday morning Ginny had written herself a list of life-changing bullet points. First, she’d walked down to the post office and solemnly handed over fifty pence for the privilege of displaying her poster in the window for a month – though it was pretty obvious that nothing was ever taken down and that it would be there in perpetuity. An advert for two lop-eared baby rabbits was dated eight months earlier. No doubt they’d had two more litters each by now. Ginny stuck her poster in as prominent a position as she could without incurring anyone else’s wrath, and was encouraged by the nod of approval given to her by the woman behind the counter.
‘They’ll be queueing up, mark my words.’
Then she’d gone home and, instead of waiting for the phone to ring, had thrown out every item of clothing that made her feel fat, frumpy or that she hadn’t worn for the past six months. She supposed she should have done it before she moved, but she hadn’t had the courage then. Her clothing had been the only constant, a protective armour that she had been reluctant to shed. Now every pair of greying knickers, every misshapen T-shirt, every nasty pilling fleece was either binned or bundled up for the charity shop. Then she’d given herself a budget of two hundred pounds and went, not to Marks & Spencer where she usually ended up, but to Next. Capsule wardrobe, she told herself. She needed a Capsule Wardrobe, to go with her new life as Independent Business Woman with an Exciting Social Life and the Promise of Romance.
She’d bought two pairs of jeans – one dark blue Capri style with a little slit just above the ankle, and a more casual, faded pair. Then she added two fitted T-shirts – one white, one black – and a crisp, white shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and mother of pearl buttons, which she’d remembered were key items in any woman’s wardrobe.
On the sale rail, she’d found a denim-style jacket in pale blue suede. The assistant had pointed out a tiny mark on one of the pockets, which meant it was reduced to thirty pounds. Ginny tried it on and was amazed. She’d been afraid she might look a bit butch, like an extra from Prisoner: Cell Block H, but it made her look incredibly feminine. She turned up the collar and had to repress a squeal of excitement.
The purchase made her reckless and she went madly over-budget. A trip into Monsoon meant a long flowery skirt and a cream silk tunic sweater. She inevitably found herself drawn into Marks & Sparks out of habit, but where else did one buy undies? Three bras and nine pairs of matching knickers later, she completed her retail frenzy with a pair of tan suede loafers which she convinced herself would go with skirts or trousers and so were in fact an economy rather than a luxury.
She also bought a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed sunglasses, and was amazed at the transformation. She looked almost glamorous. She pushed them up on top of her head and realized they were just what she needed while her hair was growing out. Better than any hairband.
Back at the barn she hung all her purchases on hangers and stood back to look at them. She did what she’d seen in the fashion magazines, and worked out by mixing and matching that she had more than a half-a-dozen brand-new different outfits. All for less than three hundred pounds. OK, so she’d gone fifty per cent over-budget. But when was the last time she’d splurged? David, after all, had bought an MG and a new house and a new surgery…
On Tuesday, she’d phoned James and Caroline to ask if there were still any puppies left. They invited her over to have a look straight away. There was chaos at Denham House, with Henry roaring for a feed, but the Liddiards dropped everything to welcome her. James clearly relished the opportunity to slip away from the mayhem and took her over to the garage.
‘I still can’t get used to it. I lived on my own for too long, I think. But I wouldn’t swap it for the world.’
There were two left, a dog and a bitch. Ginny plucked the bitch from the basket and felt an immediate bond. The puppy nudged her affectionately, wedging her wet little snout under the crook of Ginny’s arm and refusing to come out while her tail wagged furiously.
‘What are you going to call her?’ asked James.
‘Hope,’ answered Ginny, wondering if she’d sound daft bellowing that down the high street if the little dog ever got out. But she didn’t care.
On Wednesday she’d made an appointment at the beauty salon in Eldenbury, where a pretty young girl called Kelly had assured her that leg waxing hurt a little bit, but it was definitely worth it and once she’d had it done she’d never go back to shaving. Ginny was ashamed when she revealed the state of her legs, positively woolly, but then she’d always just had a go every few days with David’s razor, and now his razors weren’t around any more… Well, she hadn’t been interested enough in her appearance to invest in one of her own. And Kelly was right – initially the sharp tug of having your hairs ripped out at the roots was agony, but the incredible smoothness afterwards made her feel a million dollars. Kelly had insisted on doing her bikini-line as well. That had really hurt, but there was an almost masochistic pleasure in it. Ginny, being quite fair and not particularly hairy, had never really bothered about the few stray hairs that had peeped out of her knicker legs, but once they had gone she felt sleek, groomed, cared for… It had been a long time since she’d felt cared for.
Then Kelly had shaped her eyebrows and tinted her lashes, which suddenly gave her face definition. Kelly had also shown her how to pluck any stray hairs while following the natural line of her brows, and use an old mascara brush to smooth them into shape. Then she gave her a facial, sloughing off all the old, dead skin and giving her once dull complexion a warm, healthy glow. The difference in her appearance made Ginny realize how much she’d neglected herself over the years, and she scolded herself for letting herself go. She determined to visit the salon once a month no matter what,
and made her next appointment before leaving.
By Friday, not only had she lost a couple of pounds courtesy of walking Hope, but she had six people definitely signed up for her ironing service. And here she was on Saturday morning, with the prospect of a day out in good company. Keith had phoned the night before, to make sure she was still coming and to tell her not to worry about bringing anything, just herself. And Hope.
She leaped out of bed, showered, then examined the weather outside before choosing her outfit from amongst her new purchases. She decided on the darker blue jeans, because they were stretchy and forgiving and made her look slim, with the white T-shirt and the suede jacket. She knew it was important not to look over-dressed but she didn’t want to look a frump. And she was delighted to find that she didn’t. Her bob had grown just long enough to tie back. She looked quite young and quite chic.
At that moment, all hell broke loose. She’d heard the phone ring, but one of the girls had answered it. Sasha burst into the bedroom, outraged, followed by Kitty.
‘That was Dad. Faith’s got a twinge in her little toe, so he can’t come and pick us up.’
Ginny sighed. She’d hoped to have the two of them out of her hair for the day. Sasha was gearing up for a fully-fledged tantrum.
‘I wanted to go shopping in Cheltenham.’
‘You still can. I’ll drop you at the bus stop.’
‘I haven’t got any money. Dad was going to give us some money.’
Ginny put both hands up in defence.
‘Don’t look at me. I haven’t got any going spare. You’ve emptied me out. I’ve bought you both top-up cards for your mobiles and given you spending money – ’
‘You spent nearly three hundred quid on clothes this week. I found the receipts.’
Sasha was indignant. Ginny managed, despite inner rage, to respond mildly.
‘It’s the first time I’ve spent anything on myself for years. And I’ve got nothing left.’
‘It’s so unfair. We’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere with no bloody money and nothing to bloody do – ’
‘Come with me.’
‘What – to a horse thing?’
Sasha managed to make it sound like a morris dancing convention.
‘Why not? The fresh air would do you good.’
Sasha rolled her eyes. As if that made the prospect any more attractive. But as the alternative was sitting in watching telly all afternoon, she reluctantly agreed. Kitty consoled her.
‘There’ll be loads of good-looking blokes there. All those jockeys – ’
‘Dwarves.’
‘Amelia Locke reckons it’s a great place to pull. And we can get pissed in the beer tent.’
‘With what?’
Sasha looked beseechingly at her mother.
‘OK, OK. You can have a tenner each. But don’t come crying to me when there’s nothing in the fridge next week.’
Exasperated, and wanting to try on her new sunglasses without an audience, just to make sure she didn’t look ridiculous, Ginny shooed the girls out of her bedroom. Then she sat on the bed for a moment feeling a tiny bit deflated. Bugger David. He should know that even though the twins pretended to be all grown up and not need their daddy, that they looked forward to seeing him. Sasha especially. She wasn’t his favourite as such, but she had always been very emotionally dependent on her father. He seemed able to cope with her mood swings and had the knack of bringing her down to earth when she went over the top, or snapping her out of it when she went into one of her sulks. Ginny, who was pretty straightforward, found it all rather baffling and too much like hard work.
She stood up decisively. She wasn’t going to worry. Why should she feel guilty because David had let the girls down? Why should she let it spoil her day? Shit, as Sasha was so fond of saying, happens. Anyway, she’d given them a perfectly acceptable alternative. Point-to-points were a vital part of village social life. They were going to have to learn to join in.
Wow, thought Ginny. I’m getting tough in my middle age. Positively selfish. And why the hell not? She grinned with exhilaration at the freedom it gave her as she slid her sunglasses on to her nose. She gave herself an enigmatic smile and admired her profile. Very Jackie Kennedy. If Jackie Kennedy had been blonde.
Totally happy with her appearance for perhaps the first time in her life, she pushed the sunglasses on top of her head as she heard Keith’s horn tooting outside and flashed herself a dazzlingly confident smile in the mirror. Calling the twins and picking up Hope’s lead, she ran down the stairs to greet him.
At the point-to-point, legions of cars were squelching over the hillside to park in rows overlooking the course. The beer tent usually got its licence through the Honeycote Arms, but because the pub was in turmoil and Barney’s name wasn’t officially over the door yet, the landlord of one of the brewery’s other pubs had obliged. It loomed huge and white, reigning over a flotilla of smaller tents and stalls whose merchandise seemed to get more and more diverse every year. The air was thick with the scent of frying donuts and roasting pork. Queues were already building up for the bouncy castle as desperate parents tried to entertain small children who were itching to be let off the lead. The clerk of the course struggled with the PA system, which spluttered and crackled and cut out at the most crucial moment, as it did every year.
The beer tent was already full of youngsters back for the Easter holidays intent on catching up with all their old friends, and Ginny was relieved when the twins happily disappeared inside without remonstrating. She and Keith slipped into the adjoining hospitality tent, where Honeycote Ales were distributing Pimms and beer and posh chipolata sausages on sticks to a legion of invited guests. Posters and leaflets announcing the impending reopening of the Honeycote Arms abounded. Keith winced.
‘We’ve committed ourselves now. I hope we hit the opening date. We’re going to look pretty daft if we don’t.’
Ginny felt a bit shy as long-lost chums greeted each other, but Mickey and Lucy were fantastic at introducing her. Keith confessed that he, too, had once been overwhelmed by their huge social circle, but admitted that after more than a year he no longer felt like the new boy. And when Caroline and James, with Henry in a very smart all-terrain pushchair, came over and greeted her, and made a huge fuss of Hope, she felt as if she was one of the gang.
Bottles of champagne began circulating and were poured into plastic glasses. The aim seemed to be to get as sloshed as one could as quickly as possible. Ginny thought she’d better restrain herself. Then she thought, what the hell? She was going to let her hair down. She was in the mood to celebrate. She held on tightly to Hope’s lead with one hand – it was the puppy’s first time out in public and she was thoroughly over-excited – and accepted a glass of bubbles off Mickey with the other. It was all people seemed to do in Honeycote, thought Ginny. Swig champagne. But she thought she could probably get used to it.
Suzanna and Barney arrived with Marmite on a lead, eyes wide with the new experience. As city dwellers they were bemused at everyone’s utter determination to have great fun in the rain and the mud, not to mention the breeze that whistled through your coat. Kiplington Hill was probably the most exposed spot for miles. It had been a gruelling week: by Friday, Suzanna had to admit she was exhausted and Barney swore he didn’t want to see another paintbrush as long as he lived, so they were both looking forward to a change of scene and a day out. As they wandered into the hospitality tent, they caught sight of Ginny, already in there with Hope. The two puppies bounded up to each other and started a mock fight. Ginny greeted them effusively, thinking they looked as overwhelmed as she had felt when she arrived.
‘Let me introduce you to the twins.’
Kitty and Sasha, bored of the beer tent already, had gatecrashed the Liddiards’ tent but no one seemed to mind. Ginny beckoned them over. Barney couldn’t help noticing every male pair of eyes in the tent following their advance. They were as leggy as the horses parading in the paddock. Kitty was in what looke
d like her grandmother’s petticoat, a faux rabbit-skin gilet and vintage cowboy boots. Sasha had taken off her jumper and tied it round her waist, defiantly revealing a T-shirt with red handprints splattered across her breasts and underneath the slogan ‘Pornstar’. Ginny shuddered but did her best to ignore it as she introduced the Blakes.
‘This is Barney and Suzanna. They’ve taken over the village pub.’
Sasha’s eyes lit up.
‘Haven’t got any jobs going, have you?’
Sasha had always been direct. She didn’t believe in waiting until you were asked. Ginny exclaimed in delight.
‘My God. What a brilliant idea! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. The twins are always moaning they’ve got no money and nothing to do.’
Kitty didn’t like to protest that actually, she didn’t moan, but she was used to being tarred with the same brush as Sasha. Barney and Suzanna looked at each other.
‘We’re going to start recruiting this week,’ admitted Barney. ‘We need barmaids. And waitresses. If you’re really interested, come and see us.’
‘As long as we don’t have to wear anything awful. And you don’t fob us off with the minimum wage.’ Sasha’s tone was assertive.
The twins agreed to pop up to the pub during the week and have a formal interview, though it was obviously in the bag already. Barney had to suppress his glee. The girls were stunning, but not in a stereotypical busty barmaid way. He knew as well as anyone that it was a plus to have someone easy on the eye behind the bar. Not that he was sexist, just a realist. A pretty face and a sympathetic ear would lure in those harassed businessmen on their way home from work; encourage them to begin the ritual of a six-thirty pint every night. And two pretty faces would be even better, especially if they were identical. What a novelty! Though he’d have to make sure they were properly trained first. The one with the pornographic T-shirt looked as if she could be a bit of a handful. But they had two weeks to go – he was sure he could turn them round in that time.
Making Hay Page 21
