Making Hay

by Veronica Henry

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ he said eventually. And he was. He was still mystified as to why anyone would voluntarily stand in the freezing cold watching a load of horses chasing their tails.

  ‘Mum and Dad always used to run the beer tent. We’ve come every year since we can remember. It’s a hard habit to break.’ Rick lit a cigarette, with difficulty given the howling wind. ‘Anyway, it’s great pulling territory.’

  Damien didn’t think he’d seen anything worth pulling. All the girls so far had been vapid, blondish country types who’d looked right through him. Not his sort of girl at all.

  Kelly, however, was a different story. She was bending down, talking to Star, admiring her Barbie wellies. Star solemnly showed her the Pocket Pony Damien had bought her. Kelly examined it very seriously and had an in-depth conversation about all the accessories that were available. Damien observed her from a distance while they talked. His memory hadn’t betrayed him. She was so very pretty, her big blue eyes like saucers. A pert little arse, in very tight jeans covered in designer bleach stains. Silver platform trainers and a grey jacket with fake fur round the collar. And a Planet Hollywood baseball cap from which were escaping yellow curls. She stood up and smiled at Damien. Perfect white teeth. That was good. He had a thing about teeth.

  ‘She’s gorgeous, your daughter.’

  Damien melted even more. Anyone who admired Anastasia shot straight into his good books. The clerk of the course announced the last race, sponsored by Honeycote Ales.

  ‘Come on – let’s go and watch.’ Kelly held out her hand to Anastasia, who took it eagerly, and they both scampered off down the hill. Damien followed with Rick, unable to believe his good luck.

  At the bottom of the hill by the rails, Kelly hoisted Anastasia up on to her shoulders as if she had known her all her life. Damien took advantage of the fact that everyone was watching the horses to watch Kelly, her wide smile, the animation in her face, her total absorption and lack of self-consciousness. He realized that, in her own way, she was as comfortable in her skin as the Davenports, and he envied her.

  Damien didn’t realize that Rick, who was no fool, was scrutinizing him in turn. Rick was interested in what he saw and couldn’t believe that a light bulb hadn’t appeared over his head. Damien and Kelly… Why the hell hadn’t he thought of it before? They’d get on like a house on fire. He’d seen enough of Damien to know that he was good enough for his sister. That he would look after her and she after him. He knew that deep down all Kelly wanted was a home and a husband. He disregarded the fact that Damien already had a wife. He was pretty sure she’d been painted out of the picture, whoever she was.

  And a courtship was just what Kelly needed. She was working far too hard at the moment, trying to get the salon established, having to do most of the appointments herself as she couldn’t afford to employ much help yet. Compounding which was the fact that she was so good at her job, clients inevitably wanted her to treat them over anyone else – she was much in demand. And Rick knew, because he was living with her, that she wasn’t having any fun during her time off. She was moping because she missed her parents dreadfully. She had always been both a mummy’s and a daddy’s girl – they hadn’t spoilt her as such, but she had a lot of attention. And gave it back too.

  A date with Damien would bring her out of herself. He’d pamper her; show her a good time. And it might well lead to something else…

  Rick told himself to calm down. He was going a bit too fast. But what sweet revenge that would be. He allowed himself a pleasurable glimpse into the future. A glimpse of Patrick Liddiard’s face when he finally realized that Rick was screwing his girlfriend and that Kelly was marrying the new owner of the Honeycote Arms. The tables would be turned all right.

  The queue for the Portaloo had taken ten agonizing minutes. Kitty hadn’t been able to persuade Sasha to come with her, so she’d left her with strict instructions not to move from the beer tent. But by the time she got back, Sasha had vanished.

  I am not my sister’s keeper, Kitty told herself repeatedly, before setting off with a sigh to scour the race course. The sun had come out again, lifting everyone’s mood, which combined with the flowing alcohol made it feel almost like a festival. She picked her way through trashed picnics, scavenging dogs and abandoned children, until she finally and miraculously found her sister being lifted into the back of a battered black Land Rover Defender by a cheering trio of ruddy-faced young men in moleskin trousers and checked shirts, all delighted with their catch. When they saw Kitty their cheers redoubled. They were much the worse for wear – she saw one of them look at her very dubiously, then back at Sasha, clearly convinced he was seeing double.

  She tried in vain to get Sasha to climb back down, but Sasha was up for a party.

  ‘They’ll probably lace your drink with the date-rape drug. You’ll get gangbanged,’ hissed Kitty.

  ‘Well, I’ll have had more fun than you, then,’ said Sasha sweetly, and slid the window shut defiantly.

  Kitty sighed, and watched as the boys got into the Land Rover and revved up, wheels spinning in the mud. She supposed they were nice enough blokes, though the amount of beer they’d swilled had turned them into virtual savages. As the car lumbered off, she saw a sticker on the back declaring YOUNG FARMERS DO IT IN THEIR WELLIES. Despite her disapproval, Kitty suppressed a smile. Sasha would wig out the next day when she realized. Sasha didn’t do Young Farmers. They were not her type at all.

  She trudged back to find her mother. Keith was pouring her tea out of a flask into a china cup he’d got out of his picnic basket. Everyone else was making do with polystyrene. Ginny’s eyes were sparkling in a way Kitty hadn’t seen for a long time.

  ‘I had a win. Fifty-four pounds!’

  ‘Cool. What are you going to spend it on?’

  ‘I’ve spent it already.’ She showed Kitty a very smart plaited leather collar and lead that she’d bought for Hope. ‘Where’s Sasha?’

  ‘She went off with some friends.’ Kitty didn’t elaborate. If she hadn’t been able to stop Sasha, Ginny wouldn’t be able to either. There was no point in worrying her.

  ‘Do you want to come out with us for supper?’

  ‘No. Just drop me off at home. I’ll look after Hope.’

  She didn’t miss the fleeting look of relief on Ginny’s face, and couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit hurt. Ginny put an arm round her and gave her a hug. Kitty leaned into her for a minute, enjoying the warmth. She wished she was little again and they were still a family. It was so weird, Dad and Faith. And now it looked like Mum and Keith.

  Kitty tried not to mind. Mum deserved some fun. Dad had dumped on her big time. Kitty still didn’t get it, why he’d gone off with Faith. They seemed to do nothing but argue. And Dad and Mum had never argued, not really.

  Sex. It was all down to sex. Kitty decided she was going to put it off for as long as possible. Life was confusing enough. She wasn’t going to piss on her mum’s strawberry patch, though. If she wanted to get it on with Keith, Kitty wasn’t going to cramp her style.

  Caroline was exhausted from pushing Henry’s chair up the hill. She finally arrived at the Portaloo and was trying to work out how to get the pushchair up the steps when Suzanna came down.

  ‘Would you keep an eye on Henry for a second? I’m bursting.’

  She didn’t wait for a reply, just flew up the steps.

  Suzanna knelt down by the pushchair and looked at Henry. He was wearing a beanie hat with ears on it, his ginger curls spilling out. He stared back at her balefully as only babies can. He was kicking one of his bare feet up and down. Playfully, she grabbed it and was rewarded with a rich chuckle. She dropped it and he started to kick, daring her to do it again. She wiggled her fingers.

  ‘Ready…?’ Again she grabbed it. Again the rich chuckle.

  This time she didn’t drop it, just put his fat little foot up to her mouth and kissed it, then blew gently on his toes to tease him. His little face beamed with pleasure. />
  Caroline came back down the steps and Suzanna dropped Henry’s foot and jumped back, guilty, startled. Caroline might think she was gearing up for some sort of psychotic baby-snatching. Then she remembered that of course Caroline didn’t know a thing.

  So why was she looking at her so strangely, with a mixture of sorrow and sympathy and helplessness?

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Caroline softly. ‘I know. Barney told me.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Suzanna, flummoxed, and was infuriated when tears sprang into her eyes.

  ‘Come here,’ said Caroline, and gave her a hug. ‘I think you’re so brave,’ she continued, almost crying herself. ‘I’d die if anything happened to Henry. I can’t imagine how awful it must be. But I’m sure it will get better.’

  Suzanna felt herself enveloped in an enormous warmth that seemed to fill her with strength. It occurred to her it was the first time she’d shared her predicament with someone her own age; another mother. After Ollie died, she hadn’t wanted to see the other mums from her antenatal group. And she was the first of her friends to have a baby, so none of them really understood. But Caroline did.

  ‘Tell me to fuck off for interfering,’ said Caroline, ‘but I think you should tell people. You really should. Especially…’ She wasn’t sure whether to go on. ‘Especially Patrick. I think you should tell him. You’re working so closely with him; I think he should know.’

  ‘I know,’ said Suzanna. ‘It’s just so… hard.’

  ‘Hard?’ said Caroline. ‘It’s a nightmare. I really admire you. I think you’re fantastic, coming here and starting a new life.’

  ‘I’m not brave,’ said Suzanna. ‘I’m just a good actress.’

  ‘If it was me,’ said Caroline, ‘I’d be in the nuthouse. I’d be drunk from the minute I got up, swilling down Valium and Prozac and God knows what.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘And I’m really sorry about my big gob the other night. Every time I think about what I said, I cringe.’

  ‘It’s not a problem. Honestly,’ Suzanna insisted.

  ‘That’s another good reason for letting people know,’ Caroline went on. ‘They can’t go sticking their foot in it then. And I think they’d appreciate you telling them. At the end of the day, people are pretty good. They want to help. But they can’t if they don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Suzanna. ‘I don’t want people to make allowances.’

  But as they made their way back to the hospitality tent, Suzanna wondered if perhaps Caroline was right. Perhaps, by not telling people, she was making it harder for herself, having to pretend all the time.

  It was certainly making it harder for poor old Barney, because he was the only one she didn’t have to pretend with, even though she tried desperately to keep it all inside.

  After the last race, Damien, Kelly and Rick watched Lucy Liddiard, as Honeycote Ales’ representative, present the trophy to the winner. She was very attractive, thought Damien, in pink pedal-pushers and a sloppy sweater, and looked as if she was used to handing out trophies every day of her life.

  He caught Kelly looking tearful, and dared himself to put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, genuinely concerned.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just that Mum would have loved this. I tried to get them to come over for the day but they wouldn’t. It’s made me realize that they’ve really gone.’

  Damien gave her a tentative squeeze, and she smiled at him gratefully. He felt his heart quicken at the connection, and for a wild moment he wanted to tell her that if he had his way, this time next year the Honeycote Arms would be his, and it would be him sponsoring the race. And her mum and dad would be guests of honour in the hospitality tent. For a split second he imagined Kelly, dressed in an Italian suit that they’d chosen together, giving out the cup…

  But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to jinx his plans.

  After the point-to-point, a big gang from Honeycote Ales went out for a Thai meal, some to celebrate their winnings, some to drown their sorrows. Mandy couldn’t help feeling hurt when she saw Patrick sitting next to Suzanna. She wasn’t sure if he’d done it deliberately or if it was just the way the seats had fallen. She told herself not to be silly and sat next to Mickey, who she was very fond of, so it didn’t really matter. But there was still a part of her that wished she had the nerve to get up and go.

  She didn’t, of course. She went to the loo and texted Rick back from the cubicle to say she couldn’t make it clubbing. Then she went back to the table and made a half-hearted effort to eat her green chicken curry. The only thing that warmed her soul was the fact that her father seemed to be getting on so well with his new escort. Mandy thought Ginny seemed very sweet, though she hadn’t been as enamoured of her daughters, who looked like a barrel of monkeys. Luckily they hadn’t come for the meal. Mandy knew her dad would have ended up paying for them. She could spot a freeloader when she saw one, and Sasha definitely – though perhaps not Kitty – was on the make.

  Patrick obviously felt a pang of guilt after coffee because he offered to drive her home.

  ‘I think your dad wants to be alone with Mrs Tait.’ He stroked the small of her back, sliding up her shirt and massaging the base of her spine with his thumb. ‘Let’s go back to your place.’

  Mandy snapped herself out of her mood. She had to admit that, however beastly Patrick had been over the past couple of weeks, he could always redeem himself when they made love. They went up to her bedroom, and he was surprisingly tender, kissing her all over until she was weak with anticipation. She took him in her hand, desperate to be taken. Perhaps he could screw the thoughts she’d been having out of her, the fantasies that were becoming slow torture. After all, it had once been Patrick she had dreamed about, Patrick who had been so out of reach. Funny, wasn’t it, how once you’d got what you wanted you didn’t want it any more. There’d been girls like that at school, who’d chased after boys for weeks then dropped them as soon as they’d got them. She’d always rather despised them for their fickle behaviour. And now here she was, behaving in exactly the same way. But as Patrick entered her, she gave a moan of pleasure and wondered why on earth she wanted anyone else. Patrick knew just what to do to her…

  Suddenly they heard Keith’s Land Cruiser coming in the drive. Mandy pushed Patrick off, rolled out from under him and reached for her clothes in a panic. Patrick couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘For God’s sake – what do you think he thinks we’re doing up here? Playing chess?’

  He tried to pull her back to him, but Mandy wriggled out from his grasp. She was always funny about screwing him when her father was around. Exasperated, Patrick pulled on his trousers and they went downstairs to have coffee with Keith, even though it was as plain as the nose on your face what they’d been up to.

  After Patrick had gone, Mandy put on her pyjamas and went to bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She was still turned on by what Patrick had been doing to her before they’d been interrupted. She did something she’d never done before. She slid her pyjama bottoms down and put an experimental finger between her legs. She nearly leaped with the shock of how good it felt. Tentatively, she explored the silky softness, like dipping into a jar of warm honey, enjoying the gentle warmth that slowly spread through her loins. She was in control and it felt fantastic. Wicked, but fantastic. Several times she brought herself to the edge and pulled back, teasing herself.

  She knew what it was she wanted to do. She imagined Rick’s body, imagined him sliding off that tight white T-shirt and those jeans, standing in front of her with that smooth skin, those taut muscles, that tattoo. Imagined him taking her, wordlessly, masterfully… Mandy arched her back and gasped in shock as she allowed his image to enter her, inadvertently crying out with the pleasure.

  She lay back on her bed, panting. It had been like nothing she had ever felt before. Was it because she had been in control of her own pleasure? Or had the experience been fuelled by her fantasy?

  She felt a stab of
guilt. Did what she’d done count as being unfaithful? Shocked by her behaviour, Mandy tried to sleep. She’d always been such a nice girl.

  14

  Suzanna waited until the time was right before confessing the truth to Patrick. She’d given what Caroline had said to her a lot of thought and decided she had a point. She and Patrick had put so much trust in each other over the last couple of weeks, it wasn’t fair to pull the wool over his eyes any longer.

  They’d gone to an auction just outside Birmingham, which was selling off kitchen equipment from several bankrupt restaurants and pubs. Patrick tried to ignore the hidden warning implicit in this. They bid successfully for several essential items: a heavy-duty gas burner, a coldroom, a glasswasher and a dishwasher. It was barely used, all in gleaming condition, and they paid well under half what they would have paid normally. They arranged to have the items delivered, then went into the rather grotty bar adjoining the auction rooms for a celebratory drink. They sat down at a round-topped table with an egg sandwich and a gin and tonic each. Suzanna took a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Patrick looked alarmed. It was obviously something big.

  ‘You’re not pregnant?’

  ‘No.’ She gave a little ironic laugh. ‘Far from it. We… had a baby. Oliver. He died. It was a cot death; about two years ago. That’s why we came here. To start again.’

  Patrick looked away, shaken, totally at a loss for words. After all he’d confided in her. He’d trusted Suzanna; told her things he’d never told anyone else. And she’d kept a bigger secret than any of that from him.

  He was abrupt at first, hurt that she obviously hadn’t trusted him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us? Right from the beginning?’

  Suzanna managed to hold his accusing glare.

  ‘There wasn’t any space on the application form,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Don’t be flippant. And there was.’ He quoted directly. ‘Are there any personal circumstances we should know about?’