Making Hay

by Veronica Henry

  It was chaos, because it was effectively one sitting, with everyone arriving at the same time. Because it was free, no one could complain, although some of the guests had fun trying to be the customer from hell.

  The kitchen ran, amazingly, like clockwork. And once the last of the apricot bread and butter pudding had been scraped up by the dummy guests, Suzanna brought the remaining food out to be devoured by her hungry workforce. Barney opened legions of bottles of wine as fast as he could. The differential between staff and guests evaporated, and it turned into a drunken free-for-all.

  Someone had brought along a karaoke machine and Barney plugged it into his P A system. No one needed much encouragement, and Caroline was first up to the mike. James cringed as she sang ‘It’s RainingMen’, thanking God that she didn’t attempt the Geri Halliwell splits sequence on the table – he wouldn’t have put it past her to try. Then everyone listened in thrall as Kitty sang ‘Killing Me Softly’. A reverent hush fell amongst the revellers.

  ‘She should go on the next Pop Idol,’ slurred someone.

  ‘No way. She’s better than that. She needs an agent or a manager…’

  Barney couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was utterly spellbound. And his mind was racing. There was no doubt about it – she had something special.

  The air was thick was camaraderie and the smell of impending success – everyone was on a bit of a high. Kitty, Sasha and Jonty stood on the table, conducting everyone in a rousing chorus of ‘We are the Champions’. Much wine had clearly been drunk, and no one was in control.

  Before everything got too out of hand, Patrick stood up, banging his spoon on the table for attention.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, while you’re all still compos mentis, there’s just a little toast I’d like to propose. There’s someone we’ve forgotten in all of this. If you could all just recharge your glasses…’

  No one needed any encouragement and there was a mad scramble to top up their glasses from the bottles of champagne that had miraculously appeared. Mandy smiled. He’d remembered, after all. When she’d walked in, Patrick had barely acknowledged her, just scowled because she was a bit late.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he’d asked.

  But he didn’t actually wait for an answer. So she’d sat there, with her secret, wishing she was somewhere else.

  Patrick raised his glass.

  ‘I think you’ll all agree that everyone worked their socks off this evening to make it special. But there’s one person without whom none of this would have been possible. So I ask you to raise your glasses, please, to – the chef!’

  ‘The chef!’ everyone roared, turning to Suzanna, who was blushing and protesting and laughing at all the attention.

  Mandy looked away, blinking rapidly, hoping that Elspeth wouldn’t see how upset she was. The silly cow had asked her twice what she’d got for her birthday. The first time she’d wanted to punch her. The second time she wanted to pull up her top and show her Rick’s tattoo. Oh God, if only she was with him now.

  Twenty minutes later, Kitty found Sasha snogging Jonty Hobday in the corridor outside the loos. His wife Meggy, three months pregnant and already exhausted, had left after pudding, knowing it would be hours until Jonty finally staggered home. She was used to her husband’s drink-sodden social life – all she could be grateful for was that he had an astonishing metabolism and never seemed to have a hangover.

  Jonty saw Kitty and panicked, sloping off sheepishly into the men’s toilet. Kitty marched up to her sister with her hands on her hips.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Sasha smirked.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Sasha – didn’t you notice his wife at the dinner table? He’s married!’

  Sasha was silent. She obviously had no idea. Then she shrugged sulkily.

  ‘Then bollock him. Not me. I’m a free agent.’

  ‘Sorry, Sasha. But you shouldn’t mess around with married men.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Haven’t you got a conscience? Haven’t you got any morals?’

  ‘What’s the point of having those? No one else has. Dad hasn’t – nothing very moral about running off with your hygienist. And look at Mum – flirting for England with anything in trousers – ’

  ‘She’s just having a bit of fun.’

  ‘Well, so am I.’

  ‘Sorry, but there’s a big difference. What do you think Jonty’s wife would say if she found out?’

  ‘It must be her fault in the first place. Otherwise he wouldn’t be gagging for it. He probably hasn’t had his leg over for months.’

  ‘Oh yeah – well, how did she get pregnant then?’

  For a second Sasha was silent. Kitty pointed at her.

  ‘You see. You haven’t got the full picture, have you? She’s expecting number three.’

  Sasha looked as if she’d been slapped. She looked away, and Kitty could tell she was trying not to cry. Then she turned on her sister defiantly.

  ‘How the hell was I supposed to know? For God’s sake, Kitty, don’t stand there preaching to me like the bloody Virgin Mary. I don’t tell you what to do.’

  Kitty shook her head in despair and left Sasha to it.

  Sasha watched her sister go then followed Jonty into the gents, where he was quaking in one of the cubicles. The doors hadn’t been put on yet. Sasha pushed him against the wall and put her hands either side of his head, thrusting her groin against his with a smile that had been painted on her face by the devil himself.

  ‘We can’t! Not in here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Jonty, terrified, felt himself shrivel to nothingness. He put his hands up to push her away. She rolled her eyes.

  ‘You’re all talk and no action. I thought farriers were supposed to be God’s gift to women?’

  ‘Really?’

  Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were married?’

  Jonty looked cornered.

  ‘I thought you knew. Everyone else does.’

  Sasha tossed her head and stomped off. Jonty heaved a sigh of relief. He’d got a bit carried away for a minute there. He thought of his wife Meggy, curled up in bed by now, all soft and warm and plump, and felt a stab of guilt. He’d have to be careful in future.

  Back in the games room, things were going from riotous to out of control. Everyone sensible, like Cowley the bank manager, had gone, and everyone else was up for it. Suzanna, hugely relieved that the evening had been an unqualified success, was drinking hard to catch up with everyone else. She knew it was a mistake, because she was out of practice, but she also knew it was her last chance to let her hair down for a long time. Plus she wanted her staff to know that she was human.

  ‘Something Stupid’ came on the karaoke and she leaped up, dragging Patrick protesting up on to the stage. By then everyone was singing along so loudly they were drowned out, but the two of them hammed it up for laughs.

  Only Mandy wasn’t particularly amused. Especially when Elspeth sidled up to her spitefully and said, ‘Look good together, don’t they?’ How dare Patrick humiliate her like that in public? Elspeth was sniggering her socks off. Well, if he was so obsessed with Suzanna, she didn’t need telling twice.

  Sasha sat at the end of the table and got steadily drunk. Bloody Jonty. Even worse, bloody Kitty – who did she think she was? Getting all the attention with her singing, then daring to preach to her. It wasn’t fair. She felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. Everything in her life was a total disaster. She hadn’t told Mum she was about to get kicked off her course at college.

  It was all Dad’s fault. She’d phoned him earlier, hoping he’d wish her good luck for tonight. It might only be a waitressing job, but it was her first job, and weren’t fathers supposed to give you moral support? She’d been terrified she might get an order wrong, or forget something. She hadn’t, of course, but that didn’t excuse the fact that her father had f
obbed her off when she phoned, told her he had to go because Faith was complaining of Braxton Hicks’ contractions, whatever the fuck they were. Terminal, hoped Sasha.

  *

  Ginny got home just before midnight. She couldn’t remember when she’d last enjoyed herself so much. She flopped down on the sofa and allowed herself a rerun of the evening. The twins had turned out to be fantastic waitresses. The meal had been out of this world. And great fun. Ginny had been surprised to find she actually knew most of the people there, and the party atmosphere had been thoroughly infectious. Keith had asked her to the opening the following week. She’d already had an official invitation, of course, but it was nice to actually go with someone; not just be there as mother of the waiting staff.

  It was incredible, she thought, how well they’d all settled in Honeycote. She’d worried that they’d feel isolated or bored, but nothing could be further from the truth. It almost felt as if they’d been there for ever. And her business was going great guns – she stifled a groan as she remembered the baskets waiting for her. She’d have a bit of a head tomorrow, but she’d have to tackle them. A huge glass of water and bed was the only answer.

  As she went into the living room, she saw the answerphone flashing. Somehow, she knew that whatever she was about to hear was going to burst her bubble. She pressed play. David’s voice leaped out at her.

  ‘Ginny. I just thought you ought to know that the baby’s arrived…’ A bit of self-conscious throat-clearing… ‘Five-hour labour, gas and air and pethidine and an epidural…’ Good – I hope it hurt, thought Ginny spitefully ‘… Mother and baby doing well, eight pounds two ounces. And… um… we’ve called her Chelsea. Chelsea May.’

  There was a desperate quality to his voice that was begging her not to laugh. It obviously hadn’t been his choice.

  ‘Anyway, I just wondered if you could tell the girls. I know they’re working tonight.’ Another pause. A pause that he didn’t know quite how to fill. He seemed to be struggling for words, as if he wanted to say something, but he just ended with an abrupt goodbye.

  As she rewound the tape, Ginny felt overwhelmed with doubt. Bloody David. It was no thanks to him that everything was turning out for the best for her and the girls. It had all been so unnecessary. There’d been nothing wrong with the marriage she’d had, as far as she was concerned. She supposed that in the back of her mind was the hope that one day he’d admit he’d been wrong and come back to them.

  But with the arrival of Chelsea, David had burned his bridges. He had his own living, breathing eight-pound-two-ounce ball and chain. There was no going back now.

  Barney practically had to carry Suzanna up to bed. Luckily when she was drunk she just became very tactile, everyone’s best friend. She’d been all over Patrick earlier, but Barney wasn’t threatened. That was Suzanna. In fact, he was pleased to see her behaving like that; letting go and having fun.

  She was definitely still in a party mood. She began a mock striptease, another one of her party tricks, giggling, slightly inept but nevertheless charming. Barney swallowed as her dress slid to the floor and she stepped out of it, turning round to unhook her bra, peeping at him over her shoulder as the straps slid down her shoulders. She sashayed towards him playfully, still in her strappy sandals, shaking her hair down over her shoulders. Her skin was creamy and luminous in the half-light, her eyes shining as she grabbed on to his lapels.

  ‘Come on, you. Let’s celebrate.’

  Her meaning was quite clear. She tried to pull him back on to the bed, but he resisted. He didn’t want it to be like this. Not the first time. He wanted her to be fully aware of what she was doing. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her.

  Despite her protests, and despite the fact it would have been easy for him to give in, Barney forced Suzanna into her nightshirt and tucked her in firmly. Within two minutes she was asleep. Barney smiled fondly. She was going to have a bitch of a hangover, but after tonight’s success they both deserved a lie-in.

  16

  Like the calm before a storm, there was not a lot that either Suzanna or Barney could do the last weekend before they opened. The final glaze was being applied to the walls in the dining room, the plumber was fitting out the toilets, carpets were being laid in the guest bedrooms, their living quarters were finally – thank God! – being walloped out in magnolia emulsion. All the furniture and fixtures and fittings were waiting in the wings for the stage to be ready. But in the meantime, the best thing they could do was keep out of the way.

  ‘Why don’t you go up to your mum’s for the weekend?’ suggested Barney.

  Suzanna thought about it. She’d only get frustrated if she hung around. She wasn’t good at waiting for things to be finished. She was itching to put everything together.

  Unspoken was the suggestion that they could do with a bit of time apart, and this was realistically the last chance they were going to have, at least for a while. Tempers had run high over the past week as panic had set in, when vital deliveries that had been promised hadn’t materialized, when a pipe had burst in the upstairs loo ruining the paintwork in the bar below, when the coldroom Patrick and Suzanna had bought at auction had resolutely failed to get cold, forcing yet another last-minute purchase.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on things here. You could go shopping with Sybilla – buy an outfit for Wednesday.’

  ‘I thought you said we weren’t to waste any more money?’ Suzanna frowned, still stung because she’d got the blame for the dodgy fridge.

  ‘Isn’t that what credit cards are for?’ Barney twinkled at her. Although he’d snipped them all up all those years ago, he knew Suzanna had a secret stash of store cards, and that the bills went to her mother’s house.

  Suzanna thought about it. Her mother would probably appreciate the visit. She knew Iris missed them dreadfully, though she would never admit it. She had a hectic social life, but they’d seen her at least twice a week when they’d lived in Twickenham, and there was nothing like the company of your own flesh and blood. She was coming up for the opening, but Suzanna knew it was unlikely she’d be able to bestow her attention on anyone that night. A cosy weekend with Iris and a bit of retail therapy with Sybilla sounded like just what she needed. It would be wonderful not to have the smell of paint and the sound of banging.

  And sometimes, just sometimes, extricating yourself from a situation gave you a chance to think more clearly about it.

  Barney watched Suzanna drive off in the Jeep on Saturday morning, and felt a bit like a teenager whose parents had gone away for the weekend. Not that he wanted to do anything wild, but the option was there.

  He decided to walk down to the post office with Marmite, who insisted on terrorizing the tradesmen. He’d already eaten the plumber’s lunch – well, what did he expect when he left tasty ham sandwiches on the windowsill? He’d go and get the Saturday Times, which Barney infinitely preferred to the Sunday edition, as you had a fighting chance of getting through it.

  Kitty was in there buying milk and bread. Barney greeted her with a wide smile. He liked Kitty. She was going to be a great waitress. He wasn’t so sure about Sasha – he suspected she was the type who’d dump soup in your lap given the tiniest hint of provocation. But Kitty was attentive and efficient.

  ‘Thanks for all your hard work the other night. It went really well.’

  ‘It was fun. I can’t wait till Wednesday.’

  ‘I can,’ said Barney with meaning.

  ‘You must be busy this weekend.’

  ‘No. Not really. Suzanna’s gone to her mum’s and I’m twiddling my thumbs.’

  ‘Snap. Mum’s gone out with Keith and Sasha didn’t come home last night.’

  Kitty didn’t voice her worst fear – that despite all warnings Sasha was in the throes of a torrid affair with Jonty – because she absolutely didn’t approve and didn’t think Barney would either. Sasha had suddenly undergone an about-face – having been resolutely anti what she called either pea-pickers or turnip-heads, she
was now apparently dropping them for anything in trousers with a slight bucolic hint. The Young Farmers had obviously been the turning point.

  Barney picked up a carton of orange juice thoughtfully and put it in his basket.

  ‘Listen – do you fancy doing some recording? Just for a laugh? I’ve got all my old gear gathering dust at the pub. It would give us both something to do…’

  Barney hoped desperately that this didn’t sound like a corny chat-up line. It was a genuine invitation. And he was intrigued to hear what Kitty would sound like on tape.

  To his pleasure, she looked delighted.

  ‘That would be really cool. Are you sure you’re not too busy?’

  ‘Positive. I’ll just take all this stuff home. I’ll see you in about half an hour?’

  Barney hurried back to the pub, delighted that he had something to do that would take his mind off things. On his own, he would have spent the day mithering about pricing policies and how much they’d been spending. And thinking about him and Suzanna…

  Things weren’t right. They were both resolutely avoiding the issue, because they were so busy. But they were operating almost like strangers. They fell asleep at night exhausted, without talking. It was as if the bed was five miles wide. That hadn’t been his plan. Moving here was supposed to bring them together, not force them apart.

  Then he placated himself. Perhaps when the pub was open, up and running and they knew where they were, they could relax and the tension would ease.

  He took out his old TEAC PortaStudio from its case. It had cost him a fortune when he was seventeen; he remembered emptying out his post office savings account, selling his bike and doing a deal with his father for the last fifty pounds. He wondered how many hours of hopes and dreams he and his friends had recorded on it in his parents’ garage, before they’d got their deal. Before everything had gone sour…