The Best Of Times

by Penny Vincenzi

  “You’d think they might have waited another day,” said Emma. “So inconsiderate-they must have known what was going on. Abi, would you agree with me that the rain’s much lighter? Almost stopped?”

  “Mmm. Not sure,” said Abi, and then, “God, good old Barney, he’s doing wonders with that thing. I hope that cow’s all right; we lost one last week; can’t afford another.”

  Emma looked at her, her respect growing by the minute.

  “Are you Abi? Security sent me over.” It was a girl dressed totally unsuitably in high-heeled red sandals and white trousers. “Tessa Stan-dish, Wiltshire Radio.”

  “Oh… God. Yes. Cool. They said you might be coming. Let’s go over to the arena. Have you got any other shoes?”

  “No. So stupid, but I wasn’t expecting to come this morning.”

  “Tell you what,” said Abi. “We pass the welly stall. You can be our first paying customer. Here, look. Rainbow-coloured, madam? Spotted? Or even a pair of Hunters?”

  ***

  Georgia was driving down the M 4 just before one when she heard Tessa Standish: “Coming to you from In Good Company, the music festival based at Paget’s Farm, just off the M 4 near Bridbourne. And I can tell you, if you’re thinking of coming you’re in for a treat. It looks fantastic, incredible array of stalls, wonderful bands on the programme, lots of them local, great camping area, stuff for the kids to do, and the most amazing setting. It could have been purpose-built for the occasion, a sort of natural amphitheatre… and don’t be put off by the weather, because the rain’s stopping here now, and there’s even a bit of sun fighting its way through. Now the headline band is BroadBand, playing at eight, but there are loads of others, starting with a folk band called-what are they called?-oh, yes, Slow-mo. They’re on at three. And it’s all for charity, in aid of the victims of the M 4 crash last August and St. Marks Hospital, Swindon, so you’ll be doing some majorly good work if you come.”

  It was awful to be so late; she’d wanted to be down first thing, really make herself useful, but the second on the new film had suddenly called her and said they needed rain to film a scene, and here it was, most obligingly; could she get over right away? So she’d had to get over.

  Georgia had had a pretty amazing three months since Moving Away had gone on to the nation’s television screens. She had had rave notices-been proclaimed by various critics as “an incredible new talent,” and giving a “near perfect performance” and “exquisitely touching” and “a superbly intuitive actress.”

  “I don’t understand it,” she’d said to Linda. “I know I wasn’t that good; I just know it. I’m not daft.”

  “Maybe, but the thing is, darling, the camera loves you. It isn’t just models you hear that of; there are certain actors it’s true of too. It found more in your performance than you know was there, maybe than actually was there. Frankly, Georgia-and I’ve always been one of your biggest fans-I didn’t see you getting notices like this. You’re a one-in-a-million screen actress, and you should thank God fasting for it. And don’t come running to me after a bit saying you want to play Juliet at Stratford, you don’t feel fulfilled…”

  “Of course I won’t,” said Georgia.

  “Darling, you’d be surprised how many do. Just enjoy this. It’s great.”

  Georgia’s face was everywhere; apart from the arts pages, Vogue had used her for a fashion shoot, she’d appeared in the style section of the Sunday Times, and in the Guardian as their close-up spread in the Monday fashion slot. She’d been interviewed just about everywhere-and wonderfully had been able to plug the festival several times-and most important, had a part in a new BBC series, filming in the autumn, and after that in a main feature film, a screen adaptation of a new novel set against the background of what the publicity called “Thatcher’s Britain.” Georgia couldn’t actually see that it was that different from present-day Britain, although her mother inevitably could, but it was going to be a great movie, and she had a great part.

  She had moved out of her room in Jazz’s house and bought a minute flat in Clapham; she had bought a ton of clothes from Top-shop and TK Maxx and a couple of dresses from Stella McCartney, for special occasions, and one of the new Minis, and she and Merlin were going on holiday to Thailand for a week when the BBC film was finished. Life had changed a bit, as she said to Abi, but she felt exactly the same. “Just as worried about everything, just as insecure, just as-”

  “Nuts?” Abi said with a grin.

  And yes, Georgia said, she supposed that was right.

  “I’d so love to be cool like you, Abi, cool and sorted. I can’t see it ever happening. Maybe I need a husband.”

  Abi said she thought a husband was the last thing Georgia needed. “Who could cope with you anyway, all famous like you are; you’d have to find another luvvie, and anyway, how about Merlin; what’s wrong with him?”

  Whereupon Georgia sighed and said nothing.

  “Yes, there is, I can tell,” said Abi. “What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?”

  “Paradise?”

  “Yes. Merlin told me being with you was total paradise. I thought it was sweet.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” Georgia said. “I can’t bear it when he says things like that.”

  “I wouldn’t mind. The best William could manage was that life’s got a lot better since we got married, but he’s not so sure about this week.”

  “Yes, but he means it. Merlin doesn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh… it’s all so corny. I swear he practises it in front of a mirror. And he’s sooo vain. I don’t know, Abi; I’d much rather have someone all lovely and steady like William. I’d love to be a farmer’s wife.”

  “Georgia,” said Abi, “you couldn’t possibly marry a farmer; you’d be crying all the time-think about the lambs going off to market, or the poor little bull calves…”

  “Why, what happens to them?”

  “I’m not even going to tell you,” said Abi; but Georgia was intrigued and asked William, and then, as Abi had predicted, sat with tears rolling down her face at the plight of the poor things, off to market to be turned into veal.

  Anyway, the festival looked like it was going to be great; a cautiously optimistic call from Abi at midday had reported a “huge queue” at the gates. “I just drove along the road, saw them from there, a great line of them, straggling between the cornfields, you know, the ones leading across to the end of the farm. Just get here, Linley you’ve got work to do. And where’s your friend?”

  “She should be there,” said Georgia. “I spoke to them about an hour ago; they were at Swindon or thereabouts. I hope nothing’s happened to them.”

  “No, not them, they’re here and absolutely great. We managed to get them a plug on the radio. And a couple of blokes with beards and prehistoric sandals said they couldn’t believe they were going to hear Sim Foster’s wife and daughter. They were well pleased. No, I mean the CD guy. No sign of him.”

  “Oh, Jazz. He’s coming down with Merlin; they’re only about twenty minutes behind me.”

  ***

  Anna and Lila were doing a half-hour set at six: Lila on saxophone, Anna on piano. They’d turned out to be a big draw with both what Abi called the Boden lot as well as the fanatics.

  “It adds a bit of class, such a lovely story for the publicity, tying in with you and the TV series and everything. He was huge in his day, her husband; I Googled him, wonderful for us to talk about. And Lila is just totally gorgeous, isn’t she?”

  ***

  Georgia arrived just as the sun came out in earnest; she parked at the top of the hill and looked down, smiling. The sky was a rather uncertain blue, but the clouds had gone, and the tents were going up now, hundreds of them, filling the first field-they’d obviously need the second; Abi had been wrong-all different colours, small igloos for the couples, and bigger frame jobs for the families. She could hear the sound of thousands of pegs being hammered into the ground, of children laughin
g and shrieking as they ran about, of people calling to one another, the hurdy-gurdy music of the little roundabouts; it was all so lovely, their dream almost unbelievably coming true. A few people had already lit barbecues, and she could smell the smoke drifting into the moist air; and across on the other side of the valley, the seemingly endless line of people, queuing in the sunshine.

  “Hello, sweetheart. How you doing?”

  “Jazz! How lovely. Fine, yes.”

  “Pretty good, isn’t it? Your friend’s done a great job.”

  “Have you seen her? She was worrying about you being late.”

  “Yeah, I’ve left Merl talking to her. And some bird in white trousers. Well, they were white. Pretty muddy now. She had a microphone. Well, I mean, show Merlin a microphone and he’s off, isn’t he. I mean, he’s a great guy, but he don’t half love the sound of his own voice. You and him a permanent item now, Georgia?”

  “No!” said Georgia, and was horrified with the fervour with which her reply came out. “No, we’re just… well, you know.”

  “Yeah, think so. Well, you’re a big improvement on the last one, I’ll give you that.”

  “I thought you’d have liked Ticky” said Georgia.

  “No, not for me, love. All fur coat and no knickers, she was. Not my type at all.”

  “And what is your type?” said Georgia, genuinely curious.

  “Oh… it varies. I know it when I see it. Look at old Merl, working the field. He do love a fresh audience.”

  She looked; it was true. He was moving amongst the tents, talking to people. He looked amazing-of course-wearing jeans and brown riding boots and a white collarless shirt. He was such a sweetheart; she should appreciate him more, stop complaining about him being irritating.

  She parked her car and went to find Anna and Lila. Anna was down by the arena, checking everything out.

  “Great piano,” she said, “Japanese job. Just what I hoped for. And really well wired up. Lila’s just been sick for the fourth time. She can do stage fright better than anyone.”

  “Oh, poor darling.” It was Merlin. “Nothing worse. She’ll be fine. I’ll go and talk to her, see what I can do.”

  “That won’t help,” said Georgia tartly to Anna as he hurried off. “Enough to make her sick again, I should think,” and then realised she had already broken her resolution to be nicer about him. How could she do this? When six months ago, she would have killed to have Merlin at her side, marked out as her boyfriend. What was the matter with her?

  Lila staggered over from behind the arena, where she’d been throwing up. Merlin had obviously been unable to find her.

  “Mum, I can’t do this.”

  “Course you can,” said Georgia, putting her arm round her. “You’ve got to, anyway. Come on, let’s go and talk to Merlin.”

  Merlin was now sitting on the ground, sharing a bottle of water with a little girl wearing a long skirt, wellies, and a patchwork hat. Her forehead wore a rainbow.

  “Hi, Georgia, Lila. This is Milly This is her fourth festival this year.”

  “Goodness,” said Georgia. “That’s impressive. Hi, Milly. You having fun?”

  “So fun, yes.”

  “I like your hat.”

  “My mummy bought it for me. From over there.” She pointed at the hat stall. “She got one too.”

  “Very nice.” Georgia smiled at Milly’s mum, a pretty dark-haired girl who was wearing an identical hat to her daughter’s. “I want you to know, that stall was my idea.”

  “Well, it was a great one,” said Milly’s mum.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, so lovely. We’re great festival people. We always feel they’re like miniholidays. No stress, such freedom for the kids, and this is such a wonderful place. We’ve never been to one here before.”

  “That’s because there hasn’t been one here before,” said Georgia. “I know what you mean about festivals, though. You’re all together, and everyone’s sort of the same kind of person; nobody sort of jars; it’s really cool.”

  “Really cool! You look familiar; have I met you somewhere before?”

  “Er… don’t think so,” said Georgia. These small sudden signs of her fame, which had initially seemed so exciting, had become swiftly burdensome. She had imagined she would love it, being recognised, feeling important, but it was actually incredibly tedious; everyone asked the same questions: about the production, what various other people in it were like, how she’d got into acting, and-if the questioners were young-how she thought they might get into it.

  She looked over at Merlin for help, but he was standing with Lila, talking to her rather intently. For some reason it annoyed her.

  “Where’s your tent?” she said to Anna. “I might set up near you.”

  “Oh, darling, do.”

  “Georgia!” It was Abi. Abi looking sensational in denim shorts, pink wellies, and a pink T-shirt. “How great is this? Listen, I need you to go and talk to that incredibly annoying girl from the local radio. She wants to interview you.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you bloody well do. Georgia, you haven’t done anything at all yet today. Emma’s been here for hours and hours, and so has Barney; I could really have done with you…”

  “All right, all right. I was actually working, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. You’ve told me at least six times. Go on, she’s over there, in those rainbow-coloured wellies. Quickly, the first band’s on in ten minutes-at least, I hope they are, if Health and Safety have finished their checks.”

  ***

  “Oh, doesn’t that look lovely?” said Linda, taking Alex’s hand. “So good the rain stopped. Smells so lovely too, the barbecues and… what’s that other smell? Oh, I know-candy floss. I love the smell of candy floss. In fact, I love the taste of candy floss. Amy, darling, go and buy us all some candy floss, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not all of us,” said Alex. “I can’t stand the stuff. E numbers on a stick. Terribly bad for you, give you a sugar rush.”

  “You’re such a misery, Dad.”

  “My sentiments entirely,” said Linda. “No, it’s all wonderful. Even the music’s not too bad.”

  “All right if you like folk,” said Amy. “Still, it’s early, isn’t it? It’ll get better. I still can’t believe they’ve got BroadBand. I think I might go and find my friends. They’re all here. And-”

  “Hi, Linda.” It was Abi. “So lovely of you to come. Not really your thing, I’m sure.”

  “Now, why should you think that?” said Linda. “I’m a veteran of the Reading festival. I’ve kept all the wristbands from the very first year.”

  “Really? That is so cool. You must be Amy, hi. Having a good time?”

  “Not yet she’s not,” said Linda, “but she’s about to go and find her friends.”

  “Yes, I was just saying I couldn’t believe you’d got BroadBand.”

  “Nor can I, Amy. And you know, they’re really quite nice.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Friendly. Chatty, even. Tell you what, if you come and find me about twenty minutes before they play if I’m still alive, I’ll make sure you can be right at the front. You might be able to meet them. They said they wouldn’t be rushing off.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Amy’s face went bright red. “That would be just sooo cool.”

  “Sure. And your friends. I’ll be inside the arena; we’ve got a little base behind the bar.”

  “Wow. Well… I’ll see you then. God. So cool.”

  “I think you’ve impressed her,” said Linda, laughing. “Not easy, is it, Alex?”

  “Not terribly.”

  “It’s so great you’re here, Alex,” said Abi. “I’m so glad.”

  “Abi, this is partly for my hospital; of course I’m here. I’m thrilled. Thrilled and grateful. We won’t actually be camping, but-”

  “We would have been,” said Linda, “if it had been up to
me.”

  “That is a filthy lie,” said Alex. “This is the woman, Abi, who said she wouldn’t so much as go inside a tent.”

  “It is not a lie. I love camping. At times like this.”

  “Well… plenty of tents for sale,” said Abi.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, course. Over there, look. Only fifteen quid.”

  “Well, we might,” said Linda. “You never know.”

  “Go on. Let your hair down. Lord, I must go. Health and Safety are approaching. Pray they’re happy. We’ve had one hiccup already; they let us start, but said they’d be back to check that we’d done what they said, and if we hadn’t they’d pull the plug. We have, obviously, but… bye for now.”

  “Gorgeous girl,” said Alex, looking after her appreciatively.

  “Gorgeous. Do you think I’d look good in shorts and wellies?”

  “Possibly. Then again, possibly not. You’re not really going to buy a tent, are you?”

  “Yes. I think I might. Why not?”

  “You’re such a bloody hypocrite. All that fuss insisting on booking into a hotel…”

  “I’m not a hypocrite. I’m a spontaneous person. That’s all. I suddenly realise it’d be really pathetic and… and middle-aged to leave all this, go to a hotel.”

  “Well, we are middle-aged.”

  “You might be. I’m not. And if I may say so, you’re acting more than middle-aged. More like old.”

  “Thanks. Well, you’ll be sleeping in the tent on your own, let me tell you.”

  “Cool, as your daughter would say.”

  ***

  “Oh, this is lovely!”

  “Isn’t it? You’re not cold, are you, Mary?” Maeve looked at her tenderly.

  “Why on earth should I be cold? The sun’s perfectly beautiful.”

  They were sitting, well wrapped up, for it was evening now, in picnic chairs, halfway up the hill facing the arena. There was a small metal road dividing the area where they were from the campsite, and the arena was beyond that; it was rather like being in the dress circle of a theatre, as Mary had said.