Tickled Pink

by Christina Jones

  It was, all-in-all, very impressive.

  Posy and Lola, done up to the nines and fortified by Posy’s recommended going-out booster of several TJ Hookers – equal measures of Jack Daniel’s and Tia Maria – were merry enough to forget Other Women and determinedly ready to party.

  The entrants were all backstage, having paid their money and filled in their forms. Posy knew that Nikki and Amanda and most of her old school friends had entered. Also knowing her limitations, she’d declined the invitation to join them.

  ‘Shall we get a drink and find somewhere to sit where we can get a good view and make caustic comments?’ She glanced at Lola. ‘After all, you did supply the booze, so it seems only fair that you should have a glass or two oh, shit!’

  ‘What?’ Lola was a little unsteady on her feet, obviously not being quite as au fait with the TJ Hookers as Posy. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Three problems. Who hired the bar staff?’

  The vicar said he’d organize it. Why?’ She looked. ‘Oh, bugger.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Posy glared at Flynn, Ritchie and Ellis, who were standing in a line behind the makeshift bar, and all playing the Tom Cruise role from the eponymous cocktail film by juggling shakers. ‘Mind you, they’re very attractive.’

  ‘They are,’ Lola conceded. ‘For unfaithful, untrustworthy, lowlife scum.’

  Posy shrieked with laughter. ‘I think we’ve both overdone the TJ Hookers. You’d never use that language normally.’

  ‘Probably not. But this isn’t a normal occasion, and Glad, the old witch, knew damn well that Ellis would be here tonight, because she told me to make sure I was here, and, oh joy, Tatty isn’t.’

  ‘Er, she is now.’ Posy motioned towards the door. Tatty and the kiddies, all in their party best, which seemed to involve tassels and tinsel and a lot of net, trailed into the hall.

  ‘Sod and damn and bugger – oh ...’ Lola clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, goodness, don’t let me anywhere near the vicar tonight, my inhibitions seem to have deserted me. But, well, really, why didn’t she just stay at home?’

  ‘I suppose she wanted to be here and there are no baby-sitters available, so what option did she have? Anyway, because she’s late she’ll have to sit at the back so at least you won’t have to look at her.’

  ‘It’s okay for you to be smug, looks like you’ll have Flynn to yourself for the evening. There’s no sign of the pneumatic Vanessa.’

  ‘No, there isn’t, is there?’ Posy shot a lingering glance towards the cocktail bar. ‘And ooh, I really, really, really fancy Flynn.’

  ‘There speaks a woman well tanked-up on a dubious mixture,’ Lola broke off to glare across at Tatty again. ‘Oh, damn it, let’s grab a table as far away from Tatty and the brats as possible, and then one of us can get the drinks.’

  ‘We can both get the drinks,’ Posy insisted. ‘Then we can both go for the kill.’

  Stumbling amongst the tables, muttering apologies, Posy found two seats close to the stage. It meant they’d be sharing with the Pinks and on the next table to the coven, which was possibly why the chairs were still empty, but beggars and choosers and all that.

  ‘You two looks lovely,’ Neddy Pink grinned. ‘You should be up there with the contenders.’

  Lola shook her head. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone over twenty-five entering –’

  ‘And they all look like girlies,’ Posy added, ‘not biker babes. So, we’re ruled out on all counts.’

  ‘I dunno . . .’ Neddy Pink eyed them speculatively. ‘You both look like pretty tasty bits of stuff to me. I’d vote for the pair of you.’

  ‘Thanks, Neddy,’ Posy said happily, then looked at Lola. ‘See, we can both still pull if we put our minds to it.’

  The vicar, done up like Liberace, strode on to the stage to Ray Conniff’s version of ‘Standing On The Corner Watching All The Girls Go By’ which oozed from the* communal Dansette. Everyone clapped and stamped and whistled.

  Lola groaned. Posy jabbed her in the ribs. ‘I told you this was going to spectacularly non-PC. You can’t grizzle.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the vicar screamed into the microphone. ‘The first ever Steeple Fritton Carnival Queen contest is due to begin in about an hour’s time, with a parade of all the entrants in evening wear. To those of you from the Townswomen’s Guild who signed the protest petition, the swimwear section has been cancelled.’

  There were a lot of jeers and boos. Especially, Posy noticed, from behind the cocktail bar. Bastards.

  ‘However, in the meantime, do avail yourself of the champagne cocktails kindly supplied by The Crooked Sixpence, and the nibbles kindly provided by the Pinks.’

  There was a sudden rash of spitting surreptitiously into hands.

  ‘And now it is my great pleasure to introduce you to our famous faces. Our illustrious judging panel for this evening.’

  Gladys shivered with expectation. Posy and Lola both smiled kindly at her. This was her dream come true. At last, celebrities in Steeple Fritton.

  ‘First,’ the vicar howled, ‘straight from the Swinging Sixties when he topped the charts with his group, The Downtown Puggles – Florian Pickavance!’

  The hall erupted with cheers and whistles and applause. Posy leaned across to Lola. ‘Who the hell is he? You must know, he’s your era.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I’ve never heard of him or his damn Downbeat Puddles. I was hoping for Wayne Fontana.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Florian Pickavance, all wrinkly in leather and lurex, waved at his besotted audience before making his way gingerly towards the judges table.

  ‘Next,’ the vicar yelled, ‘our famous model girl, and I’m sure you’ll all recognize her from the corsetry pages of the home-shopping catalogues – Valerie Smith!’

  Valerie Smith, plump and mumsy, got almost as rapturous a welcome as Florian. Posy could have sworn she’d once worked in the butcher’s shop in Fritton Magna. Valerie’s journey to her seat was slightly more steady than Florian’s and earned her an extra clap.

  ‘And finally, last but not least, champion goal scorer from the Ernest Hubble Berks, Bucks and Oxon Amateur Football League – Morton Titterton!’

  The cheers rocked the rafters.

  ‘Are you crying?’ Posy looked accusingly at Lola.

  Lola, chewing her lips, shook her head.

  ‘Blame swizz!’ Glad spat. ‘Never ’eard of none of ’em!’

  ‘Alcohol. I need alcohol,’ Lola muttered. ‘And quickly.’

  Stumbling on feet all over again, they fought their way through the Fritton throng. Ray Conniff’s Dansette music had changed to ‘Girl From Ipanema’, which was rather silly in such a crowded space as several people were attempting to Lambada.

  Flynn, Ellis and Ritchie were very busy. Posy and Lola, with much eye contact, decided to split up and go for either end of the bar.

  ‘Oh, hi, Pose, you look lovely . . .’ Ritchie beamed at her. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Nothing. I want Flynn to serve me.’

  ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He swivelled his smile to the other end of the bar. ‘Hello, Lola. You look gorgeous. What can I get you?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks. I’ll wait for Ellis to serve me.’

  ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’ll wait.’

  Ritchie, looking mortified, shuffled back to his central position and served the coven instead. Posy had to admit, watching him and Flynn and Ellis in action, that they looked wonderful, and had got the art of squirting angostura bitters on to sugar cubes off to perfection.

  ‘Hi,’ Flynn eventually grinned at her. ‘You look knockout. What would you like?’

  ‘You,’ Posy smiled. ‘And a year’s supply of champagne cocktails and a big feather bed.’

  Flynn leaned over the bar and kissed her gently. ‘Sounds ace to me.’

  She touched his face. ‘Whe
re’s Vanessa tonight? I wouldn’t have thought she’d want to miss this.’

  ‘Oh, she isn’t.’ He straightened up. ‘She’s up there on the stage behind the curtain with the vicar. She’s entered the competition.’

  Posy was outraged. ‘She can’t do that!’

  ‘Sure she can. There was nothing in the rules to say you had to be a villager.’

  ‘There weren’t any rules at all, which is why there are some mighty odd contenders.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Flynn decanted champagne and brandy on to the soaked sugar cube. ‘God, I wish it wasn’t like this. She will go home, you know.’

  ‘So she keeps saying.’

  It was a rotten situation for Flynn, she understood that. He’d still been missing Vanessa so much when he’d first arrived in the village. They’d been together for so long. But her arrival could not have been more badly timed. How Flynn really felt about Vanessa now, though, was more of a mystery and one Posy wasn’t too sure that she wanted to unravel.

  She smiled at him. ‘At least we’re not in their shoes . . .’

  They both looked along the bar at Ellis and Lola who were pretending like mad to be disinterested, but obviously wanted to leap on one another.

  ‘Yeah,’ Flynn nodded. ‘That’s tough stuff. Oh . . . His eyes seemed to be fastened somewhere behind Posy’s left ear. ‘Jeeze!’

  Posy turned round. Jeeze, indeed. Vanessa had slipped out from behind the curtain and was making her way down the steps towards them. With her red hair scraped into a spiky topknot and sprayed with pink and silver highlights, a pink stretchy dress which just covered her from nipple to crotch, and silver stilettos, she brought the village hall to a silent standstill as she teetered towards the bar.

  ‘Hiya, guys,’ she beamed, it’s so hot under those lights and I’m so dry up there . . . Flynn, be an angel and pour me a drink. No, sorry, baby, make it two. Sonia wants one as well.’

  Angel? Baby? Then, ‘Sonia? Sonia? Posy managed to find her voice. ‘Sonia’s entered the competition? Why the hell isn’t she at home being a proper mother?’

  ‘My parents are baby-sitting for little Bradfield,’ Ritchie said cheerfully. ‘Sonia was so proud to have regained her figure so quickly that she wanted to show it off and –’

  Posy didn’t wait to hear any more about the Dalgetty domestic arrangements or Sonia’s figure. She hurtled past Vanessa and through the still open-mouthed villagers at the bar and grabbed Lola’s arm. ‘Come on! Quickly!’

  Lola who looked as though she wanted to clamp herself to Ellis forever, put up a bit of a fight. ‘Have you gone mad?’

  ‘Probably. Just come on!’

  After years of manhandling the BMW’s gears and brakes, Posy’s grip was too strong for Lola. She prised her away from the bar like a cork popping from a bottle.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Lola frowned, then saw Vanessa. ‘Christ!’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I’m going to enter the contest. There’s nothing in the rules that says people can’t enter at the last minute and –’

  ‘There aren’t any rules,’ Lola pointed out, ‘but why –?’

  ‘Because bloody Sonia’s entered, too, and –’

  ‘So have I . . .’ Tatty trilled from behind them. ‘Just this minute. The vicar’s wife said she’d kindly mind the kiddies and as I’m dressed for the occasion,’ she smoothed down the layers of frocks she was wearing – a sort of pale blue tutu over a navy blue silk nightie over a silver slip edged with beads and bells, ‘I thought I’d stand as good a chance as anyone.’

  Lola stared in disbelief. ‘But you’re pregnant!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but without having to parade in the swimwear, it doesn’t show, does it? There’s nothing in the rules to say you can’t be pregnant.’

  ‘There are no bloody rules!’ Posy and Lola howled together as they forced their way towards the stage.

  The vicar, perspiring happily under his Liberace jacket and sparkling beneath the spotlights, seemed more than willing to pocket their money and sign them up.

  ‘Be ready to parade in thirty minutes. Oh, and Ms Wentworth, you haven’t put your age on the form here.’

  ‘Guess,’ Lola said unhelpfully. ‘Can’t stop.’ She looked at Posy. ‘Now where are we going?’

  ‘To get dressed,’ Posy panted, nodding towards the Pinks. ‘Save our chairs, will you? We won’t be long.’

  ‘But we are dressed,’ Lola protested as Posy dragged her out of the hall.

  ‘Jeans and vest tops and fortunately a lot of slap, thank heavens. Nice clothes, but not drop-dead sexy or anywhere near glam enough. Gear Change will have everything we need.’

  Five minutes later, it did. Still giggling from the TJ Hookers, Posy eventually managed to unlock the door and find the light switch.

  ‘There! Cornucopia! Serendipity!! Pandora’s Box, or God knows, choose your own epithet.’

  ‘Not sure they’re epithets, actually,’ Lola said, rummaging through a pile of evening wear. ‘And what are we searching for exactly?’

  ‘Anything amazing that almost fits and that will knock spots off Sonia, Vanessa, and yes, even poor old Tatty.’ She looked at Lola. ‘Look, we started all this with absolutely nothing. From rock bottom. We’ve done all on our own – the businesses, the survival, the carnival, everything. We didn’t even need men to help us – well, not really, they just came as added extras. We owe it to ourselves to be upfront and brassy and brazen. Why should we be sitting there with all the oldies, while women who had sod all to do with any of it, take the spoils?’

  ‘I’m one of the oldies.’

  ‘What? Don’t be daft. I mean properly old like my mum. You’re drop-dead gorgeous – and you know it, so don’t fish for compliments. Now’, there’s some Prada and some really groovy chick stuff from Stella McCartney here somewhere.’

  ‘It’s only a carnival queen contest –’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Posy snatched up a handful of lace. ‘It’s far more than that. This carnival is the public culmination of all our private triumphs, and if you’re still insisting on leaving the village, at least you can do it with a bang. Now, grab this.’

  Lola grabbed.

  They made it back to the village hall with minutes to spare. Their progress had been slightly hampered by the two pairs of discarded Jimmy Choo mules which fitted neither of them but which Posy had claimed would make all the difference.

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Ellis, who was dumping empty crates outside the door, stopped in his tracks. ‘You can’t go in there wearing that! You’ll both be arrested!’

  ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ Posy smiled sweetly. ‘And I’ll be asking questions about the ankle bracelets later,’ she grinned at Lola. ‘They were from Ellis, I take it? Can’t see it being Wrinkly Nigel’s style somehow.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Lola groaned. ‘I’d forgotten they’d be on show. I’ve worn jeans and boots ever since . . . ever since ...’

  Ellis looked as if he was going to cry. ‘They were a birthday present.’ He touched Lola’s hand. ‘I’m so pleased that you’re still wearing them.’

  ‘I’ll be wearing them in my coffin,’ Lola said fiercely.

  She stared at Ellis for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed his mouth. ‘I love you, Ellis Blissit. You’ve changed my life – well, the bits that were left that needed an overhaul. And although we’ll never be together, I’ll always be grateful and I’ll always love you.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Posy sniffed. ‘Don’t do this. Not now. Our mascara’ll run. Let’s just get in there and knock ’em dead.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was very satisfying, Posy thought, as she sashayed into the village hall in Lola’s wake, to notice that everyone stopped and stared. With the jeans and vests of half an hour earlier dumped in favour of filmy, flimsy designer frocks and the Jimmy Choos, albeit second-hand, she reckoned that Steeple Fritton had probably never seen such a rapid makeover.

  ‘Hang on,’ Posy caught up
with Lola halfway across the hall and grabbed her hand. ‘Are you all right? Really?’

  Lola nodded. ‘I’m not going to cry in public if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ve perfected the art of private weeping over the years.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ Posy sighed. ‘You really, really do love Ellis, don’t you?’

  ‘Really, really, yes. The age difference might have been a problem, but somehow I doubt it. I honestly think it would have worked out.’ She shrugged, ‘I’ll never find out now though. It’s probably my punishment, all the ill-wishing of every cheated-on wife in the world being heaped upon my head.’

  ‘Crap. It’s just a combination of bloody Tatty Spry and her sodding non-stop breeding agenda being added to blokes not being able to say no when it’s offered on a G-string-garnished plate.’

  ‘Maybe. For me and Ellis though, I think you can add extremely bad timing.’

  Posy indicated the ankle bracelets. ‘So Ellis gave you those before, before –’

  ‘Before either of us knew about the new Tatty progeny, yes.’

  ‘They are so cool. A really sexy present, and something no one else would have ever thought of. Oh, what a buggering mess all this is.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Posy wrinkled her nose. ‘But didn’t Ellis just say the anklets were for your birthday? I didn’t even know you’d had a birthday.’

  ‘I’ve had fifty birthdays,’ Lola hissed. ‘The most recent one was a few weeks ago. The day of the first karaoke session, when I went into Oxford and did all my shopping and everything.’

  ‘Aaah, sweet.’ Posy smiled. ‘And Ellis was with you and, and, that’s when it happened? You and him? The falling in love?’

  Lola started to walk towards the stage. ‘It had probably been happening before then, but that’s when I realized, yes. More fool me. He said he already knew.’

  ‘Aaah,’ Posy beamed again, then stopped. As the love affair was now over, it probably wasn’t the best time to go starry-eyed. ‘But – fifty? You’ve had fifty birthdays? You can’t be fifty! That means you’re older than my mum, and you look half her age. Blimey, maybe being a mistress has its advantages. I’ll have to mention it to her as an alternative to HRT.’