‘I’ve got to go, too,’ said Tamsin, breaking away from them. ‘Something’s come up in one of my cases. Bloody law!’ she added, with an apologetic grin, and went off, striding behind Steve into the manor house, where he smilingly held the door open for her. Wendy looked both lovelorn and jealous.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ Sal said, as they reached the Upper Lawn. ‘Going to this party. If I had a mirror on me I’d show you your face, Wendy, and you’d know what I mean.’
‘Yes,’ JoJo said, trying to take Wendy’s arm. ‘I agree. This is getting way too dangerous for you, Wendy.’
Wendy pouted sulkily and extracted her arm from JoJo’s. JoJo imagined that if Wendy thought she’d get away with it, she’d shake her curls and stamp her foot on the floor in the manner of Veruca Salt’s ‘I want a pony, Daddy!’
‘A party though,’ said Rose. ‘A party at the lake house. I haven’t been to a party for donkey’s years,’ she added wistfully.
‘I’m not sure we can risk it,’ insisted JoJo. She knew she was being all straight-laced and sensible, but it was surely the right thing to do? ‘We all know what Wendy said last night – don’t look so churlish, Wendy, you know what you said – that you’re confused, that you’re attracted to him, that you’re even thinking about cancelling the bloody wedding! You’re getting married in a week’s time! Less than a week. A party with Steve Marsden – with alcohol, with music, with temptation – is not a good idea. We’re not going.’ She took Wendy’s arm again and leant into her. ‘We have dinner,’ she said decisively and (pleasingly) a little bit like a Mafia boss. ‘We go to bed. We stay away from the lake.’
‘Good plan. I’m not sure I could stay awake for it, anyway,’ said Sal, yawning. ‘I’m knackered and we’ve still got that bloody rafting to get through first.’
‘I want to go,’ said Rose quietly. ‘I want to go to the party.’
‘So do I!’ declared Wendy. ‘This is my hen do, after all. A hen do should involve at least one night of drinking and dancing, shouldn’t it?’ She wrenched herself free of JoJo again. ‘And you know how much I love it – dancing is my thing. I’m not going to cancel the wedding – of course I’m not! – and I promise I’ll behave myself and keep away from Steve. ‘What?’ she said, noting their looks of disbelief. ‘I’m marrying Frederick, aren’t I? I would be stupid to go there with Steve. I love Frederick.’
‘You mean it?’ said JoJo.
‘I do,’ said Wendy. ‘I love Frederick. And Steve left and never called me again, after all.’
Sal and JoJo looked at each other.
‘It’s just a party,’ said Rose. ‘Don’t be dull! Please let’s go to the party.’
‘What do you think, JoJo?’ asked Sal.
‘I did cock up and book the wrong package.’ JoJo shrugged. ‘So perhaps I should agree to us going, to make some sort of amends. And I really don’t want to be accused of being dull.’ Is that what she had turned into in recent years? Dull? Had all work and no play made JoJo a very dull woman, in the eyes of those around her?
‘OK,’ said Sal, with a big sigh. ‘We’ll go to the party. But we stick together. I mean it,’ she said, pointing her finger and doffing it at them in turn. ‘And you need to stay in everyone’s sights at all times, Wendy. Stay where we can see you.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Wendy with a cheeky grin.
‘Good,’ said Sal. ‘Yes, Mum, indeed. I shall be watching you very carefully.’
Chapter Twelve
Sal
Rafting. It wasn’t a word Sal had paid much attention to in life. It wasn’t an activity she’d ever contemplated. It was a concept, as a whole, she knew nothing about whatsoever. She’d never had any desire to stuff herself into a giant, inflatable dinghy and sail around a lake in it with four other women (who, strangely, looked far more up for it than she did), yet that, apparently, was exactly what she was about to do. A royal blue dinghy, complete with oars sticking out at right angles, was tethered to a post at the side of the lake and they were standing by it being handed life jackets by a man called Robin – an enthusiastic sixty-something with a Father Christmas beard and the belly to match.
‘At least it’s not white water,’ commented JoJo, as she did up the zip of her jacket.
‘Thanks heavens for small mercies.’ Sal scowled, slipping on a bright yellow one and squeezing her stomach into it so she could do it up; she was almost giving Robin a run for his money on the belly stakes. ‘I’m so not up for this!’
‘How are you feeling? Are you still tired?’
‘Yeah,’ Sal replied. ‘I feel a bit rough, like I’m coming down with something. I’ll be all right though. I’ll push on through.’
‘You could always sit out,’ said JoJo, frowning.
‘When have I ever sat out?’ retorted Sal. ‘I’m doing it. I might not be the full Swallows and Amazons package, complete with tally-hoes and jolly japes, but I’m doing it.’
‘OK,’ said JoJo, ‘if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. Now help me get this zip to the top – one of my boobs is stuck.’
Wendy, Rose and Tamsin were already sitting in the dinghy. It had rows of plastic seats flanked across it, no seat belts. Tamsin had told them over lunch she’d done this a few times before, as a kid, and was really looking forward to it. She liked being out on the water, she said.
‘You’re quite sporty, aren’t you, on the quiet?’ Wendy had commented, as they’d walked down to the lake.
‘I used to be,’ admitted Tamsin. ‘I used to have a life!’
‘Just like you, JoJo,’ teased Sal.
JoJo had grinned. ‘Oh, stop it!’ she said.
They were back in the gym knickers and t- shirts again, having aired them in their rooms after yoga, and they’d had to endure the complete humiliation of a photographer with a fake Cockney accent and a sheepskin car coat turning up and making them pose for a series of shots by the lake before Robin arrived. There had been the one where they had to stand in a row with their thumbs up, trying to look cheerful; the one where they had to line up on the grass and get into a push-up position, facing the camera – easier said than done, when you have the upper-body strength of a newt; and the excruciating ‘jogging’ shot, all to a backdrop of a David Bailey-style rasping of ‘That’s it, girls’, ‘Stick those chests out, ladies!’ (he nearly got a slap for that one – in the face, from a bouncing chest) and the ubiquitous ‘Work it!’
The final set-up, where they had to perform a star jump in unison on the bridge, had nearly finished Sal off – her pelvic floor had virtually collapsed in on itself – and she was doubtful any of those particular shots would be making it into The Retreat’s glossy brochure any time soon.
She did feel awful, actually, notably since Mind Gymnastics. When she got home tomorrow she’d stock up on cold and flu remedies and see if she couldn’t blast whatever lurgy she was getting away. She could also take herself to bed, which might be nice, especially if Niall wanted to come with her . . . He was a little bit in love with her, he’d said. Sal hugged this delicious piece of information to her like a second life jacket as she got unsteadily in the dinghy and took a seat.
‘There she blows!’ cried Robin, once they were all aboard, and he layered it with a gusty ‘Ship ahoy!’ as he pushed them away from the edge of the lake. Oh, he was full of the old sea-faring expressions, was Robin. He’d already muttered ‘Splice the main brace!’ and ‘Shiver me timbers, me old salt!’ several times.
‘Keep away from the reeds at the edges of the lake!’ he shouted, as they found themselves fully lake-borne. ‘Perils on the high sea, they are.’
Sal wasn’t quite sure how serious that was, but decided it was advice she would take. If any of the group was a confirmed landlubber, it was her.
‘So where are we actually going?’ she asked the others.
‘Just under the bridge and over to the other side,’ said JoJo, shrugging. They weren’t act
ually going anywhere, at the moment; they were just sort of bobbing.
‘It’s quite a long way,’ said Rose. ‘And we have to come back again.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Tamsin. ‘It’ll be fun.’ Sal realised she was grinning from ear and ear and looked quite excited – she did like being out on the water. ‘And I’ll help everyone where I can. Shall we pick up our oars then, everyone, and start rowing?’
Sal grabbed the oar to the right of her and dipped it tentatively in the water; she hadn’t a clue what to do with it, so she studied Tamsin who was already efficiently powering hers through the water, her thumb over the end of it. Sal tried to follow suit.
‘I don’t think we’re quite all in time!’ laughed Rose. They really weren’t; they were all over the place – the dinghy resembled a frustrated beetle trapped on its back, its legs going everywhere.
‘Let’s do it on a count,’ suggested Tamsin. ‘Every time I get to three, you make a stroke. One, two, three!’
It seemed to work; they were actually going somewhere now. They started crossing the lake quite steadily. Over to their right, Sal could now see quite a bit of activity going on at the lake house: the party was being prepared for in earnest. Staff in black uniforms were carrying trays of various things in and out; workmen were stringing up fairy lights under the gables of the roof; a trolley groaning under the weight of piles of folded table linen was being trundled on castors up to the door. And Sal could just about make out Steve, beyond the main doorway, directing the traffic of people and trays and trolleys in what she guessed was an officious but charming manner. She looked across to Wendy, sitting on the other side of the dinghy to her, to see if she’d noticed him, but luckily Wendy was focusing hard on her rowing, her tongue slightly out in concentration, her hair all wild and dishevelled in the breeze.
They continued – slowly and doggedly – across the lake; they’d just gone under the bridge. Robin, back on shore, was giving them encouraging thumbs-ups and shouting things like ‘All hands on deck!’ and ‘Shake a leg, seadogs!’
‘All right, everyone?’ called Tamsin, over her right shoulder. She was sitting on the shortest bench, at the front, by herself and looked so happy. ‘Listen, there’s a breeze picking up now and we’re listing slightly to one side. Have a look.’ Sal looked; yes, they were a bit. ‘So, Rose and Wendy, you need to go a little harder.’ Wendy and Rose were both on the left of their bench seats, their paddles flying rather haphazardly. They attempted to pick up the pace. ‘That’s it!’ Tamsin cried. ‘Well done!’ She was great in this leadership role.
Uh-oh. Wendy had spotted Steve. Her paddle, pivoted in its metal oarlock and only two seconds ago going like the clappers, was poised mid-air with water dripping off it into the lake and she was staring at Steve where he stood in front of the lake house. He was waving at her with one hand and signalling the action of swigging from a bottle with the other. Wendy’s face was one of delight and rapture. She laughed like a love-struck teenager and took one hand off her oar to wave cheerfully back at him. Oh dear, thought Sal. No one else seemed to have noticed, but she was extremely worried: the way things were going, it could easily get out of hand with these two. This party tonight would be an absolute minefield, she could tell, except the mines weren’t hidden but in plain sight.
Steve was now being silly, waving with two hands, like he was doing a rubbish SOS. Wasn’t the man supposed to be the boss here? He was making a right fool of himself! Wendy inexplicably decided to mirror him and started doing the same, taking her right hand off her paddle. The paddle drooped precariously in its ring, and before Sal could shout, she helplessly watched it quickly and casually slip out of the oarlock and out of view.
‘Wendy!’ shouted Sal. ‘Your paddle!’
The others all looked up from their rowing efforts.
‘Oops,’ cried Wendy. She lifted her bottom from her seat and leant over the side of the dinghy to try to retrieve it. The dinghy veered further to the left, but the oar was slipping away faster. ‘I’m sure I can get it,’ Wendy said. ‘Sorry, everyone!’
Wendy stretched as far as she could manage, in her constrictive life jacket, but failed to reach the paddle. It drifted off further to the left. Sal could see it now, bobbing merrily away from them, and heading towards the side of the lake.
‘Sorry!’ repeated Wendy, looking highly embarrassed. ‘What an idiot!’
‘Paddle left!’ instructed Tamsin. ‘Let’s grab this sucker then we can continue on our way. And don’t worry, Wendy, we’ve all done silly stuff like this involving water. I once reversed my 2CV into an ornamental pond!’
‘A 2CV?’ said Sal, as they rowed left, thinking back to that ugly car which resembled a giant bug – lots of students had them at Warwick. ‘I can’t imagine you driving one of those!’
‘As a teenager,’ replied Tamsin, paddling hard, her toned arms powering impressively. ‘We had to save for our own cars. Frederick had a clapped-out Ford Capri you could only start by banging on the bonnet with a hammer!’ She stopped rowing for a second as her face broke into a broad beaming smile at the memory then she laughed, really, really laughed.
‘You look so much like Frederick,’ said Wendy.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ replied Tamsin, still grinning madly. ‘Right, we’re close enough now. Try and grab the oar, Wendy.’
They were dangerously close to those reeds now, Sal realised; they’d come so far left they were almost at the edge of the lake. What had Robin called them . . . ‘perils’? and they did look menacing – sinister tendrils of reeds were already snaking towards them in the water. Sal looked around for Robin, but he had left his nautical hollering station at the side of the lake and was now over talking to Steve in the doorway of the lake house, with his back to them.
Wendy leant right over the edge of the dinghy.
‘Careful,’ warned Sal, ‘or you’ll be straight in the drink!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Wendy. ‘I’m hardly going to fall in, am I? I’m perfectly secure . . . I . . . aaaaaagh!’ Accompanied by a gargling screech, Wendy tumbled over the side of the dinghy and fell in the water with an almighty splash.
‘What the . . .? I don’t believe this!’ yelled Sal, getting up.
‘Don’t stand up,’ shouted Tamsin, ‘or you might tip us all in the lake! Wendy! Grab the side of the boat and we’ll pull you back in.’
Wendy was coughing and spluttering and flapping her arms about; she’d obviously managed to swallow a load of water on her descent. The others all completely ignored Tamsin’s advice and scooted to the left of the dinghy, as best they could without the whole thing capsizing, and held out their arms to her.
‘Come on, Wendy,’ entreated Rose. ‘Just swim to the side of the boat and we’ll grab you.’ Wendy was further away from them now; still flapping, she was drifting right into the snaky reeds.
‘Come on, Wendy!’ echoed Sal. ‘What are you playing at?’
Wendy wasn’t drifting now. She was just kind of bobbing up and down, in one place.
‘I’m stuck!’ she wailed. ‘My sodding foot’s stuck in something and I can’t get it out!’
‘Oh for God’s sake!’ cried Sal. ‘Can’t we get closer to her, Tamsin, and just heave her out?’
‘Not if her foot’s caught in reeds.’ Tamsin frowned. She was standing up herself now and peering over the edge. ‘How can we?’
‘Can you move your foot at all?’ yelled JoJo.
‘No!’ wailed Wendy. ‘I really can’t.’
‘Right!’ said Sal. She lurched to the middle of the vessel and started shouting.
‘Help! Help! For Pete’s sake, we need some help over here! Robin! Steve! Anyone! HELP!’
Robin and Steve, currently laughing at something apparently funny enough to have completely distracted them from the fact that several ladies were suffering nautical distress on a hazardous stretch of water, both looked up.
‘Mayday!’ s
houted Sal. ‘Bloody MAYDAY!’
Robin and Steve both ran, Steve much faster than Robin, who was hindered by his Santa belly and could barely manage more than a stumbling jog. Steve hurtled round the lake like the Bionic Man and arrived at the scene barely out of breath.
‘My leg’s stuck!’ called out Wendy. ‘I can’t get out.’
‘I’m coming in!’ announced Steve, and far more dramatically than the situation called for – Wendy was hardly on the brink of going to a watery grave and was wearing a life jacket, after all – stripped off his suit jacket to reveal a blue chambray shirt and a pair of quite rippling biceps, and dived cleanly in the lake, barely causing a splash. He must have arrived somewhere beneath Wendy, for her mouth suddenly snapped wide open and her eyes went out on stalks.
‘What’s he doing?’ cried Rose.
‘Untying her, one would hope,’ said JoJo and they watched as the water surrounding Wendy rippled and churned and then, finally, after a pause that was getting a little too long, quite frankly, Steve emerged from the surface, his curls plastered to his head and one fist gripping a long tangle of reeds.
‘Got the bugger!’ he exclaimed, looking highly pleased with himself. ‘Nothing a bit of man muscle couldn’t sort! You’re free, Wendy,’ he said triumphantly and, grabbing her around the waist like he was the Man from Atlantis, he transported her expertly to the side of the dinghy.
Sal shook her head in dismay; Wendy looked like she was enjoying those few strokes a bit too much. She had a look of Rose from Titanic about her and clung on to Steve as though he were Jack Dawson – or at least that infamous floating door. As they approached the side of the dinghy, she closed her eyes and tossed back her head, allowing her sopping wet curls to fan romantically behind her in the water. As her hero heaved her back on-board, she looked positively damsel-in-distress.
‘Thank you, thank you, Steve,’ she gushed in a heap at the bottom of the craft, her curls now all over her face and her lips parted and breathy. ‘You saved my life!’
‘Oh, come on,’ muttered Sal, pulling her upright and resisting the urge to give her face a bit of a slap, ‘he didn’t save your life! You were hardly going to die out there. It wasn’t The Perfect Storm!’
Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year! Page 16
