by Fern Britton
The strange thing was, Ollie was really loving Hats Off, Trevay! The comedy, the schmaltz, the people who paid hard-earned cash to be entertained. The kids at the stage door with their scruffy bits of paper and a dried-up biro, wanting an autograph and a photo. It made their holiday. It wasn’t Shakespeare or Beckett or even Alan Ayckbourn, but it was fun and he had made some good friends. He truly valued Brooke and Jess – and Jonathan too, although he didn’t know him so well. Actors had to fall into comradeships quickly. Their lives were made up of relationships that were intense, utterly revealing and brief. One day you were bosom buddies then the final curtain came down and you might never see those people again. A travelling band of minstrels, all too many of whom were morally incontinent. Bloody Ryan Hearst. How dare he hurt Jess! Ryan had known all along he was bad news. What a bastard. Where would that prick be without Jess? She had supported him and trusted him, and he couldn’t even summon the decency to let her down gently. Poor cow.
He hoped she was sleeping peacefully. As he turned his pillow and plumped it up, he vowed to keep an eye on her.
*
Jess’s bed was too big. She wished she had Ethel and Elsie with her, to squash her up a bit. And to offer her some distraction. She couldn’t stop torturing herself with thoughts of Ryan and sodding Serena. What time would it be in LA now? Mid afternoon? It would be warm and they’d be stretched out on a double sunbed, holding hands and rubbing sun cream into each other’s backs. OK, they couldn’t be holding hands and rubbing sun cream into each other, but they’d be together. Jess found the sorest spot in her mental anguish and started to press it hard. It would be so hot in the sun, that they’d dive into the pool, Serena creating barely a splash, and Ryan would caress her flawless body under the water, pulling off her bikini bottoms. She would squeal and be mock shocked but he would grab her and make love to her and …
Jess sat up in bed. She needed a drink. The minibar was well stocked but the bottles were too small. She wanted a big bottle of wine. No, champagne. And she needed someone to drink it with. She thought about phoning Brooke and asking her to get in a car and bring the dogs too, but it was late and Brooke would be asleep by now. Who could she ring? Her heart leapt painfully as she thought about Ryan again. No. She wasn’t going to ring him. Not if he was the last person on earth. She’d ring … Ollie. Of course. He was only next door. She rang room service and ordered a bottle of really expensive champagne and asked to be put through to Mr Pinkerton’s room.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Hello?’
‘Ollie. It’s me. I can’t sleep and I wondered … if you’re awake, would you like to share a bottle of fizz with me?’
‘As a matter of fact, that sounds just the ticket. I should love to. Is it a pyjama party?’
‘Most definitely.’
‘Give me two minutes.’
*
Jess made the most of her two minutes. Brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth. Wondered why. Then rubbed some of the complimentary body lotion into her legs and arms in lieu of perfume.
There was a knock on the door. It was the waiter. He pushed over the threshold a trolley holding a bottle of champagne which was rattling in an ice bucket. Two glasses were chilled and dewy. There was also a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches and a bowl of crisps. ‘Compliments of the kitchen.’
As the waiter took his leave, Ollie slipped into the room. Freshly shaved and minty breathed.
‘Hi,’ he said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.
‘Hey,’ said Jess. ‘This seemed like a good idea five minutes ago. If you’ve changed your mind, it doesn’t matter.’
‘No. It’s a great idea. Shall I open the champagne?’
‘Yes please.’ Jess pointed to the sandwiches and crisps. ‘And please don’t think I ordered these too. They’re compliments of the Starfish, apparently. Might give me heartburn this late.’
The champagne cork popped softly in Ollie’s hand and he deftly poured the foaming liquid into a glass and passed it to Jess before pouring his own. ‘Well, I’m willing to risk one.’ He picked up one of the tiny triangles and munched. ‘It’s delicious – and no bad effects yet.’
‘Ryan hates smoked salmon.’
‘He’s a prat.’
‘Says it repeats on him.’
‘How romantic. Now stop talking about him and eat one of these babies before I scoff the lot.’
Jess ate two and had a top-up of champagne.
‘Shall we watch a movie? There must be some old black-and-white thing on TCM surely?’ asked Ollie.
‘I can’t remember how you turned it on.’
‘God, women are pathetic.’ He shook his head in mock exasperation. He found the remote and eventually found TCM. ‘Do you like Bette Davis?’
‘Of course.’
‘How do you fancy Now Voyager?’
‘Oh wow! Is it on? I love that movie.’
Ollie made himself comfortable on top of the covers of the enormous bed. ‘Come on, we’ll watch it together – and bring the bottle and the crisps with you.’
They sat up next to each other, quite relaxed, as the movie played and the bottle got emptier. When the film came to the end they spoke in unison with Bette Davis as she said the immortal line, ‘… Oh Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.’
Ollie turned the volume down and looked at Jess intently. ‘Do you think we could have the stars?’
‘I think maybe it’s late and that’s the champagne talking.’
‘Maybe. But I’d like to kiss you.’
‘That’s definitely the champagne talking.’
‘No. It’s me, honest.’
‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t kiss properly when I’m laughing.’
38
It had been decided that the annual village fête, due the Sunday after next, would have a theatrical theme.
Pendruggan pulled out all its stops. Side shows included a hoopla stall called LORD OF THE RINGS, a baby shower tent called MAMMA MIA and, Penny’s particular favourite, a horse-betting game called STRICTLY COME PRANCING. Other attractions included old favourites such as bowl for a pig and guess the weight of the vicar.
This year the celebrity fête openers would be the cast of Hats Off, Trevay!
The morning dawned warm and bright. Penny was in her bedroom at the vicarage, stepping into a nifty little Cavalla dress from last year. ‘Zip me up, would you, darling?’ she asked Simon.
It turned out he had to put in quite a bit of effort tugging at the fabric to make the fastener pull up over her bust.
Penny was annoyed. ‘Bloody thing must have shrunk at the cleaners.’
Simon agreed, tutting at the poor standards these days, although privately he thought his wife had put on a bit of weight recently.
‘Does it look too tight?’ Penny asked him.
‘No. It looks perfect, and so do you.’ He asked God’s forgiveness for this tiny white lie.
Across the village green at Gull’s Cry, Helen was gathering up her purse and the dogs. She had three today: Ethel, Elsie and Jack, Piran’s terrier. His master had gone on ahead to help Simon with the BBQ and the tea and beer tent.
Ollie’s MG had its top off today and was growling its way to Pendruggan through the lanes. Jess couldn’t remember when she had last felt so relaxed. With Ryan she had always been slightly on edge, never quite knowing whether she had pleased him or pissed him off. Ollie was so much easier. He had barely left her side since the night of champagne and salmon and Bette Davis.
The next morning they had woken up with crisps in the bed but no other discomfort. No heavy discussions. No need to spell things out. They were together and that was that.
When they went to work that night, Ollie had insisted that they walk into the theatre together. He held her hand while they made their coffees in the green room and he kissed her lips when she went to get ready. All this was witnessed by their colleagues and unive
rsally, tacitly, happily blessed. Well. Almost.
While Jess was alone in her dressing room, she received a visit from Jonathan.
‘What’s going on with you and Ollie?’ he asked, covering up the hurt in his voice with an accusatory tone.
‘What’s the problem? We’re two consenting adults. I didn’t think we needed to ask permission.’
‘You’ve just gone through a really painful break-up. You’re not ready.’
‘Says who?’
‘A decent man would have given you a bit of space before moving in on you. Ollie is way too insecure to give you what you need. You need someone more solid. Besides, if something goes wrong, it could be very bad for the production.’
‘Well, if that happens, feel free to come to my dressing room and give me a bollocking. Right now, I’m busy – curtain call’s in ten minutes.’
When she heard, Brooke was surprised: ‘I’d never have put you two together, but now I see it … it’s just right.’
Jess had hugged her and thanked her and then asked about Louis. Ollie had told her the news.
Brooke was upset but sanguine. ‘He rang this morning, which was sweet of him. He couldn’t talk for long. The family firm have decided that he’s had his fun in the real world but now they want him to face up to who he is. He’s jacking in the photo journalism. He’s jacking me in. Now the castle gates are clanging behind him.’
‘Poor guy. What a future,’ sighed Jess.
‘Yeah, but look at the positives: endless opportunities, flunkies, gorgeous, suitable princesses throwing themselves at him …’
‘You gave him more fun than any old princess ever would.’
Brooke smiled ruefully. ‘I hope so … Anyway, cheers to Prince Louis!’ She raised her mug of tea. ‘And up yours, Ryan!’ She raised her mug again.
Jess couldn’t help but laugh.
*
And now she was looking at Ollie’s dear profile as he concentrated on driving. His left hand reached for the gear stick as he took a narrow corner and then searched for her thigh, which he gently squeezed. ‘You OK?’ he asked.
Her hair was blowing on her face and as she reached up to grab it into a ponytail she nodded to him, her smiling eyes letting him know the answer.
The village had turned out in force and Jess, Brooke, Ollie and Colonel Stick were treated like stars.
Jonathan had kept things on a strictly business footing with Jess and Ollie since he’d found out, but even so he took pride in standing back and watching his cast charm everyone that Penny and Helen introduced them to.
Brooke had been in the village long enough to have met most of the locals already, and thanks to the time they’d spent rehearsing in the church hall while fire-damage to the Pavilions was repaired, the rest of the cast had encountered Mrs Audrey Tipton and were doing their best to steer well clear of her. Both she and Mr Audrey Tipton were easy to spot in their matching red sailing trousers and Guernsey jumpers; in Geoffrey’s case this ensemble had been accessorised with a jaunty sailing cap, three sizes too small, balanced on his wiry grey hair.
Queenie, the old village shopkeeper, was another familiar face as a result of her volunteer work in the box office, but the cast had never seen her in her off-duty attire: a full-skirted original 1950s sundress and white peep-toe stilettos. Though she was wobbling a bit on the precarious heels, it didn’t seem to be preventing her doing a brisk trade on her Cornish pasty stall.
At the stall next to hers, Tony Brown – or Simple Tony as he was affectionately known to the locals, many of whom relied on his green-fingered expertise in their own gardens and vegetable plots – was selling tomato plants and runner beans.
Psychic Polly came out of her tent just as Penny and her retinue were walking by.
‘Ask me your future and I shall show you the way,’ said Polly, making the delegation laugh. ‘Come on, Colonel – I see a golden future for you. Cross my palm and I’ll tell you more.’
‘That’s awfully sweet of you, Polly, but not my cup of tea, you know. Better for the ladies, I think. How about young Brooke here?’
Brooke was eager to give it a go and followed Polly into the candy-striped tent while the others moved on.
‘Sit down, my dear,’ said Polly kindly. ‘Crystal, palm or cards – which do you fancy?’
Brooke stuck out her hands. ‘Palms, please.’
*
‘And to judge the dogs in fancy dress contest, would you please welcome our very own Colonel Walter Irvine!’ Mr Audrey Tipton had not let go of the microphone all afternoon and had no plans to do so in the foreseeable future. Without waiting for the applause to die down, he began booming over the PA system: ‘Dogs and owners to the centre of the show ring, if you please.’
The show ring was a small affair but big enough for the four dogs and humans who assembled there. There was a pug dressed as Rhett Butler, a spaniel as Cameron Diaz in There’s Something about Mary, a black Labrador as Will Smith and finally, an arthritic greyhound as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
The Colonel made a good show of talking at length to each dog and owner about their choices and costumes. Just as he was getting to Audrey Hepburn there was a small flurry by the microphone and Mr Audrey Tipton made a fresh announcement:
‘This is most irregular, but as a gesture of goodwill I am accepting three late entrants to the competition. You may enter the ring!’
Helen and Piran then walked in with Ethel and Elsie dressed as Hats Off, Trevay! chorus girls, and Jack as Colonel Stick. The crowd roared with laughter. Rhett Butler immediately trotted off to mount Ethel, who sat down very firmly. Jack barked furiously, his straw boater falling fetchingly over his left ear. Rhett sloped back to his embarrassed owner.
Colonel Irvine continued his judging with enormous dignity and after a short deliberation gave the prize of a huge bone to Will Smith.
All dogs got runner-up bags of treats and Jack made sure he shared his with Elsie, for whom he had a soft spot.
The actors were loath to tear themselves away, but the time had come for them to return to the theatre. By this time the real fun was just beginning. The beer tent was heaving, the local boys got some guitars together and started an impromptu gig, and Penny went to have her fortune told, just for a bit of fun, by Polly.
*
Since Jess and Ollie had got together they had split their time between sleeping at Granny’s Nook and the Starfish. Brooke loved having them around, but it was getting a little tiresome never knowing when she’d have the place to herself so that she could lie in the bath with a face pack on, or walk around naked without worrying about anyone barging in on her.
She’d been waiting and waiting for the right moment to broach the topic with Jess, but now she’d reached the point where it couldn’t be put off any longer. As she stepped out of her final costume she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone, ‘Are you coming home tonight, Jessie?’
‘I’m not sure. Depends on how tired Ollie is. Why?’
‘I’d just like to know so that I can do things I need to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘You know … just things. Things it’s good to do on your own.’
‘I didn’t know you needed to do things on your own.’
‘Not major things. Just stuff that … hey, let’s not get into an argument.’
‘We’re not having an argument.’ Jess brushed her hair just a little too vigorously. ‘Maybe I’ve been insensitive. Is it difficult seeing Ollie and me together when you’re …’
Brooke pursed her lips. ‘When I’m single?’
‘No. I just mean … I’m sorry if I’ve been so wrapped up in my own happiness that I haven’t taken your feelings into consideration.’
Brooke started to pull on her jeans. ‘All I’m saying is, it’s nice to know when I have the cottage to myself so that if I feel like burping loudly, I can. That’s all.’ She yanked the zip of her jeans up huffily.
‘All right,’ said Jess, m
ystified that this silly tiff had come from nowhere. ‘I’ll stay with Ollie tonight and you can have some burping space.’
‘Good. Thanks.’
‘And tomorrow we’ll go through diaries and fix nights I’m there and nights I’m not.’
‘Right.’ Brooke picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. ‘See you tomorrow night then.’
‘Oh, I was thinking I might come back tomorrow to do some laundry.’
‘OK. But let me know, would you?’
‘Sure. I’ll call you.’
‘Thanks. Night.’ And Brooke walked out, closing the dressing door just a little too loudly.
‘Night,’ said Jess.
‘Maybe she’s premenstrual,’ said Ollie. They were sharing a bath at the hotel and Ollie had gallantly taken the tap end. ‘Or not getting enough how’s your father.’ He took a swig of his ice-cold gin and tonic.
Jess was not amused. ‘How very New Man of you. Why do men always think that if a woman is upset it’s something to do with her womb?’
‘Eugh. Please. I hate that kind of talk.’
‘Womb. Womb. Womb. Period.’ With each word she flicked soapsuds at him. He at least had the grace to laugh.
‘Brooke will be fine. She’s had a tough year. Remember all the trouble she had with losing the Café Au Lait contract and being dumped by Bob the rugger bugger. Now she’s lost the RB …’
‘RB?’
‘Royal Boyfriend.’
Jess took a deep glug of her gin and tonic. ‘You’re right. I haven’t been a very good friend to her, have I?’
Ollie’s mobile phone started to ring in the bedroom.
‘You’ve been a brilliant friend.’ He heaved himself out of the steaming water, leaving it to lap over Jess’s chin. She watched him wrap a towel around his gorgeous physique before he set off to answer the call.
‘He-llo?’
Jess listened, wondering who would phone him this late. She hoped it wasn’t something wrong with his mother.
‘Where are you?’
The urgent tone of his voice sent anxiety coursing down her spine.
‘No! Don’t come up. Give me five minutes and I’ll come down … I’m in the bath … just wait where you are …’
