She imagined the party going on outside. Was everybody talking about her now? Were they waiting for her to come back out of the loo so they could all have a proper laugh at the forty-five-year-old mum of one (and owner of a fat dog) who thought she had a chance with a thirty-year-old chef who looked like Luke Evans off Beauty and The Beast?
Liz groaned again. Could her life get any worse?
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was a full fifteen minutes before Liz came out of the loos. When she did, Alex was waiting for her. He pulled her to one side with admirable discretion.
‘Are you OK, Liz?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to sit down somewhere and talk? Have a cup of tea?’
‘Oh no,’ she said, trying to keep it breezy. ‘I didn’t realise how late it is until I checked the messages on my phone. I’m just going to call a taxi and go home.’
‘Have you got a taxi number?’ Alex asked.
‘On my phone,’ she assured him.
‘Well, if you’re sure. If you can’t get one then I’ve got a card here.’ He pulled a local taxi firm’s card from his pocket.
‘I like to use the people I know,’ she said.
She couldn’t face saying goodbye to John properly so she just waved to him from across the room and kept on walking when it looked as though he wanted to say something. Thank goodness Bella was already gone. She did, however, pause briefly by the buffet table. It was still heaving with food. Alex had over-catered and she was suddenly ravenous. Feeling embarrassed was definitely one of Liz’s food triggers. She picked up a piece of bread, which she stuffed into her mouth, and a whole plate of charcuterie, which was still covered in cling film. If that was going to waste, then she and Ted might as well have it.
Liz felt much more sober when she stepped outside and the chilly breeze coming in across the sea hit her full in the face.
‘Oh woe,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I made a complete and utter tit of myself. I’m never ever, ever, ever drinking again.’
She dialled the taxi number she had stored in her phone.
‘It’s going to be at least an hour,’ the controller said.
‘Ah never mind,’ said Liz. It was way too cold to wait outside the community centre for an hour and Liz couldn’t face going back inside. She decided that she should walk. It might help to stave off the hangover that was doubtless already on its way. It would also save her money and it wouldn’t take long.
Especially if she took her stupid shoes off.
Liz’s route home from the community centre took her right down to the sea front. When she got to the promenade, she turned west towards the big hotels, the biggest of which was The Majestic, where her nephew’s eighteenth birthday celebration was being held.
The party was still in full swing when Liz got there. She stood outside, looking up at the windows of the ballroom, feeling like a Victorian urchin shut out of a fabulous dinner. Despite the fact that she had her own charcuterie plate if she really needed a snack.
Of course, it made her sad. When the plans for Eric’s big birthday party were first mooted, some eighteen months earlier, Liz had most definitely been on the guest list. She’d helped Kerry to narrow down the possible venues. She’d discussed table plans and menus. She’d even helped Kerry listen to endless demos as she tried to find a suitable live band. And now Liz was NFI to the party she had helped to plan while Brittney – Brittney Big Boobs Blogtastic Blaine – was probably even now dancing with Liz’s brother-in-law Shane. Actually, that would serve her right. Shane had hands like an octopus and breath like a cat that had eaten one.
Yeah. Maybe Liz was glad she wasn’t at Eric’s boring eighteenth birthday party making small talk with her boring former in-laws about their boring lives. Let Brittney try not to glaze over while Kerry bored on about her kitchen station. Let Brittney make interesting noises while Ian’s sister Michelle bored on about her IBS. Let Brittney try not to spit her drink all over the table when Ian’s father bored on about his plans to stand as a UKIP candidate at the next council elections. Let Brittney try to tell Saskia that she could not have another drink. Or Ian for that matter.
Liz did not envy Brittney any of that.
And yet …
As Liz stood outside, looking up at the windows of the hotel’s winter garden, the live band that she had helped to choose struck up ‘Happy Birthday’. Liz imagined the caterers carrying out the cake – a chocolate sponge whittled into the shape of the International Space Station. Liz had helped to choose that too. Liz hoped the caterers tripped up and dropped it on the floor.
‘No I don’t.’ Liz said to herself. Of all her in-laws, Eric was actually her favourite. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born into such a dull family full of so many pompous individuals. And he would always be Saskia’s cousin. As an only child, it was important Saskia had that bond. When all the adults who had made Liz feel so unwelcome and miserable were long gone, Saskia and Eric would still have each other. Saskia would need someone with whom she could discuss just how weird the Chandler clan really was.
‘Happy Birthday, Eric!’ Liz raised the plate of charcuterie in lieu of a glass.
Inside the hotel, a cheer went up. Eric must be blowing out the candles. Eighteen candles. How time had flown. And in just a couple of weeks, Saskia would be sixteen. Liz tried and failed to contain a sob at the thought.
‘Come on, old girl,’ she muttered to herself like the mad lady she’d always feared she would become. ‘It’s time to go home. Get into bed and forget all about it. Tomorrow is another day.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Antipasti Cinquecento
You will need: as much Italian cured meat as you can lay your hands on. A newly polished Fiat Cinquecento (2016 reg). And a grudge.
Liz decided that if she cut through The Majestic’s car park, she could shave a little time off her barefoot walk home. It was already too late for her tights, but she didn’t want to risk her feet any more than she had to so she hopped over the low white picket fence and started to pick her way between the Vauxhalls and the Volvos. The Chandler family loved their Volvos. The one Liz drove had originally belonged to her father-in-law. Liz had always had second-hand cars while Ian drove new. There were rows and rows of Volvos. And so many Fiat 500s! Lately they seemed to have proliferated on the streets of Newbay like a plague of Italian bugs.
Brittney had a Fiat 500, Liz remembered then. A white one, decorated with a green and a red stripe for the Italian flag. That car said everything about the difference between Liz and Brittney. Brittney was care-free and stylish. She had a touch of Italian chic. She didn’t have to worry about loading daughters and their school kit into the back. She could fling an overnight bag into the boot and drive all the way down to Tuscany whenever Ian could get the time off. Meanwhile the boot of Liz’s Volvo was full of Wellington boots and hockey kits and filthy towels with which to dry off the dog at the end of a beach walk.
Liz came to a white Fiat 500.
She stood in front of it, imagining the lucky owner opening the sunroof and letting her hair fly free in the breeze. What man wouldn’t choose such a glamorous driver over a school mum in a filthy old estate? Even if that estate did contain his child and his dog.
‘I hate you,’ Liz told the car. ‘I hate you and everything you stand for, Cinquecento. You think you’re so fresh and funky. You don’t know that one day you’re going to be like me. One day you won’t be driving through the hill towns of Tuscany looking for artisan parmesan made without fucking rennet. You’ll be standing in the Sainsbury’s car park thinking about what to make your impossible daughter for tea. You’ll be old and beaten up and finished and your tits will be down by your knees.’
As she was muttering to the car, which valiantly stood by and took all the abuse she could throw at it, Liz peeled back the cling film that was covering the silver foil platter she’d taken from Alex’s party. The charcuterie had hardly been touched. There were hundreds and hundreds of slices of mortadella, pepperoni, sa
lami and delicious parma ham.
Delicately, Liz lifted one of the pepperoni slices away from the others and laid it down on the bonnet of the Fiat 500. Italian cured meats for an Italian car.
‘There. That’s better. I am an anarchist. I am the anti-pasti,’ Liz made up a new verse for the Sex Pistols’ ‘Anarchy in the UK’ as she added another three slices to make a little pork-based flower.
Then she thought it would be a good idea if she used slices to convey some kind of message. To make some words. There was just enough mortadella to write ‘Slut’. She’d have to add ‘Slag’ in a mixture of salami and parma ham. Liz used her thumb to estimate the size of the letters and the meat she would need.
It was really quite artistic, thought Liz as she stood back to admire her handiwork, then tweaked her design to make the ‘u’ in slut look more rounded on the bottom. Then she folded the foil platter in half and wedged it under one of the car’s windscreen wipers. Which was the point at which she realised that the dancing white light on the Fiat’s meaty bonnet was coming from a hotel security guard’s torch.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Majestic’s chief security guard was already telephoning for assistance.
‘Crime in progress,’ he said urgently into his mobile. ‘Require uniformed back-up at once. Repeat. Back-up required.’
‘Hmmmm?’ Liz turned to find out what was going on. She thought she felt the earth turning beneath her as she did so. She was still very, very drunk.
‘Stay where you are. Put your hands on the bonnet. This is a citizen’s arrest!’
‘What?’ Liz was utterly confused again.
A police car, complete with lights and sirens, seemed to arrive simultaneously, skidding into the car park at speed.
The next few minutes were a blur for poor Liz Chandler. She tried to explain herself but the police officers – who both looked so young – weren’t having any of it when Liz said that her antipasti art was merely fair comment on the owner of the car.
They discussed between themselves exactly what might be grounds for arrest. Criminal damage? Trespass? Anti-social behaviour?
Naturally, the arrival of a police car in full-on emergency response mode had not gone unnoticed by the staff and clientele of The Majestic. First, it was a just a couple of people, bored by the party inside, looking out of the ballroom window, but soon it was a whole crowd. It wasn’t long before everyone in attendance at Eric’s birthday party had his or her nose pressed to the glass. It was a matter of time before Ian, Brittney and Saskia were actually in the car park.
‘What’s going on?’ Ian asked. ‘Are you arresting my wife? I mean, my nearly ex-wife? Tell me what’s happening.’
‘If you could just stay out of the way please sir,’ the younger of the young policeman said firmly.
‘I will not stay out of the way. I’m her next of kin.’
‘Not for much longer,’ Liz snarled.
Brittney and Saskia were agog at the car with the decorated bonnet.
‘What has she done?’ Brittney cried.
‘Your car is so painfully tasteful,’ said Liz to her nearly vegan Nemesis, ‘I thought the paintwork could do with livening up.’
‘But that’s not my car,’ said Brittney.
And that was the moment at which Liz remembered that Brittney had been in the passenger seat of Ian’s blue Audi when they came to pick Saskia up.
‘Mum!’ Saskia wailed. ‘Mum, you’re a lunatic. What have you done this time? Is it possible for you to be any more embarrassing?’
‘Then whose car is it?’ Liz asked Ian.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There are hundreds of cars just like this in Newbay.’
‘But you thought it was my car,’ said Brittney, pointing her non-toxically manicured finger right at Liz’s red face. ‘Which means you were trying to intimidate me by writing those horrible things on the bonnet. And you were doing it with processed meat! That’s a hate crime. Officer?’ Brittney tugged on the arm of the one who had handcuffed Liz. ‘This woman has harassed me in the past and even though she got the wrong car, that was her intention again tonight. It’s not just the words, which are obviously threatening. It’s the fact that she’s done it with salami, knowing that I am a fully committed vegetarian. The medium was calculated to cause maximum distress.’
‘I don’t think it was calculated at all to be honest,’ said Ian. ‘For crying out loud, Liz, how much have you had to drink?’
‘Are you listening to me?’ Brittney asked the police officer. ‘Never mind finding out who owns this car, I want to report a crime here! I need you to put this woman under a restraining order. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to upset me. I’ve got a blog. Brittney’s Bites dot com. You might know it. She’s left hundreds of really rude comments after my post.’
‘To be fair,’ said Ian to his girlfriend, ‘you found out that most of those rude comments were from that other blogger.’
‘But she left at least twelve,’ said Brittney pointing at Liz again. ‘I want to report those too.’
‘One thing at a time, madam,’ said the officer.
‘Mum?’ Saskia was standing with the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. ‘Mum, for heaven’s sake. What have you done? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’
‘No. I’m glad I did it,’ said Liz. ‘Even if it wasn’t her car.’
‘Come along,’ the officer said to Liz. ‘I think we had better take this matter down to the station before you make things any worse.’
‘I’m coming too,’ said Brittney. ‘I’m the victim here. Ian? Tell him!’
‘You’ll have to come to the station under your steam,’ said the officer.
‘Trust me,’ said Brittney. ‘I will. Ian, go back inside and get our car keys at once.’
‘Liz,’ Ian called after her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll get this sorted out.’
‘Are you defending her?’ Brittney was furious.
‘Brittney, she’s the mother of my child. What am I supposed to do?’
‘You’re defending her. I can’t believe you’d do that. Didn’t you see what she did? She called me a slag! In salami!’
One of the officers made the formal arrest.
‘My mum is being put in the back of a police car in front of everyone I know!’ Saskia keened. ‘My life can’t get any worse! Please somebody tell me I’m adopted!’
Liz settled into the back seat of the patrol vehicle. It was actually surprisingly comfy. And any embarrassment that she felt being taken away in handcuffs in front of her soon to be ex-in-laws was more than made up for by the fact that when she turned to look she saw that Ian and Brittney appeared to be having a full-on row.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Liz began to get a little more concerned as the car drew closer to the police station. The joy she’d felt at seeing Ian being poked in the chest by Brittney in front of all his stuck-up UKIP-voting relatives, was quickly replaced by the dawning reality that it had only happened because Liz had been arrested.
She’d been arrested.
Liz Chandler, respectable dental hygienist and mother of one (and guardian of an overweight dog), had been arrested on suspicion of an actual crime. The police were going for criminal damage.
It became even more real when she found herself being escorted into the custody ‘suite’. She was read her rights and her details were taken. Photographs. Fingerprints. A swab from the inside of her mouth. She had to hand over her handbag, empty out her pockets and give the duty officer all her jewellery.
This is in case I try to hang myself, Liz thought as she was asked to remove the belt Saskia had made her put on. She wasn’t looking quite so chic now.
‘I’ll need your shoes too, I’m afraid,’ said the female custody sergeant who was checking her in.
Liz handed those over quite happily. They hurt.
‘And I can see a solicitor?’ Liz asked.
‘Of course. I’ll sort
that out right now,’ the officer told her. ‘Is there a particular one you want us to call?’
Liz thought of the solicitor who was handling her divorce. David Tucker was not on the shortlist of people she would not have minded seeing her in a prison cell. She’d only engaged Tucker’s services because Corinne said he’d got her friend a really good settlement. Liz certainly didn’t like him but that didn’t mean she didn’t want him to respect her. Best not let him see her like this.
‘Does it have to be a solicitor I know?’ Liz asked.
‘No,’ said the officer. ‘We can call for a duty solicitor if you like?’
‘I’d better have you do that.’
Ten minutes later, Bella Russo arrived. She was still wearing the blue dress she’d worn for Alex’s party though she’d swapped her high heels for a pair of sensible flats and added a jacket that covered her cleavage.
‘Liz?’
‘That’s me.’
‘You two know each other?’ the officer asked.
‘We’re in the same cookery class,’ Bella said. ‘We’re friends.’
At least Bella didn’t deny their connection and though Liz didn’t really know Bella that well, the sight of a ‘someone’ that she had been coming to like very much – at least until that night’s embarrassment over Alex – made the tears well up in Liz’s eyes. Bella had called her a friend! It was so much more than Liz felt she deserved right then.
‘Oh Bella,’ she said. ‘I did something awful. I’m so embarrassed. You’re going to hate me.’
‘Trust me,’ said Bella. ‘I won’t. It’s going to be OK, Liz. How bad can it possibly be anyway? You haven’t murdered anyone. Have you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Just talk me through what happened and I’ll do my best to sort it out. Tell me anything that might be relevant. Don’t leave anything out through embarrassment. Remember I’ve seen and heard almost everything before.’
The Worst Case Scenario Cookery Club Page 17
