by Sharon Owens
‘But you’re a lovely person, Emily. It’s only you who thinks you’re not good with people. Arabella thinks the world of you, and so do I. The only person who doesn’t like you is Jane Maxwell. And that’s only because you’re so nice and friendly, you make her feel like a sour old bossyboots by comparison. Which she is, of course …’
‘Well, thanks for that very lovely vote of confidence. I’ll do my best to chat to everybody. Have you got a dog at the farm?’
‘Yes, we have five dogs,’ he told her.
‘Oh good, I like dogs! Maybe we could take them for a walk?’
‘Well, they might not want to let you out of the door … You know, I must say, your parents seem to be totally loving their stay in Jake’s house,’ Dylan said then, eager to distract Emily from her pre-meeting nerves.
‘Aren’t they just? I’ve never seen them so animated. They’re guarding that house as if their lives depended on it,’ she agreed. ‘They’re obsessed with the burglar alarm, did you notice that? I think Dad holds his breath until he’s pressed in the code. And Mum even bought fresh gerberas out of her own money when the first lot died. She thinks they’re a mandatory part of the decorating scheme.’
‘And the entire house is immaculate. I thought you said your mum never did any housework?’
‘Oh, she never did. But she says that was because her own house was a hovel, and she had no heart in it. Now that she’s living in a mansion, it’s a different story altogether.’
‘It was very nice of Jake to send them a bit of money for Christmas, wasn’t it? Maybe we can find them another gig when Jake comes home,’ Dylan suggested.
‘Yes, maybe. I think my mother is praying every night that Jake will go to India next, for a year …’
‘You know what? He just might do that. He says he can run the company from his laptop.’
They chatted on about Emily’s parents and their Great London Adventure, and the rise and rise of Sylvia’s shop, until they reached the turn-off for Appleton. The motorway was suddenly replaced by an old narrow road with high hawthorn hedges on either side. Then the flat, ploughed fields gave way to lumpy, grassy fields full of sombre-looking dairy cattle. In no time they were pulling up outside a stone-clad double-fronted farmhouse with a massive conservatory at the side. Dylan’s parents, his sisters and their husbands and children were all inside, setting the table for dinner, patting the dogs and generally being very normal and family-like. They waved excitedly when they saw Dylan’s car arriving.
‘Well, they have been busy. They’ve hosed down the yard specially,’ Dylan told her proudly. ‘And would you look at the size of that Christmas tree in the conservatory? Usually they have a small one in the porch, but that beauty must be ten foot tall.’
‘They’ve gone to so much trouble,’ Emily whispered.
‘Come on, now,’ Dylan said encouragingly. ‘My mum is probably more nervous than you are.’
‘Why would she be?’
‘Because you’re a big fancy stylist from London, and she’s a humble farmer’s wife from the country, that’s why. I bet she has big bunches of flowers in every room to distract from the saggy cushions and Dad’s dusty old collection of pewter tankards.’
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she said as he jumped out of the car and raced round to open the passenger door.
‘They’ll love you,’ he said again.
Then everyone was coming out of the conservatory door and hugging Emily, saying how gorgeous she was. The dogs were licking her hands, and the snow was making everything seem prettier and even more significant and sentimental than it might have been. And Emily knew it was going to be all right. They bundled her inside as she tried not to feel too guilty that she’d denied her poor parents this lovely day out. But then Mrs Shawcross was asking her a thousand questions about her work, and Mr Shawcross was taking photos. Sylvia was pouring her a glass of wine, and Dylan’s other two sisters were admiring her very stylish 1950s-style fringe. And they were all asking her what she saw in Dylan, and exclaiming that he must have cast a spell on her. Which was a joke, of course, since Dylan was the most gorgeous man Emily had ever seen. But it was very funny to pretend that Dylan had had to enchant Emily to get her to go out with him. Emily noted that Mr Shawcross was simply an older version of Dylan, and she could see why his wife still adored him after more than three decades of marriage.
Within ten minutes they were all seated around the table, tucking into the most enormous plate of Christmas dinner.
‘Me and you’ll go to the pub for a quick pint later, Dylan,’ Mr Shawcross said after dessert had been served. ‘Let the women here have a good old gossip.’
Emily held her breath. Was she ready to be left alone with the girls?
‘Sorry, Dad, not this time,’ Dylan said cheerfully. ‘I promised Emily we’d go for a walk round the village, just the two of us. Maybe a couple of the dogs can come with us? I want to show her where I grew up – my old school and everything. Is that okay?’
‘Of course it is, lad,’ Mr Shawcross said at once.
He smiled at them both, and then winked at his wife. They both knew this was no casual romance.
‘I think I can hear wedding bells ringing,’ Sylvia teased.
‘I think you can hear bells ringing inside your head most days,’ Dylan replied dryly.
‘Uncle Dylan is madly in love with Emily. Mummy said so,’ said one of Sylvia’s young daughters.
‘Shush, you little rascal,’ Sylvia scolded.
‘You started it, Sylvia,’ her father reminded her.
‘So I did,’ she admitted.
‘And Mummy said Uncle Dylan was definitely going to marry Emily,’ the little girl said excitedly. ‘Are you going to marry Emily, Uncle Dylan? If you are going to marry her then I want to be a bridesmaid. And I want to wear the pink dress with red roses on it. It’s in the window of the Cath Kiddy shop in the village. So it won’t be hard to get me ready for the wedding.’
There was a moment of dead silence, and then the room erupted into raucous laughter. Even the dogs knew there was something exciting going on, and they leapt out of their baskets and did a few laps of the dining table.
‘Well, let me see,’ Dylan said eventually, rubbing his chin like a character from Dickens. ‘I was hoping to marry you one day, Molly. But if you’d rather be a bridesmaid then I suppose I shall just have to settle for second best and marry Emily instead.’
‘Yes, I think you should,’ Molly said gravely. ‘You’re getting very old now, and I really want to wear that lovely dress. If we wait for me to grow up, you’ll be far too old.’
‘Okay, then. It’s settled,’ Dylan said.
‘Go on, then. Ask her,’ Molly urged, wanting everything settled immediately.
All eyes were on her; Emily thought she was going to faint.
‘I’ll ask her later,’ Dylan said gently, ‘when nobody’s watching.’
Emily’s face was as red as a beetroot. She tried to take a sip of wine but knocked her glass over with a loud clatter instead.
‘Oops,’ she said, dabbing at the wine with a linen napkin. ‘Oh no! Have I ruined this lovely napkin now too?’ she added.
‘Shall we go for that walk?’ Dylan said, getting up from the table.
He thought Emily deserved a break now.
‘Oh yes, what a good idea. I’ll fall asleep if I don’t get some air, I’ve eaten that much. Thanks for a delicious dinner, Mrs Shawcross,’ Emily said graciously.
She stood up and nodded a temporary goodbye to everyone at the table.
‘We won’t be long,’ Dylan told his mother.
‘That’s all right,’ Mrs Shawcross said. ‘Take as long as you like, and we’ll crack on with the washing-up.’
‘We’re still giving out the presents after supper, aren’t we?’ Molly said.
Everyone laughed again.
‘I want to get my presents first, because I have to go to bed at nine o’clock,’ Molly added.
‘Th
is one is a born manager,’ Sylvia said proudly. ‘We’ll not go far wrong with Molly in charge.’
Outside it was still snowing but, by the looks of it, it wouldn’t lie. Dylan and Emily put on their coats and ventured out into the icy afternoon with the two oldest dogs. The Christmas-tree lights cast beautiful shadows across the newly cleaned yard.
‘So what do you think?’ Dylan asked Emily, giving her a tender kiss by the garden gate.
‘I love them all.’
‘I knew you would. So will we stay the night? I don’t think anybody noticed that I didn’t touch my wine. So I can still drive, if you feel a need to escape.’
‘I think I can manage one night in the country, okay,’ she smiled.
‘Great! We’re staying in my old room. You would have had the guest room all to yourself, but with everybody staying over tonight it wasn’t possible.’
‘I’d rather stay with you,’ she said.
‘Right, let’s crack on; I’ve loads of things to show you before it gets dark,’ Dylan began, taking Emily’s hand and setting off down the lane at a brisk pace.
The dogs were delighted with the extra walk, and they skittered along obediently behind their favourite member of the family. Already the moon was visible in the sky. Emily thought she had made a reasonable impression on the Shawcross clan. She began to relax and even enjoy herself.
Sometimes it was annoying having so many feelings, she thought to herself. Because when the feelings were negative, they were very draining. But when they were good, they were very good indeed.
She wanted to ask Dylan if he’d been joking about the marriage proposal, but then she decided that particular topic could wait for another day.
20. Arabella’s Party
It was the 20th of December, and Arabella was throwing the Christmas party to end all Christmas parties at her Chelsea town house. She’d invited all her friends and everyone she had ever met in the magazine publishing industry, even Jane Maxwell. She’d also invited all the neighbours on her street and half the staff at Liberty, Selfridges and Harrods. Luckily many of her biggest pieces of furniture had been sold off, and most of the floors were tiled, so she wouldn’t have to worry too much about spilt drinks and dropped cigarettes. To make the house appear less empty, Arabella had placed a fresh Christmas tree in each of the main reception rooms and decorated the branches with pink ribbons, threaded through cinnamon cookies, and iced gingerbread men wrapped in cellophane. Each tree bore a handwritten note, encouraging people to help themselves to the goodies attached. The guests were due to arrive in about an hour.
Arabella was looking fabulous in a silk jacket with a massive diamanté brooch pinned to the collar, and a zany print skirt from Get Cutie. Emily thought she looked about ten years younger in the silk jacket than she ever had in her fur coat.
‘I’m moving out next week. I got the date yesterday,’ Arabella told Emily as they loaded up the dining-room table with a staggering amount of savouries, pastries and pretty cupcakes – all home-made by Arabella herself, to save money. She was living on a budget now, so hiring expensive caterers and florists was a thing of the past.
‘How do you feel about that?’ Emily asked carefully.
‘Not quite as bad as I thought I would,’ Arabella said, rearranging the plates so her gorgeous cupcakes could take centre stage. The delicious scent of the buttercream frosting was calling to her. But she’d eaten three already that morning, so she didn’t dare have another one. The zip might burst on her skirt, if she kept on nibbling.
‘Oh good,’ Emily said gently. ‘I’m so pleased.’
‘You should be. It’s all down to you that I didn’t take an overdose when the solicitor told me I would have to sell my beloved house and settle out of court – or stand my ground and face a possible prison sentence. You talked me round to the idea of letting go of this house; you made it seem almost fun to be poor.’
‘Firstly, I hope you’re joking about the overdose?’
‘Relax, Emily; I only considered it for about five minutes.’
‘And secondly, when did I ever say it was fun to be poor? Not that I am actually poor as such.’
‘Oh, you know what I mean. All your tales of walking hand-in-hand in the snow with Dylan, and watching DVDs on the sofa for hours, and eating fish and chips on the promenade that day the two of you went to Brighton. You know … the simple things I’d forgotten about after being married to David for so long.’
‘Well, okay, when you put it like that, I suppose I do sound a bit thrifty,’ Emily grimaced.
‘I didn’t mean to insult you, my darling,’ Arabella said, lighting a cigarette and wafting the smoke away from the food. ‘Yes, I know that you’re paying off that loan you took out to rescue your father. And yes, I know Dylan isn’t being paid for his work in the shop. Let’s go into the kitchen and have a glass of champers in peace before the stampede begins. At least, I hope there’ll be a stampede.’
‘There will be huge crowds here, don’t you worry.’
‘I’m not coming back to work after Christmas, if nobody from the magazine turns up at the party,’ Arabella declared, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a bottle from the fridge. ‘I mean, ever since they found out what I did to David’s house, they might all be afraid of me. Damn that reporter for spilling the beans.’
‘Everyone at work is coming; they’ve been talking about it all week. And nobody blames you for starting the fire, I promise. I think they were all rather impressed, as it happens. I mean, it was fine once they knew that you’d checked the house was empty first. I hear Jane might even bring her new boyfriend along,’ Emily said, accepting a tall flute of bubbly.
‘Who is he, do you know yet?’ Arabella asked, checking her lipstick in her compact.
‘No, we still don’t know his name, but she’s been a bit weird lately,’ Emily said.
‘She’s always been a bit weird. That hair of hers; it’s far too long. And she wears far too much make-up. Too much lippy – and, coming from me, that’s saying something,’ Arabella said, puffing away nervously.
‘Well, she is still in her twenties, Arabella. That’s the look for women of that age, don’t you know? Now … don’t quote me on this, but I think our Jane’s going out with some sort of a celebrity,’ Emily said conspiratorially.
‘No way! What makes you say that?’
‘Well, Jane said something to me the other day in the kitchenette. She said she wouldn’t be larking about with stupid coffee tables and candlesticks for much longer. And she was caressing her precious silver bracelet when she said it. You remember that bracelet I told you about? She’s always playing with it at meetings. Oh, this champagne is so delicious. It’s the one thing about this winter that I don’t mind being stone cold.’
‘Thanks, it’ll be my last great extravagance. After this I’ll be shopping at Asda and Primark, for I’ll have a mortgage to pay.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Emily soothed.
‘Don’t be. I’m looking forward to it, Emily. That little house I managed to buy – it’s heavenly. I mean, it’s all dark and poky at the minute, but I’m going to do it up in white with distressed mirrors everywhere, and ornamental birdcages hanging from the rafters.’
‘I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished,’ Emily said approvingly. ‘We’ll photograph it for the magazine maybe?’
‘Um, let’s not. The readers might start asking what happened to my old house,’ Arabella said meaningfully.
‘Oh yes, you’re right. Let’s not bother.’
‘It was only thanks to yet another political scandal that I was dropped from the front pages last Sunday. Imagine trying to claim back the cost of seventeen massages!’
‘Yes, here’s a toast to our hardworking MPs. Bless them,’ Emily said.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers. Between the shopping, the travelling, the bunk-ups and the massages, it’s a wonder they get any work done at all.’
‘Here’s to the Mother o
f Parliaments!’ Arabella declared, making a wobbly salute while trying not to drop cigarette ash into her drink.
The two friends laughed heartily.
‘Seriously, thank heaven for those pompous old twats in Westminster for keeping the hacks busy. I can see the headline now, if it’d been me,’ wheezed Arabella. ‘Loony Wife Burns Down Ex-husband’s Love Nest Before Downsizing To A Labourer’s Cottage.’
‘No, that’s far too long. It’d be something like Interiors Queen Torches Mansion.’
‘Quite,’ Arabella rolled her eyes.
Then she laughed again and reminded herself that she was supposed to be throwing a party tonight.
Just then the doorbell rang.
‘Half an hour early, who on earth can that be?’ Arabella said in an excited voice as Emily went to answer the door. ‘Nobody arrives at parties early. At least, nobody I know does. How very common …’
Emily opened the door to find the entire staff from Stylish Living standing on the steps – all thirty-five of them, except Jane Maxwell.
‘We know we’re early, but we just couldn’t wait any longer,’ Petra explained. ‘We’ve already been in the pub for an hour and a half. None of us have ever been to Arabella’s house before, and the curiosity is simply killing us.’
‘Come on in,’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on in, and you’re very welcome.’
Meanwhile, Arabella had switched on the stereo and was frantically lighting a dozen pink candles on the buffet table. Everyone trooped in and waited in the hall to be told what to do next.
‘Give me your coats, and go in there,’ Emily said, pointing to the candlelit dining room. ‘I’ll be through in a minute with drinks.’
Arabella was standing at the fireplace with one elbow resting awkwardly on the mantle when she finally came face-to-face with her colleagues. She looked so nervous at seeing them again, Emily felt sorry for her.