by Rosa Temple
‘No,’ says the second woman. ‘It’s just that it’s a bit cheaper in advance. A pound cheaper.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I say to them. ‘How much is it now?’
‘£6 per person, please.’
‘Okay.’ I unhook my companion and start digging into my bag for the cash.
‘Is that for two?’ the second woman asks.
I look at my wrinkled friend who happens to be looking away.
‘Um … yes I suppose it is,’ I say with a smile. ‘Two please.’
The old lady looks up at me and smiles. Neat trick old timer, I should borrow that walking stick some time. We shuffle into the main hall. There are more people inside than I’d spotted. Rows of tables and chairs along the side walls are full of people chatting and having drinks. Children whiz around the adults who barely notice them. Just to my right is a makeshift bar and over in a corner is a buffet table of food. I can see Damian through a hatch onto the kitchen. I crane my neck to see if his mother is on the warpath but he seems to be alone in there. I’d already said in passing to Damian that I’d be at the barn dance.
‘Shall we find somewhere to sit?’ my little, old lady asks. She is still smiling sweetly. I’m wondering if she thinks I’m going to be attached to her all evening or if she just wants me to help her to a seat.
‘Do you know anyone here?’ I ask, hopefully.
‘Let me see.’ Her brow creases as she squints like crazy through her thick glasses around the entire hall.
‘Anyone?’ I ask after a good few minutes of this woman peering at people and saying, “Oh is that…?” and then shaking her head and saying “Oh, no that’s not her.”
‘Tell you what,’ I say very quickly, because Damian has walked out of the kitchen carrying a large platter of finger food. ‘You just take a seat here and see if someone recognises you.’
I plop her into a chair and look furtively over my shoulder to see if Damian, who was offering the platter around, is making his way over to me. The hall fills up quickly all of a sudden and I lose sight of him. The next thing I know they’ve cranked up the music and a woman is calling over the microphone for people to take their partners. I feel a small hand tugging at my fingers. I look down expecting to see one of the pesky children from the play area outside asking if I’d seen their mother. But it’s my little old lady friend. I bend down to hear what she is saying.
‘You couldn’t get me one of those tasty looking drinks from the bar, could you?’
Over at a trestle table, covered in a white, plastic tablecloth, a sullen looking man is stacking plastic glasses into a spire. There are a number of nondescript wine bottles on one side of the table.
‘You mean wine?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, is that what that is?’ the old lady chuckles. ‘Then I’ll have a rum and coca cola.’ She lets go of my hand and then grabs it again. ‘A double.’ She sniffs and turns to look at the growing group of barn dancers in the middle of the floor.
In the few seconds it takes for me to get to the bar, a queue has formed. I reluctantly join the ten or so people waiting to order. Over my shoulder I see my old lady in her chair, nodding to the music and looking very pleased with herself. Meanwhile I’m hoping Damian hasn’t laid out the buffet and disappeared for the rest of the evening. I catch a quick glimpse of him through the hatch and sigh with relief. Also, still no sign of Mommy Dearest.
It’s so far so good. All I need to do is get rid of the old lady, have a quick sip of wine for Dutch courage and I’ll make a B-line for the kitchen.
From the queue at the bar I see Beth arrive with a frail woman who looks like an older version of her. Presumably it’s her mother. She is just as smiley and good natured as Beth who waves enthusiastically at me before joining a table of people who all make a fuss of getting her mother seated. Jenna arrives shortly after on the arm of an auburn-haired man, portly, with a full beard and moustache. I take this to be her fiancé. Jenna hasn’t invited me to her wedding but as it’s taking place after I’ve left Bridley she probably thinks I won’t want to come back for it. But I’m feeling very at home in Bridley these days and coming back in the spring might be a nice thing to do. I have warmed to the staff and value them all for their expertise and the kindly gestures they’ve shown me. Mags invited me to the stables and allowed me to ride a very sleepy horse called Maze who, for my first attempt, was probably a wonderful choice. The two guys, Bartie and Jack, are absolute sweethearts and although neither is in the office very much, Jack is always messaging me at work about local news and gossip. Bartie has come by the house with half a slaughtered pig and when Carey and I looked at him, bemused, standing there in his Fair Isle sweater and Wellington boots, he came into the kitchen to chop it up and put it into the freezer. We’d be having pork chops and bacon sarnies into 2025 but it was a kind gesture all the same. Jenna, who came across as quite bossy at first, and was the one I thought might give me trouble, is always asking advice on her writing and bowing to my experience. This evening her afro puffs are loose and she is full ‘fro, wearing a pair of leggings under a loose fitting shirt.
At last, I’m served a double rum and Coke for the Old Dear. For myself I buy a glass of the red wine from the display on the bar. The wine, according to the barman, has been provided by a local farmer who makes it in his shed as a hobby. The five bottles on the counter have crude labels on them that say Produce of Hub. Apparently, the wine maker is Bill Hubbard, the year 2010. I notice I’m the first one to have any. I joke about that being a really good year for wine brewed in sheds and the barman writes this down in a notepad so that he can pass the information on to the next customer.
‘Here we go,’ I say to my old lady friend. ‘By the way, I’m Sydney.’
‘That’s a boy’s name by the sounds of it.’
‘There are some women called Sydney,’ I point out. ‘Not many, but we do exist. And you are…?’
‘Sally. Sally Rivers.’ We shake hands. I hold my plastic cup up for a sip of wine, take one whiff of it and decide I need Dutch courage to drink it.
‘If you’d excuse me, Sally, I need the ladies.’ I smile and take leave of her. This drink is going straight down the toilet. I should tell the barman to write that down but I don’t want to offend Bill Hubbard.
Going back into the foyer to find the toilets, I smile at the busty women on the front desk only to find that the original busty women have been replaced by two other equally, if not bustier, busty women. On the way back from the loo, minus the dodgy wine, I nod to the busty women as I push the door to the main hall open. It almost hits Damian in the face.
‘Jesus. Damian. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.’
‘That’s okay. No harm done. Actually, I’m glad I bumped into you. Come with me a minute.’
I look over my shoulder at the busty women and wink.
Damian leads me to the kitchen and rustles around in a hamper before producing a paper bag from his shop.
‘My mum insisted that I bring these to you.’ He hands me the paper bag and I look inside to find two sugary doughnuts.
I look up, puzzled. ‘Your mum wanted me to have these?’
‘Yes. She was sorry for coming across as a bit rude when you first met. She told me to tell you that she’s not very good with strangers.’
‘You did put her right, didn’t you? Told her I wasn’t a stranger?’
‘I did. She really is sorry and she noticed you didn’t get to finish your doughnuts and wanted you to enjoy these all to yourself in the comfort of your own home.’
‘Does that mean she doesn’t want me eating in the shop anymore?’
He laughs. ‘On the contrary, she said that you should come in any time.’
‘Have to say, her behaviour wasn’t the greatest advert for the shop.’ Damian looks a little uncomfortable. ‘But of course I’ll be back. How could I live in Bridley and resist coming in for one of your pastries?’
‘Mum made these doughnuts herself when she was help
ing me at the shop today. I mentioned you’d be here.’
‘That’s so sweet.’ I notice the large amount of sugar that has fallen off the doughnuts and into the bag and consider the idea that Mrs Gallagher might just want to keep me overweight so Damian goes off me.
‘You need to put those somewhere safe,’ Damian says as we stand awkwardly in the kitchen. The sounds of a barn dance in full swing vibrates in through the hatch.
‘I will. I’ll put them at my table quickly and perhaps I can buy you a drink?’
‘Sounds good. Just have to get something from the van and I’ll be right back.’
Back at Sally’s table I put the bag down. She looks at it eagerly.
‘Doughnuts,’ I say. Just then I’m grabbed by Beth and Jenna who insist I join in the next square dance. As I get into position, or rather as Jenna puts me in position because I can’t make out what the caller is saying over the microphone, I spy Damian returning from the van. He smiles and gives a timid nod before going back into the kitchen and I hope he can’t see me dance from there. The caller says left and I go right. The caller calls two steps forward and I take three back and step on a child’s foot.
‘Sorry,’ I say before Jenna grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction the crowd are now circling. I don’t get it. I’m usually quite co-ordinated at Zumba class, though I haven’t been to one in a while. After what seems like a half hour later the dance ends and I try to leave the dance floor.
‘No you don’t,’ Jenna says. ‘That was just the warm-up.’
The music cranks up. The caller belts out the directions so loudly, they sound distorted. I wonder how anyone knows what to do now but somehow they manage and I do my best to follow. Carey was right. It is fun. I haven’t laughed so much in ages and it feels great. Liberating in fact.
Beth and Jenna don’t let me off the barn dance floor for at least another three dances. I am exhausted from all the effort. It’s fun but I insist we stop for some water and a bit of fresh air.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ Jenna bellows in my ear.
‘Thanks. Sparkling water,’ I shout back.
‘After this one,’ she yells and then whoops. She holds my hands and commences to hop, skip and jump me down the hall with gusto. I’m completely rubbish at this. Slapping thighs and clapping hands will never be my forte but I’m enjoying the moment. That is until I see Damian staring at me. I wave but he doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s time I bought him that drink. I know Sally will be all right without me. I noticed her scoff both doughnuts in about two minutes flat since I’ve been dancing and at least two people have bought drinks for her. She is sat next to a young couple now so I can leave her to it and spend some time with Damian.
‘I think I need to sit this one out, Jenna,’ I say to her, out of breath.
‘Really?’
All of a sudden there is a commotion happening near the bar. A quick look tells me the fuss is coming from the table Sally is at. A crowd is gathering around the table and everyone on that side of the hall is looking in Sally’s direction. The music stops dead and children are being ushered out of the hall. My feet take me towards the crowd but all I can see is their backs. Jenna holds my hand and we edge closer to Sally’s table.
A woman pushes her way out of the midst of onlookers and just before she pushes past me I hear her say, ‘Poor old Sally Rivers has just passed away.’
‘What?’ I pull her back by the arm. ‘What do you mean, passed away?’
I push through the crowd, feeling responsible. I shouldn’t have left her on her own. She might have needed me. If she’d become poorly all of a sudden then I should have been there. She was all alone and I’d been hell bent on getting rid of her. When I’m close to Sally’s table a group of men are pushing people away telling them to stand back, the paramedics are on their way. I see the empty doughnut bag, Sally’s empty rum and Coke glass but I can’t see her in all the turmoil. She can’t have just died at a barn dance.
As I turn away, trying to get out of the melee, every action in the hall plays out in slow motion. I find myself completely floored and tearful. Jenna and Beth are next to me and try to console me in voices that have slowed to a deep, droning slur. I have lost my handle on anything that is real. By the time the medics arrive to take Sally away I have collapsed into a chair and Jenna is fanning me. I see the stretcher come out and watch the paramedics cover Sally’s face with a blue blanket. In no time the hall is cleared. Everything restores itself to normal time, both in sound and movement. The music is being packed away and Damian is leaving carrying a couple of large hampers and Jenna has finally brought me that sparkling water.
Chapter 22
‘Well? What did you think?’
Carey doesn’t seem to have moved from the spot I left her in. Instead of a tub of ice cream, she has a glass of wine in front of her on the coffee table.
‘Do you mind if I have one of those?’ I ask pointing, limply, at her half empty glass. I fetch myself a glass, pour a large helping and drink as if it’s the first glass of water a person who has just run a 10k has had.
‘Easy, Sydney. It can’t have been that bad.’
I put the glass on the coffee table and shake my head. I’m still unnerved by the evening’s events. I tell Carey everything apart from the fact that I fancy Damian and he’s the only reason I really went to the barn dance in the first place.
‘I never should have said you’d enjoy the dance,’ Carey says.
I’m quiet for a moment’s reflection.
‘What is it, Syd?’ Carey asks.
‘I was just wondering … Do you think there was something up with the doughnuts?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Like poison?’
Carey laughs out loud then takes in my expression. She stops grinning and shakes her head.
‘No, Syd. You’re kidding right?’ I can’t answer because I can’t know for certain what lengths Mrs Gallagher would go to to keep me away from her son. ‘Surely not. Look, this is Bridley. In a few days’ time, whatever it was that happened to Sally will be front page news. You’ll see. Bridley is a lot of things but there’s never been a murder here.’
‘That you know of.’
‘Come on, Sydney. Don’t let that overactive imagination get the better of you.’
‘Ignore me,’ I say waving it off with my hand. ‘I’m being an idiot.’ And maybe I am but I can’t stop wondering about Mrs G.
*
Carey was right about news travelling quickly through Bridley. Bartie’s aunt has a nurse friend at the hospital Sally was taken to who called Bartie’s mother when the cause of death was announced in the early hours of Monday morning. Apparently, Sally had a longstanding heart condition. She’d had a stroke followed by a heart attack at the barn dance without anyone noticing until she’d collapsed to the floor. It’s the hot topic in the kitchen over coffee. Jenna. Beth, Mags and I discussed the meaning of life for a full three minutes before going back to our desks.
In my office, I breathe a sigh of relief because I’m not on Mrs Gallagher’s hit list after all. I decide to send flowers once I know about Sally’s funeral arrangements. It’s not too late to place an obituary in the magazine. I’d have to seek out Sally’s next of kin.
With that added to my To Do list I spin around in my chair and go back to obsessing about Damian again. I turn my attention to his Dear Vicky letter which he’d signed Anon. At the barn dance I wasn’t able to buy him that drink so I still owe him. How to get into a situation where there are drinks around, Damian and I are alone, and no one is about to drop down dead? I decide communicating with him through Dear Vicky is the only way forward, so I’ll have to print an answer to his problem in the magazine.
Every plan I’ve had to get closer to him has failed. He has missed every signal. I could just write: “Damian, I flipping fancy you, we don’t need Vicky, I’m gagging for it!”. But why be subtle? Before I get serious and settle down to write a proper letter, I
can’t help but wonder if my obsession with Damian is really just a way of showing Rob from afar that I can live my life without him.
Just then, Jenna comes to my office. She’s half in, half out the door, hanging on the door handle and balancing on one leg. I crinkle my brow at her and she hisses across to me.
‘Sydney!’ I’m instantly worried. Especially when she rushes over to my desk, speaking in a partly hissed, partly whispered voice that I’m sure everyone can hear. ‘You have a visitor.’
My heart starts pounding. I know in an instant that I won’t have to publish my Dear Vicky letter after all because the visitor must be Damian. He isn’t as slow on the uptake as I thought. He must be tired of waiting and decided to just go for it.
I scrunch at my hair to add body then dive into my bag. Pulling out my lip gloss I dab some on and clean a sleep bogey out of the corner of my eye.
‘Thanks, Jenna,’ I whisper and rush to the door with my bag over my shoulder, no time to zip it up. On the landing I hover. Jenna and Beth gather there too, looking at each other in bewilderment. ‘What? Have I got loo roll stuck to the bottom of my shoe?’
‘No,’ says Jenna. ‘It’s just. Were you expecting someone?’
‘Sort of,’ I say then skip into the main office only to find it empty.
Back on the landing I look at them both, quizzically, and Jenna points down the stairs. Poor Damian must be wondering what the hell is taking so long. I compose myself and begin walking serenely down the stairs. I can’t help the big smile and my heart is leaping around in my ribcage. Three steps from the bottom my heart stops completely when I see who is waiting at the front door.
‘What are you doing here?’ It’s a gasp that catches in my throat. The surprise of seeing Rob looking up with a huge, hopeful smile on his face derails me and I can’t move from the spot. He takes a few steps towards me and stops too. He looks pale and behind the smile a childlike look of fear of being reprimanded spreads over his face. It was always that little boy lost look that got me with Rob. He is a tall, broad man. Athletic looking and strong. I always wondered how he managed to nail the wounded soul to such perfection. I was always putty in his hands. I take a deep breath and complete my descent, stopping in the downstairs hall so that we’re not too close but I’m still able to smell Rob’s smell. A mixture of his aftershave and hair products. They were both the same brand, a brand I first bought him as a present. It suited him so well, I told him he should always buy it.