by Rosa Temple
I have to look back over as much as it pains me. Jesus. Those two are made for each other I think to myself, just look at them.
‘Better find the other half.’ Jenna breaks my thoughts. ‘Blimey better get one for him. That’s why I came to the bar in the first place.’
‘Sorry, I kept you.’
‘You’re all right. Come over to where we are. Let’s have a bit of a dance, yeah?’
‘Sure.’ I walk away from the table of drinks and for a second I don’t know where I’m walking to. My plans to get hold of Damian have been foiled and I’m an idiot for not having read the signs. Damian only ever showed interest in the office, not me personally. When I think about it, he did ask about Beth a lot. The first day I met him and asked for his recommendations, every cake or pastry he chose for me just happened to be Beth’s favourites. She said as much at the time but it didn’t register with me. At the karaoke the first time, when I thought Damian was looking at me, I remember now that I was sitting next to Beth. No wonder he never asked me out, he never liked me in the first place. I’ve been rejected again. I look into what’s left of my cocktail and I feel queasy. So when Mags grabs my arm out of the blue and pulls me towards the dance floor, I’m moving my feet but becoming dizzier by the second and pretty sure I’ll throw up if I don’t stand still.
‘Where have you been hiding yourself?,’ Mags shouts over the music. ‘Come on, Sydney, strut your funky stuff.’
And while I would have laughed inwardly at Mags’ upper-class voice saying something like that, all I want to do is find a bathroom. And quick.
Chapter 34
Who put hay in my mouth and glued my eyes shut? Come to think of it, who put me to bed? Is this my bed? Slowly, and slower still, I try to peel open my eyes. The right eyelid responds reasonably well but my left eye remains shut. Looking out over the duvet I conclude I’m back at Carey’s and this is my bed, my room, albeit for the next few weeks. Unless I did something so ridiculous last night, Alexandra has fired me.
I’m hoping, as I successfully roll over onto my back, that I did not approach Damian. I had a dream, and I’m hoping it was just a dream, of me mincing over to where Damian was sitting with Beth and calling him a tease and a filthy flirt. I cringe and cover my face, trying desperately to separate dream world from reality. Maybe I’m not quite awake and that’s why I can’t think straight.
My bladder tells me I’m awake and that I need the loo quite urgently. I would otherwise spend the rest of my life in bed if I did anything so foolish as to talk about my feelings for Damian in front of the whole of Bridley.
As I step out onto the landing, I can hear a strange vibrating sound and I’m wondering who does road works in the early hours of a Saturday morning. I trot along to the bathroom trying to ignore the noise. Fully clothed, apart from my heels, I try to pull up my figure hugging, velvet skirt but it won’t budge past my knees. I’m panicking now as my need to wee is desperate. How much did I drink last night? I wriggle and struggle with the side fastener and zip and manage to yank the skirt and my knickers down in the nick of time.
I change out of my party clothes and into sloppy sweat pants, a sweat top and woolly socks before heading downstairs to find out where that strange sound is coming from. At the foot of the stairs I halt. The sound is more of a snort. Maybe an animal of some kind got in through an open window last night. I grab a long umbrella from the stand by the front door and assume a stealth-like stance as if I’m auditioning for Luther. The sound is coming from the living room and so is a familiar aroma. When I jump around the open living room door in a squat position, the umbrella in front of me like a Ninja sword, I see a pile of blankets heaving up and down on the sofa. Alexandra is fast asleep under the blankets, flat on her back, snoring for all her worth, filling the room with the scent of her perfume and a vat of last night’s cocktail punch.
‘What are you doing?’ Carey stage whispers to me from the staircase. She puts a finger over her mouth. I tiptoe out of the room, quietly closing the door behind me before following Carey to the kitchen. She’s wearing a fluffy, dusky pink dressing gown, her hair is up in scrunchy. She starts filling the kettle at the sink.
‘Didn’t expect to see you up until later this afternoon,’ she says. I’m wincing against the sound of the water running into the kettle. It’s like the Whitewater rapids in here.
‘What time is it?’ I ask, sitting at the table.
‘Just after midday when I looked. Coffee?’
‘Of course.’
I sit with my head in my hands while Carey makes coffee and puts some bread in the toaster.
‘Think you can eat?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know. Carey, could you just come and sit down for a minute, you’re making me sea-sick.’
‘Sorry.’ She sits opposite me, hands folded on the table a big smirk on her face.
‘Okay,’ I say solemnly. ‘Out with it. What did I do?’
‘Honestly?’
I nod. It hurts to do that.
‘Well, nothing terrible.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. I saw you rushing into the bathroom. I saw someone being shoved out of the bathroom.’
‘By me?’
‘Yes. Then I followed you in and held your hair while you threw up for about half an hour.’
‘Half an hour?’
‘Slight exaggeration, maybe,’ she says tilting her hand in front of her. ‘I cleaned you up, gave you some water. You sat slumped in a corner for a while and then Alistair came to get us.’
‘And I didn’t say anything to Damian.’
‘No. Not after being sick.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Yes, about that. You did a lot of muttering about getting off with him in the taxi home.’
‘In front of Alexandra and Alistair?’
‘Don’t worry, Alexandra was worse than you were and Alistair spent the journey trying to stop her collapsing onto his shoulder. I had no idea you liked Damian. I had heard a whisper about him and the girl from your office. Beth?’
‘Seems everyone and his dog knew they were having a secret fling except me.’
Carey sorts us out a cup of coffee but leaves the toast, which has popped up now, where it is. She must sense I have no stomach for solids quite yet.
‘If you don’t mind my asking … ’ Carey says while stirring her coffee so that her spoon might drill a hole in the bottom of the cup.
‘Just ask me and stop all that drilling.’
‘Well, I was wondering why you were pursuing Damian in the first place. I mean haven’t you just broken up with Rob? A five-year relationship. Perhaps you should give yourself more time.’ She starts stirring again.
‘Well, how much is more time?’ I say, going on the defensive. Maybe I’m ashamed at making a fool of myself in front of Carey or maybe I know she’s right.
‘I don’t know,’ Carey goes on, tentatively. ‘I just thought with your situation the way it is you need to be securing a job for when you go back and, I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?’
‘My idea of too soon and yours are obviously completely different. I’m not the type to sit wallowing in the past and letting life pass me by.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ But I don’t answer. This is not the way I want to reveal that I know Carey has a secret past. Not in the mood I’m in. ‘Well, anyway. It’s up to you but just so you know, I think you chose the wrong brother.’
I open my mouth, not really sure what I want to say but I hear a shuffling sound approaching the kitchen.
‘Hello ladies. Do I smell coffee?’
‘Ah, Good Morning, Alexandra,’ Carey says getting up. Alexandra slumps into the chair next to mine and accepts the cup of coffee Carey passes to her.
‘Well that was a belter of a party last night,’ Alexandra says looking from me to Carey. I wonder if she notices the chill in the air. She proceeds to babble on about what a wonderful idea it would be to th
row a village Christmas party every year. As she drones on, I can’t help looking at Carey and wishing I wasn’t so mad at her. She must have single-handedly got the two village drunks back to her place and into bed and here she is making us both coffee. I blink away stinging tears as I listen to Alexandra, knowing that Carey is dead right. I haven’t secured a future for myself. I was a desperate mess when I took up residence in the spare room of my parents’ house after the breakup. In a few weeks I’ll be back to square one. Well, less than square one. I’ll be homeless and jobless and approaching my thirty-second birthday.
Chapter 35
I suppose I was drunk when I agreed to this, but somehow we’re on our way to Alexandra’s house for Christmas lunch. I can see the next few hours unfolding in front of me. Presumably Alexandra is cooking, which could either mean the turkey has not been defrosted or we’re having ten crates of Bollinger for lunch and there won’t be a stuffing ball for miles around. Either way, I’m sure I’ll end up hungry, sad and drunk by the end of the night.
‘We’re going to eat, Sydney, why are you scoffing that lot?’ Carey asks.
Carey drives as I empty the remains of a packet of ready salted crisps down my gullet. Greasy crumbs land on my coat and I brush them away.
‘Trust me, Carey, the place will be devoid of food. You know Alexandra. She’s more liquid lunch than Christmas lunch and we might end up begging for scraps on the village green later on today.’
‘If the worse comes to the worse we’ve got cold meat and cheeses in the fridge. I can put one of those ready-made baguette things in the oven. Plus we have wine.’
‘Don’t worry, there’ll be wine a plenty at Ms Phillips’ residence, I’m sure.’
‘Have you ever seen where she lives?’
I realise I haven’t. The only house I’ve been to in Bridley is Carey’s and a brief stop at Mags’ kitchen after she took me horse riding. There have been several places I wouldn’t have minded visiting mind you. I’ve fallen in love with remote cottages on hillside slopes, grassy fields with sheep grazing. I never saw myself as a country girl before but I have loved my stay in Bridley. Just walking along the single-track road outside Carey’s house I’d seen a deer walk out onto the road, robin redbreasts hopping on my windowsill and been stopped by a heard of cows changing fields one day when I was out on a jog. A jog! I refused to jog in London. I was always too afraid of fumes filling my lungs and giving me asthma. Here I can smell the clean air, feel how light and fresh the mornings are and I’ve never seen so many stars at night in my life before.
We pull up outside Alexandra’s house. It is chocolate box, picture perfect and not what I expected. I thought Alexandra lived in a manor house with a long drive up from an iron gate. I thought she’d have footmen. But as we park up by a hedge alongside the garage Alexandra comes out to greet us, wearing an apron.
‘Welcome, welcome,’ she says as we hand her a box containing wine, chocolates and a present wrapped in gold paper. We decided on smellies for Alexandra because you can never go wrong with those and it won out over the obvious – a bottle of booze.
Inside, the cottage is deceptively large and the décor a lot more modern than I’d expected. She brings us straight into a large kitchen that smells divine and the surfaces are filled with mixing bowls, pots, pans and goodness knows what. Alexandra has cooked and by the looks of things she has cooked enough to feed the whole village.
‘This is amazing, Alexandra.’ I’m totally in awe of her.
‘I forgot to ask if anyone was vegetarian,’ she says. ‘So, along with the turkey and the ham, there’s a nut roast. I think I may have done too much but that’s what freezers are for. Am I right, girls?’
We sit and chat with Alexandra who moves nimbly round the kitchen, stirring gravy, checking on stuffing and prodding the ham. A glass or two of champagne later and we’re helping to transport our feast to the dining room, where French windows look out onto a garden with a stone fountain in the centre of it and flowerbeds surround the lawn. In the middle of the room sits a large, oval table elaborately laid with crystal glasses, fine china and white linen napkins. I look at Carey who makes a face that says, ‘Wow, she really has gone to town.’
I have to take back everything I thought might happen at this dinner as I relax into the moment and eat and drink like there’s no tomorrow. All the time I’m wondering if I remember seeing a dishwasher in the kitchen because Carey and I will have to offer to wash up and it seems as if Alexandra has used every item of crockery, all the glassware and every form of cutlery in the house.
‘I know I bang on about it,’ says Alexandra, ‘but I think you’re the best thing that’s happened to the magazine since it began all those years back, Sydney.’
I can see that Alexandra has had five or six drinks too many, but I know she’s being sincere. For months she has done nothing but sing my praises to the entire population of Bridley. Everywhere I went people stopped me and asked if I was that Londoner from the magazine.
‘I know you have no intention of staying, the Big Smoke calls and all that, but we’d love to have you extend your stay.’
‘Because you haven’t found a replacement editor?’ I ask, playfully.
‘Well, we shan’t need one after you leave the magazine. Not now that I’m planning to close it down.’
I almost choke on my liqueur. ‘How’s that?’ I’d secretly thought that if I just couldn’t face going back to London then maybe I’d still have a job in Bridley.
‘You know what it’s like for print media, Sydney. I mean the little people like me are practically running it as a charity. I know Bridley people like to keep up with the news but even I go online for everything these days. Everyone searches their phones and tablets. No, I decided after the party that the magazine was too much of a drain. Only problem is someone has to tell the staff.’ Her voice trails off and I realise I’ve just been appointed to take on the task of axing jobs.
I sense Carey shifting awkwardly in her seat, but I’m shocked into stillness because my Plan B no longer exists. I have to leave Bridley now, no matter what happens.
‘If you could see your way clear to stay with the magazine to at least February as we wind down?’ Alexandra is saying. So, come February, that’s it for me.
‘You look disappointed, Sydney,’ Alexandra says.
‘Me? Well, no. I suppose, yes. I mean, everyone will be so disappointed, won’t they?’
‘I have thought about it long and hard.’ Alexandra shakes her head. ‘But the truth is, no one actually needs to work on the magazine. They do it more for love than money. Jenna gets married in the new year and has already hinted she’ll start working in her husband’s roofing company full time. She’s practically running it now and she loves it. Beth needs to be a full-time carer for her mother now. Mags is commission only and can transfer her sales skills. Mind you their stables are doing remarkably well. I’m sure Mags only took the job so she could talk to someone other than the horses, but I dare say she’ll be needed at home now that the riding school is picking up. The two lads, self employed and don’t really rely on the magazine fees I pay. They both undercharge and can make twice as much if they freelance. The camaraderie will be missed but not the money so much.’
I’d miss the money, I think to myself. Everyone will be sorted except me. I try not to let it show that I’m feeling deflated.
‘You forgot someone from the magazine,’ Carey says.
Alexandra and I both look at her and say, ‘Who?’ at the same time.
‘Well, Dear Vicky, of course.’ She looks from me to Alexandra and I’m at a loss for words. This is just another reminder that there are things I need to talk to Carey about.
Alexandra lets out a little laugh and starts to rise from her chair.
‘I thought Sydney would at least have let on to you about Vicky. Shall we move to the living room? This can all live here until the morning.’ She gestures to the desert bowls and remaining items on the table.
/> We follow her to the living room opposite the hall. Alexandra goes over to a drinks cabinet and starts pouring us each a Cognac while Carey and I plonk ourselves into a couple of high back armchairs by the unlit fireplace. It is already growing dark. The trees make spindly silhouettes against a navy sky, frozen like a picture capturing a snapshot of the dusk. As Alexandra hands us a tumbler of Cognac each and goes to switch on some side lamps, I can feel Carey’s expectant gaze on my right cheek.
‘Cheers,’ Alexandra says as she sits on a sofa.
‘Well, are you both going to leave me hanging?’ Carey says. She is smiling but obviously curious. ‘What should Syd have told me about Vicky?’
Alexandra throws her head back and laughs. I open my mouth to jump in and make something up but she’s too quick for me.
‘It’s a trade secret, so don’t say anything,’ Alexandra takes a sip of Cognac but I’m still not quick enough to stop her. ‘The editor is Dear Vicky. Always has been since the start. We don’t employ a professional therapist as I’ve led everyone to believe. At the time we thought it best to give the Agony Aunt a secret identity because the original editor and I thought no one would send in their problems. It’s such a tight knit community.’
‘So the editor, and all the staff come to that, knew the people who wrote the letters?’ Carey says with a giant knot in her brow. She hasn’t looked at me.
‘Well most people use an alias,’ says Alexandra, merrily. ‘But sometimes we can work out who the author of the letter is.’
Alexandra takes a long sip of Cognac. Long enough for her to empty the glass of the thick liquid. She gets up and waves the bottle at us.
‘Another?’ she asks.
Both Carey and I hold up our glasses in silence. Carey has so far been keeping her alcoholic consumption low but she takes quite a few sips of Cognac before speaking again.