The Show

by Tilly Bagshawe

  ‘See?’ Milo smiled. ‘Good as gold. I’m sorry Mum’s so vile to you.’

  It was such a non sequitur, it took Magda a moment to realize what Milo had said.

  ‘You must hate working here,’ he added.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Magda quickly. ‘I’m grateful for the job.’

  ‘Grateful? Why? You’re obviously far too educated to be a cleaner, never mind putting up with my parents’ bullshit. You could do so much better.’

  ‘It’s not so easy for foreigners,’ Magda said quietly. She knew Milo was trying to be nice, but he had no idea what he was talking about. ‘And your parents are good people,’ she added.

  ‘Good people? Good people don’t pack their only son off to Africa for five months for no good reason,’ moaned Milo. ‘They’re selfish, that’s what they are. All either of them has ever cared about is Dad’s career.’

  Suddenly Magda found herself becoming angry. She hadn’t intended to have another personal conversation with Milo, but his entitlement was so infuriating and so insulting, it all came flooding out.

  ‘Selfish? You want to know what selfish is? I’ll tell you. Selfish is drinking away your family’s savings so your children have nothing. Selfish is hitting your wife when she refuses to put up with it any more. Your parents aren’t selfish, Milo. You are.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’ Milo pouted. ‘I thought you were on my side.’

  ‘I am. And so are your mother and father. They’ve given you nothing but love and opportunities and you’ve wasted them all. Wilf! Come back here!’

  Milo stood in stunned silence, watching a furious Magda run up the hill after the dog. By the time he pulled himself together and caught up with her, twilight had fallen. Below them, through the trees, the lights of Fittlescombe village could be seen twinkling cheerfully.

  ‘Hey,’ he grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I’m sorry if I upset you.’

  ‘You didn’t upset me.’ Magda looked away. Once again she seemed to have accidentally invited an intimacy between them that she didn’t want.

  ‘Was that your father you were talking about?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does,’ Milo insisted. ‘Of course it matters. I want to know about your life. Did your father drink?’

  It sounded so benign when Milo said it. A simple, harmless question. ‘Did your father drink?’ And how should she answer it? ‘Yes, my father drank.’ It would be true. And yet those words would be so far from summing up the misery, the utter anguish of Magda’s childhood. The violence and abuse and hunger and insecurity that had prompted her to leave not just her family but her country, as soon as she’d been able. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Instead, a little less harshly than before, she said: ‘You have no idea what this world is like, Milo. You think you do, but you don’t. Africa will be good for you.’

  They’d reached the bottom of the hill now. The woods had given way to meadows. A few yards ahead of them, a stone bridge crossed the River Swell at its narrowest point. Distant voices from The Fox Inn reached them through the still night air.

  Milo slowed and turned to face Magda. There was a vulnerability in her face suddenly that he hadn’t noticed before. In all their interactions so far, Magda had always been the strong one, the adult. But in that moment Milo felt an overpowering urge to protect her.

  ‘Please don’t mention this conversation to your parents,’ she said nervously. ‘I wouldn’t want them to think …’

  ‘Think what?’

  ‘Nothing. I … just … my upbringing isn’t relevant. I said more than I should.’

  Milo didn’t agree, but he sensed Magda didn’t want to talk about it, so he said nothing. They walked on in silence into the village. It was further than Magda had intended on going. She must get back to Brockhurst soon or it would be fully dark.

  ‘This is me,’ Milo said, gesturing towards the pub. He was shocked by how much he didn’t want to go inside. By how much he wanted to stay with Magda, just as he had done the night of the wedding. Except this time he wanted to listen to her, to show her that he wasn’t the spoiled, feckless teenager she thought he was, but a man, a man capable of … of what?

  ‘You’d better go in, then.’ Magda was smiling at him again now, but it was an indulgent smile, the kind a mother might give when forgiving an errant son. Milo didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘I don’t like you walking back on your own,’ he tried to sound authoritative. ‘It’s dark.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’ll survive the mean footpaths of Fittlescombe,’ Magda joked. ‘I have Wilf to protect me if anything gets nasty.’

  Reluctantly, Milo went into the pub. The door opened just long enough for Magda to see him being greeted very affectionately by a stunning blonde girl at the bar. It must be Emma Harwich, the girl from the wedding who Milo had sworn blind to Sir Eddie and Lady Wellesley that he’d never see again.

  No wonder they’re sending him to Africa.

  It was strange to think that next week Milo would be on a plane to the other side of the world. Magda didn’t like to admit how much his presence at Riverside Hall had brightened her days. She didn’t even see him that much, but somehow his positive energy had been a counterbalance to his mother’s constant negativity, her fault-finding and frequent flashes of irritation. Sir Edward was a positive person too, but he was at home so little. Perhaps that was why Lady Wellesley was so unhappy?

  Clipping Wilf back onto the lead, Magda headed for home, wondering what the next few months might bring.

  Lying in bed at Cranbourne House, gazing up at the ceiling, Macy couldn’t sleep. Dinner had been lovely and sex even lovelier. James had pulled out all the stops and put on a performance so athletic and ambitious that Macy had struggled to keep up. She’d lost count of how many times she’d come. But when it was finally over, she’d expected him to leave. Instead he’d kissed her, rolled over and fallen instantly asleep in her bed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there, on a Monday night and with work the next day. Now he lay snoring quietly beside her, his broad chest rising and falling in a peaceful, sated rhythm.

  Macy envied him. Not just his typically male ability to fall asleep at the turn of a dime. But the way he simply accepted things – like the two of them being together – without thought or question. She didn’t think she had ever met a person quite so relaxed, quite so willing to take things day by day. The two of them had met less than a week ago, and yet already the handsome cricketer seemed to have slotted into Macy’s life in an unnervingly permanent manner.

  A phrase that her agent used to use drifted back to her: There’s such a thing as being too careful, Macy. She could hear Paul Meyer’s voice now, like something from a dream, or a past life. Paul had been talking about her professional life. But his words applied equally to Macy’s chequered love life. She knew she was scared of commitment, and she knew why. But was she scared of happiness too? Would James Craven make her happy? She had to admit he was doing a pretty good job so far.

  Her mind drifted back to the day’s filming up at the farm. The furious little vicar hopping up and down beside his silage-filled car like a lizard on too-hot ground. Gabe laughing till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Gabe hugging her, smelling of wool and sheep dip and sweat and lemon verbena cologne. She smiled.

  Not all men were like her father.

  There’s such a thing as being too careful, Macy.

  At last she drifted into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Milo Wellesley’s pre-Africa leaving party quickly morphed from being drinks with a few friends at The Fox to a full-scale shindig in Riverside Hall barn. Much against his father’s wishes.

  ‘For one thing, that building’s an absolute deathtrap,’ complained Eddie. ‘One of Milo’s idiot friends will get drunk and fall off a beam or something and we’ll be sued for gazillions.’

  ‘Of course we won’t,’ Annabel said br
usquely. ‘This isn’t America. It’s true the barn’s a disaster, but that’s exactly why we should have a party there. We’re tearing it down in August. I’d rather the children wreak havoc in there than in the house. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘They’re not children,’ Eddie said crossly. ‘Milo’s seventeen, for God’s sake. And let’s not forget why we’re sending him to Africa in the first place. So he can bloody well grow up. I assume you haven’t forgotten his behaviour at the Cranley girl’s wedding?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’

  ‘This trip is supposed to be a punishment. A consequence of his own immature, reckless, damn-fool behaviour. He doesn’t deserve a bloody party.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Annabel pouted. ‘You didn’t deserve a second chance at this marriage, but you got one, didn’t you?’

  Eddie bit his tongue. It irked him to have this thrown back in his face continually, but he was hardly in a position to protest.

  ‘It’s a few friends in the barn, Eddie, seeing Milo off,’ Annabel said, a little more gently. ‘Plenty of responsible adults will be milling around. Don’t make a big deal out of it.’

  Magda was also trying not to make a big deal out of it, although when the night of the party finally rolled round, she couldn’t help but allow herself a small twinge of excitement.

  Milo had invited her a few days ago, in a casual, throwaway way en route to play tennis.

  ‘You must come. It’ll be a good chance for you to meet some locals.’

  Magda looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Up to you. But you can’t spend your entire life shut up in our gamekeeper’s cottage like Rapunzel in the tower.’

  This was true.

  ‘Or down in the kitchen like Cinderella, dusting my mother’s silver.’

  She watched Milo sauntering off to his tennis match, in that easy, entitled way of his, seemingly without a care in the world. Even his annoyance about being banished to Africa had proved very short-lived, once it occurred to him that there was no studying involved and he’d be sure to come back with a killer tan.

  But she mustn’t be mean. He’s trying to be kind, she thought, inviting me. And he’s right. I must get out more. But the prospect still scared her. It would be the first time Magda had attended any sort of Swell Valley social event, and she would know nobody there except her bosses and Milo, who would have better things to do at his own leaving party than introduce her around.

  Even so, she’d bitten the bullet and blown two weeks’ wages on a clinging, chocolate-brown dress from Primark that made her feel like Sophia Loren. Her only pair of high heels were on their last legs, so scuffed that Magda had had to fill in the bare patches where the suede had rubbed off with black felt tip. But standing in front of the mirror now, with her dark hair swept back, a dash of lipstick and a simple pair of drop earrings sending the light dancing across her shoulders, she saw a confident, beautiful young woman staring back at her. That woman looked so different from Magda’s usual, drudge-like self that she began to laugh.

  ‘And the Oscar goes to … ’ she pouted into the mirror, striking a red-carpet pose, back half-turned as she looked over her shoulder.

  Outside, the party had already started. Music thumped dully out across the lawn from the direction of the old barn, and numerous cars had already arrived, depositing gaudily dressed youngsters at the front of Riverside Hall while their parents drove down to the paddock to park. The girls were mostly very young, in tiny minidresses that showed off their long legs. Magda watched them from her window, as proud and dazzling as a flock of peacocks, and felt a moment’s panic as they greeted each other with air kisses and giggles, flicking their long blonde manes from side to side.

  What am I doing? I won’t fit in! I’ll have nothing to say to any of them.

  But then she saw the vicar arriving, and Mr and Mrs Preedy from the village shop, and Penny de la Cruz, dressed as usual like a drunken scarecrow in a skirt she’d made herself, apparently from leftover curtain fabric, and smiling broadly at everybody. Clearly she and Annabel had made things up since their disastrous first meeting, on the surface at least. Magda remembered that not all of tonight’s guests would be Milo’s teenage groupies. Just about the whole valley was coming.

  You look nice, she told herself. You are nice. Now go and have fun.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here, Vicar.’ Jennifer Lee, the vet from Valley Farm, bumped into Bill Clempson on her way in. In a rather shapeless blue and white smock dress and Birkenstock shoes, Jenny wasn’t looking her best tonight. But it still struck Bill how pretty her face was when she wasn’t angry. ‘Isn’t this enemy territory?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Bill smiled warmly. ‘Tonight isn’t about our differences. It’s about supporting young Milo. It’s wonderful to see young people heading off to the developing world to do their bit. Don’t you agree, Miss Lee?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ blustered Jenny, slightly wrong-footed. She wasn’t used to seeing Bill Clempson smile. He actually wasn’t nearly as ugly as she remembered him.

  ‘Besides,’ Bill went on, sensing he might be winning her round, ‘my job is to represent Our Lord. And He didn’t have enemies.’

  ‘Didn’t he?’ Jenny frowned. ‘What about the Pharisees?’

  ‘Well, yes …’ Bill stammered. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘And the Romans? And Judas?’

  ‘Well, of course, if you’re being literal …’

  ‘And those old guys in the temple who gave him a hard time?’

  ‘The High Priests.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Jenny shrugged. ‘I’m a bit rusty on the old Bible stories, I’m afraid. But I’d say it’s pretty difficult to get crucified if you don’t have any enemies. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I, er … I …’ Bill Clempson blushed as the sentence trailed away.

  Jenny instantly regretted going down this path. What did she care about Jesus and his enemies? She’d only said it for something to say, and now she’d shot the poor man down in flames, just as he was trying to rebuild bridges between them.

  ‘I’d better go and mingle with my parishioners,’ Bill said awkwardly. ‘Enjoy the party, Miss Lee.’

  ‘You too, Vicar,’ Jenny called guiltily after him, helping herself to a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and downing it one.

  Next time she saw Bill Clempson, she would be nice. Very nice.

  He really wasn’t such a bad fish after all.

  At the far end of the barn, Milo was already tipsy, knocking back the gin and tonics with Will Cooper, an old school friend, when Roxanne, his most recent ex, sashayed in.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ Will nudged Milo hard in the ribs. ‘Fireworks at two o’clock.’

  With his freckled face, blue eyes, and long, floppy, reddish hair, Will Cooper had always looked ridiculously innocent and boyish. His nickname at Pinewood Prep had been ‘Cherub’; at Harrow he was known as ‘Bog’ after his initials, W.C. But Will’s butter-wouldn’t-melt exterior concealed a mischievous, borderline filthy mind. Hence his lifelong bond with Milo.

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Milo.

  Even he had to admit that Roxie looked fabulous in a gold lamé playsuit that might have been sprayed on to her slender body, sparkly seventies platform boots and a jauntily angled trilby hat. She’d quite rightly dumped him when she’d found out about his romp with Emma Harwich up at Furlings, and they’d barely spoken since. But the tiny gold shorts she was wearing tonight were already making Milo start thinking wistfully about a reconciliation. After all, she was here, wasn’t she?

  ‘Mum’s going to go bananas,’ he told Will. ‘She’ll think I invited her.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I bloody didn’t. You should see her Facebook page. It’s like a shrine to how much she hates me.’

  ‘It’s not her Facebook page I’m interested in seeing,’ drooled Will, his eyes roaming lecherously over Roxie’s endless legs, and hovering at the point where her upper
thighs ended and the fabric of her playsuit began.

  ‘I’m serious,’ grumbled Milo. ‘She started a chat called: “A hundred and one reasons to cut off Milo Wellesley’s balls with a rusty penknife.” It got, like, two hundred “likes” in twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Will. ‘Well, it’s obviously far too dangerous for you to approach her. I’ll go over there and distract her. Take one for the team and all that.’

  ‘All right, Milo.’ Jamie King, one of Milo’s more obnoxious Harrow acquaintances, swaggered over. ‘Got any weed?’

  ‘If I did I wouldn’t share it with you, Kingo.’

  Milo tolerated Jamie. He could be funny in certain, limited circumstances. But because his family lived close by and his dad was in the House of Lords, the two boys were forced to see a lot more of each other than either would have chosen.

  Right now, Milo was a lot more interested in Will Cooper’s intentions towards his only-just-ex than in Jamie King’s weed-quest.

  ‘You’d better not try to shag her, Bog,’ he called after Will. ‘Bog!’

  But Will was already out of earshot, weaving his way through the guests, homing in on Roxanne like a testosterone-fuelled missile.

  Things were not off to a good start. They were about to get worse.

  ‘What is that girl doing here?’ Annabel, overdressed for the occasion in a full, floor-length black skirt and matching embellished black sweater by Balenciaga, appeared at Milo’s side. With her blonde hair scraped back into a severe bun and overly rouged cheeks, she looked like a particularly displeased ballet teacher. ‘I told you explicitly not to ask her.’

  ‘I didn’t ask her,’ Milo said meekly.

  But his mother wasn’t listening. She’d been horrified enough to find herself bumping into the fat little shopkeeper from Fittlescombe, Preedy, and his ghastly gossip of a wife. She assumed Eddie had invited them as some sort of childish, tit-for-tat gesture, to embarrass her, because she’d forced his hand on the party. Eddie was always upbraiding her for being a snob, and clearly got some kind of kick out of forcing poor Christopher Denton, the lord lieutenant, to make small talk with every local pleb he could lay his hands on. But she’d expected more from Milo.