It’s bloody typical that the one time I need him to be straight-laced and serious, he decides to start larking around.
He wanders off to examine the auction items and I take my place at the entrance with Carrie, one of my helpers, and we start issuing auction numbers to the people filing into the marquee.
By 2.15, almost every seat is taken.
I signal to Dan that he can start and he flashes me an idiot look that says I can’t believe I’m doing this.
‘OK.’ He dips awkwardly over the microphone. ‘What shall we do first?’ He looks at the list in his hand, then at the items, then back at the list.
I glance at Carrie and cringe. I can hardly bear to look.
The audience is growing restless.
People are moving around in their seats and the odd murmur expands astonishingly quickly into fifty different conversations.
Dan is floundering. But I refuse to feel guilty. If he’s cocky enough to think he can carry it off, it’s his problem, not mine.
Feeling slightly queasy, I duck out of the marquee and collide with someone coming in.
‘Izzy, there you are! For heaven’s sake, we thought you were boycotting your own event!’
‘Mum?’ I stare at her, gobsmacked. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
She turns to the man behind her and gives an apologetic laugh. ‘Well, what a reception. Jim, this is my charming daughter. Izzy, this is Jim Over the Road. He very kindly offered to drive me here but maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.’
Jim Over the Road leaps forward to shake hands.
He looks about my mother’s age with iron grey hair, pale blue eyes and a twinkly smile.
‘Don’t be silly, of course I’m glad you’re here.’ I beam at my mother. ‘I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.’
She purses her lips. ‘Well, good.’
Some kids playing nearby manage to kick their ball right at us. My mother sidesteps it neatly and Jim Over the Road seizes the chance to display his skill by elaborately trapping the ball, sizing up the target and chipping it back to them.
‘Anyway, we won’t keep you.’ My mother gives the kids a withering glance. ‘I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do keeping this rabble in check. Come on, Jim. I’ve spotted the ice-cream stall.’
I grin. ‘Well, thanks for coming. Both of you.’
‘You’re lucky we got here,’ says Jim with a wink. ‘Your mother’s navigational skills aren’t exactly the finest.’
My mother prods him indignantly and, laughing, Jim heads off for ice-cream.
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘So are you two…?’
She looks horrified. ‘No, of course we’re not. He’s just being kind. He knows I hate driving long distances.’ She presses my arm and starts picking her way daintily over to Jim, spindly heels sinking into the grass.
Good grief, I think to myself, I truly am honoured. The last time my mother turned up at an event of mine, I was playing the star in Primary One’s nativity play (not baby Jesus, the actual Star in the East).
I decide to check on Jess, who’s serving refreshments.
On the way over, I notice Banksy has joined Mrs P and Zak at the cake stall. Someone must have taken over from him at the coconut shy. He’s regaling her with a story that’s making her hoot with laughter. I smile. It’s probably some tale of his misspent youth. I’ve heard a lot of them and they are very funny.
I watch Zak passing a paper bag to a woman in a navy and white polka dot dress and straw hat. He delivers it as carefully as if it were an unexploded bomb. The woman pats him on the cheek, which makes Zak cringe slightly, and when the customer walks off, he and Mrs P do a jubilant high five.
I’m about to walk over to Jess on refreshments when I suddenly notice Eloise chatting to Wesley at one end of the stall.
They look totally at ease in each other’s company. Wesley is telling a story, waving his arms about, quite animated for him. Eloise laughs, bending right over at the waist.
And suddenly I know without a shadow of a doubt that there’s nothing romantic going on between them. Because if there were, they could never be so at ease with each other in public.
Jess, however, looks tense.
She’s handing out cans of soft drink and collecting money as if on autopilot, but I notice that every few seconds her eyes flick sideways – not in Wesley’s direction but over towards the marquee.
‘Busy?’ I ask, walking over.
She gives a tense little smile. ‘I’ve run out of cola three times.’ And there it is again. That tiny sideways flick of the eyes.
‘Could you help me with the auction?’ I ask. ‘Wesley could take over here.’
She looks at me in alarm, and for a second I can tell there’s some sort of fight going on in her brain. Then she nods. ‘I’ll be over in a sec.’
I’m dreading going back into the marquee.
As I approach, I hear a burst of applause followed by Dan’s voice, loud and strong through the microphone. ‘Two little ducks. Twenty-two! OK, ladies, lot twenty-two, a fabulous day at a local massage parlour. At least, I think that’s what Heavenly Bodies is. Can anyone enlighten me?’
I close my eyes in dismay and slip in the back. Bingo lingo? And massage parlours? Very classy.
‘It’s a spa,’ someone yells as the laughter subsides.
‘Oh, yeah? That’s your story,’ Dan says, striding from one end of the stage to the other. ‘Right, let’s start the bidding at fifty pounds. Fifty pounds anyone?’
To my amazement, there are plenty of people desperate to spend a day at Heavenly Bodies. They’re all women, I note cynically, except for a couple of guys sitting together in the back row. Within minutes, the price has risen to an incredible £250.
Dan reaches over to the podium, grabs the gavel and brings it down on his thigh. ‘Sold. To the woman with the pink dress and beautiful smile.’
I make a throwing-up sign at Carrie. ‘Any cheesier and he’ll be handing round the crackers.’
She giggles. ‘I know. I can’t decide if he’s amazingly awful. Or incredibly brilliant. He’s quite the hero, though, riding in like that to save the day.’ She gazes dreamily at our host with the most.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’ Although I have to admit the audience appears to be hanging on his every word.
‘Right, lot number twenty-three,’ Dan announces. ‘Phew, it’s warm in here. Excuse me a sec.’ He strips off his sweater, revealing a glimpse of taut brown stomach in the process. Someone wolf whistles and the two guys at the back crane their necks to get a better look.
Carrie giggles. ‘He’s definitely hot. Don’t you think so?’
I’m spared having to answer by Jess walking in.
I beckon her over.
Dan holds up a glossy brochure. ‘Romantic beach holiday for two, courtesy of Island Paradise, to … Worthing Sands?’ Pause for laughter. ‘No, hang on. It’s the Seychelles.’
A chorus of ‘oohs’ follows and the bidding begins again, rising to a figure that makes me happier than I have felt all day. Chill room, here I come. Maybe everything will work out after all.
‘Dan Parsons, hero of the hour. Who’d have thought it?’ I murmur, turning to Jess.
But she doesn’t hear me. She’s staring, her face chalk white, at the stage where Dan is shaking the hand of the winning bidder.
I vaguely recognise the well-built man with the blond hair and deep tan who’s gone up to claim his holiday. But I can’t think how.
Then I remember.
‘Oh, it’s Eloise’s boss at the photographic agency,’ I murmur to Jess. ‘I recognise him from that photo that flashed up on screen at the black-tie balls-up. What was his name again? Jake? Hank?’
‘Luke,’ Jess says softly, as if in a trance.
‘He’s called Luke.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
By six, the fayre is over and the crowd has gone.
My mother said a fleeting farewell and went off with
Jim soon after five. I was amazed she stayed that long.
I sent Jess to the house for a lie down, saying I’d join her later. I peeped in on her a while ago and she was lying curled up on the sofa with her eyes shut so I crept back out again.
Dan and Zak are still here.
I have a sneaky feeling Zak’s got his eye on the bouncy castle, so I tell him his reward for helping Mrs P is to take off his trainers and bounce for Britain.
He doesn’t need telling twice.
‘Are you coming on, Izzy?’ he yells, executing a neat somersault.
Dan gives me a sly grin. ‘Izzy’s far too tired. She wants to sit down not jump.’
My hackles stir.
It’s true that after the hot, exhausting day, my mascara is migrating south and I’m feeling staler than a week-old baguette. But does he really have to point it out?
Luckily I’m wearing jeans. Good bouncing gear. Slipping off my ballet pumps, I clamber up and start trying – very gingerly – to make my feet part from the rolling plastic beneath me.
Tired, indeed! I’ll show him!
Zak clambers over and holds my hands and after a while, we establish a nice little rhythm. I leap higher, beginning to enjoy myself.
This is fantastic! It’s so incredibly liberating!
I’d always thought my balance left a bit to be desired, but maybe—
Without warning, the floor suddenly tilts and I find myself flying off to the right and catapulting into a wall.
I end up sprawled and panting on my stomach, like an asthmatic beached whale.
‘Dad!’ shrieks Zak. ‘Look what you did to poor Izzy!’
That’s when I realise Dan is now jumping beside us. Clearly, he caused the tidal wave that sent me rocketing sideways.
With the plastic ‘ground’ in constant motion, I’m finding it almost impossible to get up. It takes at least five attempts and has Zak hooting with laughter. It doesn’t help that Dan is naturally athletic and makes bouncy castle jumping look like an Olympic sport.
After the emotion of the day, I feel like weeping not laughing.
For a second, I wobble on the brink.
But merriment wins and by the time I finally manage to scramble to my feet, I’m laughing harder than anyone.
I wave them off half an hour later, thanking Dan once again for being my hero of the hour at the auction. Then I go in search of Jess.
She’s sitting curled into a corner of the sofa. ‘You looked like you were having fun out there.’ She gives me a watery smile. ‘Dan’s really nice.’
I bring her a glass of wine, which she takes gratefully, downing half in one go.
The house phone rings.
‘It’s Wesley.’ I hold out the receiver but Jess waves it away in alarm.
I cover the phone and she whispers, ‘Tell him I’m helping you clear up and I’ve decided to stay over.’
I feel bad lying to him. But whatever it is that’s drained the life out of Jess, it’s clearly not something she wants to share with her fiancé.
‘I’m a terrible person,’ she says, staring at the floor in a daze.
‘No, of course you’re—’
Her head snaps up. ‘I am, Izzy.’
I sit down next to her. ‘So come on, tell me what you’ve done that’s so terrible.’
‘I’ve been seeing my ex behind Wesley’s back.’ Tears flood her eyes but there’s a hint of defiance in her tone.
‘Your ex?’
‘Luke. I was in love with him years ago. Before I met Wesley.’
I nod slowly, trying not to show how shocked I am.
Her eyes fill with tears. ‘Don’t hate me.’
‘No, of course not. But how long have you…? I mean, have you and Luke actually…?’
She shakes her head. ‘All we’ve done is meet for coffee. Twice. But he wants more. He says in the five years we’ve been apart, he’s never stopped loving me.’ Her brown eyes are huge and haunted. ‘But I love Wesley. And if he ever finds out I’ve been meeting Luke…’
I reach for her hand and her face crumples. ‘Oh God, Izzy, what am I going to do?’
She gives way to her sobs and I shuffle along the sofa and gently stroke her back.
When she calms down I give her a paper hanky and ask softly, ‘Didn’t you know it was Luke’s photographic agency that Wesley had booked for your wedding?’
She shakes her head. ‘I only met Eloise. Then at the black-tie ball, Luke’s photo flashed up on the screen and I realised it was his company. I didn’t even know he was back.’
‘Back from where?’
‘Australia. It was such a shock to see his face. It was like seeing a ghost. I had to get out of there.’
‘So that’s why you ran,’ I murmur, remembering how she’d bolted for the taxi when Wesley ran out after her.
She pulls another paper hanky from the box and blows her nose. Then she laughs. ‘Do you know how long Luke had been back in the country when Wesley contacted him? A month! I mean, what are the odds?’
I smooth a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘We thought you running off had something to do with Eloise.’
‘Eloise?’ She looks at me in confusion. ‘Why would you think that?’
I shrug awkwardly.
‘Oh, I get it,’ she says suddenly. ‘You think I mind about her friendship with Wesley?’ Her mouth twists into a smile. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong, actually. I know she has a crush on Wesley but he’s always been really upfront about it. He said she even kissed him once. In the street, in full view of everyone. He had to put her straight. Gently, of course.’
‘Ah.’
I feel a total fool. I’d woven such dramatic stories around that kiss.
‘So how do you know Luke?’
She twists the hanky, winding it tighter and tighter. ‘We met at college five years ago, studying journalism. At first we were just friends. I suppose the fact that we were both mature students – or as mature as you can be at twenty-seven – meant we had stuff in common. So we used to go to the pub and have these long talks about life and what we wanted to do. I knew newspapers were my future but Luke was always more interested in the photographic side.’
She looks at me, her eyes shining. ‘He’s a fabulous photographer, you know. Incredibly creative.’
‘So what happened?’ I prompt her gently.
‘Oh, we got together.’
‘And you were happy?’
She nods.
‘But?’
She shrugs. ‘I messed up.’
She stares into the distance and I wait for her to tell me.
‘He was offered this amazing job as a photographer on a prestigious national newspaper. I badgered him to take it. I was so afraid he’d regret it later if he turned it down and stayed with me instead.’
‘Stayed with you?’
She nods. ‘The job was in Australia.’
‘So he went,’ I say softly. ‘And left you behind?’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t that simple. He wanted me to go with him. But I wasn’t ready to just up sticks like that and leave all my family and friends behind. So I told him he should go and I’d join him over there once I’d finished my course.’
‘But you never did?’
She stares at me bleakly. ‘I only said it to make him go. Honestly, Izzy, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’
I frown, struggling to understand. ‘But you didn’t have to send him away.’
‘But I did have to. I was convinced if he stayed here, he might end up blaming me for the lost opportunity. So I made him go.’
‘That was a really brave thing to do.’
Jess gives a bitter laugh. ‘Oh, believe me, I’ve regretted it a million times since. Because actually, I was fooling myself, thinking I was being all noble and self-sacrificing when in fact, I was just scared.’
‘Scared of what?’
She turns, her eyes full of anguish. ‘Izzy, I was absolutely petrified of my life chang
ing – the upheaval of emigrating, not knowing whether I’d find a job I liked, leaving everything familiar behind. We’d only been going out for eight months. What if it turned out we weren’t actually compatible and I was left all by myself on the other side of the world?’
We smile sadly at each other.
Then she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ‘The thing is, I’ve had plenty of time to mull it over and do you know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think the thing that terrified me most of all was how strongly I felt about Luke. It was too much. I couldn’t handle it.’
She looks up at me with big, grief-stricken eyes. ‘So I screwed it up.’
I recall Luke striding up to claim his prize, slightly shorter than Dan but powerfully built, blond hair closely cropped, joking with Dan as he accepted the envelope containing his holiday. A man with a charisma that would be hard to forget.
‘But didn’t you stay in touch when Luke went away?’
‘For a while.’ She lets her head fall back against the sofa. ‘But he was all caught up in his new life. He’d tell me about his colleagues on the newspaper and say he couldn’t wait for them to meet me.’ She stares at the ceiling. ‘But that just made him seem even further away from me than he already was. So in the end…’
‘In the end?’ I prompt gently.
‘I invented a boyfriend. I told Luke I’d met someone at work but that I’d really like it if we could stay in touch and be friends.’
‘Oh my God,’ I breathe. ‘And what did he say?’
She smiles bitterly. ‘I never heard from him again.’
‘And you never told us about Luke?’
‘It all happened a few years before you came down from Edinburgh. I’d made up my mind to forget all about him. Move on.’ She laughs. ‘All that garbage you tell yourself. But then, of course, I met Wesley and it was so different with him. Really nice and uncomplicated.’
‘And yet he’s not the one,’ I murmur, thinking how sad life can be.
She looks at me, taken aback. ‘But Wesley is the one!’
‘Right.’ I try to smile, feeling wrong-footed.
Green Beans and Summer Dreams Page 23