by Alice Ross
‘He’s definitely not himself, is he, Bernard?’
‘I’m fine,’ insisted James. ‘And please don’t talk about me like I’m not here.’
His mother rumbled on. ‘You know, girls, when he was four he had a terrible case of mumps and the only thing he’d eat were banana sandwiches covered in chocolate sprinkles.’
Mandy and Alex giggled.
‘One day we ran out of sprinkles and he was so upset, Bernard had to drive twenty miles to find another tub. Do you remember, Bernard?’
‘I do, Marjorie.’
James raised his eyes skyward. Beam me up, Scottie. Or anybody. Anybody at all. Please.
‘Well, I must say, Alex seems a lovely girl,’ his mother enthused back at the house. ‘And very pretty, don’t you think, darling?’
‘I really hadn’t noticed, Mum.’
She sighed wistfully. ‘Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely if you could meet a nice girl like her.’
James was about to inform her that he didn’t want to meet any girls – nice or otherwise – when she piped up:
‘Oh, I’ve just had the most marvellous idea. Why don’t you invite Alex to Matt and Francesca’s wedding, darling?’
James gave a sardonic smile. ‘Because, Mum, there’s no way on earth she’d want to go with me.’
Chapter 13
It had occurred to Matt that his days as a single man were well and truly numbered. Almost down to single figures. Could that terrifying realisation be the reason he’d felt so queasy the last few days? Given everything that was happening, it could be any number of things:
It could be that, for the first time in his life, he was unemployed. And he hadn’t done a thing to rectify that miserable situation. He couldn’t face it. Word of his sacking still wafted around the capital’s advertising fraternity, meaning no one would touch him with a bargepole yet.
More serious than his battered self-esteem though, and yet another possible reason for his nausea, were the financial consequences of this career lull. There was no money coming in and although he hadn’t received his payoff yet from Wiltshire & Harrison, he couldn’t face chasing it, that being the ultimate humiliation.
Francesca, meanwhile, didn’t seem the least bit concerned by the pile of bills appearing on the doormat like a persistent patch of weeds, which brought Matt to the final possible reason for his poor state of health - Francesca herself. Since arriving back from New York, she’d been acting very strangely, spending an inordinate amount of time on her mobile. He only hoped, for both their sakes, she wasn’t plotting a huge – and expensive - surprise for the wedding day.
*
Little Crumpton’s Annual Summer Barbeque was by far the village’s most prestigious social event, knocking socks off the Easter pie-and-pea supper, and the Christmas Eve carol service.
James had been in the village for only two weeks when he’d attended his inaugural barbie, which had proved both an excellent ice-breaker, and very good for business. Consequently, he’d been a loyal supporter of the event ever since, and this year had again volunteered to help. All volunteers were to meet outside the pub that morning where tasks would be allocated. Sauntering down in the early morning sunshine, he bumped into Jack, the carpenter.
‘Going to be another cracking spread,’ Jack informed him excitedly. ‘Bill the Butcher is going to surprise us with venison and ketchup sausages.’
James forced his lips into a smile, wishing he could get excited about venison and ketchup sausages. But he couldn’t. So low had he been the last few days, he couldn’t imagine getting excited about anything ever again. The exception being when his parents had announced they were unable to stay for the barbeque due to a crisis in his mother’s WI. He had waved them off that same afternoon.
By the time he reached the pub, Jack’s incessant chatter had given James a throbbing headache. Unable to face more banal banter, he sidled round to the side of the building, sat down on an upturned keg and closed his eyes.
‘Morning.’
He opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. Standing before him was Alex Corr, in red-and-white checked shorts and a white gypsy top.
‘Are you, er, staying or running off?’
He gawped at her, a swarm of emotions swirling around him none of which he could identify. All he knew, as his gaze fused with hers, was that he had no desire to run. ‘I, um, think I’ll stay if that’s all right,’ he eventually muttered.
They continued staring at one another until a bee buzzed past, breaking the moment.
‘So you’re still speaking to me,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe … after the curry night … well, you know ...’
She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does. I shouldn’t have- That is, I didn’t mean to-’
She shook her head. ‘We’d both had a lot to drink. Let’s forget it.’
‘If you’re sure-’
‘I am. Anyway, I should apologise too. I was a complete cow the other night in the beer garden.’
‘You were a bit … cool.’
‘I was a cow and I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, it doesn’t do much for a girl’s confidence when a guy keeps running away from her.’
James grimaced. ‘I don’t mean to. It’s just-’
‘You don’t have to explain. Why don’t we wipe the slate clean and start again? Friends?’
‘Definitely,’ he said, unable to stop the grin spreading on his face. ‘So anyway, what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to help. I thought it’d be a good way for me to get to know people in the village and possibly build up contacts for my business.’
‘Good idea. I can introduce you to a few people if you like.’
‘Thanks. That’d be great.’
‘.. and James and his young lady friend over there can put up the bunting,’ boomed a voice.
Whipping around they discovered the Chairman had already issued instructions and the group was dispersing.
James grimaced. ‘Well, I suppose that’s what happens when you don’t pay attention in class.’
‘Bunting,’ giggled Alex, causing his spirits for the first time in days to rise from the gutter, and his headache to completely disappear.
‘I think we’ve done a great job there,’ said Alex two hours later, as they sat on the riverbank with an ice-cream.
‘In the four years I’ve been here, I can honestly say I’ve never seen the bunting looking so fantastic,’ chuckled James. ‘It’s been a good morning, hasn’t it?’
‘Excellent,’ she agreed. ‘But the day’s still young.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh no. Look at the time. I really should be going. I’m meeting Mandy and Eric at two and I still have to wash my hair and change.’
James considered telling her there was no need for any of that - she looked fantastic. But as that definitely wasn’t the thing to say to a female friend, he muttered something about planning to do the same instead.
‘Right,’ she announced, licking the remains of her ice-cream from her fingers. ‘I’m off. See you back here later?’
A bolt of excitement flashed down his spine. ‘You certainly will.’
Later that afternoon, showered and changed into beige cargo shorts and white T-shirt, James sauntered back down to the riverbank. The unmistakable British barbeque aroma – that of burning sausages - wafted through the air as he approached, accompanied by the sound of laughing, screeching children and the dulcet tones of Lady Gaga.
‘James,’ called Mandy. ‘Over here.’
James weaved his way through a group of head-banging six-year-olds, and joined Mandy and Eric at their spread of picnic blankets, scattered with cushions and cool boxes. They’d chosen a perfect spot right next to the river, under the shade of a magnificent willow tree.
‘It all looks great,’ said Mandy, surveying the lively scene. ‘Did you help set up?’
‘Certainly did.’ He flopped down on a cushion.
‘Did you see Alex? She voluntee
red too.’
‘We put up the bunting.’
‘Together?’
‘Ah ha.’
He refrained from commenting on the knowing look Mandy flashed her fiancé. For once, it didn’t bother him. He’d thoroughly enjoyed himself that morning and that enjoyment had been down to Alex’s delightful company. As a result, he felt better than he had in days and, for the first time in days, his appetite had returned. He was about to suggest a trip to the food tent when Mandy said:
‘Is that Alex over there by the gazebo? With that tall bloke?’
Alex joined them shortly afterwards, accompanied by “that tall bloke”. In the sixty seconds between spotting them, and their arrival, a number of possibilities as to the man’s identity had been proposed by Mandy. James contributed nothing as he watched her - in a blue cotton dress - and “the tall bloke” pick their way over to them.
‘Everyone, this is Piers,’ she said as they joined them. ‘Piers, this is Mandy, Eric and James.’
‘Hi,’ drawled Piers, holding up a hand in greeting.
‘Piers is a … friend of mine. From York,’ she added, meeting James’ enquiring gaze. ‘He’s paying me a, um, surprise visit.’
‘Nothing like a surprise to keep a girl on her toes,’ chuckled Piers.
Alex gave an awkward smile.
‘Come and join us, Piers,’ said Eric. ‘Pull up a cushion.’
‘Thanks.’ Piers plopped down onto the blanket. Alex nibbled her lip for a few seconds before doing the same.
‘So, what brings you all the way down here from York?’ asked Eric, proffering the visitor a beer from the cool box.
Piers flashed Alex a lascivious look. ‘Need you ask?’
James resisted the urge to punch him. Smug bastard.
‘And what do you do in York, Piers?’ asked Mandy, her tone decidedly cooler than that of her fiancé.
‘I’m a doctor. Training to be a heart surgeon actually.’
‘Wow,’ replied Eric. ‘That’s impressive.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Piers. ‘It is rather, isn’t it?’
‘Smug bastard,’ muttered Eric, as he and James made their way to the food tent thirty minutes later. ‘What’s Alex doing with a prat like that?’
James shrugged. He felt like throwing up. The only reason he’d accompanied Eric to the tent had nothing to do with food, and everything to do with escaping Piers. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up flattening the guy. Not only because he was all over Alex like a rash, but because he was so totally and unashamedly up himself.
They reached the tent. Eric piled his plate high. James didn’t even bother picking one up.
‘Who’s for tug-o-war?’ asked Jack, looking very official with his clipboard, as James and Eric re-joined the rest of the group. ‘We’re short of one on each team.’
‘Piers and I will do it,’ James immediately piped up. ‘That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Piers?’
Much to his delight, Piers looked completely horrified. ‘Well, I don’t normally- And this shirt- It’s Armani, you know.’
James didn’t know. Nor did he care. ‘Don’t be such a wimp. And hurry up. We don’t want to miss it.’
Never in a million years could James have imagined being so enthusiastic – or so competitive - about a tug-o-war. And he was delighted to see that his team included some impressive brawn. Taking his place in the line-up, he watched Piers, on the opposite side, position himself between two big bruisers. Jack sounded the gun and James began heaving the rope as hard as he could. First they were back, then they were forward, then they were back again. Finally, with one almighty yank, they toppled their opponents, Piers neatly sandwiched between the bruisers.
The visitor was not impressed. ‘Look at the rip in my shirt,’ he wailed.
‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Eric, winking at James.
Piers shot them a withering look before taking hold of Alex’s arm and yanking her to one side.
She re-joined them a few minutes later.
‘We’re just popping back to the cottage so Piers can change his shirt,’ she informed them diffidently.
‘Well,’ giggled Mandy, as they watched their retreating backs. ‘I’m not sure if I should say, “well done, James,” or “shame on you”. Either way, though, that was hilarious.’
‘The funniest bit was him sandwiching himself between those two big blokes,’ snorted Eric.
‘Anyway,’ said Mandy, ‘I’m bursting for the loo. I didn’t dare go before in case I missed anything. Back in a mo.’
As James and Eric wound their way back to the picnic blankets, Eric suddenly stopped. ‘Is that Anya over there?’
James followed his gaze. It was indeed Anya - in pink hot-pants – heading straight for them.
‘Guten Tag, James. Guten Tag, Eric,’ she said on reaching them. ‘It is such a lovely day that I vos thinking I am coming down to see all that is going on. Are you minding if I join you?’ She peered at James over the top of her sunglasses.
‘Well, I, er- That is we were just- Leaving. We were just leaving,’ he spluttered.
‘Really? But I vos thinking it has only just started.’
‘Well, I mean I was just leaving,’ he clarified. ‘I’ve had too much sun. Going to nip home and have a lie-down.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Very vell,’ she replied, before whisking around and flouncing off in the direction of the food tent.
‘Whoops. Think you might have upset her there,’ chuckled Eric.
James shrugged. ‘Who cares? She’s been acting really weird lately. I honestly think she’s losing the plot.’
‘Mandy reckons she’s got the hots for you. And by the look on her face after that rejection, I think she might be right.’
James snorted with laughter. ‘Whatever Anya’s up to, it will thankfully not include having the hots for me. Seriously though, if she’s hanging around I think I will nip home. I’ll come back later when the coast’s clear.’
‘Okay. But it seems an awful lot of trouble to go to. We could just tell her to bugger off.’
‘It’d take a braver man than me to do that,’ admitted James. ‘But please don’t let that stop you.’
James did his best not to break into a sprint as he headed home. He was actually grateful to Anya for giving him an excuse to leave. His head reeled. He’d been having such a good day before bloody Piers appeared. And it wasn’t just because the bloke was a friend of Alex’s that had caused James to instantly dislike him. If Piers had been a normal, unassuming kind of guy, then he wouldn’t have had a problem with him. But he wasn’t. He was a pompous, arrogant git.
In hindsight, though, he shouldn’t have signed him up for the tug-o-war. That had been a mean trick that wouldn’t have impressed Alex. He’d humiliated her friend which meant she probably wasn’t speaking to him - again. But speaking or not, it didn’t stop him speculating about just what sort of a friend Piers was.
He turned a corner and stopped. Ahead of him were Alex and Piers, deep in conversation. Before Piers took her in his arms.
As James marched home, via a route which avoided the couple, he had the sensation of a knife twisting in his gut. Well, at least he now knew what kind of friend Piers was. And the answer had put him in desperate need of a drink. Rummaging amongst the pitiful contents of his kitchen cupboards he found half a bottle of whisky. Snatching up a glass, he headed for the living room ...
He awoke to the sound of ringing. What on earth-? It took several seconds for him to realise it was the doorbell. With great effort he sat up. The bell continued to ring. He glanced at the whisky bottle on the table. It was empty. No wonder he felt like shit. What time was it? And who was at the bloody door?
‘Anya! What are you doing here at this time of night? And what time of night is it?’
‘Please can I be coming in, James? I have had the most terrible experience and I am not knowing who else to talk to.’
Questions tumbled around James’ head like a load in the washing
machine. What was she doing here? Why was she wearing a raincoat? What was she talking about? And what bloody time was it?
‘What time is it?’
‘Tvelve-thirty,’ she said, pushing past him.
She headed to the living room. He staggered in after her.
‘Oh, James,’ she whimpered, whipping off her raincoat. ‘I am sure I am hearing somebody in my flat. I vos scared I am having the intruder.’
He couldn’t reply. Anya was in his living room wearing a tiny black nightdress.
‘I vos scared,’ she continued, peering up at him from under lowered lashes. ‘And the only person who I vos thinking would be protecting me, vos you.’
James flopped down on the sofa wondering if he was having a bad dream.
Anya flopped down beside him. He shifted along a little. She followed.
He cleared his throat. ‘Look, Anya, I’m not really sure- That is, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but-’
‘I vos vondering if I could stay here this night.’
His jaw dropped. Anya? In his house? While he was in bed? ‘Well, I don’t really know if it’s-’
There was another ringing sound.
‘Grrrrrrr,’ growled Anya. She stormed over to her handbag and fished out the practice’s emergency phone. She was on call.
‘Ja?’ she barked. ‘Vell how serious is it? … Vell, cannot it be vaiting until morning?’ Her eyes narrowed with each answer. ‘You know vee vill be having to charge you emergency rates? … Ugh. Very vell, I vill come.’
Then, on a cloud of noxious perfume, she’d gone.
Chapter 14
Matt’s spirits were greatly bolstered by the attendance at his stag do. He might be jobless, and things might not be going particularly well with Francesca, but at least he could still rely on his mates. Unsurprisingly there was a lack of faces - Marcus’s included - from Wiltshire & Harrison. Matt was relieved. If any of his ex-colleagues had turned up, his secret would be out. So far, with the unavoidable exception of Francesca, he’d refrained from admitting his unemployed status to anyone outside the advertising world – including his family. What was the point in telling them? He’d soon have another job and they need never know about this hiccup. Today, though, he planned on enjoying himself. Because, after all he’d been through recently, he deserved a bit of fun.