It's much more relaxing to watch Callum's band. They're very good: three tall guys, one playing saxophone (who strongly reminds her of somebody but she can't be bothered working out who), one playing drums, and Callum on double bass. The music is sexy and mellow and Sophie has to keep dragging her eyes away from Callum.
It's just that it's more appealing to watch a man play an instrument than shove fire down his throat.
It's just that she has a terrible crush, which won't go away.
What would have happened if she'd just kissed him in that steamy bathroom last night? Would he have reeled back in disgust? Excuse me, why would I want to kiss a hobbit like you with my beautiful wife in another room? Yes, but honey, sweetheart, darling, your beautiful wife is going to leave you any day now. And I sort of love you. Oh stop it. You do NOT. You do not, you do not. Not even close. She swirls her fairy floss and feels a bit sick. Think about your potential new boyfriends, unencumbered by wives and children. She looks back to Rick the Gardener, his teeth white in the firelight. He is, truth be told, the sexiest man she has ever dated. That kiss on the picnic! It was extraordinary! And of course, kissing Ian the Solicitor in his plush, new-car-smelling Lexus, breathing in his expensive aftershave, had been very enjoyable too. Both of them are much more eligible-and, in fact, better looking-than big, messy Callum. Oh, but it's Callum she wants to kiss. She wants to kiss him very, very, very badly. She needs to kiss him. It's a need, not a want.
She is thirty-nine years old, wearing a fairy costume and thinking about kissing boys. She has definitely regressed. It is imperative that she has proper, grown-up sex in a bed, with a sensible-brand condom and a nice, friendly, middle-aged man, very soon. She was thinking more mature thoughts when she was twenty.
'Sophie!'
It's Veronika. Sophie feels her muscles flex involuntarily. 'Hi!'
But Veronika looks different. Her hair seems fluffier, her face softer and rounder, less manic. She's with an attractive dark-haired girl wearing a cream-coloured jumper. They're holding hands.
They're holding hands.
Holy Moly.
'Sophie! This is Audrey! Audrey, this is Sophie, who I told you about! Sophie, this is Audrey, my girlfriend, Audrey.' Veronika looks triumphant and expectant, her cheeks flushed.
'It's nice to meet you, Audrey,' says Sophie. HOLY...MOLY!
'My girlfriend, Audrey,' repeats Veronika.
Sophie waves her wand graciously. She is her mother's daughter; she can handle an unexpected change in sexual orientation no problem at all. 'Can I offer you both some fairy floss?'
'Mmmmm, fairy floss! Yes please,' says Audrey.
'Did you hear what I said?' Veronika swings Audrey's hand.
'Audrey is my girlfriend. My lover.'
'I think she gets it, Veronika,' says Audrey.
'I get it, Veronika.' Sophie smiles at Audrey and hands her an extra-large stick of floss.
'It turns out that I am Gay,' announces Veronika impressively.
'Yes, you are, sweetie.' Audrey throws an arm around Veronika and vigorously pats her arm. 'Yes, you are.'
Veronika looks aggrieved. 'Well, you don't seem very surprised, Sophie. I was! Although, at the same time, I wasn't. It was like I knew it but didn't know it, if you know what I mean. I blame my repressive middle-class upbringing, obviously.'
'I'm really happy for you,' says Sophie honestly. In fact, this isn't actually all that unexpected, now she thinks about it. She wonders why she never considered the possibility before.
'I'm not just experimenting, if that's what you're thinking,' says Veronika. 'You're probably thinking I'm bisexual. Is that what you're thinking, that I'm bisexual?'
'Ah-no?'
'No! I'm not at all! Bisexuals are like agnostics, trying to have it both ways. My sexuality isn't in question. I have fully embraced my homosexuality.'
Sophie realises that her reaction isn't up to scratch. She understands it's annoying when people don't gasp for long enough over an unexpected event in your life. You're still shaking your head, 'I can't believe this has happened to me!' while they've already fully accepted it and moved on to something surprising in their own life: 'Gosh, your car was stolen, what a bummer, did I tell you the doctor thinks I might have dislocated my shoulder from lifting that box? I couldn't believe it!'
So she shakes her head in wonder and says, 'Well, this is quite a bombshell. I'm in shock. I'm dumbfounded.'
Veronika looks slightly mollified. 'Well, but, why aren't you blushing? I was sure you'd blush! I told Audrey not to be surprised and that your blush was a disorder and it didn't mean you were prejudiced against the gay community. I mean, obviously we have to deal with a lot of discrimination, just in everyday life. We're used to that. Comes with the territory.' Veronika looks noble. 'I've joined the Glass Bay Gay Rights Association, obviously.'
'Obviously,' murmurs Audrey into her fairy floss.
'Gay rights have got a long way to go. A long way to go. I mean-it's ridiculous! We can't even legally get married in our own country!'
'Steady on, girl.' Audrey lifts a comical eyebrow.
'Oh!' Veronika looks suddenly, endearingly embarrassed, even shy. 'Not that we're talking about marriage at this early-um-stage of our relationship. Obviously. I mean, you know, not yet.'
Why don't you get us a few glasses of that mulled wine I can smell in the air?' suggests Audrey. 'Sophie could probably do with a drink. I don't know why she has to work when you're not doing anything!'
'Because she's crazy!' says Veronika, recovering. 'I stopped helping out with the Anniversary Night years ago. I don't actually approve of celebrating murder. I'll go check out the mulled wine. Last year it was much too sweet.'
'Oh, Veronika,' says Sophie, remembering. 'The Kook is here, looking for you! The one who responded to your ad about Alice and Jack. He's walking around carrying some sort of vase, wearing a yellow T-shirt.'
Veronika doesn't look especially interested. 'I'm sure he'll find me. I might actually have to put the Munro Mystery book on hold for a while. I've got a lot of other projects I'm more interested in. I'm very busy, you know.' She walks briskly off, looking fierce and joyful. Sophie and Audrey watch her go and then look back at each other.
'I've never seen her so happy,' says Sophie. 'You must be good for her.'
Audrey tears off a piece of fairy floss and rubs it thoughtfully between her fingers into a sticky pink ball. 'You do know she was in love with you?'
'I beg your pardon?' says Sophie, and now the blush does come, engulfing her face. Because it makes perfect sense. That's why Veronika was always so possessive. If a male friend had behaved like that Sophie would have guessed it immediately and been tender and careful with him. She feels guilty and silly and somehow horribly hetero, shallow and suburban, as if she should have known and her own parochial prejudices didn't let her see it, as if she'd subconsciously encouraged and at the same time repelled Veronika's affections.
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you,' says Audrey. 'I could just tell the way she talked about you so much that she was a bit mixed up about you. I think she's over you now, anyway. I sure hope she is.'
'Oh, I'm sure she is!' Sophie knows her face is incandescent. She watches Audrey trying not to stare as the blush takes hold. It's a bad one. Blotches of burning colour sting her neck like an attack of hives.
'It's OK!' Audrey seems to have developed a sudden intense interest in the band's performance. 'I should never have said anything. I was just a bit jealous, I think. It's a failing of mine, and I really like Veronika. She's gorgeous. Like a porcupine. Spiky but cuddly. I just feel like, maybe this time I've finally got it right. Anyway, I can see why she likes you.'
'Thank you.' Sophie's composure returns. She saves up 'spiky but cuddly' for Callum and Grace. 'I can see why she likes you too.'
'Ha! Now you're blushing!' crows Veronika as she returns holding three large glasses of mulled wine. 'Is it a delayed reaction or what? It's OK, Audrey, you don't ne
ed to pretend to look away. Sophie isn't embarrassed by her blushing.'
Sophie accepts the glass of wine thankfully. 'Veronika thinks of my blushing as a sort of party trick.' She takes a sip of her wine. 'Oh, this is fantastic!'
Veronika sniffs. 'Mmmm. Not bad. Too much lemon, not enough nutmeg. Anyway, come on, Audrey. I want you to meet my Grandma Enigma. Don't be surprised if she drops dead on the spot when she hears. Oh-and wait till I tell Dad! Dad will have cardiac arrest. He'll have a stroke.'
'You know, you don't have to tell everyone tonight.' Audrey looks panicky. 'There's no rush. You can wait for the right time.'
'No time like the present.' Veronika is already marching off, arms pumping. 'Bye, Sophie!'
'Oh God.' Audrey shrugs helplessly at Sophie and hands over her mug of wine. 'Here. Take this.' They disappear into the crowd.
It seems that Veronika won't be content with merely coming out of the closet, she's leaping out.
The pain in Rose's back has got so bad it feels deliberate. Malicious. It hurts her feelings. As though someone has just taken a plank of wood and violently slammed it against her lower back.
She takes a deep breath. The line of little girls waiting for their 'Melly the Music Box Dancer' faces is finally starting to dwindle. Grace has finished all the boys and is helping her out with the girls.
I'm really too old to still be doing the children's face-painting. I'm eighty-eight years old. I should be in a rocking chair with a blanket over my knees and people bringing me cups of tea. Mum, don't you think I'm too old for this now! Her mother had died a few weeks before Rose's fifteenth birthday, but ever since Connie died Rose has found herself missing her mother with fresh, childish grief. My back really hurts, Mum. It's called rheumatoid arthritis. My doctor tells me to think happy thoughts. I'm afraid I thought rather a rude word. You died before you turned forty so you missed out on all the fun of getting old. Oh it's a lark, Mum. Rose can feel the back of her mother's cool hand against her forehead. My poor Rosie.
She dips her paintbrush deep in pale pink and tries to smile at the little girl sitting quietly in front of her, chubby legs sticking out, hands resting obediently on her knees.
'Excuse me, excuse me!' Rose looks up from her painting to see a young fellow of about Ron's age carrying some strange sort of urn and wearing a yellow short-sleeved T-shirt without a jacket.
Rose is appalled. 'You must be freezing! We must find another jacket for you.' The little girl looks up and solemnly informs the man, 'I'm wearing two pairs of socks to keep my toes extra toasty.'
'Well, I don't feel the cold,' says the man in that irritable, overly formal way of men who feel foolish talking to children.
'I've never felt the cold. Excuse me. I wanted to ask you if you know where I can find Veronika Gordon. I've been looking for her all night. People keep telling me I've just missed her. She seems to move very fast.'
'Well, you have just missed her again actually, and yes, she does move fast. Her grandfather used to call her Speedy Gonzales.' Veronika had been by with a pretty Asian girl with long, shiny dark hair. Veronika had told Rose she was feeling gay and Rose said that was lovely and she was feeling quite gay herself, even though she wasn't really because her back was hurting so much, but it was so nice to see Veronika in a good mood, instead of her normal agitated state. Then the two girls had giggled a lot about something and Veronika had given Rose a kiss on the cheek, which was also unusual for her and had made Rose feel teary.
'Look, I had an arrangement to meet this Veronika. I've got important information for her.' He pats the urn he is holding under his arm.
Rose doesn't like his tone. Suddenly she knows who he is: The Kook! 'What sort of information?' she says carefully.
'Information relating to the disappearance of Alice and Jack Munro.'
She gives him a steely look. 'I'm Rose Doughty. My sister and I found the Munro baby. I'd be very interested to hear this information. Very interested indeed.'
'I bet you would,' says the Kook. 'Because you two sure made bucket-loads of money from that little find, didn't you? Quite an operation you've got going here.' He looks around with contempt and distractedly rubs his arms, even though he supposedly doesn't feel the cold. 'You've done very well out of all this, haven't you?'
Rose can feel her heart vibrating with an old familiar terror, an ancient shame. She presses a hand to her chest. Oh for heaven's sake! This is such nonsense! She's not a teenager any more. Suddenly she is furious with Connie. It was all her idea! Her bloody idea! Rose wanted to tell everyone when Enigma was six, back in 1938. But no, oh no, it all had to be done Connie's way. It always had to be done Connie's way, and sometimes she was wrong!
The Kook says, 'Anyway, it's this Veronika I've got an arrangement with, so I'll keep trying to hunt her down.' He crouches down so that he's at eye-level with Rose. He has surprisingly nice brown eyes. 'By the way, I know exactly what you two did.'
'We found a baby,' says Rose. She can hear herself sounding like a tremulous old woman. 'That's all we did.'
'Yeah. Good one.' The Kook bounces back up on his feet and disappears into the crowd.
'Oops-a-daisy!' cries the little girl with delight, as Rose's elbow knocks her paint palette flying, so that pink paint and silver glitter slosh all over the little girl's warmly clad legs.
Ron isn't quite sure what to do with himself. What does he normally do on Anniversary Nights when Margie is around? He can't remember. Years ago, when the kids were young, he always did the sausage sizzle. The Anniversary Nights weren't quite this glitzy back then. It seems to him that it was more fun in the Seventies. He and Laura's husband, Simon, used to cook up hundreds of sausages, stick them in bread rolls with a bit of tomato, lettuce and Margie's chutney sauce. Went down a treat. They drank a lot of beer and mucked around. Margie was always in a flap, running back and forth like a headless chook trying to keep Connie happy, while Laura just lounged around smoking cigarettes, looking sultry. Ron used to tease Margie, and Simon would say to Laura, 'Why don't you help your poor sister?' but Laura would just ignore him and tilt back her head and blow smoke rings. She didn't actually seem to like Simon that much; Ron remembers thinking, I'm glad Margie doesn't ignore me like that. So it was strange the way Laura reacted to Simon running off with his dental nurse. She never seemed to get over it, and every year those bitter lines of disappointment on either side of her mouth were carved deeper and deeper. Ron had missed Simon when he left and secretly felt let down by him. As if the life that was good enough for Ron wasn't good enough for Simon.
Everything was different then. With more blokes on the island it was more balanced, more normal. He misses Margie and Laura's dad too. Good old Nat, with his sweet, simple way of looking at things. And Jimmy, of course, who had a more complicated way of viewing the world and sometimes said something that really made you think. Ron is the last man standing. (Callum doesn't count-he's up there now on stage looking like a right twat plucking away at the strings of some sort of giant guitar. Ron doesn't trust men who play instruments, except for the drums.) The island hasn't exactly fallen apart without the men. As Ron walks aimlessly down the main street, watching the guests happily munching on gourmet pita-fucking-pockets or something or other, getting their tarot cards read, shelling out more money to have their photograph taken with the Munro Baby (Enigma smiling at the camera as if she's royalty) it occurs to him that this is a pretty slick event and it was his wife who organised the whole damned thing. A few weeks ago, Ron had been involved with a product launch coordinated by an 'Event Planner', a blonde in a suit who kept snapping open and shut her mobile phone, running pointy-tipped fingers through her hair and looking harried and important. That 'event' had been on a much smaller scale with a lot fewer people, but it had seemed to cause a lot more problems. Yet Margie, who certainly does not have a university degree in event planning, who did a year's worth of secretarial college when she was sixteen, had organised this whole thing, managed all the staff, organised stu
ff like sound equipment, without making a fuss at all. He would hear her chatting away on the phone to people, talking about their babies and their hay fever and their holidays, sounding like she wasn't doing a thing but passing the time of day, when in fact she was running a business.
And Ron feels a sudden painful surge of pride. That 'Event Planner' could learn a thing or two from his wife.
Ron stops to watch the fire-eating performance. It's the guy who does the gardening on the island. Bit of a blockhead. No doubt the women like him. He's well built. Probably works out every day. Ron puts a hand to his stomach. A bit flabby. He sucks it in and squares his shoulders. Maybe he needs to go to the gym himself. He thinks about the sex this morning. It was great. It was bloody great. But who was that woman? She sure as hell didn't act like his wife. Not even the Margie of years ago, when they were at it all the time. Ron was always the one who set the pace when it came to sex, but this morning...Thinking about it, Ron feels aroused and simultaneously panicked. What does it mean? What the fuck has she been doing? Her body didn't feel the same either. It felt firmer, stronger. She'd lost more weight than he'd realised. She looked good. She looked bloody good.
He didn't really like it.
And tonight, when she was getting ready to go to this Weight Watchers party, she'd been excited, nervous, breathless-as if she were going on a date! She had her hair all pulled back to show off her new skinny cheekbones and she was wearing her diamond earrings and the perfume he'd got her duty-free on his last trip to Singapore. He'd asked again if he could go along and keep her company but she'd insisted that partners weren't invited and laughed sort of kindly at him, and then, as she was leaving, he thought he'd heard her phone beeping again with another text message.
The Last Anniversary Page 27