by Lisa Hill
‘Of course,’ Louise nodded. She frowned. ‘Can I just ask, what’s so special about the cake to you?’ She was proud of what she’d made, but surely there were better cake decorators in London?
Debbie cackled, quickly putting her fingers to her mouth as guests in the immediate vicinity swung around with frowns at her interrupting Drew’s speech.
‘Darling, that cake is splendiferous! The meaning, the connotations, the humour! You haven’t just made that cake, you’ve sculpted it like an artist.’
‘Thank you,’ Louise said, grinning and retreating backwards. She glanced at Johnnie, still standing around. The anger didn’t swell this time, though. Someone had just called her an artist. Not Cerys and Megan’s mum, or Johnnie’s wife, or that-lady-who-runs-the-tearooms.
An artist.
An individual.
Someone in her own right.
It had been a great success for their first wedding, Johnnie appraised as the guests all applauded the conclusion of Drew’s speech. Louise and the girls had worked impeccably to time with the hired staff and all the past week's food preparation, late nights, last minute ordering of extra ice and canapés had totally paid off. Everything had gone without a glitch. He’d given his details out to at least three celebrities he vaguely recognised about hiring him to cater for forthcoming weddings and social occasions, although they were all London based so whether they would actually come to fruition was another matter. He’d left London to escape the stress of the nine-to-five, he didn’t want to be drawn back into it. Still, it was flattering to be asked.
Realising he hadn’t helped with service during the toasts, he was about to ask whether the girls needed a hand clearing away when he spotted Louise talking to another guest. Perhaps she was doing a spot of networking too? This wedding had been fortuitous in more ways than one. The profit they made would certainly pay for a holiday to Italy when the girls had finished their exams. If he could bear to leave someone else in charge of the stores.
He was about to return to the kitchen when Lottie Hardwicke caught his eye, gliding in through the entrance with a familiar looking man, certainly not dressed for a weddinging in faded jeans, but if he was embarrassed the man certainly didn’t show it.
‘James!’ Pamela Hardwicke shrieked, standing up to embrace the man.
‘Mum,’ the man said, taking the petite frame of Pamela in his arms and practically crushing her.
Johnnie sailed by towards the kitchen, the cogs ticking in his mind. That was why the man was so familiar. Another Hardwicke. This one looked like he had the suave charm of his father, Edward.
‘You’ll never believe who I’ve just seen,’ Johnnie said, as he came to a halt over Louise, who must have overtaken him to the kitchen, and was now crouched down emptying a dishwasher.
‘Unless it’s the Queen or Tom Hardy, I’m not really that interested, Johnnie.’ She didn’t look up.
Oh dear, still grumpy. Louise had been a stress-ball all week. She hadn’t come at the idea of catering the Thorpe’s wedding with the same enthusiasm he had, but she was never as worried about profit as he was either. Wedding catering could be another outlet for them. A very lucrative one which could mean hiring more staff in the stores and allowing them more downtime.
‘No, another Hardwicke has just arrived.’ Johnnie rested his hands on his hips. ‘Obviously not invited; he’s wearing jeans.’
‘Sacrilegious!’ Louise said, standing up, blowing some of wisps of her tied-back blonde, frizzy hair, away from her face, as she moved some clean plates to the surface in the centre of the kitchen.
She was still in a mood.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ He asked, looking around at the exceptionally organised kitchen. There really wasn’t anything for him to do.
‘Now you ask?’
Johnnie took a deep breath. ‘Darling, I’ve been helping. I helped with the dinner service.’
‘And not much else,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I’ll go and see how many guests are filtering into the garden now the speeches are over. Perhaps we can make a start on preparing for the evening guests.’
‘Wonderful!’ Louise said, not looking up from the dishwasher again, a significant helping of sarcasm in her voice.
Johnnie rolled his eyes and made his way back out to the reception marquee. With such a sunny, late spring day, the heat in the marquee had been stifling at times and he had to admit he’d started to look less formal himself, doing away with his jacket and rolling his sleeves up. He hated wearing a tie too, but he needed to present a professional image if they were going to be taken seriously as caterers from now on.
There was quite a party gathered around the Hardwicke newcomer as Johnnie entered the marquee.
‘So, you’re back to oversee the northern branches?’ Drew Hardwicke was asking.
‘Yes, well, that and another little project.’
‘Is this really the time to be discussing work?’ Lottie sounded incredulous.
Johnnie busied himself with clearing up napkins and empty glasses from the vacant table close by. It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop, but he had got used to village gossip over the years; he was the keeper of some of the villagers’ best kept secrets in fact. And Edward Hardwicke disappearing overnight to be replaced by Jack Sellwood at the Old Rectory had got many a tongue wagging.
‘Go on,’ Drew pursued James. ‘It must be important to come and gate-crash a wedding.’
‘Well, that was more to see Mum and ask if she could put me up for a few nights until I get sorted.’
‘Of course, darling, it goes without saying.’ Pamela turned to Jack. ‘Doesn’t it, Jack?’
‘Of course,’ Jack said, flatly.
‘Thank you,’ said James.
‘Come on, we’re in direct competition with you now,’ Drew said, snaking his arm around Lottie’s waist. ‘What’s this little project?’
‘Well, Dad bought some land while he was up here, and we’ve just put in planning permission to develop it. If it goes ahead, we’re hoping to build about one hundred houses and a few amenities too. A few units; probably a shop, chip shop, betting shop, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, James, that’s wonderful!’ Pamela said, sounding proud of her son.
‘On the outskirts of Harrogate, is it?’ Jack asked.
‘No, here in the village.’
Johnnie dropped the wine glass in his hand to the floor.
‘Yer, what?’ Jack’s voice rose as his Somerset accent came over all colloquial. ‘We don’t want a bookies in the village!’
‘James,’ Lottie said, sounding assertive. ‘Why don’t you take your mum’s keys and go and get settled in at the Old Rectory?’
‘I haven’t met the bride and groom yet.’
‘After that bombshell, I’m not sure now is the time to meet them either.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Johnnie couldn’t help himself, leaving the shattered glass on the floor; he had to clarify. ‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did you just say you’re going to build property, here in the village?’
‘Yes.’ James extended his hand.
Johnnie didn’t take it.
‘James Hardwicke, Regional Director at Hardwickes. And you are?’
‘Johnnie Edwards, proprietor of the village stores.’
‘Ah.’ James’ extended hand retreated. ‘No need to panic; the land is a fair way away from the High Street. Just over there in fact.’ He pointed out of the marquee, over towards the edge of Clunderton Hall’s land, lined with tall horse chestnut trees.
‘The back of Rosefields?’ Johnnie asked, astonished. Literally a hop, skip and jump from the High Street.
‘Yes.’
‘Right, that’s it.’ Lottie said. ‘Pamela, keys.’ She held her hand out as Pamela rummaged in her handbag. ‘I knew you were going to cause trouble, James.’
‘I’m not causing trouble; I’ve just come to give Mum the good news that I’
ve come to stay.’
‘I do not like the idea of Tom finding this out.’ Jack said, almost whispering.
‘Which is exactly why James is leaving now.’ Lottie’s voice was terse.
Johnnie watched Drew roll his eyes at James.
‘I’ll catch with you tonight, mate.’ Drew said to James.
Johnnie quietly retreated and paced on the spot. What on earth was he going to do? The village couldn’t sustain two shops, it would cripple them. He spotted Hilary Preston-Jones, the Chair of the Women’s Institute, talking to Reverend Eckersley and inspiration struck. They were going to have to resurrect V.O.C.A.B. They’d seen off Clunderton Hall being made into a luxury hotel and golf course in the past, so they could battle and win these new plans too. He’d go and speak to her now.
Villagers of Clunderton Against Bureaucracy would see the light of day again.
Chapter Five
The kissing gate at the end of the Old Rectory garden creaked and crashed behind Pamela as she hurried through, grinning to herself at all the trouble it had caused last year and, yet here she was using it liberally and now going to marry the person who had been so vehemently against its reopening when she had first discovered it.
Pamela stopped by Mary’s headstone and her smile dropped. Mary was Jack’s late wife, Lottie’s mother, and her ashes were interred in the graveyard at St Mary’s church. It was a beautifully bright, May morning and the roses in Mary’s vase swayed elegantly in the breeze.
‘I will look after him, you know.’ She surprised herself at talking out loud. She’d never done it before. This little corner of the graveyard was strictly Jack’s domain. It was what had caused such an argument about the gate. Pamela never usually gave Mary’s headstone more than a fleeting glance as she made her way from her home, to Church Cottage, where Lottie and Drew lived, but today was an exception.
The gilded letters of Mary’s name glistened in the sunshine and Pamela smiled. Knowing Jack as intimately as she did now, she marvelled at his ability to have moved on with Pamela. Although, she knew part of his heart would always belong to Mary. Pamela grinned again and wended her way down the path to the front of the church and out into Church Lane. She was so excited, she couldn’t wait to tell someone her news. She wasn’t sure how she’d made it through Sunday, the day after the wedding and yesterday, May Bank Holiday, without being able to speak about Jack’s surprise proposal – even to Jack with James staying – but today it was Tuesday, and everyone was back to reality. Having checked with Jack that he really did want to marry once James had left for work this morning, Pamela had decided it was time to seize the day.
Even if she would have to vow her confidant to secrecy until Lottie found out.
Who cared? She didn’t; she was getting married!
‘Cooeee, only me, Mum!’ she called, as she opened the back door of Church End.
Mum. It brought tears to her eyes, nearly every time she got to say it.
‘Oh, hello, love, in here,’ Audrey’s voice called out.
Pamela slipped her shoes off and hurried into the living room to find Audrey – her estranged mother of forty years, until Lottie inadvertently found her, just before Pamela and Jack did – was on all fours, on a mat, on the floor with her Lycra-clad bottom sticking up in the air.
Were octogenarians even allowed to wear Lycra?
‘Oh, excuse me,’ Audrey said, standing up, all breathy. ‘I was just doing my morning yoga.’ She walked to the sideboard and turned off the little hi-fi system.
‘Yoga?’ Pamela’s mouth was hanging open, agog at her mother’s trim figure in Lycra.
‘Pammie, dear,’ Audrey walked towards her and put her hand on Pamela’s arm. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
Pamela looked down at the oak floorboards, like a school girl who had just been told off. It was true; she had spent forty years apart from her parents when she’d eloped to Oxford with Edward.
‘Oh, Pammie, don’t look like that. I just meant we’ve been apart so long. Plenty of time to change that now I’m living in the village.’
‘I know, it’s just—’ she paused, trying to find the right words. Audrey was eighty-one; neither of them had another forty years left in them to make up for lost time.
‘You came here and found me doing yoga; I’m not about to snuff it yet thank you very much.’ Audrey said, evidently reading Pamela’s mind. ‘Now, what do you want? I need to shower; I’m meeting Betty for elevenses at the stores.’
Pamela grinned as she watched Audrey put away her yoga mat. She was being told off like she was fifteen again and any fears she’d had about Audrey moving to the village were unfounded; the woman had a better social life than she did.
‘I’m getting married!’ Her chest could have burst with pride as the words flew out.
Audrey turned from putting her mat in a low cupboard and straightened up. She smiled, clearly attempting to hide the astonishment in her face.
‘You’re already married. To Edward.’
Pamela waved a dismissive hand and flopped down into the nearest armchair. ‘That’s all just paperwork, isn’t it? We’ve been separated nearly a year now; it’s just a formality, with a bit of luck Jack and I could marry in the autumn.’
Audrey’s eyebrows shot up but she said nothing, instead choosing to seat herself in the armchair opposite Pamela.
‘Who asked who?’ she asked, crossing one Lycra-clad leg over the other. Pamela suddenly felt very old in her white jeans and pale-blue cami with a navy cardi over the top. Perhaps it was time she invested in some activewear? Lottie wore it all the time when she wasn’t working. Why should she be left out?
‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me? And Jack, if you must know, at the wedding on Saturday.’
‘Oh, wasn’t it a beautiful wedding?’ Audrey clasped her hands together and looked wistfully out of the window over the playing field, towards the village hall. ‘So grand!’
Pamela had been rather miffed that Audrey had been seated on the top table. Jude had rather an affection for Audrey, having worked at Countryside last year, where Audrey had resided and Jude was a single-mum and down on her luck. As Jude’s father had been AWOL for several years, Jude had chosen to have her mum, Betty, and Audrey, as her family on the top table.
‘It was.’ Pamela said, tight lipped. It was an utterly wonderful and grandiose wedding. Even with a hefty divorce settlement she probably wasn’t going to be able to afford a wedding on that scale. Although, she could always ask Lottie to enquire with Jude if they could have their wedding in the grounds of Clunderton Hall and…
‘It was lovely to meet James too.’
Audrey jolted Pamela’s thoughts.
‘He might look like Edward and have his—’ Pamela paused for the right word, ‘—command, but he’s nothing like him personality wise. Well, maybe a little. More assertive than Drew. Not a liar, or a cheat or, oh God, who am I kidding?!’ Pamela flung herself back in the chair and put her hands over her eyes. ‘Edward is never going to let go of everything without a fight, is he?!’
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘I thought you had to have a shower?’
‘I think your dawn of realisation warrants some mother’s guidance; I can spare you half-an-hour.’
Pamela kept her hands over her face and heard Audrey clinking and clanking around in the kitchen while the kettle boiled. She opened them and stared up at the gallery of faces on the wall. Lottie had told Pamela about all the photos Audrey had on the living room wall at Oak Acre, Audrey’s old farmhouse, before she’d been forced into Countryside by Pamela’s sister, Jean. Now they were all on the wall in Church End, their eyes boring into her, like the Mona Lisa, appraising her wherever she looked. Her eyes settled on one in the centre. It was a family portrait; she could remember the day it was taken. Her parents were in their Sunday best and both Pamela and Jean were wearing matching cream dresses with a dropped waist, their hair in matching bob cuts with the fringe
tied back in a band. From memory, she was about six and Jean was four, but Jean had taken after Brian, their Dad, and was tall for her age making them look like twins. They had been inseparable.
‘Does Lottie know about her mother-in-law becoming her step-mother too?’ Audrey asked, reappearing with a teapot and two cups and saucers on a tray.
Pamela’s hand flew to her chest. ‘No! Jack said we’re not allowed to tell anyone until he’s told Lottie. I was just bursting to tell someone though!’
Audrey tapped the side of her nose. ‘Mum’s the word then, but honestly, Pammie, you don’t change, do you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Pamela had been desperate to have her mother back in her life. Nearly a year on, she was beginning to have some sympathy as to why Lottie used to complain Pamela was so interfering.
Audrey batted a dismissive hand as she poured tea from the pot. ‘Stop taking offence! It’s just, you’ve always been a bit impulsive, haven’t you?’
She thought back to the day her and Jack had gone for an ‘exploratory visit’ to Oak Acre. As soon as she’d found out Audrey was in the back garden with the couple Lottie was trying to sell the farmhouse to, she had dived in without thinking about the consequences. Which, on that occasion had been everyone not talking to each other for weeks. Upon reflection, she had to concede, she hadn’t put much thought into eloping to Oxford with Edward when she was eighteen, either.
‘I guess so,’ she said, absentmindedly. Her sight was still focused on the picture of the four of them when they had been a nuclear family, the Wiggins, before Edward had infiltrated them with his meddlesome ways.
‘Well, I, for one, am very happy for you and I am sure Lottie will be too, when she’s got over the shock. Edward though, he’s a different kettle of fish entirely. Although, I guess he doesn’t need to know your intentions to remarry.’
‘That’s true! I hadn’t thought of that,’ Pamela said, picking up her cup and saucer with a sense of relief.
‘Although, I’d like to be there and wipe the smug grin off his face when he finally finds out.’ A wry smile twitched on the corner of Audrey’s lips.