by Sue Welfare
But Fleur was in no mood to be interrupted, or flattered, come to that. ‘My place, I’ve got gravel, couple of strips of Astroturf, bit of paving and some plastic trees. You just hose the whole lot down once in a while to wash the dust off. I don’t hold with all this weeding, cutting and pruning palaver. Talk about a waste of time. You know your mother knows the name of all the plants, don’t you? In Latin. I’ve never been so bored in my entire life – red flowers, yellows flowers, why would anyone get excited over a bush, for God’s sake?’
Sam, who had leapt into the shower as soon as he had dragged Suzie out, walked into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. He looked at her anxiously. ‘Everything all right?’ he mouthed, indicating the phone.
Suzie nodded and gave him the thumbs up as she continued the conversation with Fleur. ‘Well, you can come home as soon as you like now, we’re more or less ready here.’
‘Thank God for that,’ sighed Fleur. ‘I’m totally petunia-ed out.’
*
Meanwhile, up on the terrace outside the stately home’s tearooms, having decided not to go looking for Fleur, and having finished off a pot of tea and the best of the cakes, Rose had left Jack sitting in the sunshine reading the guidebook, while she went off to wander around the gift shop. She had intended to go looking for plants, but what caught her eye instead was a large notice standing slap bang in the middle of the main aisle that read: ‘Unfortunately our fairy tale folly will be closed this summer for refurbishment. We apologise for any inconvenience to our visitors and invite you along next year for the grand gala opening. Special rate tickets are available at the counter.’
Rose raised her eyebrows; it looked as if Fleur was going to be disappointed after all.
*
Back at Rose and Jack’s cottage Liz was becoming increasingly flustered and annoyed. She hated to be rushed: it made her feel uneasy. Usually she allowed herself at least two hours to get ready, that was the absolute bare minimum; and as far as she was concerned it was two hours well spent.
Suzie’s daily regime appeared to involve slapping on a bit of moisturiser, some mascara and an old pair of jeans. But then again there was nothing in Suzie’s precious organic vegetable patch that was going to think she’d let herself go just because she wasn’t in full make-up at six in the morning for some stupid promotional do in a park in the middle of nowhere. No cabbage, courgette or cauliflower was ever going to suggest Suzie needed to lose a few pounds, no leek would ever mention in a meeting that they had seen this fantastic new girl on some obscure cable show who was really hot and incredibly talented and only twenty-bloody-three.
Oh no, in her line of work Suzie could go on till she had a face like a badly worn moccasin, whereas in Liz’s profession one slip, one slide, one filler session gone wrong, and you could find yourself hosting an afternoon car boot show. Once you reached a certain age it was easy to glide from golden girl to Granny’s collectibles in one short step, and while Lizzie actually felt that she was at her peak and had several good years ahead of her yet, it was important to be ever watchful, to keep herself in shape, keep up with those facials and not let time get the upper hand.
The gym, Botox, fillers, Gregor and his diabolical machines were going to be an occupational hazard for as long as she wanted a face and figure that fitted on prime-time TV.
For her parents’ party, Liz was planning to go with a subtle but sexy local-girl-made-good-comes-home look. Dewy, bright, natural-looking skin, pink, pearly lips, bright but subtle eyes, her hair lightly styled and looking very slightly windswept.
Laid out on the dressing table was a palette and selection of brushes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an artist’s studio. Liz leant in a little closer to check how she was doing – looking natural and girl-next-doorsy was the toughest look of all to pull off.
Her stylist at Starmaker had sorted out three possible outfits for the party: a little Victoria Beckham number with its trademark full-length zip, a Hervé Léger bandage dress and something from Burberry that Emma Watson had worn to some daytime thing, although this one was in jade not grape. While the outfits had looked just fine in London, looking at them now on their hangers with the shoes standing underneath, Liz suspected that they were all too dressy for West Norfolk. For the girl who styled her at Starmaker, Camden was probably her idea of rural.
It all looked way too show-bizzy – and those Louboutins were going to be a complete nightmare on the grass. Liz took a deep breath and tried not to let Suzie unsettle her. ‘Calm, calm,’ she murmured. ‘Deep breaths, inner strength. Do not let her get to you.’
Just why the hell should she be expected to rush when she’d paid for almost all of the party?
Liz picked up a make-up brush, closed her eyes and took another calming breath. Breathing; for the last six weeks Liz had been paying her yoga teacher a small fortune to teach her something she had been doing all her life without giving it a moment’s thought. She tried to visualise being at one with the open plain, the rolling woodlands, the mighty ocean, the whole of creation – but all she could think about was getting one over on Suzie.
Bloody woman, bursting in her telling her what to do. Had she any idea how much a marquee cost? Half an hour, my arse, Liz thought furiously. It was going to take her that long to get her foundation right. And no one was going to show up this early, surely?
Breathe.
Anyway, Suzie was such a control freak, Liz couldn’t see her being away for very long. After all, how long did it take to have a shower and towel-dry an unstructured bob for God’s sake?
Liz made the effort to concentrate on her breathing and inner peace and radiant beauty, imagining her body was light as a butterfly and suffused with joy and contentment, at one with the universe.
From somewhere downstairs Liz heard the doorbell ringing.
‘Bugger it,’ she spat as her eyes snapped open.
*
‘My new shoes have got to be here somewhere,’ said Suzie, coming up for air after a prolonged hunt under her side of the bed. ‘This is absolutely ridiculous. Where the hell are they? They can’t just have disappeared. I put them in the bottom of the wardrobe, I know I did.’
‘So why are you looking under the bed?’ asked Sam, who was busy towelling his hair dry.
‘Because they’re not in the wardrobe, I’ve looked.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve had everything out,’ she said, pointing to a jumble of things piled up on the bedroom floor. ‘They’ve got to be here somewhere; shoes just don’t vanish.’
The family cats sat on the bed and watched with considerable interest as Suzie folded back the duvet and dived under the bed again. So far she’d found a stray trainer, a vacuum cleaner attachment, a sprinkling of coat hangers, some spilt cotton buds, enough fluff to re-carpet the sitting room – but no shoes. Still wrapped in her towel, Suzie sat back on her heels.
‘They’re brand new, they’re in a box, they’re peacock-blue silk. I mean, where the hell could they have got to?’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said Sam, busy sorting out his own clothes. ‘I’m not into high heels.’
‘They’re not that high,’ she said, not bothering with the joke. ‘They’re just gorgeous and I bought them specially and I haven’t got anything else that goes with my new dress.’
He looked at her sceptically. ‘You must have something else you can wear . . .’
‘Well, I haven’t. All I’ve got are flip-flops, sensible dog-walking shoes, gardening boots and wellies. The only other pair of going-out shoes I own are the ones I wore with my going-away dress, and how many years ago was that? They’re so out of fashion I’m expecting a call from the V&A any day now.’
‘Don’t have a go at me, I was just saying,’ Sam said, sounding hurt as he headed back towards the bathroom, making Suzie feel guilty that she had snapped at him. She sighed; if she was honest, it wasn’t only Sam’s fault that things weren’t great between them. She had
too many secrets to make life easy for either of them.
Suzie also knew that if she had worn her old shoes to the party, Sam wouldn’t have said a word, and even after all these years she couldn’t decide whether that was because he just didn’t notice or he just didn’t care. He always used to say that he loved her just the way she was, which in one way was wonderful, but as time had gone on – and particularly at the moment, when things between them were so tense – Suzie had begun to feel less certain. There was a very fine line between acceptance and indifference.
Giving up on the shoes, she took her new outfit out of the wardrobe and held it up against herself. It was a rich Persian blue, beautifully slimming, beautifully cut, column dress, with a little matching jacket that had cost a small fortune even though it had been in the sale. She ran her fingers over the fabric. With her job and the girls growing up it had been so long since Suzie had bought anything really nice for herself. She turned to look in the mirror to gauge the effect. The colour brought out the deep blue of her eyes and looked lovely against her lightly tanned skin. It had been a great choice.
And okay, so it was more than twice what Suzie had ever paid for an outfit before, but she had needed something new, something special for tonight and Sam could hardly complain – she was earning her own money these days, proper money, not peanuts. Now that she was more successful it was time she started to make more of an effort, that was what Matt had said. ‘Dress for success,’ he had said, and if this dress was anything to go by, success was a foregone conclusion.
Seeing her sister Lizzie, even when she was dressed down, had made Suzie feel dowdy and plain, so she was even more pleased that she had made the effort to find something special to wear for the party.
She and Sam had been together so long that she wondered if he still really noticed that she was a woman. Not that Suzie had ever been a girlie girl and these days working in the garden all day meant that she had a lot of checked shirts and jeans and hands that said more about manual labour than manicures.
But all that was going to change if Matt had his way.
Matt. She sighed.
Matt had insisted on going to Cambridge with her to help choose the dress for the party, and when – after half a dozen outfits – she came out of the changing room in the blue outfit, he had given her a round of applause, saying she looked lovely, really gorgeous. For the first time in years, as she did a little twirl for him and the shop assistant, that was exactly how she felt.
Hidden away in the back of the wardrobe were the other outfits Matt had insisted she should buy. When she had protested that they were far too expensive and she couldn’t justify spending that much money on anything, let alone clothes, Matt had insisted on buying them for her as a treat. An investment was what he had actually said, as he had had them wrapped, and after a token stand-off she had let him settle the bill. And now they were yet another guilty secret that she was keeping from Sam. How had things gone this far?
Out on the landing Sam was pulling on the crisp white shirt she’d ironed for him. Watching him doing up the buttons, she felt a pang of sadness. It used to be that he said thank you when she did those things for him. It used to be that he thought she was lovely, and said so.
Just when exactly had they started to take each other for granted? There was a time when he used to come up behind her and slide his hands around her waist while she was at the ironing board, snuggling up, kissing her neck and making her giggle, till she had to push him away, afraid of burning herself or the thing she was ironing. Sometimes just recently it felt as if she was remembering a different lifetime, with two different people.
‘Penny for them,’ Sam said, as he caught her staring.
Suzie managed a smile, not knowing how to start the conversation that she needed to have with him.
‘No, it’s fine, nothing important,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘Well, we haven’t got time for any of that,’ said Sam, buttoning his cuffs. ‘We need to be out of here.’
*
‘All right, all right – I’m coming, I’m coming, take your finger off the bloody bell,’ growled Liz as she hurried across the landing and down the stairs of Rose and Jack’s cottage. The bell kept on ringing and ringing until finally Liz threw open the front door.
‘Yes?’ she barked. ‘What is it?
‘Oh hello, love, I’m sorry, we’re not too early, are we?’ said the woman on the step, as she looked Liz up and down, all smiles and a big hat. ‘Have we got the right place? Only I wasn’t sure if there was anyone home. We didn’t want to arrive late and miss the big surprise. I’m Beryl and this is Charlie – Charlie and Beryl? Here for the party, Jack and Rose’s wedding anniversary?’ She waved an invitation under Liz’s nose. ‘We were there first time around, weren’t we, Charlie? I used to work with Rose years ago. And I wore this hat for their wedding. I thought it would be a nice touch to wear it again. What do you think?’ She turned left and right so that Liz could get the full benefit of all those chins in profile.
‘Charlie nearly gave it to Scouts for their Guy on Bonfire Night, cheeky monkey, but I’m glad I hung onto it now. Although I can’t get into my dress these days and we gave Charlie’s suit to the local amateur dramatics for some kiddies’ thing they were doing, didn’t we, Charlie? Are we the first?’ she said, peering past Liz into the confines of the hall. ‘Where have you got Rose and Jack hidden then?’
Liz was about to reply when a noise from the road made the woman look back over her shoulder.
‘Oh my God,’ she squealed, clapping her hands together. ‘Look at that, there’s June and Roger Bell – I haven’t seen them for donkey’s years. Always among the front-runners, those two. We were always the first to arrive everywhere, me and Charlie, June and Roger. Do you remember, Charlie?’ And with that she scuttled off back down the path to embrace the new arrivals.
‘You’re early,’ said Liz grimly to Charlie, who was standing on the doorstep holding a card and a present.
‘I know, Beryl always likes to be early, doesn’t like to miss anything. All the clocks in our house are set fifteen minutes fast, just in case,’ he said, eyes slowly taking in Liz’s tanned legs, bare feet and skimpy little robe. ‘Anything I can help you with, is there?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said briskly. ‘Everything is under control.’
‘Righty-oh. So, where would you like us then?’
Liz hesitated. Trust Suzie to be somewhere else when Liz needed her. Typical.
‘If you’d like to go round into the back garden,’ said Liz, managing a thin smile. ‘The marquee, on the lawn, you can’t miss it if you just go round the side, through the gate.’ She pointed to make sure he’d got it. ‘My sister will be back soon. She’s actually the one doing all the hands-on stuff. She shouldn’t be very long.’
He grinned. ‘Righty-oh, well in that case we’ll go round there then and wait,’ said Charlie, although he didn’t move. Instead he looked slightly sheepish and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if working up the courage to speak.
‘Was there something else?’ asked Liz.
‘I was just going to say that you don’t look anything like your photo in the paper. It doesn’t do you justice – you’re not how I imagined at all.’
Liz’s smile broadened a little, wishing that she had been a bit more gracious; after all, it wasn’t every day you met a real-life celebrity. Dressed in her robe all fresh from the shower, she must be a fantasy come true for someone as old and wrinkled as Charlie. Famous TV star opens the door half naked; she could almost hear him telling his friends down at the bowls club or wherever it was people like Charlie hung out. ‘Ohhh she was so nice, lovely legs – and so natural.’
From the path they could both hear Beryl and the other new arrivals giggling and whooping with delight.
‘And fancy you being one of Rose and Jack’s girls,’ Charlie said, beaming now. ‘They must be very proud of you.’
Liz nodded,
making a good show of looking modest.
‘You’re really famous round here, you know.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she began, all smiles and self-effacing charm.
Seeing her response, Charlie had brightened visibly. ‘You’re a lot smaller that I thought you’d be. I was saying to Beryl on the way here that I was hoping we’d see you. You know, I read your gardening column in the Gazette religiously every week, never miss it. I keep meaning to write in and tell you about how good that tip was about the hot manure bed under the melons. Last year I had four real beauties. Absolute crackers. And this year I reckon there’s going to be even more. You ask Beryl. We call it Suzie’s Magic manure—’
Liz managed to hold the smile. ‘Really, well gosh . . . fancy that – that’s lovely, marvellous,’ she said. ‘Now why don’t you and Beryl go round to the back and hide just in case Jack and Rose show up early too? I’m sure someone round there will find you a glass of champagne and some canapés.’
‘All organic I expect?’ said Charlie with a big stagy pantomime wink. ‘If we get the chance while we’re here I’d really like to have a quick chat with you about my brassicas.’
Liz smiled. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she murmured.
At which point a minibus pulled up in the driveway and people started clambering out, laughing and waving, bearing presents and outrageous hats and calling hello. From the shrieks of joy and squeals of laughter it seemed there was a good chance that Beryl knew them all.
Chapter Nine
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, why couldn’t you have gone while we were at the tearooms?’ said Rose testily, as Fleur bundled out of the car and headed for the toilets behind the service station.
Ungrateful bugger, thought Fleur, as she scurried across the tarmac, rooting through her handbag as she went. Fleur wanted to let Suzie know they were on their way home and couldn’t think of any other way of doing it without drawing attention to herself. She had planned to text as soon as they left the gardens, and then half way through had started to worry that if she did there was a chance Suzie might not pick up the text if she was still busy getting everything else ready. Phoning seemed like the only sensible option.