by Sue Welfare
Hannah looked at the contents of the bottle warily, turning it around a few times. There was something that looked suspiciously like a piece of crisp floating around on top of the liquid. Aware that Sadie and Tucker were watching, she took a little sip and then another one. She’d never had vodka before. It didn’t taste too bad; in fact it didn’t taste that different to Coke, just sort of thicker and with a bit of a warm tang to it, so she had a little more, and then a little more. Tucker was right, it was a lot nicer than the champagne. She took a long slurp and sighed. Drinking wasn’t so bad. She took another pull on the bottle.
‘Lot better, isn’t it?’ said Tucker as she came up for air.
Hannah nodded and took another mouthful. On the other side of the clearing, Sadie settled down with her hands behind her head, resting against a log as she lit up a cigarette. ‘Don’t hog it all, honey, hand it around, let your boyfriend have a blast,’ she said, waving the bottle on.
Hannah made an effort not to react to the boyfriend comment and instead tried to stay cool. She knew Sadie was just trying to wind her up and she planned to say nothing, so why could she feel herself going red and hot and giggling instead? Hannah bit her lip but instead of making it stop, it just seemed to make it worse.
Tucker rolled his eyes. ‘Told you she was a lightweight,’ he said with a sniff.
Chapter Thirteen
‘So what exactly are we going to tell people?’ Liz murmured to herself, thinking aloud. ‘You know this is a disaster. All that planning. What a bloody mess.’
‘Oh come on, Liz, like Mum said, this isn’t the Dark Ages. In all honesty, once you get past the shock of it, does it really matter?’ said Suzie. ‘Surely the thing is that they’re together now.’
‘The thing is,’ growled Liz, ‘that we’ve organised a bloody great party to celebrate the fact that they’ve been married for forty years. We have to say something.’
Suzie stared at her. ‘No, we don’t.’
‘People out there know.’
‘People out there came to the party to help them celebrate – no one rang up and complained. No one said, “Excuse me, we can’t come because actually they haven’t been married for forty years.” People don’t care, Liz.’
‘I care,’ snapped Liz, eyes filling up with tears. ‘I can’t believe they’ve lied to us all these years. You know, if it hadn’t been for Peter Hudson dropping them in it they probably wouldn’t have said anything – ever.’
‘They didn’t lie,’ said Suzie defensively.
‘Well, what did they do then? They didn’t exactly tell us the truth, did they?’
Suzie shook her head. ‘I don’t think it matters as far as the party is concerned. Why don’t we just try and enjoy the evening?’
‘Easy for you to say,’ said Liz.
‘Why don’t I pour us all a glass of wine?’ said Fleur, who had been standing listening on the other side of the kitchen. ‘Just a quickie?’
‘Just water for me,’ said Liz. ‘My dermatologist told me that alcohol can be terribly ageing.’
‘Well, he sounds like a real bundle of laughs.’ Fleur snorted as she took a bottle of white Zinfandel out of the fridge and retrieved a couple of glasses from the cupboard. ‘Presumably you didn’t invite him along?’
While she was trying to work out where they went from here, Liz pulled out her phone to see if Grant had called. What on earth was she going to tell him? And what would he think? She had held up her parents’ marriage like a shining beacon. How many times since they’d started dating had Liz told him that it was the kind of relationship she was looking for – loving, stable, safe, an oasis of sanity in an otherwise chaotic world? Now what the hell could she say? That she’d like to shack up with someone and then lie to their children? Honestly, how could her parents be so selfish?
She peered at the phone’s screen. There were no missed calls, no texts, nothing. Liz glanced out of the kitchen window at the marquee, listening to the sounds of the party, the laughter and people chattering. All the money she’d spent, and for what? Eventually her parents would have to say something, surely. People out there were partying under false pretences.
Grant was probably driving, which was why he hadn’t rung her – that had to be it. He had probably left in a hurry, late as usual, and hadn’t had a chance to phone.
Since she’d first met him Liz had never known Grant be on time for anything, but then again he had no one at home to organise him, no one to gently chivvy him along to make sure that he made his appointments on time. She smiled, imagining their life in a few years’ time, her waving the children off to school, handing Grant his briefcase, him kissing her as he headed off to the office. Her PA hanging around on the periphery waiting to talk to her about the phone call from her production company. Keanu Reeves on line two waiting for a decision on whether he could have the part in her new film. George Clooney on hold.
Grant just needed stability and support and a framework to his life, that was all. He was always telling her that people understood, and that if they wanted to see him they would wait – and there was some girl in his office who seemed to be on permanent standby to apologise for his tardiness – but Liz was confident that, given a little bit of time and the right strategy, she could get him sorted out. After all, it was only polite to turn up when you said you would, good manners cost nothing, and Liz had told Grant several times that she really wanted him there on time.
She glanced up at the clock. It was past seven. He knew how important tonight was to her. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t turned up on time. Or maybe he had had an accident. She looked up at the ceiling and sniffed back an unexpected little flurry of tears, hoping it was nothing too serious. She couldn’t manage if he was maimed and she wouldn’t even get to be the grieving widow – after all, who cared about grieving girlfriends unless they lived in and took the rough with the smooth?
This wasn’t how she had planned the day going at all. First her mum and dad, and now Grant – God, life was so cruel. Widowed before she was even married.
Then again, maybe he was just stuck in traffic, or had pulled into a layby to take a call, although that wasn’t likely. He’d probably be on his hands-free, working away at some business thing, some big deal. Actually, when Liz thought about it, it would be amazing if Grant wasn’t on his phone – it would certainly be a first.
After the initial flush of madness Liz had soon realised there was always something coming up in Grant’s life that took him away from her, someone who needed talking to, or something that needed dealing with, some crisis, some conference, some man flying in from Colombia. But then again, Grant had told her more than once, when she had mentioned in passing that taking a business call half way through supper wasn’t very nice, that he was that kind of a guy. Entrepreneur, fingers in lots of pies, always looking for the next big thing. You didn’t get as rich as Grant by sitting around on the sofa all day watching Jeremy Kyle and Australian soaps, he had said. But surely even he could see that, sometimes, some things were more important than the next deal. There were limits and there should be boundaries.
Liz, of all people, understood the importance of working hard and focusing on what needed to be done; but if they were going to have a future together, Grant would really have to understand that sometimes she came first. Tonight was one of those times.
On the kitchen clock the seconds were slowly ticking by. Suzie and Fleur were still talking but Liz zoned them out.
He was probably almost there. He’d probably be arriving any minute now. She was getting herself in a state over nothing. Liz took a deep breath and straightened her dress, swallowing back the little squall of self-pity. She needed to get a grip. After all, it didn’t do to look anxious or annoyed – men didn’t like that, nor did they like it when you glared at them and said things like, Where the hell have you been? and What time do you call this?, as she had found from previous experience. No, it was far better just to stay calm and concentrate on what the h
ell they were going to tell a marquee full of wedding guests, family, friends, and hangers-on. Inwardly she groaned. How could her parents do this to her, tonight of all nights?
On the other side of the kitchen, Fleur was topping up her wine and was well on her way down the second or maybe it was the third glass. Rose and Jack were still upstairs getting changed.
Suzie got to her feet and said, ‘I think I’ll just pop out and let everyone know the happy couple will be out in five minutes. Can you go and hurry them up?’
The happy couple. The irony of it; Liz couldn’t even think the words without pulling a face.
‘Trust Suzie to bugger off when the going gets sticky,’ Liz said to Fleur, trying not to look at the kitchen clock. ‘She should stay here with us and sort this out. We really need to think about how we’re going to handle it – manage expectations and all that. Typical of her to leave it to someone else. How could they do this to me?’
Fleur handed her a glass of wine. ‘Here, you need one of these.’
Liz sighed and sat down alongside her. ‘I think perhaps you’re right. Bugger Gregor.’
‘Is he your new bloke?’
‘My dermatologist.’
Fleur nodded and lifted her glass in toast. ‘In that case, bugger Gregor.’
‘I can’t believe that Mum and Dad lied to us all these years,’ said Liz. ‘I’m just so shocked. I mean, really surprised.’
‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me one little bit,’ said Fleur. ‘The thing is we’re all the same, the whole family – all of us with our little secrets.’
Liz glanced at her. ‘What?’
‘I’ve always thought we’re all cut from the same cloth, all the women in this family. I bet you’ve got all sorts of little things you’re keeping to yourself, keeping hidden away – a whole cupboard full of skeletons.’
Liz had a momentary flashback to Bali and the nineteen-year-old surfer dude, all tattoos, teeth and tan. The one with bleached blond dreads and stomach muscles like warm taut leather, the one who had tasted of sea and salt and had made her howl like a bitch on heat for hours. Boy, that guy had some staying power. And he hadn’t been the first, although Liz had always been extremely careful and discreet about her little liaisons.
‘You, me, your mum, your sister – all naturally secretive. It’s just in our blood,’ Fleur was saying. ‘My mum, your mum’s mum, was just the same. Always played our cards very close to our chest. We’re very much alike.’
Liz, who felt herself reddening, stared at her aunt. ‘Are you serious?’
Fleur’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and I in particular. Secretive, lousy taste in men?’
Liz snorted. ‘Speak for yourself.’
Fleur shrugged. ‘I’m only saying.’
The last thing Liz wanted was to dwell on the similarities between her and Fleur. Fleur was wealthy and beautifully preserved for a woman in her sixties but at what cost? No husband, no family, working all hours that God sent. Rich, yes, but surely lonely too? In the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, Liz could see that it wouldn’t take much for her to end up in the same boat. God, she wished Grant would hurry up and get there.
‘Look at the evidence,’ Fleur was saying. ‘There’s your mum and dad with this whole divorce thing for a start. Who would ever have guessed that? I had no idea, and I’m her sister, for God’s sake. And then there’s all this business with Suzie – look at her, she always looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’
This took a second or two to register. Liz stared at her. ‘What do you mean? What business with Suzie?’
Fleur hesitated and then looked flustered. ‘I thought you knew? I thought she would have told you. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Do you want something to eat with the wine – I’m sure I saw some crisps in the larder.’
‘No,’ snapped Liz. ‘You can’t just leave it at that. What do you mean? What about Suzie?’
‘I didn’t realise you didn’t know,’ said Fleur defensively. ‘See there we go, what did I tell you?’
‘Oh come on, Fleur.’ Liz frowned, or at least she would have done if the Botox had let her. ‘You just said yourself that Mum didn’t tell you about this whole divorce thing. Suzie doesn’t really confide in me these days – I mean, we used to be very close obviously when we were kids, but we move in different circles these days. We hardly see each other. We’re different people. She loves family life and all that stuff – not that I don’t, but I’ve got my career to think about, whereas she’s always put the whole family thing first . . .’
Liz knew she was guilty of protesting too much, while across the table Fleur was weighing up the options. Finally, leaning closer, she said, ‘Not for much longer, she isn’t. And that’s the problem.’
‘What?’ gasped Liz, unable to help herself. ‘What do you mean, “Not for much longer”?’
Fleur glanced over her shoulder as if there was some chance she might be overheard, before she continued in a low voice, ‘I’m not sure that I should be telling you this but it’s this thing with Matt, the guy who is doing the food for the party tonight. She’s really worried that Sam will find out before she tells him herself. Things have been a bit prickly between them for a while now.’
As Liz stared at Fleur she felt something shifting in her chest. ‘Suzie and Sam? ’ she whispered.
Fleur nodded and then raised her eyebrows. ‘And Matt is very easy on the eye.’
What the hell was going on with those two? Like her mum and dad, Suzie and Sam were rocks in her ocean, landmarks she guided her own ship by. Was there nothing sacred or true or solid any more?
‘Are you telling me that Suzie’s having an affair with the caterer?’ she said haltingly, in a voice barely above a whisper.
In among her feelings of shock and amazement, Liz heard another more petulant voice inside her head – how the hell had Suzie managed to grab herself two men, when Liz couldn’t reel in one? It was so unfair and so infuriating. Sam was lovely in his own lived-in way and this Matt, whoever he was, was on TV. Okay, so Suzie scrubbed up all right but most of the time she looked like something the cat had finished with. It was so not fair.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Fleur. ‘And anyway we should be getting back to the party.’ She hesitated. ‘And your mum told me not to say anything. I mean, that just tells you how anxious she is, normally she doesn’t tell me anything at all.’
‘You can’t just stop there,’ snapped Liz.
At which point Liz’s phone rang. Tempted to ignore it, she picked it up and squinted at the screen: it was Grant. Trust him to ring now. Torn, she said to Fleur, ‘It’s Grant – he’s probably lost. He was supposed to be here by half past six.’
Fleur shrugged in a ‘suit yourself’ way that made Liz think that if Fleur didn’t finish telling her about Suzie now she probably never would. The phone rang again. One of the techies had programmed in the ringtone for her – it was the opening bars of the theme tune to Starmaker.
The side panels flashed, the phone buzzed frantically under the ringtone, while the words ‘Mr Right’ pulsed on and off on the screen. She had meant to change it; it had been a bit of joke when they first got together but Grant hadn’t thought it was at all funny. Maybe she should change it to Mr Grumpy.
Meanwhile Fleur’s attention had wandered away from Liz, back to the counter top and the wine bottle.
‘I’ll see you outside,’ Fleur mouthed, in a glorified stage whisper. ‘I don’t suppose your mum and dad will be much longer.’ She picked up the bottle and headed for the door. ‘Tell them I’ll see them in the tent.’
‘No, wait!’ said Liz, jumping to her feet. ‘I need to know about Suzie and Matt.’
Fleur looked back over her shoulder. ‘What about golden boy?’ she said, nodding towards the phone.
‘He can wait,’ Liz said, decision made. ‘I’ll ring him back later.’ Another ring or two and it would go to voicemail.
Fleur smiled wolfishly. ‘Are you sure? I t
hought you were waiting for him to ring.’
‘Yes I am. Just tell me about Suzie and Matt.’
‘I’m not that sure there’s that much to tell really,’ she said.
‘Oh purlease, stop playing with me, Fleur,’ Liz growled. ‘Just spit it out.’
‘Apparently it’s all very hush-hush at the moment. Matt’s planning to open a restaurant in the old dairy on the estate, which is a stone’s throw from Suzie’s precious garden. She’s going to be growing stuff for him. They’re supposed to be signing the contract at the end of next week.’
‘Is that all?’ said Liz, feeling cheated. ‘One new restaurant – it’s hardly going to change the world, is it?
‘Well it might for Suzie. Your mum was saying that there’s going to be some sort of TV thing – doing the place up, updating the décor, a step-by-step, fly-on-the-wall thing – you know how these things work. They’re planning to cash in on the whole “grow local, eat local” thing and there’ll be a series and a book, obviously.
‘Suzie will be doing the gardening and Matt will be cooking the food. Your mum said Suzie is really excited and I’m not surprised. I mean, what a turn up. I’m amazed she hasn’t said anything to you. Apparently she’s really natural and he’s really good fun, very down to earth—’
Liz stared at her. ‘Suzie? On TV? Are you sure? Is it some sort of local thing?’
Fleur shook her head. ‘Channel 4 I think, although it could be the BBC. Problem is, Suzie doesn’t know how to tell Sam. And who can blame her? It’s going to mean a lot of work, a lot more hours away from house and home. I don’t know all the details but apparently the company Sam works for has been on thin ice for months and according to your mum – and reading between the lines – there’s trouble in paradise. It’s a great opportunity for her but you can see how Sam might feel she’s stepping up a league, leaving him behind – or maybe he doesn’t like the idea of her working with someone as slick, good looking and successful as Matt.’ Fleur paused for effect. ‘You don’t have to be a genius to see what’s going on there. Long lunches. Working late, the odd weekend away at trade shows . . .’ Fleur let the words hang in the air between them.