The Surprise Party

by Sue Welfare

  Except of course, as soon as she’d thought it, Hannah also caught a glimpse of how right her mum and dad were. She struggled to keep the thought buried but it kept pushing its way to the surface. She had promised to help them out with the party and she had let them down, and her mum wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing her outfit over for her if Hannah had asked. Suzie would have washed and ironed it and probably bought her something new if she had really wanted, and of course tonight was about her grandparents, not Hannah. Although the bit about liking Megan more than her had come as a real shock.

  Surely that wasn’t right, was it? It shouldn’t be allowed. Parents were not supposed to have favourites, were they? Nevertheless, it finally confirmed what Hannah had always feared. Her parents really did like Megan better than they liked her. Actually, she thought miserably, they probably loved Megan more and hated Hannah. In fact she could see now that she was probably adopted, or had been left with them by somebody who couldn’t look after her, and her mum and dad had felt that they couldn’t just give her away, so they’d kept her, not so much a child as a burden and a duty.

  Awash with melodrama, after reworking and editing what her mum had said to her, Hannah felt a completely fabricated, self-induced wave of self-pity roll over her, so powerful it almost made her cry. God, why hadn’t someone said something to her before? Hannah had never been able to work out where she got her funny ears from, and the way her little toes curled in bore no resemblance to anything the rest of the family had, and now she knew the reason – they came from some passing stranger who had left her on the doorstep, probably in a basket with a note pinned to her blanket, which explained why she had nothing in common with her parents, nothing at all.

  Hannah sniffed back a great wave of misery and wished she could be anywhere else but here, in this bloody tent with all these people who obviously couldn’t stand the sight of her, certainly didn’t understand her, and who probably all knew she was adopted. Thinking back to slights past, Christmas presents that had missed the mark by miles, old arguments and differences of opinion, when Hannah looked at it from a distance, it was awful, and just so obvious when you knew the truth.

  How come no one had said anything before?

  Magnanimously she decided it wasn’t really Megan’s fault that they loved her and not Hannah, not really. After all, technically Megan should be an only child, so no wonder she sometimes stole Hannah’s make-up and hair scrunchies and went through her things when Hannah was out. It was amazing she wasn’t really screwed up.

  Hannah continued scanning the room, wondering if there was a chance she could slip away as soon as the photo session was over. After all, they didn’t really want her there, did they? The foundling with the peculiar ears and dodgy toes.

  Sadie, Tucker and Simon would probably have got back to Sadie’s house by now. They were probably watching a DVD or listening to music or on the Playstation. Having a great time. Tonight was one of those nights that convinced her that Sadie was right about her family.

  She glanced over at the bar, wondering if maybe she could sneak another bottle of booze before she left. It was the kind of behaviour you’d expect from a crazy, mixed-up, abandoned orphan kid.

  While Hannah was jamming on the whole neglect/abandonment/not-being-loved riff, she started thinking about what Simon had said to her down on the riverbank. That was weird and when she let the thoughts replay they gave her a funny warm sensation in the pit of her stomach. She’d never really had a proper boyfriend before, not a real one, certainly not one who took her out to places and hung out with her, and who she did stuff with. A real boyfriend. She let the idea roll around for a moment or two longer to see how it felt. Despite everything, it made her smile.

  Simon had a Saturday job in a DIY shop in town and earned proper money. He was saving up so he could travel in his gap year before going to university and was thinking about maybe going to Mexico. He had some really cool plans about the way he wanted his life to shape up, besides wanting to travel and things, which was good because she didn’t want to get stuck in Crowbridge or anywhere else with some loser.

  The thought of having a proper boyfriend made Hannah feel funny and slightly uneasy. She wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to do. Oh, she knew the theory – you’d have to be dead not to catch all the gossip at school about who fancied who, and what they had and hadn’t done, and with whom. But this was different. This was her and Simon and it was really real – not someone else, not a flight of fantasy like Hayleigh Cornwall and that boy in Wilkinsons. No, this was real. She tried very hard not to grin, as grinning didn’t sit well alongside feeling hard done by and unloved and an orphan. But a proper boyfriend . . . wow, just how cool was that?

  She glanced at her watch, wondering just how much longer she had to hang around with these weirdo baby finders before she could find a way to slide off and find Simon.

  *

  Liz meanwhile had picked up a copy of the seating plan from behind the bar and, having checked the whereabouts of the missing bridesmaid, was making her way over to table six, which was at the back towards the middle. She eased her way between the guests, smiling graciously, moving around the chairs and tables, smiling and nodding. It was turning into something resembling a royal progress and hardly the quick dash she had hoped for. People wanted to say hello and have their photographs taken with her, or were asking for autographs, which was usually extremely flattering but tonight was just a nuisance.

  By the time Liz finally got to the table, the twelve guests who should have been on table six had been whittled down to half a dozen, although there were signs that it had been full earlier – there was a muddle of discarded napkins, half full glasses and chairs pushed awry.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to an elderly couple still seated at the table, who she recognised as the people who had lived next door to them when she and Suzie were little. ‘Mrs Roberts, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes, Elizabeth, it is you, isn’t it?’ said the woman, looking up at her with delight. ‘How lovely to see you. Gosh, look at you, all grown-up and so gorgeous. I think you must have been about twelve the last time I saw you. You know we always watch you on TV. Every week. Your mum and dad must be very proud of how well you’ve done.’ She beamed and caught hold of Liz’s hand in hers. ‘Graham is going a bit deaf, dear, but I always say, “Look, there’s our little Lizzie, Graham”; you know we’re all very proud of you, dear, even if you’re only ours by association.’

  Liz reddened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, genuinely touched. ‘Actually I’m looking for someone called Janet Fielding and her husband – they were sitting on your table. I don’t know if you know her? She was my mum’s bridesmaid. They should have been sitting there—’ Liz indicated the seats the Fieldings had been allocated.

  The woman pulled a face and then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so, dear. At least they weren’t sitting there. There were two young women in those seats. Helen and Nina – they seemed very nice, the pair of them.’

  ‘Any other older couples on the table?’ said Liz, glancing round to see if she could find the place markers.

  The woman laughed. ‘Well, there are lots of older couples, dear, but none of us are called Janet as far as I know.’

  Liz smiled to hide her frustration. She wished that people could just stick to the damned seating plan, it had taken her ages to work out who to sit where, and with whom. Why couldn’t they just sit where they’d been told?

  ‘Maybe she’s on another table?’ Mrs Roberts suggested.

  Liz stared at her – presumably she had come to the conclusion that Liz couldn’t work that out on her own. ‘Yes, probably,’ said Liz, adding a little chill to her voice, not that Mrs Roberts noticed.

  ‘It’s been lovely to see you, dear,’ Mrs Roberts was saying. ‘I’m hoping to catch up with your mum and dad later on when the formalities are out of the way. I suppose the next big celebration will be yours, eh?’ she continued, all smiles. ‘Your mum was
telling us last time I saw her in the hairdresser’s that you’d got yourself a nice man. I said to Graham, I said, that girl really deserves someone nice. And what are you now, dear, mid thirties? It’s about time you settled down, isn’t it? Old enough to know what you want, and young enough to take full advantage, eh? Don’t want to leave it too late, do you? I know you’ve got your career but I often say to Graham, these young people think they can hold back time, but if you want to settle down and you want a family, in my opinion you should have them when you’re young and healthy, that’s what I say. Isn’t it, Graham?’

  So, life according to Mrs Roberts there, then, thought Liz grimly, as she watched the old lady craning around like a tortoise to try and pick out Liz’s Mr Right among a sea of faces. Though why she imagined giving Liz and Suzie a couple of chocolate digestives and the odd glass of Ribena over the hedge gave her the right to an opinion on how Liz lived her life, God alone knew.

  ‘And you’ll be able to afford a nanny, I expect, and someone to clean the house,’ Mrs Roberts continued gleefully. ‘Here, is he?’

  ‘Actually he’s not, no,’ said Liz, keeping the smile tacked on, reflecting on whether there should be some sort of bylaw introduced to prevent the elderly from having an opinion on everything. ‘He’s got other commitments tonight unfortunately.’ Liz didn’t venture any information as to what those commitments might be exactly.

  ‘Oh, what a shame, and it’s such a lovely evening too. But I suppose in your line of work things come up all the time. Famous, is he?’

  ‘No—’ Liz began but Mrs Roberts was ahead of her.

  ‘Probably best that way, just having the one star in the family. Well, my advice would be hurry up and get him down the aisle, dear,’ said the old lady brightly. ‘I can just see you in Hello! magazine. “At home with the lovely Lizzie Bingham.” Will you keep you name or are you going to change it to his?’

  Smile set to stun, Liz turned away. Bloody old people.

  Diverted from her quest to find Janet, and not quite ready to go back and face the family yet, Liz made for the door. How many other people were expecting Mr Right to show up tonight, and just exactly how many people had her mother told?

  *

  The bar was now doing a steady trade, the band had started to warm things up with something soft, swinging and easy, and the cake had just come out from the kitchen cut into finger-sized slices. Fleur, still waiting to take her place in the sisters’ group picture, pulled out her compact to check on her lipstick and hair. If she was going to have her photo taken, she didn’t want to look like a startled wildebeest.

  She glanced across at Rose, who looked radiant. Jack looked on, eyes bright with love and affection. It made something dark and sad throb deep inside her. How was it that she had never had anything that wonderful, that warm, that constant? Fleur turned away, choking back a great wave of loss and self-pity. Bloody happy families. She sniffed and made an effort to pull herself together.

  Thanks to all the to-ing and fro-ing, she hadn’t had the chance to change out of her garden trip outfit since they’d got home, although the cream jacket and trousers and pale blue tee-shirt she’d worn all day didn’t look too bad. The blue brought out the colour of her eyes; it was just a shame she hadn’t had a chance to have a quick shower and put on a bit of jewellery and some extra slap. Never mind.

  The guy with the camera was still focusing his attention on Rose. Fleur sighed; some things never changed.

  Megan, meanwhile, was hurrying back towards them. It looked like she had finally put on her party dress. She waved at Fleur as their eyes met. Her great niece now looked all windswept and winsome in a pale blue sundress, looking as if she’d just come back from a day at the beach. At least Megan was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself, unlike Hannah, who was watching Rose and the photographer while fingering a lank strand of hair into a tight coil. She’d looked as if she was chewing on lemons in between grinning inanely for the camera. She certainly didn’t envy Hannah being a teenager. It had all been so much simpler when she and Rose had been girls. You went from school and childhood into work and adulthood, often over the course of a weekend when school finished and you started earning your living first thing the next Monday morning. Now it seemed as if childhood lasted until you were in your thirties.

  Megan bounced up onto the dais alongside her and seconds later the photographer was waving her and Hannah in front of the camera.

  ‘Come on, girls, let’s get this show on the road,’ he cajoled, as his assistant steered them into position. ‘Get the younger generation in there with Granny, one either side . . . That’s brilliant . . . Lovely, lovely.’ He glanced at Fleur and smiled. ‘Won’t be a minute, sweetheart,’ he said before his gaze moved back to his viewfinder. ‘Now, let’s see some happy faces.’

  Sweetheart indeed. Cheeky beggar. Fleur shifted her attention back to the compact mirror. It would soon be her happy face under the lens. She added a little dash of lipstick, pressed her lips together and took another look to see how she was doing before dropping the compact back in her bag.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about all that, you look just grand,’ said a voice from behind her. Fleur recognised it but couldn’t quite put a name to it. She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. ‘Peter Hudson? Well, fancy seeing you again,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘I suppose you mean for a woman of my age?’

  ‘Did I say that?’ Peter said with a big grin, just as her phone started to ring in her handbag. ‘Curse of the modern age, those bloody things. Do you want to get it? Your man, is it?’

  Fleur glanced at the screen. How very prescient of Peter. It was Frank, the man she had left behind in Australia, the man she had walked out on. The man she had said there was no future with. Fleur smiled at Peter, not altogether sure she was ready to hear what Frank had to say. She shook her head. ‘It’ll keep.’

  Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘Not playing hard to get, are you?’

  Fleur smiled.

  ‘That’s the Fleur we all know and love. Always in demand, always with some good-looking guy chasing hard on her heels – nothing changes, eh?’ He held out a hand as if to shake it and as she took it, Peter pulled her in close for a hug. ‘I was just thinking how good you looked.’

  ‘You know, you dropped a bombshell this afternoon,’ she said sotto voce. When he looked confused, she elaborated, ‘Jack and Rose . . .’

  Peter reddened and put his finger to his lips. ‘Oh God, yes, sorry about that. I had no idea—’

  Fleur laughed. ‘No, me neither.’

  He shook his head. ‘Amazing. Actually I’ve been trying to have a word with you all evening,’ he said, moving in closer.

  ‘I’ve only been at the other end of the table.’

  ‘I know but I wanted to pick my moment,’ he purred. ‘I didn’t want to pounce too fast and frighten you away.’

  Fleur rolled her eyes. ‘Always the flirt. So how are you doing?’

  ‘Me? I’m just fine. It’s nice to see you again, lovely party, isn’t it? In spite of everything . . .’ He paused, his expression all jokes and cheekiness, as he eyed her up and down appreciatively. ‘You know, you’re looking really good.’

  Fleur smiled. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself, and Mary looks fantastic too. Obviously married life suits you. How is Mary?’

  Peter mimed a comedy wince. ‘Touché,’ he said and then tipped his chin towards the main body of the tent. ‘She’s over there somewhere on a table with a whole gang of people she hasn’t seen for ages. You know what Mary’s like – likes nothing better than to talk. Knowing her she’ll be having a whale of a time catching up with all the gossip and digging up the dirt.’

  Fleur raised her eyebrows with amusement. ‘I seem to remember you saying something very similar last time we were doing this.’

  Peter’s voice dropped down to a conspiratorial murmur. ‘Well, fancy you remembering that.’

  Fleur laughed. ‘I’m just older, Peter, I’ve not
gone completely gaga.’

  ‘Crowbridge’s village hall was a lot less salubrious than this place, remember?’ he said, glancing around. ‘Crumbling plaster and the smell of damp.’

  Fleur laughed. ‘And the playgroup pictures pinned up to the notice board behind the wedding cake.’

  ‘And that toilet block across the yard? God, those were the days, eh? You still look fabulous, you know, and you always were sexy as hell. I love what you’ve done with your hair.’

  ‘Oh please,’ Fleur said, although it did give her a nice little fillip to think that he had noticed and bothered to comment. ‘You always were such a terrible flirt.’

  ‘Still am,’ he said, eyes sparkling with mischief, ‘if given half a chance. Although I seem to remember you always gave as good as you got.’

  ‘True. So how are things with you?’

  ‘Going really well. I’m still incredibly busy. Mary would probably tell you I’m a workaholic. I took early retirement last year and to be honest I haven’t stopped since. Every day something new – new projects, new hobbies, new adventures. I’ve bought myself a boat, taken up golf.’ He paused, his tone dropping still further away from banter down to something all together more intimate. ‘And what about you?’ He nodded towards the phone. ‘Got yourself a good man?’

  Unexpectedly Fleur felt herself reddening. God, how many years had it been since that happened?

  Peter grinned. ‘So what are we saying here?’

  Fleur forced a smile. ‘You know me; I prefer mine bad – and besides I like to keep my options open. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Same old Fleur.’

  But even as she was saying it, Fleur was thinking what a lie that was. That mask had fooled so many people but the problem was that after so long she didn’t know how to be any different. Fleur sighed; she had been waiting her whole life for someone who could see beyond the prickly exterior and, for the briefest of instants, she had thought Frank might have been that man. The memory made her smile. If there was a man she thought might have the measure of her, Frank had been it.