The Vintage Summer Wedding

by Jenny Oliver

  Mary did a little snort-like giggle. ‘I don’t know, Miss. I just do.’

  Anna pushed herself off the wall and stood facing her. ‘No. No, there’s a better answer than that. Why do you come here?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss.’ She pushed her over-long fringe behind her ear. ‘I suppose because I couldn’t do it at school…’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They do ballet but they told me I wouldn’t fit their criteria.’ She did a self-conscious giggle. ‘They’ve all been doing it for years and, well, I just didn’t fit.’

  ‘And here?’ Anna asked, watching as she tugged on her T-shirt, clearly embarrassed and wanting to get back to the safety of the hall.

  ‘It’s just an opportunity. You know...to dance.’

  Anna licked her lips, watched Mary shrug. ‘How does it make you feel, Mary?’

  Mary paused, swallowed, glanced down at the floor, at the sandy gravel and then back up at Anna, the tips of her cheeks pink, and said, ‘It makes me feel beautiful, Miss.’

  Anna was caught, she opened her mouth to reply but realised she had no answer.

  ‘Can I go back in now, Miss?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Of course. Thank you, Mary. I’ll be one minute and we’ll go again.’

  ‘OK.’ The girl stepped back. ‘Is that what you wanted to know, Miss? Was that the right answer?’

  ‘There was no right answer,’ Anna said, and laughed. ‘There’s just how it is.’

  She had no memory of losing the part. Of actually being told. Her memory was only of unlocking the door of the flat and walking in and the whole place being filled with roses. Hundreds of them, every colour under the sun, yellow with pink trim next to heady white blooms and vibrant orange flowers in vases with deep, deep scarlets, ones so dark they looked black and others so pale they were like skin, crawling with dark veins, and almost see-though in the light. And the smell...dense and heady, overly sweet like bathing in burnt sugar, encroaching on Anna’s battered senses and making her woozy. Darling. Her mum had stood, arms outstretched. Arms that had fallen in slow motion and at the same time knocked the closest vase, white porcelain smashing across the wooden floor, water splashing up on her mum’s skirt, and yellow roses, heads heavy and useless, slapping to the floor.

  The panel had asked her why she danced. She had reeled off her practised answers. The privilege, the buzz, the feeling of perfection when every movement she made was made and held identically to the person’s next to her. It was in her heart, in her blood. It was her passion. My dad would tell me that I’d go to bed clutching my ballet shoes, she’d laughed.

  Why did she dance? As she leant back on the warm bricks again, she thought it had been because she loved it, but one reason more than any other gnawed at her. I wanted to make her proud.

  In the blue expanse above her, Anna watched a gull swoop lazily, buffeted on the warm air and thought, but how do I make me proud?

  Her dad and Mrs Beedle were laughing, he had his hand on her shoulder, really guffawing at something. The sunshine was thick in the hazy air, clouds dotting shadows on the pavements.

  On the other side of the square was the T-shirt in the window of Presents 4 You. Paris, Milan, New York, Nettleton. New York. Where was the flutter in her tummy when she thought of it?

  The noise of her dad and Mrs Beedle’s laughter echoed towards her and she found herself smiling at the sound. Because, in that moment, she realised, like the girl’s violin, she had picked up Razzmatazz for her. However crap they were, they were hers. And she had made the decision to give them hope. And bloody hell, she wasn’t going to be the one to take it away from them. She knew what it was like to have someone ashamed of you, what it felt like. And she wasn’t going to fill a room with roses and then smash them to the ground.

  Taking a deep breath, smoothing down her T-shirt, Anna turned away from the square, pushed open the doors, strutted as confidently as she could to the front of the hall and said, ‘It wasn’t shit, it just started off badly. It’s nerves. We all get them, we’ve all messed up because of them, now just be damn well grateful that it didn’t happen at the audition. Get up, get into place and do it again.’

  The whole group just sat there, glaring at her. Anna planted her hands on her hips. ‘GET UP!’ she shouted.

  ‘Why should we?’ Lucy sneered.

  ‘Because you care.’ Anna said, her voice sharp, ‘Because…’ She paused, looked along the row at them, at their flushed faces, big eyes, tight lips, and said a touch more quietly, ‘Because I care.’

  Mary looked down at her hands. Anna felt her heartbeat pulse in her temple. ‘There are people here who want to see just how good you are. Now you either piss this chance away or show how much bloody work you’ve done. Now!’

  She watched as heels bashed against the stage, watched as lips muttered and shoulders stiffened, felt the gaze of Hermione, Kim and Lucinda at her back, and then she caught a glimpse of Lucy’s mouth as it tilted up into the vaguest of smiles.

  ‘OK, let’s go,’ Lucy said, with a flick of her Farah Fawcett fringe, and jumped up, bashing Matt on the arm who gave a bit of a shrug and then loped over to the iPod.

  And Anna closed her eyes for a millisecond and thanked god, and then turned and walked back to her seat as if this was all completely normal and as it was meant to be.

  ‘I thought that was awesome. Awesome.’ Lucinda clapped her hands, strutting over to stand next to Anna. ‘Just the best. I’ve never seen so many styles in one routine. I was super-excited.’

  Anna found her lips twitch in a smile as the group tried to hide their pleasure.

  ‘You thought it was OK?’ Lucy said, from beneath her fringe.

  Lucinda swept her bright-red curls back and said, ‘I thought it was the best. Some technical errors but,’ she waved a hand, ‘it made me smile, and that’s gotta be the aim, yeah?’ She looked at Anna.

  ‘Yes.’ Anna nodded, ‘I suppose it is.’ The whole idea of Lucinda Warren talking to Razzmatazz was too surreal.

  ‘There’s nothing like grass-roots dance. Nothing like it,’ Lucinda beamed. ‘And everyone should have access to it. That’s one of our objectives, Anna.’ She turned to look at her. ‘It’s part of the New York job.’

  Anna caught Hermione’s eye behind her, who was making a face like they’d won the lottery.

  The group were breathing heavily, sweating but still paused, hanging on for whatever Lucinda might say next.

  ‘I did think, guys‒’ Lucinda nodded her head from side to side. ‘That while the routine is super-awesome, it might need something bigger for the finale. You know, a show-stopper. A final moment of full-on wow.’

  ‘Yes!’ Hermione chimed in. ‘I thought that too, actually. I was waiting for a lift you know, like in Dirty Dancing.’

  ‘I don’t think we have time for a lift, it’s in two days.’

  ‘And there’s no bloody great lake to practise in, is there?’ Hermione snorted.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Lucinda rubbed her finger along her lips. ‘Shame.’

  ‘We watched it, Miss. Dirty Dancing,’ Clara called from the back row, her compact out so she could check her make-up was still firmly in place. ‘Everyone came round ours and we watched it. It is in the fifties, Miss.’

  ‘You did?’ Anna was struck for a moment by the fact that they had all got together in their own time and watched the film that she’d suggested. Thought of them all crammed on the sofa bonding over Dirty Dancing.

  ‘They can do it, you know.’ Lucy said, nodding in Matt’s direction.

  ‘Shut up, Lucy.’ Mary flushed beetroot.

  ‘Do what?’ Anna asked.

  ‘The lift.’ Lucy smirked, clearly enjoying herself. ‘They can do it. We made them do it in the garden after we watched it.’

  ‘Lucy, you promised.’ Mary whispered.

  ‘Oh get over it, it’s for the good of the team.’

  Hermione clapped her hands together with glee. ‘Oh come on! Show us, we’re dying to
see.’

  ‘Matt?’ Anna ventured, ‘Mary?’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Mary’s lip trembled.

  ‘Don’t be so pathetic!’ Lucy shouted.

  Mary looked at the ground. Anna walked over to stand next to her and said in a low whisper. ‘You don’t have to do anything. But I think you’d be amazing if you did. I want people to look at you and go, wow.’ She smiled. ‘You have a lot of talent, Mary. Just don’t worry about what anyone else is thinking or doing and keep the focus inside yourself, do you understand?’

  Mary gave a little nod.

  ‘The trick is to enjoy yourself, and then the job’s half done.’ Anna smiled.

  Kim exhaled a puff of electric cigarette smoke, ‘Is this happening or not? I could totally handle a Dirty Dancing moment but, equally, I’m kind of crying out for a martini.’

  Mary glanced at Matt and Matt winked at her and said, ‘It’s happening.’

  And as Mary did a flying run and jump and Matt hoisted her effortlessly up in the air, and the muscles in her stomach wobbled as she laughed, and Hermione whooped and Lucy held her arms out as if she told them so, and Lucinda turned to Anna and winked, it seemed that they had their finale. And Anna realised she’d never been so proud in all her life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Ladies, I give you the best table in the house.’ As they sashayed into his bistro, Philippe greeted them with a lazy smile and a confident click of his fingers to the waitress to make sure she got the table re-laid and ready for them. ‘Champagne?’ he asked as they settled themselves down in the wooden chairs, shaking the napkins out and laying them in their laps.

  Kim guffawed, ‘Oh my god, I can think of nothing I’d like better than a good glass of champers.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Philippe.’ Anna nodded, pulling her old cardigan round her and feeling decidedly under-dressed compared to all the designer outfits of her companions.

  He winked at her and sauntered off to select the best champagne.

  ‘So, Anna, this place is darling.’ Lucinda looked around, ‘I love it.’

  ‘Well, it’s no New York.’ Anna tried to sound casual. They had mentioned the job briefly on the walk over to the restaurant and she found the reality of it suddenly terrifyingly daunting. A pipe dream of escape was completely different to the real thing.

  ‘And those little kids. They’re so cute. I was watching them thinking, god do you remember when we were their age? I’d broken three toes and had key-hole surgery on my knee already.’

  Philippe came over with four flutes of champagne and the rest of the bottle in an ice bucket. ‘Enjoy, ladies.’

  Lucinda raised her glass, ‘We should have a toast. I feel maybe it should be to something really inclusive, like to enjoying yourself. I liked seeing them enjoying themselves today. I was jealous of their buzz.’

  Anna looked across at Lucinda as Kim boomed loudly, ‘To enjoying ourselves. Fab idea.’

  ‘You didn’t enjoy yourself?’ Anna asked. ‘When you were dancing.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but I don’t think I’d ever say it was fun. I was just working so F-ing hard all the time.’

  Anna sipped the champagne and all the bubbles went up her nose, making her almost sneeze. ‘Sorry,’ she said, wiping her face with her napkin.

  Hermione looked up as if she couldn’t take Anna anywhere, and then started to talk to Kim about where she’d bought her top.

  Lucinda went on, ‘I just think we were so damn young. If I did it now I think I’d be in more control, I’d know better what I wanted to fight for, which choices I’d make.’ She flicked her hair and pouted her lips, ‘All I wanted then was to win. Like you.’

  ‘Like me?’ Anna questioned.

  ‘Yeah!’ Lucinda laughed, half-studying the menu, ‘Ooh, confit of duck, my favourite. Yeah.’ She rested the card on her plate. ‘I needed someone like you to fight against. It was exhilarating. I was F-ing terrified of you, but my god it pushed me.’

  ‘But I was terrified of you.’ Anna said, wondering whether Lucinda was remembering correctly. ‘You were incredible. You just came in and wowed everyone.’

  ‘Bullshit, I just tried to be as good as you. And goddamn Madame LaRoche would be like, Look at how Anna does it, isn’t Anna perfect?’ She laughed as she did a terrible French accent.

  ‘No.’ Anna shook her head. ‘No it wasn’t like that.’ She saw Hermione glance up. ‘I was, look at Lucinda. It was you. Not me.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? Jesus, Anna. I had to sleep with that guy to get The Nutcracker part.’

  This time Anna’s champagne went everywhere. All over her side-plate, her face, her T-shirt. Kim leant over and patted the table with her napkin as Anna wiped the bubbles off her face a second time and then leant a little closer to Lucinda and said. ‘You did what?’

  Lucinda rolled her eyes, ‘Mr Hadley. I seduced him in his office. Can you believe it? I can hardly believe it when I look back, but I would have done anything to get that part. To be young and ambitious, hey!’ She smiled, clinked Anna’s glass and went back to her menu.

  Anna was dumbfounded. Her mouth wouldn’t move. When Philippe came over to take their orders she just said, ‘Me too.’ to whatever Hermione had ordered.

  ‘You slept with Mr Hadley?’ Anna whispered, an image of him popping into her head ‒ old and white-haired with a moustache and one front tooth longer than the other. Thin and wiry but with a strange belly that hung just over his belt like a bum-bag.

  Lucinda made a face and then said in her best British accent, ‘I shagged him on his desk. I would have done anything, Anna. There was just no way I was going to lose. I play much cleaner now, I promise.’

  Anna swallowed.

  It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t mattered that she had looked through that window and watched Lucinda dance and lost her nerve. She could have flown into the room like Darcey bloody Bussell and she wouldn’t have got it. What would her mum have made of that?

  ‘But enough of that. It still makes me feel a bit sick when I think about it. You know, that vomit in your mouth feeling.’ Lucinda shuddered.

  Philippe brought over their starters. It appeared that Hermione had ordered tripe sausage. Which meant Anna had ordered tripe sausage.

  ‘Hermione, why did you order this?’

  ‘It’s Patrick’s favourite.’ She grinned. ‘Why did you order it?’

  Anna didn’t reply. Her dad’s favourite food was tripe?

  ‘Try it. It’s really very good.’ Hermione cut a piece and savoured the taste. Kim leant over, intrigued and sawed a bit off for herself, put it in her mouth and then, lifting her napkin, spat it out with as much dignity as she could.

  ‘That, honey, is fucking dreadful. Hello!’ She waved a hand in Philippe’s direction. ‘I need something to take the taste of that out of my mouth.’

  ‘Mademoiselle‒’ Philippe smiled. ‘I have just the thing, if you think you can handle it.’

  ‘Oh, I can handle anything.’ Kim smirked.

  Philippe came back with a bottle of clearish liquid that looked distinctly home-brewed, with a hand-written label on which was written Eau de Vie.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘It is the water of life. It puts the fire in your belly.’

  ‘Well, I like the sound of that.’ Kim took the little glass he proffered.

  Philippe sloshed some more out and passed the thimble-full glasses round, ‘I will drink with you. What are you toasting?’

  ‘Well, it was to enjoying ourselves, but I can’t think about that with that horrendous taste in my mouth. So think of something else. Anna ‒ how about New York? Should we toast to you in New York?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Yes, Anna, should we toast that?’ Lucinda cocked her head and looked at Anna, as if waiting to see if she was going to accept.

  Anna paused, stared at the little glass in her hand. She could feel Philippe’s eyes on her.

  ‘If I may, ladies,’
he cut in, ‘I would prefer to toast to you all being here in Nettleton. Forgive me, but I do not want to toast a departure.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Well then.’ Lucinda held up her glass. ‘To Nettleton.’

  ‘To Nettleton,’ said Anna softly, knocking back the drink, the liquid hitting the back of her throat like fire and burning its way through her whole body in an instant.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two days later, a parcel arrived on Anna’s doorstep. It was a massive cardboard box that the deliveryman struggled to get up the path.

  The card read, ‘Anna Whitehall, about The Nutcracker…I’ve never been so relieved to tell someone something. You wouldn’t believe! The job is yours if you want it. I’d like to work with you, Anna. Think about it seriously. In the meantime, I thought your group could do with these… Lucinda x’

  She sliced open the top of the box and peered inside to find a stack of carefully packed costumes, all with the tags still on from the NYC Academy. She was holding up a cropped luminous-yellow T-shirt and red spangly leggings when Seb came out of the shed wearing his pale-grey suit.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘They’ll suit you.’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s my new look.’

  ‘It’ll certainly get you noticed on the streets of New York.’ He laughed like it was a joke he was comfortable with, grazing a hand over his cheek.

  She looked down at the bright-red sequins, ‘It’ll more likely get a bunch of teenagers noticed on Britain’s Got Talent.’

  ‘Oh god, is that today?’ he said, startled, seemingly annoyed with himself for forgetting. ‘How are you getting there? Do you need me to drive anyone?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Matt’s dad, he’s hired a minibus.’

  They stood awkwardly for a moment, watching each other. Beside him she could see the space where the roses had now been taken over by a rhododendron bush, its flowers big trumpet-like bursts of vivid-pink, and, next to that, the recently pruned honeysuckle, filling the air unashamedly with its sugary sweetness while bees buzzed, drunk, from flower to flower. She tried to think of something to say.