by Heidi Swain
‘Hey,’ protested Paul. ‘Carry on like that and I won’t be stocking my restaurant freezers with so much as a single joint of your delectable pork!’
‘He also happens to be Honey’s godfather,’ Amber frowned, ‘although I’m beginning to have my doubts about his suitability for the role now.’
‘So you’re in hiding then?’ I gasped, feeling slightly dazzled by the glamour and cloak and dagger of it all, ‘from the paparazzi!’
‘Sort of,’ he shrugged, as if it was an everyday occurrence, which to him I suppose it was.
‘Until the latest bedroom scandal dies down at least,’ Amber added scathingly.
‘You didn’t have to invite me,’ he said mildly.
‘Oh I know, but left to your own devices on a sunny beach somewhere you were bound to get yourself into even more trouble when what you really need to be doing is building a few bridges.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt to do something nice for someone for a change, would it? Give the papers something positive to report and get yourself back in the public’s good books. I can’t help thinking that if you keep behaving like the proverbial bad boy, a role for which you really are becoming a little long in the tooth by the way, then that blessed show of yours will be axed rather than recommissioned.’
‘You’ve probably got a point there,’ said Paul thoughtfully. ‘Although I happen to think I’m wearing rather well for my age.’
Amber rolled her eyes again.
‘But where around here,’ he yawned, ‘in the middle of nowhere am I going to find an opportunity to do something like that?’
Needless to say I didn’t give either him or Amber time to draw breath.
‘As luck would have it, I happen to know of the perfect opportunity!’ I rushed in, clapping my hands together in unchecked excitement. ‘If you really do want to do something that will boost your tarnished profile, then you could do a lot worse than offering to come and turn on our Christmas lights!’
‘What, in Peterborough, you mean?’ said Paul, looking mildly intrigued.
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘not Peterborough, Wynbridge! Come and host the start of our countdown to Christmas event in the town this Saturday.’
Paul now looked utterly perplexed, but I could see that Amber understood.
‘But from what I saw when I drove through there yesterday it’s a piddling little place,’ he frowned. ‘Who on earth is going to know, or even care, that I turned on some lights round here?’
‘God, you really are dense,’ scolded Amber. ‘How can you not see?’
‘See what?’
‘The fact that Wynbridge is so small, and out of the way, actually makes it all the more perfect!’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes!’
‘How?’
‘Well, if you turned up in some city, like Peterborough for example, then it would look as though you were courting attention and hoping to get picked up by the papers, wouldn’t it?’
‘But I am, aren’t I?’
‘Yes,’ I interrupted, ‘but you need to be a bit discreet about it. If you’re simply stepping in at the last minute and just helping out a friend, like Amber here, who happens to live in a small struggling market town and you insist on keeping a reasonably low profile, then . . .’
‘It really will look like an act of kindness?’
‘Bingo!’ laughed Amber, ‘I do believe he’s finally got it!’
‘And you never know,’ I smiled, ‘you might actually end up really enjoying yourself.’
Chapter 11
Once Paul had taken a moment to digest the wisdom behind my suggestion, and assimilate Amber’s insistence that helping out with the Wynbridge switch-on was just the kind of low key event that could send his ratings soaring again, he didn’t take much convincing to commit to taking part. In fact, he didn’t take any convincing at all, and within the hour we had swapped mobile numbers and I was heading back to town with the hog roast paperwork completed, three bottles of Skylark Scrumpy tucked in the passenger footwell and a solemn promise from Paul himself that he would help put Wynbridge and its ailing little market back on the regional map in time for Christmas.
‘Leave it all to me, lovely lady,’ he had said as I was getting ready to leave. ‘This sort of philanthropic venture happens to be just my field of expertise.’
‘I thought you hadn’t done anything like this before,’ commented Amber.
‘Well, I’m a fast learner,’ said Paul, ‘and I rather fancy myself in the role of caring celebrity chef who swoops in and saves the struggling small town from imminent disaster!’
‘Oh good grief,’ said Jake as he handed over the papers, ‘are you sure about that, Paul? Honestly, girls, what have you unleashed? Poor Wynbridge won’t know what’s hit it!’
Personally I couldn’t help thinking that was no bad thing. It was about time the town experienced a bit of a shake-up, and I couldn’t wait to tell Tom the exciting news.
‘Oh my God, you aren’t serious?’ squealed Jemma the second I finished relaying what had happened. ‘What, the Paul Thompson? The actual real life Paul Thompson?’
I knew she was genuinely excited because both the children were asleep upstairs and she wasn’t even trying to keep her voice down. Tom stood open-mouthed and speechless, looking from his star struck wife to me and back again.
‘Yes,’ I laughed, slapping down the envelope of paperwork on the table and basking in the glory. ‘The one and only real life living and breathing Paul Thompson.’
Still Tom said nothing.
‘But when?’ gasped Jemma. ‘How?’
‘He’s hiding out down at Skylark Farm,’ I continued. ‘He’s an old acquaintance of Amber’s apparently and fortunately for us, he needs to bag himself some positive media attention to get back in the public’s good books. Turning on the Christmas lights in a struggling little market town is a gift from the gods of public relations he said, or something very much like it.’
‘Tom!’ shouted Jemma in exasperation at her husband’s reaction, or in this case, lack of reaction. ‘Have you heard a single word of what Ruby has said?’
‘Of course I have,’ he croaked, sounding worryingly breathless.
For a moment I began to panic that I’d overstepped the mark and that rather than solving a problem I’d somehow landed him with an even bigger one, but the spell was quickly broken as he pulled me into a hug, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Finally,’ laughed Jemma. ‘A response!’
‘I take it you are pleased, then?’ I gasped, as he hugged a little tighter and squeezed the last tiny bit of air out of my lungs. ‘I have done the right thing, haven’t I?’ I spluttered.
‘Abso-bloody-lutely!’ he beamed, finally releasing me, ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘I know,’ I laughed, trying to catch my breath, ‘talk about a stroke of luck.’
‘Wow,’ said Jemma, swaying dreamily from side to side and looking every inch like she was thoroughly enjoying her fan-girl moment. ‘Do you think I’ve got time to get my hair done before Saturday?’
‘This is just perfect,’ Tom carried on, shaking his head in disbelief.
Apparently he wasn’t at all perturbed that his wife was swooning over the A list celebrity she would be meeting in a few days’ time.
‘Jemma,’ I said with a nod to Tom. ‘Have you no shame? Your poor overworked husband is standing right in front of you.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ said the man himself.
‘But don’t you care that your wife is all set for an evening of flirtation and frolics with the nation’s number one celebrity chef and all round bad boy?’ I teased. ‘And planning to look her very best for the occasion to boot!’
‘No,’ he grinned, ‘and I’ll tell you why,’ he went on, ‘because if this,’ he said pointing at Jemma who carried on giggling, ‘is the reaction of just one woman, can you imagine what the turnout is going to be l
ike when word gets around? This is going to be the best festive turn-on ever!’
‘Not half!’ snorted Jemma, collapsing on to a chair.
Tom’s prediction was absolutely spot-on. The traders’ meeting in The Mermaid erupted when he made the announcement and word spread like wildfire through the town. Some said it wasn’t true, others were keeping their fingers crossed that it was, but all were demanding a glimpse of the man himself as proof that the mayor had been officially upstaged. Fortunately Tom and I had had the sense to keep Paul’s whereabouts a secret; in fact, we didn’t tell anyone that he was staying locally for fear the place would be overrun with fans. So much for keeping a lid on the situation!
There was only one person who looked disappointed about the prospect of welcoming the ‘baking bad boy’, as some had dubbed him, and that was Chris.
‘He was holding out for that girl from EastEnders who’s in the panto,’ sniggered Marie. ‘He’s really quite put out that us ladies are going to be having all the fun! What does your dad think of it all?’ she asked. ‘Is he as angry as I imagine he is?’
The news that the mayor’s services were no longer required soon reached Dad’s ears, but the only reaction from him that I’d been privy to was a disbelieving shake of the head accompanied by a bit of a moan.
‘I had no idea people round here were so gullible,’ he said. ‘You’d think they’d have a bit more sense than to believe that someone like chef Thompson would be bothered with the likes of a little town like Wynbridge.’
I hadn’t contradicted him or told him of my involvement with the scheme, as I was sure he’d hear that titbit of information soon enough. When I relayed his reaction to Marie she laughed all the harder, as did Gwen who happened, as always, to be in the vicinity.
‘You were right about those bad books of his,’ she quipped, ‘there’s no way out for you now, my girl!’
The afternoon before the big day I found myself sitting in the back seat of Paul’s sleek black Mercedes and being driven over to Peterborough for a promotional spot on Fenland Radio. The initial plan to keep the whole event relatively low key had pretty much gone out of the window since Paul’s agents had discovered what he was up to and, although Fenland Radio didn’t have anywhere near as large an audience as the local BBC station, it was obvious that word would spread even further over the airwaves and as a result the event would be even busier than we could have hoped.
I was absolutely delighted that everything was coming together so well, but as with most situations in life, there was a fly in the ointment and he was sitting in the passenger seat next to Paul.
Ever since Chris had told me that Steve had been heartbroken when I left town I had been trying to avoid him for fear of developing even deeper feelings. Consequently, he was the last person I wanted to see sitting in the front of the car preparing to make his radio debut alongside me, and I dreaded to think what Mia would make of the situation when she found out.
Trying not to look at the way his hair curled as it touched his collar and how his broad shoulders filled the back of the seat, I could no longer deny that because of how our relationship had ended we were still unfinished business, but I also knew that my short stay in Wynbridge didn’t need the added complication of trying to revive an old love affair and risking Steve’s relationship with his current other half.
To my mind, when Dad discovered that I had played a very real part in toppling the mayor from his festive plinth I was going to be caught up in enough emotional turmoil to last me a lifetime! No, my mind was made up; come the end of December I was destined for a warmer clime and I would definitely be travelling alone. All I had to do was resist the temptation to try and rekindle our romance, and give the mistletoe a very wide berth.
‘So, Steve,’ I said, leaning forward between the seats and trying not to breathe in the waft of Hugo Boss that met me, ‘why are you coming with us? I’m only here because Tom couldn’t be, but I don’t see why you had to tag along and anyway, don’t you have rugby practice on a Friday?’
Steve twisted round to look at me.
‘We train on Thursdays now,’ he said, with a grin that sent my heartrate soaring, ‘although I’m flattered you remembered.’
‘I didn’t,’ I lied, quickly trying to cover my tracks, ‘Bea just happened to mention that Sam is on the town team now so it was already on my mind.’
‘You’ll have to come and watch a match,’ he smiled, seemingly unperturbed by my swift denial, ‘it took me ages to get used to you not standing on the try line.’
‘But what about Mia?’ I shot back. ‘Isn’t she your current cheerleader? And anyway, if you’ve got used to me not being there, I’d hate to set you back. Might impact on your game.’
Steve didn’t say anything, but turned to face the front again and I slumped back in my seat, annoyed to have sounded so petty. I really was going to have to be more careful. He wasn’t an idiot and if I always responded to every mention of Mia so truculently he would soon work out why.
‘Is there something I should know about you two?’ asked Paul with a sly grin. ‘My radar is telling me there’s some history between you.’
‘Never mind your radar,’ I said quickly.
‘Yep,’ he teased, ‘there was definitely something once upon a time.’
‘Anyway, Steve,’ I said, determined not to further feed Paul’s vivid imagination, ‘you didn’t answer my question. Why are you coming with us?’
‘I’m coming with you because Tom thought it would be good to have someone local on hand to talk about the town and offer some background knowledge and facts about the market.’
‘But I’m local,’ I reminded him. ‘I’m from the town.’
‘Yes, but I’m part of the only remaining family who has worked the market since it opened.’
‘Touché!’ laughed Paul.
It was unbearably hot inside the little studio and wedged between Paul, who was trying to flirt, but not getting far, with Jennie Jackson the presenter, and Steve, who had produced a selection of index cards and was feverishly flicking through them as if he were cramming for an exam, I felt my temperature escalating beyond all reason.
‘We’ve got almost a minute before we’re on-air,’ said Jennie with a nod towards the coat stand in the corner of the studio, ‘why don’t you take your jacket off? You’ll be far more comfortable.’
‘Right,’ I silently mouthed, ‘thanks.’
I didn’t dare say anything for fear the massive microphone that had been plonked in front of me would pick it up and share it with the nation. Well, the few hundred listeners who I hoped were tuned in anyway!
‘OK, folks,’ began Jennie as soon as my bottom touched the seat again, ‘this afternoon we are joined by celebrity chef, or should I say chef to the celebrities, Paul Thompson. Welcome to Fenland Radio, Paul.’
‘Hello, Jennie,’ said Paul in a sultry voice.
He sounded totally unflustered and I marvelled at his relaxed demeanour and attitude.
‘So Paul, tell me, what are you doing in East Anglia when rumour has it you’ve been spotted on a beach in South Africa?’
Paul quickly laughed this off and explained, with many a favourable mention of Skylark Farm free-range pork and cider, that he was in fact taking a break and staying with the owners who happened to be friends, while sampling and sourcing new local produce for his restaurants. Steve and I looked at one another and rolled our eyes. That was Paul’s cover well and truly blown.
‘So if you’re just taking a breather and staying with friends as you suggest,’ said Jennie suspiciously, ‘then how have you become embroiled in turning on the town’s Christmas lights?’
I felt Steve tense up on the seat next to me, but Paul didn’t miss a beat.
‘Well,’ he laughed, ‘I’m not sure I would say “embroiled” is an accurate description, but I admit this isn’t the sort of event I usually get involved in.’
‘It certainly isn’t,’ Jennie went ruthlessly on. ‘I w
ould have thought turning on the lights in Oxford Street would have been more your thing.’
‘But Oxford Street isn’t struggling to swell the Christmas coffers, is it?’ said Paul, suddenly snapping into a more serious mode. ‘Oxford Street is doing just fine, whereas little rural towns like Wynbridge need all the help they can get to compete with the big cities and online retail outlets, especially at this time of year.’
‘So your involvement with the event is in no way a means of getting back in the public’s good books after your recent run of bad behaviour?’ Jennie tried again.
‘Absolutely not,’ he insisted, ‘in fact, I’m disappointed that you would even suggest it. There was very little truth behind those allegations and even though I personally have no idea why folk would want to turn out to see me turn on their lovely lights, I have nonetheless been asked to help and I will. Keeping the market alive is the sole focus of the festivities in Wynbridge this year and the lovely Ruby and Steve here, can tell you all about what will be happening in the town between tomorrow and Christmas Eve.’
‘So,’ said Jennie, finally turning her attention to us, ‘welcome Ruby and Steve. It’s lovely to have you with us.’
‘It’s lovely to be here,’ said Steve and I together, then pulled a face at each other while trying not to giggle because we had talked over each other.
‘So what can you tell me about Wynbridge and the market and what you have planned for tomorrow night?’
Somehow between us we got through the next few minutes, eventually getting the hang of not talking at the same time, and we had almost made it to the end of the interview before disaster struck.
‘OK,’ smiled Jennie with a wink, ‘thank you all for joining us. I hope you have a great time turning on the lights in Wynbridge tomorrow night, Paul.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ he said, ‘I might even lend a hand serving some of the delicious hog roast and mulled wine.’
‘You heard it here first, folks,’ laughed Jennie. ‘Pop along to Wynbridge market tomorrow night and you might get more than you bargained for! Just before we sign off, Ruby, can I ask you a question?’