‘Why are you talking about me as if I’m not here?’ Jennifer said.
‘Well, if we’re not allowed to talk to you…’ Paul said.
‘And we’re not allowed to talk about you…’ Buck added.
‘And something tells me you wouldn’t like being ignored either…’ said Ramsay.
‘Why are you all so determined to bully me?’ Jennifer sounded close to tears.
‘Bullied!’ said Paul. ‘Bingo. That’s what I was going to say. Bleating about being attacked and bullied.’
‘Oh, come on, everyone,’ said Peach. ‘Let’s—’
‘Does “everyone” include me?’ said Jennifer.
‘Of course,’ Peach said. ‘Come on, eh? We all know better than this.’
‘I can’t believe you’re including me. I didn’t say anything.’ Jennifer sniffed and turned back to her marking.
‘I’m the one who didn’t say anything,’ said Ramsay. ‘You snapped at Peach for pouring the tea.’
‘Right,’ I said, standing up. ‘Ready for another try.’
The silence told me they’d forgotten I was kneeling there.
‘What must you think of us all?’ said Peach. ‘Reverting to our fractious childhood games as soon as we’re together again.’
‘Who’s doing the honours?’ I said, holding out the big box of household matches.
‘Go for it,’ said Buck. ‘I can’t stand any more emasculation.’
‘It was nothing to do with your fire-lighting powers,’ I said, kneeling again. ‘The flue wasn’t open. You have to pull on this wee chain to lower it and get a draught going.’
‘Well, that’s completely different,’ said Ramsay. ‘There’s no shame in a man not understanding engineering!’
‘Fuck off,’ said Buck. ‘Donna, these little sandwiches are to die for,’ he added in a camp lisp.
‘And another thing,’ Jennifer said. ‘I don’t care for that kind of language.’
‘So don’t use it,’ said Paul.
Peach gave a long groan. ‘Oh, Jell! We were pals again.’
I heard Jennifer slam her laptop shut and flounce out, but the fire was taking every bit of my concentration. We’d got the chimneys swept and we’d done a clear test run, but something was wrong now. None of the smoke was going upwards and when the twigs caught, the little ribbons that were coiling out into the room turned into thick dark rolls. I batted at the flames with both hands and then with a folded newspaper tugged out of the kindling basket. All that did was make more smoke. It belched out and I coughed.
‘I’m starting to feel better about myself,’ Buck said. Then he coughed too.
I opened a double sheet of newspaper and held it over the mouth of the fireplace trying to get the chimney to draw, but the smoke curled out around its edges.
‘Uh, I might need my inhaler,’ said Peach.
‘I’ll open a window.’ It was either Paul or Ramsay speaking, hard to tell, although it didn’t seem like Paul to be so caring.
‘I’m really sorry about this,’ I said. I took the poker and pushed the bigger logs off the kindling then stirred the kindling sticks out of shape to kill the fire quickly. Now there were scraps of charred paper in with the smoke that billowed out. I could feel myself changing colour and tears pricking behind my eyes. Unless it was the smoke doing that too.
‘Shit,’ I muttered. I bent closer in and angled the poker upwards, jabbing it to see if the flue was really open. It banged against something that shouldn’t have been there. That was it! The flue cover was stuck. Only the hollow ‘pock, pock’ didn’t sound like a poker hitting metal.
Behind me, the guests were opening windows and fanning the door to the hall, and they were all coughing. They weren’t complaining or blaming me but still I felt like howling. What a fiasco! I found the edge of the obstruction with the hook on the end of the poker and gave it a good tug. A square black object fell into the hearth, puffing out the last of the red embers and sending a cloud of smoke and ash three feet into the room.
‘What’s that?’ said Ramsay.
‘A box!’ said Buck. ‘Secret treasure?’
‘It wasn’t there yesterday,’ I said. ‘Don’t!’ I added, as Paul reached out. ‘It’ll be hot.’
He gave me a screwball look and kept reaching, as he had been, for the fire tongs. He picked the box up and turned it this way and that. Smoke still curled off it.
‘What the hell?’ It was Rosalie, appearing in the door fresh from her bath. She had a black sweater and leggings on and her hair was slicked back in a ponytail. She looked ready for the catwalk, even without make-up. ‘What happened?’
‘Did you put this box up the chimney?’ Paul said, holding it out in the tongs.
‘Wha’?’ said Rosalie. She lifted one of her long cuffs and covered her mouth and nose. ‘God, what a stink. Why am I getting the blame, out of interest?’
‘Because everyone else was here and would have stopped the fire being lit,’ Ramsay said.
‘Actually…’ said Paul. He was turning it this way and that, looking at it closely. I wished he wouldn’t because he might as well have been waving a smudge stick around. I coughed, not exactly authentically but hoping he’d get the idea. ‘Actually, I don’t think it is a box. I think it’s just a lump. There’s no opening. No hinge. No way to get into it.’
‘Give it here,’ said Ramsay. He took the tongs out of Paul’s hands and shook them. ‘It must be a box. It’s hollow and there’s something inside it.’
‘Ooh, very mysterious,’ Peach said. ‘Soldered shut, is it?’
‘Aw, wait!’ said Buck. ‘How dumb can we get? It’s a locked box!’
There was a silence then. I don’t know where the look started, because I couldn’t be watching everyone at once. But it skittered across all of them, like a daddy-long-legs bumping and rattling its way round the edge of a ceiling, looking for a way out and never finding one.
Paul spoke first. ‘Donna, do you have anything like a sledge-hammer we could use to open it?’
‘Do we actually want to open it?’ said Peach.
‘I’m not quite—’ I began.
‘Private joke,’ said Rosalie. ‘Very childish. Best ignored.’
‘Best left to cool down before we try to open it anyway,’ said Buck.
‘And besides,’ said Rosalie, ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa.’ She coughed. ‘But I don’t think I could—’
‘Tea in the library!’ I announced. ‘I’ll gather a couple of extra chairs if one of you brings the tray. This place needs to air awhile. I’m sorry for the disruption, everyone.’
They all hurried to hush me and reassure me that it was nothing, Rosalie starting a long story about food poisoning at a picnic, when they’d gone to an island in rowing boats. Peach bustled back and forwards with the teapots and the men insisted on carrying the armchairs. The whole operation took two minutes.
I reached up the library chimney with the long poker and, feeling nothing there but the four sides of the brick flue, I lit the twigs and had the fire roaring by the time the pot was refreshed and everyone settled.
‘This is much cosier, anyway,’ Peach said. The library would have been a decent-sized living room in any ordinary house. Even with the extra seats it wasn’t exactly cramped. That and the smoke disappearing up the chimney with only a trace of apple-wood scent left behind it straightened my face out at last.
‘I agree,’ said Rosalie. ‘We’re as snug as bunnies in a burrow.’
‘Oh, hey, Ro-Ro,’ Peach said, ‘that reminds me. Look out the front. We saw the most adorable little black baby rabbit on the lawn. Like something from Disney.’
Rosalie unwound herself from the couch and went over to peer out. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, as the rest of us heard the sound of a car.
‘Is that Sasha at last?’ said Ramsay.
‘Uh, no.’ Rosalie stood back and let us see. A battered blue Escort was disappearing around the bend of the drive, as the rabbits scattered. ‘We’ve lo
st Jennifer.’
‘That was quick,’ said Buck. ‘Last time it took—’
‘Shut up, Buck,’ Peach said.
There was another silence and then Paul spoke. ‘So. No Jennifer. This weekend might turn out to be fun after all.’
‘And you get a room of your own!’ said Buck to Peach, sounding hearty.
‘I’ll stick,’ Peach said. ‘I mean, I’ll use the good bathroom, but when will you and I ever get the chance again?’
‘Seriously?’ said Rosalie. ‘You’re a better sister than I am.’
Peach shrugged but I caught her eye and thought again about the way she’d clutched the edge of the curtain in the snug. ‘So shall we gather all the presents before they get here?’ she said, and her voice was not quite steady.
‘Oh, let’s wait till tomorrow,’ said Rosalie. ‘That’s the actual day.’
‘You’re right,’ said Peach. ‘If they don’t like what we’ve bought it’s less time they’ll have to pretend. What did you get them, Rosie?’
‘I managed to find a set of nesting vintage tins online. No idea if they’re Kim’s thing, though.’
‘Who knows what Kim’s thing is?’ Buck said.
‘Well, she likes money,’ said Paul. ‘And older men.’
‘Shouldn’t we maybe stop bitching her up before she even—’ said Peach, then stopped at the sound of a car coming up the drive.
‘We’ve brought them forth,’ said Paul, ‘with the pure power of our own snark. Here they are!’
I knew what I would see when I stood up straight and looked: a navy-blue Range Rover. A tall man in cashmere and cords getting out of the driver’s side. A long-legged woman in red jeans and sheepskin stepping down and coming round to stand beside him.
‘I’ll go and welcome them, shall I?’ I said. ‘Tell them where you all are?’
It wasn’t even so much that none of the guests was rushing to the door to greet their host. It was more that no one said a word. Ramsay, with his hands locked between his knees, stared at the carpet. Buck glanced at Peach, then quickly looked away. Rosalie was the only one who appeared calm. Her face was a mask, like she’d been freeze-framed. It was probably an expression she’d learned dealing with bolshy clients. But she was holding on tight to Peach’s hand.
And suddenly it all made sense. Paul wasn’t really sour. His griping and slagging, like Buck’s bad jokes, Peach sleeping near her brother, Rosalie so bright and determined she was close to snapping, Jennifer running away. They were terrified. Every last one of them.
Chapter 5
They were still by the car when I got to the front door. I watched them, standing in the shadows where they wouldn’t see me. He was beaming and had an arm slung round her neck, pointing at the house with his free hand as if he was showing it off. She nodded and smiled, but when he grabbed her and pulled her forward, she couldn’t help wincing. I winced too, thinking about the graze on her palm pressed against his skin. I felt in the pocket of my trousers for the little nugget of blood-stained gravel there, then remembered I’d changed them.
‘Hello,’ I said, walking out into the light of the vestibule. ‘Mrs and Mrs Mowbray!’
‘Kim and Sasha,’ the woman said. I knew she would, but it’s a nice touch to show some deference every now and then.
‘I’m Donna. I’ve been cc’d in on some of your emails. Welcome to The Breakers.’
‘Changed its name, eh?’ Sasha said. He’d packed in the beaming. And he’d dropped her hand too. ‘Knockbreak House not swanky enough to part gullible tourists from their cash?’ He was handsome, with his thick hair and gym-figure, his good bones and his perfect teeth that were whiter than the gum he was working them on. But the scowl on his face ruined the dark eyes and the smooth skin.
I smiled at him and shrugged. ‘Couldn’t tell you. I just know it’s The Breakers now.’
‘Named after a nearby historic junkyard? Famous local dance championship?’ Sasha had strolled in and was looking around. I ushered Kim inside to join him.
‘The sea,’ I said, holding up a finger and tilting my head as a wave came crashing in.
‘Well, that’s one mystery solved.’ He still wasn’t smiling.
‘Right, then, everyone’s in the library,’ I said. ‘I’ll get a fresh pot of tea and … Would you like to unpack for yourselves or can I take your bags to your room?’
‘I’ll unpack,’ Kim said. Blurted, really.
‘Which one are we in?’ said Sasha.
‘The master suite.’ At his frown, I added, ‘Turn left at the far end of the corridor.’
He strode over to the door that opened onto the back rooms and we both listened to him pounding up the stairs. Kim let out a shaky breath and pushed her sunglasses up with her knuckles, revealing red eyes and dried mascara tracks down her cheeks.
‘I’ve really sodded this up,’ she said. ‘And I don’t even understand why.’
I hesitated. She looked about my age – much younger than her horrible husband – and she’d reached out like we were friends. I knew she’d regret it once she’d cheered up. I also knew me acting the same way back would turn into a two-star review for ‘pushy staff’. I’d seen it before. So I tried to find a middle ground.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s stressful being the one who plans everything, but you can let go now and Home From Home will take care of it all.’ She looked at me as if I was talking Greek. ‘Come and splash your face,’ I tried instead.
‘I knew his family spent a summer in Galloway when he was wee,’ she said, as I led her through to the staff loo. ‘I thought that would make it extra-special. Even if I’d known he’d stayed at this very house before, I’d have thought that was brilliant. I don’t know why he’s so angry.’
‘Men are weird.’ She let out a snottery little laugh and then sniffed hard. ‘Help yourself to any of that,’ I added, pointing to my make-up that was lined up on the shelf behind the basin.
She wrinkled her nose at it.
‘I haven’t got any disgusting diseases,’ I said. Then I realized she was pouting at the brands, not at the thought of sharing. She had that deep-down rich look about her. The long boots, the lambskin, ten shades of professional red in her hair and those big loose curls you get from a salon blow-dry. A knuckleful of diamonds and platinum on her wedding finger. She took off the solitaire and the half-hoop before she wetted her hands but even her wedding ring was a beast of a thing. I supposed that was the usual way middle-aged men like Sasha Mowbray got young wives like Kim.
She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. ‘Happy anniversary, you clueless bitch.’
‘Hey!’ I said. ‘Don’t speak to yourself like that.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘That’s my husband’s job, isn’t it?’
I gave an awkward laugh and backed away
* * *
‘All present and correct,’ I told my mum’s voicemail, when I was back in the kitchen. ‘The client and hubs have arrived. Four women, four men, one big happy … She doesn’t look old enough to be having a tenth wedding anniversary, mind you, and I wouldn’t bet on an eleventh.’
I hung up and headed back to the library with more tea. I hadn’t agreed with my mum that we needed so much china, but she was right. This was slick and professional-looking, walking in with a replacement, not making them wait.
I paused just outside. There was total silence from the other side of the door, except for the logs crackling. Had they all gone upstairs to say hello at last? To thump Sasha’s back and call him by old nicknames? I still thought it was weird they hadn’t done it right away. I pushed the door open and froze.
Sasha stood with his back to me, the rest of them staring up at him from their seats. I squinted to make out what he was holding. Some big bulky armload. I came further into the room and the firelight twinkled in the folds of the cellophane. The hamper.
‘Who did it?’ Sasha said. ‘What joker wrote that name on this card?’ He was holding the lit
tle envelope that had come with the gift. It was twisted in his fist from him gripping it so hard as he shook it – actually shook it – in their faces.
Peach looked over his shoulder towards me and swallowed. Sasha followed her gaze.
‘Get out!’ he said, swinging round. Then: ‘Oh, it’s you. Can you cast any light on this? Do you know whose idea of a hilarious joke this is? Do you know who put it on my bed for me to find?’
‘On your bed?’ I said. ‘I left it in the kitchen.’
‘Sasha, it’s probably a mistake,’ Rosalie said. ‘And if Kim hasn’t seen it, then it doesn’t matter. It’ll be a client or someone, working off an old address book.’
‘What are you twatting on about?’ Sasha said.
‘Hey,’ said Paul.
‘Oh, spare me!’ Sasha said. ‘Look, if I laugh like a good little boy at your priceless wheeze, will you at least tell me which one of you did it?’
I stood like a pillock just inside the door. I couldn’t get past him to put the teapots down without shoving him aside.
‘Christ, Sasha,’ Paul said. ‘We like a laugh but none of us would put your ex-wife’s name on an anniversary present! We’re not total arseholes.’
‘Who said anything about my ex-wife?’
‘What?’ said Peach. ‘You did. You minced in here like Zorro and accused us of writing the wrong name on an anniversary present. Are you drunk? Are you high?’
‘It’s not addressed to Marina and me,’ Sasha said. ‘And this is no client with an old address book. This is for me alone: “Dear Sasha, Happy anniversary and—”’
‘And what?’ said Buck.
‘And welcome back,’ said Sasha, spitting the words. ‘So much for your claims to be astonished at finding yourselves here.’
‘Whose claims?’ Ramsay said. ‘Who sent it?’
‘Not the person whose name’s on the card,’ Sasha said grimly.
‘Sash, none of us brought it,’ Paul said. ‘I swear.’
‘You swear?’
‘I swear too,’ said Rosalie. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
Go to My Grave Page 5