‘Which hysterical bitch is this?’ said Ramsay. I was glad he had asked, because I genuinely didn’t know.
‘Kim,’ Sasha said. ‘It was her that brought us all here. Who else would buy—’ He jerked his head away to the side, biting off his own words. Then he turned and stalked out.
‘Blimey,’ I said.
‘That was interesting,’ said Ramsay. ‘Don’t you think he’s protesting a bit too much?’
I frowned and shrugged.
‘How many times has he said he didn’t know we were coming here and Kim organized everything on her own? And then you know what I think just happened? I think he was going to say she’d bought … something that hasn’t come to light yet. It was a slip. He’s behind it all. He’s blaming Kim for…’
‘Shits and giggles?’ I suggested. ‘What is she doing with him? Is he rich?’
‘Not rich enough,’ Ramsay said. ‘He’d have to be Croesus for me to touch him with the Eiffel Tower.’
We both laughed for a minute, and then I think maybe he remembered that Sasha was his cousin and I was a complete stranger. I know I remembered that he was a client and I was a so-called professional.
‘Well, anyway,’ I said, ‘about the lobster pot. It’s probably got a tag on it with the owner’s business name. If it’s Irish go for it. But if it’s from round here, if it’s Stranraer or Kirkcudbright, I’d leave it. Folk pick them up and hand them back for a tenner. It wouldn’t look good if you carted it off.’
‘Look good?’ he said. ‘On TripAdvisor?’
I smiled and we went our separate ways. I hadn’t forgotten about the soaked paper. I was going to check my knives and see if that really was one of mine. But I left it where it was in the meantime because, if Sasha was being wound up, that was fine by me.
It was the computers I’d forgotten.
* * *
Mid-afternoon, I heard them come back and go to their rooms but I didn’t see them and I was too busy, even with the switch to the easy menu, to go looking. I ironed the tablecloth and napkins and starched them crisp. I polished the candlesticks that had gone cloudy in the cupboard – that damp salty air at its tricks again. I sliced lemons for fingerbowls and rubbed the skins off peas to halve them as decoration for the amuse-bouches.
‘God knows we can’t have whole peas in their big ugly skins rolling around the plate,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Everyone’ll throw up.’
At teatime – anchovy toast, from the hamper, and the anniversary cake – I plastered a smile on my face and headed for the drawing room.
‘Tea is served,’ I said, bumming open the door and turning with a flourish to display the tray.
‘Jesus, more food,’ said Sasha. I didn’t react and I didn’t see anyone else so much as glance at him but he went on, ‘Sor-reeee. I meant to say, of course, oh goody. I’m absolutely famished. All the fresh sea air has whipped up my appetite for at least another two meals today.’
‘No one’s ramming it down your gullet,’ said Rosalie. ‘Ignore him, Donna.’
‘Ignore who?’ I said. It went against my training but Kim snorted and Kim was the client. ‘I’ll be back in a minute with the teapot.’
I listened in on the monitor while the kettle was boiling.
‘It’s not Marmite,’ Peach was saying. ‘It’s anchovies.’
‘It’s fucking disgusting, whatever it is,’ Sasha said.
‘Don’t be such a brat!’ That was Rosalie.
‘I like it,’ said Buck. ‘I’ll eat your share.’
‘We’re paying good money for this pathetic joke of a so-called posh weekend.’ Sasha’s voice was rising. I could hear him faintly along the corridor as well as through the machine. There was a tiny delay, so it sounded like an echo.
‘Tea,’ I said, entering the room again, hoping my cheeks had died down a bit. The big bay window was open wide and the sea louder than ever. ‘Brrrr. Aren’t you cold?’
‘I was sharing the delicious food with the adorable rabbits,’ Sasha said. I frowned and looked out. There was a black rabbit there, right enough, and there was a gob of something brown lying on the edge of the grass.
‘Sasha didn’t care for the anchovy toast,’ Paul said, ‘so he threw it out the window. Do you have any plastic you could put down under his high-chair at dinner, Donna?’
‘I’ll close this,’ I said, going over. ‘It’s getting foggy. Can I bring you something else instead, Sasha? Or will you make do with a slice of cake?’
‘We all love it,’ said Buck.
‘What a sycophant you are,’ Sasha said. ‘Has no one ever told you not to suck up to the staff? They might have trained themselves to smile those supercilious smiles, like tarts faking the big O, but they despise you for it.’
My trained smile faded. But I didn’t have to think of anything to say because Sasha was just getting started.
‘Perhaps Ramsay would like something else,’ he said. ‘Ramsay doesn’t care for fish, do you, cupcake? Oh, Lord, that’s a thought. I hope there aren’t any oysters planned for our wondrous dinner tonight. That would never do for Ramsay. Or mussels, either. I can’t see Ramsay with his tongue in a mussel shell.’
‘What are you even on about?’ said Paul. Ramsay was staring at the carpet.
‘Your loyalty does you proud,’ Sasha said. ‘Not to mention your scrupulous PC attitude.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ I said. ‘Dinner’s at eight. Drinks and nibbles in here at half seven, okay?’
‘Nibbles?’ said Sasha, giving a mirthless laugh. ‘God almighty! Nibbles?’
‘Yes, Sasha, nibbles,’ said Rosalie. ‘You know. Appetizers. Snacks. Hors d’oeuvres. Edible equivalents of openers, preambles, prefaces, prologues, preludes.’
But Sasha wasn’t listening. He pointed at the cake. ‘Who did that?’
‘I made it,’ I said. ‘It’s a Victoria sponge. And butter icing.’
‘Did you do that?’ He jabbed a finger so close he nearly poked it into the piped message. ‘Who told you to write that?’
‘Um,’ I said, with a glance at Kim.
She had her head in her hands. She didn’t see him lunge forward and swipe up the whole cake, draw back his hand and make to throw it out of the window.
‘Let’s see if the fucking rabbit can help us choke this down,’ he shouted. He sounded ragged, as if he was halfway to sobbing.
‘Sasha, cool your jets,’ Peach said. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘And please don’t try to throw the cake out onto the grass,’ said Buck. ‘Because the window is shut and if it splats on the carpet I will still eat it and it won’t be pretty.’
Paul laughed at that and laughed even harder when Sasha wheeled round and ran towards Buck, only stopping when the cake was about an inch from his wide-open mouth.
‘I know you probably mean this to be frightening,’ Buck said. ‘But if it was my wife in skimpy nightie it would be my number-one naughty daydream, so it’s slightly backfired, Sasha, my old bean.’
Sasha threw the cake down on the plate, pretty much missing it. The icing message was just about gone, but he smeared his hand over it to obliterate it completely. Then he took a long breath and looked over at Buck.
‘Your wife in skimpy nightie?’ he said. ‘Jesus Christ, if we don’t get rid of that image none of us will be able to eat our dinner.’
It was the first time I had seen Buck’s face without a smile about it anywhere.
‘Watch it,’ he said.
‘Or what?’ said Sasha. He was himself again. ‘Are you going to set your wife on me? In that case I surrender. She sat on my lap last Christmas, you know, and my back wasn’t right till Easter.’
‘She sat in your lap?’ Buck said.
‘Rosalie, you saw it,’ Sasha said. ‘You arrived just in time to stop me getting groin strain from Ten Ton Tessie’s lap-dance. You’ll—’
‘Oh, just shut up, Sasha,’ said Rosalie. ‘Buck, she did nothing of the sort.’
; ‘Anyway, don’t worry, Buckaroo. I wouldn’t have done it. Obviously. She’d have as much luck with Ramsay.’
I picked up the tray and got out before I had to hear any more.
Chapter 11
I had saved my best black and white for tonight: a stiff linen shirt with a nipped-in waist and a pair of glazed-cotton cigarette-pants that I wore with spike heels. My feet would be killing me by the end of service but I reckoned it was worth it to make their special night elegant in every way. Of course, that was before the slanging matches and threat of food fights. Still, I wound my hair into a chignon and put on eyeliner and red lipstick anyway, out of solidarity with Kim. Or pity, maybe. Or to look so good that Sasha would regret being such an arse to me.
That was probably how he had got Kim, now I came to think about it. Acting like a total shit to the world at large, then turning on the charm just for you is hard to resist. I’d been caught that way once or twice. But I hadn’t married it. I added a layer of lip gloss and admired myself. Then I jumped as someone knocked softly at my bedroom door.
‘Come—’ I began, then thought the better of it. ‘Who is it?’
‘Buck,’ came the reply.
I went to the door and opened it.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You look great.’
‘It’s my “Fuck off, Sasha” look,’ I said.
Buck nodded. ‘Well, that’s the thing. Peach is in the bath and Rosalie’s in the bath and Kim might be in the bath too, but at any rate she’s crying her eyes out in her bathroom. I heard her through the wall. So we all wondered if maybe you would pop in and see if she’s okay.’
‘Who all?’ I said. Buck jerked his head so I stepped out onto the landing and saw Paul and Ramsay standing there in a huddle.
‘Where is Sasha?’ I said. ‘Isn’t he in there with her?’
‘No,’ said Paul. ‘Sasha seems to have fucked off, to use your excellent phrase. I’ll be sure and mention your way with words on TripAdvis— Christ, I’m only kidding. Your face!’
‘Has he gone as in gone?’ I said. ‘Jennifer-gone? Taken the car?’
‘If only,’ said Ramsay. ‘No, he’s just stormed off in a huff about something. Else. Jesus, if he was gone, we could have a wonderful evening. Rosalie could start drafting a divorce petition for poor Kim…’
‘You could come out of the closet,’ Paul said.
They were still enjoying it in a twisted kind of way, I thought, as I went along to the master suite and tapped on the door.
‘It’s Donna,’ I said. ‘Can I come in?’ There was no answer. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. They’d managed to trash the room again since that morning: the bed disarranged, drawers hanging open, more towels on the floor. I gave another soft knock on the bathroom door.
‘Go away and leave me alone!’ Her nose was blocked and her voice sounded hoarse. She must have cried pretty hard to get like that in the time she’d had.
‘It’s—’
‘I don’t care who it is,’ she said. ‘I’m sick of the lot of you.’
‘I’m not one of the lot,’ I said, edging round the door. ‘There’s just me. Let me help you.’
‘Oh, fuck, Donna,’ she said. She was sitting propped against the bath, in her underwear – bright pink polka-dot scanties, threaded with black ribbon – holding an almost empty tumbler.
‘Good for you if that’s water,’ I said. ‘If it’s gin, even better.’
She didn’t laugh but she lifted her chin, acknowledging the joke. ‘It’s water.’
‘What happened?’ I sat down on the edge of the bath and put a hand on the top of her head.
She slumped against my legs and let a huge breath go. ‘What happened?’ she echoed. ‘I was working as a waitress in a … Well, no, I wasn’t.’ She laughed and it was the bleakest sound I’d ever heard. ‘I was working on a hairband concession at Princes Square in Glasgow. One of the little barrows? And I met a charming, handsome, well-off, funny, apparently kind man, who was nearly over his horrible ex. I walked right into the forest with him. Not a backwards glance. So now I’ve got my own store in Pollokshields, great credit with the wholesalers because Sasha’s a guarantor. Gifts, kitchenware, accessories, jewellery. No more hairbands for me.’ She lifted the water glass and toasted herself in the full-length mirror.
‘What exactly does Sasha do?’ I said. ‘No one’s ever mentioned…’
‘No, God, no. They wouldn’t have. It pisses him off if you get specific. He’s an executive. He’s CEO of Mowbray’s. He’s a captain of industry.’
‘Is it something embarrassing?’
‘Wouldn’t that be lovely?’ said Kim. ‘No, just dull. Wholesale chilled and frozen food distributors.’
‘That’s not dull,’ I said. ‘I’d have been interested in a conversation about that – supply chain, perishability and everything – if…’
‘If Sasha wasn’t such a knob?’ She almost laughed, although it went a bit ragged. ‘You never think you should drive to your own tenth anniversary weekend in separate cars in case you need to get away, do you?’
‘I can give you a lift to the station in the morning,’ I said, ‘but you’ve had it tonight. Maybe you could borrow Rosalie’s car. Or Ramsay’s.’
‘His sister? Her brother-in-law? No way. I’m the outsider. I don’t suppose I could borrow your car?’ she said. ‘I’d leave you collateral.’ She glanced around until her gaze fell on the diamond engagement ring. Then she started crying again.
‘Shush,’ I said. ‘Shush now. We’re going to mend your face, but it’ll be easier the sooner you stop crying. And you’re wrong about them. They’re all worried. They came and got me and sent me in here.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘One of them has done this. Don’t you see? I know they’re all pretending to think it was Sasha. But I’m sure it wasn’t. He was thunderstruck when he saw where we were.’
‘Either that or he’s a great actor,’ I said, thinking of the way he jabbed at her so quick and sure and the way she fell over and bounced right back up again as if she was used to it. ‘But even if you didn’t tell him, did you tell a friend that might have told him? Could he have asked one of your friends what you were planning? To make sure … Oh, I don’t know … that he had the weekend free or that he didn’t plan something else that would clash?’ I had worked in hospitality long enough to know all the ways surprises could go wrong. I’d never seen the Holy Grail – someone dropping dead from a massive heart attack when everyone jumps out and toots the noise-makers – but I’d seen nearly everything else.
‘The only person I told was my pal, Tia. But she’s a book-club pal. Sasha doesn’t know her.’
‘Doesn’t know her well, or doesn’t know her at all?’
‘Wouldn’t know her if he tripped over her,’ Kim said. ‘We don’t have joint friends. That’s why our anniversary is all his cousins.’
I gave her my best rueful grin. That was kind of pitiful, when you took a square look at it. ‘And you don’t think much of his own friends either, eh?’ I said. ‘If you didn’t include them?’
‘His friends!’ Kim said. She hawked hard and then looked around. I whirled a handful of bog roll off the holder and gave it to her to spit into. ‘Sorry. Gross. His friend Matt is the only one he ever mentions and I’m fifty per cent convinced it’s short for Matilda.’
‘And he wouldn’t … I mean, I’ve never been married but have you got a password on your email?’ There had been approximately a thousand million emails from her about this weekend. My mum had set sticky keys to churn out screeds of fake responsiveness, like her own little hospitality bullshit generator. ‘Maybe he snooped.’
Kim shook her head. She was watching me redo the fold and fan on the end of the toilet paper. I couldn’t help it. ‘It wasn’t Sasha. I know him. It was one of them. And I don’t even really believe it was one of them. I think they did it together. Maybe not Peach or Rosie. But the men. It’s one of their side-splitting jokes. They’re like a
cult.’
‘But what do you think they did?’
‘They hijacked my anniversary to settle some old score with Sasha, of course. From that party that’s got them all up to ninety.’
‘But how did they find out you were coming here?’
‘No, no, no, it goes back farther than that. Ramsay’s got the know-how. Buck’s got the appetite for it. And Paul? Well, Paul loathes Sasha. Loathes him.’
‘Know-how?’
‘Oh, what do you call it?’ said Kim. ‘Search…’
‘Engine optimization?’ I said. I knew all about that: starting a business that lived and died by website clicks, we had got sick of thinking about it.
‘Ramsay could definitely have hacked into my computer and made sure I found this place when I started looking.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Home From Home probably worked pretty hard on making sure you’d find it too. And did Ramsay even know you were planning a get-away?’
‘Rosalie did, so no doubt everyone did. And they brought the locked box and the doctored picture. Sent the hamper.’
And ordered the message on the cake and soaked that paper and stabbed it with a meat knife, I thought. It made sense. ‘And has something else happened since teatime?’ I asked her. ‘Why did Sasha get upset enough to storm off again?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me. I was in here doing my hair and he was getting dressed and then suddenly he came in and came right up behind me and shrieked at me. What had I heard, who had been speaking to me, or did I do it myself.’
‘Do what?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I’m sick of trying to work it out. If you won’t lend me your car, Donna, will you at least bring me a bottle of wine and a big bag of crisps and tell them all I’ve got something catching?’
‘No,’ I said, standing up, ‘but I’ll do that thing you were talking about yesterday where you cough it up and I hold it for you. You can get through tonight, Kim. You might even have a laugh. Okay, your marriage is a bust – you need to face that. But this weekend could be a riot of a funeral. This could be the story you tell at dinner parties for the rest of your life, with your actually kind, maybe not rich, but a lot less psycho second husband. What do you say?’
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