The Best Of Times

by Penny Vincenzi

  What would Linda say, if she knew? The chance of Georgia’s life and she was risking throwing it all away… Well, she’d just have to get up early somehow, get some money out of the hole in the wall, and then sleep on the coach. She’d drink loads of water now-and anyway, none of them had any money left for cocktails, thank goodness-and just demand they leave. Only-God, where was Esme now? She’d been on the dance floor a minute ago, with thingy’s tongue down her throat, and now she’d vanished, must have gone outside-oh, God, oh God, what was she doing here, why had she come…?

  ***

  “God, it’s hot.” Toby pushed his damp hair back off his forehead. “Might take a dip. Fancy one, Barney?”

  “Sounds good.”

  They were in the garden of Toby ’s parents’ house; Toby had asked Barney to stay there with him the night before the wedding. “Stop me running away,” he said with a grin. But there had been something in his voice, a slight catch. He’d been a bit odd altogether, actually, all evening: quiet, edgy, jumping whenever the phone rang. He’d left twice to take calls on his mobile. “Tamara,” he’d said both times when he came back.

  Carol Weston had served a delicious dinner for the four of them-poached salmon followed by raspberries and cream-which they had eaten outside, burning copious candles to keep the insects at bay; Ray Weston had served some very nice chilled Muscadet, and proposed the toast to “the perfect couple. That’s you and Toby, Barney,” he said, smiling, and they had sat there, chatting easily until it was dark, reminiscing. But then Toby became increasingly silent, almost morose, and Carol and Ray went in to bed, with strict instructions to them both from Carol not to be late.

  “We don’t want any hitches tomorrow, any hungover grooms.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Toby said, and then swiftly, apologetically, “Sorry, Mum. But do give me a bit of credit. We’ll just have a couple of quiet ones and then bed, Barney, eh?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They climbed out of the pool and sat, briefly cool, on the terrace at the back of the house.

  “Quiet one then?” Toby said and, “Yes, great,” said Barney. He’d expected Toby to fetch more wine; was a little alarmed when he saw him come out of the house with a bottle of whisky and some tumblers.

  “Tobes! You heard what your mum said.”

  “Oh, don’t you start. There’s no nightcap like scotch. Neat scotch. Want some?”

  Barney nodded.

  “That’s better,” Toby said, taking a large gulp, then leaning back in his chair, studying his glass.

  “Better? You’re not nervous, are you?”

  “Well-a bit. Inevitable, really. Lesser men than me have run away.”

  “Tobes. You wouldn’t.”

  “Of course not. What, from a girl like Tamara? God, I’m lucky. So lucky.”

  A second whisky followed the first; a silence; then Toby said, quite suddenly: “I’ve… well, I’ve got a bit of a problem, Barney. Actually. Been a bit of an idiot.”

  “How? In what way?”

  “I… Oh, shit, I should have told you ages ago. Well, weeks ago, anyway.”

  He was staring into the darkness, his hands twisting.

  “Toby, what is it; what have you done?”

  “I’ve… well, I’ve made a complete fool of myself. With some girl.”

  Barney stared at him in total silence for a moment, then said, “Fuck!”

  “Well, exactly that. Yes. I… well, I got incredibly drunk one night with some friends round here. Anyway, we went to a club near Cirencester, and this girl was there. On a hen night. She lives in the next village, actually. Dead sexy, works for some local builder, you know the sort of thing.”

  “Think so,” said Barney. He was feeling rather sick.

  “Anyway I… well, I screwed her. I… gave her a lift home, in a cab. Well, it seemed a good idea at the time. When we got back to her place, she said why didn’t I come in for a nightcap, her parents were away for the night, and-well, one thing led to another.”

  “Toby, you lunatic!”

  “I know, I know. Anyway, I felt pretty bad in the morning, obviously, hoped she’d see it my way, just a bit of fooling around-she didn’t.”

  “Oh, Tobes-”

  “She knew where I lived, or rather where my parents lived, became a complete pest, always calling me, at work as well, on my mobile, actually turned up here once or twice. I… well, I tried to get rid of her, but it didn’t work. She got quite unpleasant, started accusing me of treating her like a tart-”

  “Well-”

  “I know, I know. God, what wouldn’t I give to have that time over again. Anyway, next thing is, last week she calls, says she’s pregnant.”

  “Shit!”

  “I tried to call her bluff, but… well, unfortunately, I… well, I left all that sort of thing to her; she said she was on the pill-”

  “You idiot,” said Barney, “you total idiot.”

  “I know. I know. I can’t explain it. I’ve never done anyting like that. Ever. Well, you’d know if I had. No secrets from you, Barney. I s’pose… I suppose it was a combination of last-fling time, nerves about… well, about being married-”

  “You mean to Tamara?” said Barney quietly.

  “Yes. At rock bottom. I do love her-but she’s quite high-maintenance. Bit of a daunting prospect. Anyway-that’s not an excuse. I… well, it was an appalling thing to do. I know that.”

  “So-what’s happened?” It seemed best to stick to practicalities.

  “I told her to have a test, all that sort of thing. Anyway, she’d gone all quiet. I thought it was OK, but… well, anyway, she called me tonight. That was what those calls were. She wants some money. So she can have a termination. She wants to have it done properly, as she puts it. At a private hospital.”

  “Well, tell her she can’t.”

  “Barney, I’m in no position to talk to her like that. Even if none of it’s true, I daren’t risk it. You know what Tamara’s like-”

  “Well-yes. I do. But-”

  “Anyway she wants a couple of grand.”

  “Blimey.”

  “Moreover she wants it tomorrow morning. In cash.”

  Barney felt sick, oddly scared himself.

  “You can’t give in to that sort of thing,” he said finally.

  “Barney, I have to. Otherwise, she’s threatened to come to the church. It wouldn’t look good if she turned up at my smart society wedding, as she called it, would it?”

  “No,” said Barney, after a pause, “no, it wouldn’t be great.”

  “So-I’ve got to give her a grand in the morning. In cash. Which I don’t happen to have about me. Do you?”

  “Nope. Got about a hundred, but-”

  “I’ll have to go to a bank, get it out. The most I can get on my card is four hundred quid.”

  “I can get that too. But-”

  “No, no, Barney, it’s my problem. And then I’ll have to take it to her. To her parents’ house, fifteen, twenty minutes away. So-”

  “Toby, you do realise it may not stop at this, don’t you? That’s the whole thing about blackmail.”

  “Yeah, but whatever she does next, I’ll be married, the wedding’ll be safely over, Tamara won’t have to be confronted by it-literally. I’ll deal with it somehow. Anyway, I’ve got a feeling she’ll back off. Meanwhile-busy morning.”

  “Yeah. Well, look, surely I can deal with that. I can get the money; I can take it to her-”

  “No, that’s just too complicated. I’ll do it. I should be back here by ten thirty, eleven, latest. Then I’ll just change and we can go. We might be a bit late for the ushers’ lunch, but that won’t matter.”

  “We need to leave by eleven, really, for that, mate.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll have to drive faster. Oh, God. What a total fucking idiot I’ve been. Let’s have another of those, Barney. Then we’d better turn in. Busy day tomorrow.”

  He nodded at the whisky bottle; Barney poured the dr
inks out, his hand shaking slightly, wondering how he could possibly have got Toby so wrong. He’d have trusted him with his life, always regarded himself as the slightly wild card. And now…

  ***

  Laura was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang.

  “Darling?”

  “Oh, Jonathan, hello. How did it go?”

  “Oh-pretty well, I think. Yes. Jack seemed pretty pleased.”

  “I bet he was. I bet you were wonderful.”

  “Hardly. Anyway, you’re all right, are you?”

  “I’m absolutely fine, darling. Just a bit hot. But we got all the uniforms, then I took them out to supper-”

  “Let me guess. T.G.I.’s.”

  “Correct.”

  “God, I don’t know how you can face those places.”

  “Well, the children love them. And I love the children.”

  “So do I. But… well, you’re a saint. They’re lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you.”

  “And I’m lucky to have you.”

  “Well-as long as everything’s OK. Night, darling. I’ll be home tomorrow, around six, going straight up to St. Anne’s from here.”

  “Fine. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  ***

  That was done then: very unlikely now that she would call him again.

  Jonathan walked into the foyer of the Bristol Meridien, so nicely anonymous, so filled with pleasurable associations.

  He checked in and went up to his room, had scarcely pushed the door open when she walked out to greet him, stark naked, holding out a glass of champagne.

  “You’re very late,” she said. “What kept you?”

  CHAPTER 6

  When all else failed, Georgia prayed. Not because she believed in God, exactly, but because He did seem, on the whole, to be very good about listening to her and letting her have what she wanted. Which meant, she supposed, that she really ought to believe in Him a bit more, and be a bit more grateful.

  Well, if He answered this particular prayer in an even half-positive manner (she promised both herself and Him), she would make a much, much greater effort not just to believe in Him, but to behave in a way more appropriate to the belief. Because He most definitely would deserve it.

  What she was going to ask of Him today, she thought, eyes screwed up, fists clenched in absolute concentration, was not actually that difficult to grant. She wanted a car: a car driven by someone else, on its way to London, and with a spare seat. And actually, since she was standing just above the approach road to the M4, it would not be a miracle on the scale of the loaves and fishes. All God had to do, in fact, was point her out, perhaps nudge the driver into thinking some company would not go amiss, and He’d be free to get on with whatever other tasks were on His mind.

  After half an hour, her arm aching, her bare legs drenched in dust, it began to seem that God had better things to do that morning.

  At this rate she just wasn’t going to make it. She had to be there, actually at the audition, by three; it was already twelve, and her father always said you had to allow two and a half hours minimum from the Severn Bridge. And that was when you knew exactly where you were going; she had to find some obscure place in the middle of London, and get herself tarted up before she could present herself to the snooty cow-they were always snooty-in reception. She was almost thinking of giving up. Of going home again, telling her mother that she had missed not just the early coach but the later one and that it was absolutely, yes, her own fault. Only actually it wouldn’t be that easy to get home again; she’d need another lift just to get back to Cardiff; she might as well carry on, get to London anyway.

  God, she was so stupid. Why hadn’t she stayed safely at home in Cardiff and gone to bed early, so she’d have heard her phone when it went off? Only she wouldn’t have had to; her mother would have made sure she was awake and driven her to the coach station in plenty of time. But it had been after two when they got home, and her phone had failed totally to wake her until almost nine. Esme’s mum had been very sympathetic, but she didn’t have a car; Georgia ’d gone out in a panic to find a cash machine and catch the next coach, only it spat her card out, and she couldn’t get any money. Her only hope now was the train; she’d gone back to Esme’s in tears, hoping to beg some money from her, but she didn’t have any either. She’d hoped the boyfriend, who’d stayed over, might lend her the money, but he was clearly tight as well as a complete wanker. In the end, he did offer to take her to the M4 in his car and drop her there so she could hitch a lift.

  And here she was, on the side of the road, praying…

  ***

  Maeve Connell had also been calling upon the Almighty-not for help, but to be her witness in an ultimatum to her husband.

  “I swear before God, Patrick Connell, you don’t get home in time for my mother’s birthday dinner and it’s the last meal that’ll be cooked for you in this house. Because I’ll have gone, left you for good. I’m sick of it-sick to the death of looking after the kids alone, and sleeping alone, and coping alone, and I don’t want to hear any excuses about how we’ll soon have a great house and a fine car. So is that clear, Patrick, because if it isn’t I’ll say it all again, just so there’s no doubt in your mind whatsoever…”

  Patrick had told her it was quite clear, and that of course he’d be back in Kilburn, and in good time for the birthday dinner. “And I have a great gift for your mother as well; just wait till you see it. So kiss the boys for me and tell them I’ll see them tonight. Now I have to go, or I’ll get pulled over for using the phone and then I’ll never arrive in time. Bye, darling. See you later.”

  He snapped off his mobile, pulled over into the middle lane, and moved up to the fifty-six miles an hour that was his top speed.

  He was dead tired. But he should be home by seven at this rate. If only it wasn’t quite so hot…

  ***

  Georgia looked at her watch again. Twelve fifteen now; it was hopeless, completely hopeless. She gave up praying, gave up smiling at every car that came along, gave up hope, sank onto the grass verge by the lay-by, buried her head in her arms, and started to cry.

  ***

  Rick Thompson was in a foul mood.

  He was supposed to be getting home early; he’d got up at bloody dawn to finish a job in Stroud-some silly cow had decided at the beginning of the week she wanted the fence he’d put up for her painted white instead of stained brown, and it had meant an extra day and a half’s work. He wouldn’t have minded so much-it was all work, after all, all money-but she liked to chat, and it was, well, boring, mostly about her husband who was away “on business, in Japan actually,” and his views on life in general and how he liked her garden to look in particular. When she was through with that, she moved on to her children, who were all very musical, especially her eldest…

  Anyway, he’d finished that morning in record time, mostly because she’d gone to Waitrose in Cirencester-“I know it’s a bit of a trek, and terribly wrong of me, environmentally, but it’s just so much better quality”-and he was waiting for her to get back so he could hand her the invoice, when his boss phoned and said he wanted him to pick up a load of timber from a yard outside Stroud and drop it off with him before the end of the day.

  Since the boss lived outside Marlow and Rick lived in Reading, this was not too great an imposition, but the yard had been closed when he got there, bit of paper pinned on the door saying, “Back by one thirty,” but it was nearer two when the lumber yard guy arrived.

  “Sorry, mate, got caught up with something.”

  “Yeah, well,” Rick said, his face assuming the expression that sent his wife diving for cover, “some of us like to get home before midnight, specially on a Friday, OK? Let’s have it, PDQ.”

  There was still some wood from the last job lying around in the bottom of his van; the man suggested he clear it out before putting his new timber in.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll leave it with you, then; you can dispo
se of it for me.”

  “Oh, no,” said the man, looking at the assortment of dusty, split planks, some of them still stuck with rusty nails, “you dispose of your own rubbish, mate. Sign here, please.”

  Swearing under his breath, Rick signed, and then found the back doors of the van no longer shut properly.

  “This is all I need. Got any rope? I’ll have to tie the fucking doors together.”

  “You ought to tie those old planks down, mate. Not have them rattling around like that.”

  “Look,” said Rick, “when I need your advice, I’ll ask for it. Right now I don’t, all right?”

  And he pulled out of the yard, with Rudi, the black German shepherd dog that was his constant companion, on the passenger seat. He turned along the A46 in the direction of the M4, cursing the heat, his own misfortune in not having a van with air-conditioning, and the fact that his windscreen wash was almost empty.

  And that he couldn’t now be in Reading much before four.