Posy shrugged as she heaped the lunch-time orders on to her tray. ‘Yes it can. It has. I still think I’m not in quite the same desperate situation as you. At least Vanessa will go back to America eventually.’
‘Will she?’
‘Of course she will,’ Posy said, with a complete lack of conviction.
‘And how are you coping?’
‘Okay, really. Flynn and I have agreed to put things on hold until she goes back. Neither of us want to upset her, and they were together for a long time, so at the moment he’s not with either of us, if you get my drift.’
Lola did. She’d watched the sleeping arrangements at Sunny Dene very carefully. Flynn appeared to be sticking to his side of the bargain. But whether the voluptuous Vanessa undulated up and down the skewwhiff stairs in the middle of the night, was anyone’s guess.
‘He’s not sleeping with her,’ Posy said fiercely, snatching at a cauliflower cheese and a beans on toast. ‘Honestly. He’s not.’
‘But he’s not sleeping with you, either . . .’
‘Well, no, but then he wasn’t sleeping with me anyway. We’d hardly got that far, had we? I mean he was definitely sleeping with Vanessa back in Boston and he isn’t now, so that’s bonus points to me, isn’t it?’
Lola gave a half-hearted smile. Why were even the most intelligent and feisty women so foolish when it came to being hopelessly in love?
‘And how do you feel about her?’
‘Oh, well I could cheerfully throttle her for being here, of course. But she’s so damn nice. And Flynn says he doesn’t feel anything for her at all any more except friendship.’
Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? ‘So he’s told her about you and him, has he?’
‘No, not really, but –’ Posy sighed heavily. ‘I didn’t want him to. She’s only temporary. She’s probably sussed something, but we, as a couple, hadn’t really got off the ground, had we?’
‘But she was his lover, and she knows all about traction engines, and she’s crewed for him before on engines in the States. I know because she told Mr D and Mr B, and she knows exactly what makes Queen Mab tick.’ Lola shook her head. ‘You want to be careful, Posy. Honestly . . .’
Posy sighed again. ‘I’m not going to suddenly turn into Casey Jones meets George Stephenson just to prove that my knowledge of steam is greater than her knowledge of steam. Mind you, Dad’s besotted. She’s out in the garden showing all the model railway visitors round the layout like she was born to it. And Mum isn’t the slightest bit jealous because Vanessa can turn her hand to helping out in the kitchen and the dining room when I’m busy with the courier run, or Gear Change or in here, so she thinks she’s got a surrogate daughter.’
To be honest, Lola thought, Vanessa had cleverly delighted everyone in Steeple Fritton. She’d tried, early on, to ingratiate herself with Lola, telling her about her prowess at running Opal Joe’s in Boston, but Lola was adamant that she didn’t need any more bar staff. She’d already upset Posy enough by inadvertently employing Ritchie, she had absolutely no intention of making matters worse.
However, wearing clothes even brighter than Dilys’s, and with her halo of red hair and her scampering exuberance to embrace English village life and love it to death, everyone adored Vanessa.
Flynn had sworn to all and sundry that he didn’t. Lola wasn’t sure she believed him.
‘We ought to have a girls’ night out to boost ourselves up,’ she nodded towards the poster for the Letting Off Steam Carnival Queen contest beside the dartboard. ‘Get ourselves down to the village hall tomorrow night, grab our free cocktails, hit the dance floor and cheer on the competing sisterhood.’
Posy pulled a face, ‘I’d have thought that was the last place you’d want to be. One, we’re both feeling suicidal, and two, it’s not at all politically correct, and you’ve always been a stickler for –’
‘And falling in love with a man young enough to be my son who is heavily involved with another woman who just happens to be having his baby, is completely PC, is it?’
‘Well, if you put it like that . . .’
‘I just think we should go out and enjoy ourselves. It should be amusing, and after all we’re both free agents. We’ve both worked hard enough for this carnival, and anyway,’ Lola studied her fingernails, ‘I’m going to make the most of my last few weeks in the village.’
‘What? You’re leaving? You can’t! What’ll I do without you? You’re my friend!’
‘Nikki and Amanda are your friends,’ Lola didn’t look up. ‘Ninety per cent of the village are your friends. You’ll be fine.’
‘No I won’t! I don’t want you to go.’
‘Not what you said when I arrived here.’
‘No, well, things were different then. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed, and so have you. You can’t leave.’
‘I can’t stay, either. What have I got to stay for?’ Lola found a smeary bit on the bar counter to rub at. ‘I can’t stay around here watching Ellis and Tatty bringing up their baby . . .’
‘It’s what I’ve got to do with Ritchie and Sonia and dear, little Bradfield –’
‘No,’ Lola shook her head. ‘It isn’t. You’d known about the baby and their marriage for some time. You’d accepted, more or less, that you and Ritchie were finished. You had months to get used to the idea, however awful it was. Ellis and I had only just begun our relationship, only had a few days of that pure heady rush of first love, then it was over . . .’
‘Oh, God,’ Posy sighed. ‘But everyone loves you, and the pub is brilliant because of you and
‘And Hogarth will be back sooner than he thought. In June. I’ve had a letter. Then there’ll be nothing here for me. No Ellis, no pub . . . I don’t have any choice but to move on again.’
‘I don’t want Hogarth to come back!’ Posy practically pouted and stamped her foot. ‘That’s only a month away! I don’t want things to change, to go back to the way they were. I love what we’ve done and achieved and turned ourselves and this village into –’
Lola could have wept at hearing her own thoughts spoken aloud. ‘I know, Posy. I know. But at least this is your proper home. It’ll never be mine now. I’ll have to look for somewhere else to live, and start all over again.’
It wasn’t merely the practicalities that made her need to leave Steeple Fritton though, Lola thought, as she locked the pub’s doors after the lunch-time session. The emotions were far more painful. But with the continued presence of Vanessa at the B&B, Posy had enough troubles of her own to contend with. There seemed little point in burdening her with anything else.
Barbara Marion’s revelations about Nigel had been a terrible shock, a complete body blow, but one she’d felt she could cope with because of Ellis. Ellis . . . Lola honestly couldn’t think about Ellis any more. The pain was too great. She’d been so happy, so blissfully happy for what seemed like a blink in time, then it was gone . . . Like everything else.
To have lost both her past and her future in the same evening was almost too much to bear. But then she’d discovered that losing Ellis hurt far, far more than losing Nigel had done. And that’s what scared her most.
It had all been an illusion. Nothing more. And to stay here in Steeple Fritton and see Ellis every day was more than her sanity could stand. And now, next month, Hogarth would be coming home to reclaim The Crooked Sixpence. There really was nothing left to stay for.
Lola sighed as she drifted towards Vi Bickeridge’s corner shop for some shampoo and other vital supplies. She had no idea where she could run to next. But she’d soon have to decide.
‘Lola!’
Tatty swept out through the rainbow beaded glass curtain, and smiled widely.
‘Oh, er, hello.’ Lola gazed bleakly at Tatty’s radiant face, at the glossy curls, and at what she imagined was the swell of her belly, even though she couldn’t see it, under the flowing gypsy layers.
‘Have you got a moment?’ Tatty continued to smile. ‘Only there’s s
omething I’d like to show you.’
Oh, please God, Lola thought, not the first ultrasound scan or a set of newly-knitted baby booties. ‘Um, well, I’m rather busy and –’
‘This won’t take a minute, promise,’ Tatty linked her arm through Lola’s in a chummy fashion, and practically dragged her through the curtain.
Tatty’s shop was, as always, dark and pungent. Shadowy figures moved behind the voile curtains, and fat pastel candles danced and guttered on every surface.
‘Through here,’ Tatty motioned with her head, making various things tinkle. Lola followed her into a tiny cubicle with beanbags and mystic music and joss sticks.
‘Meditation and relaxation,’ Tatty explained. ‘Stress therapy. We’re just trying it out.’
In the gloom Lola could make out Glad, Rose Lusty and Vi Bickeridge sitting rather awkwardly on the beanbags and sipping something that smelled like warm disinfectant from tiny cups.
‘They grizzled a bit about getting down there and they all say they won’t get up again because of their rheumatics,’ Tatty said cheerfully. ‘But I’ve told them that a few minutes of inhalation and mind-clearing will take away all their aches and pains.’
‘Want some herbal tea, duck?’ Glad raised her cup to Lola. ‘S’posed to be the dog’s bollocks.’
‘Er, no thanks.’ Lola still felt awkward with Gladys. She had no idea how much Ellis had told his grandmother. She turned to Tatty. ‘Is this what you wanted to show me? It’s, um, very nice, but I don’t think I need to be de-stressed.’
Glad snorted into her cup.
‘No, no –’ Tatty breezed on through another voile curtain, indicating that Lola should follow. ‘That was just a detour, this is what I wanted you to see.’
Lola nearly passed out.
After weeks now of studiously avoiding Ellis, she certainly hadn’t expected to see him reclining in a dentist’s chair in Tatty’s back room wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.
Ellis, it had to be said, looked equally shell-shocked. ‘I was just going to show Lola the tattooing,’ Tatty squeezed passed Ellis. ‘I thought if she could have a first-hand glimpse of what went on, she may put up one of my posters in the pub and have some of these natty little brochures on the bar, and be able to be an advocate for the business.’
Lola and Ellis simply stared at one another.
‘What do you reckon? Lola? Lola!!!’ Tatty laughed. ‘Goodness me, is it the needles you don’t like? I mean, I wasn’t going to suggest you had a tattoo done yourself, although you’d be more than welcome. But Ellis has just agreed to let me try out something new.’
‘I really ought to be going,’ Lola muttered, staring at Ellis like a hypnotized rabbit, ‘I’ll certainly put up a poster in the pub and have as many of the brochures as you want, but I don’t actually need to see it being done – oh!’
At that moment, young Malvina, all shaven-head, tattoos and body jewellery, swept through yet another beaded curtain. The rattle echoed inside Lola’s head.
‘Malvina is going to try out the Thermo Max on Ellis,’ Tatty said, rather scarily pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, it steams the outline of my designs on to the skin like a huge transfer rather than me drawing them on, and saves a lot of time. It’s the first time we’ve used it.’
Lola managed to stop staring at Ellis. ‘Yes, I’m sure it’s all very fascinating, but really I ought to go –’
‘No, but look, this is what I wanted you to see.’ Tatty unfurled a sheet of elaborate designs. ‘I thought I’d offer local tattoos as well as the usual stuff. So, I’ve done this one for The Crooked Sixpence, and this one for the carnival, and this is a special I Love Steeple Fritton one, although there possibly won’t be a lot of call for that. What do you think?’
‘Very enterprising.’
Lola watched in fascinated horror as Malvina, also wearing disposable latex gloves, set to work on Ellis’s thigh with swabs of surgical spirit and a disposable razor and then clamped the Thermo Max over his leg and steamed it into place.
‘So, you’ll advertise them in the pub then?’ Tatty said, flicking her spiral curls over her shoulders and reaching for a machine with multi-headed needles like something out of an industrial embroidery factory. ‘Lola? Will that be okay?’
‘Um, yes . . . and now I’m leaving.’
‘Don’t.’ Ellis beseeched her with his eyes. ‘I’d like you to stay.’
‘Why? Are you going to have the name of your beloved emblazoned on your thigh?’
‘No.’
‘That’s a surprise.’
‘He’s chosen something quite unusual, actually,’ Tatty beamed, switching on the machine and leaning towards Ellis. She raised her voice over the whine. ‘The outline is always done like this, Malvina will keep wiping it down. There you see, it doesn’t hurt. Does it Ellis, sweetie?’
Ellis had his eyes closed. Lola wanted to drag him out of the dentist’s chair. She truly couldn’t bear to see him mutilated, or to see him and Tatty in such close proximity. She could see very little except the beads of blood pinpricking Ellis’s leg which Malvina deftly swept away.
Tatty looked up. ‘There, outline nearly done. You won’t be able to tell what it is yet, of course. Now, these are for the colours and for shading.’ She reached for a further set of sterile needles and little cups of coloured inks and started fiddling with the machine. ‘The needles go in and out of the skin so fast that there’s virtually no pain at all, and –’
Lola wiped her hand over her face and took deep breaths. ‘I don’t actually feel very well.’
‘Shame,’ Tatty said, getting to work on Ellis’s thigh with various brilliant colours. ‘Malvina, be a love and take Lola outside and give her a cup of elderflower and rhubarb.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Lola said quickly, knowing that the elderflower and rhubarb would succeed where the blood and punctured skin had only just failed.
‘Lola.’ Ellis opened his eyes. ‘I need to talk to you. I’ll see you some time, okay?’
‘You won’t be able to show her the tattoo for a while yet,’ Tatty trilled over the continual mechanical whine. ‘It’ll have to be bandaged until the scab forms. And of course, unless you’re on very good terms, it’s hardly in the sort of area you can show just anyone, is it?’
Lola lurched out through the voile curtains with Tatty’s confident laugh growling huskily in her ears.
‘Blimey,’ Glad looked up from her beanbag. ‘You looks proper pasty. What’s going on in there?’
‘Your grandson is having a tattoo.’
‘Ah,’ Glad sipped her warm disinfectant. ‘I know. I suggested to Tatty that you might be keen to see it going on . . . for advertising the tattooing parlour in the pub, of course.’
Lola looked at Glad. She knew! She damn well knew! ‘Um, and what did Ellis think about that plan?’
Glad cast a warning look towards Rose and Vi who were now sniffing lavender joss sticks. ‘Ellis put the idea to me, actually, duck. But as you and him don’t see too much of each other, he couldn’t ask you outright, so I suggested it to Tatty and, well, here you both are . . .’
Lola smiled. ‘Nice idea, but pointless.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Glad shrugged. ‘But you should at least talk about things.’
‘Talking won’t change the situation.’
‘No, bugger it, it won’t.’ Glad looked fierce. ‘But it’s a start.’
Rose and Vi were beginning to emerge from their lavender haze and blinked owlishly at Lola.
She smiled at Glad. ‘So you didn’t disapprove? The age difference and everything?’
‘My duck, I couldn’t have been more pleased. I know proper love when I sees it, and that’s what there was there. That sort of love happens once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and it don’t take no notice of age, sex, colour or creed. I could have killed him for making this current mess.’
‘So could I.’
‘You going to the Carnival Queen contest, Lola?�
�� Rose Lusty, obviously confused by Glad’s cryptic comments and a headful of aromatherapy, changed tack. ‘We are.’
Lola nodded. ‘Yes, I’m going with Posy. It should be fun. Although what sort of judge the vicar will make is anybody’s guess.’
‘It ain’t the vicar,’ Vi Bickeridge wriggled on her beanbag. It’s a celebrity panel.’
‘Oh, I know that’s what it says on the poster, but it’ll still be the vicar and a couple of people from the council.’
‘Actually,’ Glad took a final withering look at her half-finished cup, ‘they’ve got famous people. From the weekenders. Vicar’s done a grand job of rooting them out. There’s a pop star and a model and a footballer.’
Lola smiled. The meditation and relaxation had clearly done the trick in finally addling Gladys’s brain. ‘So we’re going to have Madonna and Kate Moss and David Beckham picking Miss Letting Off Steam, are we?’
‘Don’t you take the piss, my duck.’ Gladys raised an eyebrow. ‘Just make sure you’re there if you knows what’s good for you, if you gets my drift.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Steeple Fritton’s village hall was both decorated to the hilt and heaving at the seams. With The Crooked Sixpence closed for the evening in the certain knowledge that everyone capable of drinking would be at the hall for the free champagne cocktails, it meant that even those who had no interest in the choice of Miss Letting Off Steam were there simply for the alcohol.
The tables and chairs arranged on either side of the hall were already occupied by rival factions. The Pinks, the coven, everyone from Sunny Dene, and all the people from Cressbeds and Bunny Burrow were on one side; while on the other there was a smattering of weekenders, the well-to-do from the posh houses, the residents of the other Frittons, and total strangers who were either there to gawp at young flesh or have a free drink or both. Intermingled were those who had got the date wrong and had expected intermediate flower arranging for the over sixty-fives.
At the end of a rather imposing catwalk was a trestle table, presumably for the A-List celebs who were to do the judging, and the stage was set up with microphones and spotlights and balloons. Someone had even resurrected a glittering mirror ball which was suspended from the ceiling for use later when the catwalk would be cleared away for the dancing.
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