by Fern Britton
Simon, it’s Helen here. I want to apologise for any misunderstanding the other evening. You are a wonderful friend and I don’t want there to be any discomfort between us, so, assuming we can carry on as before, would you do me the honour of being my partner for David Cunningham’s party?
Yes. That should do it. She dialled the number, sat up straight and put a smile on her face. She waited, then … the engaged tone. A tiny wave of annoyance lapped at her lungs. She put the phone down with unnecessary force. The door banged open and Penny arrived, talking on her BlackBerry as usual.
‘That’s great. I am so pleased. Come straight to the hotel and I’ll meet you there. Thanks, Simon. Byeee.’
Penny threw her large Mulberry bag down on Helen’s desk, ‘Fancy a cuppa? I’ll put the kettle on.’
Penny went into the small galley kitchen at the back of the cottage and Helen could hear the tap being run and the click as the kettle was turned on at the wall. Penny came back in to the front-room office, humming irritatingly, and flopped into her office swivel chair, putting her feet on the desk. She looked at Helen’s pinched face.
‘What’s the matter with you? PMT or menopause?’
‘Nothing’s the matter.’ Helen tried to keep her voice light.
‘Good. Let’s crack on. The weather is holding and we’re shooting all the driving scenes with the “action cars” today.’
The kettle whistled and clicked off. Penny jumped up, whistling to herself now, and Helen heard the clatter of mugs and teaspoons. ‘Do you want a biscuit?’ Penny yelled.
‘No thanks,’ Helen replied, aware that her breathing had grown shallow and fast. ‘Who was that you were speaking to?’
Penny came back in and passed over a mug of tea with Snoopy on it.
‘Simon. Why?’
‘Our Simon?’
‘Yes. vicar Simon. He’s coming to David’s party with me.’ Penny stirred her tea nonchalantly.
‘Is he?’ Helen started to sweep imaginary crumbs from her desk. ‘Who asked who?’
‘I asked him, if that’s all right with you.’ Penny stopped stirring and stared at Helen. ‘Unless you have a problem with that?’
‘Why? should I?’
Penny relaxed. ‘No. And that’s exactly what I told him.’
‘So, you’ve been discussing me?’ Helen could feel a flush of anger find her cheeks.
‘Well …’ Penny looked challengingly at Helen. ‘He didn’t want to upset you after the other night’s shenanigans.’
‘What shenanigans?’
‘Calm down, Helen. Cut the jealous woman act. You blew him out.’
‘I am not behaving like a jealous woman. I just don’t want him getting hurt or getting the wrong idea about you.’
Penny carefully placed her cup of tea on the desk and, looking straight into Helen’s eyes, said very slowly, ‘What Simon and I think of each other is none of your business.’
‘Simon is a dear, sweet friend, and while I may not feel the same way about him as he does about me, I still don’t want to see him eaten for breakfast by a piranha!’
Penny looked incensed. ‘Are you comparing me to a carnivorous fish? I’m shocked that you feel that way about me!’
‘Oh, don’t look so innocent!’ Helen snorted. ‘You’re hardly the shrinking violet where men are concerned, and I just think Simon deserves to be treated a bit more sensitively, that’s all.’
‘Oh, just like you did when you dashed his hopes the other night,’ Penny retorted.
Helen looked down into her lap, feeling the sting of Penny’s words.
The two women sat in furious silence for a moment before Penny broke the impasse.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘Simon is a grown man who is taking me to David’s party. And that is that.’
‘So be it.’
‘Excellent. That’s that sorted out.’ Penny picked up her bag and went to the door. ‘I thought you’d make much more fuss at my next bit of news, actually.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Gray is organising all the “action car” hire. He’s on his way down now with a low-loader. Should be here in about half an hour. He’s found us Mr Tibbs’ car, Lord Trimsome’s car and a police car.’
Helen looked at Penny in shock.
‘What?’ she said.
‘His rates were really good. Great, isn’t it! And as a special surprise for you, he’s bringing Chloe down with him. Gotta go. See you later.’
It took Helen several minutes to file all this information correctly. Simon and Penny were going to David’s party. Together. Helen couldn’t work out what she was feeling. Hurt? Discarded? Clearly not the love of Simon’s life after all. How dare he move on so quickly, and to Penny! Helen didn’t want him. But really, Penny?! What was that all about?
Anger started bubbling up again, sending a furious heat through her limbs. And bloody Gray! Why the hell had Penny got him involved in the filming? She, Helen, was the PA! She should have been the one to make that particular phone call. Or not. Ah yes, that was it, Penny hadn’t wanted her to put a spanner in the works by refusing to deal with Gray! Well, she’d show them who was professional around here! She could damn well do her job and stark naked with a BlackBerry up her nose if she had to! Let them play their silly mind games. She would rise above it.
She stood up, knocking the table with her knee, and tipping the contents of her Snoopy mug inside her handbag.
*
And that was how Chloe found her. Sitting with many sodden tissues on the floor and one more clenched to her crying eyes.
‘Mummy! What’s happened? Aren’t you feeling well?’
Chloe put her arms round her mother and hugged her. Helen looked up with gratitude.
‘Oh, darling. You’re here at last. Auntie Penny only just told me the wonderful news that you were coming and I am crying tears of happiness.’
*
‘Keep her coming. Straight back. Stop. Left-hand down a bit. That’s it. Well done, mate.’ One of the crew was helping the low-loader driver to unload the cars.
Helen had been given the task of making certain that none of the classic ‘action cars’ were damaged as they were driven off the lorry. Gray was standing with his hands on his hips, sunglasses on his head, chatting to the props team. He hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Helen.
‘Fabulous car, that: 1935 Rolls-Royce Landaulette. Two hundred thousand on the clock and the engine’s barely run in.’ All the men within fifty metres were standing looking at the creamy yellow classic as it was delicately parked in a cordoned-off area to the side of the green.
The actor playing Lord Trimsome, Tim Watkins, walked over and stroked the bonnet. ‘Welcome to Papa, old girl. Lord Trimsome certainly has style.’
Next off the truck was a black Wolseley Wasp with a POLICE sign on its roof. The two actors playing the policemen applauded its arrival, and immediately jumped inside. Finally came Mr Tibbs’ car, a Morris Eight Series 1. Dark green and pretty with its sit-up-and-beg silhouette.
David Cunningham strolled over and looked at it. ‘Hello, my beauty!’ He opened the door and a waft of old leather leaked out and up the noses of several appreciative bystanders.
‘You can keep your Roller, Tim,’ he shouted across. ‘This’ll do old Tibbs fine.’
‘Yeah, but this baby will get Trimsome into Nancy’s knickers quicker than that old tub.’
All the men laughed at the sexist, bawdy joke and as quickly stopped when Dahlia sauntered over in nothing but a silky dressing gown, nipples pointing like chapel hat pegs, wearing wellies with her hair tightly pinned under a stocking net.
‘Oh, very amusing, boys. Tim, darling, Nancy needs a man not a mouse.’ She gave him a vampy gaze under faux eyelashes. ‘Has anyone seen the blessed wig woman? She pinned me up and then bloody vanished.’
Spotting Helen, Dahlia undulated in her direction.
‘Helen!’
‘Hello, Dahlia.’
‘I’m glad I’ve found
you.’ Dahlia dropped her voice a little. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she started, ‘but who is that man playing the fisherman? I noticed you were talking to him earlier.’
‘That’s Piran Ambrose,’ Helen answered, ‘our local man of mystery.’
‘Yes, he looks it. Darling, those eyes!’ Dahlia clutched her surgically enhanced bosom and breathily asked, ‘Is he married?’
‘No, no … no.’ Helen hesitated and then added wickedly, ‘Ladies aren’t his cup of tea.’
‘Really?’ Dahlia looked surprised.
‘Hmm. Lots of people have tried, but he’s definitely what they call a confirmed bachelor.’
‘You’d never guess.’ Dahlia looked crestfallen. ‘Shame.’ She paused, then looked back at Helen with a glint in her eye. ‘Still, there’s no harm in trying, is there?’
*
Later on that day, as the cars were being buffed to within an inch of their lives and the men on set stood around, still apparently transfixed by the gleaming vintage cars, Helen ran into Dahlia again.
This time her wig had been sorted by the make-up department and she was looking a million dollars in a tweed twinset that perfectly brought out her hour-glass curves.
‘Ah, Helen – I ran into that handsome Piran at lunchtime. I happened to be in the churchyard enjoying the sun and there he was! I asked him to take me to David’s party. But he said he couldn’t. I asked him if it was because he was taking somebody else, but he just laughed and said he’d see me there. Does he have a partner?’
‘Er yes. He does have a partner, but he won’t be taking them to the party because it’s someone who isn’t working on the show.’ Helen knew she was leading Dahlia up the garden path but she didn’t care. It was fun, and what the hell: Piran deserved a little trouble.
‘Interesting. Watch this space, darling. There aren’t many men I couldn’t conquer, straight or gay. Ha ha.’
Dahlia sashayed off, perfectly aware of the effect her curvaceous bottom, wobbling like a perfect panna cotta, was having on the watching men.
Helen was thinking: if Piran was going to the party, it would have to be without Dawn, who wasn’t cast or crew so was therefore ineligable. But what were the chances of Dawn letting him go on his own?
So deep in thought was she that she was unaware of the figure approaching her from behind.
‘Her bottom’s not a patch on yours, my darling.’ She felt familiar fingers pinch her bum. Without turning round she said, ‘Hello, Gray. Thank you for bringing Chloe with you. Now please fuck off.’
34
As it turned out, Helen managed not to run into Gray or Penny over the next couple of days. He was staying at the Starfish, and Penny was in London on a flying visit to TV7. Helen was stuck in her office with a million calls and emails to make to the production accountants (expenses were getting dangerously close to the limit), agents (whose clients were bitching about the size of their parts), the travel co-ordinator (could Helen please cut down on the number of taxis to and from the Starfish) and local police (about the closure of certain lanes where filming in the cars would take place). The locals were very helpful and completely succumbed to the invasion. In return, the film crew were generous with their time; giving the odd unscheduled tour of the set and the interiors of the make-up and wardrobe trucks, while also having endless photos taken with babies and whiskery grannies.
It was February half term, and many holidaymakers, having read the local papers, made the pilgrimage to Pendruggan, following the neon production location signs. The dads came to glimpse Dahlia Dahling and the mums to sigh over David Cunningham. Helen was amazed to see how patient the stars of the show were with their fans. She had worried that Dahlia might be a woman-hating diva, but, from the little contact they had shared, she detected a woman who was tough, funny and talented, and she was starting to feel a bit guilty about having given her the wrong impression about Piran.
Helen particularly admired the way Dahlia handled a tetchy David Cunningham on the days when he was more than a little wrecked after a night of chemical abuse. She saw the pair of them at lunch one day when, after a frustrating morning spent fluffing every one of his lines, David began spooning custard instead of mayonnaise on his poached salmon. Seeing this, Dahlia, in a voice she knew would be heard around the village, remarked, ‘Darling David, improvising your lunch now, as well as your lines. How creative!’
Everybody fell about laughing and to his credit, after a beat, so did David, replying, ‘Darlings! It’s the latest taste sensation. Have you never been to London?’
*
The weather was holding up well. The early spring sun actually had some warmth in it and Queenie was doing a roaring trade in ice creams and pasties. Don and Dorrie had opened up the sheltered courtyard at the back of the pub to serve cream teas and the speedboats down in Trevay were rarely idle.
Even the daffodils were sunning themselves in the steep hedges of the lanes.
Helen was longing to walk on the beach. It lay not even half a mile away, but she was tied to the office during daylight and when she locked up she was just too tired.
Chloe, on the other hand, was having a ball. Helen had introduced her to Haz and Jako on her first day, over morning coffee.
‘Boys, meet my daughter, Chloe. Chloe, this is Haz and Jako.’
‘Hi, Chloe. Good to meet you. Do you surf?’ asked Haz.
‘No. I’ve never tried.’
‘Well, you’re in the right place and with the right people now, so no excuses. We have a day off tomorrow. Pick you up at nine,’ said Jako.
‘Won’t I need a wetsuit or a board?’ asked Chloe, laughing.
Helen stepped in. ‘Simon gave me a voucher for a wetsuit for my Christmas present. Remember? We’re the same sizeish, so go and get yourself kitted out and hire a board for the day.’
After that, Helen saw Chloe only for breakfast and supper. Jako and Haz had introduced her to all the surf boys and girls and life was now all about partying in each other’s clapped-out caravans, sited on very basic but wonderfully bucolic beachside fields, and catching the waves.
*
On the day of David’s birthday, Sven, Gilly and Penny walked into Helen’s office and made themselves comfortable. Helen looked up from her typing. Nothing more had been said about Penny’s date with Simon, and Helen was determined to look as carefree as possible.
‘Hello, you lot. Can I get you anything?’ she asked, smiling as broadly as she could.
Penny, also studiously avoiding the subject, said, ‘Three cappuccinos and three almond croissants please, Hel.’
‘Certainly. Is this a private pow-wow, or can I come back and finish these emails?’
‘Yeah yeah, it’s fine. Come back. We’re only sorting out the schedule. The shooting is going so well we may be able to break early today and get ready for David’s party in good time. We haven’t told the cast or crew yet, just in case it’s not possible.’
‘Sounds good. Back in a minute.’
When she returned, only Penny remained.
‘Gilly and Sven have gone to tell everyone the good news. We are going to break an hour early tonight. We’re on schedule, pretty much on budget and the weather is looking good again tomorrow so we should be able to complete all of our scheduled outdoor scenes. In forty-eight hours it can piss down for all I care, because we’re doing interiors from then on.’
Penny took a step towards Helen and put her hands on Helen’s shoulders. ‘You are my best mate and I don’t honestly think I could have got through these past weeks without your help and brilliance. I really don’t want us to fall out over Simon.’
‘Neither do I, but you can’t treat his feelings lightly, you know.’
Penny drew Helen to her. ‘He’s a mate, that’s all. A mate who had his heart broken by another mate. I’m a sucker for a sob story.’
‘What about Orlando the sexy chef?’
‘Oh god. Too young, too athletic in the sack and too aware that he wa
s doing an old lady a favour. My mother always used to say, “Better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s fool.”’
Changing tack, Penny continued, ‘How are you getting to the party? Would you like a lift in with Simon? Or do you have other arrangements?’
Helen sighed. She wasn’t sure she could bear to be in the same car as Simon and Penny. ‘I may not come actually. I’m knackered and …’
Penny held her at arm’s length and said sternly, ‘It is your duty! A mandatory part of your job! Who are you coming with?’
‘Er, well, nobody.’
‘Excellent! Single gorgeous female on the pull. Every party needs one and you are it. I am officially giving you the rest of the day off.’ She looked at the pile of paperwork on Helen’s desk. ‘As soon as you have cleared your in-tray.’
Playfully shoving Penny away, Helen said, ‘Even the ugly sisters weren’t so horrible to Cinderella.’
*
By the time Helen had cleared her desk, it was six o clock. The cast and crew had long since left the village. She locked up and walked quickly to Gull’s Cry. The lights were on, which meant that Chloe was home. She opened the front, ‘Hi, darling.’
The door to the small lounge was shut and she could hear voices. Assuming that Chloe was watching television, Helen turned the handle and walked in. Chloe was lying on the rug by the glowing fire. A young man with sea-tangled blond hair was leaning over her and kissing her daughter passionately. Helen was relieved to see that they were both fully clothed.
Who the hell is he? she wondered, then coughed politely and said, ‘Hi. Anyone want a cup of coffee?’
Chloe sat up quickly and the young man jumped to his feet.
‘Mrs Merrifield. Hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘Mum, this is Mack. He’s a friend.’
‘Yup. I guessed that. Hello, Mack.’ She stepped forward and shook his strong hand.
‘Could I put the kettle on for you, Mrs Merrifield? Chloe told me you were going out tonight so maybe you want to get ready?’