by Jenny Colgan
‘You’re kidding,’ said Rosie, shocked. ‘You went behind Pamela’s back?’
‘I know, because she just stabbed me in the front.’
‘And you didn’t consult me first?’
Stephen looked disgruntled.
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise.’
‘What, to know we ran begging to your mother?’
Instantly Rosie could have bitten off her tongue. That sounded awful, and so unfair. Stephen just looked at her.
‘Well, what did she say?’ said Rosie. She already knew the answer, of course.
‘I’m going to go and get a drink,’ said Stephen, in a steely voice.
‘What’s up, you two having a domestic?’ said Pamela cheerily, entering the kitchen. ‘Have you guys got any more ice? I never understand this deep belief in England that ice is, like, rationed.’
They both fell silent. Rosie was fuming inside, and couldn’t believe she’d stoked the matter up again. It didn’t help anything.
‘Here’s the ice!’ she said, pasting a bright smile on her face. ‘Everyone seems to be loving your martinis.’
‘Could you pass some canapés around?’ said Pamela. ‘I think people are hungry.’
‘Hi, Pamela,’ said Stephen. ‘You look ridiculous. Can I have a drink?’
Rosie let pass the fact that she was still being treated as staff and took the little sausage rolls out of the oven. Stephen took Apostil into the sitting room, where he was greeted with coos and general approval. It would be nice, Rosie thought crossly, if she got a welcome like that. Then she cursed herself for making such a big fuss. Dinner was under control. It was time to go and get a drink.
The cosy sitting room made a pretty sight, with the tree tucked away carefully to the side, bent over with the weight of the old wooden designs from Stephen’s childhood; holly, of course, over the fireplace, candles burning everywhere, and people chatting away. Lilian and Tina were cooing over the baby; Stephen was taking long slugs of his drink, then making a face at how strong it was, and had immediately launched into a long conversation about dairy yields with Jake, whose lazy grin and laid-back style belied his deep knowledge and understanding of the land. Moray was pretending to be interested in how the dental trade was going – and Roy was explaining it in some detail – but really, Rosie could tell, he was sniffing around for gossip. Pamela was playing with her glass and laughing, showing those truly stunning teeth, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. In fact, thought Rosie, anyone glancing through the window would think what a happy, blessed lot they were, not at all a couple rowing and about to be turfed out on the street, an old lady still recovering from the loss of the love of her life, a sacked banker and an anxious Bridezilla. Maybe, she wondered briefly, all parties were like this, everyone wearing a facade.
Then she looked out into the night, where a hailstorm had come up and was throwing handfuls of what sounded like gravel against the little window panes of their cosy home, and heard Tina give a genuine shout of laughter at something Lilian had said. ‘I saw Three Ships’ came on the iPod and she thought, well, at this, the closing-down of the year, it didn’t matter. Guests in their home, for however long – old friends and new, people coming to be warm with one another in the deepest, darkest time of the year, to light candles, share the Yule log, make merry – actually, it was lovely. And she was lucky. She picked up one of Pamela’s cocktails – the gin bottle, she noticed, was emptying extremely quickly – and took a slug.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, spluttering. ‘I hope that’s medicinal.’
Roy put his arm around her.
‘Of course it is, my dear,’ he said. ‘Now come and grace us with your lovely presence.’
‘How many of these has he had?’ said Rosie, as everyone descended on the sausage rolls.
‘Three,’ said Pamela, smiling.
‘Cor,’ said Rosie. ‘Mind you, I suppose he’s used to it with all that mouthwash around.’
Roy grinned his terrifying Simon Cowell grin and raised his glass, and Pamela smiled back at him. Rosie made a mental note to get him to sign something before he actually passed out.
Apostil was in absolutely no mood for going to bed with all the noise and excitement about, so eventually they decided just to pretend to be European and let him stay up, even though Rosie knew that the person feeling the effects tomorrow would undoubtedly be her. She got everyone seated finally, although they seemed a little tight, and Pamela ended up practically on Roy’s lap, which was making him very pink in the face.
‘So, dentists earn good money, yeah?’
‘I’ve got a swimming pool,’ boasted Roy. ‘With all those, like, Grecian statues. Except they’re not Grecians. They’re of me! I do triathlons, you know.’
Pamela squeezed his biceps.
‘I see that,’ she said.
‘Oh my God,’ said Rosie, forgetting she was cross with Stephen. ‘This is disgusting.’
‘Hush,’ said Lilian. ‘You’re spoiling the fun.’
‘Plus, what about his wife?’
‘There’s a theory about his wife,’ said Lilian, but infuriatingly she refused to be drawn.
Rosie brought in the huge steaming enamel pot that had been in Lilian’s family for goodness knew how long, plus a large bowl of local roast potatoes, good hearty fresh bread from the bakery, Isitt’s butter from the farm down the road, and the greens from Jake’s allotment. Everyone sighed happily and dug in, even Pamela taking a large pile of vegetables and a tiny bit of sauce, and for a few seconds there was an appreciative silence as they regarded their loaded plates. Then Lilian said the Selkirk Grace, pointing out that the new vicar didn’t believe in grace.
‘He’s not that new,’ said Stephen. ‘He’s been here for five years.’
‘Oh, five years!’ said Lilian. ‘That’s right, that is an awfully long time, particularly compared to, I don’t know, eighty-four years.’
‘You can’t just trump everything by being old,’ said Stephen.
‘I certainly can,’ said Lilian. ‘There are precious few up sides to being my age, you know. You take them where you can. Thank you for the breast meat, Rosie.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Rosie, who had made sure her great-aunt got something so tender she could eat it with a spoon.
Stephen poured everyone a glass of very expensive-looking dusty old wine. Pamela eyed it beadily.
‘Where did you get that? Did you take it from Dad’s cellar? That belongs to the estate.’
‘Well you’d better drink as much of it as you can, then,’ said Stephen crossly, filling her glass to the brim.
‘I shall,’ said Pamela, equally crossly, throwing some back and filling Roy’s glass.
Roy was now attempting to focus on his plate, one of his eyes wandering slightly. Rosie nudged Tina.
‘You know, I think we should probably ask this sooner rather than later.’
Moray glanced over and frowned.
‘Oh Lord, amateur night.’ He looked at his own glass. ‘Well thank God Hye’s on call. Tally ho! This is a fabulous Bordeaux, Stephen, just amazing.’
‘I know,’ said Stephen, emptying the bottle into Moray’s glass and going into the kitchen to open another.
‘You should be—’ began Pamela.
Lilian leant over.
‘Excuse me, dear, I am a trifle deaf, but would I be right in thinking that you’ve donated these lovely bottles tonight? Almost like rent, isn’t it?’
Pamela looked at her, startled.
‘Oh yes,’ said Lilian. ‘This is my house. For now. Of course you’re making my great-niece homeless with her baby, but I shan’t hold that against you.’
Pamela stuck out her jaw.
‘I’m only claiming what’s rightfully mine,’ she said. ‘I’m the eldest. I was born first.’
‘Oh no, quite,’ said Lilian, patting her gently on the arm and giving the impression of being the loveliest, sweetest old lady in the world. ‘Of course. You
do what’s right.’
Tina put down her fork and cleared her throat.
‘So, we’re really glad you’re all able to come to the wedding next Saturday,’ she said. (She and Rosie had hurriedly made an invitation for Roy and dropped it in to his surgery. It had said ‘Venue tbc’.) ‘Of course, we’re just putting the final touches—’
All of a sudden Roy stood up. He made quite a lot of noise doing so.
‘Oh it’s nice to be getting out and about again. After, you know. That business.’
‘With the scout hut?’ said Rosie. Roy looked confused.
‘No.’
‘With trying to knock down the sweetshop to build a car park?’
‘No.’
‘With trying to close the village school?’
‘No,’ said Roy, swaying slightly. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would have had a problem with any of those things.’
He took another gulp of wine. Rosie was aware of Stephen wincing as the beautiful vintage, thick and dense and full of flavour, and so rich she herself could only sip at it, was swilled down Roy’s shiny gullet.
‘NO!’ said Roy, suddenly loud. ‘I mean things that have happened to ME. Like that old witch.’
‘Who, me?’ said Lilian.
‘No, not you,’ said Roy. ‘No, the WITCH. Laura.’
‘Laura? Your wife Laura?’ said Rosie.
Roy brought his fist down hard on the table.
‘My EX-wife Laura. My soon-to-be-EX-wife. She bloody left me! ME! With my swimming pool. I do triathlons, you know.’
‘We do know,’ said Tina.
‘And I think that’s amazing,’ said Pamela.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rosie. She was. He looked so miserable. ‘I didn’t know she’d left you.’
‘Nobody knows,’ said Roy. Then, as if realising he’d just told half the village, he looked round the table balefully. ‘So don’t tell them, right? I’m going to say I chucked her out. Like she deserved! Witch.’
‘I cannot imagine why she left him,’ whispered Stephen in Rosie’s ear. She kicked him.
‘I did her teeth for free! For free!’
Pamela patted him on the shoulder.
‘Sssh,’ she said comfortingly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘But she’s going to take all my money!’
‘We’ll find you a good lawyer,’ said Pamela. ‘Trust me, I’ve dated hundreds of them, and they were all completely evil sharks. Perfect for you.’
Roy nodded.
‘She says I’ve ruined her life.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll feel better if you make her a nice fair settlement,’ suggested Rosie.
Roy looked at her.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. She’s made me totally miserable by leaving me, so I will give her nothing.’
‘I’m glad they’ve made it so easy to get divorced,’ said Lilian. ‘Makes everyone so much happier.’
Rosie gave her a look. Then something occurred to her.
‘Do you know what would be great?’ she said suddenly, pouring Roy some more wine. ‘You should have a big party. Celebrate with all your friends. A divorce party.’
Roy looked bemused.
‘What, like you guys?’
‘Um, YES,’ said Rosie.
‘And me,’ said Pamela, stroking his arm. Roy looked befuddled but extremely pleased.
‘That’ll show her, won’t it?’ said Rosie. ‘Plenty of drink, plenty of food, dancing, everyone having a wonderful time, all in honour of you. Hmm, if only I knew where we could do it. Hmm.’
There was a short silence.
‘Well,’ said Tina, ‘we’ll be having a lot of food and drink for, you know, our wedding party.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I wouldn’t mind sharing it at all. But, oh, we don’t really have anywhere to have it.’
‘Yes we do!’ said Roy, banging down his glass. ‘Yes we bloody do! I’ve got a hut we can use, you know! It’s mine, I own it! Plenty of space! We’ll show that stupid cow! We’ll make a fine noise! Yeah, then they’ll all know about it!’
He frowned.
‘I don’t know who to ask,’ he said. ‘I don’t get to see many of my dentist friends these days.’
‘I know at least … a hundred people who’d love to come,’ said Rosie boldly. ‘And it will hardly cost you a penny.’ She thought about it briefly. ‘Well, unless you want people to have champagne, of course.’
Tina gasped. Rosie glanced at her. She was actually shaking.
‘Of course I want champagne!’ said Roy. ‘We must have champagne! It will be the best “sod off, bitch” party of all time!’
He took out his phone.
‘When are we having it?’
‘On Saturday!’ said Rosie. ‘Better to have it soon! Really Christmassy, too.’
‘RIGHT!’ slurred Roy, and dialled a number in his address book.
‘Yes. Hi. Right, I need to order … six cases of your best champagne. No. Wait. Your cheapest champagne.’
There was a pause. Then he said, ‘Yup. Yup, on the account. Deliver it to the sweetshop in Lipton. Good stuff. Bye.’
He hung up the phone, smiled beatifically around the table, then sat back in his chair and immediately fell asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring loudly.
Stephen took Roy home, whilst Moray took Lilian. Rosie, incredibly tired, tidied up as Tina and Jake stumbled over themselves with excitement and planning in the tiny kitchen, both quite tiddly.
‘You know we’ll probably have to let him make a speech,’ said Rosie. ‘People will think he’s your dad.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Tina. ‘I don’t care. Oh my God, champagne!!! Lots of it, not just a little glass!’
‘I know! And free space!’
Pamela stumbled in elegantly from the sitting room.
‘Great job helping us with Roy,’ said Rosie. ‘Seriously, we’d never have managed it without you.’
‘Managed what?’ said Pamela, whose eyes looked sleepy, but still magnificent.
‘To get him to give us the venue for the wedding, of course! You pretending to flirt with him was a masterstroke. Well, that and whatever that terrifying drink was.’
Pamela still looked puzzled.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I like him. Can I stay, Rosie? My house is full of builders. Right, I’m going to bed. Oh, and by the way, there’s lots of glasses still round the windowsill.’
Rosie managed not to growl, as Stephen came through the back door again.
‘Okay, off you go, everyone,’ he said cheerily. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. And you have totally knackered out my—’
It must have been the lateness of the hour, the tone of the discussion, the alcohol consumed that made him do it. But he knew – and Rosie knew, and they swapped significant looks as he stopped himself – that he had been about to say ‘my wife’.
Chapter Fifteen
Two nights later, the snow that had been threatening for weeks began in earnest; proper heavy-flaked settling snow. It was freezing up in the little attic, even when Rosie let Apostil in to cuddle up after his early-morning feed. He was nearly eight weeks now; she couldn’t believe how fast he was growing.
Rosie looked at Stephen and he looked at her. Then they both looked at the gigantic green down-lined waxed jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door. It had been a birthday gift from Stephen and Moray together. Rosie hadn’t even pretended to be pleased.
‘You have to,’ he said.
‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I swore I never would.’
‘There are a lot of things you never thought would happen,’ pointed out Stephen, with some justification.
‘Yes, but …’
‘Do you still think you’re a swinging London Town girl hopping up and down Carnaby Street in a miniskirt?’
‘I was never like that,’ protested Rosie. ‘But …’
They both looked at the jacket again. It was Thursday, two days before the wedding and a week
before Christmas. The last few days had been a blur of activity. Everyone had texted Roy the morning after the dinner party, assuring him he had been completely splendid and what a brilliant guy he was. The champagne had arrived that same afternoon, and was crammed into the tiny storage room at the shop. It made Rosie’s heart leap with joy every time she saw it, and Tina was beside herself. Although the payout from the wedding insurance didn’t really help when it came to hiring new catering rather than taking what the hotel arranged as a package, Rosie had had the brilliant idea – and she was very proud of this – of asking Stan from the chippy to bring his van down, along with the pizza van that swung past occasionally. Even if everyone there ate a cod supper and a pizza, it would still be substantially cheaper than what they’d planned before. A few of the local teenagers would be serving drinks, and the cake could double as pudding.
‘I didn’t really care for the salmon anyway,’ pointed out Jake. ‘We were only having it because she saw it in a magazine.’
‘I did see it in a magazine,’ said Tina. ‘I thought that’s what you had to have. I don’t like it either.’
Rosie smiled.
‘You’re not too fussed?’ she said. ‘About it not being like those wedding mags you like?’ She knew what a shopaholic Tina was, and how long she’d dreamed about having the perfect wedding.
‘Not at all!’ said Tina, beaming. ‘Look!’
And she showed Rosie the latest edition of a glossy weddings magazine (which Rosie couldn’t help being at least slightly interested in). Emblazoned across the cover was the strapline ‘THE YEAR’S MOST FASHIONABLE CHOICE – SHABBY CHIC AND FISH AND CHIPS!!!’
‘It’s the newest thing!’ beamed Tina. ‘Apparently hotel weddings with salmon and place setting are really old hat! Now you need old-fashioned surroundings, lots of bunting … look!’
She flicked to a piece that explained how you could hire an authentic-style old-fashioned fish and chip van for ‘only a few thousand pounds’. Rosie burst out laughing. ‘I think Stan’s a bit cheaper than that.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tina, her face pink with happiness. ‘It’s going to be the coolest wedding ever. Look, they’ve even got bales of straw in to sit on!’