The fiddlers ended their tune set against the backdrop of fire in the dark night. Pam shivered and Mark put his arm around her. She froze in surprise before leaning slightly into him.
The singers started the traditional wassailing songs and the villagers who knew the words joined in. The wassail queen had bribed her son with the offer of driving lessons to join them and his baritone blended in perfect harmony with the others.
A table had been laid out with plastic cups, salt and toast. The queen scattered a small amount of salt under one of the trees and was then lifted to the upper boughs to place a piece of cider-soaked toast among the branches as an offering to the tree spirits and evidence of the previous crop.
She called out in a loud voice –
Here's to thee, old apple tree,
That blooms well, bears well.
Hats full, caps full,
Three bushel bags full,
An' all under one tree.
Hurrah! Hurrah!”
The crowd cheered and made as much noise as possible to wake the trees up. Mark slipped the kids two football rattles before one of the farmers fired a shotgun through the orchard in a grand finale.
The white maple wassail bowl was passed around for anyone who wished to drink from it. Two large bowls of steaming liquid had been added to the table and mulled wine and spiced cider for anyone who didn’t fancy sharing the same cup. Mark pulled away from Pam to pick up a couple of mulled wines. He passed one to her.
“Hmm, thanks. What happens now?”
Mark took a quick sip. “We finish our drinks and then head back to the pub. All those with torches go first so we don’t risk getting run over. Then we drink too much spiced cider, the band plays a bit more and if the morris dancers get very drunk they’ll go outside and wave their sticks about again.”
Pam nodded. She’d been warned about that and had stocked up on bandages just in case of over-enthusiastic stick waving.
“It’s not usually a late night though, because of all the kids out.”
Pam wasn’t used to being the comfortable side of the bar but she’d recruited enough part-time staff to be able to enjoy the night. She was pretty impressed with how cosy the room was. The Christmas fairy lights had stayed up and gave the room a happy twinkle, a fire crackled in the hearth and warmed without being overpowering. Her staff, still mindful of the Christmas bonus she’d given them, had reserved her group the table in the corner, which had the best view of the pub while retaining a sense of privacy. The smell of warm apples weaved its way among the guests; James went up to the bar for four cups of spiced cider.
They made a comfortable group, James and Kate opposite Mark and Pam with Ruffles asleep by the fire. Much of the night was spent reminiscing about earlier years and filling Pam in on Mark’s antics as a boy. Mark took it with resigned good grace and laughter.
At nine o’clock Pam went up to check on the children and found both of them already in bed, fast asleep. If she hadn’t had the spiced cider she might have found it suspicious but instead she picked up discarded clothes from the floor and blew them both a kiss as she retreated out the door.
When the last reveller had gone home Mark went upstairs to rummage around in his still not yet unpacked suitcase and came down with a twisted bottle containing a green liquid. The label was indecipherable.
James groaned and Kate and Pam raised questioning eyebrows at each other.
“Here we go!” Mark presented James with the bottle and sat back grinning.
“What flavour is it?” asked James.
“No idea.”
“Are you still doing this?” Kate turned to Pam. “When they were at university and spending their breaks travelling, they would bring back a sample of the dodgiest looking local paint stripper and dare each other to drink it.” She inspected the bottle. “I had some of the worst hangovers of my life courtesy of these two.”
“I think we were probably less discerning about our alcohol back then.” James took the bottle and held it up to the light. “At least there’s no worm in the bottom.”
“I’ll get the glasses,” said Pam.
“Go on then, pour away.” James watched as Mark shared out the clear liquid.
Kate sniffed it anxiously. “It smells like petrol.”
“It came from the hotel so I can pretty much guarantee it’s not poisonous.”
Pam took a sip. “You know, that’s not bad? Not something I’d have a market for here mind, but still, not terrible.”
Mark took a drink. “Yeah, not good though, is it? Oh Pam, I totally forgot, I picked up something for you while I was gone. If you don’t like it then fine, you can just bury it in a drawer somewhere.” He handed over a small paper bag. “Sorry about the wrapping paper!”
“You got me something? Ah, you shouldn’t have. Can I open it now?”
“Sure.”
Pam gingerly opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the palm of her hand. It was a small silver necklace with a silver and shell bird pendant. The blue detailing on the bird was exquisite.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Really, if it’s not your thing then I promise not to be offended. But when I saw it I thought it would probably match your eyes and I know you girls like to coordinate.”
“Would you put it on me?”
As Pam scooped her hair up for Mark to fasten the necklace, Kate gave James a meaningful “it’s time we were leaving” nudge. He nodded, grinning.
James got up and put on his coat. “Well, it’s been fun, but for some of us it’s a school night so I think we’d better be making a move.”
“Yes, better go. Maybe we could get together next weekend and catch a movie or something?” Kate gave Pam a kiss on the cheek and Mark a quick hug.
“Sounds good.” Pam was touching her necklace.
As they went out into the cold night air James pulled Kate to one side.
“Are you OK? You seem a bit jumpy.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Really, it’s fine.” She slipped her hand in James’ and started walking. James absently kissed the top of her head.
“I wonder if Tamara suspects anything between those two?”
“I don’t think even Mark knows what’s going on, why should she?”
When it finally came, the thick snow made driving difficult and closed the schools. The news was as full of disaster stories as the hills were alive with the sound of children sledging.
Edward was getting ready to visit his house-bound parishioners and Penny spent her free time glued to her computer. She was aware that gambling was a serious addiction and occasionally wondered if perhaps she was nurturing a little problem, but as the competitions she entered were free she reasoned that there was no harm in entering them.
The hardest part was hiding her hobby from her husband. Penny exerted the same amount of energy into hiding her habit as a crack addict, with marginally more success. Edward still seemed remarkably clueless, despite all the parcels that kept arriving, and gave her full credit for being so good with finances. Any guilt she now felt was easily smoothed away with the luxury items she had never been able to afford before. Thank goodness Edward had never paid any attention to labels, not every husband would accept Chanel, Lancôme and Estee Lauder as supermarket “own brand” products so readily.
Penny was, however, succumbing to the same affliction that Ruth had fallen to some months earlier – an utter lack of discrimination. Having discovered even more websites that listed competitions, Penny was spending hours going down the list and entering all of them. The sheer volume of entered competitions meant that her chances of winning were statistically very high compared to the minimal chances of her winning anything remotely relevant to her lifestyle. The post that morning had delivered a DVD on steam trains, a mop bucket and some exclusive make-up samples. The samples were hidden in her handbag – a place no sane man would delve into, the DVD was put on a gifting / fete pile but Edward noticed the bucket before she’d had
a chance to relocate it.
“But my love, we already have a mop bucket.”
“I know but this one’s better.”
“Really? They look the same…”
“Nothing like as good, darling.” She deftly scooped the bucket into a kitchen cupboard with one hand and with the other ushered him out of the door. “You’re going to be late.”
“But I haven’t had a cup of tea yet!” Edward noticed his wife looked more animated than usual, saw the laptop open on the side and again felt a twinge of something he was telling himself wasn’t jealousy. Generally a mild mannered and even tempered sort of person, he felt a sudden desire to inflict the same feeling to Penny. He took a deep breath. “Not to worry, I suppose. I’ll be visiting Sandra first and she always puts a pot of the good stuff on.”
Penny, who was already moving back to the screen paused and tilted her head sympathetically. “Oh, poor Sandra. Things haven’t been the same in their house since she found out about Brian’s affair.”
“He cheated on her?”
“Hmm, with someone he worked with apparently. I think she would’ve found it easier to forgive him if he hadn’t given her crabs. Turns out his work colleague was very friendly with quite a few people. Best not let on that I told you though. Have you got your scarf and gloves?”
Edward nodded gloomily; so no jealousy there then. As he walked out and down the front path he met the postman carrying a large sack.
“Morning, Marvin. Is that post all for me?”
“Actually, it’s for your lovely wife, Vicar”
“All of it?”
“Yup, mainly catalogues but the odd parcel in here too. She must really like her online shopping, no wonder she’s looking so fit these days!”
Edward stopped mid foot-fall. Of course, that explained the laptop and furtiveness but who was she doing all this for? He thought she was happy with her clothes, or at least her wardrobe always seemed to be full. How was she paying for all this?
And if the postman was noticing his wife in a new light, who else was?
Libby flicked through a magazine that someone had left behind, soaking up the exotic locations and achingly beautiful models when she suddenly stopped and her mouth formed a perfect O. In between an advert for a jewel-encrusted toe ring and a new sports car was a picture from the opening night of Flaunt It. The stunningly gorgeous Tamara had been a major star of the red carpet and there, just behind her holding her clutch bag, was Mark.
“MUM!”
Pam came through with a tray of dirty glasses. “What?”
“Mark’s famous!”
“Don’t be daft Lib, that bar stool’s got more star quality than he has.”
“Look!” She thrust the page in front of her mum and sat fidgeting in her seat. “Do you think he’d get me her autograph? OMG do you think she’d sign the magazine?”
Pam couldn’t take her eyes off the picture. Mark scrubbed up well, she thought, but there was something missing between the two of them. Tamara was posing up a storm, which she supposed was what she was there for, but Mark just looked… well, a bit fed up and out of place. She checked out the date of the premier. The magazine was old; the picture was taken in November. Had that been the evening when they’d stayed up late texting each other? The thought crashed into her that while it had been staying up late for her he was actually sitting in the performance at the time. Could he really be that bored with someone so gorgeous that he’d distract himself with someone like her? He’d said his fiancée was in fashion but why hadn’t he said that he was dating a supermodel?
Unconsciously Pam’s hand went up to her necklace and started twirling it in between her fingers.
Libby watched her mum and a small light bulb lit up in her brain. So Sam was right, she had a thing for the lodger; interesting.
Paul knew it was risky and knew, without question, that Camilla would kill him if she ever found out. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but the temptation was too great.
In the harsh glare of the bathroom lights he opened the medicine cabinet and told himself that this was the last time. One more elicit, naughty release and he would stop before anyone found out what he was up to. He was totally in control.
He could give it up any time he wanted.
Paul nervously brushed his palms, damp with anticipation, against his jumper and reached up to the top shelf at the back, just behind the corn plasters. The pill bottle was full thanks to a contact he’d made quite by accident on the last business trip his work had sent him on. Paul felt his pulse quicken at the thought of that trip and the business that had gone on after dark.
The pill bottle was an old one that had held his pain killers following a minor hernia operation a few years ago. It was while he had been signed off sick and with time on his hands that he had first discovered what swiftly became an enjoyable, if expensive, habit.
Paul checked again that the bathroom door was locked before unscrewing the bottle and tipping a small blue pill out into his left palm. He set the bottle down on the side of the sink, filled up a glass of water and swallowed.
At some point he’d believed that his wife was the most perfect creature this side of heaven and as a young man with enormous ambition she’d seemed the ideal life partner. Neat and with a keen social awareness she had been brilliant at easing the wheels for his promotions within the company. Thanks to her organisational skills she managed to crowbar her way into village life with the single-minded determination of a woodpecker tapping away at ants. Paul had been bowled over by her.
He reached out for the toothpaste and toothbrush. There was no etiquette book for his little hobby but fresh breath was just basic good manners.
Camilla had presented as the perfect package and Paul had started their married life with hope in his heart. A hope that had gradually faded away, starting on their wedding night. Was he wrong to have assumed that someone with so much drive and forthrightness would also take that into the bedroom?
Paul found a comb and skilfully manipulated his thinning scalp. He hesitated over giving himself a quick spritz of cologne, before deciding against it.
It wasn’t that Camilla turned his attention down, but once they were in bed the woman simply didn’t move. For someone who regularly went swimming and tried to keep active she had the dexterity of a plank of wood. Paul had tried to spice things up a bit but he had been met by the Raised Eyebrow of Disapproval and bedroom activities quickly became something that they didn’t discuss.
However, just because they didn’t discuss that sort of thing it didn’t mean that his need for spice had gone away. While Paul could settle for vanilla at home, there lurked, deep in his soul, a dark urge for the fiery heat of chilli.
Paul took out a small pair of scissors to trim an errant nasal hair before giving himself one last critical examination in the mirror. Granted, he was no oil painting but badminton once a week for the past twelve years should count for something and underneath his starched shirt was the body of a man ready for action.
Well, it would be ready for action as soon as the little blue pill kicked in.
It irked him that middle age had robbed him of spontaneity and turned him into a pill popper. He could accept the receding hair line, not being able to drink caffeine after two in the afternoon, and even an apparently shrinking bladder, but impotence? Never.
He put the pill bottle back on the top shelf, thankful that Camilla was shorter than him, and closed the little cabinet door. His wallet was in his back pocket and a quick examination reassured him that he had withdrawn enough from the cash machine to be able to pay for his upcoming entertainment.
Knowing that the pill would kick in within forty minutes, Paul returned the wallet to his pocket and headed out towards the front door. From the hallway he could see Camilla standing at their lounge window, watching the neighbours coming and going. She had tried to start a Neighbourhood Watch group last year but no one had signed up. No one wanted to encourage her to watch them any more th
an she already did.
“I’m just popping out to the gym and then to the golf club, dear. I’ll be back later.”
Camilla reluctantly dragged her attention away from the window and critically eyed her husband.
“You didn’t say you were planning on going out tonight?”
“Spur-of-the-moment thing, darling. I’ve had a call from a client who wants to discuss a few issues after his golf game and I thought that it might set the right tone if it looked like I’d taken some exercise too.”
“Oh.” Camilla returned to the window. “Make sure you don’t drink too much, it only makes you snore and I need my sleep to be able to concentrate tomorrow for the fete committee.”
“Of course, dearest. Won’t be long but best not to wait up then, I’ll probably see you in the morning.”
Camilla gave a dismissive nod and Paul slipped out of the door.
The night sky was overcast, not even the moon’s weak light penetrated through the cloud cover and for that Paul was grateful. The only illumination would come from the street lights but the enterprising women who walked underneath them knew plenty of places to conduct business, away from unwelcome distractions.
Once he’d driven halfway to his destination Paul opened his gym bag and took out a plastic sheet which he draped over the back seat. Next out of the bag was a bed sheet that covered up the protective plastic. While he had the utmost respect for hard working ladies, he had a greater respect for his leather seats after a particularly close shave involving a belly ring and his upholstery. Once the back seat was protected he put the now empty bag in the boot and drove on.
The first time he’d made this journey he had been anxious, scared even. However, the years had eased any anxiety and Paul drove on to the red light district of the nearest town, humming happily to himself.
No one with experience and a reputation to protect just picks up a prostitute. First Paul had to drive around the area to check there were no obvious police cars or anything that looked like it might be part of a sting operation. The adrenaline was coursing freely through his body as he checked side roads and parked cars while driving through the streets. Satisfied, all he had to do now was choose a companion.
Love, Lies and Lemon Cake Page 10