‘Almost,’ JoJo said, grinning.
‘Gather again!’ called Lucinda, striding back towards the oak tree and gesturing for them to follow.
‘Gather?’ mused Sal.
‘Just go with it,’ said JoJo.
Once the group of women was gathered to Lucinda’s satisfaction, she outlined the next exercise. Called ‘Rush Hour’, it involved making a ‘car’ with another person and navigating Lucinda’s traffic conditions.
‘I’ll put you in pairs, this time,’ their enthusiastic instructor said, hopping from one foot to the other. She walked amongst them, selecting pairs. ‘You.’ Pause. ‘And you,’ she said, pointing at JoJo and Tamsin.
‘Let’s do this,’ said Tamsin, grinning.
Lucinda demonstrated on Wendy, who was closest to her, how one of the pair was to be the ‘car’, placing their hands up in front of them, shoulder height, as bumpers, and the other was to stand behind them, as the ‘driver’, their hands on the car’s shoulders.
‘The “car” has to be blindfolded,’ she added, making everyone groan.
They got into position. JoJo let Tamsin be the driver, while she became the car and put her blindfold back on. Tamsin placed her hands on JoJo’s shoulders and Lucinda let all the ‘cars’ set off, in their own directions, then shouted instructions at them: ‘Red light!’ ‘Level crossing!’ ‘Slow down, school approaching on the leeeft!’ ‘T-junction, turn right!’, that kind of thing. It was chaos and so disorientating, in the dark. JoJo put her trust in Tamsin and let her guide her.
‘Beeping to be encouraged!’ Lucinda called out, about halfway through, so everyone started beeping as loud as they could until they could barely make out her instructions. JoJo could hear Tamsin, behind her, beeping away too, like a reversing bin lorry. She was a good driver; with her excellent ‘steering’, Tamsin made sure JoJo didn’t collide with any other cars.
When Lucinda called out, ‘Park! We’re finished!’, Tamsin helped JoJo take her blindfold off.
‘Well done!’ she said.
‘Likewise,’ said JoJo. ‘You’re an excellent driver.’
‘Frederick taught me to drive,’ said Tamsin. ‘In real life. He was extremely patient. Better than Dad, who kept swearing blue murder and wrenching the handbrake on every time he took me out!’
JoJo laughed. ‘We made a good team,’ she said.
‘We did,’ agreed Tamsin. ‘I guess it’s good sometimes not to go it alone.’
‘I guess so.’
They did two more exercises. The Gauntlet Run, where everyone had to stand in two lines, their arms stretched out straight in front of them and hands clasped together, while each person took it in turns to run down the middle. As the person ran, the gauntlet holders had to raise their arms just in time to let the runner through, and the runner had to trust they would do so. It was quite good fun, although JoJo did her sprint mostly with her eyes closed; there was something to be said for being not able to see, after all. And a hilarious exercise called The Trust Lean where two people side by side had to lean on each other, at shoulder level, their shoulders and upper arms wedged as their lower bodies splayed out at a forty-five degree angle, and stagger fifty metres. She chose to be with Tamsin again for that one; it was bloody difficult but a good laugh, and they were both in hysterics by the end.
‘We’ll end,’ continued Lucinda, clapping her hands in delight, ‘with a personal favourite of mine: the Circle of Trust. Please gather in a circle. Gather, gather!’ she prompted, wafting her arms around and skipping like a child. JoJo could see Sal dancing around behind her, taking the mickey.
‘Everything all right?’ said Lucinda, spinning round.
‘Oh, fine, fine,’ said Sal, dropping her wafting arms to her sides and planting a look of innocence on her face.
‘Good,’ said Lucinda. She herded them into a circle, in the shade of the oak tree, and prodded them with light, tickly fingers to get them to stand closer to each other.
‘That’s it!’ she cried. ‘Feel the energising power of the Circle. Now, we select a precious cargo.’ Her eyes, a rather disturbing light blue, flicked round the group and they even more disturbingly alighted on JoJo. ‘You, dear. You are going to be The One Who Trusts.’
‘Me, why me?’ exclaimed JoJo, looking round her in panic. ‘Can’t you pick someone else?’
‘No,’ said Lucinda, with a big smile, ‘it’s you. And you are . . . ?’
‘I’m JoJo.’
‘Move to the centre of the Circle of Trust and close your eyes, JoJo.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes.’
JoJo reluctantly walked to the middle and closed her eyes slightly.
‘Tight! Close them tight!’ demanded Lucinda. JoJo closed them tight – what on earth was going to happen? ‘Now, lean, lean backwards in whichever direction you feel comfortable and you will be passed around the group.’ Passed around the group! JoJo didn’t like the sound of that! She hesitated, scared; she really didn’t want to do it. ‘On the count of three. One. Two. Three. Fall back and let yourself go!’
Oh sod it, thought JoJo. There was no way Lucinda was going to let her get out of this and she wasn’t one for walking away from a challenge, whatever it was. She closed her eyes even tighter and – oh Lord, this was terrifying – let herself fall backwards.
She was caught. She was caught firmly by the shoulders. She lay there for a second, letting someone – God knows who . . . one of her friends, or one of the rambling ladies? – hold her. And then she was passed on. To the left. Then to the left again. Then – alarmingly – she was pushed forward – oooh, she didn’t like this – to the centre again, across, until she fell onto someone else’s hands. This was horrible; she felt so out of control. She hated feeling at the mercy of others and so powerless. She was pushed back again, to someone else, and then passed gently round from person to person. To the left, to the left and to the left again. It went on for ages. After a while she got used to the rhythm of it. She almost began to relax.
‘And . . . stop,’ said Lucinda’s voice, as JoJo reached another set of waiting hands. She felt a little disappointed; strangely, she had been actually enjoying the silence, the reassuring touch of others. How weird. ‘Well done, JoJo. You were a perfect Leaner. You absolutely put your trust.’ Pause. ‘In others.’
JoJo opened her eyes and looked around her. She had, hadn’t she? And it had felt rather good.
‘And so concludes our afternoon,’ said Lucinda, bouncing on her toes and making her patch pockets jiggle. ‘You may disperse.’
‘Well done!’ said Sal, clapping JoJo on the back as they walked back to the manor house. ‘You did really well.’
‘Thanks,’ said JoJo. ‘It was really rather liberating.’
‘Trussst others,’ said Sal, like a cartoon snake. ‘Don’t phone Tinkssss today, about the sssshop.’
JoJo laughed. She had been planning to call again, after this session. It was Saturday afternoon, their busiest time . . . there were lots of other brides to check up on . . . although perhaps she should just let Tinks and the others get on with it, she pondered. Maybe she’d send her a quick email instead.
‘Are you all right, Sal?’
Sal looked knackered.
‘Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine. It’s all this exercise, I’m not used to it. I’m discovering muscles I didn’t know I had. And I’m so tired.’
‘You do look a bit jaded. Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m fine, honestly. Nothing a bottle of vodka wouldn’t sort out, if we were allowed any,’ she sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. ‘There must be a way of getting our hands on some alcohol, in this oh so glamorous Alcatraz.’
‘Ha,’ laughed JoJo, ‘I don’t think so. It’ll be another round of fruit cordial tonight – the excitement is killing me. Hey, how do you think Wendy is now? About the whole Steve thing? She looks OK.’ Wendy was walking with Rose and Tamsin and chatting away
to them.
‘Who knows what’s going on inside that head of hers though,’ said Sal, yawning. ‘What about the way she was grinning at him this morning, during the assault course?’
‘Yes,’ said JoJo drily. ‘I clocked that grin. Oh, God! Despite everyone’s best intentions, it’s going to be pretty hard to avoid him here, I think.’
Sal flicked a piece of hair behind one ear and glanced sideways at JoJo with a grimace. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘Tonight could be very interesting. Be prepared for anything.’
Chapter Nine
Sal
Sal poured some water from the tap in the bathroom into a large glass and swallowed down two paracetamol with it. Her muscles were killing her and she felt exhausted. She placed the empty glass by the sink and walked out of the bathroom.
‘Ready?’ she asked Rose.
‘Ready.’
Rose was sitting on one of the beds. She looked really nice. She was wearing a pale green cotton sleeveless wrap dress, with a pretty 50s vibe, and a pair of white strappy sandals. She’d put her hair up and was wearing dangly earrings.
‘You look nice. Is that dress new?’
‘Brand new,’ said Rose, standing up and twirling the full skirt around a little. ‘I’ve been saving it – this is the first time I’ve worn it. I don’t get out much, as you know.’ She laughed, but a little too shrilly.
‘Jason not been taking you out and lavishing attention on you, when he’s home?’
‘No, you know he hasn’t. He doesn’t take me out at all.’
‘And you’re hoping you might bump into a certain blond Adonis again tonight?’
‘Possibly!’ Rose smirked.
Sal sat down on the bed, next to her friend. ‘I know you said things were a bit stale at the moment between you and Jason – the Hong Kong thing, the “good cop, bad cop” thing –but there are no serious problems, are there?’
Rose sighed. ‘How long have you got?’
‘Really?’ enquired Sal. ‘There are serious problems? You never said, and we’ve spoken a few times on the phone recently.’ Rose really hadn’t said. OK, she hadn’t exactly been gushing about hearts and rainbows and how wonderful everything was, when they’d spoken, but she’d never signalled there were any major issues either. What had she and Sal talked about though? The pub? The girls? Both of those things meant they could never talk for very long as there was always something pressing – a barrel that needed changing, a daughter who couldn’t find her deodorant or a fake eyelash, or something – that meant the call got cut short.
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘I know if I started talking, I’d never stop.’
‘So, talk now,’ said Sal. ‘Tell me what’s been going on.’
Rose gave a deep exhale of breath. ‘Well—’
There was a knock at the door. ‘Helloooooo? Are you ready?’ It was Wendy.
‘We need to go,’ said Rose, standing up, ‘I’ll have to tell you another time.’
‘Tell me tonight, when we’re back in the room,’ said Sal. ‘And if you don’t, I’ll prise it out of you with a crowbar.’
‘What a pleasant image,’ said Rose, grabbing her bag and heading to the door. ‘You’re full of them . . . wheelbarrows, crowbars . . . you have a lot of props!’
‘Ha, ha,’ acknowledged Sal. ‘I need them!’
Wendy and JoJo were waiting outside in the corridor. JoJo was wearing a simple, knee-length shift dress, in powder blue; Wendy a pair of red, wide-legged trousers and an orange, boned, strapless top. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but on Wendy it looked amazing – she knew how to rock a fabulous colour clash and her figure could pretty much carry anything off.
‘Looking gorgeous, ladies,’ said Sal. She hadn’t gone for her first choice – jeans and a cotton shirt – as she felt fat in the jeans, and had instead pulled on a drapey, calf-length dress with flattering ruching and roomy pockets, one of her Sainsbury’s buys. She did feel rather nice in it, and, like Trusting Lucinda, she loved a pocket on a dress.
‘We’ve all scrubbed up well,’ said JoJo, ‘and you look lovely, too, Tamsin,’ she added, as Tamsin opened a door further down the corridor and appeared wearing a sleek pair of black trousers and a white shirt.
‘Thank you,’ said Tamsin, looking really pleased, and they went down to dinner. Sal glanced at Rose in the lift but she looked perfectly composed; Sal wondered exactly how bad things were with Jason and if there was anything she could do to help.
On the menu tonight was the usual uninspiring fare, very prettily displayed: the delights on offer included mushroom risotto with flakes of parmesan and coriander (yuk), carrot soup with lemongrass croutons (not for her, not today; it looked revolting) and glass noodles on a bed of savoy cabbage and red pepper. She plumped for that, not that ‘plump’ was exactly the word – her portion wouldn’t be enough to satiate a sparrow. Sal kept yawning. She felt so tired, but she suspected it could be simply boredom and hunger.
‘I’m going to the loo,’ she said.
When she came out of the ladies’, Sal decided she’d head into the bar just round the corner to have a nose around; she had no urgent desire to return to her plate of cabbage and noodles and fancied a mooch.
It was still early, so it was pretty empty in there. There was no one serving either. It was dead. She stepped towards the bar and gazed longingly at the optics glinting from their wall-mounted stations. Vodka, gin, whisky, tequila and bourbon: forbidden fruit – what a shame she wasn’t allowed any of them. She liked the way they’d done the room though, she thought, as she wandered round – dark wood, padded leather-backed chairs, a shiny, chrome bar with the optics back-lit and flanked by a mirror. Similar to her pub, really, apart from the shiny bar; hers was dark oak and rubbed daily with oil.
She wondered how it was all going back at the New Grey Goose. She wasn’t like JoJo and had a pretty laissez-faire attitude to the running of the pub in her absence; she didn’t need to keep phoning and checking all the time and she knew Martina and the pub would be just fine. She also wanted to play it cool, as far as Niall was concerned. If she kept phoning up, he might think it was because she wanted to check up on him and she preferred to keep up the appearance of being super-casual to the point of nonchalance. She didn’t want to admit to him or even herself, really – yet – that she liked him more than she let on.
None of the bottles of spirits jumped magically into her hands from their display so Sal turned to leave and, as she did so, she noticed a table by the door with two glasses and a half-empty bottle of vodka on it. Rather wasteful, she thought, but maybe the buyer got lucky early and had abandoned the rest when he scooted his lover upstairs or something. Maybe he just didn’t want it all. She looked around her: still no punters, still no barman. Someone had paid for this and then left it; they wouldn’t reuse it . . . it would just get chucked. Would it be so terrible if she just took it? Would she be a totally awful person if she spirited the bottle quickly into her bag and made off with it? It was really naughty, she knew, but when had that ever stopped her?
She slipped the bottle into her bag then dashed back to the restaurant.
*
Dessert had been served (Sal had suffered a lemon posset for the positively virtuous; she could detect neither cream nor sugar in it – it was just sour, yellow slop). Coffee had been drunk. The evening stretched before them; it was only eight o’clock. A late-enough hour for Tamsin, though, who announced she was retiring to her room to work.
‘I’m so sorry, guys,’ she said as she stood up. ‘You’ll think I don’t like spending time with you which couldn’t be further from the truth, honestly – it’s just I’ve got a deadline for a case and I have to make it. Sorry.’
‘Too much work and not enough play,’ said Sal, shaking her head and looking pointedly from Tamsin to JoJo. ‘You ladies need some balance in your lives.’
‘You’re right,’ said Tamsin thoughtfully, ‘but the balance swings in favour o
f my deadline, at least tonight.’
‘I understand,’ said JoJo. ‘Go, Tamsin, go do what you need to do. Believe me, if I hadn’t been banned I’d probably be working now as well!’
‘You know I’m right about balance,’ said Sal, after Tamsin had gone. ‘And you really need it. Delegate, loosen up, stop being so bloody obsessed!’
‘It’s difficult,’ sighed JoJo. ‘The shop is my baby.’
‘And the pub is mine,’ said Sal. ‘The closest I’ll ever come to a real one – God knows I gave up on that dream long ago – but I can let it go when it’s good for me to do so. I have other people who’ll take care of it for me.’
‘Martina . . . and hunky Niall,’ said Rose knowingly.
‘Yes, and the other staff,’ said Sal, brushing Rose’s knowing tone aside. ‘I let them get on with it.’
‘It’s hard for the high-flyer,’ mused Wendy in a low voice. ‘I’m marrying into a family of them. Hey, do you think Tamsin’s happy about me marrying Frederick?’
‘Where’s that come from?’ asked JoJo, looking slightly relieved the attention had gone from her, Sal noted. ‘Of course she is! She certainly hasn’t said she isn’t!’
‘Do I measure up?’
‘Oh, not this again!’ sighed Sal. ‘You’re a scientist, you do important things every day none of us could ever understand. Of course you measure up!’
‘It’s just so late to be meeting them all,’ added Wendy with an enormous sigh. ‘I get really worried about his parents. Mr Donnington-Black, the powerful company boss. Mrs Donnington-Black, the highly intelligent academic. I don’t meet them until this time next week and that train conductor said they were like bloody royalty and seems to know them better than I do! What if they hate me?’
‘Of course they won’t hate you!’ exclaimed JoJo, frowning at Sal and Rose. ‘They’re going to love you! Just as Frederick does. Just as Frederick really, really loves you.’
‘I’m worried I’m not their kind of people,’ said Wendy, distressed.
This was not good, thought Sal. This was a return to exactly the kind of talk that would have Wendy running straight into the arms of Steve Marsden – the devil she knew so very, very well.
Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year! Page 11