by Fay Keenan
‘Best of luck in the ballot,’ Stephen said. ‘I know I’m supposed to hope you fuck it up, but I hope, if you do get through, it goes well.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlie smiled wryly. ‘Fingers crossed.’
As he grabbed a drink and a bacon roll from the counter, he felt a sudden, unaccustomed flutter of nerves and the thought came into his head that, well-meaning colleagues or no, the only thing worse than not getting picked to speak was, most definitely, getting picked. Something told him that if he did end up winning in the shuffle, he wasn’t going to get a whole lot of sleep between now and then.
25
At around 2.31 on Thursday afternoon, the results of the PMQs shuffle were posted online and all respondents received an email letting them know whether or not they’d been successful. Charlie, who’d been compulsively checking his phone like a teenager expecting a saucy SnapChat message, felt his heart leap into his mouth as his phone pinged. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.
Swiping the screen, he scrolled down the message and felt his stomach disappear and his hands, suddenly sweaty, struggled to keep hold of the phone. As he digested the information on his screen, he let out a long breath. Reading it again, just to be sure he wasn’t making any mistakes, he closed his mail client and swiftly found Tom Fielding’s mobile number.
‘Tom? Charlie… Yes, fine, thanks. Anything I need to know about back home?… OK. Well, guess what?… Yup, that’s right.’ He took a deep breath, aware he was babbling, a deeply unattractive trait in a politician, even an excited one. ‘Sorry, yes, we’re on. Question six of fifteen… Honestly? Crapping myself… No, don’t worry, I’ll be calm enough by next Wednesday… No, I’m going to call her next.’ Charlie’s face flushed slightly at the mention of Holly’s name. ‘And I’ll give Rachel a ring, too – after all, Harry’s her son and she should know before Holly does, really.’
Heartbeat starting to return to normal, Charlie bade his agent goodbye and then rang Rachel, who was, predictably, very pleased. Then, feeling suddenly teenagerish and nervous again, he dialled Holly’s number.
‘Hey,’ he said, voice softening a little as he heard her voice on the other end of the line. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be pleased when I tell you what I’ve just heard.’ He smiled. ‘No, I’ve not made it to Prime Minister just yet!’ As he told Holly, his heart sped up and he had to take a deep breath to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline that surged through his veins. ‘Thanks,’ he breathed as she congratulated him. ‘I’ll fill you in on the details when I see you on Saturday morning. OK. Bye.’
Sitting back in his office chair, Charlie finally allowed himself a moment to digest the news. Next Wednesday he’d be speaking for the first time in the House of Commons, at Prime Minister’s Questions no less, and he’d no longer be anonymous. As far as putting his name and face out there went, he couldn’t be doing it any more publicly. He hoped he was up to the job.
Back in Willowbury, Holly put her own phone down on the shop counter and breathed out. For the first time since she’d met Charlie, since he’d come back into her life, she dared to hope that he might actually be one of the politicians who meant what he said. By raising the CF medication issue at PMQs, by setting it out in front of Parliament for the whole country to hear, he’d not only be raising the profile of the campaign but also setting out his own stall in support of it. That had to mean something, she was sure. It was more than Hugo Fitzgerald had done on the matter in his whole tenure.
‘Hey,’ Rachel said as she wandered through the shop door, Harry in tow. He’d been off nursery for a couple of days because he’d contracted a cold, but Holly knew how much Rachel wanted to keep things normal for Harry, so she was pleased to see them both. ‘Have you had a call from Charlie?’
‘Just now,’ Holly replied. ‘Great news, isn’t it?’
‘The best,’ Rachel said, releasing Harry’s hand so he could go to the toy box in the corner of the shop. ‘Well, nearly the best, anyway,’ she added, looking fondly after Harry as he began to open the box and search for his favourite toys.
‘Who knows?’ Holly replied. ‘Maybe Charlie’s question will push things on a bit more.’
‘I hope so,’ Rachel replied. ‘But there’s been so much stalling along the way, I don’t think I can get my hopes up too high.’
‘Why don’t you go down and watch?’ Holly said suddenly. ‘I’m sure Mum and Dad would have Harry for the day.’
‘I could,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s nearly over his cold now, and if we don’t go too nuts at Willowfest this weekend, he should be fully recovered by Wednesday.’
‘I could ask Isabella and Chelsea if one of them’s free to mind the shop if you want me to come down with you,’ Holly said, eyes lighting up at the prospect of a jaunt to London.
‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Rachel said. ‘Unless…’
Holly spotted the mischievous twinkle in her sister’s eye. ‘Unless what?’
‘Well, won’t I be cramping your style by tagging along? What if your new boyfriend, high on his success at PMQs, wants to take you out to dinner and then ravish you?’ She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
‘Then I shall tell him to keep his mind on the job, and that I’m here with my sister and he has to keep his hands to himself,’ Holly said, affecting a prim expression. ‘Besides, I can’t leave this place for too long, so I should really get back the same day.’
‘Oh, I’m sure one of the girls would be more than happy to open up the next day, too,’ Rachel said. ‘Isabella loves this place and is desperate to do more hours when she’s back home from uni.’
‘I know,’ Holly said. ‘It’s lucky my profit margins are up this financial year. If I keep playing hooky, I’ll need all the money for staffing I can get.’
‘No thanks to Miles bloody Fairbrother,’ Rachel said darkly. ‘I heard him slagging you off again in the coffee shop the other day. He just can’t let it go that you got the building and he didn’t, can he?’
Holly tossed her head impatiently. ‘He can talk all he wants; he’s not getting rid of me that easily. Willowbury’s an oasis of spirituality and belief – I fit better here than his bloody bakery does!’
‘Just be wary of him,’ Rachel warned. ‘After your run-in at the Swanley Hotel, he seems determined to discredit you and this place as much as he can. And you know what big mates he was with Hugo Fitzgerald. He’s probably even more pissed off that you’ve got Charlie’s ear and he hasn’t.’
Holly shrugged. ‘Let him talk. He’s a miserable old windbag, and probably a corrupt one. He can’t touch me.’
‘No, but people talk, and it wouldn’t take much for that profit margin you’re so proud of to be eroded by a bit of local gossip.’
‘You worry too much, sis,’ Holly soothed. ‘Let’s just keep next week and the trip to London in our minds for now. Miles is just a prat with a chip on his shoulder, that’s all.’
Rachel smiled. ‘I love that you’re so fearless now. I remember when you had no confidence in yourself at all. This place has brought out the best in you.’
‘Fearless or just terminally undiplomatic!’ Holly said, ‘I never really know which.’
‘Whichever, I’m just glad you’re in this with me,’ Rachel said. She glanced at her watch. ‘We really should get going. Mum and Dad are coming over for tea after being banished all week because Dad’s getting over a cold, but he swears he’s better now, so I’d better work out what I’m giving them.’
‘Send them my love,’ Holly said. ‘I’ll book the train tickets and text you the times.’
‘OK.’ The two sisters hugged and went their separate ways.
After Rachel had closed the shop door, Holly allowed herself the luxury of fantasising about Charlie standing in the Commons Chamber, long legs encased in well-cut suit trousers, waistcoat buttoned over a crisp white shirt, authoritative voice ringing out across the hall as he brought all other the other members to a silence with his perceptive and insig
htful question to the PM. Just as she was embellishing that fantasy in her mind to include herself, running through the chamber doors and flinging herself into his arms, the shop’s doorbell tinkled and she was brought back to reality by two local holistic healers popping in for their regular supplies of lavender oil and sea thistle. She really needed to get a grip.
26
After a busy Friday stocktaking in the shop, the Willowbury Folk Festival dawned on Saturday with a hazy, midsummer glow. Held on the weekend nearest the summer solstice, Willowfest attracted the weird and wonderful from all walks of life. From her window overlooking the High Street, Holly could already see her fellow business owners polishing windows, sweeping front steps and making their establishments even more beautiful in anticipation of the flood of people from near, far and wide who would descend on Willowbury for the weekend. Further up the High Street, she could see the members of the parish council coning off the thoroughfare to vehicles, as the street was going to be pedestrianised from now until Sunday morning. She’d look out of the window in a couple of hours and see stalls up and running, hear music of all kinds playing and feel that tingle of excitement that she felt every year that so many people were flocking to Willowbury for the atmosphere and the ley lines.
The main musical events and attractions would already be setting up in the grounds of the Priory, and Holly had drafted in Isabella and Chelsea, a couple of students who were home for the summer vacation, to take a shift or two in ComIncense over the weekend so that she could actually get out and enjoy it for a little while. The thought that she would be spending the time with Charlie filled her with both nerves and excitement. They’d texted a lot in the week since they’d last seen each other. Holly reflected that it was like having a long-distance relationship, since he spent half the week in Westminster and the other half at home in Willowbury. It gave their encounters in the flesh an added frisson.
She wondered what Charlie would make of the festival; it was his first year here, after all. He’d mostly got used to the more outlandish residents of Willowbury offering him everything from laughter yoga to organic quinoa cakes (not to mention the odd confection that had contained less than legal substances), but he hadn’t yet experienced the heady, unconstrained nature of the festival. Although she knew for a fact he’d been googling like mad and watching a lot of YouTube videos from last year in an attempt to educate himself about it. Thankfully, it wasn’t the kind of event that the local MP was required to officially open; that honour was reserved for Willowbury’s local rock star, Alan Somerville, who’d made the town his home in the prog rock days of the early seventies and fronted several very successful bands, as well as having a stratospheric solo career. Now on the ‘Retirement Tour’ circuit, he’d cleaned up his act a lot from the heady days of the early eighties, but still invited his famous friends to his country mansion for the odd riotous weekend, when his hip wasn’t playing up. Holly’s parents, who, astonishingly, had known Alan in the seventies, had often spoken nostalgically about being invited to Alan’s parties, but it was safe to say that they were all a bit less hedonistic these days.
Stretching her arms above her head, Holly glanced at Arthur, who was curled into a tight orange ball at the foot of her bed. She stepped onto the yoga mat that was permanently placed by the window and performed her morning poses, trying to clear her mind of the million and one things that she had to do before the festival actually started. Annoyingly, she found it easy to clear her mind of all but one thing; thoughts of kissing Charlie under the archway of the Priory kept coming back to her.
As they did, she suddenly felt like that nineteen-year-old geek on the dance floor again, brushing her pale-pink painted lips against Charlie’s as they swayed to the music, pretending she hadn’t felt the stiffness in his trousers as he’d pulled her a little closer. Unnerved by the idea of male desire, having not encountered that much of it up so close, she’d not known how to respond.
She cursed herself; she wasn’t that girl any more; she had time, experience and a lot more of a sense of humour these days. It wasn’t worth obsessing over. The teenage Holly would have done that; the grown-up Holly would just chalk it up to experience.
Dropping to the floor, she pushed up into cobra pose and then moved through into downward-facing dog, trying to push Charlie and his kisses, past and present, out of her mind and focus on her breathing. Inhale… exhale… inhale…
The ping of her mobile phone cut through her concentration and she sighed. It looked like she wasn’t going to get the peace she needed before the Folk Festival kicked off.
A little time later, as she was serving some early arrivals in the shop, Holly glanced up to see Charlie standing hesitantly in the doorway.
‘Hi,’ she breathed, temporarily forgetting the customers and their chunks of Himalayan rock salt she was wrapping up.
‘Hey,’ he replied.
Holly’s hands started to shake. Hurriedly, she finished taping up the tissue paper she was wrapping the rock salt crystals in and popped them into one of her recycled paper ComIncense carrier bags. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said to the young couple who’d purchased them. ‘And enjoy the festival.’
‘Thanks,’ one half of the couple said. ‘It’s our first one. We’re not quite sure what to expect!’
‘Mine too!’ offered Charlie. ‘But Holly here’s filled me in on some of the more, er, unusual things to experience. I hear the crystal-centred rebirthing sessions are well worth a go.’
‘Did you just totally make that up?’ Holly’s eyes twinkled as the couple left ComIncense.
‘Possibly,’ Charlie replied playfully, ‘but in this place, on this weekend, anything goes, I hear!’ He wandered over to the counter as the shop door tinkled shut, and Holly slid out from behind it. Needing no invitation, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he murmured as they broke apart. ‘All I could think about this week was getting back here and spending the weekend with you.’
Holly, surprised by Charlie’s unguarded admission, felt her heart thump. She knew, beyond a doubt, that if anything more serious was going to happen between them, this was the weekend it was going to happen. She was more than ready, and from the look in Charlie’s eyes, he was, too. ‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said softly.
But there were other, more pragmatic things to do first.
‘So, I’ve asked Chelsea and Isabella to come in to cover the morning and afternoon shifts between them,’ she said. ‘I’m just waiting for them to arrive, and then I’m all yours for the day, barring any emergencies.’ At Charlie’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. ‘Believe it or not, this place does have them sometimes!’
As if on cue, a tall girl with fashionably cropped blonde hair walked in through the shop doorway. She looked surprised to see Charlie, but then smiled. ‘Hi, Holly.’
‘Hey, Isabella,’ Holly said. ‘Thanks for covering today.’
‘No worries,’ Isabella replied. ‘The money’s always handy for that first week back at uni.’
‘Isabella’s starting an MA in Creative Writing in September,’ Holly explained. ‘After doing exceptionally well in her English degree.’
Charlie smiled at the girl. ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Should be,’ Isabella replied. ‘Of course, Mum’s about as enthusiastic about me doing another year as you’d expect, but at least she’s letting me live at home.’
‘Well, if you need a few more shifts here to get you through, give me a shout and I’ll see what I can do,’ Holly replied. It would be nice to be able to have more than the odd half-day and Sunday off from time to time, she thought. Especially if it meant spending a few more daylight hours with Charlie. ‘So, you know the drill,’ Holly said. ‘And I’ll be at the end of my mobile if you need me.’
‘No worries,’ Isabella said breezily. ‘Are you taking bookings for massages at the moment?’
‘Yup,’ Holly replied. ‘The book’s under the counter. But don�
�t book anyone in for next Thursday evening. I’ve got a… regular client who likes that spot.’ She glanced at Charlie and felt her cheeks colouring.
‘Understood,’ Isabella replied, giving Holly a conspiratorial smile.
‘So, I’ll pop in at lunchtime and make sure everything’s OK,’ Holly said. ‘And as I said, call me if you need me.’
‘Will do,’ Isabella replied. ‘Now, get out there and have some fun.’
‘See you in a bit,’ Holly replied. She turned back to Charlie. ‘Are you ready for the full Willowfest experience?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Charlie laughed. ‘Just promise me you’ll rescue me if any of the more eccentric practitioners try anything odd on me? I don’t think Westminster will look too kindly on it if I go back on Monday with green hair or a misplaced aura!’
27
Charlie couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt happier, and in such a pleasingly strange context, too. Who’d have thought that he’d be wandering the High Street with his arm slung around the most beautiful redhead in the world, listening to crumhorns in one ear and pan pipes in the other as the residents of Willowbury celebrated their musical and spiritual origins long through the day and into the night? Everywhere he looked, there were people in fairy wings, face paint and fantastical costumes; he’d even caught a glimpse of someone dressed in a full suit of chainmail, bearing a remarkably authentic-looking longsword, purporting to be the spirit of King Arthur reincarnated. Tellingly, he didn’t seem to have a Guinevere with him, but Charlie was sure he’d find one among the many attendees. He’d already seen a couple of Lancelots, too.
Looking down at Holly, who kept breaking away from him to embrace friends who were passing, he felt utterly relaxed and strangely exhilarated. This was living, this was life, he thought. And it was as far away from the corridors of Westminster as could be imagined.