‘So what exactly are we going to tell people?’ Liz murmured to herself, thinking aloud. ‘You know this is a disaster. All that planning. What a bloody mess.’
‘Oh come on, Liz, like Mum said, this isn’t the Dark Ages. In all honesty, once you get past the shock of it, does it really matter?’ said Suzie. ‘Surely the thing is that they’re together now.’
‘The thing is,’ growled Liz, ‘that we’ve organised a bloody great party to celebrate the fact that they’ve been married for forty years. We have to say something.’
Suzie stared at her. ‘No, we don’t.’
‘People out there know.’
‘People out there came to the party to help them celebrate – no one rang up and complained. No one said, “Excuse me, we can’t come because actually they haven’t been married for forty years.” People don’t care, Liz.’
‘I care,’ snapped Liz, eyes filling up with tears. ‘I can’t believe they’ve lied to us all these years. You know, if it hadn’t been for Peter Hudson dropping them in it they probably wouldn’t have said anything – ever.’
‘They didn’t lie,’ said Suzie defensively.
‘Well, what did they do then? They didn’t exactly tell us the truth, did they?’
Suzie shook her head. ‘I don’t think it matters as far as the party is concerned. Why don’t we just try and enjoy the evening?’
‘Easy for you to say,’ said Liz.
‘Why don’t I pour us all a glass of wine?’ said Fleur, who had been standing listening on the other side of the kitchen. ‘Just a quickie?’
‘Just water for me,’ said Liz. ‘My dermatologist told me that alcohol can be terribly ageing.’
‘Well, he sounds like a real bundle of laughs.’ Fleur snorted as she took a bottle of white Zinfandel out of the fridge and retrieved a couple of glasses from the cupboard. ‘Presumably you didn’t invite him along?’
While she was trying to work out where they went from here, Liz pulled out her phone to see if Grant had called. What on earth was she going to tell him? And what would he think? She had held up her parents’ marriage like a shining beacon. How many times since they’d started dating had Liz told him that it was the kind of relationship she was looking for – loving, stable, safe, an oasis of sanity in an otherwise chaotic world? Now what the hell could she say? That she’d like to shack up with someone and then lie to their children? Honestly, how could her parents be so selfish?
She peered at the phone’s screen. There were no missed calls, no texts, nothing. Liz glanced out of the kitchen window at the marquee, listening to the sounds of the party, the laughter and people chattering. All the money she’d spent, and for what? Eventually her parents would have to say something, surely. People out there were partying under false pretences.
Grant was probably driving, which was why he hadn’t rung her – that had to be it. He had probably left in a hurry, late as usual, and hadn’t had a chance to phone.
Since she’d first met him Liz had never known Grant be on time for anything, but then again he had no one at home to organise him, no one to gently chivvy him along to make sure that he made his appointments on time. She smiled, imagining their life in a few years’ time, her waving the children off to school, handing Grant his briefcase, him kissing her as he headed off to the office. Her PA hanging around on the periphery waiting to talk to her about the phone call from her production company. Keanu Reeves on line two waiting for a decision on whether he could have the part in her new film. George Clooney on hold.
Grant just needed stability and support and a framework to his life, that was all. He was always telling her that people understood, and that if they wanted to see him they would wait – and there was some girl in his office who seemed to be on permanent standby to apologise for his tardiness – but Liz was confident that, given a little bit of time and the right strategy, she could get him sorted out. After all, it was only polite to turn up when you said you would, good manners cost nothing, and Liz had told Grant several times that she really wanted him there on time.
She glanced up at the clock. It was past seven. He knew how important tonight was to her. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t turned up on time. Or maybe he had had an accident. She looked up at the ceiling and sniffed back an unexpected little flurry of tears, hoping it was nothing too serious. She couldn’t manage if he was maimed and she wouldn’t even get to be the grieving widow – after all, who cared about grieving girlfriends unless they lived in and took the rough with the smooth?
This wasn’t how she had planned the day going at all. First her mum and dad, and now Grant – God, life was so cruel. Widowed before she was even married.
Then again, maybe he was just stuck in traffic, or had pulled into a layby to take a call, although that wasn’t likely. He’d probably be on his hands-free, working away at some business thing, some big deal. Actually, when Liz thought about it, it would be amazing if Grant wasn’t on his phone – it would certainly be a first.
After the initial flush of madness Liz had soon realised there was always something coming up in Grant’s life that took him away from her, someone who needed talking to, or something that needed dealing with, some crisis, some conference, some man flying in from Colombia. But then again, Grant had told her more than once, when she had mentioned in passing that taking a business call half way through supper wasn’t very nice, that he was that kind of a guy. Entrepreneur, fingers in lots of pies, always looking for the next big thing. You didn’t get as rich as Grant by sitting around on the sofa all day watching Jeremy Kyle and Australian soaps, he had said. But surely even he could see that, sometimes, some things were more important than the next deal. There were limits and there should be boundaries.
Liz, of all people, understood the importance of working hard and focusing on what needed to be done; but if they were going to have a future together, Grant would really have to understand that sometimes she came first. Tonight was one of those times.
On the kitchen clock the seconds were slowly ticking by. Suzie and Fleur were still talking but Liz zoned them out.
He was probably almost there. He’d probably be arriving any minute now. She was getting herself in a state over nothing. Liz took a deep breath and straightened her dress, swallowing back the little squall of self-pity. She needed to get a grip. After all, it didn’t do to look anxious or annoyed – men didn’t like that, nor did they like it when you glared at them and said things like, Where the hell have you been? and What time do you call this?, as she had found from previous experience. No, it was far better just to stay calm and concentrate on what the hell they were going to tell a marquee full of wedding guests, family, friends, and hangers-on. Inwardly she groaned. How could her parents do this to her, tonight of all nights?
On the other side of the kitchen, Fleur was topping up her wine and was well on her way down the second or maybe it was the third glass. Rose and Jack were still upstairs getting changed.
Suzie got to her feet and said, ‘I think I’ll just pop out and let everyone know the happy couple will be out in five minutes. Can you go and hurry them up?’
The happy couple. The irony of it; Liz couldn’t even think the words without pulling a face.
‘Trust Suzie to bugger off when the going gets sticky,’ Liz said to Fleur, trying not to look at the kitchen clock. ‘She should stay here with us and sort this out. We really need to think about how we’re going to handle it – manage expectations and all that. Typical of her to leave it to someone else. How could they do this to me?’
Fleur handed her a glass of wine. ‘Here, you need one of these.’
Liz sighed and sat down alongside her. ‘I think perhaps you’re right. Bugger Gregor.’
‘Is he your new bloke?’
‘My dermatologist.’
Fleur nodded and lifted her glass in toast. ‘In that case, bugger Gregor.’
‘I can’t believe that Mum and Dad lied to us all these years,’ said Liz. ‘I’m just so shocked. I mean, really surprised.’
‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me one little bit,’ said Fleur. ‘The thing is we’re all the same, the whole family – all of us with our little secrets.’
Liz glanced at her. ‘What?’
‘I’ve always thought we’re all cut from the same cloth, all the women in this family. I bet you’ve got all sorts of little things you’re keeping to yourself, keeping hidden away – a whole cupboard full of skeletons.’
Liz had a momentary flashback to Bali and the nineteen-year-old surfer dude, all tattoos, teeth and tan. The one with bleached blond dreads and stomach muscles like warm taut leather, the one who had tasted of sea and salt and had made her howl like a bitch on heat for hours. Boy, that guy had some staying power. And he hadn’t been the first, although Liz had always been extremely careful and discreet about her little liaisons.
‘You, me, your mum, your sister – all naturally secretive. It’s just in our blood,’ Fleur was saying. ‘My mum, your mum’s mum, was just the same. Always played our cards very close to our chest. We’re very much alike.’
Liz, who felt herself reddening, stared at her aunt. ‘Are you serious?’
Fleur’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and I in particular. Secretive, lousy taste in men?’
Liz snorted. ‘Speak for yourself.’
Fleur shrugged. ‘I’m only saying.’
The last thing Liz wanted was to dwell on the similarities between her and Fleur. Fleur was wealthy and beautifully preserved for a woman in her sixties but at what cost? No husband, no family, working all hours that God sent. Rich, yes, but surely lonely too? In the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, Liz could see that it wouldn’t take much for her to end up in the same boat. God, she wished Grant would hurry up and get there.
‘Look at the evidence,’ Fleur was saying. ‘There’s your mum and dad with this whole divorce thing for a start. Who would ever have guessed that? I had no idea, and I’m her sister, for God’s sake. And then there’s all this business with Suzie – look at her, she always looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’
This took a second or two to register. Liz stared at her. ‘What do you mean? What business with Suzie?’
Fleur hesitated and then looked flustered. ‘I thought you knew? I thought she would have told you. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Do you want something to eat with the wine – I’m sure I saw some crisps in the larder.’
‘No,’ snapped Liz. ‘You can’t just leave it at that. What do you mean? What about Suzie?’
‘I didn’t realise you didn’t know,’ said Fleur defensively. ‘See there we go, what did I tell you?’
‘Oh come on, Fleur.’ Liz frowned, or at least she would have done if the Botox had let her. ‘You just said yourself that Mum didn’t tell you about this whole divorce thing. Suzie doesn’t really confide in me these days – I mean, we used to be very close obviously when we were kids, but we move in different circles these days. We hardly see each other. We’re different people. She loves family life and all that stuff – not that I don’t, but I’ve got my career to think about, whereas she’s always put the whole family thing first . . .’
Liz knew she was guilty of protesting too much, while across the table Fleur was weighing up the options. Finally, leaning closer, she said, ‘Not for much longer, she isn’t. And that’s the problem.’
‘What?’ gasped Liz, unable to help herself. ‘What do you mean, “Not for much longer”?’
Fleur glanced over her shoulder as if there was some chance she might be overheard, before she continued in a low voice, ‘I’m not sure that I should be telling you this but it’s this thing with Matt, the guy who is doing the food for the party tonight. She’s really worried that Sam will find out before she tells him herself. Things have been a bit prickly between them for a while now.’
As Liz stared at Fleur she felt something shifting in her chest. ‘Suzie and Sam? ’ she whispered.
Fleur nodded and then raised her eyebrows. ‘And Matt is very easy on the eye.’
What the hell was going on with those two? Like her mum and dad, Suzie and Sam were rocks in her ocean, landmarks she guided her own ship by. Was there nothing sacred or true or solid any more?
‘Are you telling me that Suzie’s having an affair with the caterer?’ she said haltingly, in a voice barely above a whisper.
In among her feelings of shock and amazement, Liz heard another more petulant voice inside her head – how the hell had Suzie managed to grab herself two men, when Liz couldn’t reel in one? It was so unfair and so infuriating. Sam was lovely in his own lived-in way and this Matt, whoever he was, was on TV. Okay, so Suzie scrubbed up all right but most of the time she looked like something the cat had finished with. It was so not fair.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Fleur. ‘And anyway we should be getting back to the party.’ She hesitated. ‘And your mum told me not to say anything. I mean, that just tells you how anxious she is, normally she doesn’t tell me anything at all.’
‘You can’t just stop there,’ snapped Liz.
At which point Liz’s phone rang. Tempted to ignore it, she picked it up and squinted at the screen: it was Grant. Trust him to ring now. Torn, she said to Fleur, ‘It’s Grant – he’s probably lost. He was supposed to be here by half past six.’
Fleur shrugged in a ‘suit yourself’ way that made Liz think that if Fleur didn’t finish telling her about Suzie now she probably never would. The phone rang again. One of the techies had programmed in the ringtone for her – it was the opening bars of the theme tune to Starmaker.
The side panels flashed, the phone buzzed frantically under the ringtone, while the words ‘Mr Right’ pulsed on and off on the screen. She had meant to change it; it had been a bit of joke when they first got together but Grant hadn’t thought it was at all funny. Maybe she should change it to Mr Grumpy.
Meanwhile Fleur’s attention had wandered away from Liz, back to the counter top and the wine bottle.
‘I’ll see you outside,’ Fleur mouthed, in a glorified stage whisper. ‘I don’t suppose your mum and dad will be much longer.’ She picked up the bottle and headed for the door. ‘Tell them I’ll see them in the tent.’
‘No, wait!’ said Liz, jumping to her feet. ‘I need to know about Suzie and Matt.’
Fleur looked back over her shoulder. ‘What about golden boy?’ she said, nodding towards the phone.
‘He can wait,’ Liz said, decision made. ‘I’ll ring him back later.’ Another ring or two and it would go to voicemail.
Fleur smiled wolfishly. ‘Are you sure? I thought you were waiting for him to ring.’
‘Yes I am. Just tell me about Suzie and Matt.’
‘I’m not that sure there’s that much to tell really,’ she said.
‘Oh purlease, stop playing with me, Fleur,’ Liz growled. ‘Just spit it out.’
‘Apparently it’s all very hush-hush at the moment. Matt’s planning to open a restaurant in the old dairy on the estate, which is a stone’s throw from Suzie’s precious garden. She’s going to be growing stuff for him. They’re supposed to be signing the contract at the end of next week.’
‘Is that all?’ said Liz, feeling cheated. ‘One new restaurant – it’s hardly going to change the world, is it?
‘Well it might for Suzie. Your mum was saying that there’s going to be some sort of TV thing – doing the place up, updating the décor, a step-by-step, fly-on-the-wall thing – you know how these things work. They’re planning to cash in on the whole “grow local, eat local” thing and there’ll be a series and a book, obviously.
‘Suzie will be doing the gardening and Matt will be cooking the food. Your mum said Suzie is really excited and I’m not surprised. I mean, what a turn up. I’m amazed she hasn’t said anything to you. Apparently she’s really natural and he’s really good fun, very down to earth—’
Liz stared at her. ‘Suzie? On TV? Are you sure? Is it some sort of local thing?’
Fleur shook her head. ‘Channel 4 I think, although it could be the BBC. Problem is, Suzie doesn’t know how to tell Sam. And who can blame her? It’s going to mean a lot of work, a lot more hours away from house and home. I don’t know all the details but apparently the company Sam works for has been on thin ice for months and according to your mum – and reading between the lines – there’s trouble in paradise. It’s a great opportunity for her but you can see how Sam might feel she’s stepping up a league, leaving him behind – or maybe he doesn’t like the idea of her working with someone as slick, good looking and successful as Matt.’ Fleur paused for effect. ‘You don’t have to be a genius to see what’s going on there. Long lunches. Working late, the odd weekend away at trade shows . . .’ Fleur let the words hang in the air between them.
‘Are you serious?’ Liz murmured.
Fleur nodded. ‘Oh yes, she’s barely at home these days.’
Liz stared at her, finding herself torn between the revelations that Suzie was carrying on with someone and that somehow along the way she had also managed to wangle herself a TV show.
‘She can’t be on TV,’ Liz finally snapped. ‘I mean, she just can’t. It’s not right – it’s not fair. How on earth can Suzie just be on TV? I’m the one who is on TV. I’ve done my time. I’ve paid my dues. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to her that they’re probably only taking her on because she’s my sister. It’s obvious when you think about it, they’re just trying to cash in on the whole Starmaker thing. It’s disgusting.’
‘I suppose they could be, but I don’t think they are,’ Fleur said quietly. ‘I don’t think they even know she’s your sister. Suzie uses her married name and I can’t imagine she’d use those kind of tactics; she’s not like us really, is she?’
Liz stared at her; the implication being that Liz would, presumably. Fleur shrugged. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You and I are like peas in a pod – driven, businesslike . . . unlucky in love,’ she said.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Liz said.
Fleur continued as if she had not spoken. ‘Whereas Suzie and your mum . . .’
Liz waited for whatever was coming next.
‘Aren’t,’ said Fleur, after a second of two of deliberation. ‘I mean, they’re not very worldly, are they? The TV company approached Suzie after her garden and Matt’s restaurant had been on the radio and in the local papers and after all, he’s got the contacts. I don’t think it’s about you at all.’
‘Don’t be naïve, Fleur, of course it’s about me,’ sniffed Liz, snatching up her phone from the table; surely there had to be someone she could call about this? Her agent? Probably not – knowing Hector his next call would be to Suzie to see if she wanted him to represent her.
‘The whole point about this, Liz, is that Suzie is worried about how Sam is going to take it. But who would have guessed by looking at her? Secretive, that’s what I’m saying. The whole bloody lot of us. Shame really. Sam’s always seemed such a decent guy.’
Liz stared at her aunt. ‘Decent guy,’ she repeated, looking down at her phone. How come she couldn’t find herself one of those?
‘You’d better ring His Nibs back,’ said Fleur. ‘You don’t really want Mr Right getting himself lost tonight of all nights now, do you?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute now,’ Liz said with forced casualness as she marched outside. ‘That’s the trouble living in such a backwater, people always have a hell of a job finding it.’
Out in the garden Liz could barely contain her fury. It was outrageous. How could Suzie possibly end up on TV and having an affair? Liz took a deep breath and made an effort to compose herself. Before having a word with Suzie, she’d ring Grant and find out exactly where he was and what was going on. Be calm and nice, although that wasn’t what the raging peevish voice inside her head was telling her – oh no, not at all. She wanted to go into that tent and ask Suzie what the hell she thought she was up to. TV, they’d make mincemeat of someone like her. See how Suzie liked it when the tabloids went on and on about how fat she’d got or how thin or how she had let herself go.
Liz sniffed and scrolled down to find Grant’s number, peering at the blur of numbers on the screen. But she was unable to bring herself to ring. What she needed now wasn’t Grant sounding distracted and busy, gagging to take a business call on the other line, but some moral support, a little emotional there, there, there. What she needed was someone to stroke her ego and make a little conversation over a decent bottle of wine, or snuggled up in bed, about her career, how well she had done so far and how very pretty and clever and bright she was.
Unfortunately Liz suspected that that kind of moral support was probably outside Grant’s repertoire. He had told her right from the very start that he didn’t like clingy, whiny women, although he did like his women feminine and soft, not cold and hard-nosed like his ex-wife. Liz doubted he’d be much use in a crisis unless it involved her tripping over and breaking a heel on her Jimmy Choos and him carrying her back to the car, or maybe needing his jacket draped around her shoulders because she had got chilly at some outdoor jazz thing. She could see that Grant liked to think himself good at the whole ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ stuff, but he was probably not the kind of man who would be there for her in a crisis of confidence. And that was another thorn in her flesh, because Liz had no doubt whatsoever that Sam was exactly that kind of man. He would be just perfect in a real crisis. It was so bloody unfair. How come Suzie had managed to get it all?
Which brought her rage full circle. Why hadn’t Suzie said anything to Liz about the whole TV thing? Surely Liz would be the most natural choice of confidante? All the years of experience she had, along with the know-how, the contacts . . .
As if Liz’s thoughts had summoned her up, Suzie now appeared in the door of the marquee, carrying a champagne flute. Suzie smiled and held it out towards her.
‘Okay?’ Suzie mouthed. ‘Are they coming down? People are beginning to get restless and I’m not sure how much longer we can hold the food.’
Liz was about to speak, but before the words could form, her phone rang again. It was Grant. This time she painted on a broad confident smile and took the call, waving Suzie away.
‘Hello, darling, we’re missing you already. Where are you?’ she said in a voice that carried across the lawn, stopping Suzie in her tracks.
‘I’m in the office,’ said Grant.
‘What? What do you mean you’re in the office?’ she said, heading across the garden so that Suzie wouldn’t be able to hear her. ‘Just how late are you going to be? I thought you said you’d be here by half past six.’
‘No, you said I should be there by half past six,’ Grant said.
‘My parents are already here; supper’s going to be served soon. What time will you be here?’
‘I’m not going to be there at all, sweetie, I told you the other day that I couldn’t make it tonight.’ He sounded quite cheery, which was unnerving.
‘What? When did you tell me that? You didn’t, I’m sure you didn’t—’ hissed Liz.
‘Yes, I did, babe, maybe you weren’t listening. You were busy making plans and talking to someone else, so no change there. You were having you hair done or something – when you said you wanted me to come I told you I’d love to but I’d got to meet Felipo this evening. Remember?’
Liz stopped dead in her tracks. He had said something else, she knew that, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he had said no.
‘Anyway, we’ve got a table booked at the Ivy. It’s a longstanding arrangement, and besides being a good friend, Felipo is a very important man. Not someone you mess around. I did tell you – anyway I was just ringing to say I hope you have a lovely time. Got to go now. Ciao, babe.’
Ciao, babe? That wasn’t the answer she was expecting at all.
‘No, just wait a minute,’ said Liz hastily. ‘You knew that this was important to me. I reminded you last week and you said—’
‘I said I would think about it, that I’d check my diary and get back to you. And I did – you just didn’t listen, sweetie.’
‘You had plenty of time to reschedule this meeting. I’ve been talking about my parents’ party for weeks.’
‘You’re right, I did, but I didn’t want to. Look, babe, family things really aren’t my scene, and to be honest this is all a bit much – too much, too soon, do you get what I’m saying here?’
‘Too much, too soon?’ she repeated. ‘Are you saying you don’t want to meet my parents?’
‘Well yes, that’s right. I didn’t want to make it sound quite so harsh but you haven’t really given me much choice, have you? So yeah, exactly. I mean I don’t know about you but I’m really not looking for anything too heavy at the moment, and it’s all been getting a bit intense recently. Every weekend, meeting the family. I mean, for God’s sake, it’s not like this is really going anywhere, is it? I’m thinking fun – get together when we’re both free, you know, have a good time, have some fun.’
‘Fun . . . yes, of course,’ Liz said, struggling for breath as she held back tears, trying very hard to keep the pain out of her voice. How could she have got it so wrong? ‘Well, we have been having fun, haven’t we?’ she managed between gritted teeth. ‘The last few months. It’s been great, you know, nothing too heavy.’
‘No, sure, you’re right, it’s been good but this every weekend thing—’
Somewhere in the background Liz could hear a woman giggling. ‘Is there someone with you?’ she said.
‘Sorry? Oh that, yeah that’s Felipo’s baby sister Angelique and her friend Martina – couple of crazy, crazy girls. Now they really know how to have fun, those two. Martina’s twenty-two. She’s a lingerie model – six foot two, 38,24,34, all of it one hundred percent natural.’
Liz couldn’t believe what she was hearing: just who the hell did he think he was talking to? Did he expect her to be pleased for him? She could practically hear him wiping the drool off his chin. Bastard.
‘Well, I hope you all have a lovely evening. Lots of fun,’ she said before hanging up.
He was forty-eight, for God’s sake. A twenty-two-year-old lingerie model? Liz sniffed.
‘I hope he chokes,’ she growled as she headed into the marquee and the increasingly restless guests.