‘Right, if you’d like to move in a little closer. Closer . . . That’s lovely,’ said the photographer, waving Jack and Rose into the centre of the frame. ‘Hold it there, great. And everyone smile... That’s fantastic, now let’s just have another one, shall we? Okay? If you just hold the knife a little bit higher? Higher . . . Great, and now, big smiles. You two have got to be experts at all this marriage and cake-cutting lark by now.’ The man babbled on, all faux joviality and bonhomie as he snapped away. ‘Lovely, lovely . . . And smile . . .’
With supper over and done with, he was making a start on the formal photos. He had been moving from table to table all evening, like a benign hitman, picking off people one by one, couple by couple, group by group, till now there was just the top table left to shoot, a few more formal family shots and obviously the cutting of the anniversary cake, so that the whole evening would be recorded for posterity.
Matt, who was standing on the sidelines as the photographer captured yet another ‘magic moment’ – Matt’s words, not Suzie’s – grinned and murmured, ‘When David Bailey here’s finished, I’ll get the cake taken away and cut up or we’ll be here all bloody night.’
‘The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned,’ Suzie said grimly, through teeth clenched in a rictus grin. Just how many more photos did they need?
If the photographer had heard them, he didn’t show it. Instead he and his assistant carried on tinkering with the arrangement of couples, cake and confetti.
‘If you could just look this way . . . lovely, lovely . . . and hold it. Say “cheese”, that’s fabulous,’ said the man, as the motor drive clicked away furiously. ‘Now if we could have all the original wedding party over here by the flowers?’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read out the names, mumbling very slightly as if the read-through was more for his own benefit than theirs. ‘Right, so, we’ve got the bride and groom, the best man, Peter Hudson, the bridesmaids Fleur and Janet Fielding . . .’
Rose shot a glance at Jack.
Looking up, the photographer smiled and said, raising a hand in invitation, ‘Come on, folks, you know who you are. Let’s get you all over here and make a start, shall we? The sooner we start, the sooner we’re finished.’
‘I haven’t seen Janet, is she here?’ Rose said in passing, as the photographer’s assistant started to move them all across the dais, and Matt and a couple of waitress slid in like an SAS snatch squad and grabbed the cake from the table.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her,’ Jack said, his eyes working across the faces of the guests. ‘I’m certain if she was here she would have come over and said hello.’ He turned to Suzie. ‘Do you know if Janet is here?’
‘Janet?’ It was one name in a sea of others as far as Suzie was concerned.
‘Janet Fielding – she used to work with your mother. Janet and Fleur were our bridesmaids.’
‘Right.’ Suzie glanced across at the original photos mounted on the boards behind the top table, trying to put a face to the name. ‘To be honest, Dad, I’m not sure. Do I know her?’
Rose and Jack glanced at each other and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s been years since me and your mum have seen her. She moved away, so probably not – we didn’t see a lot of them, did we, Rose?’ said Jack.
Suzie nodded. It must be strange for them having kept everything under wraps so long; were they worried that someone was going to come along and ask them what the hell they thought they were up to?
‘I’m sure you met her when you were little,’ Rose was saying. ‘You probably don’t remember. We always exchange Christmas cards,’ she continued, as if that might explain everything. ‘She moved to Edinburgh, she’s got two girls.’
Suzie nodded; somewhere down in the vaults of childhood memory, Edinburgh rang a bell. ‘Actually I think she is here, with her husband. Do you want me to go and check the list?’
Rose shook her head. ‘No, don’t worry about it, it’s all right. We’ll catch up with her later, I’m sure. I’d like you to meet her.’
‘What do you mean it’s all right ? What about the photographs?’ said Liz indignantly, who had been listening in to the conversation. ‘Surely the whole point of all having them done is that we try and get everyone in them who was there first time around?’
‘Well yes, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ asked Rose. The expression on Liz’s face suggested that that was the wrong answer.
‘Do you want me to send one of the girls to see if we can find her? I mean, if she’s here it shouldn’t take much to track her down.’ Suzie interjected.
Liz shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘It’s all right, you stay here. I’ll do it myself. The seating plan is on the board.’
‘Well, don’t be too long, will you?’ said Rose. ‘He’s going to be wanting you two in the photos too, you know.’
Liz caught Suzie’s gaze and rolled her eyes heavenwards. Parents.
‘We could have the ushers as well if you like,’ Jack was saying, glancing around the tent. ‘Colin’s just over there and I’m sure I saw Richard heading for the bar a few minutes ago.’
‘No change there then,’ said Rose wryly.
‘How about I go and get them?’ said Jack, breaking ranks and heading for the bar, much to the photographer’s frustration.
‘Chicken,’ Rose called after him, laughing. ‘See if you can find Janet while you’re at it.’
Jack glanced back at Rose and smiled.
Before Liz could head off into the crowd too, Suzie caught hold of her arm. ‘Can I have a quick word with you?’
‘Can’t it wait? We need to find what’s-her-name.’
‘This won’t take a second.’ Suzie glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard, and then whispered, ‘I’ve been thinking that maybe we should pull the plug on the speeches.’
‘You mean the ones about forty years of wedded bliss and never a cross word?’ said Liz grimly.
Suzie nodded. ‘Those’d be the ones. I’ll grab Peter Hudson and have a quick word with him. I know he’s been working on his best-man-forty-years-on speech for weeks, but I think I’ll ask him if he can just say a few words of thanks instead and leave it at that.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right, although at least we can be sure he knows.’
Suzie nodded. ‘That’s what worries me.’
Liz sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right. In that case maybe the film show might develop a technical hitch . . .’ said Liz. ‘I wish we’d known, you’ve got no idea how long it took me to put that film together.’
‘While we’re waiting I thought we’d have one of just the girls,’ the photographer interrupted. ‘Three generations of sisters – okay? Is everyone here?’
‘Lovely idea, I won’t be a minute,’ said Liz, hurrying off down the steps. ‘I just need to find someone.’
‘Do you mind? ’ groused the photographer.
‘I’ll be back in a second,’ Liz said over her shoulder.
‘Has Grant arrived yet?’ Suzie called after her.
‘No, not yet,’ said Liz, avoiding her eye.
The photographer sighed and turned his attention back to the gaggle of stragglers left behind.
On the far side of the marquee, the band had started to get itself together. Those guests who had finished their suppers were beginning to break ranks and go feral, heading for the bar or outside for a smoke. Looking from face to face, Suzie had the impression that after a shaky start everyone really was having a great time.
At what remained of the top table, Megan was getting ready for her big moment in front of the camera, busying herself with tidying her hair, pushing a tangle over to one side, and straightening up her tee-shirt, tugging it down over her stomach. Suzie watched her affectionately and couldn’t help smiling at her younger daughter’s attempts at scrubbing up fast under pressure.
‘Do you want to borrow my hairbrush?’ she said, opening her bag.
Megan grinned. ‘Yeah, that would be great, Mum.’
She still had the slightly plump and puppyish look of childhood, her long unruly hair streaked by days spent playing outside and helping Suzie in the garden, her skin tinted the very lightest shade of gold from the early summer sun. Megan looked like an advert for healthy, happy living, and Suzie found herself hoping that somehow her younger daughter would be spared the transformation into a grumpy, unhappy, confrontational teenager that her elder sister had undergone . . . and instantly hated herself for thinking it.
Talking of which, Suzie glanced across at Hannah, who was still sitting toying with her food, a picture of discontent, and sighed. She really missed the girl Hannah had been and struggled constantly with the sullen creature that had been left in her place.
Hannah looked up, as if she knew she was being watched. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘We’re going to do some photos in a minute with you and Megan, me and Liz, Grandma and Fleur – all the girls together.’
‘God, and just how naff is that? Do we have to?’ Hannah complained. Suzie stared at her. Where had ‘sorry’ gone? Between getting caught in the kitchen with her friends and sitting down and eating supper, any hint of remorse appeared to have well and truly evaporated.
‘Yes, we do,’ Suzie said. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘But I haven’t finished eating yet and I’ve still got my old clothes on,’ Hannah whined.
‘Whose fault is that? And before you say anything else, don’t forget you’re on very slippery ground here, young lady. You would have had plenty of time to do both if you’d have stayed here and helped.’
Hannah gave her the full benefit of the dead-eyed, hundred-yard-stare she had been perfecting over the last few months.
‘There,’ said Suzie to Megan, handing over her hairbrush, refusing to be fazed by Hannah’s expression.
As if to emphasise the contrast with Hannah, Megan turned and beamed at her. ‘Thanks, Mum. Have I got time to go and put my party dress on?’
‘Yes, if you want to and you’re really quick. It’s hanging up in the car.’ Suzie had barely finished the sentence before Megan was on her way. ‘Come straight back, won’t you?’ Suzie called after her.
Megan’s response was to look back with a great big sunny grin on her face.
‘How come you brought her dress and didn’t bring mine?’ grumbled Hannah.
‘Because she was helping us get the tables finished, like you said you would, remember? And because she didn’t have time to go home and change, and because she asked me to. Hannah’s lip curled up into a little moue of displeasure and she took a long breath as if she was about to say something, but Suzie was way ahead of her. ‘And don’t you dare tell me it’s not fair, Hannah. You’re the one who cleared off and left Megan here on her own. You know I would have done the same for you—’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t, did you? And whatever you say, it’s just not fair. Not fair at all. You like her better than me, don’t you? Don’t you? ’ Hannah demanded, her face contorted into an ugly sneer.
Suzie sighed and considered her answer for a second or two. It would be so easy for the sake of keeping the peace to say something conciliatory and placating, but why should she be nice when Hannah was being anything but? There was a time, surely, when Hannah had to understand that she didn’t operate in a vacuum, and that there were consequences to the way you behaved and the things that you said.
‘Do you know what?’ Suzie said evenly, after a moment or two more. ‘You’re absolutely right. At the moment you’re behaving badly – you’re grumpy and you’re selfish and you’re making yourself very hard to like, but I want you to know that whatever you do and however you behave, and whether I like you or not, I love you very much and always will. But I don’t like the way you’re behaving at all . . . and I miss you. Now let’s get this photo done, shall we?’
*
Hannah glared at her, blinking away a flurry of unexpected tears and a great flare of hurt. Suzie had just confirmed her worst suspicions.
Since her mum had found her in the back of the marquee with Sadie, Tucker and Simon she had been trying to make herself as close to invisible as possible during supper. Grandma and Granddad had been really pleased to see her but her dad and mum had both given her that steely-faced look that said, ‘You are in big trouble. Just wait till we get you home.’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ had been her dad’s opening words as Hannah had slipped into her seat, but before she could reply Suzie had reached across them both to get the jug of water and murmured, ‘Do you think we can talk about this later, please?’
‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ her dad had growled. ‘You know you’re always taking her side. Hannah promised us that she would stay here and help get everything ready and she clears off, how can that be right?’
‘I’m not saying it’s right, Sam, and I’m not taking anyone’s side,’ hissed Suzie. ‘I’m just saying that now isn’t the right time to talk about it.’
‘Oh right, and so when exactly is the right time?’ Sam had snapped right back. ‘When are we going to find time to sort this out when we can barely find time to talk about what’s going on in the rest of our lives as it is?’
Hannah had glanced from one to the other before starting on her food. The two of them sniping at each other like that made her feel sick and uneasy. This wasn’t how her parents usually behaved towards each other; God, was this all her fault too?
‘Please don’t argue,’ Hannah said in a tiny voice. ‘I said I’m really sorry – and I know I should have been here—’ she began.
‘Too bloody right you should have,’ Sam had said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m going to go outside and get a bit of fresh air and you—’ he had continued, pointing at Hannah. ‘Don’t think you’re off the hook yet.’
And now, just because she didn’t want to be in the stupid family photos, her mum had started on her too. How unfair was that? And they liked Megan better than her. Feeling her bottom lip start to quiver, Hannah pushed her plate away, got to her feet and sloped across to where the photographer was taking pictures of Grandma holding a champagne glass, feeling as if she was on her way to the scaffold.
‘Right, if you could just hold that a little bit . . . There, there we are, that’s just perfect,’ the photographer was saying. Grandma looked radiant.
Hannah stuffed her hands in her pockets, dropped her shoulders and sighed. How come everyone was being so nasty to her ? It was just so unfair. She tucked an unruly strand of hair back behind her ears and, from under her fringe, scanned the crowd to see if she could spot anyone she knew. Just how dire would it be to be spotted being chewed out and shown up by your mum? And how come her mum was being so unreasonable and so mean to her anyway? It wasn’t like Hannah had done anything serious, like murdering someone or something. And God, like, she was here now, wasn’t she? And she was playing happy families and queuing up like a nice girl to have her photo taken with the rest of the gene pool, said the sarcastic little voice in her head, which sounded a lot like Sadie. What else did they want? Blood?
Except of course, as soon as she’d thought it, Hannah also caught a glimpse of how right her mum and dad were. She struggled to keep the thought buried but it kept pushing its way to the surface. She had promised to help them out with the party and she had let them down, and her mum wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing her outfit over for her if Hannah had asked. Suzie would have washed and ironed it and probably bought her something new if she had really wanted, and of course tonight was about her grandparents, not Hannah. Although the bit about liking Megan more than her had come as a real shock.
Surely that wasn’t right, was it? It shouldn’t be allowed. Parents were not supposed to have favourites, were they? Nevertheless, it finally confirmed what Hannah had always feared. Her parents really did like Megan better than they liked her. Actually, she thought miserably, they probably loved Megan more and hated Hannah. In fact she could see now that she was probably adopted, or had been left with them by somebody who couldn’t look after her, and her mum and dad had felt that they couldn’t just give her away, so they’d kept her, not so much a child as a burden and a duty.
Awash with melodrama, after reworking and editing what her mum had said to her, Hannah felt a completely fabricated, self-induced wave of self-pity roll over her, so powerful it almost made her cry. God, why hadn’t someone said something to her before? Hannah had never been able to work out where she got her funny ears from, and the way her little toes curled in bore no resemblance to anything the rest of the family had, and now she knew the reason – they came from some passing stranger who had left her on the doorstep, probably in a basket with a note pinned to her blanket, which explained why she had nothing in common with her parents, nothing at all.
Hannah sniffed back a great wave of misery and wished she could be anywhere else but here, in this bloody tent with all these people who obviously couldn’t stand the sight of her, certainly didn’t understand her, and who probably all knew she was adopted. Thinking back to slights past, Christmas presents that had missed the mark by miles, old arguments and differences of opinion, when Hannah looked at it from a distance, it was awful, and just so obvious when you knew the truth.
How come no one had said anything before?
Magnanimously she decided it wasn’t really Megan’s fault that they loved her and not Hannah, not really. After all, technically Megan should be an only child, so no wonder she sometimes stole Hannah’s make-up and hair scrunchies and went through her things when Hannah was out. It was amazing she wasn’t really screwed up.
Hannah continued scanning the room, wondering if there was a chance she could slip away as soon as the photo session was over. After all, they didn’t really want her there, did they? The foundling with the peculiar ears and dodgy toes.
Sadie, Tucker and Simon would probably have got back to Sadie’s house by now. They were probably watching a DVD or listening to music or on the Playstation. Having a great time. Tonight was one of those nights that convinced her that Sadie was right about her family.
She glanced over at the bar, wondering if maybe she could sneak another bottle of booze before she left. It was the kind of behaviour you’d expect from a crazy, mixed-up, abandoned orphan kid.
While Hannah was jamming on the whole neglect/abandonment/not-being-loved riff, she started thinking about what Simon had said to her down on the riverbank. That was weird and when she let the thoughts replay they gave her a funny warm sensation in the pit of her stomach. She’d never really had a proper boyfriend before, not a real one, certainly not one who took her out to places and hung out with her, and who she did stuff with. A real boyfriend. She let the idea roll around for a moment or two longer to see how it felt. Despite everything, it made her smile.
Simon had a Saturday job in a DIY shop in town and earned proper money. He was saving up so he could travel in his gap year before going to university and was thinking about maybe going to Mexico. He had some really cool plans about the way he wanted his life to shape up, besides wanting to travel and things, which was good because she didn’t want to get stuck in Crowbridge or anywhere else with some loser.
The thought of having a proper boyfriend made Hannah feel funny and slightly uneasy. She wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to do. Oh, she knew the theory – you’d have to be dead not to catch all the gossip at school about who fancied who, and what they had and hadn’t done, and with whom. But this was different. This was her and Simon and it was really real – not someone else, not a flight of fantasy like Hayleigh Cornwall and that boy in Wilkinsons. No, this was real. She tried very hard not to grin, as grinning didn’t sit well alongside feeling hard done by and unloved and an orphan. But a proper boyfriend . . . wow, just how cool was that?
She glanced at her watch, wondering just how much longer she had to hang around with these weirdo baby finders before she could find a way to slide off and find Simon.
*
Liz meanwhile had picked up a copy of the seating plan from behind the bar and, having checked the whereabouts of the missing bridesmaid, was making her way over to table six, which was at the back towards the middle. She eased her way between the guests, smiling graciously, moving around the chairs and tables, smiling and nodding. It was turning into something resembling a royal progress and hardly the quick dash she had hoped for. People wanted to say hello and have their photographs taken with her, or were asking for autographs, which was usually extremely flattering but tonight was just a nuisance.
By the time Liz finally got to the table, the twelve guests who should have been on table six had been whittled down to half a dozen, although there were signs that it had been full earlier – there was a muddle of discarded napkins, half full glasses and chairs pushed awry.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to an elderly couple still seated at the table, who she recognised as the people who had lived next door to them when she and Suzie were little. ‘Mrs Roberts, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, Elizabeth, it is you, isn’t it?’ said the woman, looking up at her with delight. ‘How lovely to see you. Gosh, look at you, all grown-up and so gorgeous. I think you must have been about twelve the last time I saw you. You know we always watch you on TV. Every week. Your mum and dad must be very proud of how well you’ve done.’ She beamed and caught hold of Liz’s hand in hers. ‘Graham is going a bit deaf, dear, but I always say, “Look, there’s our little Lizzie, Graham”; you know we’re all very proud of you, dear, even if you’re only ours by association.’
Liz reddened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, genuinely touched. ‘Actually I’m looking for someone called Janet Fielding and her husband – they were sitting on your table. I don’t know if you know her? She was my mum’s bridesmaid. They should have been sitting there—’ Liz indicated the seats the Fieldings had been allocated.
The woman pulled a face and then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so, dear. At least they weren’t sitting there. There were two young women in those seats. Helen and Nina – they seemed very nice, the pair of them.’
‘Any other older couples on the table?’ said Liz, glancing round to see if she could find the place markers.
The woman laughed. ‘Well, there are lots of older couples, dear, but none of us are called Janet as far as I know.’
Liz smiled to hide her frustration. She wished that people could just stick to the damned seating plan, it had taken her ages to work out who to sit where, and with whom. Why couldn’t they just sit where they’d been told?
‘Maybe she’s on another table?’ Mrs Roberts suggested.
Liz stared at her – presumably she had come to the conclusion that Liz couldn’t work that out on her own. ‘Yes, probably,’ said Liz, adding a little chill to her voice, not that Mrs Roberts noticed.
‘It’s been lovely to see you, dear,’ Mrs Roberts was saying. ‘I’m hoping to catch up with your mum and dad later on when the formalities are out of the way. I suppose the next big celebration will be yours, eh?’ she continued, all smiles. ‘Your mum was telling us last time I saw her in the hairdresser’s that you’d got yourself a nice man. I said to Graham, I said, that girl really deserves someone nice. And what are you now, dear, mid thirties? It’s about time you settled down, isn’t it? Old enough to know what you want, and young enough to take full advantage, eh? Don’t want to leave it too late, do you? I know you’ve got your career but I often say to Graham, these young people think they can hold back time, but if you want to settle down and you want a family, in my opinion you should have them when you’re young and healthy, that’s what I say. Isn’t it, Graham?’
So, life according to Mrs Roberts there, then, thought Liz grimly, as she watched the old lady craning around like a tortoise to try and pick out Liz’s Mr Right among a sea of faces. Though why she imagined giving Liz and Suzie a couple of chocolate digestives and the odd glass of Ribena over the hedge gave her the right to an opinion on how Liz lived her life, God alone knew.
‘And you’ll be able to afford a nanny, I expect, and someone to clean the house,’ Mrs Roberts continued gleefully. ‘Here, is he?’
‘Actually he’s not, no,’ said Liz, keeping the smile tacked on, reflecting on whether there should be some sort of bylaw introduced to prevent the elderly from having an opinion on everything. ‘He’s got other commitments tonight unfortunately.’ Liz didn’t venture any information as to what those commitments might be exactly.
‘Oh, what a shame, and it’s such a lovely evening too. But I suppose in your line of work things come up all the time. Famous, is he?’
‘No—’ Liz began but Mrs Roberts was ahead of her.
‘Probably best that way, just having the one star in the family. Well, my advice would be hurry up and get him down the aisle, dear,’ said the old lady brightly. ‘I can just see you in Hello! magazine. “At home with the lovely Lizzie Bingham.” Will you keep you name or are you going to change it to his?’
Smile set to stun, Liz turned away. Bloody old people.
Diverted from her quest to find Janet, and not quite ready to go back and face the family yet, Liz made for the door. How many other people were expecting Mr Right to show up tonight, and just exactly how many people had her mother told?
*
The bar was now doing a steady trade, the band had started to warm things up with something soft, swinging and easy, and the cake had just come out from the kitchen cut into finger-sized slices. Fleur, still waiting to take her place in the sisters’ group picture, pulled out her compact to check on her lipstick and hair. If she was going to have her photo taken, she didn’t want to look like a startled wildebeest.
She glanced across at Rose, who looked radiant. Jack looked on, eyes bright with love and affection. It made something dark and sad throb deep inside her. How was it that she had never had anything that wonderful, that warm, that constant? Fleur turned away, choking back a great wave of loss and self-pity. Bloody happy families. She sniffed and made an effort to pull herself together.
Thanks to all the to-ing and fro-ing, she hadn’t had the chance to change out of her garden trip outfit since they’d got home, although the cream jacket and trousers and pale blue tee-shirt she’d worn all day didn’t look too bad. The blue brought out the colour of her eyes; it was just a shame she hadn’t had a chance to have a quick shower and put on a bit of jewellery and some extra slap. Never mind.
The guy with the camera was still focusing his attention on Rose. Fleur sighed; some things never changed.
Megan, meanwhile, was hurrying back towards them. It looked like she had finally put on her party dress. She waved at Fleur as their eyes met. Her great niece now looked all windswept and winsome in a pale blue sundress, looking as if she’d just come back from a day at the beach. At least Megan was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself, unlike Hannah, who was watching Rose and the photographer while fingering a lank strand of hair into a tight coil. She’d looked as if she was chewing on lemons in between grinning inanely for the camera. She certainly didn’t envy Hannah being a teenager. It had all been so much simpler when she and Rose had been girls. You went from school and childhood into work and adulthood, often over the course of a weekend when school finished and you started earning your living first thing the next Monday morning. Now it seemed as if childhood lasted until you were in your thirties.
Megan bounced up onto the dais alongside her and seconds later the photographer was waving her and Hannah in front of the camera.
‘Come on, girls, let’s get this show on the road,’ he cajoled, as his assistant steered them into position. ‘Get the younger generation in there with Granny, one either side . . . That’s brilliant . . . Lovely, lovely.’ He glanced at Fleur and smiled. ‘Won’t be a minute, sweetheart,’ he said before his gaze moved back to his viewfinder. ‘Now, let’s see some happy faces.’
Sweetheart indeed. Cheeky beggar. Fleur shifted her attention back to the compact mirror. It would soon be her happy face under the lens. She added a little dash of lipstick, pressed her lips together and took another look to see how she was doing before dropping the compact back in her bag.
‘You don’t need to worry about all that, you look just grand,’ said a voice from behind her. Fleur recognised it but couldn’t quite put a name to it. She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. ‘Peter Hudson? Well, fancy seeing you again,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘I suppose you mean for a woman of my age?’
‘Did I say that?’ Peter said with a big grin, just as her phone started to ring in her handbag. ‘Curse of the modern age, those bloody things. Do you want to get it? Your man, is it?’
Fleur glanced at the screen. How very prescient of Peter. It was Frank, the man she had left behind in Australia, the man she had walked out on. The man she had said there was no future with. Fleur smiled at Peter, not altogether sure she was ready to hear what Frank had to say. She shook her head. ‘It’ll keep.’
Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘Not playing hard to get, are you?’
Fleur smiled.
‘That’s the Fleur we all know and love. Always in demand, always with some good-looking guy chasing hard on her heels – nothing changes, eh?’ He held out a hand as if to shake it and as she took it, Peter pulled her in close for a hug. ‘I was just thinking how good you looked.’
‘You know, you dropped a bombshell this afternoon,’ she said sotto voce. When he looked confused, she elaborated, ‘Jack and Rose . . .’
Peter reddened and put his finger to his lips. ‘Oh God, yes, sorry about that. I had no idea—’
Fleur laughed. ‘No, me neither.’
He shook his head. ‘Amazing. Actually I’ve been trying to have a word with you all evening,’ he said, moving in closer.
‘I’ve only been at the other end of the table.’
‘I know but I wanted to pick my moment,’ he purred. ‘I didn’t want to pounce too fast and frighten you away.’
Fleur rolled her eyes. ‘Always the flirt. So how are you doing?’
‘Me? I’m just fine. It’s nice to see you again, lovely party, isn’t it? In spite of everything . . .’ He paused, his expression all jokes and cheekiness, as he eyed her up and down appreciatively. ‘You know, you’re looking really good.’
Fleur smiled. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself, and Mary looks fantastic too. Obviously married life suits you. How is Mary?’
Peter mimed a comedy wince. ‘Touché,’ he said and then tipped his chin towards the main body of the tent. ‘She’s over there somewhere on a table with a whole gang of people she hasn’t seen for ages. You know what Mary’s like – likes nothing better than to talk. Knowing her she’ll be having a whale of a time catching up with all the gossip and digging up the dirt.’
Fleur raised her eyebrows with amusement. ‘I seem to remember you saying something very similar last time we were doing this.’
Peter’s voice dropped down to a conspiratorial murmur. ‘Well, fancy you remembering that.’
Fleur laughed. ‘I’m just older, Peter, I’ve not gone completely gaga.’
‘Crowbridge’s village hall was a lot less salubrious than this place, remember?’ he said, glancing around. ‘Crumbling plaster and the smell of damp.’
Fleur laughed. ‘And the playgroup pictures pinned up to the notice board behind the wedding cake.’
‘And that toilet block across the yard? God, those were the days, eh? You still look fabulous, you know, and you always were sexy as hell. I love what you’ve done with your hair.’
‘Oh please,’ Fleur said, although it did give her a nice little fillip to think that he had noticed and bothered to comment. ‘You always were such a terrible flirt.’
‘Still am,’ he said, eyes sparkling with mischief, ‘if given half a chance. Although I seem to remember you always gave as good as you got.’
‘True. So how are things with you?’
‘Going really well. I’m still incredibly busy. Mary would probably tell you I’m a workaholic. I took early retirement last year and to be honest I haven’t stopped since. Every day something new – new projects, new hobbies, new adventures. I’ve bought myself a boat, taken up golf.’ He paused, his tone dropping still further away from banter down to something all together more intimate. ‘And what about you?’ He nodded towards the phone. ‘Got yourself a good man?’
Unexpectedly Fleur felt herself reddening. God, how many years had it been since that happened?
Peter grinned. ‘So what are we saying here?’
Fleur forced a smile. ‘You know me; I prefer mine bad – and besides I like to keep my options open. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Same old Fleur.’
But even as she was saying it, Fleur was thinking what a lie that was. That mask had fooled so many people but the problem was that after so long she didn’t know how to be any different. Fleur sighed; she had been waiting her whole life for someone who could see beyond the prickly exterior and, for the briefest of instants, she had thought Frank might have been that man. The memory made her smile. If there was a man she thought might have the measure of her, Frank had been it.
When he’d first asked her out, Fleur had left the choice of destination up to him; they had ended up at a crocodile farm watching some mad man feeding snappers with dead chickens. Second date – and not wanting to be outdone – she’d taken him on a riverboat up the Trinity Inlet, where for a few dollars you got a reel, line and a pile of fish heads, and they’d spent the morning catching and boiling crabs, pulling off their legs and eating them, in the company of a great flurry of Japanese tourists who had a photographic record of every second from the instant they had embarked, and, for once, just for once, Fleur had begun to think that maybe, just maybe she had got it right. And now he was gone and it was her own fault. Her mouth hardened into a thin line. Shows that even after all these years you could still get it wrong.
Alongside her Peter was still smiling. ‘It really is great to see you again, Fleur. I’ve often thought about you over the years, you know. You and me and all those might-have-beens.’
Genuinely surprised, Fleur stared at him. ‘What? What do you mean? What might-have-beens?’
‘Oh come on, don’t play coy with me, Fleur. You know exactly what I’m talking about. That night at Rose and Jack’s wedding reception – don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? I’ve often wondered what might have been if we’d just . . .’ The words dried up and he looked deep into her eyes. ‘Well, you know. Me and you . . . if we’d just carried on from where we left off. Or maybe not left off at all.’
Fleur felt her heart lurch. ‘Jesus, Pete, it’s forty years ago. That’s a hell of a lot of might-have-beens that we could have crammed in there if we’d wanted to. It was only one night—’
He smiled. ‘Don’t you think I’ve thought about that too? I’ve often wondered if we didn’t make a terrible mistake just walking away from each other like that. Didn’t you ever think about me?’
She frowned and considered what he was saying. ‘Well, I suppose so, once or twice,’ she began. Fleur didn’t like to add that Peter hadn’t crossed her mind for donkey’s years and that one quick, guilty, drunken fumble behind the church hall while their respective partners danced the night away to local musical legend, Billy Michael and the Mikettes, hardly counted as the greatest romantic encounter of her life. Looking back over all those years, Fleur couldn’t even remember the name of the boy she had been going out with at the time, although she seemed to vaguely recollect that he was ginger.
While she had been deep in thought, Peter had moved in a little closer. ‘You know, I kicked myself for years for not asking you to stay, or for not having the guts to come out to Australia and track you down. See if we could make a go of it. I’ve always wondered what might have happened.’
‘Why are you telling me this now?’ asked Fleur, stepping back to give herself a bit of breathing space.
‘I suppose seeing everyone here tonight I suddenly got this sense of how fast the years had gone by. Seemed like we had all the time in the world back then – and now, well, it made me think what little time we have and how little we’ve got left.’
Fleur laughed. ‘Jesus, Peter, you sure know how to charm a girl – there’s nothing like looking on the bright side,’ she said, and then she looked at him and realised he was serious. His eyes were bright with emotion. She took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. It was time to put a stop to this and put him out of his misery.
‘Pete, you know as well as I do that the grass is always greener. Fantasy is always so much better than the real thing – you might have come out, found me and it could have turned out to have been disaster, we could have fought like cat and dog and hated the sight of each other by now. And it was only one night a long, long time ago,’ she said. ‘One night and—’
‘How can you say that? It was so much more than that,’ Peter insisted.
‘For you maybe,’ she said evenly.
‘Oh come on now,’ said Peter. ‘Don’t tell me it meant nothing to you? We’d been circling round each other for months before the wedding reception. And don’t tell me you don’t remember either, Fleur. All those little looks and snippy, flirty little comments every time we met up. I’d have made a move earlier except that I always got the impression that you were afraid of getting involved with me—’
‘Because you were engaged to someone else,’ growled Fleur.
There was a little pause. A few feet away the photographer was still trying raise a smile from Hannah who looked as if she was in pain.
Apparently deciding on a different tack, Peter said, ‘I’ve always kept up to date with all your news, for all these years. Where you were, what you were doing, I heard about your restaurants. I’ve got the whole chain bookmarked on my computer at home. I regularly dip into your website to take a quick look at the new menus and read the reviews. See how things are going—’
Fleur held up a hand to quieten him. ‘Stop it, Peter, you’re really weirding me out here.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t mean to. One thing that has always struck me is that after all these years you’ve never got married. I kept thinking over the years that maybe that was my fault. Maybe . . . well, you get my drift. What I’m saying is that I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know, not now, not ever.’
Fleur stared at him, stunned, and finding herself trying hard not to laugh. What an ego the man had on him. ‘Whoa there, cowboy, you really need to get over yourself,’ she said briskly. ‘Let’s just wind this one back, shall we? You think the reason that I didn’t get married was because I’ve been pining for you all these years?’
‘Well, maybe not pining exactly, but what we had was special, wasn’t it?’
Fleur couldn’t hold back the laughter. ‘What we had was non-existent, Peter. One night spent fumbling around in your brother’s Ford Capri really isn’t my idea of a great romance. And I certainly didn’t put my life on hold waiting for you to come along on your white charger and rescue me, if that’s what you think.’
Apparently oblivious, Peter closed the gap between them. ‘Stop fighting it. There’s no need to be so defensive, Fleur. I know you, remember, and I respect you for being a strong, independent woman. I’ve been thinking a lot about us just recently. It’s not too late, we could still make something of it. I mean, why deny what we feel?’
‘What?’ Fleur spat. ‘Are you nuts? What we feel?’
‘You and me, Fleur, think about it. How long have we waited for this moment? Mary and I, we haven’t been getting on for years. We go our own ways these days, living totally separate lives. It was a mistake staying together really after I had a glimpse of what I could have had with you. We’ve got our own friends, our own interests. I can’t remember the last time we slept together.’
‘And that’s supposed to encourage me?’ said Fleur, incredulous at the nerve of the man. ‘I really don’t think so, Pete . . .’
Peter’s smile held, but she caught a glimpse of something all together crueller and darker in his eyes. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him that she might have the audacity to reject him.
‘Oh come off it, Fleur, what have you got to lose?’ he pressed. ‘Let’s be honest, at your age you won’t be getting a better offer.’
Fleur stared at him, speechless.
‘Right,’ the photographer said, unwittingly breaking into the conversation. ‘If we can have you over here, Fleur . . . That’s lovely. If you’d like to stand with Rose at the back and you two young ones, just stay where you are. Now we’ll just get a few of you four. Have you got any idea where Suzie and Liz have got to?’
*
Having escaped from the unwittingly painful comments of her parent’s ex-neighbour, Liz wished she had had the foresight to grab a drink on her way out of the marquee. She planned to just take a minute to compose herself; this wasn’t how she had planned the evening going at all.
The area around the entrance to the tent was circled by smokers and people taking some evening air before the dancing really got started – or maybe, it occurred to her, they were waiting for the speeches. Liz made a mental note to sort that out just as soon as she got back inside.
Maybe it was a good thing Grant hadn’t turned up. How much worse it would have been if he’d shown up, met everyone and then dumped her. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with Suzie’s little look of pity and another re-run of her, ‘Don’t worry, there is someone special out there for you, you are an amazing woman, the man is a complete arsehole,’ pep talk. ‘We know the big softie that you are behind that mask,’ Suzie would say. ‘The you with a heart as big as a house and lots of love to give. It’ll happen. You see.’
Lizzie wiped away a tear and made an effort to pull herself together. That mask had fooled so many people, the problem was that she was getting more and more afraid to step out from behind it. Truth was that she had the most terrible taste in men. Lizzie sighed; she had been hanging on hoping that eventually she would find someone who could see beyond the prickly exterior and, at least for a while, she had thought Grant might have been that man. If there was someone she thought might have the measure of her, Grant had been it.
Liz looked around wondering if Janet, the escapee bridesmaid, was outside. She had to be somewhere, for heaven’s sake, guests didn’t just vanish into thin air.
A little knot of teenagers had congregated around the garage, looking as if they wanted to be anywhere but here. Liz suspected they were something to do with Hannah. They all had the same unkempt, sullen look. It occurred to Liz as she watched them that Suzie had probably invited them so that Hannah had someone to talk to. After all, hanging out with your parents’ and grandparents’ friends couldn’t be most teenagers’ idea of a good time. The girl in the group appeared to be busy bumming cigarettes off one of the older men, not to mention flirting outrageously. Liz would have a word with Suzie about that when she went inside; it wasn’t something she wanted to encourage.
Meanwhile, over by the pergola, Sam appeared to be in conversation with people she vaguely recognised as something to do with the local village shop. As she looked across at him, Sam looked up and caught her eye. Liz smiled, remembering how he had blushed when he had been zipping up her dress, not to mention the sensation of his fingertips brushing against her skin. Maybe, she thought as he hastily looked away, catching his gaze now was an omen. She made her way over.
‘Well, hello there,’ she said, offering her hand to Mr and Mrs Whatever-Their-Names-Were, who seemed slightly overwhelmed to have her make a beeline for them. ‘How lovely to see you. Are you enjoying the party?’ she asked, shaking each hand in turn. She was using the voice and manner she imagined the Queen used – neutral but warm, interested but not gushing.
The two shop owners smiled and made polite deferential noises. Liz offered up a few more social pleasantries in the name of good manners before finally the woman said, ‘We wondered if you’d be here. I thought you might be jetting off somewhere glamorous now the show’s finished for the summer. You know, this being Norfolk – hardly St Tropez, is it?’
Liz smiled graciously. ‘No, you’re right, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world. My family is really important to me.’
The woman murmured her approval as Liz continued, ‘It’s so important to have people around you who you can trust – people who knew you before you were famous. People not taken in by all the hype. Isn’t that right, Sam?’
Sam took a long pull on his drink and didn’t say a word, but Liz could see that the woman was impressed.
‘We always watch you on the TV. Never miss,’ she was saying. ‘Although I’m sure you must get sick of people saying things like that . . .’
Liz laughed, a little light-hearted laugh she had perfected after much practice. ‘No, not at all – I’m always pleased to meet people who enjoy the show and appreciate what we do. It’s a real privilege to be able to help give talented people the chance to shine. And we’re just so lucky to have such a great team. And let’s be honest, without people watching us, we’d all be out of a job, wouldn’t we?’ she continued magnanimously.
Alongside her she could almost hear Sam groaning, particularly when the woman pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of her handbag and asked Liz for her autograph.
‘Oh course, my pleasure,’ said Liz.
The woman beamed. ‘Thank you.’
Sam rolled his eyes. Still smiling, Liz turned to him and, leaning in close, picked an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket. As she did she looked up at him from under her beautifully painted and subtly enhanced lashes. ‘There we are,’ she purred. ‘Can’t have you looking untidy now, can we?’
She knew she was in his space, right in his face, and sensed a little victory as she saw him colour just a shade or two. Outside the intimate little circle they had created, Mr and Mrs Shopkeeper smiled, looked slightly uncomfortable, and then made their excuses and left.
‘Did you have to do that?’ he said, slapping her hand away.
‘Do what?’ asked Liz, with feigned innocence.
‘You know exactly what I mean, the whole I’m just the girl next door made good act.’
‘But that’s exactly what I am,’ Liz laughed. ‘Oh come on, relax, it makes me a lot of money,’ she said. Taking the glass he was holding, she took a swig. ‘Oh my God, vodka and Coke?’ she said screwing up her nose. ‘Bit slummy for you, Sam. I’d have had you down as a single malt man.’
Retrieving his glass, Sam said, ‘I see your man’s not shown up yet then?’ in a voice Liz suspected was meant to be the opening salvo fired across her bows. Fortunately she wasn’t that easily rattled, at least not by Sam.
She had been planning to answer, but at that moment, by some twist of fate, as Liz glanced across towards the open door of the marquee she spotted Suzie standing just inside, caught in the soft early evening light. She was deep in conversation with Matt who, as they watched, fed her a sliver of wedding cake from the tray he was carrying. Matt leant in close, Suzie seemed to be listening intently and then, shaking her head, smiled at something he said. It all looked very intimate and oh-so-cosy. Liz couldn’t have planned it better if she had scripted it. She knew that Sam’s gaze had followed hers and she purred, ‘Not yet but I see your wife’s new man has’, in a voice full of mischief and malice.
Sam’s expression changed and he stared at her. ‘What?’ he gasped. ‘What do you mean?’ She enjoyed seeing her oh-so-perfect brother-in-law a little rattled. Liz feigned innocence. God, it was almost too easy.
As Sam spoke, Suzie looked up and waved, while behind her Matt slipped away, back into the shadows.
‘There you are,’ Suzie mouthed, all smiles, as she beckoned them over. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The photographer is starting to froth at the gills. Come on – he’s waiting.’
Liz did exactly as she was told, while alongside her Sam didn’t move. Liz smiled to herself as she sashayed across the lawn; she could almost hear Sam’s imagination revving into overdrive.
‘Did you find the missing bridesmaid?’ asked Suzie conversationally, as Liz stepped inside the tent.
‘No, couldn’t see hide nor hair of her,’ said Liz. ‘Talking of which, how does my hair look?’
Suzie gave it a cursory glance. ‘It looks fine to me. What was Sam doing? He doesn’t seem himself at all . . .’
Liz raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t know. What about my hair?’
Suzie took a slightly closer look. ‘Looks great. It always looks great.’
Liz sighed. ‘I don’t know why I’m asking you, as long as it’s not up on end you probably wouldn’t notice.’
Suzie laughed. ‘True. Is there something the matter, you look flushed?’
‘No, I’m fine – just chatting with Sam, that’s all.’ She paused and took a second or two to compose herself; after all, it wouldn’t do to gloat. ‘It’s just all the trouble we went to sorting out the table plans and whats-her-name wasn’t in her seat – two girls there apparently. Someone’s probably playing fast and loose with the place names. She could be anywhere.’ Liz craned her head around the room.
‘But she’s definitely somewhere?’
‘Apparently.’ Liz unfolded the guest list and handed it to Suzie. ‘There we are – name’s there on the guest list, RSVP’d and everything. I was thinking of getting the band to ask over the PA.’
‘Everyone here now?’ asked the photographer.
‘I can’t find Janet Fielding,’ said Liz, stepping up alongside Fleur. ‘The other bridesmaid.’
‘Right,’ said the photographer. ‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll do two or three with all the girls together, and then we’ll have the happy couple and the best man and hopefully by that time she will have turned up. Now if you can all just come over here alongside the flowers.’
Smiling, Liz looked back out into the garden. Sam hadn’t moved an inch and had been watching them every step of the way. She nodded in his direction, but if he noticed her he gave no sign.