‘Oh, sorry.’ Mitzi smiled at Tarnia. ‘I didn’t catch that.’
‘I said, yes, I’ll get our people to draw up a lease – but only if I can vet the proceedings first and only if your awful villagey things don’t clash with anything I may have arranged.’
Blimey! Did the Powers of Persuasion Puddings have a lasting effect? Had Tarnia’s brain been permanently addled?
Aware that she was gawping, Mitzi snapped her mouth closed. ‘Oh, right. Yes, that’ll be great. Thanks. I won’t keep you any longer. Give me a ring when you’ve spoken to your solicitor and we’ll get together to sign whatever is necessary. But – um – why the change of heart?’
Tarnia raked golden sparkly talons through her black spiky hair and looked smug. ‘No change of heart, darling. By choice I wouldn’t have the plebs within a million miles of my home. When you first came here and asked me about it – the day you gave me those rather nice cakes – I
was
dead against it. But later, when you’d persuaded me, and I had to confess to Marquis, he – clever boy – pointed out that it would go down well on our list of Good Works.’
‘Good Works?’
Tarnia looked irritable. ‘Oh, for goodness sake – you know. Charitable stuff. Being kind. Making donations. Improving things for the community. Being seen to be caring.’
‘ You?
You and Snotty Mark?
Good works?’
‘Marquis!’
Tarnia narrowed her eyes. ‘And yes, why should that seem so odd? Look, for years they’ve handed out gongs and titles to bloody footballers and bloody pop singers and bloody people who work themselves to a frazzle for stupid charities – and what happens to us? We have great parties and have single-handedly raised the tone of the
area – and what happens each time the list is announced? Sod all, that’s what!’
Mitzi concentrated hard on the pink tiles under her boots. If she laughed now it might prove fatal.
Tarnia’s voice became even more strident. ‘So – we’re upping our profile. Your rubbishy village-hall stuff will do us a power of good – as long as you keep the riff-raff away when we have important people here, understand?’
Mitzi understood. Tarnia and Snotty Mark were aiming to become the Neil and Christine Hamilton of Hazy Hassocks. Once reviled, carefully rebuilding their public image, and if not quite aiming for canonisation, then definitely hoping for an honour of some hue.
If it wasn’t so sad she’d laugh.
‘I understand perfectly. I’ve always been a great believer in the ends justifying the means. Thanks … Oh, and we’re putting on quite a few Christmassy things so we’ll need the hall practically full-time for the next couple of months. Will that be okay? Tarnia?
Tarnia?’
‘What? Yes, oh, yes – whatever …’ Tarnia was staring with ill-disguised delight at a tall black-haired man with very blue eyes who had just appeared in the doorway and who seemed rather dazzled by the golden pinkness of it all.
Mitzi raised her eyebrows. Tarnia’s toy boy? Surely not – he was far, far too good to be wasted on the Botox Queen. Not as handsome as Joel Earnshaw, of course, but gorgeous nonetheless.
Tarnia had shimmied across to the newcomer and was clenching and unclenching her gilded claws in the sleeve of his leather jacket with the same sort of kittenish rampant delight as Richard and Judy displayed.
‘All ready?’ She batted the false eyelashes up at him causing a minor hurricane. ‘No probs?’
‘None at all.’ He looked more scared than adoring. ‘Everything’s in place. So we’ll be ready to go when your guests arrive, Mrs Snepps.’
Not a lover then, unless they were playing
Lady Chatterley.
Tarnia, still fluttering, suddenly remembered that they weren’t alone.
‘Ah, Mitzi,’ she was practically dragging him across the hall. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my personal pyrotechnician. This is Guy Devlin from The Gunpowder Plot. He’s planned my firework display for tonight’s party: an hour’s extravaganza – colour co-ordinated, choreographed, music-scored – one of the biggest in the area, isn’t that right, Guy?’
Guy Devlin gave Mitzi a sympathetic smile and nodded again.
The Gunpowder Plot. Of course. Tarnia would have to employ the biggest fireworks maker and pyro-party-organiser in the south of England, wouldn’t she? Tonight’s display must have cost Tarnia and Snotty Mark thousands and thousands and thousands. And no doubt there were caterers in doing the barbecue. And waiters handing out vintage champagne. And a lot of hand-picked strangers feeling bored and being party-polite to one another.
It made the impending Hazy Hassocks village get-together – with their fireworks selection box purchased item by item over the recent weeks from Molly Coddle’s Stargazer shop in Bagley-cum-Russett, and potatoes cooked in the embers of the bonfire, and more of Clyde’s homebrew – seem suddenly cosy and friendly and very desirable.
Mitzi headed towards the door. ‘Lovely to meet you, Mr Devlin. Tarnia, I’ll be in touch about the hall – but thanks for agreeing. Let me know when the paperwork is drawn up. Oh, and enjoy your party.’
‘Yes – yes … and you.’
Oh, I will, Mitzi thought, as she snuggled inside her coat and hurried down the drive. Believe me, I will. And I can’t wait to see what other surprises tonight can spring on me.
It was probably far too soon, Doll thought, stretching out in bed in the mellow darkness.
The fluorescent flashes from outside the bungalow’s bedroom window indicated that individual Hazy Hassocks fireworks parties were well underway. And they’d have to get up shortly and join in the communal jamboree on the village green. But not just yet.
She rubbed a slender bare foot along Brett’s leg. ‘Are you asleep?’
‘No … Just shattered … Leave me alone …’
She giggled. These afternoon-delight sessions had rejuvenated their relationship. But it was more than just sex. As she’d tried to explain to Lu, it was taking time to talk, to laugh, to rediscover one another. To spend time together, sharing stuff, making an effort, falling in love all over again. It simply meant
bothering.
It had nothing at all to do with the Wishes Come True shenanigans.
She rolled across the bed and kissed Brett’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to grab a shower, then we really ought to put in an appearance on the village green.’
‘Yeah, fine,’ he smiled sleepily at her. ‘But I’ll probably fall asleep in my jacket potato. I’ve got to be up for work at four – as always.’
Sliding her white towelling dressing gown over her
naked body, Doll paused in the doorway and looked at Brett. She really loved him. She always had. She’d just taken it all for granted. They both had.
For twenty-five years they’d shared these village activities; first as children, then school friends, then as teenage sweethearts and finally as lovers. Twenty-five years. Her parents’ marriage had only lasted that long – and she and Brett hadn’t even started on that yet. They still had decades together. It reassured her to think they’d share the rest of a lifetime. They could so easily have thrown it all away.
‘We won’t stay long. Promise. I just love the village fireworks. And we’ve been going to them ever since we were kids, haven’t we?’
Brett, propping himself up on the rumpled pillows, grinned. ‘Yeah. Scary thought. An entire lifetime. And nothing much changes, does it? They still buy the fireworks from Molly Coddle, the vicar still gets overexcited and lets off too many at once, Clyde Spraggs still provides mulled wine that boils your mouth off, the jacket potatoes are always cremated. And everyone gets frozen feet and roasted faces and say they’ll never do it again.’
They laughed together.
‘You are happy, aren’t you?’ Doll asked. ‘You don’t want things to change?’
‘Sweetheart, life is perfect. I know we’ve been through a rocky patch – but that’s behind us now, isn’t it? This is – well – like we used to be, and I have no intention of letting it slip back.’ Brett reluctantly hauled himself out of bed. ‘Shall I make a drink while you’re in the shower? Tea? Coffee? Or would you prefer a glass of wine?’
Doll shook her head. ‘Nothing for me, thanks. You have one, though.’
‘Are you okay? You’ve been off-colour since—’
‘Last Friday.’ Doll laughed heading for the bathroom. ‘Like the majority of the village. My mother is obviously in danger of turning into Lucretia Borgia.’
The bathroom, like the rest of the bungalow, had undergone
a small but miraculous transformation. Not only had the heating system been revamped so that it was always cosy, but they had daringly added a few splashes of colour.
True, the mainstay of the decor throughout was still very beige, but each room had been lifted by the addition of candles and flowers and a few softening ornamental touches in vivid primary or citrus tones. In the bathroom it was acid lemon and lime fluffy towels; the bedroom now had turquoise cushions and purple lampshades; the hall had been enlivened with hot pink, and the living room zinged with crimson rugs and cushions.
While the bungalow was still clinically neat and anti-septically spotless, Doll felt the warmth and new life in their relationship was now echoed in their home. She loved it.
Turning on the shower, waiting for it to heat up, Doll examined her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale. Her eyes were dark-shadowed. And Brett was right, she really hadn’t felt 100 per cent since the Halloween party.
It was still too soon.
She stepped into the steaming shower. It
was
too soon, wasn’t it? No, damn it.
Stepping out again, making sure the door was locked, and with strangely unsteady hands, she rummaged to the back of the bathroom cabinet and pulled out the narrow blue and white box.
‘I’m not sure that I should like Guy Fawkes night!’ Lulu shouted in Shay’s ear as they stood in a huddle of Hazy Hassocks villagers on the green waiting for the bonfire to be ignited. ‘I mean, I do like it because it’s exciting and pretty and traditional and reminds me of being a kid – but I always feel so sorry for the animals. Poor things. They must be so scared. And the fireworks seem to get louder every year.’
Several rockets from the Bath Road Estate screamed their blazing trails across the sky to illustrate the point.
Shay, muffled in a scruffy, chunky knit, black sweater
and faded, torn Levis, nodded. ‘And when I’m on November the fifth duty I always wonder how many kids with sparklers rammed up their noses I’ll be rushing into A&E. But then again I wouldn’t like to join the killjoys and ban it.’
‘Me neither,’ Lu said happily, thinking that he truly was the most devastating man she’d ever set eyes on, and that, after that shaky start on Halloween, Granny Westward’s apple magic was sooo cool.
Okay, so this wasn’t a date as such, but it was a huge step forward from chatting as they passed on their neighbouring doorsteps, or when she was queuing at the bus stop, or waiting to be served in The Faery Glen.
Shay had called round an hour earlier, saying that Lav and Lob hadn’t returned from the village hall meeting and would they be okay, oh, and was Lu going to the firework party? Making sure that Richard and Judy were snug in the washing basket, the cat flap locked, the radio on to block the worst of the noise, Lu had grabbed her Afghan and been on the front path in a nanosecond.
Assuring him that Mitzi was still at the village hall too and that Lav and Lob would be fine and everyone would fetch up at the bonfire before long, they’d joined the groups of well-wrapped-up people all heading towards the green.
There was a lull in the detonations, so she smiled at him. There was a lot of ground to cover. ‘I love all this continuity stuff, don’t you? The security of having your friends and family round you. Knowing that each year the same people will be doing the same thing at the same time. Like tonight, and winter nights, and Christmas, and Easter, and summer evenings, and … well, all of it.’
‘Is that why you’ve never wanted to leave the village?’
She nodded. ‘Guess so. I won’t be living at Mum’s for ever, of course. But I’ll still look for somewhere to rent in Hazy Hassocks. Well, if I can ever afford anywhere on my wages … I could never see the point of moving out of the area when everything I wanted was here. Although I did
live in Winterbrook for a while – but that’s only five miles away, hardly the other side of the world.’
‘Mmmm. Lav and Lob told me about all that … oh, thanks …’ Shay broke off to take two Pyrex beakers from a tray carried by Flo. ‘Is it mulled wine?’
Flo grinned. ‘Ah, you could say. Sprout and turnip with a touch of juniper berry. And a few spices. Boiled.’
‘It’s traditional,’ Lu assured him, taking her beaker as Flo trotted away to inflict the wine in the next group. ‘Clyde always makes it for the bonfire. So, what about you? Are you a world-weary traveller?’
‘Very much so,’ Shay sipped the wine. ‘God Almighty!’
‘An acquired taste.’ Lulu grinned, wondering if mopping the front of his sweater would be a move too far too soon and deciding it wouldn’t. She mopped quickly with her bunched-up mittens, fighting the urge to run her fingers along his ribs and across his abs and … she swallowed and snatched her hand away. ‘And the beakers do tend to hold the heat.’
Shay laughed. He had a lovely laugh. And fabulous eyes. And the best body in the world. And Heath Ledger shaggy streaky hair. And a pale sexy mouth. And – oooooh.
Lulu’s toes curled inside her tartan DMs.
She swallowed again. ‘So, go on, you were telling me about your round-the-world travels.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll ever speak again.’ He looked down at his beaker. ‘Maybe I’ll leave this to cool – if it ever does … And thanks for the rubdown … Right, yeah, I was an army brat. Always on the move. Dad had umpteen different postings; I went to umpteen different schools; we never put down roots; I never had any lasting friendships. I’d lived in seven countries by the time I left school. Then when he came out of the army, he and Mum went back to his home town in the Ring of Kerry – but Mum hated it. Couldn’t settle. They divorced. He’s still there. She’s in London. They’re both happy with new partners.’