Best Supporting Role (32 page)

“Do your time,” I said. “And then start over, but when you do, remember to keep your wits about you.”

“That is good advice,” Aunty Bimla said. “You be sure to take it.”

“I will,” Sanjeev said, but I doubted he meant it. He might be down on his luck now, but I couldn’t help thinking that once a player, always a player.

“Right now let’s all go and find some toffee apples,” Aunty Sylvia said. “I haven’t had one in years.”

They invited me to go with them, but I said that I had to wait for the Milkshakers. They arrived a quarter of an hour later, all quiffs and drainpipes, and started setting up on the small stage—the stage from which, any minute now, I was due to make my announcement.

Hugh had returned from the car park—apparently he’d found his wallet—and was starting to pace. “What on earth is it?” I said. “I’m the one who’s meant to be nervous.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit jittery on your behalf.”

“Please don’t be. You’re actually making me feel worse.”

By now the field was packed with mums, dads and kids; the organ-grinder music was playing; the smell of barbecue filled the air.

“I do hope he hasn’t got stuck in traffic,” Imogen said, cropping up again. “Do you think you ought to try his cell?”

Sod it, I thought. I might as well just get this over with. Without offering Imogen a reply, I climbed onto the stage, where the Milkshakers were still sorting out cables and speakers, and picked up the microphone. I gave it a couple of echoey taps. “Good afternoon, everybody. If I could have your attention. I just want to welcome you
all to our annual summer fair. For once the weather has been kind, so let’s hope that this will be a bumper fund-raising event. Now, I did promise that we would have Greg Myers here to open the fair, but I’m afraid . . .”

The sudden tap on my shoulder made me swing round. “May I?” the voice said. I watched silently, blinking as Greg Myers took the microphone from my hand.

“Hello, mums and dads, boys and girls,” he hollered into the mic. “So, are you all having a good time?”

“Yess!”

“Are we going to raise loads of money this afternoon?”

“Yess!”

“Are we all going to buy lots of raffle tickets?”

“Yesss!”

“OK . . . in that case I would like to declare this summer fair well and truly open. I’ll be here for a while—I’m starting off on the wet sponge stall, so if any of you would like to come and throw a sponge at me, feel free.”

Applause, whistles, whoop-whoops. The Milkshakers got going with “Be-Bop-a-Lula.” I could see Dan and Ella boogying with Tom and Grace.

Greg Myers extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Greg. You must be Sarah.”

“Yes. I mean . . . hello . . . and thank you so much for coming, but can somebody please explain what’s going on? You’re not meant to be here. Not that I’m not glad you are here—it’s just that I’m really confused.”

Hugh was looking down at the ground, smiling.

“You’re responsible for this, aren’t you?”

He held up his palms. “Guilty.”

“So that explains all the weird behavior. It also explains why you were so anxious for me not to make my big confession until today. But why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

“That was down to me,” Greg said. “I asked Hugh not to say anything because I was filming this morning and right up till the last minute I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

I turned to Hugh. “But I remember asking you if you knew Greg and you told me you didn’t. You said you didn’t know any famous actors.”

“I don’t. But it just so happens that Greg went to drama school with an old mate of mine. So I gave him a call.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just so grateful to both of you. You’ve saved my reputation and stopped me from having to flee to Mexico. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I gave Greg a hug and a big kiss.

“Oh, and I’m sorry I was so rude to you that night. You don’t look anywhere near old enough to be the mother of teenage daughters.”

“Hugh told you about that? Honestly, I barely gave it a second thought.”

“Don’t I get a kiss?” Hugh said.

“Maybe later. I’m still pissed off with you for not telling me you’d arranged all this.”

“Mr. Myers! Welcome!”

It was Imogen. A dozen thrilled and excited mothers hovered in the background. Tara and Charlotte stood to one side of the group, looking neither pleased nor excited. I smiled and waved at them. They looked down their perfect noses and walked off.

Greg Myers extended his hand and insisted that Imogen call him Greg.

She introduced herself. In his presence, Imogen was blushing and stuttering like a smitten schoolgirl.

Greg and Hugh disappeared with Imogen and the hovering mothers to the wet sponge stall. Hugh and I arranged to meet later in the hall where the children were due to perform their show tunes.

I wanted to find Tara and Charlotte to gloat some more, but they seemed to have disappeared. I spent ten minutes or so wandering around. Finally I caught sight of Tara. She and her husband were at the refreshment stall. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but judging by all the gesticulating, they were having one hell of a fight. Charlotte was hovering in the background with her kids and Tara’s.

“Hell hath no fury like a man cuckolded.” Imogen was standing beside me. She’d clearly tired of the wet sponge stall, although I suspected not of Greg Myers. She was holding two glasses of Pimm’s. She handed me one. “Between you and me, I think somebody might be wishing she’d signed a prenup.” Imogen started to cackle. “Bottoms up,” she said.

•   •   •

T
he school hall had been cleared of donkey dung, although it had to be said, and indeed a number of people were saying it, that a certain aroma still lingered. It didn’t help that the children were accusing the old people who, along with their wheelchairs, walking frames and nurses, had packed out the hall.

The performance kicked off with “My Favorite Things,” followed by “Singin’ in the Rain” and “Sunrise, Sunset.” The old folks clapped and sang along and passed around boiled sweets and Tums. Finally it was Ella’s turn to perform her solo. Grinning all over her face, she marched to the front. The piano struck up.

Ella took a deep breath. “The sun’ll come out tomorrow. . . .” She was bellowing more than singing, but it was still the most beautiful sound in the world. Tears poured down my face.

“She wanted to sing that for me?”

“Especially for you,” Hugh said. “She chose it and her teacher said yes.”

The rest of the kids joined in the final chorus. Dan, who was singing with particular gusto—even though he would probably have given anything to be outside playing football—spotted me and gave me a tiny wave as if to say, “This is from me, too.”

“If I think back to how they were after their dad died. Now look at them—two happy, confident kids. They made it through.”

“They wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t had such a great mum. If I were you, I’d be really proud of them.”

“I am. You have no idea.”

“So when are we going to tell them our news?”

We agreed to postpone the romantic dinner we’d planned for the night and take the kids to Puccini’s instead. We would tell them over pizza. Afterwards we’d all pop round to my parents’ to give them the news. Then I would call Rosie and the aunties. I couldn’t wait to see how the aunties changed their tune about Hugh once I told them that he was about to become a Hollywood actor. Hugh made the point that, bearing in mind Roxanne’s Hollywood experiences, they might not
be that easy to convince, but I said I’d work on them. “Deep down, they adore you. They’ll come around. Just you see.”

“I hope so. . . . Oh, and tomorrow I should call my parents. Or better still we should go and see them, so that I can introduce you.”

“God, how’s your mother going to feel about you marrying a cabdriver’s daughter with two kids?”

“Are you kidding? Valentina just told you she got a call from Buckingham Palace. You are about to become purveyors of lingerie to the Queen. My mother is going to adore you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m certain.”

•   •   •

A
few hours later, as we finished our Napoletanas and Pepperonis, Hugh turned to Dan and Ella and said there was something important he needed to ask them.

“What?” Dan pincered a black olive off a slice of pizza and dropped it onto his sister’s plate.

For once she didn’t notice, so for the moment ructions had been averted.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve both realized by now,” Hugh said, “that I’m very much in love with your mum, and I’m delighted to say that she loves me, too. So I was wondering if you would consider giving me your permission to marry her.”

Even if it was a tad Baron Von Trapp, I thought it was a lovely gesture to involve Dan and Ella and make them feel they had an important part to play in our decision.

“Really?” Dan said. “You’re going to get married?”

“Only if you agree,” I told him.

“That is so cool. I hated being the only kid in the class without an alive dad. Permission granted.”

“Me, too,” Ella joined in. “And I want to be a bridesmaid with a pink fairy dress, with wings and sparkly shoes and a crown and glitter all over. . . .”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Hugh said, grinning.

“So, do we get hugs?” I said, arms open.

The kids leaped off their chairs and launched themselves at us.

“I’m not going to call Hugh ‘Daddy’ yet,” Ella announced, climbing onto my lap. “Maybe first I’ll practice on my own, just to see what it feels like.”

“You do anything you like,” Hugh said. “It’s fine with me.”

“And Mummy has to have a white dress, with all diamonds and sequins and a train and shoes and flowers and a Cinderella coach, and Hugh and Dan have to wear suits, with a flower. . . .”

Hugh winked at Dan. “Football on Saturday?”

“You bet.”

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