Hidden Cottage (15 page)
That’s how Mum and JC used to be, until one morning Mum had said, ‘Madison, I’ve got something important to tell you and I hope you’ll be OK with it. The thing is, JC and I are more than just friends.’ Well,
durr
, like that wasn’t obvious!
Mrs Channing, JC’s mother, had been waiting for them at the house and she wasn’t at all what Madison had expected. She had pictured her like Grandma Barb, sort of rounded and cuddly with a big loud laugh and always rushing about trying to do a hundred things at the same time. But Mia – that was what she said Madison must call her – was tall and beautiful with long dark hair and eyes that were the colour of bluebells. She spoke with a soft, gentle voice and all evening Madison couldn’t stop staring at her. She was embarrassed to remember that at one point in the evening she had wanted to put her hand out and touch Mia, and the silly thing was, she didn’t have a clue why.
JC’s other sister, Eliza, didn’t arrive until quite late, when they had almost finished eating, and she didn’t seem very happy. Apparently her boyfriend was supposed to come as well but he couldn’t make it. Eliza was the only one of the two sisters who looked a bit like JC, and that was really only because she had the same golden-brown hair as he did. Daisy’s hair was dark like Mia’s, but nowhere near as long – she had it cut short, just below her ears.
Thinking how nice everyone had been last night, she thought how great it would be if JC married Mum, because if that happened, his sisters would be aunts to her, and Mia would be her English grandmother. And lying here in this big comfortable bed, in this pretty bedroom with its little fireplace and pale peach curtains and white dressing table and stool, and with its own bathroom, she couldn’t think of anything she’d like more.
She thought of the conversation she’d had with JC when he’d been helping with her spellings and when she’d asked him if he loved Mum. She hadn’t asked Mum if she loved JC back because she was worried to ask the question in case Mum said she didn’t. That would be awful.
From outside she heard the strangest of noises. She sat up, reached for her glasses on the bedside table, pushed the duvet back and went over to the window and parted the curtains. Down on the road, directly in front of the house, she saw the peacock Mum had told her about. She watched him hop up onto the pavement and then after pecking at nothing in particular, he stretched his neck and let out a long and very loud noise that sounded nothing like any bird she knew. How strange that a bird could look so good but sound so horrible.
She got back into bed, taking from the bedside drawer her diary and pencil case. Using her Saturday pen – the sparkly gold one – she began writing.
Awake early and sitting up in bed, Eliza was working on her laptop.
She had a presentation to give on Tuesday and had yet to finish preparing for it. If Greg had been here with her, she would probably have left it until Monday, but he wasn’t and so she might just as well make good use of the time available. Besides, working stopped her dwelling on her disappointment that Greg’s busy schedule had once again ruined their weekend plans.
Eliza knew she shouldn’t let it get to her, but she’d been so looking forward to seeing Greg; now it looked like she wouldn’t see him for at least another fortnight. It was one miserable disappointment after another. Before she’d met Greg, her work would have been all the distraction she needed when she was feeling down, but these days it simply wasn’t enough. Seeing her brother with Tattie and Madison, and realizing she had never seen him happier, made it worse for her; it made her miss Greg even more.
With Putin making his usual early-morning racket outside, she returned her attention to her laptop and her presentation, determined that there would be no Death by PowerPoint on her watch. She had done it enough times to know how to avoid producing a generic and hellishly boring presentation and was frequently complimented on the ones she gave, especially for the complete lack of techno fluff employed. Less is more, was her motto. Too many people made the mistake of believing that the latest piece of techno-wizardry with all its dynamic bells and whistles was the answer to getting a point across. Seldom was this true. Over-animating was one of her pet hates, along with an overload of drop-downs and sound effects, which might seem impressive but which ultimately did nothing but divert attention.
An hour later she could hear voices, showers being run and doors opening and closing. She checked the time: eight thirty, time to get up.
She was about to shut her laptop when her email box pinged. She clicked it open, hoping it would be a message from Greg. She did a lot of that. It was the same with her mobile – whenever it rang with a call or a text, she always experienced a thrill of expectation that it would be Greg.
The email wasn’t from Greg – why would it be when it was three thirty in the morning where he was in New York?
Instead it was from Simon, one of her colleagues in the office. She and Simon had joined Merchant Swift as graduates at the same time and they had always worked well together. They had been informed this week that they’d been assigned a new project, to head up a team to build an internal computer system for a private healthcare company. Its headquarters was in Milton Keynes, and since that was where she and Simon would have to spend most of their time during the course of the job, Eliza was tempted to ask Mum if she could stay here at Medlar House. The prospect of weekly stays in hotels had long since lost its allure for her and the thought of some home comforts was quite appealing.
She read Simon’s email.
Morning, Charlie Chan
, he’d written, using one of his nicknames for her,
thought you might like this
. He’d sent her a link to a YouTube clip showing a piglet wearing a purple wig and a bikini miming to Lady Gaga singing ‘Born This Way’.
Rarely did a day go by without Simon sending her a humorous link; heaven only knew how much time he spent trawling the internet for them. She watched the video and sent a quick message back and then went for a shower.
When she returned, there was another message from Simon.
Hope your bank holiday weekend’s got off to a good start AND YOU’RE NOT WORKING!
Of course I’m not working
, she replied.
Quick as a flash, his response pinged.
Channing, you are the worst LIAR in the world! Why else would you be looking at your laptop? Switch it off and go outside and play!
How well he knew her.
She dried her hair, got dressed, drew back the curtains and looked down onto the sunlit garden and in particular at The Gingerbread House, where the curtains were still drawn.
At two o’clock, after the time-honoured crackle and whistle of tannoy static, the Reverend Jane Beaumont declared Little Pelham’s village fete open. Shortly afterwards, the brass band started up with a jaunty rendition of ‘Is This the Way to Amarillo?’ and as people started milling around, Daisy leant in to Tattie and said, ‘We should have got you to open the fete as Marilyn. You’d have brought some classy razzle-dazzle to the occasion.’
Tattie smiled and plucked a daisy from the grass where they were sitting on the green and added it to the daisy chain she was making. ‘I think there’s plenty of razzle-dazzle here already. It’s all so perfectly quaint and English. Everyone looks so happy and relaxed.’
‘It’s relief,’ Jensen said, ‘relief that the event hasn’t been rained off, or we’re not forced to stand around in a force nine gale.’
Tattie gave him a playful flick with her hand. ‘You’re such a cynic, JC.’
‘Not so. I’m a realist.’
‘So, Tattie,’ Scott said, ‘what’s the strangest opening you’ve ever had to do?’
She selected another daisy and considered the question. ‘Well, there was a new car showroom in Knightsbridge which I was invited to open and that was certainly strange because a wealthy Saudi thought I was for sale as well as the cars. He was adamant that I had to be a part of the deal he wanted to strike. “No Marilyn, no car,” he kept saying.’
‘What an arrogant perv,’ Jensen said with disgust. ‘I’d have kicked his arse all the way into next week if I’d been there.’
Tattie put her arm through Jensen’s and rested her head against his neck. ‘I love it when you talk all tough,’ she said in a girly voice, with a flutter of her eyelashes that was pure Marilyn.
Laughing, and unconsciously mirroring the other girl’s body language, Daisy slipped her own arm through Scott’s. Realizing her mistake, she went to correct it, but Scott clamped her arm with his and she knew that to remove it would only attract more attention. And anyway, she thought, it’s going to come out this weekend, so why not go with the flow? But aware that her brother, who missed nothing, was staring at her with a telling expression in his eyes, she said, ‘Madison seems to be having a good time, doesn’t she?’
They all looked over to where Tattie’s daughter was helping Mia and the vicar’s husband on the bookstall.
‘She certainly is,’ Tattie said, ‘and your mum’s a total star with her.’ She smiled warmly at Daisy and offered her the daisy chain necklace she’d been making. ‘For you. You can’t be called Daisy and not wear your namesake.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Slipping it over her head and looping it around her neck, Daisy looked at Scott. ‘How do I look?’
He smiled. ‘Like a proper daisy princess.’
She returned his smile. God, how she loved him! And how she couldn’t wait to escape to Sydney where she could start a new life with him. Away from her father. Away from his interference and disapproval. Because he would disapprove of Scott. She knew it. No man would ever be good enough for her. Certainly not one who was ten years older.
‘Come on,’ Jensen said, springing to his feet, ‘let’s rock on over to the coconut stall and say hello to Muriel. Mum says she’s itching to meet you.’
Tattie looked up at him. ‘Why, to see if I’m good enough for you?’
‘Nah, to see if you’ve got a screw loose.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you consort with the likes of me.’
‘Daisy,’ Tattie said with a frown as she got to her feet, ‘why does your brother have such a perpetually poor opinion of himself?’
‘He’s not alone,’ Daisy said, ‘we all have a poor opinion of ourselves; it’s a Channing trait.’
‘Yeah, all except for Dad,’ Jensen muttered.
They made their way across the crowded green, dodging the children running around in their fancy dress costumes, passing the plant stall where Eliza had been roped in to help Georgina, and on towards the coconut shy, which Muriel was in charge of running.
‘Aha!’ she exclaimed when they approached. ‘And who do we have here, none other than a brace of handsome young ’uns. My, don’t you all look fit and well! Come on, then, Jensen, introduce me to your lovely girlfriend.’
‘Tattie,’ Jensen said, ‘say hello to Little Pelham’s Mafia boss, Muriel Fulshaw, and be careful what you say or you’ll find a horse’s head on your pillow in the morning.’
Muriel tutted and held out her hand. ‘Ignore him. Ask anyone round here; I’m an absolute sweetheart. Good to meet you, my dear. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Mia.’ She then turned her attention to Scott and looked enquiringly at him.
Quick to pre-empt matters, Daisy said, ‘This is Scott, my flatmate.’ Well, she could hardly introduce him to Muriel as her boyfriend before explaining the situation to Mum, could she? But the sooner she did, the better – it was all getting so awkward. Poor Scott, she had promised him last night that she was going to talk to Mum this morning after breakfast, but annoyingly she hadn’t been able to get her alone.
The handshaking over with, Muriel said, ‘Now, Daisy, what’s this I hear about you hightailing it off to Australia?’
‘Goodness, word spreads fast.’
Muriel laughed. ‘We have an excellent news network here; everything gets reported.’
‘What can I say?’ Daisy replied with a shrug. ‘It’s all true what you’ve heard.’ And quickly changing the subject, she said, ‘We’ve come to win a coconut.’
‘I should jolly well hope so. It’s three balls for a pound. Who’s going first? How about you, Tattie?’
‘Go on then, I’ll give it a go. Is there any particular technique I have to use?’
‘Any technique you like,’ Jensen said, handing over some money, ‘but knowing Muriel, she’s probably superglued the coconuts on to the posts and only a wrecking ball will knock them off.’
‘Jensen Channing, that’s a terrible slur on my good name. I shall have words with you later.’
Tattie took aim, and surprising them all, expertly threw the wooden ball as if she was pitching a baseball, even drawing her knee up to her chest. To everyone’s amazement, she knocked one of the coconuts to the ground with a resounding crack. They cheered loudly and she high-fived them all. When she scored another direct hit and a second coconut fell, their raucous cheering attracted passers-by to stop and watch her take aim with the third ball. Unbelievably a third coconut was sent flying and the crowd that had gathered cheered enthusiastically and gave her a round of applause.
‘In all my years of doing this, I swear that’s a first,’ Muriel said, gathering up the fallen coconuts. ‘What do you do, play for the New York Yankees in your spare time?’
Laughing, Tattie said, ‘Put it down to a misspent youth. But I feel bad taking three – just give me the one coconut.’
‘Very sporting of you,’ Muriel said approvingly. ‘Who’s next, then? One of you boys going to rise to the challenge?’
Scott and Jensen looked at each other. Scott said, ‘Our reps are on the line here, mate.’
‘I’ll give it a shot,’ Jensen said. ‘I’ve no shame in losing to a world-class champ.’ He handed over some more money to Muriel, lined himself up, aimed, and missed.
And missed again.
And again.
The crowd, which had grown, clapped and cheered in sympathy. Jensen took a bow. ‘Over to you, Scott,’ he said.
‘Go on,’ Daisy urged him. ‘You can do it.’
His first shot went wild. As did his second, but his third had the coconut wobbling and the crowd audibly held its breath, but it remained stubbornly in place and he too received a round of applause for his effort.
