Nothing to Lose (36 page)

There was a roar, and a massed stamping of feet and clapping of hands.

‘It is also my pleasure,’ Peg yelled, ‘to invite Jasmine Clegg, who has spent all of her life in the village, and has been a stalwart of this track since she was old enough to walk, and who is the granddaughter of the late and terribly much missed Benny, to open this greyhound stadium which bears her grandpa’s name.’

Jasmine had turned pale.

‘Didn’t you know?’ Seb asked her.

She shook her head. Andrew, Sebastian noticed, was shoving her forward. Shaking him off, Jasmine hurried towards the track and ducked under the rails.

‘Poor thing,’ Clara said. ‘She hates anything like this. She was the same at school. Never put her hand up in class because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.’

‘I’m not surprised she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself here,’ Andrew muttered. ‘After all, it’s only a two-bit dog track when all’s said and done.’

Sebastian stared at him. ‘Aren’t you proud of her, then? Of what she’s done? Of taking on this refurbishment and setting up regular meetings? And even more, becoming a bookie – and a trackside bookie at that? Not a cosy office-bound number. She’s taken on a job that most men would flinch at.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Andrew nodded, ‘I’ll give you that. But it’s nothing to be proud of, as such, is it? As a career, I mean. Mind you, she’s made a mint of money – and that does impress me.’

Seb, really wanting to leap on Andrew and pummel him into the newly laid turf, was prevented from doing so by Jasmine’s wavering voice echoing through the darkness.

‘I just want to say thank you to all of you for coming to the party tonight. And to say thank you for your support in the past – and I hope that you’ll all enjoy the bonfire and the fireworks – oh, and the greyhound racing at this stadium in the future. Er – especially the Saturday night Six-Packs.’

‘You’d think she’d have worn something a bit smarter,’ Andrew grumbled. ‘Being up there in front of all these people. She looks like a bag lady.’

Sebastian clenched his fists and his teeth.

Clara showed no such restraint. ‘Butt out, Andrew, you prat! Jas looks lovely – and she didn’t know Peg was going to throw this at her, did she? And even if she had, she wouldn’t have tarted up for it because Jas doesn’t do smart. Now shut up – she’s going to say something else. Listen!’

Jasmine, looking petrified under the lights, held the microphone closer. ‘Oh, and – um – I just want to say that my grandpa Benny Clegg was the most wonderful man in the world ever – and that this new stadium is the best memorial he could ever have. I just wish he was here to share it . . . Um – and thank you . . .’

To a tumult of clapping, Jasmine handed the microphone back to Peg and stepped away from the bright lights. Clara and Sebastian applauded like mad; Andrew less so. The roars, as Jasmine picked her way back from the centre of the track, would have done justice to a homecoming trophy-winning football team.

‘Bless!’ Clara gathered Jasmine into her arms. ‘That was wonderful. Don’t cry – you’ll ruin your mascara.’

‘You were great,’ Seb smiled at her, suddenly wanting to cuddle her too. He wondered why Andrew didn’t. ‘You handled that really well.’

‘I should have said more,’ Jasmine sighed. ‘And I’m desperate for a pint.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Andrew seemed pleased to escape. ‘Anyone else?’

Clara and Sebastian shook their heads. Jasmine’s teeth were still chattering. A biting wind was swirling up from the sea. Sebastian really hoped it wouldn’t rain before the fireworks.

Peg and her torchbearers, probably Allan and Roger, were setting light to the lower tiers of the bonfire now, with much whooping from the crowd. Huge tongues of orange and blue flames rushed into the dark sky.

‘She’s put petrol on it,’ Jasmine sighed. ‘I knew she would. She’ll probably incinerate the whole damn stadium before we even open.’

‘Who’s doing the fireworks?’ Clara asked. ‘Gilbert – or have they asked Eddie Deebley again?’

‘Not after he burned down the bus shelter on Millennium Eve with that display rocket, no.’ Jasmine shook her head. ‘Bunny’s doing it.’

‘Christ, I hope they’ve got paramedics on standby.’

Andrew still hadn’t returned with Jasmine’s drink. Seb wondered whether he should offer to go as backup and decided against it. The bonfire’s flames were stretching into infinity now, and even at this distance, he could feel the welcome warmth on his face. Suddenly, with a mighty roar, a cascade of colour screamed into the sky, and Armageddon came to Ampney Crucis. Explosions of light, blinding neon fountains, waxing and waning cushions of fire, all accompanied by a crescendo of staccato thunder bursts, rocked the Benny Clegg Stadium to its newly laid foundations.

‘Oh dear,’ Jasmine said. ‘Bunny’s let them all off at once . . .’

It was nearly midnight when the party finally started to break up. The brief, but impressive, fireworks display had given way to dancing round the bonfire, and the sort of singalong that Sebastian had fondly imagined had been dead and buried with the demise of
The Black and White Minstrel Show.

Brittany hadn’t made a reappearance; neither had Ewan. Clara, looking singularly unconcerned, had hugged Jasmine, kissed Sebastian a lot, then left to look for him. The fact that Andrew and the promised pint of Old Ampney hadn’t materialised either seemed to have been forgotten. Seb had made several journeys to the bar for himself and Jasmine, and was now feeling merrily light-headed.

‘You’re not driving, are you?’ Jasmine attempted to focus on his face.

No. Brittany is. I guess I’ll just have to hang around and wait for her. I – um – think she might be with Ewan.’

‘So do I.’ Jasmine squinted up at him. ‘Bugger, isn’t it? Oh, damn – and it’s starting to rain.’

The wind was pushing across the open expanse now with vicious little gusts, each new onslaught bringing with it a sheet of icy rain. Jasmine shuddered inside her Guernsey. We’ll get soaked if we hang around here. Why don’t you leave a note for Brittany on her car and come back to the beach hut and wait for her?’

Seb grinned. ‘Is that a proposition?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Great.’

They staggered back along the cliff path in the darkness, Jasmine linking her arm through his and pointing out the potential pitfalls. The sea boiled and crashed invisibly beneath them and the rain, now horizontal on the wind, slashed at their faces. Slithering down the steps, Sebastian had never felt so happy.

The beach hut offered welcome shelter. Stumbling slightly among the overcrowded furniture, Jasmine lit the lamps and switched on a prehistoric electric heater. Her hair was plastered to her head and little rivulets of rain ran down her face.

‘You look dreadful.’ She wrinkled her nose at Sebastian. ‘Designer jeans, designer sweater, all ruined. You might have to take them off. . .’

‘That’s a bit forward of you.’

‘Is it? OK.’ She clanked two bottles of Old Ampney from the fridge and expertly flipped off the tops. ‘I just thought you could dry them in front of the heater before Brittany comes to claim you. And you don’t have to sit there in your boxers and socks, you know. I do have vast supplies of big boyish clothes.’

‘Boxers and socks sound fine to me.’

‘Men are so naff!’ Halting in the process of handing him his bottle of beer, Jasmine managed to glare. ‘No socks, OK?’

Sebastian laughed, attempted to unlace his trainers, and immediately fell over on to the sofa. Reaching out to Jasmine, he pulled her down beside him. She curled against him, her wet hair resting on his cheek. He couldn’t see her face.

‘We can’t sleep together, can we? Because of Brittany and Andrew?’

‘No,’ her voice was muffled. ‘I suppose we can’t. It’s a bit of a sod having principles. But there are no rules about cuddling, are there?’

‘None at all.’

Sebastian hugged her, listening to the wind screaming and punching against the beach hut, thrusting in straight from the English Channel. He closed his eyes. The rain thrummed a torrential tattoo on the roof and Jasmine was in his arms. It was what he’d always wanted without realising it. This was his dream. He just wanted to stay like this for ever.

‘Haven’t you got anything other than the Moody Blues?’ Brittany, sitting alongside Ewan as the car headed for Bixford, drifted her long fingers through his CD collection. ‘I’m not really into this born-again hippie stuff. God – you haven’t. You must be their number-one fan . . . You really should update your musical tastes.’

Ewan sighed. Spending time with Brittany was becoming rather a chore. She reminded him of a much-less-brittle and marginally-more-driven Katrina, and as – thanks to an excellent solicitor and a lot of Peg’s money – his wife was soon to be his ex-wife, he really would never want to repeat that particular marital experience. Not, of course, that he and Brittany Frobisher were going to be plighting their troths, but honestly, the woman was an ace nagger. He’d told her so, many times before, and did so again.

‘Sorry,’ she frowned. ‘I’m just used to being in charge.’

‘With Sebastian?’

Brittany grinned. ‘Definitely not with Sebastian. He’s very much his own man. Anyway, I don’t think he cares enough about me to allow himself to become hen-pecked.’

‘And does that worry you?’

‘No.’ She leaned back in her seat as the urban sprawl of East London rushed to meet them. ‘Well, not in a heartbroken, weeping-copious-tears-into-my-pillow sort of way. It bugs me a bit because I’m used to calling the shots with the brewery business, and having people dancing attendance on me all the time, so I expected to be able to do the same with him – but there, that’s me being a spoiled brat. Seb’s a bit of a spoiled brat too, so we’d never have made a real go of it. Shame. He’s miraculous between the sheets.’

Ewan, who really didn’t think he could take yet another blow-by-blow account of Sebastian Gillespie’s sexual prowess, turned the car towards the city. He immediately felt the claustrophobia enveloping him as Bixford approached. He was so much part of Ampney Crucis now, that not being able to see the horizon, and to find the sky low and grey rather than iridescent and never-ending, always came as something of a shock. There were Christmas decorations everywhere, and although it was only the end of November, the festoons across Bixford High Street were already faded and tatty, like a bedraggled carnival queen on a wet Bank Holiday Monday.

Ewan looked across the car. ‘And have you told Sebastian what you’re really doing with me?’

‘Nope. I’ve managed to evade the issue. Have you told Clara?’

Fat chance. I need to get this right out of my system before I tell her. Then it’ll be over. In the past. Nothing she needs to worry about.’

A final fling, so to speak?’ Brittany shrugged. ‘A bit risky, if you ask me.’

It was a lot less risky for his continuing masculinity, though, Ewan reckoned, knowing Clara, than his original planned seduction of Brittany Frobisher. Brittany had surprised him with her enthusiasm for becoming involved, although at first the whole thing had been full of misunderstandings. Thanks to Peg’s insistence that Ewan should seduce the Platinum Trophy out of Brittany, and Brittany’s quicksilver brain realising exactly what he was supposed to be doing, their first meeting had been highly embarrassing. Still, they understood each other very well now, and if Brittany’s commitment was born more from boredom than desire, it really didn’t matter.

‘Just along here . . .’ Brittany said suddenly. ‘Past these shops. There’s some waste ground just by the entrance to the park. No one will see us. Not, of course, that this is my neck of the woods – I wouldn’t want you to think that. It’s just that, well, since I’ve been seeing Seb, I’ve got to know the area well, and when you said Bixford I knew immediately where it was.’

Pulling the car onto the sort of rubble-strewn terrain much loved in gung-ho blood-and-thunder films, Ewan switched off the engine. It was all very depressing. A thin, icy sleet spat spitefully against the windscreen. All they had to do now was wait.

‘I’ve never done undercover work before,’ Brittany said happily. ‘It’s a pleasant change from lunches and parties and first nights and fashion shows.’

This was the first time that Ewan had taken Brittany on this sort of excursion. It was the last time he’d be doing it too. He’d made that very clear. Oh, he’d be more than happy to be on the periphery in the future, but he had no intention of ever sailing this close to the wind again. Still, Brittany had proved to be reliable at giving him the area information he needed, and surprisingly discreet, and they’d become good friends.

At first, when he’d thought he may have to seduce her to get Ampney Crucis into the running for the Frobisher Platinum Trophy, he’d been plagued by doubts. He certainly didn’t want to risk losing Clara – and he was sure that Jasmine knew that he saw far more of Brittany than he ever let on. He was just glad that they’d now reached the end of their assignations without anyone getting hurt.

For Peg’s sake, Ewan still tried to find out as much from Brittany about the chosen host for the Frobisher Platinum Trophy. Brittany was irritatingly adamant that the selection still hadn’t been finalised – and was subject to a complete embargo until the New Year’s Eve dinner. She had, however, been very impressed with the Benny Clegg Stadium at the opening party, although a lot less impressed with eventually discovering her Sebby curled up on the beach hut’s sofa with Jasmine, both sound asleep and clinging to each other like the babes in the wood.

They’d apparently not even drunk their beer. Ewan thought this sounded serious – especially knowing Jasmine’s capacity for Old Ampney – and had suggested that Brittany could have walked in on a marathon lovemaking session. But Brittany had said no, she somehow doubted it, as they were both fully clothed, and rain-splattered, and more than a little hung over when she eventually managed to wake them.

On second thoughts, he’d decided, aware of Jasmine’s old-fashioned moral values, and her tendency to hang on to bloody Andrew even though anyone with half an eye could see that they were completely wrong for each other, Brittany was probably right.