Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) (28 page)

The punters flooded to the bar counter they’d set up earlier in the day and the evening began. Mary-Lee checked she had a bit of cleavage showing and then served her first pint of the evening.

The scout band played rousing tunes, Barry Jones prepared the torches for lighting the fire, Pat Jones settled Grandad in a chair with a rug over his knees, and everyone, excepting those too infirm to make it, braced themselves for the lighting of the enormous pile of furniture that included the old wardrobe and bedside table that had belonged in the B&B, the old floorboards that had been lingering in Dottie’s garden ever since her house had been renovated all those years ago, the tree branches that had come down in the storm last January, and even two big dangerously rotten branches that had been sawn off the oak tree on the village green.

Johnny had provided a loudspeaker system, and he stood with the microphone in his hand, and having tapped it to reassure himself it was working properly, he began his opening speech.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Welcome on this, the first Bonfire Night with which I have been involved. Tonight is the night for enjoying yourselves, grown-ups, children and even our own baby Ralph. Chris, my brother, and I are about to light the bonfire that has been so wonderfully built by Barry Jones; let’s have a cheer for Barry and all his hard work. Hip hip hurrah! Wonderful. There will be baked potatoes for everyone, delivered to you by the scouts as a thank you for all the support the village provides the scout troop throughout the year. There’s a refreshment tent, a beer tent, or there is wine or soft drinks if that’s your preference. And when the bonfire is beginning to burn down there will be fireworks. This year Jimbo has had to decline organising those due to the pressure of business, but we couldn’t have a bonfire without fireworks and so a professional company is doing the display, and I know you will love it just as much as I shall. Which I will, because I love fireworks. Enjoy, everyone! Enjoy!’

There was a breath-taking moment when everyone feared that perhaps the fire would not take hold. But Johnny and Chris persisted, and gradually the fire began to burn assisted, unknown to everyone except Barry, by petrol he’d sprayed on the lower layers of wood earlier that morning, and within minutes the flames were beginning to flare right up to the topmost point of the pile. It made a glorious sight, and everyone clapped. Barry, whose heart felt to have stopped altogether while he waited for that moment, sighed with relief. The petrol and the dozens of firelighters he’d placed near the bottom had done the trick, and he stood back thrilled at the success of his efforts. The heat was so fierce that the people standing nearest the fire had to retreat.

Chris, having done his job with credit and with a kind of rising appreciation of what all this meant to these well-intentioned people, decided it wasn’t for him. Certainly not. So the main feature of the evening accomplished, now he went in search of Fran. He’d searched every inch of the field around the bonfire, and eventually he found her in the queue in the food tent. When he appeared right there in front of her without any prior warning she wanted to make a run for it. A run to escape this man who’d come close to ruining her life. She looked up at him, and he took hold of her elbow as though intending to guide her away from the queue, but she stubbornly refused to move.

He looked down at her, and a slow smile began at the corner of his lips, the lips she’d loved and adored but did no longer, or so she thought. Her hands began trembling first, then it spread to her body and then she was trembling all over. Chris reached out a hand to steady her, but she wouldn’t allow it. ‘No, please leave me alone. I’m needing a hot drink and something to eat.’

‘So am I. I’ll pay for it.’

‘You think money solves every problem, don’t you?’

‘Usually it does.’

‘Not this time, it doesn’t. Just leave me alone. Please. It’s not much to ask.’

When he didn’t leave, she turned to go. But Chris stopped her by gripping her elbows. ‘You pay for the two of us then if it makes you feel any better.’ He handed her a five pound note. ‘Ham sandwich and tea, seeing as we’re in England.’

She looked at the note and knew it wouldn’t be enough for two of her Dad’s super ham sandwiches and a pot of glorious tea.

Chris twigged, and asked, ‘Not enough?’

‘No.’

So he got a twenty pound note from his wallet and swapped it for the fiver. ‘You should get it free.’

‘Not allowed.’

Chris went to sit well away from the queue though he knew wherever he sat, him sharing a table with Fran would not go unnoticed.

As Fran approached carrying the loaded tray he was almost overwhelmed by disappointment in himself that he’d treated her so badly. Pull yourself together, man, Chris said to himself. Just pull yourself together; you’re getting soft.

He stood up and took the tray from her, and clumsily played at being mother.

Fran shook her head when he asked if she wanted sugar in her tea. ‘No sugar for me, thanks. I brought it for you, as I didn’t know if you took it in tea or not. We don’t know much about each other, do we? Still, it doesn’t matter, does it, not any more?’

His ego forced him to win her back. Very softly and with a slight pleading tone to his voice, he asked, ‘Doesn’t it?’ He reached out to clasp her hand. But she snatched it away.

‘No. It doesn’t. It occurred to me the other day that I never want to see you ever again. You’ve hurt me more than you will ever acknowledge, and our relationship can’t be stitched back together again, because I won’t allow it.’

There was a wheedling note in his voice when he replied, ‘You don’t sound
completely
certain.’

‘Oh, believe me I am. More tea?’

‘Yes, please. This sandwich, considering we’re in a marquee and not a restaurant, is very tasty.’

‘Well, of course it is. It’s one of ours.’

She said it with such conviction that the two of them laughed. When Fran sobered up she said very forthrightly, ‘I was determined to say goodbye to you properly tonight, face up to all that’s happened, and say what I have to say.’

Chris asked her what she had to say to him, anticipating her approval, and lo and behold she began in just the way he wanted.

‘You are a very handsome man, Chris, and very attractive. I’m glad we . . . had a relationship . . . because I’ve learned a lot from you in all sorts of ways, but most of all I’ve learned to recognise . . .’ While she paused to put her thoughts into order, Chris imagined she would be choosing more flattering things to say of him which would make him feel better about being rejected by a woman for the first time in his life. ‘What a pig ignorant, self-centred, thoughtless, egotistical, vain, inconsiderate, self-congratulatory man you truly are. God’s gift to women you may be in Rio, but as far as English women are concerned, you are the lowest of the low. Rio is welcome to you. There. I’ve said what needed to be said. That’s it. Goodnight, Chris. Safe journey home tomorrow.’

‘Fran. Fran. Surely you don’t mean all that.’

‘Oh, I do. I can’t believe how naive I was. I honestly thought you meant what you said.’

‘I did mean what I said.’

‘At the time, maybe you did. But not really. You knew I was totally inexperienced, and you took advantage of that. You expected me to behave in exactly the way
you
wanted me to; and there was no room for
me
and my opinions in our relationship. Despicable, that’s what you were, absolutely without any moral code whatsoever. You should be ashamed.’

‘I’m ashamed of nothing at all. There’s nothing I said or did to be ashamed of.’ As though justifying his attitude, Chris added, ‘Anyway, you were very grateful for the experience; you know you were.’

So now he expected her to be
grateful
! Angered beyond belief, she could find no more words to say, and Fran wished she could stop herself from being childish, but she couldn’t. She picked up her now luke-warm cup of tea, stood up and tipped the whole lot over Chris’s head before he could stop her. She watched the tea soaking into his sweater, cashmere too by the looks of it, which made her rash move even more satisfying.

Fran picked up the other half of her sandwich and walked off, threading her way between the tables, nodding and greeting everyone she knew, which was almost all of them, as she progressed. All those who witnessed her performance longed to applaud, but they refrained in case they might trivialise her magnificent exit. Not liking to look directly at Chris, they squeezed sneaky looks at him between their eyelashes and saw a man sitting completely still, deep in thought, with rapidly cooling tea trickling through his sun-streaked blond hair and all the way down the front of him.

Fran recommenced eating her sandwich once she was outside in the dark where no one could see the effect her speech had on her. She’d never meant to say all those things and she certainly never intended to pour the tea over him, but his last remark made her finally realise the true worth of the man. She meant it, and she was glad she’d said and done what she did, because it had cleared the air for her. Now she could think more positively about her situation and realise that for whatever reason she had lost the baby, and really it was the best thing, despite her sadness, because she was too young for motherhood and Chris was far too immature to take any kind of parental responsibility at the moment. If ever.

Fran dumped the wrapping from the sandwich and the tissue she’d wiped her hands on in the nearest waste bin, and marched off to collect her jacket potato from one of the scouts. She met Alex Harris, unusually for him he was by himself, and the two of them chose a potato each and wandered away, talking together enthusiastically. This was how life should be lived, thought Fran: on equal terms with good friends one could rely on.

In the light from the bonfire Harriet happened to see her from a distance chatting away to Alex as though Chris had never existed, and she felt uplifted. Maybe at last . . . Entering the refreshment tent, anticipating buying something as she hadn’t found time for an evening meal, Harriet was surprised by the amused greetings she got from many of the people, both in the queue and sitting at the tables. While she waited she spotted Chris far over the other side of the tent looking dejected. When she arrived at his table, she said, ‘Not much space, mind if I join you?’

‘Of course.’ Chris looked surprised, but pulled himself together, intending to disappear as soon as he could comfortably do so.

Harriet, between consuming her pizza and chatting to him about the bonfire, remarked, ‘It is the biggest I think we’ve ever had.’ And then she noticed his dishevelled appearance. ‘You look awfully damp. Are you all right?’

‘Your daughter is responsible for this. She poured her tea over me.’

So, thought Harriet, that’s why everyone’s smiling at me. Suppressing her own amusement, she said, ‘Is it well-deserved, do you think?’

‘She certainly thinks so.’

‘Well, if she does, so do I.’

‘No sympathy from you then.’

‘Definitely not. Fran survived the miscarriage because she was looked after by people who
cared
for her. You consider that none of it – the pain she suffered, the on-going distress, the unbelievable disappointment – was your fault.
A few cells
you described the baby as; it was very early on, I know, but the potential was there, and you contributed half.’ Harriet paused for a moment, and when she realised he had no feelings about the baby at all she exploded, ‘I can tell you don’t care at all. It has nothing to do with you, you appear to be saying.’

‘I didn’t know, so how could I care? It was all over when I heard. However, thank God, I’m leaving tomorrow. I can’t take any more of this very upright caring for each other, etc., etc.’

‘Well, I expect they’ll all be glad to see you back in Rio, though heaven knows why. Have a good journey.’

Chris got to his feet, saying, ‘I’m going into the house to mingle with Johnny’s guests. Goodnight. See you some time, perhaps.
If
I come back on a visit, that is.’

‘Oh, that’s bad luck for me. In that case I may see you later because we’re invited too. You’d better change your sweater or someone might ask you for an explanation. If they ask me, I shall be delighted to tell them.’

Later, Harriet glanced at her watch in the light of the lamp over the front door of the Big House and saw she still had about an hour to enjoy the pleasurable atmosphere and especially the warmth before the firework display began. There was a motley collection of boots just inside the door and so she kicked off her own boots and went to enjoy the fray. Jimbo found her almost immediately.

‘There you are, darling. We’ve had a crisis in the refreshment tent. One of the microwaves has packed up, but I’ve brought ours across from home in case you wonder where it’s gone. You OK? Enjoying yourself?’

Harriet kissed him, and her cold nose touching his cheek made him jump. ‘By Jove, you’re cold. Let’s go to the bar and get you a drink. There’s mulled wine if you prefer it?’

‘Sounds just right, does mulled wine.’

Harriet, standing to one side sipping her mulled wine and loving every scented mouthful, caught sight of Chris over the heads of the other guests, in a bright scarlet sweater now, chatting to some people she didn’t recognise. He looked fully restored, and Harriet had to admit he looked very striking and that it was no wonder Fran had fallen for him. At the same time she was glad Chris was leaving tomorrow, just as glad as he was, apparently. Harriet decided she would avoid him, believing the Charter-Plackett family en masse had had enough of the man. Then she saw her mother-in-law approach him, and her heart sank. Please, please, Katherine, not a scene in here. Please.

Grandmama apologised very firmly to the guests he was speaking to, saying, ‘Excuse me, I need a word with this young man. You don’t mind, do you, it’s important.’ She smiled her sweetest smile and whoever they were, they reluctantly moved away, leaving the field clear for Grandmama.

‘I think, Chris, I may have been very badly behaved towards you the last time we met and I owe you an apology for it.’