Читать книгу Love Among the Treetops: A feel good holiday read for summer 2018 - Catherine Ferguson, Catherine Ferguson - Страница 10

‘I’ll go in the pub on one condition.’ I glare at Paloma, as if it’s entirely her fault that I have to psych myself up to brave the class reunion.

We’re perched on the car park wall round the back of The Three Blackbirds. Inside the pub, Lucy’s charity event is presumably already under way.

‘And the condition is?’ Paloma folds her arms and eyeballs me kindly. She’s being incredibly patient, considering we’ve been lurking here for the past ten minutes while I decide if I want to go in or not.

I hate myself for being such a cowardy custard, but I can’t seem to help it.

I narrow my eyes and mutter, ‘If skanky Lucy Slater looks at me in any way weirdly, I’m out of there immediately, no questions asked. Okay?’

Paloma nods. ‘Okay. And I’ll be right behind you. I promise.’

Attempting a smile, I jump down from the wall and brush imaginary leaf mould off my black trousers, impatience with myself resulting in me slapping my bum much harder than strictly necessary. I’m aware I must seem ridiculously neurotic, but I guess that’s the effect ten years of dodging a nasty bully like her will have on a person.

‘All set?’ asks Paloma. ‘Look, we don’t need to stay long.’

I brush off her concern. ‘It’s fine. Come on. Let’s go in.’

We walk through the bar to the function room at the back. And – oh joy of joys! – Lucy Slater herself is waiting in the doorway to greet us, along with another girl who I vaguely recognise.

‘Hello! How lovely to see you both,’ cries my archenemy, and it all floods back to me how Lucy’s voice used to grate on me, with its slightly high-pitched, whiny tone. I take in the slinky black dress, ripples of raven hair and gash of red lipstick, before she envelops me in a brief but enthusiastic hug. She smells, appropriately enough, of Poison.

As I’m crushed against her, I make eye contact with the other girl and my heart sinks. It’s that Olivia person from the train. The one who’s obsessed with ‘clean food’ and fancies the arse off Theo Steel. We acknowledge each other with a half-nod and a raise of eyebrows.

Lucy sets me aside so she can give the same treatment to Paloma. Then she beams at us in turn. ‘So … almost everyone is here. Such a fabuloso turnout! And this is Olivia, my right-hand woman, so to speak. She’s been totally invaluable with regards to raising local awareness of our charity 10k. Olivia, you’ve met Paloma, I think. But not Twilight?’

‘Oh, but I have. We’re almost old friends!’ cries Olivia, linking my arm. ‘We had quite a chat the other day on the train, didn’t we? How’s Theo?’ She beams at me expectantly.

The question throws me completely. Why would she think I would know how Theo is?

‘Er, I’ve no idea.’

‘No? Oh well. Never mind.’ She pats my arm, as if I need consoling.

‘Right, help yourself to drinks and the buffet, ladies,’ trills Lucy, holding the door wide for us. ‘The fashion show will begin at eight prompt. And we’ll be drawing the charity raffle straight afterwards.’

I follow Paloma into the function room, my head in a bemused whirl. Is that really Lucy? With the posh voice and saintly ways? And the invitation to go right ahead and eat her food? It’s all very puzzling. In the old days, she’d probably have dragged me behind the door (by the hair), told me not to even look at the cold salmon if I wanted to walk home unaided, then given me a swift kick in the shins to emphasise her point.

‘Oh, Twilight?’

I spin round to find Lucy’s heavily kohl-rimmed eyes boring into me, and I freeze. I’m back to schooldays, every muscle in my body rigid because I’ve no idea what nasty surprises she has up her sleeve for me.

She walks over with that air of superiority, and I have a sudden urge to slip my bare arms behind my back so she can’t give me one of her expert Chinese burns. She used to grab me, her dark eyes narrowed and mean, twisting the flesh hard until I squealed …

‘Let’s have a proper catch-up later,’ she murmurs, patting my arm gently and giving me a smile. Then she glides off, leaving me staring after her. I may have imagined it, but there might have been a hint of warmth in her tone.

I glance at my arm, feeling silly for over-reacting. It’s probably at least twenty years since Lucy delivered one of her famous Chinese burns. My instinctive reaction shows just how deeply embedded childhood traumas can be.

But I’m sure Paloma’s right and Lucy is different now …

I feel myself relax after that.

It’s lovely to see my other friends again and we’re so busy catching up, I’m not even aware that Paloma has disappeared. Then I suddenly notice her in deep discussion with Lucy by the cold salmon and cucumber dip. A moment later, she comes over.

‘Lucy wants us to take part in the fashion show.’

‘Who?’

‘You and me.’

I’m instantly suspicious. ‘But why? It’s such ridiculously short notice.’

‘Two of the girls haven’t shown up. So she wants us to fill in.’

I laugh. ‘No way.’

‘Why not? It’ll be fun.’

‘Will it?’

Paloma grins. ‘If her designs are awful, it’ll be a scream. And I have very high hopes that they might be.’

‘No. No way on this earth.’ I shake my head firmly. Lucy has to be joking if she thinks I’m going to do that. Really, wild horses couldn’t drag me onto—’

Someone puts their arm round me and squeezes hard.

Lucy.

‘Twilight! Thank you so much for agreeing to rescue me and my little show!’

I turn and Lucy’s face is right there, looming large, a little scary in its proximity. But at least her hand is clamped around my shoulder on this occasion, not my neck.

So I gnash my teeth and endure it.

‘You can’t imagine how grateful I am,’ she says as I practically gag on her perfume with all its horrible associations.

Paloma, in the background, is mouthing, ‘Do it! Just do it!’ with a big grin on her face. So I find myself relenting.

‘Fabulous! Oh, you’ll be brilliant. Trust me.’ She hurries over to Olivia, doing a thumbs-up, and the tension in my body subsides.

Paloma comes over. ‘It’ll be a hoot. Honestly. The collection’s called “Space Exploration Goes to the Movies”.’

‘What does that even mean?’ I whisper.

Paloma grimaces. ‘Beats me. Just a load of pretentious bollocks, I imagine.’

‘Okay, ladies.’ Lucy is back and my teeth clamp together again. ‘Twilight, you’re on last as it happens. I always like to end on a witty note. And guess what? You’re it!’ She rubs her hands together gleefully.

I force a smile and follow Paloma and Lucy into the little kitchen area off the main room that seems to be serving as a dressing room.

Paloma, who has an amazing figure, looks quite magnificent in her outfit. It’s the sexiest take on a Princess Leia dress I’ve ever seen, all skin-tight silvery Lycra with slits to the thigh and white platform boots.

She does a twirl.

‘Lovely.’ I nod approvingly. ‘Maybe I’ll be Darth Vader.’ Something black and voluminous would be just fine for covering up all the squidgy bits that haven’t seen the light of day for years, and which I’d rather remained a mystery …

‘And here we are!’ announces Lucy, producing my outfit with a theatrical flourish. ‘I call it “Big Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. What do you think?’

I stare dumbfounded at the contents of the hanger.

And carry on staring …

My face must seriously look like it belongs to Elastigirl; it’s pulling in so many different directions at once as I try to work out what’s actually going on there.

She has to be joking.

It’s a ‘big breakfast’, all right, although the only nod to Audrey Hepburn’s elegant attire in the movie is a black T-shirt dress that looks at least three sizes too small for me. Surely she doesn’t expect me to—

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ says Lucy, clocking my doubtful expression. ‘There’s such an enormous amount of “give” in this fabric. Look. It’s quite extraordinary.’ She stretches the garment out to really ludicrous proportions, so that even a portly walrus could be shoehorned into it at a pinch.

I shoot her a suspicious glance.

But she just smiles and murmurs, ‘D’you know, Twilight, I think it’s going to look fabulous on you.’

That’s when she turns it around and I realise I was looking at the back view. The front is something else altogether … and are they my shoes?

‘Come on, off with the clothes!’ Lucy urges me, with a glance at her watch. ‘Don’t be shy, we’re all girls together here.’

There appears to be a lull in conversation. And when I look up, everyone – without exception – is turned towards me, watching, as if I’m the hired stripper for the evening or something. There’s nothing else for it. Breathing in for all I’m worth, I start undressing. The zip sticks on my trousers and as I’m frantically trying to make it go down without breaking it, I can sense Lucy giving my figure the once-over.

‘Mm, the trousers are a little – um – snug,’ she comments, far too loudly. ‘I can let them out for you, if you like. I’m a whiz with a needle and thread.’

I smile at her through gritted teeth. ‘It’s all right, thanks.’

She frowns at my bottom but thank heavens, at that moment the zip unfurls and I’m free.

Finally, after lots of wriggling and twisting and panting and straightening of fabric, I’m standing there, catwalk-ready, staring at myself in the full-length mirror.

This is Lucy’s version of ‘fabulous’?

The dress might have looked okay with some armour-plated underwear and a pair of skyscraper heels. But with my legs in yolk-yellow tights disappearing into over-sized tomato-red trainers, and three fabric bacon rashers appliquéd onto the front of the dress, along with two enormous, strategically placed fried eggs, I’m clearly the comic turn of the evening.

Paloma takes one look and guffaws so loudly, I worry for her vocal cords.

No one could blame her. I look like a mobile hangover cure.

I nod urgently at the kitchen door, through which Lucy just vanished, looking for Olivia. ‘She designed this specially for me,’ I hiss. ‘I know she did.’

Paloma grins, shaking her head. ‘You’re just being paranoid.’

‘I am not! She wants to make me a laughing stock.’

‘Honestly, you’re imagining it.’

‘Oh, so you really think it’s a coincidence that you get the gorgeous diva outfit and I get the greasy fry-up?’

Paloma snorts with laughter, tears in her eyes. But she nods. ‘I do. You were the last to be kitted out, so you got the ‘witty’ costume. It was just bad luck, that’s all. Nothing personal.’

‘Hm.’ I actually feel quite shaky and, to my horror, on the verge of tears.

‘It’s true. Honestly,’ insists Paloma gently, seeing my face. ‘If I’d been last, I’d have been lumbered with the “transport caff extravaganza”. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry. You can really camp it up on the catwalk in a get-up like that!’

I attempt a smile. She’s right. Of course, she’s right. It’s all just a bit of fun. I’m daft for taking it so personally.

Lucy bursts back into the room. ‘Don’t forget the hat!’ she calls gaily.

And marching over, she slaps a giant baguette on my head.

*****

‘It was really nice of Lucy to let you borrow those recipes of her grandma’s.’

‘Hm?’ I murmur distractedly. We’re walking back from the pub and I’m only vaguely aware Paloma just said something.

‘What are you doing, Twi?’

I glance up sheepishly from Lucy’s grandma’s recipe book. ‘I’m – er – examining the ingredients for anything suspicious.’

Paloma grins. ‘What, like: Victoria sponge cake. Butter, sugar, eggs, large pinch of arsenic (optional)?’

‘You never know with Lucy,’ I mutter darkly. But I put the little notebook away, in my bag.

I didn’t know what to think when Lucy produced it earlier in the evening, saying she thought my café idea was fabulous and that she’d be so thrilled if her lovely late grandma’s recipe book could help inspire me to even greater things.

‘Gosh, well, thanks!’ I said, taking the small blue notebook and leafing respectfully through the pages of spidery writing. The gesture had taken me completely unawares and I wasn’t sure what to say. Now, I was starting to wonder if trusting me with her grandma’s book of recipes was Lucy’s way of saying sorry for all the horrible things she’d done to me in the past.

Her fashion show certainly rounded off the evening in style. A very peculiar sort of style, admittedly, but at least it got everyone nice and relaxed and chatting away as if we only left school the week before.

I did what Paloma said and camped it up in the Big Breakfast outfit and everyone roared with laughter, which made me feel tons better. I almost felt I’d got one over on Lucy in deciding to just go with it and not show I was embarrassed or uncomfortable wearing something so preposterous. When everyone was laughing and applauding me, my eye landed on Lucy at one point, and she was standing there, straight-faced, arms folded, just staring at me, a cold, intense look on her face. A bit like creepy Mrs Danvers in Rebecca. It freaked me out for a second, but then I remembered what Paloma said about being paranoid and I told myself not to be so silly.

It was Lucy’s show. She was frowning because she wanted it to be a success. Of course she wouldn’t be able to kick back and have fun like everyone else.

‘I might try this clean eating plan of Olivia’s,’ says Paloma, snapping me back to the present. ‘If I’m going to be training for a 10k, I might as well go the whole hog and start eating healthily as well.’

‘Really? But you won’t be able to eat carbs.’

‘Won’t I?’

‘No. That’s the point of it. Nothing processed. No gluten. No sugar. No dairy. And the thing is, I really need your input this weekend, testing all the cakes and tray bakes I’m thinking of putting on the café menu.’

Paloma’s face lights up at the thought. ‘Yeah? Oh well, bugger clean eating.’

‘So you’re seriously going to train for this 10k?’

She shrugs. ‘Why not? It’s all in a good cause. Sending little Harry to America. And I sort of feel if Lucy and Olivia are spurring on the whole village to get involved and get fit in the process, I’d quite like to be part of it?’

She has a point. It’s just the last time I took any serious exercise, I was running around a tea room garden in Devon, on holiday with Mum and Dad, trying to escape from a wasp that had taken a fancy to my strawberry jam scone with lashings of clotted cream.

Mind you, I have got stamina.

‘We all agreed we’d sign up,’ Paloma reminds me, nodding back at the pub. ‘And to be honest, I’m quite looking forward to Lucy’s boot camp training sessions.’

‘You are?’ I stare at her, aghast. I can’t think of anything worse than Sergeant Major Lucy Slater breathing down my neck, yelling threats and making me run faster. (Actually, that just about sums up my schooldays in a nutshell.)

‘Yeah, I thought I might go dressed as a chipolata,’ says Paloma, straight-faced. ‘You know, continue the Big Breakfast motif. With perhaps a side order of fried onions on my head?’

We look at each other and snort with laughter.

A car draws up alongside us just as I’m doing an impression of Lucy introducing one of her fashion designs. ‘Ladies, this is my take on practical footwear with a twist. Mops for the feet! Get the housework done in no time and look super-uber-stylish while you do it. Note the fabulous grey fringing—’

I frown at Paloma, who’s stopped laughing and is now digging me urgently in the ribs. ‘What?’

I turn towards the car and my heart nearly gallops out of my chest when I see who it is.

My ‘childhood sweetheart’ as Mum quaintly describes him.

The only man I’ve ever really loved …