Читать книгу Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with - Michelle Vernal - Страница 13

‘Isla, I’m fed up with looking at the face on you tonight. Skipping the Light Fan-Tango is coming on the telly in half an hour, and I don’t want to have to listen to you huffing and puffing your way through it. Why don’t you go with your mum to that thing she loves so much? It will get you out of the house for a bit.’

Isla looked at her gran blankly. What was she on about?

Bridget flapped her hand in frustration. ‘Oh, you know that thing where they prance around in the dark to music. Tell her Joe.’

‘Your mother’s keep fit class,’ Joe said. He was settled into Bridget’s other recliner with his hands clasped around a belly full of bangers and mash.

‘Oh, I’m with you. No Lights, No Lycra you mean?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Give her a call; it’ll do you good to get out for a bit. A girl your age shouldn’t be sitting at home with her grandmother night after night. Should she Joe?’

Joe nodded, he’d agree with Bridget on anything if there was a bowl of her creamy rice pudding in it for him.

‘It’s only been four nights Gran,’ Isla said feeling ganged up upon, but she was feeling fidgety too. Oh God, she frowned, was this what her life had come to? Was she seriously considering shaking her groove thing in the dark, with her mum and a bunch of other middle-aged women? It would appear so because she was fed up. She’d mooched around the house on her own for the best part of the day waiting for the internet to be connected. It was rural broadband only in Bibury and nowhere near as high speed as she was used to, but at least as of three o’clock that afternoon, she was in touch with the outside world once more. The first thing she’d done was message Maura to tell her how she was getting on and then she’d hit Pinterest for some ideas for the Kea. That had kept her busy until Gran had got home. Joe had popped in not long after looking for his dinner.

Bridget, it would seem had a pretty hectic social life. There had been bowls in the morning and then she’d invited Isla to join her for afternoon tea at Margaret’s house. She was heading over to discuss the coup she suspected was being plotted by Elsie.

Isla had heard all about it over lunch. Gran reckoned Elsie was no longer content to wait to see if she was made Vice President of the Bibury Women’s Bowls Club. Oh no, she was planning to overthrow Bridget and push her out of the role of top dog. It was like listening to a geriatric episode of Wentworth. The whole business was serious enough, Gran said, for her to contemplate telling Margaret her closely guarded secret; the secret as to what it was that gave her scones that extra light, airiness in exchange for insider information.

It was all very intriguing, but Isla had declined the invitation. Instead, she found herself peering out the front window of the living room from time to time in the hope of catching a glimpse of Ben. Why? She didn’t know. Ben was such ancient history that their relationship could be classed as early Jurassic. However, she did see him. It was as if he’d felt her eyes on him because he’d looked up from the car he was working on and his gaze had swung her way. She’d let the curtain drop quickly, feeling as though it had burned her fingers, and sent up a prayer that he hadn’t seen her. To her shame she realized that since arriving back in Bibury, she was not only a thirty-year-old woman, living with her grandmother, she was also a curtain-twitcher.

The current affairs programme on the telly went to an ad break. To Isla’s alarm, Gran began stabbing at the screen and getting very hot under the collar as the shorts for Skipping the Light Fan-Tango appeared.

‘Look at her there in her sparkly … well you could hardly call it a dress, there’s not enough fabric for that. A sparkly belt, maybe. She’s a floozy, that one, and she’s only got as far as she has in the competition because she slept with Javier Franco. Look, he’s the judge in the middle.’ She gave a particularly virulent jab towards the television. ‘You can tell by the way they look at each other.’

Okay, Isla thought, it would seem her options were staying here and listening to Gran’s slanderous character assassination of the stars of SLF or she could ring her mum and cadge a ride to a dancing in the dark session. Best ring her, she thought hauling herself out of her chair.

‘Good girl,’ Joe mumbled.

‘Mum’s picking me up in five minutes, do I look the part Dad? Gran?’ she asked a few minutes later from where she stood in the living room doorway. She’d changed into her trusty leisure suit and a pair of running shoes that were in for a shock because they never usually did anything remotely sporty. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

‘Why are you asking us that? I thought the whole point of having the lights off when you dance is that it’s dark. Nobody can see what you look like. Your mother says it’s very liberating,’ Bridget said with a grimace. ‘I’d hate to think what get up she goes along in. She always has to take things one step too far, your mother. She has done since she was a child.’

Joe caught Isla’s eye, and they both grinned in silent agreement.

‘Right well, I’ll leave you both to your show.’ Isla planted a kiss on top of her gran’s silver head and one on her father’s bristly cheek.

‘I’m off in a minute too,’ he said.

‘Working on the bike?’

‘Too right, only peace I get to tinker on it is when your mother’s out dancing.’

‘Oh Isla, before I forget, when the lights are on have a look around the hall. I’m the Secretary of the Barker’s Creek Hall Committee, and we’re trying to think of ways to fundraise to give it a spruce up.’

‘Okay, I will,’ Isla said. She vaguely recalled the hall from her youth as the place that Brownies and other kids’ activities had been held. That it was old with lots of wood was what she remembered of it. She also remembered the stories her gran had told her about the dances held there back in the days before she got married. Isla always fancied she caught a glimpse of her gran as a girl on the cusp of womanhood when she talked about those days because her eyes always sparkled as she relived them.

‘Now go on with you,’ Bridget said waving her away, but Isla saw her smile.

Oh bugger, she thought a few minutes later, shutting the front door behind her. She didn’t have a water bottle. The Four Square was still open she saw, glancing up the road in that direction and spying lights. She opened the passenger door of her mum’s idling car and climbing in kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hi Mum, good day?’

‘So, so. I sold a bottle of Revlon Age Defying foundation to Mrs Flintoff this afternoon, but I had to explain to her that once she’s opened it, she can’t bring it back if she doesn’t look like Elle McPherson after five days.’

Isla laughed at the trial and tribulations of the beauty biz.

‘Got your dancing shoes on ready to go?’

‘Uh-huh, but can I just run into the Four Square and grab a bottle of water?’

‘Alright, but don’t mess about, I want to get there while the lights are still on. We don’t want to trip over and injure ourselves before we even get in the door.’

Isla walked through the door of the little supermarket where she had toiled away many a Saturday afternoon, and as she headed over to the fridge, she spotted Annie. She was conferring with a tall man. He had an impressive head of shiny, swishy hair and didn’t look Greek in the slightest. She had a bottle of wine in her hand which appeared to be the object of intense discussion between them.

She debated going over, Mum had told her to get a move on.

‘Hello again!’ Annie said spotting her, her face breaking into a grin and Isla felt a twinge of guilt at having even tossed up on whether or not to say hi. Mum could wait.

‘Carl, this is my new friend, Isla. She’s an interior designer who’s just got back from the UK. She’s going to put together some ideas for jazzing up the Kea.’

Carl stepped forward and held out his hand. His grasp was strong which belied the soft skin. Actually, Isla looked up and him and realized his skin was beautiful. She wondered what his secret was. His nails were well-shaped unlike her own which were a mess thanks to all that veggie gardening at Break-Free. He dropped her hand and ran his fingers through his hair which swished satisfyingly back into place. Isla observed this and turned a shade of green. Oh, to have hair that did that.

‘Carl’s staying with Kris and me for a few nights. He decided to escape the big smoke and make a long weekend of it,’ Annie informed her.

The penny dropped. ‘Ah, so you’re the Carl that Annie travelled to Greece with?’

‘The one and the same, and knowing Annie she’s told the unfortunate Acropolis story. Travel tip darling, never leave home without a box of Diastop.’

Isla laughed, and Annie shook her head. She spied the water bottle. ‘Where are you off to looking all sporty?’

‘No Lights, No Lycra at the Barker’s Creek Community Hall.’

Two blank faces gazed back at her.

‘Apparently, the idea stemmed from a bunch of dance students in Melbourne. They wanted the freedom to express themselves outside the conformity of their classes,’ she repeated the spiel her mother had given her. ‘Sounds great in theory but I’m dubious as to what it’s like in practice. I’m keeping an open mind, though. The alternative was sitting at home with my gran who was getting het up over Skipping the Light Fan-Tango.’

Annie and Carl listened in amusement.

‘Hey, why don’t you guys come with me for moral support? Annie, you’ve met my mum, there’s room in the car.’

Carl was the first to answer. ‘I like the sound of that, it’s my kind of exercise, and I seriously need to destress thanks to David. What do you think Annie?’

‘Kris has a tonne of marking to get through; he won’t mind if we eat dinner later. I’m not dressed for it though.’ Annie gestured to her floaty tunic dress and boots. The boots were gorgeous, Isla loved the red colour – she’d ask her later where she’d bought them.

‘Listen here, Annie my sweet. I’ve seen you doing a Beyoncé dance in a little black dress that barely covered your bum and killer heels that could rival Queen B’s herself. You’ll manage an hour in a pair of boots, yes?’ Carl said grabbing another three bottles of the same wine Annie had in her hand.

He was dressed in a blue and white checked cotton shirt that he had tucked into a pair of jeans. The brown cowboy boots were not dissimilar to the pair Isla had just bought her dad. Annie caught her gaze as they followed him up to the till. ‘It’s his down home country boy look. He thinks it makes him look like one of the local lads. I tried to tell him he just looks conspicuously gay, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it,’ she whispered.

Isla laughed.

They exited the shop with their wine and water. Isla saw her mother’s hand was hovering over the horn and saving her the trouble, she opened the passenger door and leaned in.

‘Mum, you know Annie from the Kea, and this is her friend Carl. They’re going to come with us if that’s okay?’

‘Get in – the more, the merrier,’ Mary trilled.

‘Carl meet Mary Newton-John,’ Isla said twisting in her seat after she’d done her belt up.

Mary looked back over her shoulder. ‘Ha ha, she’s very funny my daughter. Mary Brookes and it’s nice to meet you, Carl. Are you staying in Bibury long?’ she asked pulling out of the carpark before heading off down the main road.

‘I’ve run away actually. My partner David’s being a prat and I needed some time out, so I’ve landed on Annie and Kris for a few days to get my head straight.’ He laughed. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

The three women smiled in the darkened car interior and then Mary gave a sympathetic tut. ‘Bibury’s a good place to get your head straight … um, I mean in order. It’s got a peaceful aura.’

They all ignored the boy-racer who chose that very minute to overtake them with his sound system thumping and muffler backfiring.

‘What is it you do with yourself work wise Carl?’ Mary carried on.

‘I am a fashion photographer.’

‘Really?’

‘Mum, eyes on the road!’

‘Well, that’s a coincidence. I’m in the industry too.’

‘I thought you looked familiar; I haven’t photographed you have I?’

Mary’s laugh was high and girlish. ‘Oh no, I’m far too old for modelling but I am in the business, I’m a Revlon Consultant at Mitchells Pharmacy on the High Street.’

‘I love Revlon. It’s one of my favourite brands. I photographed Stella Rockhampton last year for them. She was a real sweetie, not like some of the girls out there. I blame the attitude on a lack of food. Who can be nice when you’re permanently peckish?’

‘I agree, better to have that cheeseburger and burn it off with a bit of NLNL.’

‘Amen to that, Mary.’

Isla was trying not to laugh at the banter between them, and she didn’t have to look back to know that Annie was too.

The hall sat in the middle of a field and Mary pulled into a parking space off to the side of the building. Dusk had settled in, but it was still light enough for Isla to see that the building was indeed looking tired. She hoped no one’s exuberant dance steps would cause them to go through the floorboards inside, which no doubt would be riddled with woodworm.

‘Okay, gang – let’s get our groove on!’ Mary cut a move and clapped her hands in a way that made Isla cringe and Annie and Carl laugh. At least she’d had the sense not to wear anything too inappropriate for a woman her age, and there was not a leg warmer in sight. Isla inspected her mum’s lycra pants and singlet top. She’d had to do the headband thing, she noticed, shaking her head as she followed her lead into the hall.

A few women, none of whom Isla recognized at first glance, were standing on pews pegging sheets over the windows. A stereo system was perched on the raised wooden stage near the entrance, and an alcove to the right of the stage indicated the facilities. It hadn’t changed in the twenty years since Isla had last been inside it. She’d be willing to bet it hadn’t changed in the one hundred odd years since it had been built.

‘Evening Mary love, I see you’ve brought some newbies with you.’

‘Linda, you remember my daughter, Isla?’

‘Oh Isla of course, gosh look at you! You’re all grown up.’

Isla nodded and smiled biting back that she had, in fact, been grown up for some time now. She vaguely recalled the big woman in the resplendent lightweight black and silver active wear ensemble from somewhere in her formative years.

‘And these are her new friends. Carl, he’s a fashion photographer by the way.’ There was a collective oohing and mass sucking in of tummies. ‘And Annie, you’ve probably seen her around town, she’s hard to miss with all that gorgeous red hair, is related to Noeline somehow or other. She’s working at the Kea.’

‘Welcome, welcome all, we’ll get started in a jiffy,’ Linda said.

Carl emitted a low whistle as he looked around him. ‘They don’t build them like this anymore. All that timber is to die for.’

Isla nodded, testing the floor with her foot. It felt solid, and there were no squiggly telltale signs of Bora eating away it. ‘It’s Kauri,’ she said referring to the native wood. ‘My grandmother’s the chairperson for the hall’s committee, and apparently, they want to give it a long overdue overhaul. It all looks pretty sound inside, but I’m guessing the toilet and kitchen facilities would struggle to pass a council inspection these days.’

Annie was standing at the far end of the hall next to the stuffed stag’s head staring up at two varnished war memorial plaques. A Roll of Honour on each depicted in gold lettering the names of the young men who had lost their lives fighting for their country in both the Great War and the Second World War. Carl and Isla joined her.

‘Sad, isn’t it?’ Annie said.

‘Yeah, I don’t know what I’d have done at eighteen if I’d been made to go off and fight for my country. I’m a lover, not a fighter, but if those men hadn’t gone, then our country would be very different to the one we live in today,’ Carl ventured sagely.