Читать книгу As Luck Would Have It - Zoe May - Страница 9

I devour another handful of crisps and wash them down with a third glass of punch, while listening to Rowena – the head librarian at the local library – extoll the mindfulness benefits of cross-stitch. Believe it or not, the party is in full swing now. A few people have taken to the dancefloor where they’re currently grooving to Katy Perry. The bowl of punch is nearly empty. The auction has been held – the highlight of which was a dark-haired woman bidding £100 for someone else’s used foot spa – and Mick gave a really moving speech about his wife Maggie and about the important work Cancer Research are doing. Will and I have mostly been avoiding each other the whole evening, but I keep glancing across the hall and catching him looking over at me, which is annoying but then I wouldn’t know about it if I wasn’t also looking over. God, I really do feel like I’m back at school.

At the moment, Will’s standing across the hall with his mum, Sharon – a softly spoken petite woman with an incredibly pretty face. She has a sort of Audrey Hepburn charm with sparkly eyes and a wide gorgeous guileless smile. She has a neat grey bob that always seems to have a natural bounce to it, the kind of volume most women can only achieve through a blow dry. She’s stayed single since Will’s dad passed away and I don’t think she’s particularly interested in finding anyone else – they were absolutely smitten – but that hasn’t stopped the hordes of admirers from flocking her way. From the looks of it, Sharon is currently being chatted up by Mr Price (a divorced history teacher from my old school known for his bad breath and terrible toupee), Matthew Black (a chronically single monotone-voiced bachelor who lives down the road and has a penchant for keeping pet rats) and some other guy I don’t recognise who appears to be totally over-excited to be speaking to a woman. So much so that his entire face is beaded with sweat. Will is standing protectively close, shielding Sharon from this onslaught of undesirable admirers and she keeps giving him grateful looks that, actually, now that I come to think of it, are bordering on desperate ‘get me out of this’ stares.

‘It’s incredibly restorative,’ Rowena insists, and I realise she’s still talking about cross-stitching. ‘It’s like meditation. Your mind relaxes but your body becomes centred too as you stitch. It’s almost better than traditional meditation because your mind and body are in harmony. You should try it sometime.’ Rowena eyes me hopefully. ‘Once you get into it you can use your creations as gifts or just decorations. I decorate my whole flat with them.’ Rowena picks up her phone and shows me an array of cross-stich creations in frames on the walls of her book-lined flat. If there isn’t a slightly dusty-looking bookcase against the wall, there’s an array of cross-stich designs in shabby chic frames. There are traditional floral pieces, which are quite charming, if a little twee. There are a few slightly bizarre but surprisingly life-like portraits of her cat, who she tells me is called Mittens. There’s even a feminist design of a uterus and ovaries with the slogan ‘Grow a pair’. It’s pretty cool.

‘Oh wow!’ I say, both shocked and impressed as I take in the fine needlework on the cervix.

‘You should come over sometime and I’ll show you how it’s done,’ Rowena suggests enthusiastically. As sweet as she is, cross-stich is hardly my thing.

I have a sudden vision of myself in a few years’ time, still living at home with my mum, cross-stitching portraits of Mr Bear for Hera or cross-stitching a penis with an angry slogan about toxic masculinity or something, while drinking tea at Rowena’s place night after night, having forgotten what it feels like to be touched by a man. I suppress a shudder.

‘I’m quite busy with work and with Hera. It’s hard for me to get out much.’ I glance towards Hera’s carrier. She’s still fast asleep, sputtering slightly as she dreams. I feel a fresh wave of maternal love for her and not just because she’s the loveliest baby ever, but also because she’s a brilliant excuse to get out of doing stuff I don’t want to do.

Rowena looks a little disappointed. ‘Well, maybe I could come to yours. I could bring my kit.’

‘Err …’ I utter. I can’t seem to come up with an excuse and just as I’m beginning to think there’s no way I’m going to get out of this, Mick’s voice suddenly booms from the stage.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’

Everyone goes quiet and looks towards the stage. Mick’s wearing the same outfit he had on last time I was at this fundraiser back when I was 12 – an eye-catching red three-piece suit teamed with a white shirt and a black bow tie.

‘It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for!’ he says, grinning broadly. ‘The raffle!’

A few cheers erupt across the hall.

‘Oh my God!’ I grin, gripping Rowena’s arm in excitement.

I look over at Will to see him looking back at me, steely-eyed. He smiles smugly as he holds up his crossed fingers. I smirk and wave my crossed fingers back at him.

‘This year, we have a host of brilliant prizes,’ Mick enthuses, gesturing at a table piled high with goodies. ‘From a bottle of Fortnum’s vintage port, Amazon gift cards, a year’s subscription to Good Housekeeping and many others, to the star prize – a five-star romantic getaway for two in Marrakech!’

We all cheer.

‘Big thanks to my lovely niece Hannah for pulling out all the stops to get the travel agency she works for to gift us this marvellous prize,’ Mick continues, explaining how Hannah couldn’t make it to the event because of her ‘busy London life.’ Ha. Unlike me and Will who now spend our Friday nights in village halls. I look over at him and catch his eye, we exchange a wry smile.

‘I’m delighted to reveal that we’ve raised a total of £4,428 tonight for Cancer Research, making tonight our most successful fundraiser ever! A big round of applause to everyone! To everyone who’s bought a ticket in the raffle and gifted prizes; to everyone who donated items for the auction and all the generous bidders; and to everyone who’s taken the time to help with everything from the buffet to the bunting – it means the world to me that you all get behind this event year in year out. I know if Maggie could see us all, she’d be so incredibly proud,’ Mick says, his eyes glistening with tears. ‘Give yourselves a round of applause!’ he adds, smiling warmly.

We all start clapping enthusiastically. Everyone, including myself, has teared up a little. It’s so touching just how sweet and loyal Mick is that after twenty years, he’s still holding fundraisers for his true love. It really does bring a tear to your eye and I can’t help feeling bad that I hadn’t been particularly interested in coming along tonight. I glance over at Will and even he’s looking misty-eyed as he claps enthusiastically, a tender smile on his face.

Rita suddenly gets up on stage and takes the mic from Mick. He seems a little taken aback.

‘I’d just like to say that even though everyone has done a marvellous job to make this event happen I think we should all acknowledge Mick’s efforts. Without him, this event would never be the success it is. Your dedication is an inspiration to us all, Mick. Maggie would be so touched and so, so proud,’ Rita says, her voice cracking with emotion. She starts clapping and we all join in, with even more gusto this time.

She and Mick hug and he takes the mic. Rita heads back to her seat.

‘Thanks everyone. I’m so very touched,’ Mick says as the applause dies down. ‘And without further ado, I’ll now be announcing the prizes of the raffle.’

Mick picks up a tin from the table of prizes and gives it a shake. ‘Right, who wants to help me pick winners?’ Mick asks, looking encouragingly towards a few kids sitting with their parents at a nearby table.

A little boy in a Transformers T-shirt sticks his hand up. ‘Me! Me! Me!’ he cries out.

‘Come up on stage, Edward!’ Mick says. Edward’s mum ushers him towards the stage and helps him up.

‘Right, Edward, you can pick our winners,’ Mick says, pulling off the lid of the tin. Edward smiles up at him delightedly.

‘Okay, so our first prize we’ll be announcing is a fifteen-pound Waterstones voucher and the winner is …’ Mick presents the tin to Edward, who reaches for a ticket.

He pulls one out victoriously.

‘Thanks Edward,’ Mick says. ‘What number is that?’ Mick holds the microphone down to Edward.

‘Number 231,’ Edward announces shyly.

‘Oh, that’s me! That’s me!’ A red-haired lady I recognise as the receptionist from the local GP surgery calls out, waving her ticket in the air. She comes up on stage and Mick hands her the voucher. She seems delighted. I know it’s only a raffle and I should just relax and have fun, but I can feel myself becoming totally gripped with excitement. I really want to win too!

Mick and Edward reveal the rest of the raffle winners. Will’s mum Sharon wins a dinner for two at an Italian restaurant in town and I can’t help feeling sorry for her as her admirers all seem to light up, clearly hoping to be her plus one. I suspect she’ll probably end up taking Will. Rowena wins the bottle of port. By the time the final few prizes are revealed, Edward’s beginning to look exhausted, like the novelty of choosing winners is starting to wear off. He goes back to sit with his mum. Edna, an elderly lady from the local church, comes up on stage to pluck the final winning tickets from the tin.

The table of prizes is growing increasingly empty and the tension in the room is mounting as we get closer and closer to the star prize reveal. I know it’s only a charity raffle, but I can’t help caring so much. A holiday to Marrakech is not something that people in my village take lightly. I know this prize and whoever wins will be the talk of the town for months. My mum was right. This is an important event on the village calendar. I can’t believe I even considered missing it.

‘Okay ladies and gentlemen, now the moment you’ve all been waiting for – we’ll be announcing the winner of the star prize! A romantic getaway in gorgeous, exotic, exciting Marrakech,’ Mick says. He switches a button on a projector on the table and suddenly, beautiful images of the most exquisite hotel fill the screen. It’s stunning – a huge white palatial building with a tapering gold domed roof and tall majestic archways, lined with palm trees soaring to the sky. The images cut to the inside of the hotel and it’s all dreamy-looking terracotta walls, sun-filled riads and wide marble hallways. The pictures cut to a photo of a plush sumptuous bed covered in fractured light flowing from ornate silver lamps and photographs of a giant tranquil aquamarine pool lined with sun loungers in the most stunning courtyard ever. Rita really wasn’t exaggerating when she said this holiday was ‘top notch’. The images of the hotel blend into images of Marrakech, with its bustling souks, full of spices, tagine dishes, rugs and elongated lamps that look like something you could use to summon a genie.

I drink in the images, my daydream of reclining on the sun lounger in a bikini and sunglasses growing sharper and sharper by the second. I really want to win this prize. It would be so great for me and Lauren. She seems to be loving the single girl-about-town life, but I know it gets exhausting and she could do with a break. We used to go on mini-breaks from time to time. She and I took the Eurostar to Bruges one weekend and we’ve been to Paris a few times, too. I’ve felt a bit bad since I had Hera and moved to Chiddingfold as we don’t get to hang out anywhere near as much as we used to. This holiday would be perfect for us. We’d get to spend some quality girl time together.

‘And the winner is …’ Mick holds the tin out to Edna, who reaches inside.

We all hold our breath. We’re so silent you could hear a pin drop. Yet Edna is taking forever to choose a ticket, rummaging about in the tin. She probably feels like Dermot O’Leary right now, announcing the winner of the X Factor.

Eventually her hand emerges from the tin and she unfolds a piece of paper.

‘Number 18!’ she announces.

Excitement floods through me as I scan my raffle tickets. I’m pretty sure I had number 18 and then my eyes land on the winning ticket. Number 18!

‘And number 102,’ Edna adds just as I leap to my feet, waving my winning ticket and cry, ‘It’s me!’

My moment of joy is suddenly shrouded in confusion. Why is Edna calling out another winning ticket? I won!

‘Ha! I have 102!’ Will calls out, brandishing a ticket.

I look over at him. What? I glance around the room, trying to figure out what’s going on, but everyone else is looking equally perplexed. We all look towards Mick, who seems baffled.

‘It’s just one winner Edna, not two!’ he says eventually.

Edna blushes. ‘Oh … I thought it was a prize for two, so I just read out two names.’

‘No love. A prize for two but the winner can take whoever they want.’

‘Right,’ Edna replies, looking completely out of her depth. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. She’s in her eighties and I don’t think her mind is quite as sharp as it used to be.

‘It’s okay, Edna love,’ Mick says, rubbing Edna’s back.

Mick thanks her for her help and reassures her that she’s done a good job. She smiles sweetly and goes back to her table to sit down.

‘Right, well, er, this is a difficult situation …’ Mick looks towards me and Will. We’re both holding our winning tickets.

‘Well, my ticket was read out first so it would probably be easiest to just let me have the prize,’ I suggest. ‘Maybe next time, Will.’

Will smirks. ‘Just because your ticket was read out first doesn’t mean anything. My ticket was read out fair and square.’

‘Yes, it does. Ever heard of first-come-first-served?’ I remind him.

Will laughs. ‘Raffles don’t work like that, Natalie.’

I suddenly realise that everyone in the hall is watching us bicker.

‘Why don’t you just pull a ticket from those two?’ Clive suggests, gesturing between me and Will. Not a bad idea actually, except I’ll stand a 50 per cent chance of losing and I really don’t want to lose.

I don’t comment and neither does Will. I can tell Will’s not particularly keen on the idea either.

‘Good suggestion, Clive, thank you. But I’ve had an idea too,’ Mick says. My ears prick up.

‘How about you both go? Together.’

A laugh escapes my lips. ‘Together?’ I gawp.

I look over at Will, who’s also laughing.

‘That’s a great idea, Mick,’ my mum pipes up, a twinkle in her eye. She’s sitting a few seats down from me at the table and I shoot her a look. I know she likes Will, but I mean, seriously? Suggesting I go on holiday with him. I haven’t even seen him for sixteen years, I’m hardly going to just hop on a plane with him to Marrakech!

‘You could …’ Rita suggests, looking hopefully between me and Will.

Suddenly everyone in the hall is murmuring in agreement.

‘Maggie used to love our holidays,’ Mick reminisces over the microphone. ‘There was this quote she used to like – “The world is a book and those who don’t travel only read one page”. She loved that. I know she would have been keen for you both to have a read of the Morocco chapter.’

Oh my God, what is happening? How has this trip of a lifetime that I was dying to get my hands on five minutes ago suddenly turned into the world’s most awkward holiday?! Now I can’t even refuse to go without feeling like I’m somehow betraying Maggie’s memory.

‘Come on, love. It’s what Maggie would have wanted,’ my mum says. I blink at her in shock several times, unable to believe her nerve. She’s not interested in what Maggie would have wanted, she’s just trying to set me up with Will.

As I gawp at my mum, another voice pipes up.

‘I have an idea …’

I look over to see Brian. Googly-eyed annoying Brian. I hadn’t noticed him until now, but he’s sitting at a table by the buffet eyeing me intently, almost hungrily. It’s a little disturbing, actually.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Brian offers. ‘If Will doesn’t want to. I’ll take the ticket and come with you. Give you a bit of company, do you know what I mean?’

He stares at me with a look of impassioned intensity as he makes this offer. I’m not sure he realises he’s not helping the situation at all. As if Will’s going to just give up his ticket! I glance at Will who is now smirking mischievously.

‘That’s not a bad idea, Brian,’ he says.

My eyes widen in shock. He’s not seriously going to sacrifice his ticket to Marrakech purely to get a laugh out of making me go on a four-night romantic getaway with Brian? Actually, that’s exactly the kind of thing Will would find hilarious.

‘No, Brian! Thanks for the offer, but no,’ I state firmly, my voice tight and a little erratic. Brian deflates a little, but I don’t care. I know he’ll bounce back and will probably have moved onto his next target by the time the raffle’s over.

‘Okay, well in that case, maybe we should just go together then?’ Will throws his hands up in surrender. I glare at him. What is he doing? He smiles back, shrugging.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes dart towards me, expectantly. I don’t want to go on holiday with Will, but if I say that, I’m going to look like a total spoilsport.

‘Come on, Natalie!’ Mick says, with a hopeful grin.

‘Yeah come on,’ a few others echo.

Everyone’s looking my way and even though only seconds have passed, it feels like a lifetime. I squirm, not knowing what to do. My mum’s nodding encouragingly. So’s Rowena. Even Clive looks keen on the idea. I glance towards Rita, who seems to be the only person in the room who’s giving me a sympathetic look.

‘I mean, you could always go together and just do your own thing?’ Rita suggests in an upbeat, optimistic tone.

I suppose she’s right. I could always go on the trip, enjoy the gorgeous hotel, hang out at the pool and explore Marrakech on my own. Just because the trip is billed as a romantic getaway for two doesn’t mean Will and I have to be romantic. It may be a package holiday, but we can unpackage it. We don’t have to do everything together. I glance over at Will.

‘Don’t worry Natalie, I won’t cramp your style,’ he says, smirking again.

‘Okay, fine,’ I sigh, giving in.

‘Oh fabulous!’ my mum cries out.

‘Excellent!’ Mick says. ‘Maggie would be so proud.’

‘Great.’ I smile uneasily, sitting back down.