Chapter 22
22
JULY 2018, SUFFOLK, ENGLAND
‘Ooh, nice lippy,’ mouths Venetia Appleyard, exiting a cubicle as she pulls her underwear out from between her bum cheeks and straightens her wraparound dress. Venetia catches Kate’s eye in the mirror above the sink.
Kate isn’t sure. She’s been feeling self-conscious all evening, but she’s attempting to reapply her Estée Lauder in a shade called Envious without getting any on her teeth. She widens her eyes to say thanks while her mouth is incapacitated.
‘Some people say red is submissive, that you’re trying to make your mouth look like a vagina, but I think it’s a good “up yours” to the patriarchy,’ Venetia continues while she washes her hands in the long rectangular sink that runs along the small wall. ‘Anyway, Pete hates me in Suffragette Red, which always gives me a giggle when I wear it.’
Kate finishes blotting and edges a little paint out from the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks are almost as crimson as her lips.
‘I haven’t worn red for ages,’ Kate says apologetically. ‘I had to dig it out of the bottom of my make-up drawer. Think I’ve lost my touch!’ She twists the almost-perfect bullet back into its navy and gold casing before Venetia notices it’s brand new. ‘Is Pete here tonight?’
‘No, he’s at home with Mills. I’m taking this one for the team,’ Venetia says, inserting her hands into the noisy air dryer. ‘Although it’s a good turnout,’ she backtracks. Venetia enthusiastically encouraged Kate to be PTA chair from September and knows turnout will be Kate’s headache for the foreseeable.
‘It’s great, I’m so pleased. Lots of people want to send Melissa off in style I think,’ says Kate sweetly with a nod.
‘Shall we?’ says Venetia, opening the door and walking through it before Kate.
They snake back into dark and cavernous Corky’s, Claresham’s only wine bar that’s been hired out for the PTA summer social tonight.
‘Did George make it along? I haven’t seen him,’ Venetia asks, long pendant earrings swinging below her plum-coloured cropped hair.
‘Yes, although I haven’t seen him for the past hour. Can’t for the life of me see where he is. Thought I might find him on my way to the loo!’
‘He’s probably having a cigar with Mr Horsley,’ Venetia says, rolling her eyes towards the low ceiling.
‘Well, I’m sure he went to the loo and…’
Venetia is already disinterested; she’s spotted headteacher Hilary Smith at the end of the bar and has something she wants to chew her ear about. She turns back to Kate, who is shuffling behind her.
‘Catch up later, just need to talk to Hilary,’ she says with a dismissive squeeze of the arm .
Kate weaves through the crowd alone. She searches for her drink, for her husband, and finally sees the back of George’s Superdry jacket, slung over his shoulder and hooked onto a nimble finger, as he leans in towards Amber Barrie by the fireplace. Amber is almost as tall as George, and their eyes are locked, deep in conversation.
What’s she doing here?
Kate surveys Amber from the ground up. She wears knee-length black leather boots over black skinny jeans and her long golden hair weaves down her chest over a perfectly pressed cream silk shirt. Her face looks fraudulently make-up-free in subtle shades of nude and peach, and suddenly Kate feels like an overdone summer pudding, waddling over all plump and bursting with redness. She wants to quickly swipe her lipstick off onto the back of her hand, but knows it’ll make an awful mess, even if she uses one of the antibacterial wipes in the handy packet in her bag.
‘There you are!’ Kate says, sidling up to George, breaking up their conversation about whatever it was. ‘Amber, how are you? What brings you to the PTA?’
Amber flashes Kate a charming smile, illuminating the hearth with a row of straight white teeth.
‘Hi, er, Kate, isn’t it?’
You know it is. We chatted for at least half an hour by the simnel cake stand at the WI Easter Extravaganza.
Kate nods genially.
‘Amber here is going to be teaching the Year 3 class come September,’ says George proudly. ‘I was just telling her to look out for Jack. “Here comes trouble!”’ he bumbles.
‘Jack’s no trouble,’ Kate says defensively, before turning to Amber. ‘Gosh, how wonderful. I didn’t realise you were a qualified teacher? ’
‘Seems there are many strings to Amber’s bow,’ George gushes. ‘She was telling me she can speak Mandarin. Not much use at Claresham C of E, but we could use more Mandarin speakers at Digby’s the way the markets are going!’ Kate’s eyes glaze over as she feels an invisibility cloak shroud her. ‘Tell me, Amber, did you ever use your Mandarin at the High Court? Amber here worked in her dad’s chambers…’
Claresham’s largest house, on the village’s most expansive piece of land that edges onto vast Suffolk meadows, belongs to Amber’s father, Archibald Barrie, rumoured to be the next Master of the Rolls, and certainly master of his Rolls, in which his driver Ken ferries him to his pied-à-terre in Chancery Lane three times a week.
Amber’s peachy cheeks flush as her doe eyes look into her Prosecco flute before she realises Kate doesn’t have a drink in her hand. There is something both awkward and consummate in Amber’s faraway eyes.
‘Kate, you don’t have a drink. Shall I get one for you?’ she says, looking for her exit strategy.
Kate gives George a scornful look. It was embarrassing enough having to listen to him fawning over Amber, but now Amber has pointed out his negligence.
The chink of a fork on glass draws all three of them out of the fireplace with a sigh of relief.
Melissa Cox stands in the middle of the bar with her back to a wall and taps the fork on her glass of Beaujolais five times swiftly.
‘Before I hand over the reins to the highly competent and completely unflappable Kate Wheeler, I’d like to say a few words of thanks…’
Kate looks around the room to see everyone look for her fleetingly but unable to find her in this clammy corner of Corky’s, and they all look straight back to Melissa as she says her thank yous and her farewells. Kate’s face feels hot and her throat parched.
I need a drink.