Chapter 7
Grace was still fizzing when she glanced into the bathroom mirror with a triumphant grin as she washed her hands. She’d made a beeline for the loo the minute she’d followed Chris in the door after their successful visit to the Queen’s Head that afternoon. They’d been in high spirits on the return trip, bouncing ideas off one another as they rode the Tube and walked the short distance home. As Chris had shoved his key in the lock, he’d said the first thing he’d do now they knew it was a goer was get in touch with his mate who’d experience with putting a festival together.
Her smile hardened as she stared in horror at her reflection. There, covering her small left canine and wedged firmly in place between it and the neighbouring incisor, was something unsightly. It was also green, she realised, leaning in for a closer inspection. Parsley! She dislodged it with her fingernail while her mind whirred back to the souvlaki she’d wolfed earlier with the extra serving of tabbouleh.
Nooo! She hadn’t.
She knew she had. Grace had just whiled away the best part of an hour at the pub, looking like a dodgy pirate with a proposition. It wasn’t her imagination. The lads’ and Mitch’s eyes had looked everywhere but at her when Chris made the initial introductions. But why hadn’t someone said something? It would have been awkward, sure, but she’d have got over it. Her insides curled up – this was even worse than when Shannon had served Father Seamus at the bar with her skirt caught up in her tights! How could Chris not have noticed? He must have seen it, she thought, patting cold water on her hot cheeks before flinging the bathroom door open so hard she was surprised it didn’t come off its hinges.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ she hollered, seething with self-righteousness as she stood, hands planted on her hips, at the top of the stairs. But there was no reply, so Grace stampeded down the stairs.
Chris turned as she thudded down the hall. ‘I think the neighbours are having another barney. I heard shouting. Want one?’ he asked, goopy knife in hand. ‘Peanut butter.’
‘No. I don’t, thanks very much. What I want to know is why you let me look like a complete eejit all afternoon?’
‘What do you mean?’ Chris put the knife down, his sandwich forgotten, and swivelled to face her.
Grace bared her teeth as though growling and tapped the offending tooth. ‘The parsley – ringing any bells?’
‘Oh, that.’ Chris shrugged. ‘Sorry. I left my contacts out this morning, remember? I only noticed when we sat down at the table.’
‘So why didn’t you say something then? Honestly, I’m mortified.’
‘I did try to let you know.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Yeah, I did. I kept nudging your knee under the table. I thought you’d get the hint and go to the ladies to check it out.’
‘How is nudging my knee supposed to make me twig that I’ve got something stuck in my teeth? Besides, I thought you were cueing me to do the hard sell for the festival. That or you’d developed uncontrollable muscle spasms.’
His mouth twitched before he butted back with how he hadn’t want to come right out with it in front of everyone.
‘Ever heard of whispering in someone’s ear?’
‘What, like’ – he adapted an exaggerated whisper and beckoned to her – ‘“C’mere to me now, Grace, you’ve something stuck in your teeth”?’
This time, it was more grin than lip twitch.
‘And it’s so not funny. I looked like Captain Jack Sparrow,’ she wailed.
‘It kind of is funny.’ Chris’s voice was thick. ‘Ahoy there, me hearties.’ He swung his fist upward then lost it.
Grace stared at him briefly as he wiped his eyes, and a little snigger escaped. OK, it was pretty funny. Laughter bubbled up. ‘Shiver me timbers,’ she choked out.
Chris’s ‘Arr!’ finished them, and Grace was bent double, wheezing as she clutched the worktop.
‘What is so funny?’
They both straightened and looked toward the doorway where Ulla, looking decidedly unimpressed, fixed Chris with a steely gaze.
That was Grace’s cue to leave them to it, and, after excusing herself, she took to the stairs. It only occurred to her that Chris must have given Ulla a key to let herself in with as she closed her bedroom door. Her tummy muscles ached, but the mirth of a minute earlier was replaced by annoyance that the Silent Finn could come and go as she pleased. Even more annoying was that he hadn’t thought he should check it was OK with her before handing a spare key over. She flopped back on her bed.
It was no good lying about stewing, Grace thought, deciding to bide her time on broaching the Ulla hot-water hog/key situation. Chris had been good to her, not just coming up with the idea of a one-day festival but getting behind it too. He didn’t deserve her getting in his ear. Not today, at least. Right now, she should be doing something proactive, and with this in mind, Grace, still lying on her back, googled ‘how to organise a music festival’.
Her eyes widened upon seeing all the hits that came up. She scrolled down, tapped on a ‘how-to checklist’ and braced herself. Terms like concept, content, advertising and site production jumped out at her, and it dawned on her what she was contemplating pulling off. Correction, they. She wasn’t doing this alone. Chris would be by her side. Still, her temples began to throb with the enormity of what lay ahead if Emerald Grooves was to happen on the last day of summer as she’d proclaimed at the pub, because the first thing on the list glaring out at her was ‘time’. And ‘time’ she didn’t have.
Was it arrogant of her to think they could pull it off?
Her earlier bravado at the pub crumbled, because maybe Mitch was right. It wasn’t doable, and she’d be better off selling packets of biscuits door to door like the Girl Guides used to. Chris could busk or something. Then Grace switched screens and pulled up a photo of her, Clara and Alfie, taken when she’d called round with his present last Christmas. Her jaw tightened.
‘You can do this, Grace. You’re not alone. You’ve got Chris.’ Not in the carnal sense unfortunately but as her partner in making this festival happen. And if that was all that was on offer, she’d take it. She began repeating ‘You’ve got this’ to herself until her phone buzzing interrupted her affirmations.
It was Ava, and Grace sat up about to swipe to answer it, when her hand froze. The realisation hit her that while she’d jumped the first hurdle where the festival was concerned, a bigger one loomed. It was inevitable that once word spread back home about Emerald Grooves and how the singer of the headlining act was one of their own, her connection with Chris would come out. It was far better for her family to hear who she’d been house-sharing with these last five months from her rather than the likes of Eileen Carroll. And she might as well start with Ava.
It was time to fess up.