Chapter 39
The only thing less surprising than the fact I ‘forgot’ to talk to Adam about him potentially dating Mel if she’s ever single again (because I’m almost certain she was somewhere between joking and wishful thinking) is the fact that, once again, my tan has failed to develop.
Mel reckons it’s supposed to go on right away, so you can see where you’ve been, so you don’t miss any bits – but I’m just as pale as when she started.
Still, at least now I can relax, without worrying about what colour my skin will be by the end of the day, because given Mel’s track record, I don’t even think turning blue would surprise me at this point.
I suppose at least then I could try to pass myself off as a Smurf.
On Halloween, all bets are off; any wardrobe malfunction can be chalked up to a costume decision, right?
It may be a relatively warm autumn evening, but as Adam and I walk along the beach, towards the backstage area, it feels positively frosty between us.
Things were so good between us, before all this mess, and I really miss that.
Instead of having a laugh and enjoying each other’s company like we used to, we’re just walking in silence – me not knowing what to say, and him just probably not wanting to talk to me generally.
Temporary fencing has been put up around the festival site, to keep the general public out.
They even have two doormen guarding the gate, ticking people’s names off a list before they let them inside.
I’m relieved when one of the doormen lets me in, because even though I know full well that I’m invited, it would be just my luck to be turned away – and I doubt Adam would help me out; he’d probably leave me out here, so that he could continue to avoid me.
Inside the area, it’s unrecognisable; you could forget where you were. It’s also rammed with outdoor heaters, as promised, which my fishnet tights are grateful for. Even if the temp drops later, at least I know I can slowly cook myself under one of these bad boys.
At one side there are tables and chairs with big, beautiful parasols covering them, stalls have been set up around a pop-up bar, and there’s a row of food stands selling hot dogs, roasted nuts and toffee apples that all smell delicious.
Finally, at the far side of the enclosed area we have a team of construction workers who are set up in front of what I’m guessing is supposed to be the final stages of the build, but it definitely looks like a pointless photo op to me.
Kerry had this wonderful idea that, to keep this a community project, everyone could have a go at helping to build the backstage area – heavily supervised, of course, lest it all comes crashing down.
Sadly for her, though, it doesn’t look like most of the VIPs have paid much attention to the dress code because they’ve all come dressed in their best. Adam and I look at one another, both coming to the same realisation at the same time – that everyone else here is dressed in their best, normal, smart-casual clothes.
It’s okay for him, he’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket (he’s Danny from Grease) – he looks good.
His outfit could pass for normal clothes.
I, on the other hand… I look like I’m going to a Wild West fancy dress party. For swingers.
‘I’m going to grab a beer,’ Adam tells me bluntly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
It’s nice of him to offer but, judging by the tone he asked in, it doesn’t sound like he wants me to say yes.
‘I’m okay,’ I reply. ‘But thank you for asking.’
Adam gives me a nod and then wanders off. I suppose I’ll go and get my own drink, but something soft, because I’m planning on avoiding alcohol today – this is technically work after all, so I want to keep my wits about me, even if it is a social event.
I glance around the area to see if I can spot Si; he’s supposed to be here.
Instead of spotting him, I notice a woman approaching me.
She looks at me like she knows me, but I’ve never seen her before.
The lady, who is all smiles, looks like she is in her mid-sixties, maybe.
Her dark brown hair is cut quite short with choppy layers.
She’s very conservatively dressed, in a turquoise twinset and a navy pencil skirt, with a tiny enamel pumpkin brooch pinned neatly to her chest – so she has either come as a Stepford Wife, or that’s as fancy as she’s willing to go with the Halloween fancy dress.
She is followed closely by a gang of women wearing matching twinsets in different colours, like a sort of middle-aged, unmasked Power Rangers.
I actually think this might be their regular clothes, rather than a costume.
It’s fascinating. I’ve never seen a group of friends with gang levels of coordination before.
I imagine the woman at the front is their ringleader.
‘Hello,’ the leader of the pack says, ‘I’m Lorraine. You probably don’t know me, but I know you. I’m Si and Adam’s mum.’
‘Oh.’ Right. Shit. It completely slipped my mind that she was going to be here. ‘Hello.’
‘You didn’t recognise me?’ she asks. ‘So, the boys don’t have my photo on the mantel, I assume,’ she says to her friends, who dutifully laugh.
I should feel at ease; jokes generally make people feel more relaxed, but from Lorraine, I don’t know, I’m picking up on a vibe. She seems sort of… prickly.
‘Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,’ I tell her sincerely.
I’m not sure how much I’m going to have to actually see her; well, we haven’t crossed paths so far, and with me more than likely moving out of the house soon, it’s hard to imagine me encountering her again.
Still, I like to make an effort with everyone, so I’m happy to chat.
‘Ladies, this is Lia,’ Lorraine tells her friends. ‘She’s the one living with my boys, rent-free, messing with their heads.’
Erm… Okay…
Lorraine’s friends all give me a disapproving look.
‘I’m not living there rent-free,’ I point out first and foremost. ‘And I’m not… I’m not messing with their heads?’
It comes out like more of a question than a statement, because I’m not sure what info she thinks she has, or where she’s got it from, but I am very much a tenant there, first and foremost. For now, at least.
Lorraine’s grin widens. It’s a very sinister-looking, Cheshire cat sort of ear-to-ear grin. It’s a bit early for the Grinch, but that’s what she’s giving.
Well, I think it’s pretty safe to say that she’s made her mind up about me, that her first impression was made before she’d even clapped eyes on me.
She definitely doesn’t like me, or have any interest in liking me.
Well, based on my first impressions of her, I can’t say I like her all that much either.
I walk off, grabbing one of the complimentary glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray before swiftly throwing it back. Boy, this is going to be a long day. Definitely the kind of day where a drink or two can only help.
I grab another glass, taking a sip as I glance around the place, quietly seething to have been emotionally jumped by a gang of women in twinsets. This is my job, I’m at work, and I should be over the moon at how well everything is going. Not pissed off, pounding glasses of champers.
Annoyingly, everyone else seems to be having a lovely time – isn’t joy irritating when your own is in short supply?
Everything looks so good – I should focus on what a great job we’ve done.
Strings of orange lanterns glow between the trees, there are pumpkins every way you turn, and you’d think someone was burning autumn-scented candles, given how sweet the food trucks and stands are making the air smell.
I should be proud. I am proud, somewhere beneath the irritation and the fast-acting alcohol. Everyone is having a great time – it’s clearly already a success.
I shouldn’t let anyone ruin it for me, not Lorraine, not Si, not Adam. The further I stay away from that family today, the happier I’ll be.
As I sip my second glass of champagne – slowly this time, because the first one went straight to my head and now I’m feeling a little dizzy – I notice Kerry hurrying over towards me.
She’s wearing a Blossom FM fleece, a headset and a glittery witch’s hat that has clearly been shoved on her head by someone else. I haven’t known Kerry long, but she’s the no-nonsense type – and sparkly witches’ hats are definitely filed under absolute nonsense.
‘Lia,’ she calls out. Then she clocks the drink in my hand. ‘You’re not drunk yet, are you?’
Shit – was I not supposed to drink at all? Am I supposed to be in work mode? Because I thought I was here as a guest, with no actual work to do. I didn’t think drinking would be a problem…
‘Of course not,’ I reply. She’s lucky she caught me when she did or I might have moved on from glasses to bottles. ‘Is there anything you need my help with?’
‘Yes, please. The problem is that no one is having a go at the construction and the photographer from the local press needs a photo of that before he can go. It’s only a bloody photo op, but no one is interested. You’ll have to do it for me.’
‘Me?’ I reply. ‘Won’t it look better if it’s someone who doesn’t work for you?’
‘No one knows who you are,’ she reminds me. ‘Anyway, no one else is really dressed for it and you’re a pretty, young thing, it’ll be good for the photos. Please?’
‘Erm, yeah, okay then.’
Did I just fall for a compliment? Shit.
‘You’re a star. I’ll shout you when we’re ready for you.’