Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Hattie walked into the room where the lunch was to take place and gave a sigh of happiness.
It looked beautiful. Huge, natural-looking arrangements in front of an ancient fireplace and at other strategic spots consisted of English flowers, ‘grown not flown’.
Dahlias the size of plates nodded among roses and lacy hydrangeas.
There were snapdragons, astrantia, delicate blue larkspur and Japanese anemones.
Hattie loved how it looked as if a herbaceous border had been brought into the house.
As Leonie had left choosing a florist to her, she had turned to Rose for help.
The end result was everything she could have wished for.
‘I just hope my parents like it as much as I do,’ she said to the young woman helping her with the place names. ‘They’re a bit conventional.’
‘No one could be unhappy with those flowers,’ she said reassuringly.
Hattie was in the small hall (dominated by another enormous fireplace) that led into the ballroom (now full of white-clothed tables), ready to greet the guests, when her parents arrived.
‘Harriet, dear,’ said her mother, having given her a critical look, ‘you appear to only be wearing a slip. Could you go and put on the dress that presumably goes over it?’
‘There isn’t one.’ She bit her lips. ‘I left my outfit behind,’ she admitted. ‘I wore this last night to a dinner dance.’
‘Well, it’s hardly suitable for lunch, is it?’ said her mother.
‘Otherwise it’s my jeans and slightly grubby linen jacket.’
Leonie came forward. ‘It’s a lovely dress but it is a bit – well…’
‘Revealing?’ said Hattie.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a scarf or anything you could drape round yourself?’ said Leonie.
‘No, or I’d have draped it.’
‘OK,’ Leonie said briskly. ‘You can wear my black leather jacket. Tom?’
‘I’ll fetch it from the car,’ he said obligingly.
‘Thank you, darling,’ said Leonie.
‘Yes, thank you, Tom,’ said Hattie.
A few minutes in the Ladies while Leonie fiddled around with her leather jacket, turning back the sleeves a little, experimenting with the collar up and down, and Hattie was ready.
‘Thank you so much, Lennie. I remembered everything, all the lists, the table plans, who’s allergic to what.
I had a whole emergency kit that Rose made up for me, with double-sided tape and everything.
I even did Mum’s hair. But I forgot the outfit. ’
‘What was it?’ said Leonie, who was now repinning her own hair.
‘Knee length, with a petticoat, fifties. It was really pretty.’ She sighed.
‘Vintage?’
‘Borrowed from Mary, actually. You know? Who I live with?’
‘Did she lend you that dress too?’
Hattie nodded. Suddenly, for no reason, she wanted to cry. She cleared her throat. ‘I was so looking forward to wearing that outfit.’
‘Well, this is a lovely dress too. Now.’ Leonie burrowed in her handbag and produced a small scarf. ‘It needs ironing really,’ she said, ‘but I think we’ll manage.’ She folded the scarf and then tied it round Hattie’s neck. ‘Mum still won’t like it, but it actually looks great.’
Hattie looked at herself. ‘You’ve become far less… buttoned-up lately,’ she said. ‘At one time only a dress and jacket, or may be a coat and skirt, would have passed muster for this event. But I like this!’
‘Oh, I don’t think it’s suitable,’ said Leonie. ‘It isn’t at all. But as I said, it looks great.’
Hattie kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘Let’s go. The guests will be milling around not able to find their clearly marked tables.’
Having finally got everyone to their places, Hattie took her own.
She was on the table designated for people who had to be invited but didn’t know anyone and were likely to feel awkward.
She had put herself there because she knew she could make sure they enjoyed themselves.
They included her mother’s cleaning lady, Mrs Simpson, and her husband.
She had worked for her parents for at least fifteen years but they were still on Mr and Mrs terms.
‘I’m Hattie,’ she said to the table as she sat down. ‘The younger daughter. Our starters will be here in a minute and there’ll be wine, but there’s a bar. If anyone would like anything other than wine, I can get it. Gin and tonic? Cocktails?’
It took effort and quite a few drinks but eventually everyone on the table was chatting merrily, finding things in common (Married at First Sight proved to be generally popular viewing) and Hattie felt she could relax a bit.
Before the pudding, Hattie got up. ‘I’d better check on everyone else. I was having such a good time I’d forgotten I was sort of on duty.’
It was to her parents’ table that Hattie went first. ‘How are you two? Enjoying yourselves, I hope. It’s going well, isn’t it?’
‘Harriet?’ said her mother. ‘When is a long silk dress and a leather jacket appropriate for a Golden Wedding Anniversary lunch?’
‘Well, it’s not what I was planning to wear, as you know, but I think it works better than the dress on its own.’
Her mother nodded. ‘Lots of people have said how lovely you look, so it probably does. You did arrange a photographer, didn’t you?’
For a moment, Hattie’s mind went blank, then she remembered. ‘Yes, I did. I’ll go and see if he’s arrived. Are you saying a few words, Dad?’
As her father either didn’t speak at all, or at great length, this was a tall order for him, but he nodded. ‘Your mother has checked my speech.’
Hattie shuddered inwardly. ‘I’ll go and find the photographer.’
Leonie caught up with Hattie while she was in the kitchen, drinking a large glass of water.
‘It’s going awfully well, Hattie darling,’ she said, revealing the fact that Tom was obviously the designated driver and Leonie had been enjoying the wine. ‘And your outfit is lovely. I might try wearing something like that myself. You won’t forget to give me my jacket back, will you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Hattie. ‘And you would totally rock this look. Biker-girl chic.’
Tom, who had his arm round Leonie, said, ‘I totally agree. Although there aren’t many looks you couldn’t “totally rock”, my love,’ he said fondly.
Leonie laughed and looked down, embarrassed but clearly thrilled.
The afternoon dragged at the speed of a glacier moving.
Hattie, who liked being sociable and was meticulous about thanking staff and giving good tips (there had been firm words spoken to her father about amounts) thought she would never get away.
And even then she found herself giving Mrs Simpson – or June, as she had soon come to call her – and her husband a lift home, because Derek, the husband, had drunk a little more than planned and couldn’t drive.
Hattie didn’t blame him. She didn’t mind not drinking as a rule, but she had been sorely tempted.
When she got back to her parents’ house, she found the full extended family in the kitchen with plastic boxes of leftovers, half-used bottles of wine and a desire to gossip. Hattie slipped upstairs to get into her own clothes before going back down.
She had just put cheese on some crackers (there had been a lot of cheese left over) when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It had been out of reach all day. Now, when she looked at it, she saw about five missed calls from Mary. Her heart sank.
There was a message. ‘Hattie? No need to worry, but I feel I should tell you, I won’t be home when you get back. Clive has got me into a care home. I do hope the lunch went well.’
Hattie went cold, suddenly glad of the cardigan she had on under her linen jacket. She knew there had been a waiting list for the care home Mary wanted. What sort of a home had he put Mary into with virtually no notice?
‘Excuse me, everyone, there’s been a bit of an emergency.’
Then she took her phone and went out of the room.