8. Chapter 8
Lucy looked at Jack sharply. Unless his next line was, and we were at a bar with friends, he had gone way off script…
Jack continued.
‘It was the last night of the Christmas Fayre at Dulcetcoombe.’
Sophie and Ollie were rapt, drawn into the story. Lucy was horrified. Where the hell was Jack going with this?
‘The house looks beautiful, all lit up from the outside,’ Jack continued. ‘There’s this Christmas craft market outside with all these local traders selling cheese and whisky and chutney and gifts, and mulled wine, of course. And when you go inside the house,’ his voice lowered, and Ollie and Sophie leaned in to follow him, ‘in the grand hall, you see the biggest Christmas tree you can imagine. A huge blue spruce rises up to the ceiling and is covered from top to bottom in twinkly lights and red and gold baubles and ribbons. And underneath the tree are all these beautiful boxes all wrapped up.’ Sophie leaned in further. ‘And there’s Father Christmas, sitting off to the side, with this queue of kids all waiting to meet him, so excited. And all up the stairs are these green wreaths with gold and red ribbon in them. And in the next room, it’s a Sugar Plum Fairy theme.’
Sophie audibly gasped and grabbed Ollie’s arm. It was Lucy’s turn to be rapt; she hadn’t realised Jack had been paying so much attention. She’d been busy that night, as she always was on Dulcetcoombe’s major events, and could only remember him moaning about how cold it was.
‘This room has a tree too, and this tree is covered in silver, pink and dark purple decorations,’ Jack said. ‘And there’s a Sugar Plum Fairy in mid-dance on the top of the tree. The table is covered in an old-fashioned Christmas feast, including sugar plum cake and sugared almonds. And there are sooo many people there.’
Lucy could remember Jack grumbling something about crowds.
‘And everyone is so happy, so excited to be there. Back outside, there are these carriage rides that people can take around the grounds, in horse-drawn carriages, to see the parklands all lit up.’
‘It sounds amazing,’ Sophie said, on a breath, clutching her glass. ‘Lucy, why have you never invited us?’
She patted Lucy’s hand in gentle remonstration and grinned at her.
‘I do. Every year,’ Lucy said. ‘I send Mum all the details, and she passes them on.’ She looked at their blank faces. ‘Doesn’t she?’
Ollie shrugged and, ever keen to pour oil on troubled waters, said, ‘Oh, you know what Mum is like. Probably forgot.’
‘Yes. Probably,’ Lucy murmured, fiddling with the stem of her glass.
Jack covered her hand with his, and she glanced up.
‘It is amazing,’ Jack said, looking at Lucy and squeezing her fingers. ‘And there, in the middle of the throng of people, was Lucy. Looking so calm and in control and serene—’
Lucy didn’t remember it like that. She remembered being exhausted and stressed and worried about standing too close to people because she hadn’t had time to shower for three days. But hearing about how it looked through Jack’s eyes, she felt like he had really seen and understood the magic she had tried to create. Even if, at the time, he had grumbled about crowds and kept whispering, how much? in her ear every time he clocked the prices at the food and craft stalls. He had seen her standing there, trying to orchestrate this big event, which helped to generate the funds Dulcetcoombe needed to stay open each year, as she answered queries from stall holders, dealt with faulty generators, missing children and wondered when she had last had time to eat anything.
Jack carried on.
‘––in the middle of these happy kids and families, all there having an amazing time together because your sister worked so hard to put on this incredible event—’
Ollie looked at Lucy, his eyes wide. ‘Wow! I didn’t know you did all that. I just thought it was like…’ he shrugged, ‘you helped the old people who run the ticket office and the café and stuff.’
Jack had, it seemed, explained her job to her family better than she had ever done.
Sophie wasn’t interested in Lucy’s job—she wanted to know what happened next.
‘So?’ She urged. ‘You saw her standing there, and then what?’
Yes, then what?
If memory served, she had gone home and fallen asleep on the sofa with her shoes on. But Jack was now on his third glass of champagne and enjoying himself immensely. He was in full swing. Lucy reached for a bottle on the table, topped up her glass and braced herself.
‘One of the volunteers came up to her and was clearly worried about something. They were pointing over at this man with his kids who was looking really pissed off.’
Sophie was practically biting her manicured nails.
Lucy remembered this bit. Anne had had a complaint from a man who was cross that his kids had missed the chance to meet Santa. They had arrived late, and Santa was fully booked. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault, of course; the man should have arrived earlier or made an online reservation, like most of the rest of the people there. But she knew enough about this type of character to know better than to point this out. She had listened to him, letting him vent the frustration that she instinctively understood was partly his own anger at himself for feeling he had let his kids down, and his need for them to see Daddy trying to make it all better. Lucy explained, as gently as she could, that there was, sadly, no way Santa could see them that night. Then, she spoke directly to the kids. Would they like a carriage ride to see all the amazing lights in the parkland? And some hot spiced apple juice for the ride? The two little girls, clinging to their father, dropped their hands away from their faces and nodded enthusiastically. We can do this, Lucy had said to Dad, just this once, and handed him a voucher (one of the ones she held back every night for situations just like this one) for the carriage rides. He took it gratefully—thank you so much, he had said, a little chastened by her kindness in the face of his anger. Tickets for Christmas at Dulcetcoombe and for meeting Father Christmas go on sale in November next year, she said smoothly as they hurried off.
‘Your sister,’ Jack said, more dramatically than was necessary, ’went up to the man, and he started having a go at her, in the middle of the grand hall, with all those amazing decorations and this choir singing carols and all the people waiting to see Santa. This man was furious,’ Jack said. ‘And he had these two kids with him, who looked more scared of him than anything else. Lucy spoke to him for about a minute, and he was like putty in her hands. He went from furious to practically bowing to her.’
Okay, that was an exaggeration, but she’d take it. Jack was making her look very good in this story, like some sort of goddess.
Jack looked at her.
‘I don’t know what she said to him.’
Here, have these free tickets.
‘But she looked amazing, standing there conducting this incredible event, sorting out any problem that came up. And you could see everyone trusted her completely—all these people kept coming up and asking her questions, and she just had an answer for everyone.’
Lucy swallowed. He’d really paid attention.
‘And she was wearing this sparkly silver dress.’
Lucy, who was taking a sip of champagne when Jack offered this particular detail, nearly choked. No such dress existed in her wardrobe, and she’d have been wearing jeans and a Christmas jumper, like every day in December. Jack gave her a look, as if to say, don’t correct me on this.
She stayed quiet.
‘I bet she looked stunning,’ Sophie murmured.
‘She did.’ Jack nodded and looked at Lucy, his dark eyes unreadable. ‘When she got a break, we went outside, and I put my coat around her.’ Lucy spluttered and decided to stop drinking while Jack was telling this story, or she’d cough herself to death before the end of it.
‘Lucy, darling,’ Jack said, voice light and innocent. ‘Do you want to finish telling it?’
‘No, no,’ Lucy muttered, wiping her eyes. ‘You carry on.’ Under her breath, she mumbled, ‘I want to see what on earth happens next.’
Jack took up the story again.
‘We walked to this secluded area of trees away from the house, away from all the people. And Lucy was cold—’
I bet,in that fictitious sparkly dress on a December night.
‘––and we were drinking mulled wine to warm up, and then I spilt all mine, and so we were sharing this one cup. And we were,’ Jack shrugged and almost looked shy, ‘sort of huddled together, over this one cup, and then….’
‘You kissed!’ Sophie cried triumphantly. ‘Oh my god, I knew it! That’s the best story ever, Jack. How you saw her across the room…and you knew, didn’t you, when you saw her? Ahhh, that’s so sweet! Such a good story.’
Sophie beamed at Lucy and squeezed her hand.
Yes, Lucy thought, it was a good story. Shame it wasn’t true. And Jack, it seemed, was an excellent liar. She’d picked the right man for the job.
Lucy and Jack left Ollie and Sophie still cooing over the story of how they got together and headed, at Lucy’s urging, to the buffet.
‘You know that I now have to remember all the details of that story in case anyone else asks me how we got together,’ Lucy grumbled, as they circled the tables, heading for the buffet.
The shy boy looked nervous as they approached.
‘Hi,’ Lucy said brightly. ‘How are you?’
The boy struggled to make eye contact and blushed. ‘M’okay, thanks.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lucy said. ‘I think my question is an easy one. Can you tell me what’s veggie, please?’
The boy visibly relaxed, and his shoulders dropped about four inches. He pointed to all the vegetarian things on the table.
‘Thank you so much,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s really helpful.’
The boy beamed, train track braces flashing before he quickly clamped his mouth shut again.
Jack was busy piling his plate high with what looked to be two of everything. Lucy leaned past him to grab some fruit skewers and asked, ‘And what was that sparkly silver dress about?’
Jack laughed and said, ‘I don’t know, it just sounded better than, I think Lucy was wearing her usual baggy jeans, boots, a Christmas jumper with Rudolf on it and a massive padded coat. Bit more romantic.’
‘I dunno,’ Lucy mumbled through a mouthful of cheese and tomato mini quiche. ‘I think I sound cute.’
Jack, who had just squeezed a slider into his mouth, looked eager to respond but couldn’t until he’d finished chewing.
‘There you are, darling girl!’
Lucy turned to see her mother weaving through tables towards them, holding her glass aloft as she slipped between chairs. Valerie was wearing a slim-fitting cream suit with, of course, a lavender-coloured blouse and teetered on her high heels as she approached. Valerie took Lucy’s face in her hands and kissed her firmly on both cheeks.
‘So good to see you, my darling. You look much better,’ she murmured as Jack frantically tried to swallow the last of the sandwich.
‘Jack,’ she said a little coyly, taking his hand. ‘Good to see you again too.’
She air-kissed him, seemingly reluctant to get too close when he hadn’t quite finished what he was eating.
‘Good to see you enjoying the food.’
She flashed her eyes back and forth between them.
‘Yes, mum, it’s lovely to be here. We—’
‘Doesn’t it look charming?’ Valerie asked, in her low, husky tones, turning her gaze to the balloon-satin-ribbon fest.
She took Lucy’s arm, her fingers gripping tightly. ‘I haven’t stopped, darling. Up at 6am every day for two weeks straight, not stopping until it’s time to collapse into bed at night. I’ve not even had time for lunch most days. I shall waste away.’ She ran a hand over her trim figure, her eyes flicking between Lucy and Jack. ‘What do you think of these?’
She fingered one of the giant lavender fabric bows on the back of the chairs.
Lucy sensed this was a trap and vaguely remembered that her mother had told her that chairs were on the list of things Sophie’s mother, Kathleen, was handling.
‘Um, they are...quite nice,’ she said. ‘Very colourful.’
‘Hmm,’ Valerie said. ‘A bit froofy, I think. Bit over the top. But…’ She sighed and ran a hand over her sleek bob. ‘I can’t do it all.’
‘No, Mum,’ Lucy said, on cue. ‘You need to have help with these things.’
‘And of course really, this sort of event,’ she lowered her voice and gestured about the room, ‘is for the bride’s family to take care of, but they aren’t people of…’ She contorted her face into something that tried to convey understanding and superiority all at once. ‘Great means.’
She smoothed the collar on her designer jacket with an elegantly manicured hand decked in rings and glanced over at Kathleen in her Marks Spencer dress.
‘We wanted to make sure that the children had a weekend to remember, so your father and I stepped in to help.’
Lucy knew that stepped in to help was code for paid out sizeable sums in order to exert major influence over the event, but she kept her mouth firmly shut.
Valerie was looking at Lucy’s dress and pursing her lips. Lucy wished she’d asked the hotel for an iron.
‘Did you hear about Heather’s promotion? Moved up to partner now. I think they knew they were on to a good thing and wanted to lock her in before they lost her.’ She nodded to herself. ‘She’s an asset to them. And,’ Valerie said, at a volume designed for anyone within range to hear, ‘it’s an excellent remuneration package, too.’
‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘Heather messaged me, it’s great news.’
‘Did you send her a card?’ Valerie asked.
‘For what?’ Lucy was puzzled.
‘For her new job! Congratulations on her new job!’
‘But Mum, it’s the same job, isn’t it, that she had before? In the same place?’
‘Darling,’ her mother said reproachfully. ‘Being made partner,’ ––Lucy could have sworn her mother’s voice went up two decibels when she said made partner–– ‘is not the same job as before. I think Heather would really appreciate a card.’
She straightened the neckline on Lucy’s dress.
‘It’s only been a few weeks, so perhaps you could send one when you get home, hmm?’ She smiled.
Lucy chewed on an olive and gave a slight nod.
‘Now tell me, how are you two?’ Valerie asked, looking from one to the other. ‘Quite the turn up for the books, you two getting together.’ She brushed imaginary fluff off her immaculate suit. ‘I can’t wait to hear how that came about,’ she said in a breathy voice.
It seemed her mother could wait, as she didn’t pause for either Jack or Lucy to get a word in edgeways. ‘So glad for you, darling, that you’re here with someone. And it does make things easier for us, with seating plans and whatnot.’
Lucy shovelled a caramelised onion tartlet into her mouth and chewed furiously.
‘And perhaps we’ll be doing this again soon.’ She swept her hand over the festivities. ‘For you two.’
Jack gave an obliging smile, and Lucy blushed and choked on some pastry.
‘And how is work, darling?’ Valerie made a face of concern. ‘I do worry about you, working there. It’s very out of the way, and you’re not really with people your own age. Are there any promotions for you, do you think?’
‘Mum, the people I work with are around my age,’ Lucy said for the umpteenth time. ‘It’s the volunteers that I support that are more your—’ She looked at her mother and stopped herself. ‘A bit older than me.’
Valerie blinked at her. Lucy took a breath, wanting so much to share the love for her work with her mother.
‘The events programme has gone so well this year. We’ve seen a ten per cent increase in visitors so far compared to last year, mostly families with children, which is great. And there’s actually an amazing event on next month, which I’ve worked so hard on. It’s been a lot of work, but I am so excited—’
‘Darling.’ Her mother stopped her with a hand on her arm, her mouth pressed in a firm line. ‘I know exactly what you mean about events being a lot of work. This,’ she looked around the room, rubbed at her temple and sighed deeply, ‘this has been a lot to take on. And, of course, there’s Kathleen—calls herself Kath—but sometimes it’s harder working with someone than just getting on and getting something done yourself. You know, not everyone really listens, do they?’
No, they don’t.
‘Now darling, I want to hear more about your little job, I do, and we can share our events war stories later. But your brother is over there talking to the wedding planner, and I really don’t want him making last-minute changes to what we’ve agreed. We’ll talk more soon, yes? And you can tell me what you thought of the food tonight.’ She kissed Lucy on the cheek. ‘Kathleen organised it,’ she whispered and pulled a face.
Then she was gone, weaving back through the tables, glass in the air, calling, ‘Ollie, darling!’
Lucy grabbed a fresh flute of champagne from the table and gulped it down, then started attacking a fruit kebab.
‘That was intense,’ Jack murmured.
‘Mmmm,’ was all Lucy would say, shredding a pineapple cube with her fingers. ‘But mercifully brief.’
She felt a mellow buzz take hold as the glass of champagne––her third of the evening––worked its way through her system.
Her gaze lighted on her brother across the room. He was listening patiently and nodding while Valerie counted things off on her fingers.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Lucy murmured, shoving her half-finished plate of food onto a table and tugging at Jack’s sleeve.
‘What? You want to leave? We can’t, we’ve been drinking and I—’
‘Not leave the wedding,’ she said, looping her arm through Jack’s. ‘Leave this function room.’
She grinned up at him.
‘Let’s get out of here and get some fresh air.’
She eyed her mother across the room. Valerie was gesturing in their direction.
‘Quick,’ she let go of Jack’s arm and gave him a gentle shove. ‘Before my mother can return….’
She wrapped a piece of cake in a napkin, swiped another glass of champagne from the table and made for the exit.