Chapter 29
The marquee wasn’t as big as it looked from outside, perhaps because a lot of people were shoehorned into it, all of them talking animatedly.
It was baking beneath the canvas, and the air smelt of mown grass and real ale – most of the marquee’s occupants were downing pints of the stuff. SJ caught the odd phrase as she and Alison weaved beneath the red and white striped heat.
‘Best flights money can buy – I tell you, it’s worth the investment.’
‘I couldn’t believe it when he threw that triple twenty – but you’ve gotta hand it to him. Old Charlie always comes up with the goods.’
‘Bloody darts,’ Alison said, close to her ear. ‘Dad must have invited the whole team. They’ve probably got a board set up in here somewhere. Mum wouldn’t let them put one in the house.’
SJ looked around for it and tripped over a guide rope.
‘Whoops – steady,’ Alison giggled, grabbing her arm and saving her from ending up flat on her face.
‘It’s these heels,’ SJ said, thinking it was a miracle she hadn’t spilled any of her drink. She really must get a grip. She felt as though she’d been here hours, but a quick glance at her slightly blurred watch face told her it was barely six thirty.
She and Alison elbowed their way between the beer-bellied darts players and their equally large wives until they were standing in one corner of the marquee.
‘What do you think of the lights? I helped Dad set them up last night.’ Alison gestured towards the red and white spotlights that were stretched on wires just beneath the canvas ceiling.
They didn’t look as if they’d be up to the job of anything other than giving a muted glow when the sun went down.
‘Must have taken some doing,’ SJ said, wishing suddenly for the comfort of Tom. Where was he anyway? Oh, yes, in the house. She really ought to get back to him. He’d be wondering where she was.
‘I think I should find Tom. He doesn’t know anyone.’
‘He knows Mum and Dad. Don’t worry about him.
He’ll be fine. Do you want another drink?
Oh, just a sec. There’s Noah. He’s got a bloody pint of lager in his hand, the little sod.
Honestly, SJ, that child will be the death of me.
Never have kids. They’re not worth it. Stay there. I’ve got to sort him out.’
‘Okay,’ SJ said, no longer sure what she was saying okay to: a drink; not having kids; or staying put.
Possibly all three. She sank down onto a handy garden chair, lit another ciggy and watched Alison thread her way gracefully towards a tall figure whose face was obscured by a hood but who very definitely had a pint in one hand – and a fag in the other.
SJ felt a wave of sympathy – poor Noah had obviously thought he’d be safe amongst the beer-swilling darts players, and was blissfully unaware his mother was on his case.
Unfortunately someone had moved across her line of vision so she could no longer see what was going on. Doubtless Alison would give her all the gory details later. And at least it was someone else who was in trouble for a change instead of her.
* * *
SJ wasn’t aware how much time had passed.
It was all a bit of a blur. One or two people came and talked to her, although she couldn’t remember much of the conversations.
When they realised she didn’t know anything about darts they drifted away again.
Although one nice man brought her a pint to be going on with – as she looked like she’d run out.
‘Terrible about the guy who shot all those people in America,’ he said, handing it over.
‘Mmm.’ She smiled benignly and after a while he went away.
She watched a bee buzzing around the tap of the beer barrel.
She hoped no one would get stung and kill the bee.
She liked bees, with their black and yellow honey-full bodies.
If anything, the volume of voices had increased since she came in.
She couldn’t hear any individual conversations, just a babble of sound, which reminded her of being at a swimming pool with her head beneath the water.
She was surprised the neighbours hadn’t complained.
Perhaps her parents had invited them too.
Every so often the nagging thought that she should be somewhere else surfaced, but SJ couldn’t remember where the somewhere else might be, so she stayed put until the need to go to the loo became urgent and she realised she’d have to head back to the house.
* * *
The freshness of the evening air was a welcome relief after the muggy heat of the beer tent and the lawn felt squishy beneath her feet.
For a moment SJ’s head spun and she paused to get her bearings.
The lights of the house seemed miles away.
She made slow progress towards them. It was like wading through quicksand.
The brush of something against her calves was a shock – she didn’t remember the grass being that long.
Glancing downwards, she was amazed to see she’d wandered off the lawn and was standing in a flowerbed.
Mum would kill her. Hastily, she brushed earth off her shoes, reinstated two flattened plants by leaning them against their associates and continued her journey, the urge to pee growing with every step.
Hopefully no one would be in the loo; she was close to bursting.
As she drew nearer the lit kitchen window, she could see her mother deep in conversation with a woman she didn’t recognise.
There was no sign of Tom. Yes, of course, that’s where she should be – with Tom, because he didn’t know anyone.
There was no sign of Alison either. Oh well, she’d have to sort that out in a minute.
* * *
No one was in the bathroom. Thank you, God.
The relief of emptying her bursting bladder was marvellous.
Her mother hadn’t spotted her going past the kitchen doorway and up the stairs either.
Thank you, God, again. ‘Good old God, I’m sorry I called you a miserable old bugger. You know I didn’t mean it.’
SJ washed her hands and then, realising her shoes still had bits of earth clinging to the heels, rinsed them off in the sink, and dried them on a fluffy white towel.
Hmm, that hadn’t been such a bright idea.
The towel now looked filthy. She contemplated stuffing it in her bag and sneaking it into the washing basket downstairs, but her bag was way too small for the stuff already crammed into it, let alone a towel.
Plan B was to rearrange the towel on the rail so the dirty bits weren’t showing. Mission accomplished. You’d never know it wasn’t pristine. SJ giggled as she put her shoes back on, unlocked the bathroom door – which took several attempts for some reason – and stepped out into the hall.
She could hear voices coming from her parents’ bedroom – the soft musical notes of a woman’s voice and the deeper muffled sound of a man’s. SJ leant against the wall to catch her breath, a horrible feeling of foreboding stealing through her. What if it was Alison and Tom?
That was pretty unlikely. Tom had already told her he didn’t fancy Alison.
She frowned. No, he hadn’t. She hadn’t actually seen him since they’d been introduced, so he couldn’t have done.
She was getting her wires tangled. It had been Jacob who said he didn’t fancy Alison.
She’d believed him – and look where that had got her.
It would be best to investigate. She made her way along the landing towards her parents’ bedroom. Damn walls. She was sure they weren’t usually that close together – she kept bouncing off them.
Outside her parents’ room, she paused again. She could hear soft giggling now. It sounded like Alison. SJ felt her heart sink – all that being nice to her earlier and getting her drinks had just been a ploy. Well, no bloody way was she getting away with it this time.
With adrenaline pounding through her very soul, SJ flung open the door, tripped over a coat that was on the floor and sprawled headlong into a mirrored chest of drawers that was much closer to the door than she remembered it being and also, for some reason, not against the wall.
There was an almighty crash as the chest of drawers, a bedside light on top of it, several small bottles and a box of her mother’s jewellery, tipped backwards under SJ’s weight and hit the floor.
SJ ended up on the carpet beside it, tangled up in the wire flex from the lamp, which had gone out – although she wasn’t sure it had ever been on – and with a shower of her mother’s beads around her neck and a bottle of her mother’s favourite scent by her nose.
Prada – she’d have recognised its distinctive smell anywhere.
In the dim light that filtered through the undrawn curtains she could make out the outline of a couple in the coat-covered bed.
Neither of them was big enough to be Tom.
She didn’t think either of them was Alison either.
In the split second of silence that filled the room after the crash, SJ tried to refocus her eyes.
‘Is that you, Auntie SJ?’ came a small shocked voice from the direction of the bed.
SJ closed her eyes and groaned. No wonder it had sounded like Alison – it was Sophie.
The poor girl must have slipped up here for a cuddle with her boyfriend and – judging by the pounding of numerous feet on the stairs – she’d just drawn the attention of half a dozen people to what should have been a private event.
Oh my God. She certainly wasn’t going to win any favourite auntie competitions now.