Chapter Eleven
‘Do you think he’ll have the nerve?’ Pixie pushed a strand of messy blonde hair out of her face.
‘God, this wig is getting on my nerves.’ Her Halloween costume was inspired by an old picture of her namesake, Pixie Geldof, wearing a skimpy black satin slip-dress, electric blue tights, black lace-up Doc Martens and a huge silver cross around her neck.
They’d had a good laugh over the hairstyle because, instead of sexy and tousled, it looked like a bird was using it as a nest.
‘He turned a funny colour when I prodded him about it.’ Tamara snickered. ‘A bit like gone-off milk? Sort of green around the edges.’
‘He’ll do it for you, lovey. Anything to get in your spandex trousers.’ Pixie waggled her fake eyelashes. She’d grumbled about them too earlier and was deathly afraid they’d come unstuck and land in someone’s pint.
It’d seemed a fun challenge when she considered playing off his half-promised John Travolta impersonation by channelling her own inner sexy Sandy. Now she simply felt exposed and uncomfortable.
‘Don’t be daft. Things aren’t like that between us.’
’What about the famous kiss? We’ve all heard about that.’
Tamara’s face flamed. ‘One kiss. We got a bit carried away, that’s all.’
Pixie sniggered. ‘I’d say you did.’
‘Anyway, Christos couldn’t keep his eyes off you earlier in that outfit.’ She firmly changed the subject.
‘Only until Emily paraded in and then his eyes shot out on stalks,’ Pixie said dryly. ‘I’m surprised Paul let her out of the house in that Elizabeth Hurley look-alike safety-pin dress. She’s only just turned eighteen for Christ’s sake. Where she got her looks from, I don’t know.’
‘True.’ Paul and Becky were lovely people, but regular looking. Somehow, their eldest daughter was a slender, doe-eyed, brunette knockout.
Tamara found Christos’s interest disturbing too, on several levels.
‘I’ve told him you’ll stop work at half seven to join your quiz team, so he’ll have to pull his finger out then.’ Pixie’s voice wobbled. ‘I’m not sure he’s cut out for this.’
‘I suppose it’s a huge learning curve and very different from what he’s used to. For both your sakes, I hope he gets there and soon.’ Deep down she wasn’t convinced, but time would tell.
‘Yeah, I need to cut him some slack, I suppose. It’s early days.’
‘I’ll pick up the dirty glasses, okay?’
They’d spent ages this morning decorating the pub.
Black silky cobwebs dotted with huge scary plastic spiders were draped from the rafters, and white, eerily realistic skeletons were tucked into the best spots to startle people.
Rocky had done an awesome job carving pumpkins to dot around the place, all lit with safe LED candles so they didn’t end up calling the fire brigade.
While they’d been fixing it all, they’d joked that after they took it down again, it’d almost be time to decorate for Christmas.
They wouldn’t be the first in the village to get in the festive spirit because the Webb and Burt families who lived next door to each other in Wesley Lane had put theirs up already.
The quasi-friendly rivalry had started a while ago now and seemed to escalate annually as each tried to outdo the other.
Oversized inflatables were the thing these days, and, this year, a giant Father Christmas in one garden looked scornfully across at the huge snowman next door, who topped its height by an annoyingly obvious degree.
‘Wow, you don’t look like anyone’s mother-in-law tonight!
’ Chloe sidled up to her with a laugh. Her son’s striking blonde partner was Taylor Swift in a gold tasselled minidress and thigh-high sequined boots that sparkled under the lights.
‘It’s just as well Toby’s working — he’d be fretting about us both.
He’s such an old woman sometimes.’ She said it lovingly, but turned pink when Tamara didn’t answer.
‘Has he been in touch? I’ve done my best to—’
‘I’ve tried to contact him, but haven’t had any luck so far.’ She told herself that he’d come around when he was ready.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve told him he’s being an arse, but he refuses to talk about it.’
‘It was a shock. I get that. I should’ve handled it better.’ She tried to smile. ‘Or not snogged Gage like a randy teenager in full view of half the village.’
Chloe spluttered. ‘Looking at it that way, I suppose his point of view has some validity.’
‘Yeah. He’s used to me being Mum and not much else all these years.’ Her cheeks burned. ‘But it was one kiss. That’s all. Yeah, Gage is staying with me, but there’s nothing going on.’ It was starting to sound like an empty declaration, although it was basically true.
‘I’ll have another go at Toby. Promise.’ Chloe grasped her arm.
‘Anyway, let’s forget him for now and enjoy ourselves.
’ She checked Tamara out again. ‘Gage is pretty gorgeous, though, and I predict he’ll drop to the ground when he sees you — like Danny Zuko falling at Sandy’s feet, absolutely slayed. ’
‘I hope not. He’ll do his knee in again.’
‘You didn’t argue with the gorgeous part.’
Tamara’s blush deepened. ‘I’ve got work to do, then it’s time to join the girls and get my brain in gear. You should rope some of your friends in and form a team.’
‘We’re all too scattered around, plus I’m not quite ready to concede this isn’t a very middle-aged hobby — not yet. See ya.’ Chloe breezed off.
For a second Tamara wished she was as carefree and sure of herself, then kicked herself for forgetting the girl’s traumatic experience last year when she’d been stabbed during a robbery that had gone wrong. No one’s life was perfect.
‘There you go. That’s the last for now.’ She plonked a tray of dirty glasses on the bar and wiped a sheen of sweat from her face.
‘Wine?’ Pixie asked.
‘No, thanks. I’m boiled alive. A pint of soda and lime, loaded with ice, please.’
‘Coming up.’
Tamara pressed the drink to her forehead and closed her eyes in relief.
‘Wow!’ Pixie whistled under her breath. ‘Now that’s what I call a costume.’
‘What . . .’ The glass almost slipped from her hand when she followed her friend’s gaze to see Gage had walked in.
A quick look around told Tamara she wasn’t the only woman with her tongue hanging out.
The fact he was still on crutches didn’t detract from the way the white three-piece suit hugged his fit body, and he’d unbuttoned the black shirt enough to show a tease of dark hair.
His slicked-back hairdo wasn’t quite up to John Travolta’s, his hair being far too short, but it did the job.
‘He’s working that for all it’s worth.’ Pixie giggled.
Tamara heard the song ‘You’re the One That I Want’ reverberating through her head. ‘I’m going to join the girls.’
The Back of Beyond Brains’ standard spot was near the fireplace, which meant walking right past Proper Choughed. Tamara’s doubts resurfaced.
‘Go for it.’
Tossing her head gently in case the long curly wig fell off, she grabbed her drink and set off. Sandy didn’t walk in this outfit — she strutted.
* * *
Gage hadn’t missed the surprised looks floating around, but focused on joining his team.
Half an hour ago, he’d still been in his jeans and a thick jumper, but some reckless urge had made him change.
It might’ve been the gleam in Tamara’s eyes when she’d handed over the outfit she had fetched from the flat for him. Why he’d even kept it was a mystery.
‘Hello, mate. I’m Paul. Becky’s hubby. Sit yourself down.
We got your first pint in.’ Paul stood to shake his hand, using the other to hold on to a green feathered cap.
‘Supposed to be bleddy Robin Hood. Becky fancied herself as Maid Marion. I told her I drew the line at wearing tights though.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘That’s some get-up you’re in. Anything to do with our friendly barmaid? ’
‘Maybe. Long story.’ He dropped into the chair they’d saved for him.
‘Nathan got screwed over worse than us.’
‘I’m afraid Melissa’s obsessed by the Bridgerton books and is mad about the show too, so she’s got a thing about men in Regency dress. Enough said?’ Nathan tugged at the high white pleated cravat forcing him to hold his head unnaturally high.
‘Have you seen how tight his trousers are? Poor sod will have to use a crowbar if he needs a—’
‘Shut it, Paul,’ Nathan said good-naturedly. ‘Gage gets the general idea. Anyway, it’s a toss-up between me and Harry who looks the biggest plonker.’
‘Hercule Poirot, right?’ The centre-parted oily hair, toothbrush moustache, formal suit and shiny black patent shoes were instant giveaways.
‘Yep.’ Harry took a swig of beer. ‘My only consolation is Josie’s got a thing about the little man, so I should be in luck later. Her prim Agatha Christie costume with the grey curly wig, frumpy dress and lace-up flat shoes will have to go though.’ He guffawed.
‘This here’s Micky Broad.’ Paul nodded at the thin-faced man to his right. ‘He says he’s a chimney sweep, but I reckon he’s used that as an excuse not to wash for a few days, right, mate?’
‘Sod you.’ Micky gestured with his middle finger.
‘You won’t beat him when it comes to geography. And that’s Ian Geach.’
A bulky, ruddy-faced giant of a man was the only one not in costume. He was hunched over his phone and briefly glanced up to nod.
‘He don’t say much, but he’s ace at music and art, all the fancy stuff, aren’t you?’
‘Mebbe.’
‘Gage here’s a military-history nut,’ Paul added. ‘His mates in the forces called him Prof, so we’ve got two now, hey, Nathan?’
‘More the merrier.’
‘But his is the real thing,’ Gage added. He almost spat out a mouthful of beer as he clocked Tamara, who stood in front of him dressed as his ultimate fantasy. With too many curious eyes watching, the only option available was to stare. So that’s what he did, long and hard.
Tamara’s lush, glossy red lips curved in a sultry smile. ‘I’ll get Pixie to play “Saturday Night Fever” later.’
‘I’m no dancer, remember.’