Chapter 25
25
C assie knocked on the door of Lucy and Russell’s cottage then left their costumes on the step and ran away before they answered.
She couldn’t wait to see them properly kitted out. Just the thought made her snort with laughter as she came through the patio doors into the kitchen.
‘Are you going to share the joke?’ asked Marc, stepping out from behind the open fridge door and almost giving her a heart attack.
‘You’ll find out soon enough, unless Lucy and Russell bottle out of the fancy dress,’ Cassie said with another small but very unattractive snort. ‘What are you doing in the fridge?’
‘Do I need permission to open the fridge?’ She deserved the arch look that he was giving her but as Cassie glanced down at her phone and the very long – even by her standards – to-do list, she knew that she was about to become – again, even by her standards – very bossy.
‘I’ve got a lot to do and I don’t need you getting in my way,’ she said.
‘Which is why we should divide and conquer. I’ll sort out everything booze- and barbecue-related and you can do the other stuff,’ he said smoothly. ‘Then I’ll set up the karaoke after we’ve eaten.’
Cassie frowned. ‘When you say “everything booze-related”, are you including glasses, ice, soft drinks? And the barbecue – Lydia and Frank left very specific instructions and a user’s manual …’
‘It’s lucky that I can read then, isn’t it?’
Cassie ignored the sarcasm. ‘Are you going to marinate the meat? Is there a separate space for the vegetarian stuff?’
‘What I’m going to do is stay in my lane, and you can stay in yours.’ Marc kicked the fridge door shut with the back of his foot. ‘It’s a barbecue. It’s karaoke. Neither of which is rocket science.’
‘If you say so,’ Cassie muttered because even relinquishing a little bit of control, especially to Marc, made her feel dangerously adrift. Like the person she’d once been, instead of the person she now was.
‘I do say so,’ Marc said firmly. ‘Now, out of my way. I’ve things to do, places to be.’
Cassie huffed like a furious little dragon. Not just at his peremptory tone but Marc physically moving her out of the way, his hands on her hips, when he could have just gone around her, instead of through her.
Soon, though, she was too busy to worry about Marc or how she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her hips. She organised condiments and bread, dips and crisps and carried them out to the table on the terrace where they’d eaten the night before. Back and forth she went, each time loaded up like a little pack mule.
Cassie was quite insistent that this time, she didn’t need any help. Everyone had mucked in on previous occasions, apart from Heather and Davy who just expected to be waited on hand and foot.
‘Just take a seat by the fire pit – you’re to do nothing but enjoy yourselves,’ she said to Anita and Azad, who were the first to put in an appearance, dressed quite fabulously as Morticia and Gomez from The Addams Family . In all the time that she’d known Anita, Cassie had never seen her looking quite so slinky and glamorous as she did in a black fishtail gown with plunging neckline and a wig which gave her long, black starlet waves. While Azad, well, he was dressed in a dinner jacket – Cassie suspected that was going to be an overriding theme of the fancy dress.
She was right: the next couple to arrive were Iris and Bill, Iris in a beautiful sparkling gold flapper dress with delicate beadwork and Bill wearing – big surprise – his best suit and bow tie. ‘We’re Daisy and Jay from The Great Gatsby ,’ he said. ‘Because madam had to justify the ridiculous amount of money she spent on yet another vintage dress.’
‘It’s from the 1920s,’ Iris said in a reverent whisper. Then she did a pleased little shimmy so the beads reflected in the glow of the fire. ‘Please note, we’re referencing the 1970s adaptation of The Great Gatsby , starring Mia Farrow and Robert Redford. Not more recent, inferior versions . ’
‘Noted,’ Cassie said, as she put down a bowl of nuts, then turned and did a double take at the sight of Heather and Davy.
Heather looked stunning as Barbie in a figure-hugging, hot-pink jumpsuit, which showed off every toned inch of her tall, slim body, and a big blonde bouffant wig. And Davy? Davy was just Ken.
‘Wow! You look amazing,’ Cassie said and Heather preened like a cossetted, pampered Siamese.
‘You look … nice too,’ Heather said after a long pause. She took a seat next to Anita. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic, Cass. Heavy on the gin.’
‘She’s been knocking them back all afternoon. The old lush,’ Davy said, stroking his bare chest. Cassie wasn’t one to body-shame, but if she’d been Davy, she’d definitely have done up some of the buttons on the distressed denim waistcoat. ‘A bottle of lager, Casserella, and make it quick, I’m gasping.’
‘Marc’s sorting out the drinks,’ Cassie said. Davy’s eyes lit up when he looked across the terrace to see Marc, and now Azad and Bill, all gathered around the grill.
‘They don’t have a bloody clue what they’re doing,’ he said, already heading in that direction. ‘Hey, Marco! You’re going to need a bigger boat!’
‘He’s really grinding my gears today,’ Heather hissed. ‘He’s clearly not going to get me my drink either. Not when he can bore on about barbecues instead.’ She stood up and wobbled alarmingly in her very high, hot-pink open-toe stilettos. Heather had many faults but when she committed to a look, she really committed. ‘I’ll just get it myself. Unless you were planning on being helpful, Cass.’
‘I will,’ Cass said with great patience. ‘I just need to unload the dishwasher first. I’m out of bowls.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Heather snapped and teetered off in search of a gin and tonic herself.
Cassie had just finished taking a stack of plates from the dishwasher to the table when Digby and Kwame appeared, with a great flourish, on the terrace. Cassie couldn’t resist eyeing them up and down, then saying, ‘Really? You had to go all the way to Brighton for that ?’
They were wearing red Adidas tracksuits and black curly bubble wigs in homage to Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums .
‘Would you believe that we couldn’t get red Adidas tracksuits anywhere in London?’ Digby made his eyes go especially wide.
‘No, I would not believe that,’ Cassie said, but she couldn’t pretend to be annoyed with them for a moment longer. ‘You both look brilliant, you know you do. Plus, you get extra points for not simply turning up in your dinner jackets and claiming to be James Bond.’
‘That was our plan B,’ Kwame admitted. ‘Now what can we do to help?’
‘Well, the men have gathered around the barbecue because it takes at least three of them to grill some sausages, but apart from that, everything is under control,’ Cassie said.
Digby and Kwame decided to join the women, who were not remotely interested in making fire, and Cassie headed back to the kitchen.
She was just adding olives to a simple Greek salad when she heard Lucy and Russell approaching. As they covered the short distance from the cottage to the terrace, they were singing lustily, or rather yodelling. Though it was proving quite difficult to yodel when they were laughing so hard.
Cassie ran to the terrace, already giggling herself, to see her two friends decked out as Maria and a random von Trapp male child, from The Sound of Music. It was Lucy’s favourite film in the whole world and a Boxing Day tradition that she’d serve fondue and expect everyone to sit through the entire three hours.
Lucy caught sight of Cassie and held out her arms. ‘Babes! Best fancy-dress costume ever!’
There was no point in being modest. Cassie had absolutely excelled herself when she’d found a selection of dirndls on a German fashion website. Obviously, she’d gone for a party dirndl in a glittery silver, which Lucy evidently loved from the way she was twirling in it.
‘I’m not quite so pleased,’ Russell said and Cassie had to turn away. She couldn’t even look at him as tears streamed down her face. This time they were tears of sheer joy. ‘Really, Cass? Really?’
Cassie had tried so hard to find a costume that remotely resembled anything that Christopher Plummer had worn in the film. Eventually she’d found a seller on Etsy who could make romper suits – even for a grown man, as it turned out – from a very similar fabric to the brocade curtains that Maria von Trapp had repurposed as children’s play outfits.
‘I can’t even look at you,’ Cassie spluttered. She put a hand to her ribs. ‘Oh God, it hurts.’
Russell had accessorised his ensemble with a white T-shirt and trainers, which just made it even funnier. ‘I look like a prize plum,’ he said, pulling on the short legs of his outfit.
‘It was nearly pleather lederhosen,’ Cassie managed to say as she carefully wiped under her eyes. Her fingertips carried the black smudges of what was left of her mascara.
‘I’d have preferred lederhosen.’ Russell couldn’t stay angry for long. Not that Cassie had believed he was genuinely cross. Besides, he loved to be the centre of attention. He also loved to barbecue and now that their big reveal was over, it was clear where his priorities lay.
‘I’m sure Marc has got a pair of barbecue tongs with your name on,’ Cassie said when she saw him casting eager looks in that direction.
‘He’d better have.’ Russell puffed out his chest, which, there were no two ways about it, was not as broad as it used to be. ‘I am the grill master, after all.’
Lucy wandered after him to get a drink and Cassie went back into the kitchen to find Russell something to sit on, only to discover that Marc had beaten her to it. ‘Davy keeps pestering me to chuck lighter fuel on the barbecue,’ he said conversationally. ‘I might knock him out by hitting him over the head with this stool.’
‘I don’t think anyone would blame you if you did,’ Cassie told him and he winked at her. Winking wasn’t a very Marc thing – but then he’d been doing a lot of not very Marc things this weekend.
‘Well, I hope the defence calls you as a witness. The champagne I put in the fridge should be chilled by now, but I also just mixed some Aperol Spritzes for Iris and Kwame, if you don’t mind taking them over.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re an angel,’ Marc said and what with that and the winking, Cassie wondered just how much he’d had to drink himself. Now he hefted up the stool, then stepped out onto the terrace. ‘Russell! Sit down. You shouldn’t be standing with that pulled muscle.’
Cassie retreated to the shower room to repair her make-up. Without her usual bronzer, she looked pale and with the streaked mascara, she was serving raccoon realness. There wasn’t time for a full repair job. She wetted a cotton bud under the tap to remove the worst of the damage, then went heavy with the concealer, powder and yet more mascara.
She still had quite a lot to do. Make a dressing for the salads for one thing, but Cassie spent long minutes gazing at herself in the mirror over the sink. It was disconcerting to not quite recognise her own reflection. The wig, the dramatic make-up. Generally, Cassie was happy with the way she looked. Like so many other women, she felt that now she was well into her thirties, she’d settled into her face.
But now she wondered if other people thought that she was pretty.
No, not other people.
Marc.
He wanted to have sex with her, so he must do. Though thinking someone was pretty and thinking someone was hot were different things.
There was a small footstool in the shower room, which Cassie climbed on so she could pull up her shirt and look at her body in the mirror above the sink. To scrutinise her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the gentle but definite curve to her belly.
Marc hadn’t seemed to mind how she looked last night even though he’d been married to a model, which she really needed to stop obsessing about. But he’d only seen her legs. There were other parts of her that had aged over the years. Cassie hoisted her breasts up to where she thought they’d been sixteen years ago when they’d been higher, firmer.
Then she realised what she was doing and jumped down from the stool. Who cared what Marc thought about her face? Her body? And the inner changes that maybe weren’t visible but were even more significant?
Cassie cared, even though she wished that she didn’t.
Time to nip this in the bud and to absolutely not have sex with him because she still couldn’t have sex with someone, with Marc, and have it mean nothing. She’d never really been the kind of person who could have casual sex. Cassie wasn’t a casual person. When she’d had sex with Marc, it had meant something and it would mean something now. Especially now, when she was seeing glimpses of a person that he’d never let her see before. Or maybe she just hadn’t been looking at him hard enough.
There was a sudden knock at the door. ‘Cass? Are you in there?’
Pep talk over, Cassie unlocked the door to find Iris waiting for her. ‘Marc made you and Kwame Aperol spritzes. They’re on the counter by the fridge.’
‘Great, but never mind that.’ Iris’s auburn curls bounced as she shook her head. ‘You have to come. It’s all kicking off. Don’t you have some kind of special events-planning training for when this stuff happens?’
With Iris leading her by the wrist, Cassie was coming whether she liked it or not. ‘Kicking off in a good way?’ she asked futilely as she grabbed a bowl of cheesy puffs en route to wherever they were going.
‘In a very bad way,’ Iris hissed, sounding very dour. ‘Heather …’
It was impressive how one woman’s name said out loud could make Cassie’s heart sink so low. They rounded the corner of the terrace to the fire pit, where Lucy and Heather were having an argument. Both of them standing up and jabbing fingers at each other but not making full body contact. Yet.
‘There’s champagne nicely chilled in the fridge if anyone wants a refill,’ Cassie chirped in a feeble attempt to distract them, then wished she hadn’t when Heather glanced over at her, her face positively malevolent. Still, she tried again. ‘Come on, let’s not ruin the night before it’s even begun.’
‘But that’s what you do, Heather, isn’t it?’ Lucy shouted, her face red. ‘You ruin things. I wish you’d never come.’
Cassie put a gentle hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘Don’t say things you’ll regret,’ she warned in a quiet voice.
‘Oh, fuck off, Cassie. Who asked you?’ Heather demanded but Cassie wasn’t the target of her rage. Heather turned back to her sister and jabbed her finger again.
‘Yeah, because you’re perfect Lucy, with your perfect husband and your perfect kids and your perfect life and it’s always about you …’
Lucy jabbed right back. ‘That’s funny because every time we get together, it always ends up being about you . You always have to be the centre of attention. You can’t bear for anyone else to be happy …’
‘I wish you knew what it was like to have things not go your way—’
Heather wasn’t able to finish her sentence, thank God, because as she stepped forward to completely invade her sister’s personal space, she managed to turn her ankle in her perilously high Barbie heels.
She let out a little gasp and then, inevitably, the tears came.
It was always easier to cope with a crying Heather than any of the other iterations of Heather. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ Cassie said, putting her arm around the weeping woman.
Heather, docile now, let herself be led back into the house where Cassie had to kneel on the floor like a supplicant to get Heather out of her heels. Her ankle was already swelling up like a pufferfish.
‘I’m just so miserable, Cass,’ Heather sobbed, as she limped through the open-plan living room. ‘No one really knows what’s going on in my life.’
Cassie knew that hurt people hurt people but there were also lots of hurt people who didn’t lash out at anyone within range. She wasn’t going to get into that now. Instead she made soothing noises. ‘I don’t think we ever really know what anyone else is going through.’
‘I know I put a brave face on it, but I’m suffering on the inside. Have you any idea what it’s like to be married to Davy? To see his face when I wake up, mouth open, the morning breath …’
It certainly painted an ugly picture, though Heather was usually the smuggest of all marrieds. She’d once said when Cassie had been optimistic about a new boyfriend, ‘Get real, Cass – relationships don’t actually count unless the man loves you enough to marry you.’
Now, Cassie refused to be drawn in. Even if she did think that being married to Davy must be a source of near permanent irritation. She shouldered open the door of the morning room. ‘Why don’t you lie down on the sofa here where you can be a bit more private? I’ll tuck this throw around you and let’s prop your foot up on this cushion.’
Heather was uncharacteristically compliant. Cassie left to find a bag of frozen peas for Heather’s ankle, a glass of water and a couple of Nurofen. She’d only been gone five minutes, but when she returned Heather was crying again. It really was like the hen weekend. A frightening thought.
She paused from fussing around Heather, who seemed to be liking the fussing a little too much. ‘Hang on, I’ll be right back …’
This time she came back with a bucket she’d found in the utility room.
‘If you’re going to puke …’
Heather gasped in outrage. ‘I would never!’
That was a lie. ‘If you’re going to puke,’ Cassie repeated, making sure to enunciate each word so there could be no misunderstandings, ‘then I am begging you to puke in this bucket.’
Cassie stayed, stroking her Barbie wig, until Heather fell asleep.
Everyone, but especially Lucy, seemed quite subdued when Cassie returned to the fire pit with a bottle of champagne. ‘No sad faces,’ she said a little desperately. ‘Have some champagne and let’s think happy thoughts. I’ve got a couple more things to do then I’ll be back.’
As she left them, she heard Lucy ask, ‘Do I really make everything about me? I don’t, do I?’
‘Sweetheart, it’s your fucking fortieth birthday weekend, everything is meant to be about you,’ Iris said fiercely. ‘Pay her no mind.’
As Cassie bobbed back and forth with salad dressings and more cutlery, and she’d forgotten napkins, Lucy looked more and more cheerful. Especially once the men had finished grilling meat, though why it took four of them to cook a few burgers and sausages, Cassie didn’t know.
She was rummaging in a cupboard for a serving platter when she felt a light touch on her back. She knew it was Marc before she even turned around to see him looking at her with a faintly exasperated expression. Though it seemed softer, more forgiving than the exasperation she usually roused in him.
‘Come and eat,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘I will. I just—’
‘Do what you’re told for once,’ he snapped without any real fierceness, so Cassie allowed Marc to take her hand. That was the only reason.
‘But we need at least one more platter,’ she said as he pulled her out to the table where everyone was now gathered.
‘I think we can survive without at least one more platter,’ he replied implacably. ‘Now, what do you want to eat?’
He held out a chair for Cassie to sit down, though she was quite capable of pulling out a chair herself. Then she remembered that they were meant to be playing a part. ‘I’ll have a burger, please,’ she said. Then, mindful of the many other barbecues she’d attended that summer, ‘I don’t mind if it’s a bit rare but if it’s actually raw in the middle, then I’ll pass.’
‘I’m offended by that implied criticism of my impeccable grilling skills,’ Russell said as Marc took a plate then a brioche bun and built Cassie a burger, asking her at every stage of its construction what she liked by way of pickles, sauces and sides.
Again, he was just pretending to be a devoted boyfriend but he did put together a great burger.
Even though it wasn’t real, there was something lovely about Marc sitting next to her, his arm round the back of her chair. Or maybe it was just that she’d really needed to eat, and she’d needed a glass of something alcoholic to drink even more than that.
With Heather asleep elsewhere and Davy neutralised without her – and also because he and Azad were having a very boring, very in-depth conversation about cricket – it was the perfect evening.
It was another warm, balmy night, the faintest of breezes wafting gently in from the sea. The heavenly scent of clusters of night-blooming jasmine in the wooden planters that lined the terrace competing with the equally heavenly scent of fried onions. Then there was that warm contentment that came from delicious food, the company of friends and getting pleasantly buzzed.
Once they were finished eating, Marc rested his hand on Cassie’s knee and she was tipsy enough to just live in the moment. That a handsome, sexy man, as unpredictable and as unreliable as the bank holiday weekend weather (rain was still forecast for tomorrow), had his hand on her knee. To everyone else, he must seem a little besotted with Cassie, which wasn’t the truth but he did want her and for tonight that was enough.
Except she absolutely wasn’t going to sleep with him.