Chapter 12 #2
‘Anybody’s balls, girls, or someone we know?’ He gave a dirty laugh and continued on his way.
‘God’s sake…’ we both said in unison before sitting to peruse the article together. ‘Yes, definitely gives Oxford May Ball a mention,’ I went on. ‘Oh, and look, yes, here we are, Hunt Balls – are they still the done thing?’ I started quickly reading. ‘Well, apparently, they are.’
‘There you go.’ Linda paused. ‘So, who you going with then?’ She indicated her head towards John Dyson’s office. ‘With him?’ Her demeanour was hopeful as to my response.
‘No.’
‘Ah! Someone else then? You’ve dumped John for a horse rider?’
I laughed at that. ‘D’you have to actually be able to ride to go to one of these dos?’
‘Well, I’m sure it helps,’ she said sagely.
‘Now, you’re going to have to get yourself a long frock.
And off the shoulder too,’ Linda went on in excitement.
‘You’ll need to go to that tanning place in the town centre.
’ She stood up and grabbed my long dark hair, twisting it and piling it artfully on top of my head. ‘There you go.’
‘A long posh dress?’ I almost wailed, turning the page of the magazine on a bevy of beautiful women and just as gorgeous blokes.
‘Where am I going to get that from?’ I immediately thought of Fliss and her extensive wardrobe of clothes, and another pang of sadness went through me.
She’d have known exactly what to wear and what to say and what to do at a hunt ball, forgetting, for a split second, that had she still been alive, she probably wouldn’t have even been speaking to me knowing I was off galivanting with the man she’d so set her heart on.
‘There’s Angelique’s Modes: Fashions for All Occasions, I suppose. You know, on Manchester Road…’
‘You’re joking! Load a rubbish in there.
’ Linda pulled a disdainful face. ‘And Angelique is actually Angela Higginbottom. I was in the same class as her daughter, Susan. Angela Higginbottom still thinks it’s the seventies; she’s got woolly cardies in the window at the moment, even though it’s nearly summer.
If you want to look a frumpy freak then yes, head over there.
’ Linda sniffed. ‘Look, there’s a fabulous dress agency on the way to Sheffield.
I’ll come with you if you like. They’ve got a whole section at the back for posh dos.
Red-carpet dos,’ she added knowledgeably, ‘and, you know, cruises…’ Linda breathed the word with such reverence she didn’t need to add, but did anyway, ‘God, I’d love to go on a cruise.
Wouldn’t you? You’d meet a millionaire there, I bet.
’ She paused from turning the pages of Cosmo.
‘So, who are you off with then? To this ball?’
‘Oh, just a guy from uni,’ I said with some nonchalance, even though my pulse raced every time I imagined the coming event.
‘Hmm.’ She sniffed meaningfully once more. ‘You see, you get yourself a bit of education and blokes from Rothersley become guys from uni.’ She air-quoted both phrases. ‘Don’t blame you a bit, Anna, for forgetting your roots and moving up in the world when you’ve the chance.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing that,’ I said hotly.
‘They all say that.’ Linda grinned. ‘And, listen, our Kath’ll do your hair and make-up.
She’s dead good now that she’s almost finished her beauty course at the tech.
Ooh, I can see you now,’ she went on, pointing a finger at a beautiful brunette in a red dress. ‘That’s it. That’s the look you want.’
I spent the next week in a state of feverish excitement combined with dread that Theo had no intention of sending any invitation: he’d forgotten all about it, about me.
And his original guest – no doubt the blonde squash player – had apologised: ‘Oh, Theo, sorry, darling, got my dates mixed up: not flying off to Paris with Mummy to the autumn collections after all. I’ll dig out a dress and Granny’s pearls and join you… ’
‘What you expecting, Anna?’ Dad asked when, five days later, there was still nothing through the letter box and no phone call for me from Theo. ‘Is it John Dyson you wanting? He’s rung couple of times.’
‘Yes, I know, Mum said.’
‘You not seeing him no more?’
‘No.’
‘Good, good. That’s good.’ Dad said nothing more but patted my arm and I knew he’d weighed up my relationship with John, and, in Dad’s eyes, he’d been found wanting.
I constantly waylaid the postman until he actually asked if I fancied having a drink with him one night.
I didn’t.
My heart raced every time the phone rang, but it was inevitably Aunty Sandra for Mum, reminding her of something she’d promised to do to assist the strike action, or one of Les’s many girlfriends he’d said he’d ring and never had.
Dad would be either down at The Alamo with Mum and Les or up at his allotment tending to his onions and spring greens.
I seemed to spend a lot of time alone in the evenings, up in my bedroom determined to work on a thesis that might get me a first next year.
Then, one evening, the minute I walked through the door, Mum broke off from laying the table in the kitchen, immediately looking up as I came in. ‘Letter for you, Anna. Looks official.’ She nodded expectantly towards the mantelpiece in the living room.
And there it was.
Sir Hugh and Lady Mandeville
Request the company of
Anna Piasecki
at the Harrowton Annual May Hunt Ball
on Saturday 12 May at 7 p.m.
In celebration of the end of the season, we warmly invite you to join us for an evening of fine dining, dancing and friendship.
Attire: Formal, with an optional nod to the celebrated tradition of hunting.
Carriages: at 1 a.m.
With warm regards,
Hugh and Ava