The Impulse Purchase, page 25
‘You are coming tonight, aren’t you?’ she asked Ed and Tom.
‘We wouldn’t miss it for anything,’ they assured her.
At least they’d be assured of two guests, she told herself. Although Dash Culbone had definitely said he would come with Tabitha, and Lorraine from the shop would be dying to see what they’d done. Oh, and of course the Matts. Curiosity would get the better of the rest of the village, she felt sure.
She smiled as a text came through from Toby, sending her all the luck in the world.
I can’t believe you’ve pulled it off. I’ll be there later in the summer – you know I hate big parties. But Mum and Dad would be tickled pink.
She headed out into the garden. Rose had left a bucket of fallen rose petals by the French doors, for it was Midsummer’s Eve. Folklore said that young girls should scatter rose leaves before them, reciting the poem, and their true love would visit them.
‘Rose leaves, rose leaves
Rose leaves I strew
He that will love me
Come after me now.’
Cherry bent down and picked up a handful, their soft silkiness gentle on her skin. Would it work, she wondered, if you had already found your true love but had mislaid him, rather carelessly, somehow?
36
In the Ladies’ loo, Chloe looped the apron over her head. It was dark green, with The Three Swans embroidered in white across the front. She felt an incredible sense of pride as she tied a bow behind her back. She had fallen into a world she had no idea existed. A world of strong, capable women trying to realise their dream, working together, supporting each other, bouncing off each other. She wished her own mother had an ounce of their determination and energy. But Nicole had lost all her drive and ambition. Somehow, she had lost herself.
Chloe remembered that Nicole had once been someone. Her pupils at Meadow Hall had loved her. They had loved how she had sat them all down and made them listen to ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush when they were doing it for GCSE. She had made books come alive for them. She’d been respected. But her dad had ruined it all. Somehow, he’d walked away with everything he wanted – Elizabeth and her witchy green eyes and her silver sportscar – and now Mum was drowning, in misery and cheap pink wine, and couldn’t find her way back to herself.
She’d been better this week, after last week’s horrible episode. She’d worked every day, and didn’t look as dishevelled or red-eyed. But Chloe still felt uneasy. It was a cycle, she knew that. Binge. Remorse. Apology. A week on the straight and narrow, where they all started to feel as if things might be OK. And then . . .
She wasn’t going to think about it tonight, decided Chloe. She needed to focus all her attention on the opening. She was Maggie’s right hand, ready to do her bidding, ever alert to what needed doing, in tune with the rest of the team. It was, she decided, almost like a football game, everyone match-fit with their eye on the ball, and each other, moving seamlessly to certain victory.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She’d treated herself to some expensive conditioner and her curls were under control, not exploding into the ridiculous wedge that made her despair. She’d put on enough tinted moisturiser to make sure her cheeks weren’t flushed, and behind her glasses her lashes were thick and long, just as the mascara had promised.
She pushed back her shoulders and gave herself a double thumbs-up. She was part of the team. She deserved to be here. She was one of them.
37
Of course the sun came out. Of course it did – that had been its plan all along. ‘You shouldn’t have worried,’ it seemed to laugh, as it heaved itself into the sky just before midday and set to work coaxing out birds and blossom and blooms, and with it came the sweet song of thrushes and the scent of honeysuckle. Trout hurtled along the river, ebullient with rainfall, and the banks teemed with activity, beetles and voles and damselflies. On the far bank, a cluster of solemn cows grazed, their black-and-white flanks gleaming, their tails flicking away unwanted flies.
By six o’clock, everything was set fair.
‘I just want to say,’ said Cherry, as the three of them lined up under the sign for Chloe to take a picture, ‘that if this is a disaster, it’s all been worth it. To spend this time with you, as a team, working together. It’s been wonderful.’
‘It’s not going to be a disaster,’ said Rose. ‘They were all talking about it when I went to pick Gertie up from the picnic. They’re all coming.’
She was still gratified at how welcoming the other Dandelion parents had been. She’d felt a bit awkward and shy at the pick-up, but they had all made a fuss of Gertie the new girl, who’d had several invitations to tea, and they’d been wide-eyed to discover that Rose was part of the team taking over at the pub.
‘We’re all so excited,’ one mum had told her. ‘It’s a drag going into Honisham if you want something to eat. And we all really miss having somewhere to go for a drink.’
‘We’re going to reinstate our TGIF ritual,’ said another. ‘We always used to take the kids into The Swan after pick-up on a Friday. We’d give them tea and we’d have wine. You are going to allow kids, aren’t you?’ she added, suddenly worried.
‘Oh my God, totally,’ Rose laughed. ‘It’s a family pub. For everyone.’
‘You’ll have to join us.’
Standing under the apple trees at Dragonfly Farm, watching her daughter racing around with her newfound friends in the afternoon sun, Rose felt her heart fill with happiness.
Now, with the opening only an hour away, she stood smiling for the camera. She had on an old cashmere cardigan of Catherine’s, on which she’d sewn dozens of tiny satin rosebuds, and wide cream palazzo pants. Her mum looked sensational in a silk dress splashed with red and pink flowers, and Cherry was in a pale green satin kimono over skinny jeans.
The three of them put their arms around each other, and Gertie sat at their feet – Rose had washed all traces of donkey and apple cake and grass off her, and put her in a clean dress.
‘Everyone say Rushbrook,’ said Maggie, who knew all the tricks, and that an ‘o’ sound would make your mouth look more natural while your photo was being taken: money, prunes, Wogan.
‘Rushbrook,’ they chorused, and Chloe did a burst of photos and then scrolled through them to check they were OK. There they were, the three swans, poised on the brink of something truly special that was going to change everyone’s life. Including hers.
By seven o’clock that evening, it felt as if everyone in Rushbrook had come to check out the pub. It was a gloriously golden evening, and people were hugging each other, clapping each other on the back, shaking hands, clinking glasses, thrilled to have somewhere to congregate again. There was a mix of ages and backgrounds: dressed-down pensioners, dressed-up youngsters, farmers fresh from the field, young mums glad to get out of jeans and into a dress, office workers glad to get out of suits and into jeans. The cocktails were going down alarmingly quickly and the cider pump was doing overtime.
Cherry recognised nearly everyone. The two Matts, of course. Lorraine from the shop already on her second Swan cocktail, getting ever more garrulous. Dash and Tabitha, who congratulated her effusively.
‘This is just in time for our high season,’ Dash told her. ‘You are going to be overrun with our guests.’
‘I need these builders at Dragonfly Farm,’ added Tabitha. ‘I can’t believe this has only taken them two weeks. Do you think they’d do my renovation?’
‘If you let them fish all summer,’ laughed Cherry. She pointed over to Ed and Tom, who were dressed up in plaid shirts and baggy jeans nursing pints of Melchior cider. ‘You’ll have to ask them. They do get booked up.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Tabitha. ‘We’ve just finished the barn conversions, but I want to do the house next. And I’ll be honest, the guys I was using nearly made me tear my hair out. We should have been finished six months ago.’
There was a melee of dogs, ruled over by Fred and Ginger, with Matilda as their lady-in-waiting. An enormous Dogue de Bordeaux lay slumped by the fire, the size of a small sofa. There were border terriers, a Dalmatian, two black Labradors . . . Gertie was in her element, Rose desperately trying to stop her patting every dog that came in.
This was exactly what she had envisaged, thought Cherry. The Three Swans as the beating heart of Rushbrook, once again. For a moment she was tempted to film the throngs on her phone and send it to Mike, just to prove that her instincts hadn’t been wrong. But she didn’t, because she knew that any fool could fill a pub up with free drinks and hot pork rolls. The proof of the pudding would be in whether they came back and put their hands in their pockets.
38
Maggie noticed the man as soon as he walked in. He was on his own. Tall, well over six foot, in a collarless linen shirt, untucked, and faded jeans. Dark curly hair, quite long, but with the kind of messy, artful layering that only a good hairdresser could achieve. And a beard that had the same feel: a little more than a five o’clock shadow but not full. The overall effect was sexily dishevelled, as if he had more important things to do than stand in front of a mirror. He stood looking around for a moment, his eyes roaming over all of the revellers. He was, she felt, observing them rather than looking for someone.
Maggie moved forwards with her best hostess smile. ‘Welcome to The Three Swans,’ she said. ‘I hope you like what we’ve done.’
He swept his gaze around the walls. He didn’t look like the sort to be moved by interior decoration.
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Though I’m not really bothered about what colour the walls are as long as you’ve still got Inarticulate on tap.’
His voice was vaguely familiar – low and slow, slightly laconic. And as Yorkshire as a treacly, gingery slab of parkin.
‘Of course.’ She paused for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. ‘Are you a regular, then? From round here?’
‘I’m from Pepper Wood Farm.’ He frowned at her, and she was worried she’d offended him. ‘Russell? The pig man? We met last week.’
‘Of course!’ said Maggie, mortified. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’
‘With my glad rags on?’ He smiled, fleetingly, and his eyes gleamed as warm as a conker. ‘It’s been good to get out of my overalls. It’s all I seem to wear these days. I might as well not bother getting changed and wear them in bed.’
Maggie blushed slightly at the thought. ‘Yes, I’ve been in scruffy clothes for ages. It was nice to put a dress on.’
His eyes flickered over her silk dress, but he didn’t comment and she wondered if it was too much. Too bright, too clingy, too low-cut.
Maggie wanted to bring back his smile, so she held out the tray.
‘Have a Swan cocktail. Or are you more of a cider man? We’ve got both on tap until eight. Or I can get you a pint of Inarticulate at the bar.’
‘I’d rather have a pint, to be honest. It’s OK, though, I’ll get it myself.’
He gave her a nod as he went to move away. Sean Bean, thought Maggie. There was a hint of Sean Bean in there. Terse, rugged. A little stony. But when the warmth came out . . .
‘I’m so thrilled we’re going to be using your pork,’ she said, not wanting him to go. ‘Winnie says it’s the best she’s tasted.’
‘Thanks.’ He looked at her, thoughtful. ‘By the way, I’m sorry about your husband.’
Lorraine in the shop had told him Maggie was a widow. As a traffic cop, Russell had learned not to be afraid of talking about death. He knew the importance of condolence.
‘Yes. A while ago now. But . . .’ Maggie shrugged.
‘It doesn’t get any easier?’ He seemed to read her thoughts.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘But you learn to live with it. Because you have no choice.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. What was his name?’
Maggie was surprised. Most people changed the subject as quickly as they could. ‘Frank. He was a sound engineer. And a bit of a geek. And bloody hilarious. And kind. But he wouldn’t take crap from anyone. He never let anyone think they were better than anyone else.’
Oh God, why was she going on about her dead husband? He wouldn’t want to know.
‘He sounds grand.’ He leaned in, conspiratorial. ‘You do know,’ he said, ‘that the whole village will be dying to set us up. All eyes are upon us.’
He had already seen Lorraine give him a thumbs-up, her micro-bladed eyebrows waggling.
‘Oh God,’ said Maggie. ‘That’s awful.’ She blushed. ‘I don’t mean the thought of being with you is awful. I mean . . .’ Oh dear. What did she mean? She just kept putting her foot in it, whatever she said. ‘I mean, why do people think they need to interfere? Why don’t they understand that you’re perfectly OK as you are, and you don’t need anyone else?’
He looked at her, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘Well, quite,’ he said at last. ‘They should just mind their own bloody business.’ He touched her on the arm in a farewell gesture. ‘Very nice to see you again, and good luck with the pub. A village needs a decent pub.’
He walked off and headed to the bar. Maggie watched after him. Nice arse, she thought, then shook herself.
What a totally inappropriate thing to think.
39
At seven thirty, once the ice had been broken and everyone had a drink in their hand, they all gathered around as Cherry began to speak.
‘It’s so wonderful to see all of you here tonight. I can tell you we all had The Fear earlier. We convinced ourselves that no one was going to turn up. But I guess curiosity got the better of you all. Of course, the trick now is going to be making sure you come back now you’ve had a look. So I just wanted to tell you all that we want this pub to be a place for everyone. At any time of the day.’ She looked round the room. ‘More importantly, there is a host of people I want to thank for this transformation. Not least the Fabulous Builder Brothers, who loved their time in Rushbrook so if you have a project, please keep them in mind.’
There was a round of applause and the FBBs held up their tankards of cider.
‘And of course, huge thanks to lovely lovely Alan, the best landlord a pub could hope for. I’m hoping we have kept the spirit of everything he ever did here. I really wish he was here tonight but he and Gillian are cruising round Croatia and I think we all agree that they both deserve the holiday of a lifetime.’ She could feel tears welling up in her eyes at the very thought. She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, this pub has been a part of my life since the first time my dad brought me in for a bottle of lemonade and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps when I was about eight. And I probably served some of you when I was a barmaid here back in the sixties. And I can’t begin to count how many Sunday lunches we’ve eaten here over the years. It’s been a home from home for us and so that’s what we want it to be for you. Oh, and before I forget – Clive is bringing back the pub quiz. The first one is next Friday.’
She smiled as a burst of applause broke out and Clive stepped forward to raise his glass, nodding proudly.
‘Teams of six, sixty pounds a team to include a sharing platter and half a bottle of wine a head,’ he said. ‘If you don’t have a team just let us know and we’ll match you up.’
As the speech came to a close, Maggie brought in a silver platter. On it floated a huge white meringue swan. Surrounding it were dozens of tiny meringue cygnets. Amidst thunderous applause the tray was passed amongst the crowd for everyone to help themselves to a mouthful of sugary fluff.
‘If that doesn’t get us some Instagram followers,’ Maggie said to Cherry, ‘nothing will.’
‘Very cunning,’ said Cherry, popping a cygnet into her mouth. ‘I think this has gone well, don’t you?’
Maggie looked around the room. The queue at the bar was already three deep. The whole place looked and felt completely different now it was filled with people. Outside, the sun was starting to nestle into the branches of the trees that lined the river, as if it could leave the party now it was happy it had got started.
‘I think we’ve smashed it, Mum.’ She put her arm around Cherry’s shoulders.
Across the room, Cherry saw Theo and Amanda arrive, and she lifted a hand in greeting.
‘Oh look,’ she said. ‘It’s the Bannisters. The people who’ve bought Wisteria House.’
Maggie turned to look. ‘Is that the TV producer?’
‘Yes,’ said Cherry. ‘Mandy Fryer that was. The postman’s daughter.’
Amanda was dressed in drainpipe leather trousers, high-heeled boots and a cream silk shirt, accessorised with a lot of statement jewellery.
‘She doesn’t look very Somerset.’
‘No,’ said Cherry. ‘But that’s OK. They’ll bring interesting people. I must go and say hello.’
She moved across the room and Theo and Amanda both greeted her warmly, as if they were old friends.
‘This is a triumph,’ said Amanda. ‘I would never have recognised the place.’
‘It’s fantastic,’ said Theo. ‘I can see us spending a lot of time in here.’
‘You are so clever,’ said Amanda, her eyes drinking in all the detail. ‘Is this your design or did you get someone in?’
Her eyes were everywhere, taking in every detail, and Cherry remembered her being a watchful child. Remembered her hanging on to the top of the ménage fence as Cherry got Pia to rear up on her hind legs, desperate to impress.
‘It was a joint effort, between us,’ said Cherry. ‘But interiors are my thing.’
‘You’ll have to give us some inspiraton for Wisteria.’ Amanda’s eyes were round with admiration. ‘We’re starting to think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. We’re used to London flats. The amount of space we’ve got is suddenly very daunting.’
‘As for the garden,’ said Theo, ‘I can already feel the eyes of disapproval upon us. I think it’s running away with us. But we haven’t a clue what’s what.’
