Mistletoe Mansion (24 page)

‘I’m fine. As long as we get tidied up in time for Murphy’s visit tomorrow morning. The last thing I need this week is to find myself homeless again.’

‘Has Dana been on your back all day?’

‘Yeah, more than usual. I was amazed that she let me off half an hour early for the doctor’s.’ Jess had just stepped out of the shower and her bobbed red hair was wrapped up in a towel turban. I wrinkled my nose. She’d clearly been using her homemade vinegar and lemon shampoo.

‘Did she want to know what was wrong, every time you threw up?’

‘I’ve just let her assume I’ve caught some kind of bug. She had the cheek to ask if I’d been out boozing last night.’

I neatened a plate of sandwiches and popped a festive sage and onion flavoured crisp into my mouth. ‘You’ve got to put her in the picture sometime,’ I said, softly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your appointment? I’d have come too.’

She half-smiled. ‘Maybe you could come to the first scan – although you’ll have to go out if they want to prod my bits.’

‘Talking of which…’ I grinned. ‘Take a look at these.’ I opened a Tupperware box and shoved it under her nose. Inside was an array of hen party cakes, some bearing marzipan willies and liquorice whips and handcuffs.’

Jess grinned back at me. ‘Classy.’

I put the lid back on. ‘Have you got a due date?’

Jess sat down at the breakfast island, looking, if anything, slimmer than normal, in a knitted burgundy dress. The only indication that something was different was the pronounced bags under her eyes. ‘I won’t have an exact one until my first scan, but the doctor reckoned it would be around the twenty-fourth of July.’

‘Wow.’

‘I know. It’s really going to happen, isn’t it? A date makes it so much more real.’

‘I thought of a great way to choose a name, you know – combine your favourite author with your lucky number like the Beckhams did for their daughter, Harper Seven. You could call your kid… what’s that author you like? Stieg something. And you were born on the sixth – there: Stieg Six.’

She snorted in disgust.

‘It’s a good idea if you get stuck for names,’ I said, airily. ‘Although I can’t decide which works best for me… Snooki – or Jordan – Four… What about naming the baby after fruit like Gwyneth Paltrow? She chose Apple, so how about Kiwi? Or Guava! Talk about exotic. Or Blackberry? Hmm, yes, even better, name them after some cool phone. LG Cookie sounds awesome.’

She stared at me as if I was from another planet. ‘It was only an idea,’ I said hurriedly, glad that at that moment the doorbell rang.

Jess headed upstairs, muttering something about hot tub parties wasting energy – all that water, all that heat…

For her sake, I waited until her bedroom door closed. A potentially hysterical Melissa recovering from the day’s tabloids, was the last thing Jess needed. I opened the door.

‘Terry!’

My neighbour strolled in, carrying a plastic bag of clinking bottles. He took off a long burgundy mac to reveal a bright turquoise shirt and sky-blue trousers. I couldn’t wait to see his swimming costume. A holdall hung over his shoulder, presumably containing his trunks and towel.

‘Is she here, yet?’ he whispered.

‘Melissa? No. Maybe she won’t come after all,’ I said and hung his mac on the mahogany coatstand.’

He adjusted his golfing cap. ‘Does my head look bald in this?’

I grinned.

‘I only ask, because those paparazzi fellows were clicking away. Got to look my best if I’m going to appear in Infamous.’

Giggling, I led him through to the kitchen.

‘I’ll open the champers,’ he said and pulled a bottle out of the plastic bag. ‘It’s chilled, and a great vintage.’

The doorbell rang again and we raised our eyebrows at each other. Perhaps those cameramen wanted a close-up of the Winsfords’ trendsetting neighbours? The photos’ tag-line could be: “Melissa seeks solace with the trend-setting Harpenden Set.”

I rummaged around in a drawer and drew out a corkscrew, then handed it to Terry. Deep breath. I straightening my halter bikini top, underneath my sparkly cardigan, and headed into the hall. I pinched my cheeks to give them a good colour. Apparently that’s what girls did in the days when they weren’t allowed to wear make-up, according to this racy old-fashioned drama on the telly.

Pout in place, tummy pulled in, I opened the front door. So much for having my photo taken. Melissa knocked me to one side as she barged past. She wore diamante-edged sunglasses, a sporty cap pulled down over her face, tight grey jeans and a sequinned pashmina. From the bottom of the drive, the photographers hollered at her to give them just one decent shot.

I shut the door and exhaled, muffin top back in place. She’d already dumped her sports bag and headed for the kitchen. I followed her in.

‘Melissa, this is Terry, he lives at–’

‘I know, darling. Number ten. Cream Beetle. Funny-looking dog. We’ve never actually said hello.’

‘It’s a micro-pig,’ he said and beamed, staring at Melissa, looking as if Christmas had come several days early.

‘Sounds technical,’ she said. ‘Robotic toys look more lifelike every year.’

‘No… Micro as in small,’ Terry said.

‘Nice,’ she said in a flat voice. A small sigh escaped her lips. ‘Any chance of a drink, and I don’t mean coffee or tea?’

There was a loud pop and I held the glasses as Terry filled them up. Melissa knocked hers back in one and held out her glass for a top-up. Terry raised an eyebrow at me, as he gave her a refill.

‘So, Kimmy,’ he said to me, ‘are we watching TV first?’

I nodded and carried some nibbles into the lounge, with my new friends following.

‘Love your watch, Melissa,’ said Terry, as we sat down, him in one of the green armchairs, me and Melissa on the sofa. ‘Gucci?’

She put her glass down on the long oak coffee table. ‘Here.’ She took it off. ‘I don’t want it anymore. You have it.’

Terry took off his golf cap and ran a hand over his head before taking it from her. After fingering the smooth face, he handed it back. ‘Did Jonny give it to you?’ he said, gently.

A tear rolled out from under her sunglasses.

‘Ken, my partner of fifteen years, he ran off with a twenty year old shelf-stacker last year,’ said Terry. ‘The local charity shop did really well. How was I to know he hadn’t wanted me to donate his favourite suit or gold-plated cigarette lighter?’

Melissa took off her glasses. Her eyes were puffy; nose swollen.

‘We’re so sorry about this latest tabloid story,’ I said. ‘How’s it going? What’s Jonny said?’

‘We had a big row,’ she gulped. ‘He couldn’t believe I’d been stupid enough to throw out his medicine boxes and that pregnancy magazine; said I should have more trust, that he was only comforting that bimbo in the photo, a caddy’s girlfriend who’d just been dumped. Jonny offered to see her home as she was in such a state. He always was a gentleman. It’s one of the first things that attracted me to him.’

A gentleman? Since when did chivalry include sticking your tongue down someone’s throat?

‘He reckons I drink too much, nag about having kids and most of the time look miserable as hell. How could he say all those things, after everything I’ve done to support him? I tried to explain it was hard to make friends. Apart from Kate, the local women believe I’m up myself, whereas the top birdies don’t think I’m good enough.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I’ve really tried hard – since we moved here, I’ve thrown countless coffee mornings, themed dinners, fundraisers… Ask me anything about booking caterers and venues, I’m you’re woman.’

‘Well,
we
like you,’ I said and squeezed her arm. ‘It can’t be that bad, surely? Perhaps you just intimidate the women at the club?’

She shrugged. ‘If only Jonny was around a bit more. We could socialise as a couple. I can’t even get any sort of job as I’m expected to drop everything and be there with him on all his tours. That’s one reason I did the DVD. It’s something I’ve achieved. On my own.’

‘What about Jeanie, his first wife?’ I said. ‘Couldn’t she help you make new friends? She lives near doesn’t she? And you get on so well.’

Melissa gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘You still believe everything you read in the gossip mags? Infamous twists the truth, darling. Jeanie hates me. Can’t say I blame her.’

‘No!’ My mouth stayed open.

‘Have you told Jonny how you feel?’ said Terry. ‘I still don’t know to this day the real reason Ken left. Sit your husband down. Talk it through. Perhaps you can work it out?’

‘I’ve tried – but every time I complain about the smallest thing, he goes mad. Says I should be grateful, that I’d be nowhere without him. Says he bought my parents a new house, helped my sister through college – makes me feel ungrateful.’

Blimey. Whoever knew money could cause so many problems. My stomach twisted as I thought of Adam – the only thing he wanted to do was work his guts out to look after me and our future together.

‘How did you meet him?’ I asked.

She sipped her drink. ‘I wasn’t bright enough to go to university and had no clue as to what to do when I left school. There wasn’t much work around, so I went to stay with relatives in Ireland – my aunt there found me a job waitressing at a nearby golf club. They hosted some minor charity tournament. Jonny was visiting and we fell head over heels.’ She smiled. ‘I thought he was a caddy to start with.’

‘Can’t believe I’ve never heard that story before,’ said Terry.

Come to think about it, I’d not seen much in the magazines about Melissa’s past.

‘You know, Jonny started off his career by shagging, for a really modest wage.’

My drink went down the wrong way and I spluttered.

‘That’s what they call collecting the balls from practice areas. He never let on about his success until our first kiss.’ Her eyes misted over. ‘I didn’t believe him when he said he was some hot-shot international golfer.’ She half-smiled. ‘I don’t talk much about my life before Jonny. Unlike some of the other wives, I… I haven’t been to public school, or college, or had any sort of career. I’m not an actress or model… I’m not even a mum. All I am is Jonny Winsford’s wife.’

‘That’s not true!’ exclaimed Terry, chubby cheeks flushing with indignation. ‘Melissa Winsford is a fashionista!’

‘You’re a DVD goddess,’ I said. ‘The fittest birdie out there! Infamous’ “Hottest Celebrity Legs of the Year 2013”.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘Come on. Let me get you a plateful of food and we’ll switch on the Celebrity Goss. Maybe you can give us the insider’s view if any of your mates are on it?’

‘I’m not in the mood for a programme that laughs at the lives of people like me. Not today anyway. Not when everyone must think I’m the biggest joke of the hour.’

She had a point. Stupid me. I hoped my foot wouldn’t spend the whole evening in my mouth.

‘I wouldn’t even know if Jonny was having an affair,’ she mumbled. ‘He’s always on his phone and is away for days at a time on tours. Talk about opportunity.’ She looked me dead in the eye. ‘What do you think? You follow celebrity break-ups. Does he seem innocent?’

‘I…’

‘Flashdance is on the other side,’ said Terry, smiling. ‘Why don’t we watch that and then drown our sorrows in the hot tub?’

‘S’pose I’ve got nothing to lose,’ she said. ‘Beats fighting my way back through the paparazzi, just to return to an empty house. Jonny stormed off; sounded like he burnt rubber doing so. Pity he didn’t knock over a couple of those parasites.’

‘All right if I help myself to the buffet?’ asked Jess. She was at the lounge door, wet hair hanging limply, book in hand.

‘Of course! Want to watch telly with us?’ I asked.

‘Fetch me a plateful will you, darling,’ Melissa said to Jess.

‘Fetch it your–’

‘I’ll get a selection of goodies, shall I?’ I said, quickly interrupting my housemate. ‘Terry, you put on the telly. Melissa, another refill…?’

Two refills, four sandwiches, five mini chicken kebabs, two handfuls of Pringles, three Oreos, one Christmas gingerbread cupcake and a several of hours of flash-dancing later, I sprawled out in the hot tub, hair curling like gift ribbon. Terry squatted opposite, eyes shut, bald head perspiring, champagne glass steamed up. I ducked down so that the water rose to my shoulders. How awesome was this, soaking outside, all warm and toasty up to my neck, despite the freezing night air?

A breeze tickled my ears. Perhaps Walter was watching, reminiscing about parties he and Lily had thrown. At least Melissa had brightened up. She sat in between me and Terry, in the most amazing tiger stripe swimsuit. Terry didn’t disappoint and wore Hawaiian trunks, with a gold medallion. As for Jess, in her condition she wouldn’t come in. Instead she’d disappeared upstairs, having done a good job of keeping schtum every time Melissa moaned about her less than perfect life. I could understand how the birdie came across as ungrateful and spoilt, what with her amazing house, bags of money and enviable model looks. But Jess won’t have noticed the way Melissa’s bottom lip trembled when she asked me to put her Gucci watch somewhere safe when we got in the tub.

‘What time is it?’ asked Terry. Something barked. A fox, perhaps? Groucho, asleep on the patio next to us, cocked one ear.

I glanced through the patio doors to the kitchen clock. ‘One o’clock.’ Hey, this was the life! It wasn’t even the weekend! Dreamily, I gazed back at the night sky, admiring the white crescent of moon.

“Kimmy Living the High Life Without Lowlife Adam!”– I could see the headline now. Well he was low for disrespecting the amount of money I’d earned from Melissa’s coffee morning – and for hardly batting an eyelid at this awesome house.

‘Lily said this hot tub did wonders for her arthritis.’ Terry yawned and stretched out his arms. ‘Hey ho – reckon the paparazzi are bored yet?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘They’re like the Undead,’ she said. ‘They don’t eat, sleep or piss, darling. They just stalk.’

‘I feel like the Undead with these raisin fingers.’ The skin on my hands was wrinkled from soaking too long. ‘Let’s get out. Finish off with a coffee.’

‘No! I hoping to sweat off a few stone yet,’ said Terry.

‘Don’t think we’ve got that long,’ said Melissa and examined her nails. She leant over and patted his belly. ‘You should buy my exercise DVD. You’ll soon find another man if you follow my instructions to the T.’