The Best of Times (6 page)

But … it would all be worth it if she got this part. She’d be on her way at last. And Linda did seem to think she had a real chance.

“You can act. You look perfect. And you’ve certainly got plenty of attitude, which is what they’re looking for. D’you want to come up the night before, stay with me?”

“No,” Georgia said quickly, “no, it’s really kind, but I’ll get the coach from Cardiff first thing.”

She didn’t like staying with Linda; she was nice, she was really fond of her, but her flat was so bloody perfect, Georgia was scared to move in case she made it untidy or knocked something over. The audition wasn’t till three thirty: she could get to London in loads of time.

“Fine,” said Linda. “As long as you’re not late.”

“Linda! As if I would be, opportunity like this. Do you really think I’ve a chance—”

“Georgia, I really think so, yes. But there are lots of other girls. What do you think of the script?”

“I think it’s great.”

“Me too. And directed by Bryn Merrick. It should be superb.”

It was all absolutely amazing, really. She might actually be getting a part in a brilliant, high-profile Channel Four series, directed by one of the most award-winning people in the business. She might …

Georgia went back to her lines.

• • •

“Not long now, Toby,” said Barney.

“No. Absolutely not.”

There was a silence. The stag weekend had been a great success: they’d done all the touristy things in New York, Barney had managed to organise a Marilyn Monroe strip-o-gram for Toby, and they’d got some pretty good pictures of her—only Toby had got into one hell of a sweat over that and made them all swear to make sure Tamara never found out, or saw the pictures.

Tamara’s hen weekend didn’t sound exactly great; Amanda was very loyal about it, but even she admitted that an alcohol-free weekend at a spa retreat near Madrid, however wonderful the treatments, and however grand the clientele, ran out of fun.

Several of the girls suggested at least one trip into town, maybe for a meal or a bit of clubbing, but Tamara had said slightly coolly that of
course they should do whatever they liked, but for her the concept of the whole weekend had been a luxurious detox, and she didn’t want to undo all the benefits for one night of what, after all, they did all the time in London.

And as the date of the wedding drew nearer she had become increasingly possessive of Toby, disturbing client evenings with endless phone calls, relentlessly e-mailing him about absurdly detailed arrangements, and even arriving at his desk in the middle of the morning with a handful of ties for his consideration; Amanda had struggled to explain this to Barney.

“I know it’s all a bit much, and she seems so cool and self-contained, but she’s actually a mass of insecurities. She’s absolutely terrified something’s going to go wrong, and she only feels better when Toby’s actually with her.”

Barney didn’t trust himself to speak.

• • •

Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about Luke’s news. Which was that he was going to Milan for six months. Seconded—that was the word—to some car manufacturers, called Becella: “They are the greatest cars in the world, you know. I’d have one while I was there.”

“Goodness.”

“Yeah. It really is a fantastic opportunity, Emma. I’m well chuffed.”

She had said it sounded great, yes, really wonderful, congratulations—while wondering if actually he was getting around to saying he thought they should stop seeing each other now, before he left—and then he said he knew she’d be pleased, and of course there’d be loads of trips back home—“every other weekend, actually, or they’re pretty good about flying people out. So you could come over whenever you wanted.”

Not finished then, which made smiling and seeming pleased easier—but how often did she have a whole weekend in which to go
to Milan, for God’s sake? She’d thought at last she’d found the perfect boyfriend, settled in London, always around, and now he was going off for at least six months. It was … well, not very nice.

But no worse than that. Which probably meant she wasn’t actually in love with him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that either.

• • •

It had been a particularly happy weekend. Jonathan had been relaxed and not even on call, which meant Laura could relax too, and at breakfast he had offered each of the children a treat of their choice. He did that occasionally: loved the conspicuous spoiling and role-playing of the perfect father.

“But it has to be in London—no point struggling out; the roads’ll be jammed. London’s great in August; my treat is going to be—”

“You’re not a child,” said Daisy.

“I’m still allowed a treat. It’s a ride in the Eye, so we can have a look at everything. We haven’t been on it for ages. Any objections?”

“We’ll never get on,” said Laura.

“We will. I’ve bought tickets.”

“Oh, Jonathan, how lovely. When for?”

“Tomorrow morning. Eleven o’clock. And they’re VIP tickets, so absolutely no queuing. Now, then, what would Mummy’s treat be?”

“Um … a picnic. Which I didn’t have to prepare. In … let me see, Kew Gardens.”

“That’s easy. We’ll make the picnic, won’t we, kids? Lunchtime today, Laura?”

“Yes, please.”

They had their picnic; Lily’s wish was a rowboat on the river; and then they all went for supper on the terrace at Browns in Richmond, watching the sun set on the water.

“It’s so lovely,” said Daisy. “It’s
all
so lovely, I feel so happy, I don’t really want a treat.”

“That’s very sweet, darling,” said Laura, “and very grown-up of you. But how about you and I go shopping, just for a little while, in
Covent Garden tomorrow, after the Eye? We could get one of those lockets you liked so much, from that jewellery stall. You too, Lily, if you want to come. Otherwise, Daddy can take you and Charlie to watch the buskers. Or on the roundabout.”

“I’ll come,” said Lily.

Charlie’s wish was a ride on the bungee jumps just beside the Eye, and after their ride they watched him soaring skywards, laughing, his skinny legs pretending to run, his brown hair shining in the sun, while they drank hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.

And then, after the shopping excursion, they went home for a late lunch in the garden, cold chicken salad and strawberry meringues, and then for a walk along the river, all holding hands.

I’m so happy
, Laura thought,
so happy and lucky. I wish these years could last forever …

CHAPTER 5

This was even worse, Patrick thought, than the week before. He had left London on Wednesday morning and now it was Thursday afternoon, and the night drive he had planned to get him home for Friday morning had been scuppered by a five-hour queue at the warehouse for loading up and a stroppy manager, with the words they all dreaded: “We’re closing, mate.”

Useless to argue, although Patrick tried to point out that it was only four thirty, with half an hour to closing; the man was unmoved. “I can’t get all that on board in half an hour; come back in the morning.”

Well, nothing else for it; he’d just have to bite the bullet and call Maeve; and then get some food and start looking for somewhere to spend the night.

And—wouldn’t you just know it—the weather was getting hotter and hotter.

• • •

This time tomorrow, Mary thought, she would be with Russell. She felt alternately terribly excited and terribly nervous. But now, actually, the excitement was winning. Her greatest fear—that they would be complete strangers, with nothing to say to each other—seemed suddenly unlikely. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been in contact all these years. And how odd that was, she thought, their two lives and lifestyles being so utterly different. But then they always had been; there had been nothing actually in common—unless you counted the war. Which had, of course, bound people very tightly together by its shared ideals and hopes, dangers and fears. Russell and she, growing up thousands of miles apart, in totally different cultures, had found each other through that war, found each other and loved each other; at no other time and in no other way could such a meeting and consequent relationship have taken place. And it was one of the things that had convinced Mary that their lives together could not be shared, that when the war was gone, much of the structure of their relationship would be gone too, the differences between them increased a thousandfold.

But now … well, now they had their past to bind them: the wonderful bridge between any two people, however different, who had raised children; seen grandchildren born and partners die; lost the strength and physical beauty of their youth; faced old age and loneliness; and shared, inevitably, the broader ideals of love, of loyalty and family, and wished to pass the importance of those things on to the generations that followed them, their own small piece of immortality.

All these things Mary thought that night as she lay in bed, unable to sleep and looking forward only just slightly anxiously to tomorrow.

• • •

What was she doing here? Georgia wondered. What? She must be totally, utterly, absolutely mad. Out clubbing in Bath with Esme and Esme’s up-himself boyfriend, drinking cocktails that she couldn’t afford, when she should be at home in bed in Cardiff, her alarm set for seven, giving her plenty of time to get to the coach station and take the ten-o’clock to London.
Shit, shit, shit
. It had seemed such a good idea at the time: an evening with Esme in her parents’ house; she’d even thought she might run through some of her scenes with Esme—it would help with the awful nerves—and then she could get the coach in the morning from Bath. Her mother hadn’t tried to stop her, just told her to be sensible and not miss the coach—as if she would; and then Georgia’d arrived and Esme was all stressed out because of the boyfriend, who she thought was about to dump her, so that when he called and asked Esme to meet him in town at some bar or other, Esme had acted like it was God himself, and insisted Georgia go too—“Honestly, Georgia, it’ll only be an hour or so; then we can come back and you can get to bed. I can’t go alone; I just can’t.” So she had gone, and how stupid had that been? Because now it was almost two, and no prospect of leaving, and she had no money for a cab, and the boyfriend kept saying he’d get them home.

What would Linda say, if she knew? The chance of Georgia’s life and she was risking throwing it all away … Well, she’d just have to get up early somehow, get some money out of the hole in the wall, and then sleep on the coach. She’d drink loads of water now—and anyway, none of them had any money left for cocktails, thank goodness—and just demand they leave. Only—God, where was Esme now? She’d been on the dance floor a minute ago, with thingy’s tongue down her throat, and now she’d vanished, must have gone outside—oh, God, oh God, what was she doing here, why had she come …?

• • •

“God, it’s hot.” Toby pushed his damp hair back off his forehead. “Might take a dip. Fancy one, Barney?”

“Sounds good.”

They were in the garden of Toby’s parents’ house; Toby had asked Barney to stay there with him the night before the wedding. “Stop me running away,” he said with a grin. But there had been something in his voice, a slight catch. He’d been a bit odd altogether, actually, all evening: quiet, edgy, jumping whenever the phone rang. He’d left twice to take calls on his mobile. “Tamara,” he’d said both times when he came back.

Carol Weston had served a delicious dinner for the four of them—poached salmon followed by raspberries and cream—which they had eaten outside, burning copious candles to keep the insects at bay; Ray Weston had served some very nice chilled Muscadet, and proposed the toast to “the perfect couple. That’s you and Toby, Barney,” he said, smiling, and they had sat there, chatting easily until it was dark, reminiscing. But then Toby became increasingly silent, almost morose, and Carol and Ray went in to bed, with strict instructions to them both from Carol not to be late.

“We don’t want any hitches tomorrow, any hungover grooms.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Toby said, and then swiftly, apologetically, “Sorry, Mum. But do give me a bit of credit. We’ll just have a couple of quiet ones and then bed, Barney, eh?”