The Show (10 page)

One of the older children ran out into the playground, ringing the hand bell that signalled the end of the day. Moments later the children began to file out, youngest first. Laura waited to see Hugh’s happy, excited little face running to greet her. But instead he emerged blotchy and red-faced. He’d clearly been crying.

‘Darling!’ Laura swept him up into her arms. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

‘Dickon said I can’t go to his party any more.’

‘Dickon Groves?’

Hugh nodded. ‘Ev’un else can go. Only not me.’ His lower lip wobbled pathetically. ‘He’s having a bouncy castle.’

‘I’m sure that can’t be right,’ said Laura. ‘Would you like me to go and talk to Dickon’s mummy?’

Hugh looked doubtful. ‘You stay here with Luca,’ said Laura, setting him down on the grass. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

She walked over to where Sarah Groves was talking to some other mothers.

‘Sorry to butt in,’ she began with a smile, ‘but I think Hugh’s got the wrong end of the stick. He thinks Dickon doesn’t want him to come to his birthday party any more.’

Sarah’s face hardened. ‘That’s right.’

Laura felt a knot form in her stomach. Sarah Groves wasn’t a friend, as such, but they’d always been on good terms. No more, evidently. The other mothers had lined up behind her, arms folded in a distinctly hostile manner. Laura felt as if
she
were at school, being cornered by the bullies.

‘But … why? Has something happened?’

Sarah scoffed. ‘Yes, something’s happened. You and your husband have run roughshod over all of us. That’s what’s happened.’

‘Now, hold on—’ Laura began.

‘No one wants this TV show, you know. No one. But you don’t care, do you? As long as you’re making a few quid.’

Laura was so shocked, for a moment she didn’t know what to say. Then she looked across at her son standing by his brother’s pushchair, his little shoulders slumped in disappointment and felt a surge of anger rush through her.

‘My God. So you’re taking out your petty grievances on an innocent four-year-old boy? How truly pathetic.’

Now it was Sarah’s turn to look shocked. Her mouth dropped open with indignation. ‘Petty grievances? How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are?’

But Laura had already walked away, scooping up Hugh into her arms and marching furiously across the village green, Luca’s pushchair lurching wildly at every bump in the grass.

She was still spitting tacks when she got back to the farm.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Gabe was sitting with his legs up on the kitchen table, reading the racing results. So much for his ‘ridiculously busy’ day on the farm, the one that meant he couldn’t go and pick up Hugh, or give Luca his lunch, meaning Laura had had to do it.

‘That bloody cow,’ Laura seethed.

‘Buddy cow,’ said Luca.

She filled him in while Hugh plonked himself down in front of
Scooby-Doo
.

‘The witch,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there right now and tell her what I think of her. How
dare
she!’

‘For God’s sake don’t,’ said Laura.

Slumping down into the tatty armchair by the Aga, she suddenly felt exhausted. Santiago and Penny had come over last night, after the village meeting, and they’d all stayed up far too late drinking and taking the piss out of David Carlyle. Eddie kept telling her the furore over the show would die down, like the proverbial storm in a teacup. But Laura was worried. This particular storm seemed to have brewed pretty damn quickly. Fittlescombe was her and Gabe’s home. It was the children’s home.

‘Are we making a terrible mistake?’ she asked Gabe.

Gabe leaned down and kissed her.

‘No. We’re not. We’re doing something exciting, and new, and different. People are afraid of change, especially round here. And when people are afraid, they lash out. Come on, Laur. We knew this was going to happen. Once the local economy starts improving and everyone’s benefiting, they’ll come around. It’ll be all right.’

Will it?
thought Laura.

She hoped so, and not just for Hugh’s sake.

‘Where are you going?’ She noticed with alarm that Gabe had scooped up his car keys from the kitchen table. ‘For God’s sake don’t go and cause a scene at the Groveses.’

‘I wouldn’t set foot in that house for all the tea in China,’ said Gabe, his lip curling with disgust. ‘I’m off to Toys R Us in Chichester. I’m going to buy Hugh the biggest fuck-off bouncy castle
on earth.
That little shit Dickon is gonna wish he’d never been born.’

Laura rolled her eyes.

Sometimes it was hard work, having three children.

CHAPTER SIX

Macy Johanssen pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen island with satisfaction. On the antique Welsh dresser opposite her, a pretty collection of mismatched china gleamed cheerfully, and a heavily scented jug of peonies made a perfect centrepiece for the table Macy had had shipped over from California.

After a week of solid unpacking, plumping up cushions, making beds and arranging treasures old and new, Cranbourne House was finally coming together. And what a house it was.

Eddie hadn’t been exaggerating about the picture-postcard prettiness of the Swell Valley. If anything he’d played down the majesty of the ancient rolling chalk hills that locals called ‘the Downs’ – it seemed to Macy they went up as well as down, but who was quibbling? – and the quaint loveliness of the villages. Even the names sounded like something out of a storybook: Fittlescombe, Brockhurst, Hinton Down, Lower Cricksmere. As for Cranbourne House, the property Eddie and the network had rented for Macy on the edge of Fittlescombe, it was really more of a large cottage – three cottages knocked together, in fact. It was all Macy could do not to cry when she saw the flint and tile-hung beauty, peeking out coyly from behind its veil of ivy and climbing roses. The garden was small but perfectly formed, and complete with both a pear and a walnut tree, as well as a buddleia smothered in butterflies. Whatever happened with the show, Macy was glad she’d taken a leap of faith and come to England. How could wonderful, happy things
not
happen to a girl in a place like this?

A loud knocking on the front door broke her reverie. Macy opened it to find Eddie standing on the doorstep with a very pretty woman. She was at least ten years older than Macy, yet there was something appealingly youthful about her. Possibly it was her wild mane of blue-black curls, or the lack of make-up on her pale skin, or the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore jeans and a chocolate-brown sweater, and was clutching a laptop and phone in a rather businesslike manner.

‘This is Laura Baxter, our producer, director, creator and all-round wonder-woman.’ Eddie beamed.

‘My boss, you mean?’ Macy looked at Laura appraisingly. She’d never worked for a woman before and wondered whether she was going to like it.

‘Exactly.’ Laura smiled. Macy instantly liked her less. Laura might be the boss on paper, but Macy was the star of the show. She resented Laura’s natural assertion of authority. And she wasn’t keen on the doe-eyed way Eddie looked at her, either. Macy wasn’t at all sure there was room for two beautiful women on the
Valley Farm
set.

‘I thought it was time the two of you met,’ said Eddie. ‘As you know, we have our first official on-set meeting tomorrow morning at the farm. But we ought to put faces to names before then. May we come in?’

‘Of course.’

Macy led them through to the drawing room, a small but pretty space overlooking the rear garden. It struck Laura how perfect the room looked already, all white linen sofas and artlessly arranged crystal. Clearly Macy had the same flair for decor as Lady Wellesley.
Is that what Eddie goes for, I wonder?
she thought idly.
The perfect homemaker, china-doll look? He wouldn’t last long with me.

‘Tea?’ Macy offered. ‘Or fresh juice? I made some kale-ade this morning, it’s delicious.’

‘Sounds disgusting,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘I’m all right, thanks.’

‘Me too,’ said Laura. ‘How are you finding England so far?’

‘So far so good,’ Macy said warily.

‘Have you read over your script for the pilot?’

‘Sure,’ Macy lied. Evidently the small-talk part of the visit was already over. ‘Eddie tells me you’ve never done scripted reality.’

‘Funny,’ Macy shot back. ‘He said the same about you.’

Laura looked up sharply, as if seeing Macy for the first time.

‘It’s true, my background is in drama. To be honest, from a writing perspective, this is easier. But it presents other challenges. A lot rests on the interaction between you and Gabe, your chemistry on screen.’

‘I don’t usually have a problem with chemistry,’ said Macy, catching Eddie’s eye for the most fleeting of moments.

‘Good,’ said Laura.

She didn’t warm to this girl. Eddie had described Macy as ‘very ambitious’ – not a bad thing in itself, as long as she remembered who was boss. Laura had seen
Grapevine.
Macy was a talented presenter, no doubt about that. But Laura wondered how easy she was going to be to manage. She was clearly used to getting her own way. There would be no room for any diva antics on
Valley Farm
.

Laura stood up. ‘Do you have any questions for me, before tomorrow?’

Macy stifled a yawn. ‘No. I’m good.’

‘In that case, I look forward to seeing you bright and early up at Wraggsbottom.’

Macy giggled. ‘I still can’t get over that name. It’s like calling your house Ass-wipe. No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Laura said frostily. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

After they left, Eddie turned to Laura as they drove down the lane.

‘You don’t like her.’

Laura kept her eyes on the road. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You weren’t exactly friendly.’

‘Nor was she. And I wasn’t
un
friendly. Anyway, I’m not her friend. I’m her producer. This is my show, Eddie. I want to set the right tone, that’s all.’

Eddie put a hand over Laura’s and patted it reassuringly. ‘I understand. But there’s no need to hit back first. We’re all on the same team here, Laura. We all need
Valley Farm
to succeed.’

No you don’t
, thought Laura.
You
want
it to succeed. That’s a very different thing. Gabe and I
need
this money.

The truth was, the set-to at the school gates had shaken Laura up more than she cared to admit. With each passing day she found her own confidence in the show’s success waning, to the point where she was finding it really hard to sleep at night. While Gabe snored loudly beside her, Laura’s mind was whirring.
My neighbours hate me, the bills keep rolling in, and I’ve staked my entire professional reputation on a reality show, a format about which I know precisely nothing.
Macy’s quip just now about her lack of experience had hit home. Suddenly Laura felt desperately out of her depth. She knew she mustn’t let Macy see that. Or Eddie, for that matter.

‘OK,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ll ease up. I just hope she cuts out the attitude with Gabe. He’s not big on stroppy women.’

Eddie looked at her and grinned, but wisely said nothing.

‘I can’t believe this.’ Laura ran an exasperated hand through her hair. ‘I seriously can’t believe it.’

It was the morning the film crew were supposed to come to see the farm for the first time, and a small but determined group of Fittlescombe villagers had gathered in the lane outside Wraggsbottom Farm to stage a protest. While Laura looked around a kitchen still littered with the detritus of yesterday’s cake-baking efforts (stupidly, she’d thought a bit of home cooking might make a nice welcome for the crew, temporarily forgetting that her culinary prowess was very much on the King Alfred end of the scale), shouts of ‘No TV in our Vall-ey!’ drifted noxiously in through the open window.

‘They’re driving me mad.’ She looked at Gabe despairingly. ‘Should we call the police?’

Gabe poured himself another coffee, his third of the morning, and frowned. ‘And say what? Unfortunately, it’s a free country. People are allowed to protest about things.’

‘Yes, but not at six in the morning, surely?’ said Laura. ‘That’s when they started.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ said Gabe.

Laura sighed heavily. ‘Look at this sodding mess. Why didn’t we clean it up last night?’

Gabe wrapped his arms around her. ‘Because I was too busy disabling the smoke alarms.’ Laura giggled. ‘And you were hitting the gin.’

Through the kitchen window, they could see the tops of the protestors’ placards, emblazoned with such cheery slogans as: ‘GO HOME CHANNEL 5!’ and ‘SAVE OUR VILLAGE!’

‘At least the kids aren’t here,’ said Laura.

‘Exactly,’ said Gabe. ‘Look on the bright side.’

Greta, the Baxters’ part-time nanny, had taken Hugh and Luca out to Drusillas Zoo earlier, with both the boys cheerfully chanting ‘No TV!’ as they got into the car.

It was now nine o’clock. The production team and Macy were due at the farm by ten, to do some walk-throughs of the property and set up for next week’s pilot episode. Laura had a headache that could have felled an elephant, and Gabe’s nerves, already frayed at the prospect of meeting his co-presenter and performing on camera for the first time, had not been helped by the relentless cacophony.

Opening the kitchen cupboards, he began pulling out a teapot, mugs, a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a tray.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Laura.

‘Loving my neighbour. I’m going to disarm them with the power of McVitie’s.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? You’re taking them tea?’

‘It’s either that or spray them with slurry.’

Laura knew which option she preferred. But five minutes later, Gabe was outside the farm gates, tray in hand, smiling warmly at the sea of scowling faces.

‘Tea, anyone? I’d offer you a home-made cake, but unfortunately my wife is a shit cook and they all turned out like charcoal.’

Reverend Clempson’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘No, thank you.’