Well Groomed (66 page)

‘Don’t you think she looks great, Niall?’ Matty asked his friend.

‘Terrific,’ he said, but he was looking at Zoe, not Tash.

‘Help yourself to drinks,’ Zoe told them, a nervy edge to her voice. ‘Good of you to dress up too, Niall.’

His jumper was an ancient spinach-green turtle-neck that was covered in dog-hairs and reeked of local pub. Unshaven and detoxifying like mad from his recent drink binges, he looked dreadful. He poured Tash a glass of wine and himself a Coke, but his hand shook so badly that most of it went over Wally, who was frantically sniffing Niall’s legs because Beetroot, still back at the forge, was just coming out of season and reeking wantonly.

‘I can guess why you’re done up like a New York raver tonight, Tash.’ Matty inserted himself beside his sister, grateful for the company which would disperse the tension between himself and Zoe.

‘Oh, yes?’ she bleated.

‘You always did hide a fearsomely competitive streak under that shy exterior,’ Matty laughed. ‘Trying to show queen bitch that you’re younger and slinkier, huh? Do you still think she’s going to try and seduce Niall away from you?’

‘What d’you mean?’ Niall looked unexpectedly furious.

‘Zoe has just broken your dreadful secret to me,’ Matty told him.

‘Our what?’ Niall gulped nervously, eyes darting towards Tash.

‘I assume the reason Tash is looking so sensational tonight,’ Matty rolled his eyes, ‘is because the Wicked Witch is dabbing sulphur behind her ears and heading this way. A case of outtarting the enemy, huh?’ He gave his sister a malicious wink.

‘You’ve lost me there, old friend.’ Niall shook his head, still looking edgy.

‘He means Lisette, Niall,’ Zoe sighed.

‘I had no idea that bloody woman had been invited,’ Matty sniffed. ‘Had I known, I would never have come.’

‘She and Hugo are going to be late,’ Zoe explained hastily, uncorking another bottle of wine. ‘Hugo called two minutes ago to say that Lisette was still going through the rushes or something biblical like that. They’re bringing Sally and David Wheaton. The numbers keep going up and up. I almost phoned you to beg more crockery and chairs.’

‘Niall and Tash don’t have any dining chairs,’ Matty pointed out, flushing slightly because he himself was a last-minute addition. ‘They’ve only got cast-iron garden furniture.’

‘We’re going for a co-ordinated look,’ Niall said lightly. ‘They match our cast-iron constitutions.’ He seemed tremendously relieved suddenly, his whole mood lightening.

‘I doubt you’ll need that tonight,’ Matty said cheerfully, watching Zoe as she moved a vast foil package from top to bottom oven. ‘Something smells delicious.’

Tash noticed that her brother was looking fatter than usual, which seemed remarkable given the fact that Sally continually referred to him as being miserable these days. In her experience, Matty had only ever run to fat when he was happy and contented, which was so seldom that he was usually as gaunt as a male ballet dancer – all angry, tensed sinew and tendon. He looked tougher and more robust, had colour in his cheeks for the first time in years, and reminded Tash strikingly of their father. The illusion made his crocheted cap and ethnic waistcoat look even more ridiculous than usual, like dressing up a Power Ranger in the seventies tuxedo belonging to Barbie’s boyfriend, the thatch-haired Ken.

‘How are you?’ she asked cautiously. ‘You look incredibly well.’

‘I am.’ He smiled his nervy smile – another rarity. ‘I’ve finally got a couple of good commissions this week and, better still, I’ve secured a co-producer on both deals who lets me do what the hell I want so long as it’s brilliant, which it will be.’

‘Christ, that’s excellent – Jesus!’ Niall bounded up to him and shook his hand vigorously, slopping yet more drink on Wally. ‘Who is it?’

‘A guy called John Merchant.’ Matty smiled cautiously, backing off slightly under his friend’s high-spirited congratulations. ‘He’s a great bloke – been in the business for years. I’ve been chasing him for almost as long, and he finally caved in last week.’

‘You’ve waited ages for a break like this!’ Tash smiled at him in delight. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Sally must be over the moon – I mean, it really takes the pressure off you both.’

But Matty looked uncomfortable. ‘She doesn’t know yet.’ He grimaced. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell her – it’s partly why I came down here tonight, to tell her face to face.’

‘She’ll be chuffed to bits,’ Tash assured him, certain that Sally would cartwheel with relief at the end of the prolonged stale patch in Matty’s career.

‘Well, we’ll see.’ He glanced briefly at Zoe again, clearly doubting the wisdom of coming to the farm at all. ‘I gather you’re doing pretty well too,’ he told Tash, not sounding particularly interested.

‘Not bad.’ She shrugged, helping herself to a handful of crisps from a bowl on the table. She was amazed that she felt so calm and relaxed when Zoe, Niall and Matty were all as jumpy as coins on a spin dryer. She’d decided that she was going to do it once and for all tonight. However much Niall wanted to keep it covered up, she was going to come clean about the wedding. She’d go crackers if she didn’t. If it meant selling Snob, then she’d just have to accept it, however agonising the loss. Instead of feeling panic-stricken, she was washed with relief. She just wanted to get it over with. But she knew she had to wait until everyone was gathered first – especially Lisette. Until she and Hugo had arrived, Tash had to keep coasting. She knew that tonight was a perfect time to do it; Lisette would have no choice but to come to some sort of compromise with so many people around. If that compromise was for Niall to sell Snob and pay her off then the obvious buyer was at hand – Hugo had been wanting to get his hands on Tash’s talented red rebel for years. He’d have his chequebook out within minutes, thus saving the day as she’d predicted, only not with the impassioned declaration of love she’d allowed herself to fantasise in her more deluded moments of day-dreaming.

The thought made her throat cramp with a sudden, unexpected burst of emotion, and she had to turn away from Niall and Matty so that they couldn’t see her fighting to get a grip on herself. But Zoe saw her face and her own blue eyes seemed to fill with tears too. Blinking, Tash looked at her in confusion, not understanding why she seemed to be so overwrought.

‘Film going well, is it?’ Matty was asking Niall.

He nodded. ‘Bloody rushed. We’ve only got two weeks on this location, then we’re breaking for a fortnight and shooting in London after that.’

‘And you’re both still set for the seven-year hitch?’ Matty gave him a pointed look. ‘Or are you planning to make this particular marriage last longer?’

Thankfully Rufus loped in at that moment to ask if he would be allowed a rare can of lager as it was a special occasion. He was wearing a pair of high-fashion checked yellow trousers that made him look like Rupert Bear, particularly as he’d had his sleek blond hair shaved into a fuzzy crew cut that week to look like Ted’s.

‘What’s so special about it?’ Zoe watched him plunder the fridge for a can before he joined Tash in the crisp corner, begging a fag on the way. He ogled her jeans excitedly.

‘Well, it’s a dinner party, isn’t it?’ He made an expansive gesture, slopping lager over Wally, who was now looking like a shaggy sponge. ‘We don’t have too many of them. A motorbike and a car have just arrived, by the way, and Penny’s still in the bath. She keeps complaining that you nicked all the hot water.’ He lit the cigarette inexpertly, yelping as he burned his nose with the lighter flame.

Zoe was gazing out of the window. ‘Oh – it’s only Stefan on that ridiculous bike of Hugo’s. And that looks like Sally getting out of the car. Gosh, she looks lovely. Who’s that with her?’

Niall, who was standing at her shoulder, squinted out too.

‘Shit and Christ alive!’ His eyes went wide with fear. ‘It’s my mammy.’

Tash felt her face drain to an unattractive washed-out grey, and listened as Ma O’Shaughnessy’s booming, merry voice floated in from the yard, punctuated by her industrial-waste hacking cough.

‘No, Sally child, I will not be helped from a car like an old crock – I have the strongest legs south of Dublin, and a bloody great arse to land on if I fall, so I do. Now where’s that son of mine?’

Moments later she was almost filling the room, not simply with her enormous bulk but also the ringing, musical tones of her loud voice, her frizz of unsculpted black hair and the overpowering waft of lavender oil, which she always wore as a perfume.

‘There you are, boy!’ she cried, pressing down on Niall with a hug of such power that his spinach jumper almost fell apart. ‘Christ, but you smell of the drink, just like your Godforsaken father. So, are you pleased to see your old ma?’ She let out a volley of high-tar coughs.

‘Ecstatic.’ Niall finally extricated himself and straightened up to look at her, groping for a platitude. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

‘You’re too thin.’ She regarded him slyly for a moment before scanning the room for Tash, saying, ‘I’m staying with your Aunt Maria in Liverpool this week – she’s having her gall bladder out on Monday, so she is – and I decided to visit my son for an evening to check out what was going on about this wedding thing. Ah, there’s the child!’ She lumbered forward to crush Tash in her embrace. ‘I don’t trust those two silly girls you have organising this thing – a right pair of eejits, if you ask me. One of them’s your mother, is it not, Tash? Bejasus, you’re too thin too. It’s like hugging a bar stool, so it is.’

‘You should know, Mother,’ Niall said unkindly, still white beneath his stubble.

Free at last, Tash brushed down her rucked-up shirt and regarded Ma O’Shaughnessy with a mixture of fear and astonishment.

‘What a wonderful surprise,’ she gulped. ‘When did you get here?’

‘Sure, I rolled up at that posh eejit’s hotel just an hour ago. Jesus, what a fool the man is!’ She sat heavily at the table, causing one of the Moncrieffs’ old wicker chairs to groan like a ship in a storm. ‘Now, who’s going to get me a drink, or must I get it myself?’

While Niall dashed off to fetch his mother a family-sized scotch, Tash sat dutifully beside Ma and listened as she rambled on in her husky baritone, floridly describing the snooty local hotelier who had refused to carry her bags when she’d arrived.

‘He sounds like Basil Fawlty,’ sympathised Tash.

‘I’ve never met such a rude young tearaway in all my days,’ Ma sniffed. ‘I didn’t tip him, you know.’

Known simply as The Ma to everyone of her acquaintance, she was well over fifteen stone, although most of this was pure muscle, not fat. Despite her vast frame, wild hair and drinker’s nose, she was a powerfully attractive woman, with the same huge, dark liquid eyes as her son, cranberry red cheeks and gloriously pale, freckled skin, as smooth as bone china. Her laugh was famously raucous, and she claimed to be the best cook in all Ireland, a fact which Niall was fairly hasty to dispute when he and Tash had visited the family the previous year. Tash had left the house almost half a stone heavier with an intimate knowledge of the multifarious uses of the common potato.

‘Where is this hotel you’re staying at?’ she asked when Ma finally paused for breath and a tot of scotch.

She pulled a face which clearly said the whisky was appalling, and nodded towards Sally and Stefan, who were creased up with laughter by the door.

‘Same place as these two youngsters are staying, am I right?’

Sally, speechless with giggles, could only nod. She had yet to say ‘hello’ to Matty, Tash noticed. Instead she was leaning against Stefan and chewing her knuckles with glee.

‘Beauchamp Towers.’ Stefan had pulled himself together and was nodding sincerely. ‘It’s not in the tour guides, but its reputation is well known around here.’

‘Well, I ’clare, I won’t be suggesting it to me friends now,’ sniffed Ma, her voice pure gravel. ‘I can’t understand why your dear mother recommended it to me, Tash. To be sure, it’s a terrible place. And he’s a horrible fellow who runs it. I mean, I’ve only come from Ireland, but this young man is on holiday from Sweden, are you not?’ She nodded at Stefan, who collapsed into laughter again.

‘Are you telling me that you’re staying at Hugo’s place, Mammy?’ Niall was aghast.

‘If that’s the fellow, then yes – until I can make other arrangements, for I won’t be staying long.’ Ma took another slug of scotch and again pulled a face. ‘Jesus, that’s a rough mouth o’ malt. Not only are the rooms appalling,’ she went on, ‘but they seem to be filming some sort of advert for the place – there are lights and cables all over the floor, so there are. It’s a Godforsaken health hazard.’

Niall shot Sally an exasperated look. ‘Haven’t you explained to her then?’

She wiped her eyes and fought for breath through her laughter. ‘Believe me we’ve tried. Boy, have we tried. She thinks Lisette’s the receptionist.’

‘Oh, Christ, Mother!’ Niall sighed.

‘Don’t blaspheme, lad. I’m allowed to do it as I have a spotless soul and go to mass. You may just be struck down as you stand there like a great lump of sin, so you may,’ she snapped, patting Tash’s hand. ‘Now, I want my future daughter-in-law to tell me all about the wedding. I don’t trust her idle lump of a betrothed to know a thing about it.’

Tash winced and caught Niall’s eye, but he was looking towards Zoe and trying not to laugh himself.

‘I’m having a bloody great drink,’ he sighed, heading for the scotch bottle. ‘I need one.’

Zoe’s face tightened, but she said nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Tash decided that it was now or never. They’d just have to break it to Lisette when she arrived. If Niall got pissed, she’d have no hope at all. They had to face this thing together.

‘The thing is . . .’ she tried to make herself heard above the babble as Gus wandered into the kitchen, announcing loudly that he’d asked Ted in for a drink. They were followed by India, packing the kitchen into a tight party of people like a London Underground lift.