Wild Oats (30 page)

As she scribbled out lists and more lists, she could hear the metallic snip of Jack’s hedge clippers as he coaxed the box hedge into shape. Even he seemed happier, and at one with himself. It appeared that once you’d made a decision, even if it was the hardest one you’d ever made in your life, things then got easier.

Zoe and Christopher had their very first serious row over Jamie’s party invitation. Zoe had already made arrangements with Natalie earlier in the week to go and spend the weekend with her, and couldn’t even admit to herself how ridiculously excited she was about the prospect. Christopher couldn’t for the life of him see why she couldn’t postpone it.

‘It’s a chance for you to meet some more people. Jack’s birthday party is a legend in its own lifetime. And it’ll be a fun crowd.’ Zoe just raised an eyebrow, which incensed him. ‘Frankly, if you’re not even going to make the effort –’

‘You’ll have much more fun without me. You’ll be able to catch up with all your old friends. You won’t
have to worry about whether I’m enjoying myself. I don’t want to inhibit you.’

‘Zoe – you wouldn’t inhibit me. You’re my wife, for God’s sake. I want you to be there.’

Zoe looked stubborn. ‘I’ve already told Nat I’m coming. And I’ve got an appointment for my hair.’

Christopher wondered if he should put his foot down for the first time in his life. But it wasn’t his style. And he wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he’d get. So, in the end, he didn’t. He just sighed.

‘Fine. If you think that’s more important.’

‘It wouldn’t be a problem if there was a decent hairdresser in this godforsaken neck of the woods.’

Christopher looked at her witheringly.

‘Not that you’ve actually tried any of them. You’ve just made assumptions. Just as you have about Jamie’s party guests. And all of the mothers you’ve met at Twelvetrees. It’s not like you to be so judgemental, Zoe. I don’t know what’s come over you. I really don’t.’

He stalked out of the room. Zoe bit her lip. She knew that every accusation he’d levelled at her was a fair one. Whenever she heard her own voice, she hated herself. But she didn’t know how to drag herself out of the rut.

Then she told herself she’d been perfectly reasonable. It wasn’t as if Jamie’s invitation was a longstanding one. On the contrary, it was very last minute. And very presumptuous of the Wildings to assume everyone would be available at such short notice. But
then, Zoe reminded herself, most people round here probably didn’t have anything better to do.

Early on Thursday morning, Jamie was in the post office buying ingredients for the party. Hilly was caught up in the excitement.

‘It’s about time somebody had a decent party round here. It’s one of the things I miss most about your mum. She was so spontaneous – always popping in here and buying the place out because she’d got twelve for dinner. And you never knew who you’d be sat next to. A trapeze artist or a celebrity gynaecologist or a pig farmer. She had such a knack of mixing up guests. Never worried about whether they’d get on – it was up to them. She was a wonderful hostess.’

That was one of the things Jamie loved about Hilly. She wasn’t coy about mentioning Louisa. And if anyone would understand her other reasons for the party, Hilly would. She decided to mention it to her; see if she thought she was being fanciful.

‘I know this sounds bonkers, but this party’s sort of my memorial to her. It’s the last party we’ll probably have at Bucklebury. And I feel ready to celebrate her life now. I didn’t at the funeral.’

‘Well, no. Who does? It’s all such a blur; you’re still in shock from them dying, aren’t you? And you’re so hidebound by tradition. Roger’s funeral was hideous; it wasn’t the send-off he deserved at all.’ She leaned in confidentially. ‘I took a few close friends to Claridge’s a couple of months after. We stuffed our-selves
silly on oysters and champagne and told funny stories about him. We had a riot, and Roger would have loved it. It was so therapeutic. It helped me enormously.’

At that moment the door opened, and Rod walked in. Jamie immediately felt a flush run up over her cheeks. He walked over to the fridge to collect a pint of milk before he noticed her.

‘Hi.’ He put the milk down on the counter and burrowed in his pocket for change. He looked a hell of a lot better than the last time she’d seen him, Jamie thought. Somehow she managed to find her voice.

‘Hello,’ she said coolly, hoping that he would pay and leave as quickly as possible. But he didn’t.

‘Can we talk?’

‘Um…’ Jamie shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

She waited for him to carry on. He stood there awkwardly. Hilly gestured vaguely at all Jamie’s purchases.

‘A box. You’re going to need a box. I think I’ve got some in the stockroom.’

She disappeared tactfully. Rod picked up a Mars bar, placing it carefully next to his pint of milk.

‘I spoke to Lee. He told me what he’d told you. About it being a bet.’

Jamie nodded. Just keep your mouth shut, she told herself. Keep your dignity this time.

‘I know you might not want to believe me,’ Rod carried on. ‘But there was no bet. And I didn’t say a word to Lee. I promise you. That day… meant more
to me than any other day, before or since. I never knew why you went off: it haunted me for years. But I understand now. And I wanted to say, even though I didn’t do what you thought I’d done, that I’m sorry.’

They stood there in silence. Twelve years, thought Jamie. Twelve years because Rod’s sick, twisted brother went and put a spanner in the works. Neither of them had any idea what to say. They couldn’t just go back and wipe the slate clean, not after all this time. Jamie decided that it was in both of their interests to make light of it, not embarrass each other by wallowing about in something that had happened half a lifetime ago. She kept her tone light and casual.

‘Oh well. Never mind. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. We were only kids…’

‘I guess so,’ agreed Rod hastily, not wanting to make more of it than necessary.

Jamie ploughed on hastily.

‘By the way, I’m having a party this Saturday. A sort of… farewell to Bucklebury.’

‘You’re putting it on the market, then?’

‘We’ve got no choice.’

There was a pause. Rod looked awkward, knowing he was partly to blame for the situation.

‘I’m sorry. It’s a very special house.’

He held out a pound to Jamie. ‘Give this to Hilly, would you? I’m in a bit of a rush. Tell her to put the change in the blind box.’

He was about to go. He scooped up his Mars bar and put it in the top pocket of his denim jacket.

‘Rod –’

He turned in the doorway.

‘I’d love you to come. If you could. If you’re not doing anything.’

Their eyes met. There was an awful lot more she wanted to say, but the middle of the post office wasn’t the place to do it.

Rod looked awkward. ‘I’m not sure what I’m up to. Can I leave it open?’

‘Sure. It’s only casual. Eightish. Buffet supper. Outside hopefully, if the weather’s kind. Loads of booze. Dancing. You know the sort of thing. Bring a bottle.’

Jamie knew she was babbling, but it was the only way to stop herself saying what she really felt, and she’d sworn to herself not to lose control again. Rod smiled at her from the safety of the doorway.

‘Maybe see you then.’

He was gone. Moments later, Hilly reappeared with a box.

‘I knew I had some somewhere,’ she said triumphantly, then looked at Jamie shrewdly. ‘Is he coming?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jamie slowly.

‘He’s a lovely lad,’ said Hilly. ‘He gave me a kitchen, you know. For the flat upstairs. He was fitting a new one down the road and had to take the old one out. It would have been far easier for him to skip it, but he brought it up here on the back of his truck. And he only charged me a hundred quid to put it in.’

Jamie was impressed at Rod’s thoughtfulness. He obviously knew that, even though on the surface the post office always seemed busy, it was a struggle for Hilly financially, that the profits on stamps and newspapers and pints of milk, which were the bulk of her trade, were not substantial.

Hilly leaned forwards confidentially. ‘I’m not usually indiscreet. People use this place like a confessional. They trust me, and I don’t like to gossip. But the word is his wife’s left him.’

‘Yes, she has,’ said Jamie. ‘But there’s a lot of baggage.’

‘Bugger the baggage!’ snorted Hilly. ‘People just use that as an excuse not to move on. He should forget about her.’

Jamie didn’t like to say she didn’t mean the baggage between Rod and Bella, but between Rod and herself. Twelve years of baggage that still hung thick in the air between them whenever they met. Why on earth had she gone and asked him to the party? She wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else between now and Saturday.

Because she couldn’t deny it, his revelation had turned her upside down. Their relationship – the only relationship she had ever found meaningful – had been destroyed on a misunderstanding. And now they had come full circle, were both free and available, to all intents and purposes. Jamie found her heart was beating ten to the dozen with the realization. For even after all these years, she found him as attractive as
ever. Their conversation had set her pulse racing, his proximity had made her feel faint with longing. There had been one moment when she’d almost thrown herself into his arms, but caution had won. She wasn’t going to lay herself open again. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by pursuing him.

Gathering up her box of goodies, Jamie decided she’d done her bit. She’d asked him to the party. If he was interested, he’d turn up. And if not…

As she left the shop, Hilly watched after her thoughtfully. In her opinion, Jamie and Rod would make a perfect match. Hilly didn’t suffer fools gladly, but she had a lot of time for Rod. And she’d never really warmed to Bella. She was perfectly pleasant and polite, but she never seemed quite real. Like a Barbie doll – plastic perfection but nothing underneath. She wondered what on earth Rod had ever seen in her, apart from her obvious attributes. But then, men were funny creatures. A pair of perky breasts often went a long way.

For the next two days, the kitchen at Bucklebury became a fug of browning spices and bubbling, scented syrup as Jamie cooked like a mad thing. Outside was a hive of activity as Olivier and Jack set to in the garden with enthusiasm if not expertise, transforming the overgrown wilderness. They had strict instructions from Jamie not to make it look too manicured, but there wasn’t much danger of that happening: it was going to be all they could do to get
the grass cut, the hedges trimmed and the beds weeded in time for Saturday.

Surprisingly, Lettice turned out to be a godsend. Totally unfazed by cooking for large numbers, she insisted on helping. The two of them had a hoot, with the windows thrown open, Louis Jordan blaring out on the sound system, singing and chopping and dancing and stirring and swearing profusely whenever a finger was burned or a plate was dropped. Every now and then the four of them would stop for a break, sitting out on the lawn with a pitcher of ginger beer, Jack and Olivier and Lettice smoking as if their lives depended on it; Jamie lying back in the hopes of topping up her South American tan which had faded disconcertingly quickly.

In the midst of it all, something happened to unsettle Jamie. An envelope was pushed through the front door at midday on Friday. It contained a stiff little note from Rosemary, politely declining their invitation. Jamie felt a little hurt that she hadn’t felt able to talk to her in person: she perfectly understood that Rosemary probably wasn’t in the mood for mad socializing, given Hamilton’s condition.

This led her to realize she hadn’t been to visit Ham yet, and she felt riddled with guilt. Even though everyone insisted that he wouldn’t know if she’d been or not, Jamie didn’t think that was quite the point. She resolved to go and see him as soon as she had time; once the party was over and they’d got over the trauma of putting Bucklebury on the market. It was
the least she could do, after all. Kif had been so sweet about helping, even though that plan had come to nothing. And perhaps it was about time she thought about someone other than herself for a change.

And throughout all the preparations, with a supreme effort of will, she put her invitation to Rod to the back of her mind. Of course he wouldn’t come. He was obviously still raw from his sudden split, and Jamie hadn’t exactly behaved decorously at their reunion the other day. The last thing he’d want to do was fall out of the frying pan into the fire.

19

Friday morning did not start well for Christopher. Zoe was over-excited about her trip, and was too preoccupied with getting ready to care that there were only enough Frosties left in the packet for one bowl. Christopher patiently divided them between Hugo and Sebastian and sliced the last banana on top to bulk them out. There was none of his favourite marmalade left either – the thick-cut, dark stuff. He didn’t complain. There was no point in starting a row about something as trivial as marmalade.

His mother was taking the boys to school so he could drop Zoe at the station en route to work. They didn’t really speak much on the way. Christopher pulled up outside the ticket office. She got out of the car and leaned in through the driver’s window to give him a kiss.

‘Have a lovely party tomorrow.’

Christopher gave a resigned smile, resisting the urge to snipe at her once more.

‘Have a good time. Send my love to Nat and Edwin.’

He watched her scamper off clutching her weekend bag, only just remembering to turn back and give him a wave. She obviously couldn’t get out of there fast
enough. Christopher sighed as he started up the engine. What was the saying? You can’t keep all of the people happy all of the time…

He’d only been at the office ten minutes before his spirits were restored. They were having an office meeting, to assess their progress over the past two months, and see where they could make further improvements. There was a pot of fresh coffee on the table and a plate of almond pastries. Christopher sank gratefully into his chair at the head of the table, poured himself a cup of coffee and decided he really was turning into an old fogey because he was pleased to see the milk in a proper jug.