Party Games (10 page)

‘Hey,’ John sounded concerned, ‘I just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.’

‘The same as I was thirty minutes ago.’

‘Where are you?’ John persevered.

‘In town. I just bumped into Amanda Belcher.’

‘Ah. And how is she today?’

‘She basically asked when we were going to start a family.’

‘Bloody Amanda!’

Catherine stared blindly across the road. There was a silence on the other end. ‘I know how disappointed you’re feeling at the moment, Cath,’ John said eventually.

‘No, you
don’t
know how I’m feeling actually! Unless you can’t get pregnant and feel like an absolute bloody idiot as well.’

A passer-by glanced at her. Catherine turned to face the shop window.

‘Cath, you’re not a failure. You’re a wonderful woman and I love you.’

His relentless optimism was starting to grate. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said tightly. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

She hung up and immediately felt even more miserable about being such a bitch to him. Lynette Tudor came out of her shop, car keys in hand.

‘Hi, Lynette,’ Catherine sighed.

Lynette looked completely stressed as usual. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’

‘How are you?’ Catherine asked, desperate to redeem herself as a decent human being.

‘I’ve been better. The car’s packed up again. One more bill I could do without.’

‘John could take a look if you like. He’s pretty good with all that stuff.’

‘Thanks, but my old banger’s beyond saving.’ Lynette shook her head. ‘I won’t be able to go tomorrow now.’

‘Why not give Felix a call? He’s putting on a minibus to take people.’

‘Oh, there’s probably not space for me,’ Lynette said hurriedly. ‘I’ve left everything to the last moment as normal.’

Catherine was suddenly struck by how good Lynette’s bone structure was. If you looked past the perpetual air of angst, she was still really rather beautiful. Catherine wondered what it was like to have the whole town gossiping about the paternity of your daughter and a shop business everyone knew was failing. No wonder Lynette hardly mixed on a social level. ‘Come with us, if you like.’ Catherine gave a smile. ‘You can have the back seat to yourself instead of being squashed in with ten other people.’

‘Really? You don’t mind?’

‘Of course not. We’ll pick you up at ten.’

John was coming up from the kitchen as she let herself in. They stood in the hallway looking at each other.

‘I’m sorry,’ Catherine said simply. ‘I don’t mean to take it out on you.’

‘It’s all right.’

‘It’s not all right, John. It’s hard for you as well. It’s just that Amanda really hit a raw nerve.’

‘That bloody woman.’

They exchanged a smile. ‘I know you don’t think I understand, but I do,’ he told her.

‘I know. I’m sorry for being such a nightmare wife.’ She held up the shopping bag. ‘I’m making fish pie tonight, your favourite. I’m going to try not to burn it and everything.’

Lynette was running late, so they didn’t end up leaving Beeversham until twenty past ten. John put his foot down in the Saab as they zoomed through the lanes, leaving green fields in their wake.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Lynette apologized for the umpteenth time. ‘Talia couldn’t find her lucky frog ornament to take to her English exam and she had the whole house turned upside down looking for it.’

‘Did she find it?’ John asked.

‘Yes, after all that.’ Lynette stared out the window. ‘I suppose I should be grateful she was actually going to an exam.’

The Prime Minister was on Radio 4’s
Woman’s Hour
. Catherine listened to his caressing, well-modulated tones as he defended the latest cuts in child benefits.

‘Jenni Murray’s giving your mate quite an ear bashing,’ John said.

Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘He’s not my
mate
.’

‘You know the Prime Minister?’ Lynette said excitedly. ‘He’s quite a dish!’

‘I met him once at a Women in Media lunch at Downing Street.’ Catherine shook her head at her husband. ‘There were lots of other people there.’

‘Cath gave him quite a roasting,’ John told Lynette. ‘I think he was a bit scared of her.’

‘Don’t listen to him, Lynette.’

Lynette looked impressed. ‘So you used to be important then?’

Catherine exchanged a look with her husband. ‘Yeah,’ she said flatly. ‘I guess I did.’

Gloucester County Shire Hall was a large yellow building in the centre of Gloucester. As they pulled into the car park quite a crowd was gathering outside. The Beeversham lot were off to the left; Catherine could see Mr and Mrs Patel standing in a circle with the Belchers and Jonty Fortescue-Wellington. A few rural campaigners were there, while a militant-looking group of people sporting purple hair and tie-dye milled round, waving placards saying things like ‘TORY SCUMBAGS’ and ‘CAPITALISM OUT!’

A BBC reporter was doing a live broadcast from the bottom of the steps. Catherine wound her window down as they drove past.

‘The Cotswold town of Beeversham will today find out its fate.’

Felix was standing beside the hired minibus wearing a natty green and white SNOW rosette.

‘Excuse me, I must go and find a loo.’ Lynette rushed off towards a dingy-looking pub on the other side of the road.

‘Look who’s here,’ John said.

They turned to see. Sid Sykes may have been the wrong side of five foot six, but he had the confident swagger of a man who got what he wanted. Dressed in a showy grey suit and pink tie, he had the mahogany skin of a serious sun-worshipper. The soberly dressed men flanking Sykes had ‘lawyers’ written all over them.

A younger man stood off to the left, talking intently into his phone. He had thick black hair slicked off his face and the same darting eyes as Sykes.

‘Who’s that?’ Catherine asked. ‘He kind of looks familiar.’

‘Damien Sykes, Sid’s son and press officer,’ Felix said. ‘From what I’ve seen so far, a very over-confident man indeed.’

‘So no one from Pear Tree has bothered to turn up?’

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ John said. ‘The mystery continues.’

The sun was a high round ball in the sky as they went in. John was still outside talking to Felix and Catherine found herself at the security check with Mel and Mike Cooper-Stanley. The airline pilot looked as disgustingly brown as always, grizzled in a handsome way.

‘You must come round for drinks,’ he told Catherine. ‘I’ve just picked up some Venezuelan brandy John would love.’

‘You and me can stick to the wine, babes.’ Mel took her studded denim jacket off to go through the scanner. The elderly security guard woke up for what was probably the first time in a decade.

The council chamber was further along the corridor,
a large, brightly lit circular room. The town mayor sat behind a big wooden bench, the city coat of arms on the wall behind. He was flanked by a stern-looking man and woman.

The public gallery was at the opposite end and gave a sweeping view of the whole proceedings. Catherine squeezed past Jonty Fortescue-Wellington’s huge stomach to sit with Ginny Chamberlain. Ginny was dressed in a green and white striped blouse of the SNOW colours. She gave Catherine’s hand a squeeze as she sat down.

Below them the members of the county council were taking their seats. There had to be forty people down there, a much larger number than was normal at public meetings.

Felix had already exchanged pleasantries with a few of the members. Catherine hoped he had some allies down there. Sykes and his gang were already seated and their serene faces were unsettling her. They didn’t look remotely concerned; or maybe Sykes had a good poker face.

The mayor, a jolly Weeble in red robes, tapped his microphone.

‘I’d like to welcome you all here to discuss the proposal for Ye Olde Worlde Theme Park. There’s been a lot of controversy and high feeling over this and I appeal to you all to remain calm during the proceedings. Now, the leader of the council will start. Thank you.’

The man on the mayor’s right leant into his own microphone. ‘Thank you, Mayor. Fellow councillors and members of the public, we’re here today to discuss the plans submitted by Sykes Holdings on March
fifteenth this year for a five-hundred-acre theme park on the site of Blaize Castle in Beeversham.’

Sykes exchanged a faint smile with his son. Catherine’s unease started to grow.

‘The planning inspector has attended a public meeting in Beeversham and, while the residents have strong concerns about the development, he has to make an informed decision based on the local planning policies.’ The leader of the council cleared his throat. ‘The planning inspector also received an economic assessment from Sykes Holdings about how they feel Ye Olde Worlde would contribute financially to the area.’

‘I’ve heard what kind of work Sykes offers,’ someone shouted. ‘Slave labour!’

Catherine watched the smile drop off Sykes’s face. The leader of the council frowned at the heckler and continued. ‘I appreciate the strength of feeling on both sides, but we have to look carefully at all aspects.’ He glanced at his notes. ‘I have the findings of the planning report here.’

Nerves crackled throughout the room. Beside Catherine, Ginny was tightly hugging her handbag.

‘In his report the planning officer has advised against Ye Olde Worlde being built, on the grounds of three criteria.’

A communal ‘Yes!’ rippled across the public gallery.

The leader of the council spoke louder. ‘Environmental blight, insufficient transport structure, and inappropriate scale of development. The planning officer feels the plans submitted by Sykes Holdings are, overall, wholly unsympathetic.’

Catherine was watching Sid Sykes closely. He didn’t
look too upset for a man who’d just had his multi-million-pound venture shot down.

There was a rumble outside in the corridors, like the buzzing of an enormous swarm of bees. It grew closer and closer, drowning out the voices in the chamber. The shouts could be heard quite clearly.

‘Capitalists out, democrats in! Capitalists OUT, democrats IN!’

Next minute the doors burst open and the protestors from outside came streaming in. Their faces were charged with anger as they brandished placards.

‘Tory pigs! You’re all in it together!’

The mayor stood up. ‘You can’t just come storming in here! Order!’

An egg flew across the room and hit the mayor smack on the chest. He looked down at his robes in shock.

‘Oh my word!’ Ginny gasped. ‘Someone do something!’

There was nothing they could do. The amount of protestors seemed to have doubled and the two dozy security guards were completely helpless. More eggs started to rain down on members of the council, covering them with yolk.

One man, dressed in camouflage and dark glasses, seemed to be the ringleader. ‘We’re all in this together! Freedom for Beeversham!’ he shouted.

‘We most certainly are not!’ Mrs Patel shouted back. People started calling to others to ring the police.

As quickly as they’d barged in, the mob miraculously melted away, leaving a sea of fallen chairs in their wake. The county council looked like they’d been dive-bombed by a flock of rabid seagulls. Even the coat of
arms had a gloop of eggy phlegm dripping down it. Everyone was in shock.

‘Can we have some order?’ the leader of the council cried.

Catherine shook her head. Something wasn’t right. The way that mob had come charging in and withdrawn suddenly. It all felt too managed, like they’d been watching a stage performance.

‘The Sykes had a hand in this!’ she whispered to John.

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I just feel sure of it – there’s something strange about this whole thing.’

A woman Catherine had never seen before stood up. ‘I’m all for Ye Olde Worlde!’ she shouted. ‘Two of my kids can’t find work for love nor money. If Mr Sykes here says he can create new jobs, how can that be a bad thing? It’s you bloody posh types down in Beeversham, you don’t want the views from your verandas interrupted!’

Mr Patel jumped up. ‘I’ve got a patio, not a veranda, thank you very much! And I’m worried about my business going under if Mr Sykes gets his way! All of us who have shops are.’

‘Boohoo for you!’ the woman called out. ‘Let’s have the boot on the other foot for once.’

‘Madam, you are lacking in any manners or grace,’ Mr Patel shouted, before being shushed sharply by his wife.

The mood had changed dramatically. People were divisive, angry. The leader of the council was wiping egg yolk off his lapel. He looked furious.

‘This isn’t good,’ John muttered.

In their seats below, the council members were sticky and disgruntled. The leader spoke into his microphone. ‘Councillors, we have to vote. Can I please have a show of hands for Ye Olde Worlde.’

In the end it was a split verdict. Twenty voted for the theme park and twenty against. Everyone was stunned. No one had expected it to come to a deadlock.

The leader of the council leant across to confer with the woman on the mayor’s left. Everyone else waited anxiously. Eventually he sat back and spoke.

‘It is clear we are divided on the issue of whether Sykes Holdings should be granted planning permission for Ye Olde Worlde. Therefore we are giving Mr Sykes ten weeks to go away and revise his plans, taking into account the planning officer’s concerns. We will meet again on Wednesday the twenty-eighth of August.’

Giving a wide berth to the waiting reporters, the SNOW committee congregated in the old-man’s pub over the road. The place was empty and stank of stale booze and cheap disinfectant. Nicotine-stained curtains were pulled across the windows, shutting out the lovely day. It was an apt place for their gloom.

People kept looking at Felix anxiously. He’d hardly said a word since the verdict. Jonty was being as much use as a chocolate teapot: he had been busy texting since they’d come out, apparently on ‘important Parliament business’. Catherine had just seen a massive pair of pendulous breasts flash up on the screen of his iPhone.

It was only when he was halfway down his flat glass
of radioactive-coloured orange juice that Felix finally spoke.