Party Games (39 page)

That lunchtime Catherine found herself at a local primary school. It was the long-serving local dinner lady’s retirement party, and in campaigning terms, electoral gold dust. Catherine had done herself no favours by turning up late and interrupting an emotional speech by the headmistress.

She was standing on the sidelines, trying desperately to keep down a piece of shortbread when Tristan
sprang up, jaunty in red skinny jeans and a paisley shirt. ‘You’re looking rather peaky,’ he remarked. ‘Pressure getting to you?’

‘Piss off, Tristan,’ she replied bleakly.

A local reporter sidled up between them. ‘Catherine’s catching you up in the polls,’ he said to Tristan. ‘You must be getting a bit worried?’

Tristan adopted a pompous expression. ‘The only person who should be worried is Catherine, when I claim that seat on Thursday. It’s about time someone with principles and a sense of honour represented the decent, hard-working people of this constituency.’

Catherine dragged herself away from a horrible daydream about being a single mum. ‘So you’re that decent, principled person?’

‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

‘So there’re no skeletons in your closet? No nighttime canvassing we should know about?’

Tristan’s mega-watt smile dimmed slightly. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Catherine went in for the kill. ‘Is Lavender Close on your hit list?’

She had him. Tristan went as white as a sheet. If Catherine exposed him for being a home-wrecker it would almost certainly scupper his chances of winning.

‘Catherine?’ the reporter pushed. ‘Can you elaborate?’

For a brief moment Catherine imagined the glory on election day as she surged past Labour to win. Perhaps it would make her dreadful sacrifice the tiniest bit bearable.

‘It was just a joke.’ She watched the relief seep into Tristan’s face.

‘I did that for Mel, not you,’ she hissed afterwards. ‘Now get out of my way, I need the loo.’

It seemed the pressure was getting to everyone. Later on in the day Catherine and Felix had their first ever argument.

‘I’ve scheduled another visit to the old people’s home,’ he told her.

‘Is that a good idea? They didn’t even know I was there last time; even the head nurse said so.’

He walked off across the office. ‘No, you need to do it.’

Tired, distraught, unable to confide in anyone, Catherine lost the plot. ‘I’m not doing it!’ she yelled. ‘Anyone with half a brain can see it’s a waste of time!’

Felix whirled round, his blue eyes icy. ‘You’ll do what I bloody tell you to do!’ He jabbed his finger at her. ‘I’m in charge of this campaign, not you!’

She watched in shock as he stormed out.

It was twenty-four hours until the council meeting. When Fleur went into Mr Patel’s she found him behind the counter staring into space.

‘Hello, Fleur,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’m just trying to imagine what it will be like when my family are destitute and homeless.’

‘I’m sure it will be OK, Mr Patel.’

‘Maybe,’ he sighed. ‘And how about you? How is your father?’

The stock response. ‘We’re great, thanks.’

‘What can I get you?’ Mr Patel asked.

‘Just the bread, please.’ Fleur gazed at the pile of
OK!
magazines on the counter. The Powells were on the front cover, Vanessa curled up in Conrad’s arms in a loving embrace. ‘The only award I care about is being best husband,’ was the cover line.

‘You want a copy, my dear?’ Mr Patel asked. ‘How people can waffle on about themselves for fourteen pages is beyond me.’

The invitation to go into Vanessa and Conrad’s
glamorous world was a brief respite from her own life. Fleur went back to the farm and spent an indulgent hour poring over the interview and photographs. They looked totally in love with each other, and Vanessa was so beautiful. Some people really did have it all.

The magazine only provided a brief distraction. Beau had been off the radar for twenty-four hours. He hadn’t responded to any of Fleur’s texts. Her bad feeling was growing by the hour. By 9 p.m., when she still hadn’t heard anything, Fleur could stand it no longer. She was going to drive over and see if he was there.

Ridings was lit up like a lighthouse, Beau’s Mustang parked out the front. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or gutted.

Instead of knocking on the front door, Fleur went round the side instead.
Am I trying to catch him out?
she thought. She found him in the kitchen, alone, taking the head off a bottle of beer.

‘Angel.’ He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were coming over.’

‘You didn’t get my texts?’ She smiled quizzically.

‘Yes, sorry. I just haven’t had a chance to answer them.’

How long did it take to reply to a text? For the first time she noticed that his flawless beauty had been knocked around the edges. There was stubble on his chin, violet circles under the dazzling blue eyes.

It only made her want him even more.

‘Do you want to go to bed?’ She slid her arms round his neck. Just the smell of him made her glow between the legs.

She tried to kiss him, but he pulled back. ‘I’ve got
a ton of work to get through. I’ve got a couple of big meetings in London in the next two days.’

She felt like she’d been sucker-punched. ‘OK,’ she said, trying not to show her upset.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No,’ she lied. ‘So you’re not going to the county council meeting?’

‘I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ Beau glanced at the clock, distracted, already in another place. ‘I’ll see you out.’

Oh God. He was trying to get rid of her. ‘D-don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Beau draped his arm round her, steering her towards the front door. She couldn’t believe it was happening. He was bored of her already.

At the front door, he gave her a perfunctory kiss. ‘I’ll be in touch, angel.’

His eyes strayed over her shoulder. Was he expecting someone? Fleur gazed into his perfect, fathomless face and realized that she’d never really had him at all.

Barely awake, in the half-light, for a blissful moment Catherine thought John was lying next to her in bed. She opened her eyes and was confronted by the empty right-hand side.

Utterly wretched, she hugged her gently rounded stomach. She knew John would love and protect any child she brought into the world. It was the thought of him not loving
her
anymore that Catherine was terrified of. She’d been calling him non-stop without any success. Each time Catherine heard the automated voicemail, she had panicked and hung up. She’d heard it in his voice. He’d given up on her.

Catherine reached out and touched the cool pillow. She felt desolate at the thought of never going to sleep at night again with his arms around her. She’d thrown away everything. She’d thrown away their future.

She started to sob gently into the pillow.

Vanessa stood on the bedroom terrace in her dressing gown, watching two rabbits scamper round the back
lawn. The garden was swathed in an early morning mist. It was an oddly peaceful scene, considering the drama that lay ahead.

‘Who’s opened the window?’ Conrad moaned.

‘Go back to sleep,’ Vanessa said. ‘It’s still early.’

There was a moment of silence then: ‘It’s five fucking a.m.! Do you want me to have under-eye bags that show up in all their HD glory?’

Vanessa looked at the bed. Conrad was stretched out like a corpse, his eye-mask still on. What a despicable human being. How could she ever have loved him?

The rabbits were still gambolling round, the bigger one springing joyfully after the smaller. It made Vanessa think of Sukie and Eddie. The animals stopped their capers, noses twitching. Vanessa looked for whatever predator they’d heard, then gasped. Dylan was standing in the far corner of the garden, looking up at her with his gorgeous lopsided smile.

‘What are you doing here?’ she mouthed ecstatically.

Dylan put his finger to his lips. He bent down and picked something up. Vanessa’s heart swelled when she saw Sukie in his arms. The dog had a new spotty green neckerchief.

Sukie spotted her mistress and her tail started beating frantically. It was all Vanessa could do to stop herself climbing down the balcony and running over to join them.

They grinned idiotically at each other. There was no need for words. Dylan had known to come when she needed him the most.

Fleur was woken by the sound of pigeons cooing outside her bedroom window. She turned over in the narrow bed and immediately checked her phone. Her heart sank; she’d been hoping Beau had texted her in the night.

Fleur looked round the room, at the cracked washbasin and oppressive dark furniture. Had it always been this scruffy and tired-looking? Her depression intensified. Now she’d tasted real luxury it all seemed so much worse.

Getting up, she went over to the window. Ridings was just visible in the morning mist, a white castle on the dewy landscape. Already it felt like a gilded tower she had no way of getting back into. She imagined Beau stretched out in bed, naked body against the white sheets. Was he even alone? Was Lynette Tudor with him, or some other leggy beauty who’d been waiting on the sidelines?

Her stomach clenched with misery.
You knew this was coming
, she told herself.
Beau’s too beautiful for you to have all to yourself
.

Close to tears, she gripped the flaking windowsill. The lights had been turned out in her life once again.

A coach had been put on to take people from the High Street to County Hall. When Catherine got down there that morning she had to fight her way through hordes of press.

‘Quick word, Catherine,’
Sky News
asked. ‘You’re nearly neck and neck with Tristan Jago in the latest YouGov poll. Do you think you can overtake him?’

She stared at the man. ‘What?’

‘You’re only three per cent behind! You’re in with a serious chance of winning.’

Catherine shook her head. She was incapable of speech right now.

Everyone was there: the Belchers, Lynette and Talia Tudor, the Patel family, the Cooper-Stanleys, even TV presenter Gideon Armstrong. Vincent had taken the morning off from Bar 47 and was looking very Italian in a silk black shirt as he smoked furiously by the war memorial. Even the Taunton-Browns had deigned to honour everyone with their presence. Aubrey and
Viola stood apart from the crowd, clearly miffed at having to stand with hoi polloi.

The Blue Rosettes were swarming about; campaigning had been put on hold for the morning. Catherine saw Felix coming out of the mini market and went over.

‘Felix.’

He had two bottles of water in his hand. ‘Have you heard about the latest YouGov?’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Tremendous work, very well done.’

‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have flown at you like that.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ he told her. ‘Nerves are running high this week, we’re all feeling it.’

She gave a strangled laugh. ‘Don’t I know it.’

He had an odd expression on his face. She wondered if her eyes were still puffy, or if she looked as rough as she felt. If Felix asked about John, Catherine knew she’d burst into tears again.

He glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’d better get back to Ginny.’

She turned round, to see Ginny standing outside Soraya with Mrs Patel. Catherine was dismayed by her appearance. Her normally rosy face was drawn and haggard and the gingham smock top she was wearing was hanging off her.

‘Ginny’s not well, is she?’ Catherine said quietly. ‘Felix, if there’s anything I can do …’

He touched her arm and stepped out into the road.

County Hall had never seen scenes like it. Sky’s Kay Burley was reporting from the top steps, while camera crews swarmed through the crowds, hoping to collar a familiar or famous face.

Catherine sat in the back of the stifling hot Volvo and tried to compose herself. All she wanted was to flee home and climb into bed, but for now she had to put her personal problems aside. People were depending on her.

John’s absence felt palpable as she approached the scrum. Another reporter pounced on her as soon as she got near.

‘What does this mean for Beeversham if Ye Olde Worlde goes ahead?’

She mumbled something about having faith in the county council, but then the press surged forward, granting her a reprieve. Sid Sykes had arrived with his posse of minders. The rural campaigners held their banners aloft and started jeering.

‘Sid! Mr Sykes!’ There was a lot of jostling and pushing and several bystanders got caught in the mêlée. Suddenly Sykes and Felix found themselves face to face. It was an electrifying moment: the chief campaigner against Ye Olde Worlde and his adversary.

Everyone held their breath. The assorted press waited for a reaction. Sykes’s mouth spread into a smug smile. ‘Morning, Felix.’

A second seemed to last an age. Felix gave a curt smile and turned on his heel. Disappointed, the press pushed after him, but he was already propelling himself towards the entrance.

The Blue Rosettes formed a protective circle round Catherine, knowing something was wrong. Mel grabbed her arm as they all filed in.

‘Babes, you look terrible. Are you OK?’

She shook her head.

‘Is it John?’

‘I can’t talk about it,’ she whispered.

Mel put her hand on Catherine’s arm. ‘Deep breaths, you’re OK.’

Tristan Jago was walking towards them. There was a camera crew nearby and Catherine waited for him to pounce, but he put his head down and rushed past.

‘Tristan told me you know about us,’ Mel said quietly. ‘Thank you for not saying anything.’

‘Mel, it’s really none of my business.’

She kept her hand on Catherine’s arm. ‘I love Mike very much. I know it might sound strange, but it works for us.’ Mel looked over and smiled at her husband. ‘He was married to someone else when we met. I knew what I was getting myself into.’

‘Honestly, Mel, as if I’m someone to judge other people’s marriages.’

‘Are things really that bad?’

Catherine welled up again. Mel squeezed her arm. ‘I’m here if you want to talk, babe.’