Vintage Babes (52 page)

‘But I can’t stay.’

‘Can’t stay?’ Eileen repeated, in furious disbelief. ‘And why is that?’

‘Because I’ve promised to go and help a man who suffers from double vision with his marquetry. It’s his hobby and I can’t let him down,’ Frances said, her eyes wary and her voice dropping to little more than a whisper. ‘I’m due there in ten minutes. I’d put the appointment on my calendar at home, but not in my diary. So when you asked if I could help at the fête, I looked in my diary and saw a free day. An easy mistake to make, yes?’

She moved her hands in a desperate plea for understanding, but Eileen’s expression was stony.

‘You’re leaving me to manage the stall by myself? And what about me taking a break? How can I go and find something to eat if I’m all alone? Or even visit the Ladies’? I can’t.’

Frances hung her head. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘Sorry? Pah! And I was thinking that later I’d treat myself to a curry. I like curries and especially if –’ In the midst of her annoyance, the giggle gurgled out again, ‘– they’re served by dashing young Indians.’

‘I can help you to run the stall,’ Jenny offered. ‘And I’ll help you pack everything up when the fête is over. My husband’s busy with his vegetable patch, so I was planning to be here for most of the afternoon.’

Eileen smiled. ‘Thank you, dear, that is most kind.’ As she swung to Frances, her smile transposed into a dirty look. ‘You may not remember me saying, but, as the doctor has warned so many times, bending and stretching is bad for me, seriously damaging –’ a martyred hand was placed on her hip ‘– and if I do too much I could end up on a stretcher. In hospital. Flat on my back for weeks. Or with a hernia, that’s always a possibility. But the trouble I’ve had with my bones! It started in my youth when I tripped over a paving stone, the council’s fault, and –’

‘Excuse me, I must go, have to speak to Steve,’ I said.

‘And before everything kicks off, I’d like to buy myself a bottle of water. But I’ll be back,’ Jenny promised, and together we escaped.

I looked for Steve, only to discover that work on the sound system had finished and he was heading for the edge of the green where Mr Patel was waiting. It had been agreed that the two men would greet Tina and Max and escort them across to the stage. There the lady mayor would make a formal welcome. As Steve joined him, Mr Patel gestured towards the High Street where a long white limousine with tinted windows was navigating the bend.

‘This has to be the star attractions,’ I said drily. ‘They have another engagement to attend later today so, as Tina refused to accept a fee, Steve offered to pay for a car and driver. Though we didn’t anticipate a stretch limo!’

Jenny grinned. ‘Don’t know why not, it’s just Max’s style.’

Max had taken to fame with gusto. He was relishing every minute and never missed a chance to promote the ‘dynamic duo’s’ image. He was also squeezing each opportunity for every last pound he and his partner could make. However, Tina – the reputed gold-digger – was not so mercenary. When Steve and I had asked her if they would be willing to open the fête – it had been my idea – she had promptly agreed, but rejected any suggestion of payment.

‘Duncan would’ve been horrified if I charged,’ she had said, then grinned. ‘Besides, me being Dursleigh’s honoured guest is one in the eye for Beryl and her associates.’

But when she had informed Max of the arrangement, his first question had been how much would they receive. And he had, Tina confessed, needed some persuading before he would attend the event for free.

As the limousine drew closer, people on the green also took notice. There was a general move forward and by the time the limo drew to a halt beside them, Mr Patel and Steve were backed by an excited crowd, several rows deep. When the uniformed chauffeur came round to open the passenger door and Tina stepped out, followed by Max, the crowd clapped and cheered. In front of the stage, the brass band burst into a rousing rendition of ‘We Are The Champions.’ Smiling, the couple paused, posed and Tony took the first of his photographs.

Tina was summery in a pink-and-white checked skirt suit with pink-fringed lapels, cuffs and hem. She wore pink killer heels and carried a matching bag. Her hair, which swayed around her shoulders, was threaded with what the media now referred to as her ‘trademark’ braids. Today the braids were fastened with clusters of pink and white sequins. As usual for their public appearances, Max was colour co-ordinated with his companion, though his look was casual. Casual
à la
Las Vegas. He wore a cyclamen pink, sequin-speckled T-shirt and loose white linen trousers. A silver medallion hung around his neck. When he brushed a hand back over his blonded dreadlocks, he inspired a communal female sigh.

The two of them may have been OTT for a Saturday afternoon on a village green, but their audience loved it. Me, too. Just felt it was a pity they hadn’t opted for pink contact lenses.

Chatting to the new arrivals, Steve and Mr Patel led them through the throng and up onto the stage. After saying how thrilled she was to meet ‘Dursleigh’s very own stars’ – and sounding thrilled, too – the lady mayor spoke of the ‘immense privilege’ it was to have them here.

‘It’s the best day of my life!’ hollered a besotted female, and everyone laughed and applauded again.

The lady mayor moved into her thanks; thanking the committee for their efforts, thanking everyone else involved in the fête, thanking
The Dursleigh Siren
for its sponsorship. She talked of how the money raised would go to the youth music club, Girl Guides and other causes, then handed over the microphone. After Tina had declared her pleasure at being invited, Max ballyhooed their television programme which was to start in the autumn. In addition to exercise-along work-outs for the viewer, he would, he explained, be running self-help programmes for those wishing to awaken natural healing powers, release their creativity, detox etc. His spiel over, he caught hold of Tina’s hand and, speaking in unison, they declared the fête open.

This brought another volley of cheers and more photographs were taken – some with Tony wielding his camera, others by the crowd. Leaving the stage, the couple rejoined Steve and Mr Patel and, surrounded by a swarm of fans, set off on a tour of the stalls.

The fans could be divided into three groups; men of all ages who fancied Tina, older women who admired Tina as a role model, and younger females who had the hots for Max. The younger females formed the largest group by far. Clearly aware of this, Max was cracking jokes, kissing hands and being the universal charmer.

As the band launched into ‘Mambo Italiano’ – which had Max sexily swaying his hips – Jenny went in search of a bottle of water.

Intending to see whether Melanie needed support, I had turned towards
The Siren
stall when one of the lady shop assistants from Gifford’s came up. She was eager to tell me that her nerves and those of her colleague and the two Mr Giffords had recovered, they were no longer haunted by fears of another robbery and could sleep peacefully at night. Casting fond glances at the distant Steve, she declared he was so caring and thoughtful. Such a nice man.

‘I think so, too,’ I told her.

As she went on her way, I caught sight of Ron Vetch buying burgers in buns for himself and his wife. Watching how he procured a seat for his wife, provided napkins, then engaged in bright conversation, I smiled. Three months ago, solemnly declaring that ‘mistakes had been made, but lessons will be learned’, he had resigned as a councillor. Although many Dursleigh residents remained ignorant of his ‘mistakes’ – he had neglected to explain – those who frequented the Post Office were better informed. Jezebel had talked freely, slamming her one-night stand as having ‘a teeny todger’ and being ‘rubbish in bed’. But now it seemed that by nurturing his image as a devoted husband, Ron was endeavouring to get back into favour – with his wife and, no doubt, with the local community. However, judging from Mrs Vetch’s lack of response and to use his politicaleze, it could be ‘an uphill struggle’.

‘Hello there!’ someone called.

I looked round to see a wizened lady waving to me. I waved back. It was the sky-diving great-grandmother whom I had interviewed.

‘Hi, Carol!’

This time Roger, my friendly policeman, had raised a hand amidst the crowd. I went to speak to him, and to his wife and toddler son who accompanied him.

My progress towards
The Siren
stall was slow. More people exchanged greetings and I stopped for several chats. I was even waylaid by Pippa, Gerri and Dee, all of whom claimed to be ‘acutely stressed’ now that Max had forsaken them, though they would be ‘forever emotionally enriched by his wisdom’ and were ‘brainstorming’ over his replacement. When I finally arrived at the stall, it was to discover Melanie deep in conversation with a Neighbourhood Watch stalwart. Melanie has taken over several of the evening and weekend jobs which I used to do and is a keen successor. She did not, she assured me, need any help on the stall.

I had bought a book of raffle tickets from her – one prize I didn’t want to win was a year’s free subscription to
The Dursleigh Siren,
though my dad would always welcome it – when an arm slid around my waist.

‘How’s my favourite middle-aged baggage?’ Steve asked.

‘All the better for seeing you. And you, and you, and you,’ I added when I turned, for Debbie, Paul and their dog were with him.

Although Debbie had made suggestions, from the start Paul had had firm ideas about what the Dalmatian should be called. As a keen football fan, the boy had wanted him to be named after one of his three favourite players, which had meant either Ruud Van or Zidane or Ronaldo. He had said Debbie could choose and she had chosen Ronaldo.

‘The kids have just arrived, so I thought I’d take a break from the scrum,’ Steve said, jerking his head to where Tina and Max were holding court to a group of moony-eyed admirers. He grinned down at his daughter. ‘Debs has something to tell you.’

She beamed. ‘My story, A Sticky Hero, is going to be published. I had a letter this morning telling me and – guess what?’ – the magazine is going to pay me fifty pounds. Fifty whole pounds!’

‘That’s wonderful!’ I said, and hugged her. ‘It might be an idea to start on a sequel.’

She laughed. ‘I already have.’

‘Will you be giving your brother a share of the spoils?’ I enquired, with a wink at Paul.

‘A fiver would be generous,’ Steve said. ‘A tenner even better.’

Debbie gave a loud sigh. ‘Oh, okay then.’

‘Thanks,’ Paul said, and smiled up at me.

I patted Ronaldo, who wagged an energetic tail. ‘Are you going to win a medal today?’

‘He will,’ Paul vowed. ‘We’re trying to keep him calm until it’s time for him to perform.’

One of the afternoon’s events was a dog show with ability and obedience tests and, on hearing about this, the boy had been eager that Ronaldo should take part. When Steve had voiced doubts about the Dalmatian’s ability to follow instructions – he’s a little giddy and not the brightest of creatures – Paul had declared he would train him.

‘Pity your mum can’t be here today,’ I said.

Debbie shrugged. ‘Her attending the psychic fair was fixed ages ago, but perhaps she’ll come next year. Has Beth arrived yet?’

‘I haven’t seen her, though she should be along soon.’

When Debbie and Beth had met – at a two-family lunch at my house – a bond had been formed. Beth idolised the older girl and, in turn, Debbie was amused and touched by her affection.

‘Guess I should return to my escort duties,’ Steve said, as Tina and Max prepared to continue their tour. ‘Will you two kids be alright on your own?’

Debbie cast him a ‘what a sad dad’ look. ‘Of course. We’re going to go and enrol Ronaldo for the tests.’

Paul touched my hand. ‘Will you come and watch us?’

I grinned. ‘You bet.’

Although Debbie and I had always been easy together, before I’d met Steve’s son I was wary. Would he resent his father caring for another woman? Might he regard my presence as an insult to his mother and hate me on sight? If he did, I could understand. But Paul – a calm, self-contained boy – had been unconcerned. Annette had no problems with Steve’s new relationship and neither did he.