Part 22 (1/2)
”Mum, Mum! It's me, I'm back!”
Angela appeared from the lawn, rubbing her hands on a tea towel. She smiled thinly. ”Oh, Laura. There you are. At last!”
”Sorry, Mum,” Laura called, as she walked across the gravel. ”It was all a bit complicated. I'm really sorry. Here, now, what do you want me to do?”
”Well, set the table, maybe,” said Angela, still rather frosty.
”Are they here?” asked Laura in a whisper. ”Simon? Is he here?”
”They're outside, having drinks. Robert and your dad are doing the barbecue,” said Angela, unbending somewhat at her daughter's apology. ”Fran's brought Ludo, that's nice, isn't it.”
”Right,” said Laura, rolling her eyes. She threw her bag into the corner of the room. ”What can I do?”
”Get Annabel another drink, I think,” said Angela demurely. ”She had a somewhat...fraught journey up here, I think. Cedric and Jasper were rather...boisterous, I understand.”
Since the last time Laura-who was too young to recognize Cedric Forsythe as the demiG.o.d he was to George and a generation of impressionable young British schoolboys-had seen him, Cedric had taken her and Mary to see Anything Goes and had alarmed everyone by breaking wind violently and deliberately throughout, Laura was not surprised. And since she knew that he and Jasper were incredibly naughty when they were together, she was even less surprised when a voice came booming from the lawn, ”Is that Laura? Is that gorgeous Laura? Ha-ha, hahahaha. Come here, beautiful.”
Laura found herself being swept into Jasper Davidson's navy-besmocked chest. He kissed her on the head. ”You're too thin, gorgeous. Far too thin. Ah, Cedric, look who's here.”
”Dear girl,” said Cedric Forsythe mellifluously, advancing toward her with a happy smile on his face. ”I am truly glad to see you here.” He handed her his gla.s.s of champagne. ”Come and find your grandmother. G.o.d, your cousins are awf-ah, Annabel! Dear lady, how are you?”
Aunt Annabel, obviously hearing the commotion, had arrived in the doorway and was regarding Laura with minimal warmth. Laura went over and kissed her, feeling rather like she was in some kind of random 1930s farce. Annabel was wearing a strangely formal all-in-one b.u.t.toned-through housecoat in striped khaki with fake cuffs, adorned with several pieces of carefully understated-but nonetheless ever-so-slightly ostentatious-gold jewelry. She was about fifty-five, but she was suspended in time. She could have been seventy, or thirty-one never really knew. She was so correct, seldom betraying any emotion, that Laura couldn't remember her aging or acting any other way. Where Annabel's stepsister waved her arms, worried, dropped wooden spoons covered in batter on the floor, and generally despaired of herself, her husband, her children, Annabel had, Laura thought, probably never suffered a moment's self-doubt in all her life. And she kind of wished she were Annabel, for one brief moment.
”Ah, Laura, you're here,” she said. ”Goodness. You have been ages, haven't you? With your friend from the wetlands place, dear me. Angela”-she redirected her steely gaze toward her stepsister-”your mother's getting rather hungry. How long till we eat, do you think?”
”Grrmshowalla,” muttered Angela as she turned toward Annabel. ”Not long, Annabel. Shall we all go outside and finish our drinks?”
Angela made a sweeping motion that included everyone, and Cedric and Jasper turned away from the drinks cabinet and shuffled toward the door.
”Yes, but-” Aunt Annabel said, looking over toward the kitchen.
”I suppose it depends on how long it really takes for Robert to get the barbecue going,” Angela said serenely, and sailed outside.
Round one to Mum, thought Laura, settling back into her normal life, and she raised her gla.s.s to George as she stepped out onto the terrace. It was hot, almost too hot, and George was slaving over the barbecue, sweat forming perilously on his jaw, while Robert lounged next to him chatting negligibly about something, a bored expression on his large face. Laura's father glared at her as she appeared; then his expression softened, and he rolled his eyes and flipped a burger in a fluid motion that impressed his daughter deeply.
”Where's Simon?” she said again.
Annabel made a moue. ”Oh, dear.”
”Not here yet,” said Angela tightly. ”I'm sure he'll call, though. He knows it's today.”
Laura knew from long experience that the phrase ”he knows it's today” absolutely meant the person concerned did not know it was today, or was not going to turn up.
”Oh, man!” she muttered as she followed her mother into the kitchen, unreasonably cross with her absent brother, although deep down she had never seriously thought he might turn up on time. She was cross because she missed him, and the thought of having a normal person here had been sustaining her these seven days. ”Shall I call him?”
”I've tried,” said Angela. ”His phone's switched off.”
”It's always switched off,” said Laura. ”I don't know why he took it there. I'll try him again anyway. Perhaps it's just because he's in a tunnel on his way to King's Lynn. Don't worry, Mum, it'll-”
”Lae closer. ”It's fine,” she said. ”You're here now.”
”I know, I know. I feel-I feel terrible. Anyway, we're all here, and it's such a lovely day,” said Laura manically, feeling like a children's entertainer. All she needed was a stripy jacket and some huge clown's shoes.
”Go and see if your mother wants any help,” said Mary. ”I'm afraid your aunt rather puts her on her mettle.” Laura nodded obediently and turned to go. ”And-Laura?”
Laura turned back to face her. ”Yes, Gran?”
”Will you tell me who he is one day?”
”Who who is?” Laura said stupidly, blinking in the sunlight.
”Whoever he is you've been spending all your time with.” Laura gaped at her. ”I know you, darling. Now, go.”
”Er,” said Laura, feeling that since she'd arrived home, all she'd done was speak in a series of grunts. ”Ur. Argh. Well-it's complicated.”
”I'm sure it is.” Mary smiled. ”It always is.”
”It's nothing,” said Laura, standing firm. ”Nothing at all. Part of my new rule.”
”We shall see,” said Mary. ”Darling, be a dear and get me another gin and tonic.” She held out her gla.s.s.
”You don't want any champagne?”
”Loathe the stuff,” said Mary cheerfully, glaring balefully at Ludo, who was flexing his muscles and showing them to Fran and Lulu, amidst screams of delight. ”Some ice and a-”
”-thick slice,” Laura finished. ”Sure, be right back.”
They were everywhere, these Sandersons, blocking her way to the kitchen, making loud noises, cheerfully insulting her father-”No, old man, that burger's charcoal on the outside, but you've left it raw inside, look”-and subtly digging at her mother: ”Angela, your salad was rather small, so I've taken it out of the fridge and added some spinach.” Laura leaned against the wall of the kitchen and breathed deeply. The events of this morning seemed an age away already. She would have time to digest them all when she caught the train home that night and said goodbye to all this. Tonight she would be back home, back in the flat with Yorky watching TV, flicking pistachio sh.e.l.ls into the bin, having a beer, telling Jo on the phone all about her holiday. If Laura wanted to tell-she thought she probably didn't. She checked her phone. There was a text message from Yorky: Need your help asap. Please advise return time. Having romantic crisis with Becky downstairs. She is single. Think we're going on date tonight. Not sure. Need you to be laughing flatmate who thinks am great. V important. Love to yr gran. Yx The phone in the hall rang, and she ran to answer it. ”h.e.l.lo?” she said uncertainly.
”Laura?” came a distant voice, accompanied by what sounded like someone waving sheets of metal in the background. ”It's-mon.”
”Simon!” Laura yelled. ”You're here! Where are you? Ely? Cambridge?”