CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There’s a beat of silence.
Then the whole place erupts into raucous laughter.
I can’t see very much at all through the horrible viscous green stuff that’s clinging to my eyelashes and seeping into places (specifically down my bra) that haven’t seen this much exciting action in literally years. As the wails of laughter continue, I place my fingers in my eye sockets and clear out what I can, flicking it onto the stage with a dramatic gesture that only increases the laughter from my highly appreciative audience of under-12s.
I’m feeling too humiliated to feel angry at whoever’s idea of a joke this was. Surely Ethan can’t have known about it. He would have warned me. So who . . . ?
Vision partially restored, I glance into the wings and the first person I see is Cressida. She’s looking at me with mean, unbridled pleasure written right across her face – and I know in that instant, it was she who engineered it.
The cunning cow! She lulled me into a false sense of security by wishing me luck before the performance . . . I should have known it wasn’t genuine!
Then I see Ethan with his hand anxiously over his brow. It looks as if he was as unprepared for this as I was. ‘Just carry on,’ he mouths, nodding furiously at me.
I nod back, a surge of what my Gran calls the old wartime spirit rising up in me. I will not be beaten by that sly monster, Cressida! The show must and will go on!
I will not let Ethan down!
I raise my magic wand, Cinderella shuffles forward gingerly, and I start up my speech again.
‘You shall go to the ball, Cinderella! Let me wave my magic wand and say the magic words, Bibbity-bobbity-boo!’ I take a step forward, right into the gunk, and down I go, landing on my bottom with a resounding bump. (If it was part of the panto, there would be a clash of symbols as my bum hit the deck.)
A kid in the audience shouts, ‘Bet you’re glad you’ve got padding in your knickers!’ and the whole place erupts again.
I’m starting to see the funny side myself and it seems perfectly logical at that moment to lie flat on my back in the green gunge and perform an energetic ‘snow angel’, much to the further delight of the audience.
After all the hilarity has died down, we manage to crank the panto up again, but with all the actors having to take massive detours around the splodgy green mess in the middle of the stage, it’s all a bit of a shambles.
But as Ethan remarks later, after we’ve taken about twenty-five curtain calls to deafening cheers and whistles, ‘The kids liked it. And the local paper sent a photographer so hopefully you’ll appear in full glorious colour tomorrow, Fen. You’re the heroine of the night, the way you took that drenching on the chin.’
‘And everywhere else,’ comments Daniel, who’s playing the Prince.
Everyone laughs and I force myself to join in.
The dress Lizzie fitted me with is ruined, although that doesn’t really matter as Rosalind will be back, wearing her own costume, from tomorrow. But what surprises me most is that Ethan doesn’t seem at all annoyed with Cressida for pulling a stunt like that without even telling him first. Maybe he’s just glad of the publicity we’re sure to get in the local paper from the ‘panto gone hilariously wrong’ story.
Even I can see it was funny. (If I don’t dwell on the slightly sinister fact that Cressida was so obviously gunning for me when she planned it.) And it really was the highlight of the afternoon for those school kids.
But Ethan describing me as the heroine of the night I find a bit sad, to be honest. Because deep down I’d been hoping to be a heroine of a different kind altogether.
I wanted to be the heroine who the leading man – Ethan, of course - simply couldn’t resist. The heroine he longed to sweep off her feet and to whom he declared his undying love. But that’s not likely to happen now, with my make-up gone and my lovely bouncy hair all plastered to my head.
I’d dreamed of making Ethan proud to be with me tonight.
But it will have to remain a dream – now that, with my luminescent green skin, I look like I might be related to Shrek . . .
*****
The wine tasting is taking place in a gallery in the picture perfect village of Eagleton-on-the-Green, about twenty miles from Sunnybrook.
I call Jaz and ask if I can get cleaned up at her place. The trouble is, by the time we emerge from the village hall, I find I have exactly twenty-seven minutes to have a shower and wash the green gunge from my hair before Ethan arrives to collect me. Consequently, my lovely, bouncy hair is no longer . . .
From the moment we arrive, park up and emerge from Ethan’s silver Porsche, I realise this is going to be like no other date I’ve ever been on. Not that I’ve been on many. But they’ve invariably involved a pub or a restaurant.
Ethan seems right at home in the sophisticated surroundings of the art gallery. He takes it all in his stride – from the discreetly expensive frontage to the beautiful, elegantly dressed people within, chatting over tall flutes of chilled champagne. Bite-sized nibbles on large platters are being offered around by cheerful young people – who I imagine to be history of art students – dressed in crisp white shirts, black trousers and loafers.
Unlike Ethan, I’m struggling to keep my mouth from opening in awe. I suppose I’m what you’d call a hick from the sticks.
I’ve always shied away from events and places like this, preferring to stay at home on the occasions Mum, Dad and Rich took up invitations to socialise in grand London venues, with colleagues from the world of law. As a teenager, I used to hide when Mum held one of her big parties at Brambleberry Manor – but I eventually gave up trying to avoid them because she would never let me. She always tracked me down – usually I was sulking in my room - and made me go in and talk to people.
As soon as we walk into the wine-tasting, Ethan spots a couple he knows and goes over to speak to them. I try to follow him but I’m blocked by a group of people converging on a waiter bearing a tray of nibbles, and Ethan has disappeared from view.
Then I spot him, chatting to an older couple, the man quite short and wearing a tartan waistcoat that strains over his belly, and his wife (slightly taller and wider than him) in a floaty, blue and lilac floral dress and matching wide-brimmed hat.
‘Roger and Arlene,’ says Ethan when I arrive at his side. ‘I knew Roger when I worked at Watsons,’ he says, naming an engineering plant a few miles from Sunnybrook. He smiles charmingly at them. ‘And this is the lovely Fen.’
‘Very pleased to meet you, my dear,’ murmurs Roger, taking my hand in both of his and looking directly at my boobs.
His wife, Arlene, flutters her eyelashes at Ethan. ‘Last time I saw you was at that Christmas night out a few years ago.’ She wags her finger at him. ‘You naughty, naughty boy!’
I glance at Ethan with interest then at Arlene, wondering if she’s going to elaborate. But she just taps the side of her nose, burps quite loudly and announces, ‘But your secret is safe with me.’
A nervous look passes over Ethan’s face and Roger glares at her and says, ‘I think you’ve had quite enough to drink for one night.’
She frowns. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because you’re starting to talk gibberish?’ Roger smiles apologetically at me, his eyes dropping immediately to my cleavage. ‘I can recommend the claret, by the way. And this is a very cheeky little Merlot, well worth a bash.’ He holds up his glass then takes a sip and swills it round his mouth before nodding appreciatively. ‘I’m getting . . . nectarine and pencil shavings with just a touch of charred herbs.’
I want to giggle. I glance at Ethan but he just nods and says, ‘Sounds good. Point me in the right direction.’ He smiles at me and murmurs, ‘Back in a minute,’ and goes off, I assume to get me some of the cheeky Merlot. Roger follows him, so I’m left alone with Arlene.
We stand side by side for a while, observing Ethan working the room, chatting up little groups of two or three people with his charm and ready smile. The room is full of really beautiful people, all dressed as though they’re fresh from a modelling assignment for Vogue. At least Arlene and Roger look relatively normal.
I’m racking my brains to think of something to say when Arlene completely by-passes the polite small talk and murmurs, ‘He’s really rather delicious, that man of yours. Have you been married long? Because if you’re not careful, I’m going to steal him right away from you.’ She gives a throaty laugh and raises her glass to me, slopping most of the contents onto the floor. ‘Only joking, darling. But you do have to watch out for men like that. They like the company of women, you see, and somehow one never seems to be enough.’
‘Oh, Ethan’s just being sociable,’ I say brightly, watching him laughing with a pretty girl in a Sixties-style brocade dress and cute pink sling-back shoes. The dress is beautiful, in shades of palest pink and gold, and her blonde hair has been styled in an elegant chignon. No wonder Ethan looks dazzled. She’s so stylish, even I can’t drag my eyes away!
I feel rather boring by comparison in my black wide-legged trousers and simple white linen top, the only embellishment being a little fabric tie belt at the waist.
I hitch my mouth up at the corners, hoping to give the impression that I don’t mind at all that the man I came here with is now having an animated chat with the most gorgeous woman in the room. I don’t want to join them in case Ethan thinks I’m jealous and making a point. And in any case, I’d feel like a bit of a gooseberry if I went over there.
I really wish he would come back and rescue me from Arlene, though. She seems very nice but it’s quite hard having a conversation with someone who’s drunk a bucket of gin.
‘Ah, yes, sociable,’ says Arlene. She goes to tap the side of her nose in a confidential manner but misses altogether and almost knocks her glasses off. ‘I used to say my Roger was just being friendly.’ She gives a hoot of laughter. ‘I mean, there’s friendly and then there’s friendly! Know what I mean?’
The memory of Alicia pops into my head for some reason - the time she tried to track Ethan down in the bar. Alicia is obviously still really hung up on him and I can’t exactly blame her. Obviously Ethan is popular with women. But as he himself told me, there comes a time when most men – however friendly they’ve been in the past – fall in love for real and decide they want to settle down . . .
I shouldn’t let Arlene get me down. It’s just the drink talking. She actually has no idea what Ethan’s like as a person.
Arlene heaves a sigh and her enormous milky white breasts wobble like a newly-set blancmange. ‘Three months into our marriage, I surprised Roger at work and found him in the canteen store cupboard. Getting a bit too friendly with Harriet the cleaner and a serving of organic salad veg.’
‘Crikey.’ I stare at her, bemused, wondering briefly if cucumbers were involved.
‘Well, exactly.’
I try to catch Ethan’s eye but he’s now way over the other side of the room, talking to a buxom woman, whose dark brown hair is piled up in an impressive beehive.
Arlene follows my glance. ‘Good lord, there’s probably an entire colony beavering away under that beehive and we’d never know about it,’ she remarks and I can’t help grinning.
I’m warming to Arlene. Which is just as well since I doubt I’m going to see much of Ethan tonight. But maybe he’s got something special planned for when we leave here. Dinner in a cosy little restaurant, perhaps?
Feeling cheered at the thought of an intimate meal for two and the chance to get to know Ethan better, I join Arlene in a rather disjointed chat about Sixties culture, which mainly involves listening to her reminiscing fondly about ‘free love’ in her pre-Roger days.
At last, Ethan works his way back to me and to my relief, he says we really ought to make a move.
Arlene and I say our goodbyes and Roger pulls me into a brief but sweaty embrace and says he hopes we meet again. I murmur something indistinct and flee after Ethan.
‘All those canapés have filled me up,’ he says as he unlocks the car. ‘I’m not that hungry. Are you?’
To be truthful, I’m not particularly hungry either. But disappointment washes over me nonetheless as I see my lovely dream of a cosy table for two melting away to nothing.
‘No, I’m not hungry either.’
‘Good. We’ll just go back to The Swan for another drink then, shall we?’
‘Er, yes. Great!’
We fall silent on the drive back. I keep thinking about what Arlene said. They like the company of women, you see, and somehow one never seems to be enough.
What have I got myself into with Ethan?
It’s my own fault I’m disappointed about tonight. I’ve built it up to be something wildly romantic, which of course it isn’t at all. Yes, Ethan kissed me that night. And even though he was hiding from Alicia, the kiss did feel genuine from his side. But that hardly means he shares my dreams of falling in love! Did I really expect him to stay by my side all night at the wine tasting, because he was enjoying being with me? If so, more fool me.
I need to just go with the flow and stop indulging in stupid romantic fantasies.
A painful lump rises in my throat as I stare out of the side window. Will I ever find real and lasting love? Or is it love of the unrequited kind that’s forever to be my destiny? I’m so naïve when it comes to relationships. I should never have allowed myself to fall so hopelessly for someone as devastatingly gorgeous as Ethan. It’s obvious he was never going to return my feelings . . .
Back in Sunnybrook, I get out of the car with a heavy heart. But then Ethan takes my hand and squeezes it as we walk into The Swan.
‘You look gorgeous tonight, by the way,’ he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. Then he kisses me softly on the lips. The girl behind reception smiles at us and says good evening and I think how we must look through her eyes. Just another happy couple enjoying each other’s company on an evening out.
I smile back at her, feeling my spirits rise a little. Ethan has chosen to spend his Friday evening with me. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t really like me.
We settle down at a table and Ethan goes to the bar. And that’s when I look around at the other occupants of the room and see to my dismay that Cressida is sitting at a table nearby, chatting to a female friend. She gives me a look of haughty superiority as if I’m something the cat dragged in.
When she passes our table on the way to the bar, she pauses and says, ‘Enjoying your night out?’
‘Er, yes, lovely thanks.’
She dips down so that she’s level with my ear. ‘Would you think it was quite so lovely if I told you Ethan and I have a thing going on?’ she murmurs.
My heart jolts at her words. I spin round but she’s already walking calmly away in the direction of the bar.
I stare after her, knowing she’s sure to join Ethan. And sure enough, they exchange a few words before Ethan picks up our drinks and walks back across. I feel sickened by Cressida’s maliciousness. I don’t believe her evil words for one moment. She’s just bitter because Ethan is paying me more attention than her.
But just to set my mind at rest, when Ethan sits down, I laugh and say, ‘Well! You’ll never guess what Cressida just told me. She said you two have a thing going on.’
Ethan frowns, looking taken aback. Then he starts to laugh. ‘God, I knew something like this would happen. She’s jealous of you, Fen. She’s infatuated with me and she can see how much I like you. You must have noticed how she’s always trying to get my attention?’
I nod. ‘I must admit, I have. She is very attractive, though. I wouldn’t blame you if – you know . . .’
‘Adorable Fen!’ he murmurs, leaning over and cupping my face gently in his hands. ‘You must know you have nothing to worry about with Cressida. She’s a nice girl but it’s you I want to get to know better.’ He pauses and looks deeply into my eyes. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
I gaze at him, slightly puzzled by my reaction to his words. I should be feeling on top of the world after his little speech. It’s just that for the first time, I’m seeing through the superficial charm. It sounded too smooth; almost as if he practises in the mirror.
But what am I saying?
I definitely don’t believe Cressida! Why would I? She’s set me up twice already – and I wouldn’t put it past her to do it a third time.
Ethan looks hurt. ‘Surely you believe me, Fen? I don’t even particularly like the girl.’
I stare at him in confusion. He just described Cressida as a nice girl – and now he’s saying he doesn’t particularly like her! What the hell am I supposed to believe?’
He leans closer and murmurs, ‘I’ll prove to you how much I like you, Fen. Let me take you home.’ His dark eyes gleam with wicked intentions and my heart flutters. Then I remember that we’ve both been drinking. And that Mum and Dad will be there when I get home.
‘I’m getting a taxi back tonight,’ I tell him apologetically. ‘But . . . would you like to come to my parents’ Snow Ball with me next Saturday?’
‘Saturday?’ He frowns. ‘I’ve been invited to a party here that night.’ Then he smiles. ‘But I’d much rather be with you. So yes, Fen, we shall go to the ball!’
I have a sudden urge to giggle at the dramatic way he says it.
But I’m excited, too.
For once in my life, I’ll be going to the Snow Ball with someone special . . .