Five Unforgivable Things. Vivien Brown
‘Okay. It’s a bit unconventional, but we can ask. The vicar’s a family friend – well, a sort of second cousin, actually – so I don’t think he’ll say no. So that’s it? We can do it? Get married in Somerset? Set a date?’
Oh, he could be persuasive when he wanted to be, but I didn’t have an alternative plan, or the energy to argue. In fact, sitting down with my feet up and letting Molly Campbell sort it all out for me was actually quite an attractive prospect. ‘Yes, we can. But soon, all right? Before I’m the biggest balloon in the barn, and definitely before I’m anywhere near ready to pop!’
‘We’ll tell them at Christmas, when everyone’s in a good mood and feeling festive. We can go down there together, or do it on the phone. Whichever you prefer. And talk to the vicar, to book a date. There’s nothing like news of a new baby to make Christmas complete!’
‘I’m not the bloody Virgin Mary, Dan. And this,’ I lay my hand on my tummy and patted it, ‘is not the baby Jesus.’
He laughed. ‘I know. And there will be no mangers, I promise, even if we do have the wedding in the barn.’
Beth, 2017
‘It’s a very long way to come just for a spa! Surely there was somewhere nearer to home?’ Beth dragged her case up the hotel steps and banged her way through the revolving doors. ‘All the time we were stuck on that stupid train we could have been lying back luxuriating in a whirlpool bath or whacking down a cocktail or three in the bar.’
‘Oh, stop your moaning. We’re here now, aren’t we?’ Jenny followed in her wake, stopping in the foyer to admire the giant floral displays and gaze up at the glittering chandeliers. ‘And, you have to admit, it looks great!’
‘Wait until we’ve seen our room, dumped this lot and found our way to the pool, and then I’ll tell you if it’s great.’
‘Oh, you are such a spoilsport sometimes. We got it half price, remember? And there’s a complimentary head massage thrown in later on, so let’s just get on and enjoy it all, shall we? And the first drink is on me, by the way.’
‘Well, now you’re talking. And, while you’re doing that, you can tell me why we’re really here.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, yes, you do! We didn’t come all the way up here just to eat three calorie-controlled meals a day and get our heads rubbed, and you know it.’
‘Campbell. Room for two. We have booked.’ Jenny had turned away and was sorting out the room keys with the woman behind the reception desk, but not before Beth had seen the red flush that was flooding her face and making its way up the back of her neck. She knew damn well there was more to this trip than her sneaky so-called sister was letting on.
The lift came quickly and transported them just as quickly up to Room 316.
‘Ooh, look, there’s a mini-bar!’ Beth was working her way around the room, opening cupboards and exploring light switches before Jenny had so much as found somewhere to put her case down. ‘Little dinky bottles of wine. Coke. Lager. They’ve even got peanuts!’
‘And they’ll all cost a fortune. We don’t need them, Beth. Just wait until we get to the bar. Or, better still, find a shop and stock up with our own supplies. No point throwing money away.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Reluctantly, Beth closed the fridge door and started pulling clothes out of her case and chucking them all over the bed by the window. ‘You always were the voice of reason, weren’t you? Dad’s daughter, that’s for sure! He’ll make an accountant out of you yet!’
‘I don’t think so. All those boring spreadsheets and columns of numbers you have to balance. There’s nothing I’d like less.’
‘Except dipping your hands into vats of smelly perming lotion and confronting other people’s nits, like me, I bet!’
‘Believe me, wiping old men’s bums comes pretty close!’
‘Ugh! Rather you than me.’ Beth sat down among the piles of clothes on the bed. ‘I didn’t always want to be a hairdresser, you know. If Mum and Dad had been a bit better off, I’d have liked to have ballet lessons or learned the piano or gone off to some posh stage school and learned to act and sing, and then I might even be famous by now. Musicals, maybe. I can just see myself as Dorothy, tripping down the yellow brick road in a pair of ruby slippers, or swishing my skirts about being Nancy in Oliver, or having a bash at Evita … Making a living with a microphone in my hand, not scissors and a soggy towel.’
‘I remember! You dancing about all the time when we were kids, like some demented prima donna. But I have to admit, you can sing pretty well. A lot better than me, anyway. And it’s never too late, you know.’
‘Oh, I think it is.’ Beth stood up, bounced onto her toes and did an exaggerated twirl. ‘It’s just me, hankering after what I can’t have and dreaming about what might have been, just like everybody else. Hairdressing’s okay, really, and I am pretty good at it, though I say so myself, but the best bit about coming away like this is the not having to stand up all day, listening to people’s boring holiday stories. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had a proper holiday of my own to look forward to. Still, this will do for now. Pool first, is it? I still feel all hot and sticky from the journey. Then I’ll take you up on the offer of that drink you promised me.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. Not now you’ve nabbed the best bed. Just look at that view. And what have I got over on my side of the room? A kettle, a pile of tourist leaflets and three steps nearer to the toilet! Whatever happened to democracy?’ Jenny stood with her hands on her hips, trying to look stern, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that made it clear it didn’t really matter. ‘We could have tossed for it.’
‘Now who’s moaning?’ Beth laughed, burst into a rousing chorus of ‘Don’t Cry for me, Argentina’, and disappeared into the bathroom with a swimsuit in one hand and a bottle of screw-top wine she’d just grabbed from the mini-bar in the other.
***
‘We need to go into dinner early tonight.’ They’d spent most of Thursday, barring a break for lunch, having their backs pummelled by a rather over-zealous and over-talkative woman with green fingernails and a white coat, and then lazing about in the water to giggle about it and get over it. Now Jenny was drying her still-tangled hair under a particularly noisy dryer in the ladies’ changing room. It didn’t seem to occur to her just how loudly she was speaking.
‘Ssshh!’ Beth put her index finger up to her lips, noticed how horribly wrinkled it was from being too long under water, and put it down again. ‘We don’t want the whole hotel to know.’
‘Sorry!’ Jenny mouthed, now so quietly Beth could hardly hear her at all. She flicked the switch off to silence the dryer and put it back into its holder on the wall.
‘So, why do we have to eat early? I thought eight o’clock worked really well last night. Just right for a few drinks before and a bit of TV after. What’s your hurry? Or, more to the point, what’s your game? I know you’re up to something.’
Jenny didn’t answer straight away, choosing to fiddle a bit more with her hair before throwing her damp towel into the wicker laundry bin provided and turning back towards her. Beth was sure she was looking especially shifty, the way she used to when she’d broken a plate and didn’t want Mum to know, or when she’d sneakily borrowed a top from her or Nat and tried to put it back without owning up to the streaks of make-up down the front.
‘And, while we’re at it … You told Natalie this place was somewhere at the seaside, and it’s not, is it? We’re miles from the sea. Now, why would you do that? What if she expects a postcard