A Regimental Affair (9 page)

Sarah was momentarily lost for words. Gin … wow … gosh …’

‘I’m sorry. It was crass of me. You’ve got everything arranged and I’m going completely over the top, as usual.’

‘No. It’s wonderful. It’s too much.’

‘Why?’

‘
Why
?’ Wasn’t it obvious? Most guests felt they were being generous if they brought one bottle of wine round. But six bottles – and champagne! ‘It’s just so extravagant.’

‘Look, I’m single, I’m off to Kosovo in a short while, I’m not going to spend money on petrol, drink or clothes for six months. Do the sum. I think you’ll find I can run to a few bottles of fizz.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘Actually,’ said Ginny putting the lid back on the box. ‘You’re right. What was I thinking?’

‘Oh.’ Sarah felt a little cheated. Perhaps she shouldn’t have protested so strongly. Her face fell.

‘Joke!’ said Ginny, whipping the top off again with a huge grin. ‘Your face is a picture. Come on. Let’s get some corks popping.’

Sarah led the way into the sitting room with Ginny following behind already unscrewing the metal cage off one of the corks.

‘Drink up,’ called Sarah. ‘Ginny’s …’ But the cork popped with a satisfying bang before Sarah could finish and Ginny grabbed a nearby glass to stop the white foam from falling onto the carpet.

‘Who’s for champers?’ called Ginny. There was a chorus of assent and the noise level instantly rose.
Well done, Ginny
, Sarah thought.

Alisdair came and stood beside her.

‘You don’t mind?’ he said into her ear.

‘How could I? It was all a bit flat and now it’s zinging. Does she always have this effect?’

‘Don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.’ The doorbell rang again. ‘I’ll go. It’s probably the colonel.’

Sarah didn’t vie for the privilege of letting in his boss. She just hoped that now her drinks party had taken off, the arrival of Bob and Alice wouldn’t kill it stone dead.

Sarah, hot and puffed out from a recent stint on the dance floor with Alisdair, was recovering with an ice-cold cola at the mess bar, chatting to Debbie and Richard. As she talked she was aware of a commotion developing in the ante-room, clearly visible through the open double doors that divided the two rooms. At the centre of the kerfuffle appeared to be Megan and Ginny. She let her attention wander as she wondered what on earth was going on. A group of young officers and their girlfriends had formed a circle round Megan who appeared to be engaged in some sort of gymnastics. As Sarah watched it appeared that Megan, egged on by the gaggle of young subalterns, was trying to teach Ginny how to do a backwards walkover. Quite why Ginny wanted to learn this gymnastic feat during a party in the mess Sarah didn’t know, but it was providing a great deal of entertainment for their audience. As Sarah watched, Megan bent over backwards into a crab and then gracefully raised one leg so her toe was pointing at the ceiling, then she kicked it over her head and stood up. There was a round of applause and Megan made a little mock bow.

Sarah suddenly realised she had been so engrossed in watching Megan that she had no idea what Richard had just said to her. She turned her attention back to him and apologised.

‘I’m sorry. I am just mesmerised by what is going on over there. Look.’

Richard and Debbie turned and followed her gaze.

‘Good God, what does Ginny think she’s up to?’ shrieked Debbie as she watched Ginny bend over backwards.

‘I think the technical term is a backwards walkover,’ said Sarah. The three of them moved away from the bar and into the next room for a better view of the spectacle.

Ginny was trying to follow Megan’s example, but although she had managed to get herself into a crab, all she could now achieve were some pathetic little hops. The foot that remained on the ground never lifted more than an inch off the carpet while the one that was supposed to be pointing balletically at the ceiling was waving around like a tree in a gale. There were a number of observations from the group watching her about ‘lack of muscle tone’ and the fact that she couldn’t accomplish something so simple that ‘even a child could do it’. Eventually, she collapsed with laughter in an untidy heap on the mess carpet.

The noise from the disco in the dining room was drowned out by yet more ribald and raucous comments from her audience of subalterns, and Megan was persuaded to demonstrate the gymnastic move again.

‘Goodness,’ said a voice that cut across everything. Alice was standing in the door leading into the hall, watching her daughter.

‘Oh God. This’ll put a damper on things,’ whispered Debbie to Sarah.

‘Come along, Megan,’ said Alice. ‘I don’t know what you think you are doing, but it’s time to go.’

Megan stood up and looked a little shamefaced.

‘It’s all my fault, Alice,’ said Ginny. ‘Megan said she could do a backwards walkover and I asked her to teach me. It’s something I’ve always longed to be able to do.’

Alice looked disbelieving. ‘Really?’

The group of subalterns and their girlfriends seemed to decide
en masse
that now was the moment to check out the disco. They drifted away to the dining room where the beat of the music thumped and the lights flashed and where they would be safe from Alice.

‘Yes, well … anyway, you’d better do as your mother says, Megan, or she won’t let you come out with me tomorrow.’

Alice raised her eyebrows at Ginny. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I promised to give Megan a slap-up tea before she goes back to school on Tuesday. It
is
OK, isn’t it?’

Judging by the look on Alice’s face, it was far from OK, but she was wrestling with the knowledge that it would be extremely churlish to say so.

‘Well, yes. I suppose so.’

‘Great,’ said Ginny, apparently completely unaware of – or choosing to ignore – the ice in Alice’s voice. ‘I’ll collect Megan at three. Bye.’ And, giving Megan a peck on the cheek, Ginny skipped off to the disco.

‘Bob, you’re going to have to do something about Virginia Turner,’ said Alice as she removed her make-up. She had her back to her husband but she watched him in the mirror of her dressing table.

Bob folded up his trousers and hung them carefully over a hanger before he replied. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Her behaviour, and the influence she’s having on Megan. Of course there’s a problem.’

‘But why?’

Alice swivelled round on her dressing-table stool so she could look at Bob directly and not via the mirror. ‘I don’t think it’s healthy. To be frank, I wonder what on earth Ginny’s intentions are?’

Bob laughed. ‘What, you think she’s hell-bent on corrupting our daughter?’

‘I don’t know what she’s up to, but I don’t like it. It’s not as if they can be real friends – look at the age difference.’

‘So what are you saying, that you think Ginny has befriended Megan for some dark reason?’ Bob shook his head. ‘Are you suggesting that Ginny is some sort of rampant lesbian with designs on our daughter?’

‘Don’t be so disgusting, Bob!’ snapped Alice. ‘Of course I don’t mean that.’

‘Well, I really don’t see what you
do
mean.’ Bob bent down to remove his pants and socks and threw them in the washing basket. ‘Come on, let’s get into bed,’ he said as he pulled on his pyjama trousers.

‘Just look at Ginny’s behaviour in the mess tonight; those ridiculous gymnastics. And she was making Megan behave badly too.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. It was a party. If it had been some formal mess function with some visiting VIPs, I might have thought Ginny was out of order. But it was a party thrown by Ginny and the other single officers in what is, if you think about it, their home. We were the guests and I think they were entitled to behave as they liked.’

‘But she was setting such a bad example to Megan. Megan will think that it’s OK to go into an officers’ mess and get up to those sort of high jinks.’

Bob climbed into bed and pulled the duvet up to his chin. He yawned heavily. ‘I don’t think Megan will think anything of the sort. She knows the difference between a party and a formal function.’

‘And I don’t. Is that what you are saying?’ Alice slapped some moisturiser on to her face, her irritation evident in her body language.

‘No, not at all. Look, Megan is going back to school in a couple of days. The next time she comes home, Ginny and the rest of us will be in Kosovo. She won’t see Ginny for six months and by the time they meet up again Megan might have decided that she’d rather mix with people of her own age. But let’s not make an issue of something that may die a natural death all by itself.’

‘So you don’t think I should stop Ginny taking Megan out to tea tomorrow?’

‘No. And if you do, you are going to have to be prepared for a row with Megan. She’s looking forward to it.’

Alice gave in. Perhaps Bob was right. And she really didn’t want yet another row with Megan. The holidays had got off to a bad start. She didn’t want it to end in acrimony as well. She slipped into bed beside him.

‘Come here,’ said Bob, snuggling up next to her. Alice reached across to the bedside lamp and switched it off, then moulded her body to fit into the curves of Bob’s.

‘It’s not late,’ she murmured.

‘No, it’s not,’ Bob murmured back as he began to caress her gently.

‘Can I write to you?’ asked Megan, not very clearly, as her mouth was full of scone and jam and cream.

‘Of course you can, if you’d really like to. I’d love it. I adore getting letters. My family are hopeless letter-writers and, if you keep your word, I expect you’ll be the only one who’ll keep me in touch with what’s going on,’ said Ginny. ‘I shall want to hear all about the awful Miss Pink and Zoë and everything. Oh, and any gossip you hear. And I’ll write back and tell you lots of exciting stuff about balancing the regimental accounts and documentation checks and …’

‘Silly,’ said Megan giggling. ‘There’ll be lots of wild things happening in Kosovo.’

‘I hope not,’ said Ginny. ‘I’m going out there for a rest after all the stuff your dad has put us through recently. The last thing I’m looking for is excitement.’

‘It won’t be dangerous, will it?’

‘I don’t think so – hope not. Anyway, let’s not talk about Kosovo. Let’s talk about you. What do you want to do when you grow up?’

‘You sound like Mummy.’

‘Bloody hell!’ said Ginny before she could stop herself. Megan shrieked with laughter. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ginny, trying not to laugh too. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude of me.’

‘No it wasn’t. You were just being honest. Personally I’m scared stiff I’m going to grow up to be like her.’

‘I doubt you’ll do that. You’re the spitting image of your dad. I expect you’ll turn out like him.’

‘That’s a relief. I don’t mind the idea of being like him. He’s cool.’ Megan took another scone off the plate and began to pile it with jam and cream.

‘I didn’t think grown-ups
could
be cool.’

‘Course they can,’ said Megan. She took a big bite of her scone and chewed thoughtfully. ‘You are.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No, I mean it. You’re not like most grown-ups.’

‘Probably because I haven’t grown up myself.’

‘No, don’t be silly – but you aren’t like the others.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t have kids. I expect that makes all the difference.’

‘Do you think?’

‘My sister Netta’s younger than me and she’s much more grown-up, She does all sorts of responsible things like going to bed early, and staying sober at parties and …’

‘Dull,’ pronounced Megan.

‘…and getting up at six most mornings because she’s got four kids under seven and another on the way.’

‘Four!’ Megan coughed and spluttered a few crumbs on to the tablecloth. ‘And pregnant.’

‘Yup. But because she’s a mum, she’s very sensible. Doing all the things I should be doing, like saving for a rainy day and paying a mortgage and eating healthy food.’ There was a small pause, then, with a perfectly straight face, Ginny added, ‘Pass the cream.’

Megan grinned and moved the cream out of Ginny’s reach. ‘You could start with the healthy eating now.’

‘Could I? And you could find yourself walking home.’

Megan handed over the little cut-glass dish. ‘Put like that …’

‘Thanks. More tea? I think there’s some in the pot.’

‘No. I’m nearly stuffed.’ Megan looked at the last morsel of scone in her hand, thought about eating it but then changed her mind, lowered it on to her plate and looked at Ginny. ‘Gin?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Why are you so nice to me?’

‘You’re a nice kid.’ Which was true and easy to say. Ginny didn’t add that it gave her an excuse to see more of Bob; that she liked the thought that she was doing something for him. He’d always been so good to her; it was nice to be able to do something back, even if it was indirectly. ‘And I like kids. Just ’cause I don’t have any of my own doesn’t mean I don’t like them. Ask Netta – she’ll tell you I’m a terrific aunt.’

‘So, why haven’t you got any kids? If you’re such a terrific aunt, wouldn’t you make a great mum?’

‘Ah, but being a mum is a full-time job. Being an aunt is easy. I can come and go as I please and just do the fun things, like hand out presents and organise treats. And anyway, I’ve been too busy having a good time I suppose. And I haven’t met anyone I want to settle down with.’
Which is a lie
, thought Ginny. She could settle down with Bob given half a chance, but that wasn’t an option. She would simply have to look for someone just like him. Fat chance there were two the same on the planet. The thought put a cloud over her sunny mood. To disguise it, she concentrated on piling a spoonful of jam onto another scone.

‘I wish you were
my
mum,’ said Megan, in a quiet but resolute voice.

Ginny didn’t know what to say.
She
wished she were Megan’s mum too, with all the implications that went with it. It was almost as if Megan had read her mind. She toyed with her cup of tea for a few seconds while she considered the best form of words. ‘I wouldn’t be me. I mean, if I were your mum, Megan, I’d be different. I’d have to be. I would have to do things like set a good example and think of your future and all the things your mum does for you – all the dull, everyday stuff. And I’d have to say that you couldn’t do certain things, so we’d probably end up shouting at each other. We couldn’t just have fun like you and I do. Think about it, I’d have to do the dreary stuff like making you do your homework or ticking you off. It wouldn’t be the same thing at all. But I tell you what.’