Love-40 (8 page)

*   *   *

‘We should play together more often,' Amanda said as they made their way back to the clubhouse. There was no sign of Nick Rossi now, but Amanda seemed neither to notice nor care.

‘I'd like that.' And Liam thought of the American tournament. Next time he played with Amanda, he decided, he'd rather like them to be on the same side.

*   *   *

After a game of doubles and a quick shower in the changing rooms, it was 7 pm and the committee were assembling in the clubhouse. Liam saw that Suzi hadn't arrived yet, but Amanda, now wearing a scarlet mini-dress and black ankle boots, was smiling at him, beckoning and patting the seat next to her.

At the head of the table – or tables, because six had been pushed together for the meeting – sat Erica Raddle. Deirdre Piston was on her right, assembling paperwork and clearing her throat importantly from time to time. The remaining places were taken by other committee members – Margaret Quaife, one of Pridehaven's most upright pillars of the community and a town councillor; Beryl Rathbone, sporty and brisk; Diana Taylor, equally committed to tennis, bowls and the WI; and Simon Hanley, the manager of the club. Age-wise, Liam reflected, Old School and Blazers had the edge; class-wise ditto.

As Liam sat down next to Amanda, Erica turned to her. ‘Is your father coming tonight, dear?'

‘He's busy, I'm afraid,' Amanda said sweetly. ‘But he sends his best.'

‘His best what?' Liam hissed. ‘Shouldn't he come? Wouldn't he be on our side?'

‘I'm not altogether sure,' she whispered back. ‘Erica's been after Daddy for ages. And you know what men are like.'

Liam wasn't sure that he did. He looked across at Erica, and tried to imagine anyone fancying her. It was hopeless. ‘What about her husband?' he asked. William Raddle preferred golf to tennis, but surely Erica could count herself fortunate to have anyone?

‘Don't worry.' Amanda squeezed his hand. Worry? High anxiety was nearer the mark. ‘We'll show Erica what's what, and I'll work on Daddy later.'

Despite his disapproval of the means she might employ, and though Liam would have preferred the workers to be uniting against the idle rich, he was still glad to have her on his side. There was a lot at stake here – not for him, but for the kids at Chestnut Grove youth club. As youth club co-ordinator, he automatically got a place on committee in order to protect their interests. And it was Liam who had fought for Suzi's inclusion, well aware that he needed all the help he could get. Amanda had got on because her father's father had been instrumental in the original creation of Chestnut Grove and Nick Rossi … Well, Liam didn't know how the hell he'd got there.

He decided – following the promising hand squeeze – to try his luck with the lady by his side. ‘Do you fancy a drink after this fiasco?' he asked her. ‘We may need one.'

Amanda pulled a disappointed face. ‘Love to, darling, but I've got a party. Fenella Trenton-Smythe – it's a 30s bash, and I promised I'd be there.'

Apart from re-crossing her long, tanned legs, she barely acknowledged the fact that Nick Rossi had entered the room. He sat down opposite her.

‘Another time, though?'

‘Another time,' Liam confirmed, feeling that rejection could seem surprisingly close to victory.

‘But what's happened to your girlfriend?' Amanda went on. ‘Have you come to a parting of the ways?'

Liam hesitated. Part of him wanted to make some throwaway comment, to dismiss the fact of him and Estelle. But another part of him couldn't do it. ‘Sort of,' he compromised. Which was sort of true. She had, after all, left him.

Amanda leaned closer. The faint scent of pot had disappeared, but she had clearly given herself another dousing with the expensive perfume. ‘So you're free and available then?' she asked. ‘Sort of?'

Liam rather liked the sound of that. He noticed the flicker of irritation on the dark face of Nick Rossi, but what was that to him? Amanda was a free agent, Liam was a free agent. Estelle had walked out. And wouldn't it serve her right if Liam took the opportunity to have a little fun? He looked into Amanda's inviting blue eyes and for the life of him couldn't think of a good reason why not. ‘I am indeed,' he said.

*   *   *

In the Bear and Bottle, Michael launched into the Beatles, ‘I saw her standing there.' ‘She was just seventeen…' He liked to use it as his first number – it was a bit of a rocker and set the tone. Sometimes he worried that he should bring his set into the new millennium, but what decent music had appeared in the last decade? It was mostly cover stuff in the charts anyway, so why bother?

Instead of, ‘how could I dance with another', he sang, ‘how could I dance with her mother … when I saw her standing there?' It got a cheap laugh, which was the best you could hope for when your audience was an untested one.

He had been slightly worried, he had to admit, when he'd seen the blackboard outside advertising tonight's gig. ‘The Ashby Phenomenon', they'd called him, and Michael had never seen himself as a phenomenon somehow. However, there were enough people in the pub when he got there to put him at ease (too many or too few and he might have walked out again). The atmosphere was friendly, someone had given him a pint of Best, people were smiling and Michael was warming up.

As he sang – and bounced, because Michael liked to bounce – he tried to think of a way to fix the mic on to his body, so he could bounce right round the pub if necessary. And he kept one eye on the door in the far corner. She had said she was coming. She had said she wouldn't be late. She had said she wouldn't miss it for the world. So where the hell was she?

He slowed right down for ‘Yesterday', the second of his Beatles' medley and as the notes died away, launched straight into ‘Twist and Shout'. On a really good night they'd get up and boogie for that, but there wasn't much room in the Bear and Bottle, so Michael did a spot of twisting himself, being careful to avoid the lead to his electric guitar. A bit of fancy footwork earned him a wolf-whistle or two (Michael always took care to show he wasn't taking himself too seriously) which allowed him to play to the crowd.

At the end of the song he tried a couple of jokes. Not bad. A few were laughing, there were even more smiles and he'd gained lots of eye contact. Most important of all, more people had come in and no one had left. He wondered if he could bend a wire coathanger and stick it round his neck or something – that would be an original mic stand, for sure. Or would he just look like a pillock?

There was, he sensed, an air of expectancy in the pub, but Michael was going for melody now, so he tried a bit of Simon and Garfunkel, speeded up for The Eagles (mellow or what?) and finished the set with a bit of 70s boppy stuff to get them moving in their chairs if not on the floor. That would be a bit dodgy for the amps and stuff anyway.

Michael grinned and bounced and slung the guitar behind his back. He had a brief fantasy of some record company guy wandering into the pub.
Hey, this guy is really cool. And is that a coathanger round his neck? What a fashion item. What a trend setter. What couldn't we do with him…?

Yeah, well. It was going OK. But where the hell was Suzi?

Chapter 6

‘Item number ten,' boomed Erica, shifting her bosom. ‘The question of subscriptions.' There was a telling pause. ‘Of course we shall have to raise them.'

Suzi groaned inwardly and tried to think subscriptions rather than the feat being performed by Erica's brassière. She was already late, and this looked like another thorny time-consumer. Sure enough …

‘Why do we?' Liam demanded. He shook the papers he was holding. ‘The accounts look healthy enough to me.'

‘We can't rely on benefactors alone. We are a private members club. And we need to raise more money.' Erica looked as if any second she might pat Liam on the head. If she did, Suzi thought, she didn't think much of her chances. ‘For our
improvements,
' Erica added.

‘Improvements,' echoed Deirdre, nodding frantically.

‘Like turning the youth club's games room into some up-market restaurant, for example?' Liam threw down accounts and agenda.

Here we go, thought Suzi. Though Erica had a point about improvements. The clubhouse was shabby – they could usefully spend some money on a paint job and some new furniture. Though she couldn't bear the thought of new furniture in the conservatory, it was so timeless and such a perfect fit. But the games room was another matter …

Liam jumped out of his particular rickety chair and Suzi winced. ‘Christ! What's the matter with you people?' He tore his hand through his dark curls.

‘Calm down, old chap. Nothing's been decided yet – unless I missed it in all the excitement, of course.' Nick Rossi, Suzi noted, was playing Mr Supersmooth tonight. He looked as hunky as always – Suzi could almost see those shoulder muscles rippling under the cool and silky white shirt that had just enough buttons undone to reveal a brown neck and dark blond chest hair, and yet not enough to be
obvious
 … He was also, she noted, getting to Liam.

Liam turned on him. ‘Somebody's got to think about the youth club,' he snapped. ‘The youth club was here first, don't forget. The aim of CG's is meant to be to bring kids into the game and provide a venue for them to let off a bit of steam. Not to take away their social room because some poncy gits want to experience a bit of cordon bleu.' He fixed Erica with an accusing glare. ‘And we're apparently willing to sell our principles in order to do it,' he concluded, sitting down again.

Erica raised her gavel. Suzi tensed, but instead of attacking Liam for calling her a poncy git, she brought it down on the table in three sharp raps. ‘Let's discuss this rationally,' she said, eyeing Liam as if he'd just escaped from an asylum. She sucked in her cheeks, inadvertently making herself look more horsy than ever.

‘Good idea,' said Margaret Quaife, moving her chair infinitesimally further from Liam's.

Suzi sighed. Rational discussion? How long would that take?

‘Over some refreshments perhaps?' Erica turned to Deirdre, all sweetness and girlie pow wow.

‘Refreshments,' Deirdre confirmed. She patted a fluffy curl back into place with one plump white hand. ‘Yes, of course, refreshments.'

Suzi had heard that Deirdre had once won a county medal and sported a killer of a forehand, but this was hard to equate with the Deirdre of today, quite aside from the fact that Erica kept her too busy with tea-making and admin for her ever to have time for tennis. But every committee, Suzi supposed, needed a Deirdre Piston, and at least everyone who took advantage of her good nature also, apparently, loved her to bits. Even now, Diana was patting her hand and calling her a sweetie, and Simon was treating her to one of his curt nods of approval. Committee meetings without refreshments were like cars without wheels.

Suzi fidgeted in her seat. She hadn't, actually, ever wanted to be on this committee, but had allowed Liam to persuade her, just as he'd persuaded the rest of the committee to invite her on, with phrases like ‘young blood' and ‘new ideas'. Suzi didn't feel that her blood was in the slightest bit young and she hadn't voiced an idea since she'd been here. But at least, she supposed, she could be on Liam's team when needed.

She tried to catch his eye but – surprise, surprise – he was totally preoccupied with Amanda Lake. Liam, seemingly, had an agenda of his own.

It had not, she thought, been a productive weekend so far. Michael had got a strop on – just because she'd insisted on keeping her promise to come here before seeing him perform at the pub. And now … she glanced at her watch, he was going to be in a worse one. He hadn't liked Liam hanging around last night either – but that was tough luck, because if you couldn't turn to family in a crisis, then who could you turn to? There was no way she could have turfed Liam out into the night.

So although her brother was behaving like an idiot … she watched Amanda cooing and simpering at him as if he was the best thing since fake suntan oil, and Liam lapping it up as if the poor fool believed every look and every word … Suzi would always be there for him. Solidarity. She and Liam went back for ever. He had her support. For Suzi, there was never any question.

*   *   *

In the interval, Michael accepted a pint from the landlord and a top-up fifteen minutes later from an enthusiastic blonde sitting near the amp. She was alone, he noted and quite sexy. She was dressed in a black top and short skirt showing more than half-decent (and possibly stockinged?) legs. But she was not, unfortunately, Suzi.

What was Suzi playing at? It had been bad enough last night, dreaming of the evening ahead all through that drive to Dorchester, only to find her and Liam ensconced on the sofa with an empty bottle of wine, into one of their old times scenes that Michael could live without. And now this.

No, Suzi had said, when Michael arrived at the cottage, she didn't want to go out because she wasn't in the mood and anyway, she couldn't be bothered to get changed. And yes, Michael had already noted the patched-up dungarees and faded T-shirt, but that was his problem. When you indulged in fantasies you were heading for disappointment. Would Michael mind if they all stayed in and ordered a take-away, she'd said. Well, Michael would mind actually, but that was neither here nor there because before you could say vegetable biriany, the menu for the Indian was being waved in front of his face and any chance of a drink down the pub (Michael hated wine) let alone some time with Suzi alone, had – like himself – slunk into the depths of Suzi's old sofa.

‘You've got a great voice.' Michael had not noticed the blonde approaching his space again. ‘Dead smooth.' She smiled. ‘Like clotted cream.'