The Best of Times (73 page)

“Abi, Abi, Abi, you’ll never believe this. We’ve got BroadBand. And they can do the eighth. So we can get the Web site up and running …”

“Ohmigod. Oh. My. God. BroadBand! How, why—”

“Oh, you know what they say,” said Georgia carelessly. “It’s not what you know; it’s who you know.”

• • •

Merlin came to the next committee meeting. Abi was initially deeply suspicious of him—in fact, she’d told Georgia he sounded like a complete wanker. Georgia defended him rather feebly.

“He really isn’t, Abi. He’s actually very sweet and kind. Honestly.”

“Doesn’t sound too sweet and kind to me, treating you how he did.”

“No, no, you don’t understand; he didn’t treat me any way, not like that; he really, really wanted to help, he told me, and he apologised if I felt he’d … well, you know …”

“Played around with you?”

“But he didn’t. He behaved like a gentleman, honestly, always; he never tried anything …”

“I never did like gentlemen,” said Abi.

“But you’re marrying one.”

Abi was silent for a moment; then she grinned.

“Yeah. S’pose I am. Still can’t believe it. God, Georgia, he’s bought me the most amazing rock; it’s being sized right now, but it’s just so … so beautiful. Mind you, I’ll make the most terrible farmer’s wife; I don’t understand any of it, and God knows how I’m going to deal with the in-laws. Specially her.”

“Abi, I’d back you against any mother-in-law. Against anything on the planet, really. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

• • •

In the event, Abi quite liked Merlin; he made her laugh, and he certainly knew a lot about festivals.

“My parents used to take me to Glastonbury every year; I loved it. It’s a kid’s idea of heaven, all that mud and not having to have a bath. Have you thought about what you should do for the kids?”

“Like what?”

“Well, like face painting and weaving, stuff like that; it’ll all add to the atmosphere, and anyway, it’ll make more money.”

“No, we hadn’t thought of that. Good idea.”

“And then you should sell tents, the little ones, and those waterproof cape things, and wellies.”

“Yeah, and someone suggested blankets to me,” Abi said.

“Blankets definitely. And I don’t know what you’re thinking about food, but I went to Reading last year, and they had some massive paella just bubbling away, and the punters just came and got bowlsful, made a change from burgers, really popular. Oh, now, here’s another thought: you could do a CD of the festival. It needn’t cost much, honestly; I know a bloke who knocks them out—well, you know him, Georgia, Jazz …”

“Oh, really? Jazz’s great,” she said to Abi. “You’d love him. He’s my landlord.”

“CD’s a brilliant idea,” said Abi, scribbling furiously. “You’re a real find, Merlin. This is all great stuff.”

• • •

“What did you think of Merlin?” she asked William later.

“He was all right. Bit of a poof, I thought. Wasn’t too keen on the bracelets.”

“Yeah. He probably swings both ways.”

“What does that mean?” said William, looking genuinely puzzled.

Abi stared at him, her face blank; then she smiled and leaned forward to kiss him.

“Oh, William,” she said, “I love you so much. You’re so … so wonderful.”

William gave up.

• • •

Things escalated fairly fast after that. Merlin drove Georgia back to London, took her out for a meal and then to a club. When the cab stopped outside her house, he kissed her good night, rather chastely, and then said, “Do you really see me as a big brother, Georgia?”

“Course.”

“Right. Good. Well, good night.”

“Night, Merlin. And thank you again. Not just for the evening, but for coming today.”

“It’s fine. See you on Monday.”

“Yeah, Monday.”

This wasn’t easy. It so wasn’t easy.

• • •

They were rehearsing until really late on Monday; Georgia was depressed, felt she’d done badly.

“It’s so hard, doing comedy,” she said to Merlin. “So different. I feel I’m right back to square one.”

“You’re doing great. Come on; let’s grab something to eat.”

They went to a Pizza Express; she picked at her lasagna rather halfheartedly.

“Come on,” he said, “cheer up. You’re doing absolutely fine. Honestly.”

“You really think so?”

“I really think so. I’ll tell you who isn’t—Milly”

“Oh, really?” Milly Buchanan was playing the other girl.

“Yeah. She’s our problem; she’s what’s making you feel you’re crap.”

“Oh. Well … maybe. I do find her quite … quite over-the-top.”

“Exactly. She’s playing it like it’s
Romeo and Juliet
. Very, very difficult to deal with. But I think Bryn’s onto her. I saw him talking to her rather intently as we left.”

“Mmm. Maybe. Suddenly I feel hungrier.”

“Good. Big brother at work again.” He raised his glass to her. “To … to stardom. You’ll get there.”

Georgia looked at him. He was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans; his face was tanned still from a family skiing holiday. He looked … well, he looked amazing.

“Yeah,” she said with great difficulty. “Yeah, you’re a really great brother.”

Merlin put down his glass and looked at her in silence for a moment. His eyes moved over her face. She sat there, trying to appear cool.

“I have to tell you something,” he said. “You can tell me to get lost if you like.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t exactly see you the same way,” he said, “not really as a sister at all.”

“No?”

“No. Not in the least. Actually, I think you’re utterly gorgeous. Sorry.”

Georgia stared at him; then she stood up, went round the table, and put her arms round his neck.

“Oh, Merlin,” she said, kissing him repeatedly, first on his cheek, then on his forehead, then finally and rather recklessly on the mouth, “oh, Merlin, don’t get lost. Don’t say sorry. I …”

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

• • •

They went to her room. She said she’d rather, although he did offer her his place: “I’m self-contained, and anyway, they won’t mind; it’s part of their religion …”

“No, no, I wouldn’t feel … happy.”

“I want you to feel happy,” he said. “Come on.”

• • •

She was nervous again, going back. He was probably incredibly experienced—which she wasn’t. He’d find her dull, disappointing, and she hadn’t made the bed properly that morning; he’d think she was a slut, and she was wearing some really grotty old pants; he must be used to the likes of Ticky in Agent Provocateur …

None of it mattered. He clearly didn’t find her dull; in fact, he was surprisingly … well, straightforward, which was a relief, and there certainly wasn’t time to notice the unmade bed; they were on it in seconds after shutting the door behind them, and as for her knickers, well, he just yanked them off completely unceremoniously; anything better would have been a complete waste.

In fact, it was all wonderful; it was as if they had been ready and waiting for each other, perfectly matched, perfectly tuned … “That was totally amazing,” he said afterwards, lying with his face buried in her hair. “We saw, we conquered, we came.”

She hoped he didn’t say that to all the girls.

• • •

That was the only thing that worried her: how could he be so suddenly and so totally taken with her, Merlin Gerard, so gorgeous, so sexy, so … so sophisticated. Merlin, who was used to girls like Ticky, as gorgeous and sexy and sophisticated as he was; how could he want to be involved with her?

After a few days, a few nights, when she was beginning to feel more confident, she managed to ask him that; he smiled and kissed her and sat up on the pillows.

“I find you totally gorgeous and sexy, Georgia. I always did. You’re so special. So unique. So not like anyone else. The first moment I saw you, I felt a catch in my heart …”

“Merlin!” That really did sound a bit rehearsed.

“No, I did. But …”

“Well, but you had Ticky then.”

“Yes, of course. And now I’ve got you. My own beautiful brown bird. Would you like to sing for me once more? Before we go to sleep?”

Crushing the distaste for this, telling herself he was just … wonderfully poetic, that was all … she smiled at him ecstatically and climbed onto him, her legs straddling him.

“I love your energy,” he said. “It’s so amazing.” They fell asleep with his head on her breast.

In the morning they met Jazz on his early rounds, as he put it: checking the terminally leaking taps, the blocked lavatories in the house.

“Ah,” he said, “very nice. Thought that might be how it was, Merlin, you old bugger. How come you get to pull all the best ones? Georgia, my lovely, any trouble with him, you come straight to me, OK?”

She laughed and said OK; she loved Jazz.

And now, nearly three weeks later, she could hardly imagine life being any different. It was totally, totally wonderful; she was the luckiest, happiest girl in the world.

• • •

Emma hadn’t got the job in Glasgow; she went to see Alex, almost in tears.

“That’s the second. I’m beginning to feel victimised.”

“My dear Emma, you wait till you’re trying to get a consultancy. That really does feel like victimisation. Nine jobs I went for before I got this one; it was ghastly. You get there and you see the same old faces each time, with a few variations, and it’s always the bloke you least like who gets it, gets called into the boardroom while you all sit waiting like a load of cretins, and then you all shake hands and say you never really wanted it anyway, and crawl back to your hospital with your tail between your legs. I had a special interview shirt; it got quite threadbare towards the end.”

“Yes, well, thanks for all that. I can’t wait,” said Emma. “Meanwhile, it’s tail-between-the-legs time for me. Can I stay, Alex?”

“Of course you can. Nothing could please me more. Sorry … not what you want to hear.”

“It sort of is. Thank you. There are lots more jobs I can apply for in the pipeline, but …”

“Emma, the thing about obstetrics is that it’s a very popular discipline. There’s always going to be lots of jobs, but also lots of people applying for them. You’ll get one in the end, promise. Meanwhile, you’re a fantastic member of the team here. You can stay as long as you like.”

At least she still had a job … even if she didn’t have anything else.

• • •

“Barney! Hi, darling! How are you?”

“Fine. Yes. Thanks. And you?”

“Oh, pretty good. I called to invite you to my leaving do.”

“Your leaving do! That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not really. It’s just that it’s so long since we talked. I’ve done my time. Start at Darwood’s in a fortnight. At the French desk there. Taking a bit of a break first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We—Micky and I—are off to Barbados for ten days …”

“Micky?”

“Yes, I’m engaged. Again. To Micky Burne Proctor. Getting married in the summer. Slightly déjà vu, but at least I’ll be in a different dress. I thought that really would be unlucky, wearing the same. Or could be. But … otherwise, same venue, same church, same time of day even. I think. Mummy and I are working on that one. Anyway, Friday evening, sixish, Terminus. Hope you can come.”

Well. She didn’t let the grass grow under her feet. You had to hand it to her, Barney thought with a sense of grudging admiration: she’d survive an earthquake and hurricane combined, Tamara would. And
come up looking immaculate. And sexy. Micky Burne Proctor, eh? In the
Sunday Times
rich list the previous year. Hedge-fund boy. Better prospect than Toby.

He couldn’t think why she’d want him at her leaving do. But … might be fun. He hadn’t had much of that lately. He wondered if Toby knew. Or cared.

• • •

“Order, order. Georgia, you first.”

“Right. Well the play-offs are going brilliantly. We’ve already got three winners from three pubs. One’s really fantastic. Called Literate. I don’t think they’ll be unsigned for much longer. Oh, and a sweet folk band as well. Lots of stalls are coming on board … face painting, weaving, a little roundabout, a bouncy castle. Everything we discussed, really. Some guy’s got a hat stall … says they went really well at Glastonbury”

“What sort of hats?” said Abi.

“Every sort. Baseball hats, sort of trilbies, berets, reggae hats, sun hats for kids. Oh, and some really nice girl’s got a sort of beauty stall, does, like, makeovers and massages and all stuff like that. What do you think?”

“Mmm.” Abi considered this. “No, don’t think so. Doesn’t go with the family feel. But quite like hats. Welly stall?”

“Oh, yes, got one of those. Merlin says it’s essential, don’t you, Merlin?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, I do hope it doesn’t rain,” said Emma.

“It will,” said Abi. “Best to accept it. After that anything’s a bonus. We might even get some good gear out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some guy I met, friend of William’s, he had a festival on his land. It rained so hard, two-day festival it was, people were just getting into their cars at the end, stepping out of their filthy, muddy clothes and
just leaving them. This guy said lots of it was really good stuff: Fat Face, Abercrombie, all that. His wife washed it about thee times and then they wore it. And their kids, loads of Boden.”

“Cool. Best pray for rain then.”

“Who’s responsible for litter?” asked Merlin.

“Me, I s’pose,” said Abi. “Comes under the heading of site management.”

“Make sure you’ve got loads and loads of bins and bags. Twice as much as you think.”

“Yes, please do,” said William. He had a sudden vision of endless acres of litter and what his father might say or do.

“OK, OK.”

“You need people specially briefed to pick it up too,” said Merlin. “It’s really important. And loos … Abi, is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m toilet queen.”

“Can we not have those awful urinals in rows where you face the other blokes and try not to look at them, and you all pee into a pit in the middle?”

“Sounds fun. I’ll do my best. How are the bookings looking, Georgia?”

“Oh, nothing much yet. But the Web site’s only been up and running a couple of weeks. Lots of hits, though.”