The Foster Husband (11 page)

‘Absolutely, Mr Bailey – or can I call you Dad?’

Dad is too surprised to say anything.

‘That’s why I’m coming to work with you, Dad. And Mum. To help you out. To inject a bit of fire into the business.’

‘I’m not sure I feel quite comfortable with that, Ben,’ says Mum. I don’t know if she means she objects to him calling her Mum or to him injecting fire into their sleepy
family business. I think either is a possibility.

‘No, really,’ Ben barrels on, beaming heartily. ‘I insist. We’re family. Practically. Right, Dad?’

By now Dad’s beard is bristling, as if he’s an animal readying itself for a fight. I can see he’s about to blow, so I launch into another question to stop him having the chance
to speak.

‘So, Ben, you’ve already started working for Baileys’?’ I ask. I’d thought it was more something that was under discussion than an actual reality.

‘Yup,’ says Ben slapping his hands down on his thighs. ‘All official. We were just hammering out the details when you arrived.’

‘Now you listen to me,’ Dad starts. But before he can really get going, Prue appears at the door that divides the kitchen from the living room.

‘Everyone having fun?’ she says, her smile so brittle it looks like it might fall off and shatter on the floor. ‘Dinner is served.’

Here is a piece of advice for you. Don’t try sushi at home. And especially don’t try it on your parents, however gamely adventurous they may be. Cold fish, glutinous rice and wads of
slithery seaweed do not make for a comforting, relaxed family meal. Especially when Dad keeps asking, ‘Is it
supposed
to be like this?’ And if everyone’s a little too
afraid of the food to dig in with gusto, it stands to reason that they’ll dig into something else instead. Namely the alcohol. I’d imagined the four bottles I’d brought were more
of a gesture – we’d drink one, and the other three would probably be set aside for another time. But we are already halfway down the fourth bottle before Prue accepts defeat and clears
the half-eaten leftovers from the kitchen table. She tops up my glass before she leaves – is it my imagination or have she and Ben made sure I drink more than anyone else tonight? Oh well,
I’m not driving, so I don’t suppose it really matters.

At least we’ve all been too busy comparing chopstick techniques and attempting to convey Prue’s California rolls from mouth to plate without incident (again, Minnie’s help here
would have been most welcome) to engage in much more discussion about Ben coming to work with Mum and Dad.

Prue reappears from the kitchen with a tray of ramekins filled with a burned green sludge that she declares to be green tea crème brûlée. I hear Dad groan as he reaches for
the wine again.

‘Shh, David,’ Mum whispers. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich later.’

‘Before I pass round dessert,’ says Prue, reaching out for Ben’s hand. ‘We have some news we’d like to share with you.’ She nods at Ben, as if giving him a
cue.

He stands up alongside Prue and clasps her close to his side; she gazes up at him with a kind of surrender that I’ve never seen on her face before. As if, for once, she is prepared to let
him speak for both of them. But only, I think meanly, because she has probably already written the script.

‘Mum, Dad, Kate,’ he says, nodding to each of us in turn. ‘I’m very, very happy to let you know that Prue and I are getting married.’

‘No!’ exclaims Dad in a strangled voice. He manages to recover himself quickly. ‘No! What a wonderful surprise!’

‘Oh Prue, love,’ says Mum, her eyes filling with tears. ‘My baby, getting married. I can’t believe it.’

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ asks Dad, his eyes narrowing.

‘Dad!’ exclaims Prue, scandalized. I’m not even sure if she has ever even shared a bed with Ben, although surely she must have done. They’ve been on holiday together, I
know that much. But she’s the most puritanical twenty-something I’ve ever encountered, and that includes the evangelical Christian ones at the Jesus Rocks! event in Colorado in
2002.

‘Just joking!’ Dad insists, though the relief on his face suggests this is not strictly true.

‘Prue, that’s amazing news, congratulations,’ I say. I’m horrified to feel a tear sliding down my face as I hug her; it must be all the wine I’ve drunk. I manage to
wipe my cheek surreptitiously on Ben’s jacket as I hug him too. This is not the time for me to lose it. It’s Prue’s moment.

The disaster of Prue’s dinner is forgotten in the triumph of her news. ‘We haven’t got a ring yet,’ she says, her face shining with excitement. ‘Ben’s granny
wants me to have hers but it’s too big for my finger, so we’re having it resized. It’s a family heirloom.’

Ben looks down at his future wife admiringly. ‘Worth a pretty penny, I can tell you. Prue’s going to have to take very good care of it.’

‘I will,’ she says with mock annoyance. ‘And because Ben’s giving me something important and valuable connected to his family, it’s very important to me that he
joins Baileys’ and works in the business with all of us.’

I’m sure she doesn’t mean it to sound like a corporate merger – expensive family heirloom in exchange for stake in successful family business – but her announcement does
sound a little like something one might read in the business section of the paper rather than the giddy gushing of a future bride.

‘And’, she continues, ‘we’ve decided that we should use the wedding as an opportunity to show people that Baileys’ can expand beyond just holiday cottages and
tourist events – we should be looking at moving into other areas: weddings, parties, fêtes, that sort of thing. We can use the wedding as a showcase for our contacts and expertise. And
of course we can get discounts from all of the suppliers if we promise to use them again for future events.’

‘Gosh, you’ve given this a lot of thought already,’ says Mum, looking somewhat stunned.

‘Of course,’ says Ben affably. ‘Whatever my Prue wants, she gets. We think a wedding in the New Year should give us enough time to set it all up how we want it.’

‘But that’s only three months away!’ says Dad.

‘Plenty of time,’ Prue dismisses Dad with an airy wave of her hand. ‘The sooner the better, and it’s not like we have that many events in the winter anyway. Don’t
you see – we can turn the business into a year-round concern, so we’re not just dependent on the tourist season and visitor numbers?’

‘I like having the quiet winter season,’ says Mum gently.

‘You can still have that, Mum,’ says Ben. ‘Of course you can. As you head towards retirement it’s only natural that you’ll want to play less of a role in the
business. You too, Dad. Prue and I understand that. It’s the natural order of things for you to step down and make way for the energy of a new generation.’

Dad moves as if he’s going to stand up and I see Mum pull at the edge of his frayed jumper to stop him.

‘We’ve thought of everything,’ says Prue.

‘You certainly seem to have done that,’ Dad agrees bitterly.

‘But Ben,’ I say, spotting a small flaw in their business plan. ‘You can’t be planning to stay at the Alexandra until the wedding, can you? Surely you can’t commute
from Bristol every day? Are you going to move in here?’

‘No!’ both Dad and Prue exclaim simultaneously.

She shoots Dad a warning look before answering. ‘Of course not! You know I don’t believe in living together before marriage.’

‘Oh,’ I say. I did know it, of course, but I thought it was less of a moral position and more a sign that she hadn’t met someone she wanted to live with.

‘I mean, Kate,’ says Prue, frowning. ‘It didn’t work out so well for you, did it?’

‘Prue, love,’ admonishes Mum, ‘that’s unkind.’

‘Not wrong, though,’ I agree sadly. ‘I suppose living together before marriage isn’t a guarantee of anything really.’

‘Exactly,’ says Prue. ‘Which is why Ben is going to move in with you instead.’

‘With me?’

‘That’s right, sis!’ grins Ben, as if bestowing his presence on me is a gift that he is certain will delight me. ‘Prue said you’ve been lonely all on your own in
the bungalow, and I need somewhere to stay while I whip Baileys’ into shape. So it all makes sense!’

‘Just wait a minute,’ I say, holding out my hands as if I can ward Ben off physically. ‘Wait one minute, you two. You can’t railroad everyone into doing what you want
just because it suits you. Why should I share my house with Ben? Why can’t he move in here?’

‘It’s not your house though, is it?’ snaps Prue. ‘Granny Gilbert left it to both of us. And there isn’t a spare room here, and there is at Granny Gilbert’s.
You mustn’t be selfish, Kate. Try to think of what other people need.’

‘Mum!’ I plead, turning to my parents as if I’m a teenager again. My head swims with alcohol and I can’t form my thoughts into coherent enough sentences to argue back.
‘You can’t agree with this.’ They both stare at me, mute in the face of the force that is my sister.

Ben reaches over to nudge my arm chummily. ‘Come on, sis, it’ll be fun. Bit of bonding with the in-laws and all that. I promise I’m house-trained.’

‘Ben, I’m sure you’re a delightful housemate—’ I begin.

‘Then it’s all settled,’ he beams.

‘No, look, wait, we need to discuss this,’ I protest.

‘What’s to discuss?’ asks Prue. ‘You said you were lonely – I thought I was doing you a favour.’

‘You led me into that conversation!’

‘Kate, Kate,’ says Prue, shaking her head sorrowfully. ‘We all know you’ve had a hard time lately, but don’t let it turn you bitter. Everyone says you’re
spending too much time on your own. Mum and Dad are worried about you – don’t you see? Ben and I are trying to help you.’

It’s typical of Prue to present her best interests in a manner that makes it seem as though she is being the generous one. But to suggest that I am being selfish in my desire for a bit of
privacy and peace in which to mourn the end of my marriage is too much. Not to mention that if Ben is living at the bungalow, Prue will be there all the time too. It’s the worst of all
possible worlds.

‘Wait,’ I say, an inspired thought finally fighting its way into my fuddled brain. ‘Wait, I’ve had a better idea. ‘Why don’t
you
both live in the
bungalow together and let
me
move into Mum and Dad’s? Wouldn’t that be a better plan? It’s only a matter of weeks, really – surely even you can relax your
principles for a few weeks, Prue?’

She smiles a tight little smile. ‘Relax my principles? I might have known you’d suggest such a thing. You can’t just switch your principles on and off like a tap when it suits
you, Kate. Principles are something you have to stick to, no matter what. They’re non-negotiable. You don’t just drop them when they get in the way of what you want. It’s like
marriage – you take it seriously or you don’t do it at all.’

She does, at least, have the grace to look momentarily sorry for what she’s said.

‘I took my marriage seriously,’ I say quietly. ‘I took it very seriously, Prue.’

‘That’s enough, Prue,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no need to go dragging your sister’s problems into this.’

‘The way I see it,’ says Ben, barrelling heartily into the conversation, as if we are all happily chatting instead of seething with anger, ‘is that we will both be solving each
other’s problems. Right, sis? Right, roomie? I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.’

‘So that’s settled then,’ says Prue.

Ibiza

The island was a different place this year. I’d always stayed right in the centre of San Antonio, sharing an apartment with Sarah, since we were on the same schedule
and that meant we wouldn’t end up waking each other up by coming in at different times. It wasn’t as if we spent much time there anyway, just dropping down for a few hours’ sleep
in between running the Hitz Does Ibiza events and getting as much dancing in as possible as soon as our responsibilities were over. I’d seen too many of my colleagues go fully feral to
countenance caning it during the working day – Sarah had lucked into her job after her predecessor had disappeared on a 24-hour bender some years ago – but at night pretty much anything
went as long as you were able to get up in the morning. And no matter what, I did get up in the morning. As late as possible.

Matt had a totally different attitude to the island, though, insisting his team was put up in a villa outside of town, with verandahs, olive groves and a pool. I still had my San Antonio
apartment, but I’d ended up spending every night at Matt’s villa so far, and since the rest of his department seemed to be out all the time, it was almost like having the place to
ourselves.

‘Basher,’ he whispered in my ear.

I rolled over onto his side of the bed. ‘Mmm,’ I said, keeping my eyes closed as I rested my head next to his. He slid his arm around me and pulled me closer.

‘Get up.’

‘What’s the time?’ I asked, opening one eye a crack. Matt had told me, in that annoyingly grown-up way he had of managing to know something about absolutely everything, that
the Ibizan architecture is mostly white in order to reflect the heat of the sun, but jeepers it’s a cruel, cruel thing to be exposed to that much stark brightness first thing in the morning.
Even the inside of our villa was nothing but harshly reflective surfaces. It was like waking up under a spotlight in the dentist’s.

‘Six,’ said Matt.

‘Six! Ugh, what are you waking me up at six for, you mentallist? I didn’t get in until two.’ I pulled the covers over my head. The only time I’m interested in 6 a.m. is
when I haven’t been to bed yet. Otherwise I really don’t want to know that such a time even exists.

‘I know,’ said Matt. ‘You woke me up to bang on about some hassle with a presenter.’

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled into the covers, mortified. My memories of last night were a little hazy. I’d ended up in the bar with Sarah, Kirsty and the crew until far too late, ranting
about the diva demands of a
Hollyoaks
actress with Hollywood pretensions. I thought I’d got it out of my system before I came home to Matt. Clearly not.

‘Come on,’ Matt insisted, tickling my ribs. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’