The Olive Tree (25 page)

Above him, Helena opened her arms wide and threw back her head, trusting him completely. Flashes of colour were all she could see around her, the sound of cheering ringing in her ears.

She was
dancing
! She felt alive, exhilarated,
wonderful
. . .

Then the music slowed, and Alexis let her down gently, her body brushing close against his on its journey to the ground. He took her hands in his and kissed them, then spun her away from him so
she could curtsey and he could bow.

The cries for an encore were relentless. Eventually, Alexis quietened the crowd. ‘Thank you, thank you.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his
forehead. ‘It is all too much for an old man.’ The crowd protested, but Alexis held up his hands again for silence. ‘Tonight we are here to celebrate the engagement of my son and
his beautiful fiancée.’

Helena slipped away into the crowd as Alexis ushered his son and future daughter-in-law to stand next to him.

‘Auntie Helena, you were really great.’ Viola caught her hand, her eyes full of admiration.

‘Wow, sweetie! Amazing!’ said Sadie, as a small crowd formed around them.

‘I didn’t know you could dance like that,’ said Rupes.

‘Nor did I,’ said a voice behind her. Helena turned on her heel.

‘William, where on earth have you been?’

‘Sorting out Sacha. Anyway, seems as though you’ve been getting on perfectly well without me.’

‘Yes, I’ve had a lovely time,’ she said defiantly. ‘Now, I need a drink of water.’

‘Shall I get you one?’ he offered.

‘No, I’ll get one myself, thanks.’

William followed her. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Nothing! I was dancing, that’s all.’

‘For God’s sake, Helena, you’re my wife!’

‘Yes, I am. So what was I doing wrong?’

‘Helena, I’m not an idiot! Everyone who was watching saw it. It sticks out a mile.’

‘What does?’

‘Christ! Do I really have to spell it out? I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt time and again, tried to ignore the fact that every time I’m out of the house,
he’s
there, like a rat up a drainpipe, sniffing around.’ He grabbed a glass of wine from the table, took a gulp, then, noticing the two fascinated waitresses standing behind it,
pulled Helena away into a quiet corner.

‘Mr Bloody Perfect! Mr Helpful! “Mr Fix-it”, as your son calls him! Even yesterday, after I’d taken the kids out because I thought you needed a rest and some time to
yourself, who do I find on the terrace when I arrive back, clasping you to his chest?
Him!
’

‘He came to make sure I was all right,’ Helena replied quietly.

‘I’m sure he did. And on top of that, I arrive here tonight and see the two of you dancing, looking as though you . . .
belonged
together! For once, just tell me the truth!
You’re still in love with him, aren’t you? For
CHRIST’S
sake, just say it, Helena.’ He took her roughly by the shoulders. ‘TELL me!’

‘Stop it, William, please! Not here, not now . . . we’ll talk later, I promise.’

He looked at her, then gave a sigh of exasperation and defeat. Dropping his arms from her shoulders, he shook his head. ‘But I’m telling you now that I don’t want to be with
someone who doesn’t want to be with me. Happy anniversary, Helena.’

Then he turned and made his way swiftly into the crowd.

Feeling tearful, she walked back to the wine barrel and refilled her glass. She was about to take a large sip when someone put an arm clumsily round her shoulder, spilling the wine
everywhere.

‘Hello, lovely girl.’

‘Sacha. You made it,’ she said apprehensively.

‘I did.’ He brandished a brandy bottle at her, and took a swig.

Even though Helena had drunk more than she normally would, she was sober enough to recognise just how drunk
he
was. ‘You look dreadful.’

‘Probably,’ he agreed, swaying slightly, ‘but as a matter of fact I feel fantastic. You see, my angel, I have cause for celebration.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Why?’ She almost didn’t want to know the answer.

‘Because, in a few minutes’ time, I will be free! And you know what that means, don’t you, my sweetest Helena?’

‘No, Sacha, I don’t.’

‘It means . . . well, you know what it means. But now, I must go and find my lovely wife. And impart the good news.’

He gave her a wobbly mock-bow, then swayed back into the crowd. Helena watched as he pushed his way into the centre and went to stand next to Alexis, who had just finished speaking. Her eyes
searched wildly for William, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.

‘Ladies and gentlemen! Do forgive me for butting in like this,’ Sacha slurred. ‘My name is Sacha Chandler, and I would like to add my own congratulations to those of this
gentleman here. What is your name, sir?’

‘I am Alexis.’

‘Alexis. What a great name.’ Sacha slapped Alexis hard on the back. ‘Are you married?’

‘I was, yes.’

‘Oh dear. Did it all go pear-shaped? A trip down divorce drive?’

‘No. My wife died,’ said Alexis quietly, looking at the ground.

The crowd was still now, hushed, holding its breath as one. William appeared suddenly at Sacha’s side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, old chap, time to go home.’

‘Go home? But I’ve only just got here!’ shouted Sacha, shaking William’s hand off. ‘And anyway, I have an announcement of my own. Where is my lovely wife,
Julia?’

‘I’m here, Sacha.’ Jules spoke up from the back of the throng.

‘Right, I need to tell you something.’ Sacha took another swig of his brandy. ‘You see, I’ve got to do it now, or else I’ll never find the courage. So, here goes,
my love: my company has not so much been liquidated, as nuked off the planet. I no longer have a single sou to my name. Oh, and no house either, because I mortgaged it to the hilt, so the
bank’ll snaffle that
tout de suite.
We are destitute, my angel, and have nothing but the clothes we stand up in. No more poncey schools for the kids. They’ll have to move to the
local comp, and those nags of yours in the back paddock will probably end up in a wok in the local Chinese takeaway.’

Sacha laughed harshly at his own tasteless joke. Holding the bottle aloft, he toasted his horrified but rapt audience. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, there we have it! A double celebration!
The start of one union, the end of another. Cheers.’ He took a swig from his bottle.

The crowd began whispering, many of the non-English-speakers asking their neighbours to translate. William finally managed to grasp hold of Sacha’s arm and pull him away.

Helena, who up until now had been paralysed by Sacha’s drunken oration, raced to William’s side, their earlier conversation on hold in the drama of the moment. ‘Christ. What do
we do now?’ she whispered desperately.

They both looked at Sacha, who was hanging on to William for support.

‘Go and look for Jules,’ he suggested. ‘See what she wants to do.’

Helena did so, but although she searched the entire party, both Jules and Rupes seemed to have vanished into thin air. She eventually found Viola sobbing into Alex’s chest.

‘What’s going to happen, Mum?’ mouthed Alex over Viola’s Titian curls.

‘I’m going to drive us all home as soon as possible. Let me just go and round everyone up. You take Viola to the car. It’s open.’

‘Okay. Don’t be too long,’ he whispered urgently.

‘I won’t.’

Helena hurried off and eventually found William and Alexis sitting on a wall, with Sacha doubled over between them.

‘Jules has disappeared along with Rupes, but I want to take Viola and Alex home.’

‘I have suggested William and Sacha stay here with me tonight,’ said Alexis. ‘Perhaps it is better, until the dust settles.’

Helena looked quizzically at William, who nodded in agreement.

‘I’m gonna puke. Sorry chaps,’ moaned Sacha, then promptly did so.

‘You go home to the kids, Helena, there’s nothing you can do here,’ said William, getting out his handkerchief to clean Sacha up, while Alexis leapt up and ran off to fetch
some water. ‘Let me know if Jules turns up. I’ll stay and make sure my oldest friend doesn’t choke to death on his own vomit.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay staying here?’ she asked her husband, hoping the expression in her eyes told him how she felt for his situation.

‘Alexis and I had a chat just now and he says he has spare rooms. I don’t want the children – any of them – seeing Sacha like this. It’s not fair on them. Apart
from the fact Jules might get violent. And has every reason to do so,’ William sighed.

‘Okay.’ She tried to read his expression, but it told her nothing. ‘Keep in touch.’

‘I will,’ he said, and turned his attention back to Sacha.

Ahem.

Well, gosh! And all that. What can one say? I am . . . speechless, or wordless, as the case may be.

Unlike others, who made quite . . . umm . . . dramatic speeches tonight.

It was a seminal moment. Not quite up to Winston’s level, but to give Sacha credit where it’s due, he was very drunk and yet he didn’t stumble over his words
once.

So much for a quiet, relaxing holiday.

It is one o’clock, or thereabouts, and I am holed up in my hole. And because of the evening’s Greek tragedy, played out for the entire village to witness and applaud,
then hold their breath in horror, I too have been affected:

I am now feeling guilty. Dreadfully guilty.

They say you should be careful what you wish for, because you might not like it when you get it. And I don’t.

Earlier today, when I was pegging my bedraggled bunny by the feet on a piece of string I’d managed to hang across my small window to catch the air (I couldn’t risk
leaving him on the line outside as he might have disappeared again), I asked God to employ a just punishment for Rupes, as I myself could not think of one heinous enough. In time it would have come
to me, but my brain was addled by chlorine and emotion.

And, hey presto! Big G comes up with a pearl: Rupes is homeless and penniless. Penis-less would have been better, but let’s not be churlish about this.

And best of all, he will probably have to face the prospect of some sink-estate comprehensive. If those exist on the outskirts of Godalming, which they may not. But as they’re
near broke, they’ll probably have to move to somewhere revolting anyway.

Rupes will duly be annihilated by a hoodie-wearing, knife-carrying gang of thugs, who will pulverise the public school out of him, and then some.

Oh! The joy!

On the other hand, I realise suddenly, he might gain control, become leader of the pack and end up saving his family’s fortunes as a drug pusher, insisting his gang swap the
trainers and hoodies for brogues from Lobb and overcoats from Aquascutum. Though to be fair, I equivocate: he’s certain to get caught eventually, because he is a victim of his own arrogance,
and will probably end up doing time in the clink with rapists and perverts for neighbours.

However, as much as I am overwhelmed by my prayers being answered – and so promptly, to boot – the look on little Viola’s face was enough to make me feel like a
complete heel.

A six-inch stiletto, in fact.

So, it’s a Pyrrhic victory, as these things usually are.

Jules and Rupes vanished into the night like erstwhile lovers, leaving poor little Viola sobbing her heart out all over me.

When we arrived home, Mum, who’d sobered up considerably since her Dirty Dance with Mr Fix-it – puke! – took Viola off upstairs to bed, and told me and Chloë
to follow suit.

We had a quiet chat at the bottom of the stairs before we parted for the night. Chloë seemed to think the whole thing was a complete hoot, but then I think she’d had more
to drink than Mum, a habit that will have to stop once we are affianced. She was far more interested in telling me all about the dreamy Michel, Mr Fix-it’s younger son, and how gorgeous he
was . . .
also
a habit that will have to stop.

She was cross ’cos Mum had insisted she leave the party and come home with us, as Michel had already offered her a lift on his scooter later. And also because Sadie
did
stay on. She’d found a ten-year-old bloke she was hanging off, who’d also offered her a lift home on his scooter later.

I know she’s Mum’s best mate and she’s great fun, but isn’t there a time when you admit you’ve had it? That you’re past it? Like, at
twenty-five?

Sadie’s miniskirt was competing with Chloë’s for lack of length and I really think someone, like Mum, should take her in hand and tell her she should adopt a more
mature approach to her attire. Preferably based on a nun’s habit, and definitely no knees on show.

Mutton dressed as lamb . . . now, that cliché
does
make sense. And is, in my opinion, what Sadie looked like.

I saw
The Graduate
once. I didn’t get it, I really didn’t.

I divest myself of my shorts and T-shirt and sink into my bed, to find myself in a soggy puddle.

Dammit!

I look above me and see Bee still trying to break the world record for the longest time a rabbit can hang upside down, and realise he has spent the past few hours dripping all over
my pillow and sheets. I stand up on the bed and unpeg him. He is relatively dry. Not surprising, as all the water now resides in my bed.

I manage a U-turn and move to the other end of it, so it’s my feet that will get pneumonia, not my chest.

And I close my eyes and try to sleep . . . but adrenaline is pumping round my body, my heart making my body believe it is on a five-mile uphill run. In temperatures of over a
hundred and forty degrees. I cannot still its beat enough to relax, and I know why.

Leaving Rupes and his weird family aside, all is not well with my own.

That dance. Him and
her
. . .

The ramifications are, frankly, terrifying. The linchpin, the safety-pin that is my mother, seems to have unpinned herself from Dad. And if she has, that might mean she unpins us
all from our . . .
life
.