The Party Season (21 page)

'What do you mean?' I query.

'Well, you two were pretty cliquey, Izzy. An exclusive little club for two. You used to push Sophie and me out all the time.'

Even in the dark, I can feel his dejection. I never realised he felt so strongly about it. I reach out and touch his arm. 'God, I'm sorry, Will. I never realised.'

Before he can respond, we see a huge white lorry parked ahead. A hand pops out of the window and waves at us.

'You little beauty,' breathes Will.

Aunt Winnie clambers out of the driver's side, looking very pleased with herself. The lorry is absolutely enormous and I feel a wave of awe wash over me. She has driven that here all by herself, pausing en-route to pick up some antique furniture and subsequently saving my neck. She should be available on the NHS.

'Hello!' I whisper, going up to her, leaning over the gate and kissing her cheek.

'This is fun, Izzy! Hello Will!' Will also leans over the gate to give her a kiss. She has obviously thrown herself into the part as she is dressed in a royal blue boilersuit (considering I have never ever seen her in a pair of trousers except on school sports day this is quite a spectacle) and has a jaunty tweed cap perched on her head.

Will gets out a set of keys and, while I hold the torch over them, proceeds to try to find the right one to unlock the padlock on the gate. 'Did you find this okay?' I whisper to Aunt Winnie.

'Fine! The lanes were a little narrow though.' I bet they were; this is probably the first time that a lorry of this size has ever been down them. The route to the back of the estate consists of tiny country lanes and then a couple of tracks.

'Dear, what are you wearing?'

I glance down. 'Em, my clothes.'

'What have I told you about pink?'

'But I wear a lot of pink.'

'I've decided I don't think you should.'

Right. Marvellous.

Will finally gets the gate open and we swing it back as wide as it will go. 'Do you want me to drive the lorry back, Winnie?' he asks.

'Certainly not!'

'You two get in then, I'll close the gate.'

Aunt Winnie clambers back into the driver's side while I make heroic attempts to get into the passenger's. It is tricky to say the least. I manage to make it up the first two steps but end up lying on the seat with my bum pointing skywards. Albert is very anxious to meet Jameson, who is sitting next to Aunt Winnie, and keeps trying to leap in using me as a ladder.

'Come on, Izzy my girl! Stop pissing about with that dog!'

I'm starting to feel a little hysterical. I think I might need a nicotine patch. Just recently I've found myself thinking, 'I could really do with a cigarette'. I am absolutely positive that is not the point of them.

Aunt Winnie starts the engine, which sounds deafening in the silence of the night, and I haul myself into the cab by grabbing on to the gear stick. Albert is settled in my seat, having already scrambled over my head. I shut the door. 'There!' I say triumphantly as though I have just scaled Everest, and squash myself down next to the dogs. Aunt Winnie stifles a giggle, stops making a fuss of Albert and selects first gear. We trundle through the gate, and pause while Will shuts and locks it and then leaps in. He doesn't have my entry problems.

I didn't notice how rutted the track was as we walked down but now I wonder how I could have missed it. The lorry sways back and forth alarmingly and on occasions I wonder whether we're going to topple over completely. There is total silence as Aunt Winnie concentrates on getting us all there safely, with only a few gasps from me as tree branches seem to come out of nowhere at us. Finally, as we reach the relative smoothness of the driveway and Aunt Winnie changes down into second gear, I let go of a breath I didn't realise I was holding.

A few moments later we're in the courtyard, and as soon as Aunt Winnie turns off the engine the kitchen door opens, letting out a shaft of light on to the cobbles. Will has already leaped out.

'Be nice to Simon,' I say to our driver in a low voice. Aunt Winnie hasn't got a very reliable record of being pleasant to people she doesn't think much of and I haven't had time to fill her in. 'He's been through a lot.'

I jump carefully out of the cab; I don't particularly want to miss my footing as it's a long way to fall. Albert leaps out in front of me without any thought for body or soul, swiftly followed by Jameson. I move round to the back of the lorry where Monty, Mrs Delaney, Dominic, Flo, Simon and Will are congregated (Harry is in bed). After Aunt Winnie has made the appropriate greetings to the rest of the family, which feels quite strange in the dark and in whispered voices but we English have to observe our etiquette, Aunt Winnie presses a super whizzy button and the door of the lorry opens and then a tail-lift lowers itself down. We shine our torches in the back to reveal a pile of furniture, professionally packed, looking exactly like a removal van. I'm impressed.

'Where did you get all this, Aunt Winnie?' whispers Simon.

'I borrowed about half of it; most of the heavy stuff is mine.'

'But where from?' I ask.

'The village. Told them I was taking it to
The Antiques Roadshow
. I saw it on the TV while I was talking to you, Izzy, and they said the next one was going to be in Norwich. So I told everyone I was taking it up there.'

Monty has to stifle a particularly loud guffaw.

'You didn't!' I say incredulously.

'I damn well did! I waltzed into their sitting rooms with my pocket antique guide under my arm and picked out what I wanted. The vicar and young Tommy helped me load everything up. I took one or two pieces from almost every house in the village. Obviously when they don't see me on the box and then talk to each other, they'll probably think I've done a bunk but, ho hum, I'll think of something.'

'You're amazing,' says Simon quite genuinely.

Aunt Winnie looks quite abashed for a second and awkwardly says, 'We'd better get this stuff in.'

'No, really,' interjects Monty, shining his torch on to her. 'You are amazing.'

This time Aunt Winnie blushes quite prettily.

The men move all the heavy stuff inside while we women shift things like occasional tables and lamps. It's quite a performance as we daren't use the front door in case anyone sees us so we have to go through the kitchen and down the long passageway into the hall. We arrange the three rooms into some sort of order – they look nothing like they did before but at least they don't look as though the bailiffs have just left. The whimsical mix of styles and eras makes the place look as though it has been furnished by an eccentric aunt, which in a way I suppose it has. The hall looks a little empty but it's such a large space that it's exceedingly difficult to fill it, so we light-finger a few spindly tables from the bedrooms upstairs and dot them around the walls.

'There!' says Aunt Flo. 'That looks quite good, doesn't it?'

It's about two in the morning and a sheep pickled in formaldehyde in the middle of the room would look fairly good to me, but we all agree and retire to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Will goes out to the courtyard to drive the lorry into one of the stables.

'You will stay, won't you?' says Simon to Aunt Winnie. 'Presumably you can't go home if your neighbours are expecting to see you on the box with Hugh Scully any day now.'

'I was going to stay with a friend.'

'Do stay, Winnie,' says Monty earnestly. I open my mouth to add my plea but it's not needed. She looks over at Monty and smiles. 'Okay. I don't think I'd want to miss all the excitement anyway!'

After a bit of fuss about an overnight bag which appears to have been locked in the lorry – the same lorry that Will has just spent ten minutes reversing into one of the stables – Mrs Delaney and Aunt Winnie disappear upstairs together to find a suitable bedroom.

Simon tells us that the press are turning up at nine tomorrow morning, the PR company are here to take care of them and that if we come across any reporters we are to look casual but on no account answer any questions. Simon is looking very long and hard at Monty and Flo when he says this.

We all retire to bed. Meg has obviously decided that since Albert got to accompany us earlier she now gets to sleep in my room, which is fine by me as a bit of company is much appreciated. I get to my room to find all the windows still open, so the room is freezing cold but still smells faintly of burnt knickers. I can't believe it was only this morning that I was burning Rob's photo; it feels like weeks ago. I crawl into bed feeling absolutely exhausted but then have a small panic that some madman might have come in through the windows while we were all otherwise engaged and is now hiding in the wardrobe. I check the wardrobe by opening the door with a coathanger. No madman. I clamber back into bed and drop off instantly.

A few minutes later, my alarm wakes me at six. I sit bolt upright in bed and wonder why I'm feeling so awful. Then the events of the last few days slowly come back to me and I suppress a small groan. What I would really like to do is crawl back underneath my duvet and dissolve in a pile of apathy; I feel weighed down with guilt at causing such a horrendous mess. At least I have both Dominic and Aunt Winnie with me; I hope Aunt Winnie has brought her golf clubs.

I duly perform my morning toilette which takes much longer than Meg's. Hers consists of stretching and yawning for twenty seconds. If I get a choice the next time around I want to come back as a dog. I pack up my things and strip the bed as I am moving into a twin room with Dominic this evening, and then Meg and I make our way downstairs in search of artificial stimulants. Monty seems to have abandoned his normal morning routine and is sitting very calmly at the kitchen table chatting to Aunt Winnie. Why is it that, however late they go to bed, aged relatives are always up before you?

Even I think it might be a little early for a nicotine patch so I accept Aunt Winnie's offer of a very strong cup of coffee. Besides which, I don't quite know how to explain their presence to her – I think I will just have to tell her they are plasters.

When I am confident the caffeine has actually reached my bloodstream, I fish my files and laptop out of the back of the Smart car, grab a second cup of coffee and wander through to the library, completely forgetting the lack of furniture. I open the door, stand staring at the empty room for a moment, tut to myself and then try the drawing room in the quest for some sort of desk or table to work at. Someone has put a table and a swivel chair in here. There's still an awful lot of work to be done for the ball. It takes me a little while to catch up with my plans but soon enough I am back in the swing of things and have produced an alarmingly long list of things to do today.

For the fifth time in the last couple of weeks I leave a message on my sister's mobile. 'Sophie, it's me. Isabel,' I add, just in case the mobile has distorted my voice somehow. 'You haven't returned my calls and I'm a bit worried. Call me back.' What I really want to do is talk to her about my problems but I don't want to sound selfish.

It's about eight o'clock when I stride back into the kitchen, ready to start some heavy-handed delegation. Harry is about to be catapulted into first place ahead of ruddy Godfrey Farlington in the bob-a-job league tables if I have anything to do with it. Thankfully, most of the family are downstairs and seated around the kitchen table eating breakfast. Mrs Delaney and I have a quick chat about her plans for the American visitors to see if I can help in any way. Despite, or maybe because of, yesterday's dramas, she seems to have relaxed her attitude towards me and we actually manage to have quite a civilised exchange.

After protracted negotiations on how many bob-a-jobs it actually adds up to (we agree on four but I am convinced I could have had him for three), Harry and Aunt Winnie disappear upstairs to finish off the guest rooms while Dominic and I go to the utility room to make a start on the flowers.

'How are you?' Dom whispers.

I bob my head around in an 'okay-ish' way.

'God, you must be feeling absolutely
dire
. I mean, what with the Rob thing and then the awful atmosphere here yesterday.'

I eye Dominic and accidentally break the head off a lily. I'm not quite sure what he's trying to achieve here. If it's the screaming heebie-jeebies from me then this is the most direct route.

'At least you get to have me around.' He starts dancing a little jig in front of me.

'That isn't as much fun as you think it is.'

'But I wouldn't miss it for the world! Simon actually took me to one side yesterday and made me sign a confidentiality agreement. He said that if I breathed a word of what is actually going on to anyone he would wring my neck!' Dom looks absolutely thrilled at this prospect. 'But I told him that you and I were quite close and I wouldn't dream of telling anyone. He didn't look too convinced though – probably because your track record isn't so great.'

I give him another look.

'Izzy, are you sure he was quite so nasty to you in child-hood? I mean, it doesn't seem to fit, does it? I know he can be a little abrupt at times – are you sure it wasn't just that?'

'Quite sure,' I say, remembering his spiteful behaviour. 'But you're right. It is strange.'

'Simon strikes me as being quite honourable and he could have made life very difficult for you over the Rob thing. He could have sued you! What exactly did he do when you were eleven?' he asks, piling some roses haphazardly into a vase.