Torn (28 page)

Apart from Owen, the revelation of the afternoon was James, who threw himself into the role, not just of host and supervisor, but of enthusiastic participant. He played ‘comedy waiter' while the children ate and afterwards joined in all the games. He raced around the chairs with single-minded intent; he was the scariest of the blind men in blind man's buff; he danced like a whirling dervish to musical statues and to everyone's delight, when the music stopped, fell prone to the floor. For a while all the children were sent outside to play on the tree house and the swing, to which yet more balloons had been tied.

Jessica helped Mrs Dowdeswell and Kirsty – who by now had taken an obvious fancy to Owen – to clear up the dining room. Jess had planned that most of the debris could simply be lifted from the table in the paper cloths, screwed into parcels, and thrust straight into dustbin bags. The decorations and myriad balloons which bumped and clustered to the ceiling were left in place. As the party slowly wound down, and parents began to arrive to collect their offspring, Jessica found each boy his personalised silver helium balloon plus named party bag, and for each girl a personalised pink balloon and her own named bag of goodies. During a quiet moment James sidled up to Jessica.

‘This has been a triumph.'

She was watching Rory and Sasha as they sat amongst a pile of torn wrappings and discussed, then counted the presents.

‘She hasn't had our present yet. Rory helped me choose it. I left it upstairs and I've been too busy to fetch it down. Don't think she's missed it though.'

‘You needn't have bought a present at all after everything you've done. I didn't realise till today that Gilda just dropped the whole project in your lap. I do apologise. But I'm very grateful.'

‘I've never done a kids' party before. It's probably been rather old fashioned by today's standards. Particularly the games we've played. I simply recreated the kind of party I used to be invited to. And cheated like mad on everything else … you won't thank me when I give you the bill.'

‘Don't worry. Whatever the cost, it's been worth it. Owen is amazing. I've rarely seen anyone so good.'

‘Getting Owen was a consequence of haste. If I'd had more time the entertainer would have been far more prosaic.'

‘I'll admit, when I first opened the front door to him I very nearly kicked him out on his ear. Thought he was tramp, on the scrounge for money or a roof for the night! But Gilda rescued me from my unforgivable propensity for shooting first and asking questions later. Even she was surprised, but was apparently expecting someone fairly outlandish. Where on earth did you find him?'

‘I knew there was a juggling busker in town and guessed Danny would know him. He runs with the same crowd.'

‘Ah yes. Sideshow Bob.' There was a pause. ‘Shame he's not been around today to see his friend's performance. Just out of interest, how much am I paying Owen?'

‘I've already given him his money, a hundred quid. I was going to present you with the itemised bill for everything later on.'

‘Cheap.'

‘Particularly as I only expected him to do a half-hour set. But he's been at it non-stop all afternoon.'

‘It was fascinating to watch the kids' reaction to him. Kind of mesmerised, but at the same time taking it … him, in their stride.'

‘Everything is commonplace to children. Whatever life deals them that's their norm, isn't it? The whole of life is a kind of everyday magic to a child. Yet they're truly entranced by someone like Owen, or Peter Pan and Tinkerbell at the panto, because the magic is really real for them. But at the same time they kind of take it for granted … like Father Christmas and the tooth fairy. It's only adults who gasped and flinched at some of the things Owen was doing because we knew how close he flirted with disaster.'

James continued to watch his daughter, sat with her frilly pink ‘fairy' dress splayed out around her, a sequin tiara on her curly dark hair. Unconscious of his scrutiny she continued to examine the unwrapped toys and chatted away to Rory.

‘She's had a wonderful time. And there's more to come. Her godfather is yet to arrive, so there'll be more presents. And tomorrow the pony.'

‘She's a lucky girl.' Jessica had said something similar only recently and then kicked herself later. ‘I mean … I know she lost her mother but, like I said, she's not aware of what she's missed. This is her life, what you and Gilda have made it, and for her it's normal.'

‘I suppose. Thank you anyway, for all you've done to make today special.'

‘I've enjoyed it in a masochistic kind of way. But it's also been educational, a dry run for when I have to do it myself for Rory. Not that I've got the kind of facilities and space you have here.'

‘Would it be any kind of repayment if I offered you this house for his party?'

Surprised and embarrassed Jessica prevaricated. ‘Heavens! I couldn't. That's an amazingly generous offer. I hope you don't think I was hinting?'

‘Of course not. But do think about it. When is his birthday?'

‘Not till August.'

‘So, he's quite a few months younger than Sash. But they really do get on, don't they?'

‘Seem to. Though Rory does still have his crabby moments, even with Sasha. I'm relieved he hasn't had one this afternoon.'

‘They all do. He's not unusual in that.' As James spoke, and as if to demonstrate their compatibility, Sasha leant towards Rory, lips puckered. He looked at her, frowned, but then decided to oblige and a swift kiss was exchanged.

‘But I'm not sure I approve of my daughter having a toy boy,' James added. Even though she was sure the remark was innocuous, blood flushed her cheeks.

Jessica lay in the bath, reflecting on the afternoon's excitements. It was six thirty before Owen had gone, given a lift into town by Mrs Dowdeswell and daughter. By then he had changed back into his everyday clothes and looked more like the vagabond she had first been introduced to; the rest of his worldly goods were pushed into the canvas sack he carried over his shoulder. Just before he left, Jessica was sure that James had thrust a handful of extra notes into his pocket. And he had done the same with the home help, Mrs Dowdeswell, and her daughter.

Gilda had disclaimed all offers of assistance with dinner. Jessica was firmly told to relax, recuperate, and get ready in her own time for the evening ahead. As virtually everything which could have been pre-prepared for the night's meal had been, probably by Mrs Dowdeswell, and Gilda had done little all afternoon beyond being present, Jessica did not feel too guilty about giving in.

She stuck her toes up through the scented bubbles and contemplated the nails. If she'd known in advance she was coming out to dinner she would have painted them. It was now gone seven and the expected guest or guests had still to arrive. Jess was tired and would have preferred to wrap herself in the thick towelling dressing gown which hung over the radiator, then curl up in one of those big, squashy armchairs in front of the fire for a while, a large glass to hand of the Rémy which James had been so free with a few weeks ago. And when she felt sufficiently drowsy, she would go to bed; compared to the high, sagging bed in the cottage, the guest bed in this house was spectacularly comfortable. But instead she had to apply make-up, put on a posh frock, then present herself downstairs to eat a meal she did not want with people she'd never met.

Suddenly there was noise and voices: Sasha's high-pitched squeal of pleasure, the heavy clunk of the front door closing and she knew the guests had arrived.

‘Not bad … Two hours … Rush hour …' she heard. Jess sighed and pulled out the bath plug.

Jessica descended the stairs, buffeting away a balloon that had pulled free from the bunch tied to the newel post and was floating upwards on the warm air. Gilda came out into the hall, a sherry glass in her hand.

‘Here she is, James,' she said. He followed his mother, and behind him came an exceptionally pretty woman in her early thirties. She was tall and her russet brown hair, cut into a fashionably jagged style, was streaked with amber – like an Olde English marmalade, Jess thought. Her fragile, high-heeled sandals were instantly recognisable as this season's Jimmy Choo's and the black dress she wore, stunning in its simplicity, was almost certainly from the haute end of the designer scale.

Only twenty minutes earlier Jessica had gazed at her own virgin toenails and made a decision. Instead of changing she'd pulled on the dark green Jigsaw dress – which was several seasons old – opaque mauve tights, and the comfortable flat ankle boots she'd been wearing all day. Once upon a time she'd have felt a stab of regret to have found herself so upstaged. She might even have mentioned that her own posh frock was still upstairs hanging up behind the bedroom door, and her Manolo Blahniks still in their box in her overnight bag. Tonight the regret was a pinprick and passed easily.

‘Imogen, may I introduce you to Jessica Avery. Jessica, this is Imogen Gyles.' The two women shook hands and smiled at one another.

‘Jessica is the mother of Sasha's best friend, Rory. You've already met him. And Imogen's the partner of my best friend from my Oxford days, Piers, who is Sasha's godfather.'

‘I love the way you've decorated the dining room, Jessica. It's … sweet.'

‘Ah Piers, there you are. May I introduce you to Jessica.'

‘Must say … Enchanted!' A good few inches shorter than his partner, Piers was a stocky man, with a slightly florid complexion, clipped beard, and mid brown hair, worn in one of those trendily short, spiky cuts which disguise thinning hair less obviously than the ever lower parting. He had lunged forward to clasp Jessica's hand and as he did so, added in a stage whisper, ‘Foxy lady! Not usual type. Dark horse, Warwick.' James ignored his broad wink and led the party into the large drawing room. Piers had a small wrapped parcel in his hand which he put on a shelf, before asking for a glass of
vino collapso
for himself, and a vodka tonic – ‘ice, no slice' – for Imogen. His accent was so top drawer it was almost a Brian Sewell caricature.

Sasha, still in her party dress, ran in. ‘I saw you, Uncle Piers! I knew you still had another present for me!'

‘No, no, no! You had your present soon as we got through door, pretty minx. Not only one with birthday today!'

‘Where is the moron?' Imogen asked, accepting the vodka tonic from James. Piers gave her a hefty nudge in the ribs.

‘We've got a present for you,' Jessica said. ‘Rory helped choose it. It's one of his favourites.' Rory, who still did not know what to make of these loud new arrivals, stood by the door shiftily, holding a carrier bag. ‘Give Sasha her present, sweetheart.' He shuffled in and unceremoniously thrust the bag in her direction. Sasha took it and sank onto the floor, her tiara increasingly askew. From time to time she paused in the unwrapping to dart a suspicious glance at the gold-wrapped parcel on the shelf. Eventually the last layer came away. She sighed with pleasure.

‘I love books. It's my first book today!'

‘What's it called?' her father asked her, with an appreciative nod in Jessica's direction.

Sasha frowned and drew her finger along the title. ‘The … three … li … tt … le … wwwo …'

‘Wolves,' Jessica supplied.

‘… And … the … big … bad … pig!'

‘That's right!' Everyone chorused. Sasha grinned delightedly, then struggled to her feet and clutching the book against her, ran from the room.

‘Whoa! Where are you going?'

She reappeared at the door reluctantly. ‘I want Danny to read it to me,' she explained to her father. ‘Danny reads me all my best books.'

‘What a hoot! That should be worth sitting in on,' Imogen said to Piers with an arch smile. Piers shook his head at her.

‘Not tonight, Sash. You know he's not been well,' her father explained.

‘Not well?' The words sprang involuntarily from Jessica. ‘What's wrong?'

‘He's had a chest infection.'

‘Chest? How bad?'

‘Pretty bad.'

‘But he's got asthma!'

‘I know he's got … Jessica? Where are you going?'

‘He's living out there in that ice box of a caravan with a chest infection?' Aware her voice was becoming shrill she could do little to prevent it. She'd already quit the room, heading for the front door. ‘Don't you realise how serious it could be? He could be dying out there. It's a disgrace he should be living there at all this time of year, with no heating, no proper sanitation!' She had the front door open, but James came up behind her in the hallway and pushed it shut.

‘You think I'm some kind of ogre, don't you? That I'd employ a child and make him live in a box in the garden?' She might have expected anger from him, but he merely sounded pained. ‘It's his choice, Jess. I know he doesn't always seem it, but he is a grown up. He has the right to make his own decisions. It was a bloody nightmare finding that caravan and then getting it set up at exactly the right angle – some nonsense to do with ley-lines – with electricity and running water. I'd have much preferred him to stay in the house. It's not as if we've any shortage of bedrooms. He could have his pick. But no, he wanted the independence. If I had a separate cottage in the grounds of course he could've had that, but I haven't.'

‘So, because it's his decision, he can stew in his own juices when he's ill?'

‘Jessica!' The exasperation in his face was swiftly overtaken by a weary acceptance that she would always think the worst of him. ‘You're absolutely right, he has been quite poorly, and the caravan was a totally inappropriate place to leave him. Which is why, when he was too out of it to object, I moved him to the house and called in our GP. Apparently he's not signed up with a local practice. We had a look at all his medication, inhalers and so on, and found it was all prescribed from his home practice. All apart from one inhaler which seemed to have been prescribed for Rory. You know Sasha has asthma as well? So, anyway, I took matters into my own hands and signed him up on our doctor's list. But he's in the house, Jessica. He's much better. And unless he's changed his mind he is planning to come down to eat with us. After all, it's his birthday too, and it looks like his brother's got a present for him.'