bastard,’ Freya said, stuffing in an errant piece of bacon.
Okay. That hadn’t worked.
‘She wants to work through it. Stay with Oli,’ Izzy said. Meaningfully.
‘Oh.’ Freya swallowed. ‘I mean … marriage is tough.’ Her eyes flitted to Monty who was horrifying the children with a pretend striptease with his towel only to reveal he was actually wearing shorts. Goofball. He was everything Oli wasn’t in a father figure. Which, of course, made him endearingly lovable despite all their problems.
‘So … the plan is?’ Freya took another bite of bacon sandwich. Hopefully, to keep the sea of commentary at bay.
Charlotte began crisply shifting perfectly fried bacon onto a serving platter covered in rosebuds. ‘The plan is to forget we ever had this discussion. It’s all a bit embarrassing really. I’m so sorry I—’
‘No,’ Emily cut in. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’
‘That’s right. Absolutely nothing. This is your day.’ Freya nodded along.
Izzy clicked her heels together and gave Charlotte a sharp salute. ‘Party pixie reporting for duty!’ Izzy took the tray from Charlotte and tipped her head towards the tent. ‘I’ll round up the children. Freya, are you good with helping Charlotte sort out whatever she needs to make this the happiest fortieth ever?’
Freya stuffed the rest of the bacon sarnie into her mouth and swiped her hands together. She was ready for action.
‘Right,’ Emily nodded in a style usually reserved for black-and-white war films as a squadron of mismatched soldiers were about to embark on a make-or-break mission. ‘We have three hours to make this place look exactly the way Charlotte wants it. Ready or not, girlies. Operation Happy Glampers is under way.’
‘Charlotte! Darls … Happy Birthday! Twenty-one again!’
And so the charade begins.
‘Jessica! So glad you could make it. Treena! What a lovely frock. Is that Rixo? Thank you so much for … oh! For me? You really shouldn’t have. Oli’s just over there, by the champagne. Ha ha! You know what he says. A day that begins with bubbly is never a bad one!’
The effort was exhausting. Was this what her mother had felt like during her final days with the oxygen mask? Constantly taking those small sips of air in the vain hope the torture might end.
Oli was long back from his mystery errand looking roughly the same as when he’d wandered off, bacon sandwich in hand, phone to ear. Only this time it was glasses of fizz and lipsticky kisses that were occupying him. No added layers of guilt as far as she could ascertain. Perhaps, as Izzy had suggested, he had been off getting her a present.
The only truly good part of this, Charlotte thought, was having Freya, Izzy and Emily here. They were doing a remarkable job. Steering people this way and that. Checking up on her but not looking too sympathetic. Too much sympathy would crack the very thin veneer of normality she was desperately clinging on to.
‘What? We’re not up at the proper house?’
Charlotte’s attention shot to the car park where, amidst the hubbub of their other guests, she couldn’t miss her mother-in-law’s distinctive voice.
Verity had grown up in Rhodesia – when it was still Rhodesia – in a sprawling home overflowing with staff. She’d met and married Nigel shortly after they’d both matriculated from Oxford (classics for her because ‘she had to do something’ and law for him).
After a stint in New York where Nigel had made a rather tidy sum in real estate, they moved to their Sussex home where, Verity was fond of saying to anyone who would listen, their ‘crumbly old manor home had given them no choice but to hire in a gardener, housekeeper and an odd-jobs man.’
Charlotte had always had the distinct feeling that Verity included her on the staff list. She had, after all, been ‘one of the staff’ when she’d met Oli. It struck her that perhaps one of the reasons Oli had been so enchanted with her was because he finally had someone who thought he was perfectly fine as he was. Better than that. Amazing. His mother was incredibly demanding. Where her parents hadn’t had any expectations for her at all, Verity wanted her son to be Nigel but better, and never shied away from reminding him that the reason Oli and Charlotte lived in a very nice house was because Nigel had bought it for them. For their wedding, in fact. Her parents had given them an Argos gift token. She bristled on Oli’s behalf. The economy was quite different to what it had been back in the day, and making the squillions Nigel had was nigh on impossible unless you were an outright crook. As things stood, Oli did very well. Even if he did agreed with his mother about just about everything Charlotte could improve upon. Very well indeed. Her heart softened for her husband. Affair aside, he worked incredibly hard. And he did love his family. Perhaps all that bravura was masking a little boy still trying to attain his mother’s approval. Which made his affair a blip. A painful one, but something they could move past.
‘Darling!’ Verity swept in. ‘Don’t you look sweet in that little … that’s not Zara, is it? I’m sure I saw one of the other girls wearing the exact same one. My goodness.’ Verity gave her a dry peck on the cheek then pursed her taupe lips as she scanned the area, her eyes stopping and stalling at Freya’s serviette bunting. ‘It all looks so—’
‘Wonderful!’ Charlotte’s father-in-law, Nigel, bustled his wife out of the way, planting the obligatory kisses first on one cheek and then the other. He always smelled of pipe tobacco and leather, though she’d never seen him come in contact with either. ‘The place looks ripping. Hope you don’t mind, love, but Verity didn’t want to mess with the hoi polloi on the bus so we’ve got a driver in tow. You wouldn’t mind sparing him a sandwich or something, would you?’
Charlotte didn’t get a chance to answer as a second stream of guests from the Sussex Schooner, as Oli insisted on calling it, arrived from the car park. They all seemed quite jolly for so early in the day. It was only just noon.
‘Brilliant idea with the champers, doll.’ A friend from Oli’s golf club purred into her ear as she went through the motions. Kiss. Kiss. Half hug. Smile. ‘Is that Zara? I have the same one! My goodness. It’s all very rustic out here, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I was saying, darling!’ Verity had a knack for pouncing on moments to prove she’d been right. ‘Look at you! Now, that’s what I call a party frock.’
Whether Charlotte wanted it to or not, the flow of people coming off the bus swept her into the role of hostess for a party she’d not entirely wanted to have.
She looked up and smiled at the long strings of decoration above her. At least she had her bunting.
An hour later she felt as if her head was spinning. Perhaps she should’ve eaten something before letting all of those leather-aproned serving staff fill up her glass. She went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and escape the sun for a moment, only to find Poppy curled up in a corner of a sofa, thumbing away at her phone.
‘Hello, darling. Everything all right?’
Poppy’s eyes shot out to a crowd of teens playing Giant Jenga. Jack was clearly the ringleader, egging everyone on to have a go. Freya’s two were a short way off showing Luna how to play Connect Four.
Poppy looked back at her phone and shrugged.
Charlotte examined the group a bit more closely. She was sure she recognized a couple of girls from the children’s boarding school. Ella and Maisie, was it? She’d definitely seen Maisie’s mum. A rather brisk woman who never bored of letting everyone know how terrifically busy she was with her organic energy ball business now that Nestlé were interested in snapping it up.
‘Isn’t that