The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [80]
Terrible things. I kept shovelling the soldiers down my throat to keep them at bay. Kept a bright smile going and some buzzy conversation, and was glad when the phone rang. I lunged and seized it first.
‘Hello?’ Please let it be them, cancelling. Saying they'd thought it through and that neither Adulterous Witch nor Spawn of Satan could go through with it.
‘Evie, hi, it's Caro. Just to let you know Heccy will be here at ten.’
I frowned. ‘Heccy? Who the hell's Heccy?’
‘The horse, you goon. Hector. Camilla Gavin's pony.’
‘Oh – Hector.’ I sat down abruptly. Oh hell, I'd forgotten about him. ‘Oh God, Caro, I'm awfully sorry. Anna's going out today.’
‘Out? Evie, I told you he was coming today.’
‘Um…’ I got up and walked through into the hall so the others couldn't hear me. ‘Um… right…’ I ducked into the drawing room and shut the door. ‘Caro,’ I hissed, ‘she can't. She's meeting thingy today, with Ant.’
‘Thingy?’
‘Yes, you know, his…’
‘Bastard?’
‘Yes!’
‘Blimey.’
‘Exactly!’
‘And you're allowing that?’
‘What can I do?’ I wailed, going to the window, one arm wrapped tightly round my waist. ‘He has to meet her at some point, and Anna has to, so they're going to Browns and – oh, I don't know.’
‘Browns!’ There was a silence as Caro digested this. ‘Actually,’ she said thoughtfully, after a moment, ‘it might be a good idea. When some lardy peroxide tart and her chavvy chain-smoking daughter turn up and hardly know how to hold a knife and fork, Anna will die. She'll never want to see them again. Yes, good plan, actually.’
I massaged my brow with feverish fingertips. I wasn't sure I was up to telling her we'd moved on from Barmaid With Foundling country, and were firmly in Beautiful Undergraduate land.
‘She's from the wrong side of Sheffield, right?’
‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully. Was she?
‘Then she'll probably bring about six along. Children, I mean. Like Vicky Pollard. Six children from seven different fathers. Claim they're all Ant's – you mark my words. Ant and Anna will be out of there like scalded cats. Anyway, you'd better come. Camilla will want to see at least some representation from your family, or she'll wonder where her horse is going to.’
As I put the phone down it occurred to me that, firstly, I was pretty sure Vicky Pollard was from London, and secondly, I wasn't sure a horse who needed to know who Our People were, was entirely what this family needed right now. But Caro was a very persuasive woman and I dutifully trotted upstairs to change out of my dressing gown, and into jeans and a T-shirt appropriate for the farm.
I wasn't the only one changing. I tried very hard not to notice, but couldn't help spotting Ant had his cornflower-blue Oxford button-down shirt on, the one that matched his eyes, and that Anna changed three times. She finally settled for studied casualness in skinny white jeans, a pale blue peasanty smock clinched with a big belt, and lots of ethnic scarves and jewellery. She looked gorgeous. I told her so as I went out, pleased to be leaving before them. Held her tight as I said goodbye.
‘Good luck,’ I whispered.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she gulped gratefully in my ear. ‘What are you going to do today?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Will you be OK?’
‘Course I will.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To meet Hector. You know, your horse.’
‘Oh!’ A shadow of surprise passed across her pale blue eyes as she registered: remembering, perhaps, a sweet, faraway time when ponies had been at the forefront of her mind. A gentler age. Her brow puckered. ‘Will it matter I'm not there?’
‘Course not! I'm just going to pop him in a stable and thank the owner.’
‘Oh. OK. Take Brenda, or she'll be all on her own.’
‘I will,’ I promised, bending to scoop up the dog, taking her lead from the hall table.
‘Bye, darling!’ I called