We are the Glampions! Page 2

  IZZY: Why are you convinced I can’t see the messages you send about me? You’re not typing them in invisible ink, doofus.

  EMILY: You’re a doofus.

  FREYA: You both are. Izzy – go to the doctor. Charlotte, the Surrey farm-shop launch you oversaw sounded epic. Soz couldn’t make it. Packing up fifteen years’ worth of things that spark joy is a bitch!

  TO: Oliver Mayfield

  FROM: Charlotte Bunce

  CC: Hazel Pryce

  RE: Lunch at Four Feathers

  Dear Oliver,

  After discussion with my lawyer, Hazel Pryce, I will meet for lunch on one condition: No talk of the house.

  Sincerely,

  Charlotte Bunce

  17 June

  TO: Devon Surf Co

  FROM: Isabella Yeats

  Aloha Kai!

  Thanks so much for talking admin into delaying my start date. I appreciate you can’t offer the same instructor’s fee as before seeing as I’ll be on shore duty, but staying in the geodome will more than make up for it. Result, my friend. MAHOLO TO THE HIGHEST!!! Thanks for pulling strings. I promise to give your clients their money’s worth. Can’t believe I haven’t seen you since that last blow-out on Maui. What was it … seven years ago? Eight? Sounds as though returning to the UK with your woman was a good call. Your set-up looks pukka.

  Right. Gotta go see Looney in a school play. They’re doing Fiddler on the Roof and Looney’s playing Tevye!!!

  Might need to beg for some work in the autumn as things gone a bit woo-woo at this end.

  Aloha, my friend x (you remember it means hello and goodbye, right? Or is that wo-mansplaining?) ;-)

  PS – You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a medical clinic or anything nearby. A hospital? Asking for a friend. LOL

  TO: Monty

  FROM: Wifey

  MONTS! WE DID IT!! WE HAVE A BUYER FOR THE HOUSE!!!! BRING ON BRISTOL LIFE!!! Xoxoxooxxooxoxox

  Dear Headmaster Lindley,

  Please accept my heartfelt apologies for my son’s behaviour.

  However painful it is to admit, I agree that expelling Jack is the only course of action.

  His father, Oliver Mayfield, will be collecting him at the end of the week, as discussed. Using drugs, even soft ones like marijuana, is entirely unacceptable. I suspect disruption to Jack’s home life hasn’t been helpful in offering him the sense of security any child (teenager) requires. He may have mentioned the sale of the family home, which, of course, I am not offering as an excuse, merely an explanation as to why he may be acting up.

  I shall be writing to the other parents as well and accepting full responsibility for my son’s actions. They would very likely not have taken the drugs if he had not supplied them.

  Please note, for future communications I will be available on my mobile telephone. I’d appreciate any written communication to be held until I am able to provide you with a new forwarding address. As mentioned, we are in the process of selling the house and have not yet bought a new property.

  Yours sincerely,

  Charlotte Bunce

  27 June

  TO: Devon Surf Co

  FROM: Isabella Yeats

  Aloha Kai!

  Really really sorry, buddy. Things are ()@£%&£)( complicated. ’Fraid I’m going to have to leave you in the lurch. I can send word out on the surf web that there’s a kick-ass job going. Would still like to help out at some juncture. Good news is, I’m moving closer. Bristol! Any possibility of keeping me in mind for the autumn?

  Aloha on the other end. x Izz

  Chapter 2

  ‘Darling, you wouldn’t mind doing us another, would you?’ Lady Venetia held her empty martini glass in front of her face and grinned through it. ‘Just to top me up before I head down to the kennels.’

  Charlotte didn’t think Lady V needed another martini but, as their Sunday Sundowners would be drawing to a close …

  ‘You know, dear …’ Lady V accepted her fresh martini with a demi-bow of the head, as if it were she and not Charlotte who was the recipient of great largesse. ‘I think you’ve ruined me for ever.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Charlotte hovered above her usual perch, a rather fetching eggshell blue courting chair, until it was indicated that she’d done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  ‘I know the gehl will work out just fine, but it won’t be the same, will it?’

  Charlotte tried to explain that Lucy was every bit as dab a hand at the cakes as she was, but Lady Venetia wasn’t having it.

  ‘She’s young and not terribly interesting.’ Lady V gave her fingers a bit of a flick as if the matter was settled. Poor Lucy. ‘She doesn’t seem to see things the way you do. It’s little wonder those Bristolians snapped you up for their new venture, precocious talent that you are.’ Lady V laughed, but there was no mistaking the strain it took her to do so.

  Charlotte looked down at her lap, still shy of basking in the light of a well-deserved compliment. In all honesty, she was still in shock. And not a little terrified. She’d just signed a two-year contract with one of the country’s most prominent visual merchandizers. They were building seven brand-new motorway service stations, all modelled on the farm-to-fork aesthetic she’d developed at Sittingstone. Boutique rustique, they called her style. Loved it, apparently. Her new boss had been flexible about the start date, but the first shop would be opening in late September. In keeping with the harvest, said the man eating out-of-season raspberries at the morning meeting. Freya would’ve had him for breakfast.

  Lady V tapped the side of her glass with an olive to draw Charlotte’s attention back to her. ‘I wanted you to know it’s been a comfort having you keeping an eye on things here. I shall miss our Sunday evening business chats. They save me from my increasingly tedious son.’

  Charlotte smiled. Their ‘business chats’ were very rarely about business. Lady Venetia, she had long suspected, was actually just lonely.

  Her mentor recrossed her legs and arched a solitary eyebrow. ‘Did you know the boy’s begun a campaign to put wolves on the farm?’ She cackled. ‘Mind you. With any luck it’ll put short shrift to Esmé. She is ridiculous, isn’t she? Side with me, won’t you? Isn’t my son’s wife a dreadful bore?’ She brightened, her face aglow with a fresh idea, then – just as quickly – whatever it was that had cheered her passed. ‘You won’t forget me, will you darling?’

  The lump in Charlotte’s throat quadrupled. ‘Of course not. You’re my mentor, my inspiration …’ She debated for a nanosecond over whether to say the next word then threw caution to the wind, ‘You’re my friend. I will never forget you.’

  Mollified, Venetia threw her the most heartfelt smile they’d ever shared. ‘Darling, come.’ She patted the sofa. ‘Sit by me.’

  Charlotte joined her, surprised at how papery and soft Lady Venetia’s hands were. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. Perfectly, it’s just that … saying goodbye to you is a bit like sending my favourite child out into the big wide world.’ She dropped Charlotte’s hand and drained her martini.

  Charlotte couldn’t meet her eye. She didn’t know if she’d ever been paid such a high compliment.

  Life, after all, had cornered her into choosing this new path.

  Hazel the Lawyer had put it quite simply. Charlotte could either be entirely dependent upon Oliver until the children were eighteen (living in the house, bickering about which schools were right for which child, endlessly debating who cared for which child when), or she could take the reins of her own life right now and get on with things.

  After a rather painful lunch with Oliver, she’d chosen the latter.

  ‘How’s your friend receiving the treatment getting on?’ Venetia’s tone suggested Izzy had been receiving weekly facials instead of chemotherapy. ‘And that fabulous child of hers?’

  Charlotte didn’t take offence that Lady V never asked after her own children. Everyone had a child they adored, and in Lady V’s case it was m
ost definitely Luna.

  ‘I think all of the skipping about with schools has been a bit much, but hopefully the move to Bristol for Izzy’s new treatment will be a good thing.’ It was strange to be breezily discussing an experimental treatment that could kill Izzy as easily as it could cure her. Then again, what choice did Izzy have? The first round of chemotherapy had had no impact on her tumour at all. It had taken some doing, but Emily had finally convinced her that moving to Bristol where they were trialling some intensive new treatments was the best course of action.

  Lady V cut into her silent musings. ‘Did you know Izzy sold her surfing company to one of those child television stars? You know the one I mean. He played an adorable child prodigy lawyer but grew up to look like a thug and –’ she made a pinging noise – ‘career over.’

  Charlotte did know that. She’d sold it to pay her hospital bills in Hawaii.

  ‘And her little one will be staying at your new place in Bristol?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Izzy says she has some sort of job lined up in Devon come autumn, but it all sounded rather vague. I thought I’d check into getting Luna registered at Poppy’s new school just in case.’

  ‘She’s always welcome to rattle round Sittingstone with me. Especially if she learns how to make martinis as well as you do.’

  Before Charlotte could come up with an appropriate response, Lady V rose from the sofa. ‘Be careful how you tread, darling. Make sure Izzy has some proper plans in place – legal forms and such – in case things don’t pan out for her. Some friends,’ her tone turned ominous, ‘remain a mystery on purpose.’

  True, but, everyone had a set of cards they played close to their chest.

  Charlotte thought of Rocco. The kiss they’d shared. The warmth that still flared inside her when she thought of the moment when he had held her in his arms. The scant contact they’d had since then. She’d sent a thank you card. He’d sent one back. She’d not come up with a reason to thank him for his thank you card without sounding ridiculous, so it appeared that was that.

  He’d be letting the cows out to pasture soon. At least according to Countryfile. She’d taken to watching it on catch-up after her talks with Lady V. It was terribly informative.

  ‘What is it, darling? You look wistful.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse. I can see with my wise old lady eyes you are lost in a romantic thought.’

  Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  Lady V gave a victorious laugh, then pulled Charlotte in for a brisk farewell hug and kiss at the door to kennels where they always bade one another adieu. ‘Why don’t you stop torturing yourself and ring him … your farmer.’

  Charlotte flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.’ Venetia mimicked Charlotte, ‘Freya’s brother would have had those shelves up in less than an hour. The milk Freya’s brother’s cows produce is superb. And the butter. Did you know he’s been selling kilo upon kilo of butter?’

  Charlotte flushed. ‘Well.’

  Lady V’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘Well, indeed.’

  ‘Where are the kids tonight?’

  Freya handed Emily a small vase, which she dutifully rolled into a sheet of newspaper and stuffed into a box. The vase certainly didn’t spark any joy in her, but … she lived on a futon in her parents’ basement so it wasn’t as if she had much room to argue.

  ‘Staying overnight with friends. They’re binge-socializing. Felix has been out three nights on the trot.’ Freya almost sounded proud.

  For some reason it made Emily cranky.

  She’d thought of Felix as a kindred spirit. Someone who merely tolerated human company. It looked like everyone was changing apart from her.

  Other than her weekends in Sussex to see Izzy through her chemo (utterly worthless), Emily’s life had fallen into that same, tedious, endless cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. The nine-to-five consultancy job meant far too much free time. Free time she’d slavishly applied to Netflix, volunteering for surgical shifts at the hospital, and a rather consumptive obsession with the bonsai crab-apple tree her father had given her for Chinese New Year. With any luck it would flower soon.

  Freya handed her a screwdriver set. ‘Don’t bother packing this. Monty’ll want it straight away. D’you mind popping it in that box over there?’

  Emily dumped the screwdrivers into the box, then dug into a bag of vegetable crisps Freya had unearthed before immediately wishing she hadn’t. It was possible the crisps were potpourri. ‘Do you think Monty’s taking this whole carpenter thing a bit seriously?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Freya snapped open another bin bag. Number thirty-nine by Emily’s last count.

  ‘You know. The whole falling on his sword thing.’ Freya tensed but Emily powered on. ‘Becoming a carpenter to show his love for you.’ She put on her earnest voice. ‘Moving into a church. It’s all a bit Jesus-y. Is he on a twelve-step programme or something?’

  ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with twelve steps,’ Freya snapped defensively.

  Emily guessed that was a yes, then. She said nothing as Freya ploughed on.

  ‘There’s a lot more going on than simply falling on a sword.’ She started ticking things off on her fingers. ‘A. He’s not sacrificing himself. He may have started working for his brother as a means of getting through this rough patch, but we made the decision to move as a family.’

  ‘I thought you said Cameron was a twat.’

  ‘He is, but …’ Freya glared at her then ticked off another finger. ‘B. Selling the house repays a substantial amount of Cameron’s generous assistance which means we only have to tolerate him lording it over Monty for another year or two rather than eternity. C? Monty’s working on the Hawkesbury development because he likes it. He’s an excellent carpenter. If you remember, he did most of the work on the kitchen.’ Freya flung her arm out and cracked her knuckles on a cupboard door that was sagging on its hinges. She shot Emily a look that dared her to say anything. ‘D, E, and F? They’ve deconsecrated the church, God is a myth created to bolster the patriarchal hierarchy and none of it matters anyway because you know as well as I do that Monty and I are agnostics.’

  Emily tapped the side of her nose. ‘Best to keep that quiet when you move into the house of the lord.’

  Freya scowled and swept some of her curls back from her forehead. Emily could see at least an inch of grey working its way into Freya’s hairline. It was the first time she’d known Freya not to have kept up with her appearance. Money must be extra tight if she was forgoing her trips to the hairdresser’s.

  ‘Anyway,’ Freya sniffed. ‘By doing the townhouses, Monty and Cam are preserving a “building at risk”, not a church.’

  Oh, honestly.

  ‘When Prince went by symbol and Kanye wanted to be Ye, they were still Prince and Kanye. It’s a church, Freya. You’re going to be living in an as-yet-to-be-built townhouse in a church. With a massive loan hanging over your head. It’s hardly the philanthropic preservation of an old building. It’s survival. I thought the whole point of the move was to start being honest.’

  Freya gave the tiniest of nods, a muscle twitching in her jaw as she flicked her hair back into submission. Again.

  ‘Like I said, Monty’s working on the townhouses. The bulk of his salary will go towards the situation with his brother. I’ll be building up my business in the artist’s co-operative—’

  Emily cut her off. ‘Freya! If this whole thing is the fresh start you claim it is, you may as well start calling things by their actual names. Debts. Loans. Churches. What Monty is doing is virtually indentured servitude. What you’re doing is … I don’t even know what the name of it is. Madness? Insanity? I know you love him, but letting Monty put you all at risk a second time? Bonkers.’

  Freya lashed out. ‘I’ve taken over the finances again. I’m dealing with all of the paperwork. I’m finding schools for the childre
n. Giving up my shop. I’m changing everything so that our family can find a way to work to the best of all our abilities. I’m not kicking him out the door just because he cocked up. We both did.’

  Emily gave Freya her best ‘I’m saying this because I’m your friend’ face. ‘It seems to me, you’re the only one making sacrifices to fix what Monty’s done.’

  Freya lost her cool. ‘I thought you came over here to help, not rip me to shreds. The house is sold! The deal’s been made. I’m trying to keep my fucking family together, all right?’

  Emily stuffed the healthy crisps/potpourri into the bin bag. Freya was right. It was her decision to make. Even if it was completely mental. ‘Hey. As long as you’re happy.’

  ‘I am happy,’ Freya ground out. ‘I have my husband back. The children are looking forward to us all living together again. Dumbledore’s excited.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our dog!’ Freya shouted. ‘Dumbledore. You packed his poo bags about twenty minutes ago! Do you listen to anything I say at all?’ And then she burst into tears.

  Uh-oh. This was unusual. There was obviously more going on here than Monty being an eejit with the joint account. Emily steeled herself and asked, ‘Want to talk about it?’

  Freya sniffed and wiped her face on the sleeve of her T-shirt. A plain green one. ‘No.’ And then, ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t not pay the bills. Monty’s a lovely man, but the ball is in his court on this one, lady.’

  ‘No, seriously. It actually is my fault. Or a lot my fault,’ she acquiesced when Emily tried to interrupt her. In a steadier voice she explained, ‘The business hasn’t been going well for ages. Instead of facing up to it or changing tack I’ve just been barrelling on hoping it will all come good. Monty’s been struggling to pay whatever he could with less and less and I guess, in his own fucked-up way, taking out all those credit cards and ignoring the mountain of debt was his way of making sure I didn’t have to worry about it so I could focus on the business.’ She swiped away a fresh wash of tears. ‘I was going to talk to him about making some changes a while back but then Mum died and …’ she threw up her hands. ‘Life.’