Тилли Бэгшоу – The Show: Racy, pacy and very funny! (страница 15)

She gazed sadly at David’s closed study door.

One day, when he finally got over this vendetta with Eddie Wellesley, things would go back to the way they used to be.

One day.

Laura stood outside the gates of St Hilda’s Primary School, waiting for the bell to ring. Hugh had started nursery a few weeks earlier, and now toddled off to school three afternoons a week. The sight of him setting off from the farm with his pirate backpack, puffing his little chest out with pride, made Laura preposterously happy. What a magical place this was to grow up! Hugh and Luca had no idea how lucky they were, she thought, looking down at Luca asleep in his pushchair as a bee buzzed lazily past.

A group of mothers stood off to one side, chatting and occasionally shooting glances in Laura’s direction. Hostile glances? Or was she imagining things? I mustn’t be paranoid. Ever since Laura had sold Valley Farm to Channel 5, and word had got out in the village about the impending filming at Wraggsbottom, local feeling had been running high. It didn’t help that the new vicar, desperate to curry favour with his parishioners, and still smarting from Gabe’s rant about the Right-to-Roamers, had decided to stir up trouble, whipping up what would have been a few disgruntled murmurs into full-on war. Only yesterday, the notice that Laura had put up in the village stores, advertising for extras for the first day’s filming, had been angrily torn down and replaced with a ‘Save Our Village’ poster. As if the village were under threat! Despite Call-me-Bill’s efforts, however, Laura had faith it would all work out. No one loved the village and the valley more than she and Gabe. That was the truth, and one of the main reasons they’d wanted to make the show in the first place. With so many rich second homers, and farming in a terminal decline, Fittlescombe was in danger of becoming a ghost village, a theme park for wealthy Londoners that only came to life at weekends and holidays. Numbers at the village school were already dwindling. Without new jobs, they would only fall further. Valley Farm could provide those jobs, both directly on set and indirectly through increased tourism and interest in the Swell Valley. Plus, once people saw how nice and respectful Laura’s production team were, and how true the show was to the spirit of the valley and the people who lived and worked there, she was sure they would come round.

Besides, Eddie had promised to go door to door and turn on the legendary Wellesley charm once Macy Johanssen and the camera crew actually arrived in the village. If anybody could love-bomb Fittlescombe’s naysayers into submission, it was Eddie. He and Laura had already become fast friends. Whenever she felt overwhelmed (producing a television show, taking care of two small boys and running the farm with Gabe all at the same time was no mean feat), Eddie somehow managed to calm her down. More than that, his belief in Valley Farm as a concept was so passionate and profound, so utterly unwavering, he boosted Laura’s confidence simply by being in the same room. Thank God Gabe had had the balls to suggest approaching him.

One of the older children ran out into the playground, ringing the hand bell that signalled the end of the day. Moments later the children began to file out, youngest first. Laura waited to see Hugh’s happy, excited little face running to greet her. But instead he emerged blotchy and red-faced. He’d clearly been crying.

‘Darling!’ Laura swept him up into her arms. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

‘Dickon said I can’t go to his party any more.’

‘Dickon Groves?’

Hugh nodded. ‘Ev’un else can go. Only not me.’ His lower lip wobbled pathetically. ‘He’s having a bouncy castle.’

‘I’m sure that can’t be right,’ said Laura. ‘Would you like me to go and talk to Dickon’s mummy?’

Hugh looked doubtful. ‘You stay here with Luca,’ said Laura, setting him down on the grass. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

She walked over to where Sarah Groves was talking to some other mothers.

‘Sorry to butt in,’ she began with a smile, ‘but I think Hugh’s got the wrong end of the stick. He thinks Dickon doesn’t want him to come to his birthday party any more.’

Sarah’s face hardened. ‘That’s right.’

Laura felt a knot form in her stomach. Sarah Groves wasn’t a friend, as such, but they’d always been on good terms. No more, evidently. The other mothers had lined up behind her, arms folded in a distinctly hostile manner. Laura felt as if she were at school, being cornered by the bullies.

‘But … why? Has something happened?’

Sarah scoffed. ‘Yes, something’s happened. You and your husband have run roughshod over all of us. That’s what’s happened.’

‘Now, hold on—’ Laura began.

‘No one wants this TV show, you know. No one. But you don’t care, do you? As long as you’re making a few quid.’

Laura was so shocked, for a moment she didn’t know what to say. Then she looked across at her son standing by his brother’s pushchair, his little shoulders slumped in disappointment and felt a surge of anger rush through her.

‘My God. So you’re taking out your petty grievances on an innocent four-year-old boy? How truly pathetic.’

Now it was Sarah’s turn to look shocked. Her mouth dropped open with indignation. ‘Petty grievances? How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are?’

But Laura had already walked away, scooping up Hugh into her arms and marching furiously across the village green, Luca’s pushchair lurching wildly at every bump in the grass.

She was still spitting tacks when she got back to the farm.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Gabe was sitting with his legs up on the kitchen table, reading the racing results. So much for his ‘ridiculously busy’ day on the farm, the one that meant he couldn’t go and pick up Hugh, or give Luca his lunch, meaning Laura had had to do it.

‘That bloody cow,’ Laura seethed.

‘Buddy cow,’ said Luca.

She filled him in while Hugh plonked himself down in front of Scooby-Doo.

‘The witch,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there right now and tell her what I think of her. How dare she!’

‘For God’s sake don’t,’ said Laura.

Slumping down into the tatty armchair by the Aga, she suddenly felt exhausted. Santiago and Penny had come over last night, after the village meeting, and they’d all stayed up far too late drinking and taking the piss out of David Carlyle. Eddie kept telling her the furore over the show would die down, like the proverbial storm in a teacup. But Laura was worried. This particular storm seemed to have brewed pretty damn quickly. Fittlescombe was her and Gabe’s home. It was the children’s home.

‘Are we making a terrible mistake?’ she asked Gabe.

Gabe leaned down and kissed her.

‘No. We’re not. We’re doing something exciting, and new, and different. People are afraid of change, especially round here. And when people are afraid, they lash out. Come on, Laur. We knew this was going to happen. Once the local economy starts improving and everyone’s benefiting, they’ll come around. It’ll be all right.’

Will it? thought Laura.

She hoped so, and not just for Hugh’s sake.

‘Where are you going?’ She noticed with alarm that Gabe had scooped up his car keys from the kitchen table. ‘For God’s sake don’t go and cause a scene at the Groveses.’

‘I wouldn’t set foot in that house for all the tea in China,’ said Gabe, his lip curling with disgust. ‘I’m off to Toys R Us in Chichester. I’m going to buy Hugh the biggest fuck-off bouncy castle on earth. That little shit Dickon is gonna wish he’d never been born.’

Laura rolled her eyes.

Sometimes it was hard work, having three children.

CHAPTER SIX

Macy Johanssen pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen island with satisfaction. On the antique Welsh dresser opposite her, a pretty collection of mismatched china gleamed cheerfully, and a heavily scented jug of peonies made a perfect centrepiece for the table Macy had had shipped over from California.

After a week of solid unpacking, plumping up cushions, making beds and arranging treasures old and new, Cranbourne House was finally coming together. And what a house it was.

Eddie hadn’t been exaggerating about the picture-postcard prettiness of the Swell Valley. If anything he’d played down the majesty of the ancient rolling chalk hills that locals called ‘the Downs’ – it seemed to Macy they went up as well as down, but who was quibbling? – and the quaint loveliness of the villages. Even the names sounded like something out of a storybook: Fittlescombe, Brockhurst, Hinton Down, Lower Cricksmere. As for Cranbourne House, the property Eddie and the network had rented for Macy on the edge of Fittlescombe, it was really more of a large cottage – three cottages knocked together, in fact. It was all Macy could do not to cry when she saw the flint and tile-hung beauty, peeking out coyly from behind its veil of ivy and climbing roses. The garden was small but perfectly formed, and complete with both a pear and a walnut tree, as well as a buddleia smothered in butterflies. Whatever happened with the show, Macy was glad she’d taken a leap of faith and come to England. How could wonderful, happy things not happen to a girl in a place like this?