‘Connie, you have to talk to him. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I’ve got a cracking hangover so weren’t my best today, but I’ll not let it happen again, I promise.’
‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you.’ Connie shook her head. She didn’t look very sorry.
‘Why, though? He always does what you want. You can change his mind, easy.’
‘Because, as usual when it comes to running Robin Hood’s Barn, I completely agree with him.’
12
I kept Friday evening as simple as possible. I ate a pack of fresh pasta from the stash of food Dad had bought me, did a load of washing and then fell asleep watching a cheesy film in bed. Saturday morning followed the same pattern as Friday, only there was no Elliot at the breakfast table. I assured myself that my twinge of disappointment was due to the lack of eggs, not company. Instead I grabbed a banana while Isaac waited impatiently to give me a lift. As much as I was happy to walk, he’d convinced me that my feet would be throbbing stumps of agony by the evening, and I’d be grateful to have avoided half a mile before I even started, never mind not having to walk home afterwards.
I found it no problem to slip into the familiar role of hospitality. The wedding ceremony was at twelve, in the church next door, so we were ready with trays of drinks and canapés by one. The rest of the day was spent in a sweltering swirl in and out of the kitchen, as well as serving behind the bar and repeatedly helping Winnie’s bridesmaids remember where they’d put their glasses, slippers and gin and tonics.
My favourite part of the day was the evening, when a local DJ played sixties and seventies classics, and the Outlaw guests showed the younger ones how it was done.
‘Do you ever have dancing like this at the day centre?’ I asked one woman, as she tottered off the dance floor, dripping with sweat.
‘Are you joking?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘We have tea dances. Or once there was a ceilidh, but someone broke their ankle stripping the willow so we never had another one.’
I made a note in my phone to look into day centre dance sessions.
* * *
Sunday morning, Isaac had told me to be back at the Barn for twelve to help finish clearing up and ready the building for Monday.
To my surprise, the front doors were propped wide open, and when I followed the buzz of chatter through the main hall and into the garden, I found a load of people milling about, sitting down on picnic blankets or standing in small clusters chatting.
Two of the trestle tables from the wedding had been set along one side of the terrace, every spare inch of which was laden with food. After scanning the crowd for a familiar face, I made my way over to where Connie was pouring water into glasses at another table.
‘I thought I was here to work,’ I said, the confusion clear in my voice.
‘Yeah, we’ve done most of it. Isaac wanted to let you catch up on some sleep. We’ll finish the rest after this.’
‘What is this?’
She grinned. ‘This was me trying to avoid being such a sad, lonely loser when I first moved to Houghton. I had this miserable idea that everyone else my age was meeting friends in cosy pubs for giant roast dinners or out having romantic lunch dates. For some reason Sunday lunch felt like the most depressing meal of the week. Maybe because after long, exhausting Saturdays I then had to drag Wilf out of bed to go back to work again. One week, I decided to bring a picnic to eat on the terrace, to delay going back to our dull little house, and Avi asked if he could join me. A couple of the others on the team noticed, and before we knew it, we almost had a party. Eight months later, it’s somehow evolved into this.’
‘How many people come?’ I was boggled by how many were streaming in through the door. A couple of men had to set up two more tables for the extra food.
‘Oh, that’s the church rush. A few weeks in we mentioned it to Lara, the minister, and she asked if some of the church could come along. Initially it was people who live alone, single parents like me, or for whatever reason could do with some company. Then the Outlaws got wind of it, and we couldn’t stop them turning up if we tried. When they started inviting their friends and families, we decided to make it an open event. There’s usually no more than one hundred and fifty. It’s a voluntary donation of two pounds, or five for a family, with any profit going to the day centre, but those who can afford it chip in for the ones who can’t. Most people bring something to share. The bakery, café and village shop bring unsold stock that would otherwise get wasted, so it works quite well.’
‘Works quite well?’ I bumped her arm with my elbow before picking up a water glass. ‘This is incredible.’
‘Okay, did you just nudge me?’ Connie asked.
‘Um… sorry?’
A strange glint had appeared in her eyes, and I was suddenly terrified I’d crossed some unseen boundary and was on the brink of causing a situation.
‘Isaac!’ she yelled, to where he was throwing a frisbee with Wilf.
‘It was meant to be friendly,’ I stammered. Was Connie going to get me fired, along with Gemma?
‘Exactly,’ she said as Isaac stopped, frisbee in hand, looking like an extra fromHigh School Musicalin ancient baggy shorts and a basketball top.
‘Am I allowed to be friends with my boss’s twin?’
‘Why are you asking me? I’m not your boss!’
