Daisy Tate - The Happy Glampers

Freya was about to say something else but Charlotte gave her head a quick ‘ please don’t’ shake.

She knew she should be grateful to her friends for attempting to burst his little bubble, but all she could feel was the hot embarrassment of shame at the situation, at Oliver, and mostly at herself. How had she managed to end up like this? No self-esteem, no respect, and – potentially – no husband.

‘Well, this is all lovely, the old gang together, thick as thieves like always.’ Oliver put the emphasis on ‘thick’ and Charlotte felt the colour rise to her face. She’d never embarrass him in front of his friends.

Oli yawned and stretched. ‘Wonderful as all this is, how about some coffee, and possibly a nightcap, Charlotte?’ His request felt suspiciously like an order, but desperate to end this particular horror show, she was about to acquiesce when Freya made a ‘no you don’t’ cluck.

‘Sit back down, Lotts. It’s your birthday.’ She shot a look at Oli then said, ‘You’re to be waited on hand and foot this weekend. Sit.’ She climbed out of her spot on the picnic bench and playfully, but firmly, admonished Oli. ‘Lavish your wife with affection.’

Charlotte flushed again. Oli didn’t take to being told what to do, and getting him to lavish anything on her other than disapproval at this point was as likely as Elton John turning up and bashing out ‘Happy Birthday to You’.

A tinny-sounding tune vibrated in Oliver’s pocket. Charlotte thought it sounded a lot like Justin Timberlake’s ‘Sexy Back’. He tugged his phone out, quickly silenced it, then shoved it back in again. Was it her ? Was that their song? She almost wanted to laugh. Filthy and annoying. A bit like him.

He turned towards the tree house, mouthing, ‘Business. Sorry.’ Her friends stared at Oliver’s retreating figure with ill-disguised horror.

‘Not to worry,’ she said in too high a voice. ‘He’s always a bit like this when he’s working on a big deal.’ It wasn’t a lie. ‘Besides,’ she tacked on as brightly as she could, ‘if he didn’t work so hard, I wouldn’t get lovely treats like this.’

She waved her hands expansively at the scene around them, at the detritus from the evening; then, as if Oli had snipped the marionette strings that held up her wrists, her hands dropped to the table top with a small thud.

Freya caught eyes with Izzy. For once they could agree on something. Oli was being an arse. The splinters of hurt splicing through Charlotte’s cheery demeanour as her husband disappeared up into the tree house were painful to watch.

It was a super-big ‘ouch’ in an evening that had been increasingly filled with Awkward Oliver Moments. Not that he’d been anything less than charming in his trademark way. A bit of locker-room humour, a bit of bantz and teasing in that slightly juvenile, slightly bullying public-schoolboy way of his.

Everyone’s awkwardness spoke volumes. None of them had ever really taken to Oli. Apart from Charlotte, obviously, so they’d all made allowances. Laughed at his terrible jokes and tried to ignore his privileged egotism. When he’d proposed, they’d all figured if the nicest human in the world loved him, then he couldn’t be all that bad. Hidden depths and all that. But this time there was something else at play, something more … cutting.

‘Guess I’d best clear up for the big day, then.’ Charlotte half stood. ‘Perhaps bring Oli up a coffee.’

The three women exchanged brief ‘WTF’ looks with each other and all rose to help.

Izzy picked up the stray food platter while Emily cleared up the unused cutlery. Freya shooed Charlotte away from the stovetop coffee percolator and made a show of topping up Charlotte’s wine glass whilst lavishing her with praise about the glampsite, the meal, her outfit. When the coffee was ready, Freya ran it up to Oli but didn’t bother waiting for him to answer the door. The soft murmuring tones she’d heard before she’d knocked hadn’t sounded anything like a business call.

Once they’d sat back round the picnic table, an awkward silence settled around them, which Freya was the first to break.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, hen?’ she asked Charlotte quietly. When Freya reached out to touch her hand, Charlotte looked as if she was about to break. A kind word or a hug could push her over the edge. ‘I’m absolutely fine. Oli’s just had a few too many, that’s all.’ She popped on a bright smile.

Freya wasn’t convinced, but! As Monty would say, it was her party, so no point pressing if she didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Let’s sort out this bunting crisis, shall we?’ Freya started folding little 3D dresses, robins and hearts out of the unused serviettes.

Izzy plucked a serviette off the pile. ‘Show me?’

‘Give us a stack.’ Emily made pincing movements with her hand until Charlotte handed her some of the polka-dotted napkins, then took some for herself.

Under Freya’s instruction, the women listened, learnt, folded. ‘I’m just going to nip out and find some twine or string for these,’ Charlotte said. When she came back from the car where she had indeed found a ball of green twine, her eyes were rimmed red.

Izzy was officially fuming on Charlotte’s behalf. What a bastard. How dare he make Charlotte feel small? Her mother’s poet voice came to her, rich and strong: The instinct of man is to oppress. It was why Izzy’s mum had never married. She’d always said she didn’t care if the caged bird sang. The free one did, too. And without fear of a blanket being thrown over its head.

Izzy looked up to the tree house where a battery-powered lantern lit up the windows.

How had Oli gone from the husband she’d last seen at Freya and Monty’s wedding – a bit grabby, but still proudly boastful of Charlotte and their little ones – to a man who barely bothered disguising his lack of respect for her. And her mates, for that matter. As if they were B-grade guests versus the A-listers invited for ‘the real do’ tomorrow.

Charlotte had been so ridiculously in love when they’d married. A true Cinderella story, with Jimmy Choos standing in for glass slippers. They’d all been thrilled for her, if not slightly perplexed that she wanted them to be her bridesmaids in lieu of her new set of friends. Except for Freya, they’d not really stayed in touch. Either way, they’d all been excited. Perhaps it had been the promise of a swanky reception. It definitely hadn’t been the dreadful, flouncy, lavender bridesmaid dresses. Freya had tried her best to zshuzsh them up, but Charlotte’s mother-in-law had put a shockingly swift end to ‘those shenanigans’. Charlotte’s mother-in-law was a society girl from a bygone era. There were rules. They were meant to be obeyed.

Perhaps that was what had happened. Too many rules.

Izzy wasn’t very good with rules. But she was good with loyalty, and she wanted to put a smile back on Charlotte’s face.

Freya moved the huge pile of serviette bunting to the side, throwing a quick glance over at Monty who was still sound asleep. ‘And you’re absolutely sure there’s nothing we can do to help tonight?’

‘Honestly, most of it’s taken care of,’ Charlotte insisted. ‘Oli’s booked caterers, servers, everything. We’ve even sorted things for the vegans.’ She gasped and paled. ‘Oh, Freya. I didn’t force you into eating meat tonight, did I? I know we did a few vegetable kebabs, but I kept pushing everyone to eat the sausages.’

‘Not to worry.’ Freya gave one of her Mother Earth smiles. ‘We did go veggie for a bit, but now we get boxes from an organic farm out in Berkshire. Grass fed, free range, massaged on a daily basis. That sort of thing.’