Daisy Tate - The Happy Glampers

‘I’ll get a tray of sandwiches up in a minute, darling. Why don’t you go over to the kitchen tent and see if you can’t find the ketchup and brown sauce?’ Charlotte looked and sounded like a modern Doris Day. How did she do that?

‘Brown sauce?’ Jack made a vomit face. ‘ Mother. ’ He shuddered.

Charming.

He pointed at Izzy. ‘Why’s she got one then?’

Doubly charmed. Izzy resisted giving him a slap round the back of his head and telling him to pull his socks up because his mother had just found out his dad was a lying, cheating bastard.

‘Because she’s a guest, darling.’ Charlotte gave Izzy a sorrowful look. ‘With low blood sugar. It’s a condition.’

Gosh. Charlotte told a fib! Izzy tried to figure out the best way to look as if she had a condition when Emily cut in. ‘Go. Ketchup. Brown sauce. It’s your mother’s birthday.’

Wow. Guess no one had given Emily the memo about telling other people’s children what to do. Even so … Jack obeyed her.

‘Okay, Lotte. What do you want us to do?’ Izzy whispered as soon as he was out of earshot, noting that Oli, the bastard, still hadn’t left yet.

Charlotte ran her index fingers under her eyes to swipe away invisible mascara stains.

‘Well, there’s no plan really. Yes,’ she said abruptly straightening her spine. ‘There is a plan. It is to do nothing. Oliver reckons we’ll get through this. Just an early morning wobble is all. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m being a silly goose.’

‘What? About your husband having an affair?’

Charlotte nearly lost her composure.

‘No, of course not. He’s said he’s put a halt to it. That the pregnancy isn’t for sure. Most likely a lie to get him to choose between the two of us. That’s what all of these phone calls are for.’ She vaguely gestured out towards the meadow where Oli was, once again, jabbering away on his mobile. He caught Charlotte’s eye, pointed at Izzy’s sandwich, then at himself.

Dickhead.

‘It’ll be just a moment, darling. Izzy’s got low blood sugar!’

Izzy did a little wobbly knee move to make it look true.

‘Is that what you want? To carry on?’ Emily asked her.

‘Yes.’ Charlotte clapped her hands together decisively. ‘Now. If you two wouldn’t mind keeping this under your hats, I’d really appreciate it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to create such a fuss—’

Freya marched up to their group, mouth already open in ‘I’m about to give a speech’ mode. One of the children had probably messed up the recycling bins or some equally heinous crime.

Emily’s eyes silenced her.

Emily was a powerful ally in a crisis.

‘Can I tell Freya?’ Izzy was horrid with keeping secrets. Most secrets, anyway.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Oliver’s having an affair. Shit. Sorry, Lotte. And she’s preggers. Crap. Is that all right? Fuck. My bad.’

Emily glared at Freya as if it was her fault Izzy had spilled the beans.

Freya’s open mouth dropped even further. Izzy was tempted to close it for her.

‘Charlotte wants her party to go ahead as planned.’ Izzy handed the rest of her sandwich to Freya. If she was eating, she wouldn’t be able to embark on a diatribe against Oli.

‘Fucking bastard,’ Freya said, stuffing in an errant piece of bacon.

Okay. That hadn’t worked.

‘She wants to work through it. Stay with Oli,’ Izzy said. Meaningfully .

‘Oh.’ Freya swallowed. ‘I mean … marriage is tough.’ Her eyes flitted to Monty who was horrifying the children with a pretend striptease with his towel only to reveal he was actually wearing shorts. Goofball . He was everything Oli wasn’t in a father figure. Which, of course, made him endearingly lovable despite all their problems.

‘So … the plan is?’ Freya took another bite of bacon sandwich. Hopefully, to keep the sea of commentary at bay.

Charlotte began crisply shifting perfectly fried bacon onto a serving platter covered in rosebuds. ‘The plan is to forget we ever had this discussion. It’s all a bit embarrassing really. I’m so sorry I—’

‘No,’ Emily cut in. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

‘That’s right. Absolutely nothing. This is your day.’ Freya nodded along.

Izzy clicked her heels together and gave Charlotte a sharp salute. ‘Party pixie reporting for duty!’ Izzy took the tray from Charlotte and tipped her head towards the tent. ‘I’ll round up the children. Freya, are you good with helping Charlotte sort out whatever she needs to make this the happiest fortieth ever?’

Freya stuffed the rest of the bacon sarnie into her mouth and swiped her hands together. She was ready for action.

‘Right,’ Emily nodded in a style usually reserved for black-and-white war films as a squadron of mismatched soldiers were about to embark on a make-or-break mission. ‘We have three hours to make this place look exactly the way Charlotte wants it. Ready or not, girlies. Operation Happy Glampers is under way.’

‘Charlotte! Darls … Happy Birthday! Twenty-one again!’

And so the charade begins.

‘Jessica! So glad you could make it. Treena! What a lovely frock. Is that Rixo? Thank you so much for … oh! For me? You really shouldn’t have. Oli’s just over there, by the champagne. Ha ha! You know what he says. A day that begins with bubbly is never a bad one!’

The effort was exhausting. Was this what her mother had felt like during her final days with the oxygen mask? Constantly taking those small sips of air in the vain hope the torture might end.

Oli was long back from his mystery errand looking roughly the same as when he’d wandered off, bacon sandwich in hand, phone to ear. Only this time it was glasses of fizz and lipsticky kisses that were occupying him. No added layers of guilt as far as she could ascertain. Perhaps, as Izzy had suggested, he had been off getting her a present.

The only truly good part of this, Charlotte thought, was having Freya, Izzy and Emily here. They were doing a remarkable job. Steering people this way and that. Checking up on her but not looking too sympathetic. Too much sympathy would crack the very thin veneer of normality she was desperately clinging on to.

‘What? We’re not up at the proper house?’

Charlotte’s attention shot to the car park where, amidst the hubbub of their other guests, she couldn’t miss her mother-in-law’s distinctive voice.

Verity had grown up in Rhodesia – when it was still Rhodesia – in a sprawling home overflowing with staff. She’d met and married Nigel shortly after they’d both matriculated from Oxford (classics for her because ‘she had to do something’ and law for him).

After a stint in New York where Nigel had made a rather tidy sum in real estate, they moved to their Sussex home where, Verity was fond of saying to anyone who would listen, their ‘crumbly old manor home had given them no choice but to hire in a gardener, housekeeper and an odd-jobs man.’

Charlotte had always had the distinct feeling that Verity included her on the staff list. She had, after all, been ‘one of the staff’ when she’d met Oli. It struck her that perhaps one of the reasons Oli had been so enchanted with her was because he finally had someone who thought he was perfectly fine as he was. Better than that. Amazing. His mother was incredibly demanding. Where her parents hadn’t had any expectations for her at all, Verity wanted her son to be Nigel but better, and never shied away from reminding him that the reason Oli and Charlotte lived in a very nice house was because Nigel had bought it for them. For their wedding, in fact. Her parents had given them an Argos gift token. She bristled on Oli’s behalf. The economy was quite different to what it had been back in the day, and making the squillions Nigel had was nigh on impossible unless you were an outright crook. As things stood, Oli did very well. Even if he did agreed with his mother about just about everything Charlotte could improve upon. Very well indeed. Her heart softened for her husband. Affair aside, he worked incredibly hard. And he did love his family. Perhaps all that bravura was masking a little boy still trying to attain his mother’s approval. Which made his affair a blip. A painful one, but something they could move past.