Gemma Fox - Caught in the Act

Carol giggled. ‘No, actually he looks more like George Formby but he sounds re ally nice on his profile. He lives in Yorkshire now, I think—I’m amazed you didn’t look him up.’

‘I only joined a couple of weeks ago. I see the names and it brings back all sorts of memories. I keep wondering what they’re all doing now, what do they look like, who they ended up with.’

‘Well, you ended up with a vicar called Hedley.’

‘You make it sound terrible; he’s a lovely guy. I met him when we were at university. I told you about him. It’s not like I don’t know all about his dirty linen. He may be a living saint to our flower ladies but to me he is still the guy who climbed the fire escape into my bedroom in the early hours, hellbent on a legover, and threw up all over my bed instead.’

‘Whoever said romance was dead?’

‘It helps me keep him in perspective. So, how do you feel about a flying visit?’

‘It would be great, but does it have to be flying? You could come for lunch, the whole day—stay over if you like. That way we can have a drink and it’ll give us plenty of time to catch up. I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind your son bunking down with them.’

Diana made a hesitant little noise. ‘It’s very kind but—’ she began

Carol smiled. ‘If you’re being polite, don’t be—if you don’t want to stay that’s fine but if you do, it would be lovely. You haven’t got to make your mind up now. Think about it.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘You won’t be, there’s a spare room, and if we haven’t got anything to say, or we hate the sight of each other, you can always go home early.’

‘OK, great. Have you got a diary handy?’

Carol took a quick look round the kitchen. It was tidy, there was food in the oven, salad in the fridge, dessert defrosting on the draining board and Raf had said he’d come round for supper. So far so good. Carol looked in the mirror. Some days it still struck her as odd, seeing a grown-up looking back. She tugged her hair into shape, before taking another look at the clock. Diana had said they would arrive around twelve. It was almost that now. Just how many ways were there to worry?

What had been the state of play when they last met? What if Diana had changed—come out, gone in, gone weird, gone mad, gone sensible. Grown up? Carol was surprised to realise just how nervous she felt. What it boiled down to was, what if their friendship had been a passing thing? What if now they were all grown up they had nothing in common except memories and polite conversation? And how much would that colour their notion of the past?

From outside came the sound of wheels over gravel. Taking a deep breath, Carol opened the back door and headed towards the battered Volvo estate now parked under the lilacs.

‘Diana?’

As soon as she saw her, Diana practically leaped out of the car.

Carol would have known her anywhere. ‘My God, you look amazing,’ Carol said, holding her at arm’s length. ‘How come you haven’t got any wrinkles?’

‘What can I tell you? Healthy living and a clean conscience,’ Diana said, doing a little mock twirl.

‘That’ll be the day. Did you manage to find us OK?’

‘Uh-huh. Your directions were re ally good—so some things have changed for the better. It’s re ally great to see you.’ Diana, grinning, pulled her close and hugged her tight, all the while watched over by her son, who was sitting in the back of the car, surrounded by great piles of camping gear.

He looked about twelve, and as he clambered out of the car he appeared to be made entirely of elbows, knees and teeth. Carol guessed he was probably the spitting image of his father, all wild, wiry, hamster-coloured hair and pale creamy skin. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember his name.

‘This is Dylan,’ said Diana, waving him closer and digging Carol out of a hole.

The boy solemnly held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said in a high-pitched voice totally at odds with the fact that he had to be at least six foot tall.

‘Nice to meet you too. My boys are upstairs. Come on in and I’ll introduce you. I hope you’re hungry,’ Carol said. ‘We’ve got loads to eat. Do you want to bring your stuff in?’

Dylan considered for a few moments and then said, ‘Probably not. We got soaked; everything smells disgusting.’

Carol nodded. ‘OK—well, we can find you some things if you’re stuck.’ Although probably not trousers, she thought ruefully.

‘So come on then,’ said Diana, grabbing a huge canvas bag and locking the car. ‘Let’s hear it all. All the goss, all the history, every last bit of juicy scandal…’

Carol laughed. ‘You haven’t changed, have you?’

Diana shook her head. ‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, following Carol inside.

‘I thought you’d be all sweetness and light.’

‘You’ve got a very naïve view of life as a vicar’s wife. I thought I was bad enough.’

‘I wouldn’t say you’ve been anywhere near bad enough, by the looks of you,’ Carol said cheerfully. ‘I bought champagne—or would you rather have tea?’

Diana lifted an eyebrow. ‘Both. Oh, while we’re on the subject of re ally bad, I’ve brought all the old school photos with me. I think my mum bought every single one they ever took.’ She put the canvas bag down on the table and started ferreting around in it. ‘Some of them are truly dire—’

‘If I see one New Romantics haircut or anything involving spray-on glitter or shoulder pads, you’re out of here.’

‘See, I told you I’m not all good—appearances can be deceptive,’ said Diana, producing the albums with a triumphant grin, and then she paused and looked around the cosy kitchen. ‘Gosh, it’s lovely in here. I’m so hungry, and that smells wonderful.’

Carol looked at her. ‘Gosh?’

Diana waved the word away. ‘Sorry, too many years helping with Brownies. Took me God knows how long to wean myself of the f-word—and various b-words once Hedley was ordained—which leaves me with things like, oh gosh and, well goodness me. I only use oh God when I’m out.’

‘Bloody hell, not much of a choice, is it?’

Diana shrugged as Carol took the champagne out of the fridge. ‘You have to be philosophical about it. It could be worse—we could be staunch tee-total Methodists.’

It felt as if they had never been apart. Carol took Dylan upstairs to meet the mob, and then thumbed the cork out of the bottle of champagne and poured it while Diana sat at the table. Dressed in a cream blouse, smart navyblue skirt and jacket ensemble, sensible shoes and a haircut that made her look like a cross between a social worker and—well—a vicar’s wife, re ally, Diana looked to Carol as if she was dressing up in her mum’s clothes, or maybe an adult version of their old school uniform.

She topped up Diana’s glass with champagne and lifted it in a toast. ‘Here’s to old friends.’

Diana tapped the side of the glass with her own. ‘Less of the old,’ she growled.

‘I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed you.’

‘I was just thinking the same on the way here. Tell me about you and what you’ve been up to.’

‘No, first of all tell me what it’s like being married to a vicar—every year I’ve seen it on the Christmas cards and thought who in God’s name called your husband Hedley.’

‘I was hoping we were going to talk about you first,’ Diana protested.

‘re ally?’ Carol feigned innocence until Diana shrugged and conceded defeat.

‘OK, but it is your turn next. Hedley’s a family name—his great-great-granddad or someone started it. It’s been passed down from generation to generation to the first-born, which has been a boy since the dawn of time the way Hedley tells it—but fortunately, thank God, our first baby turned out to be a girl.’