Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

“Well… plenty of tents for sale,” said Abi.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, course. Over there, look. Only fifteen quid.”

“Well, we might,” said Linda. “You never know.”

“Go on. Let your hair down. Lord, I must go. Health and Safety are approaching. Pray they’re happy. We’ve had one hiccup already; they let us start, but said they’d be back to check that we’d done what they said, and if we hadn’t they’d pull the plug. We have, obviously, but… bye for now.”

“Gorgeous girl,” said Alex, looking after her appreciatively.

“Gorgeous. Do you think I’d look good in shorts and wellies?”

“Possibly. Then again, possibly not. You’re not really going to buy a tent, are you?”

“Yes. I think I might. Why not?”

“You’re such a bloody hypocrite. All that fuss insisting on booking into a hotel…”

“I’m not a hypocrite. I’m a spontaneous person. That’s all. I suddenly realise it’d be really pathetic and… and middle-aged to leave all this, go to a hotel.”

“Well, we are middle-aged.”

“You might be. I’m not. And if I may say so, you’re acting more than middle-aged. More like old.”

“Thanks. Well, you’ll be sleeping in the tent on your own, let me tell you.”

“Cool, as your daughter would say.”

“Oh, this is lovely!”

“Isn’t it? You’re not cold, are you, Mary?” Maeve looked at her tenderly.

“Why on earth should I be cold? The sun’s perfectly beautiful.”

They were sitting, well wrapped up, for it was evening now, in picnic chairs, halfway up the hill facing the arena. There was a small metal road dividing the area where they were from the campsite, and the arena was beyond that; it was rather like being in the dress circle of a theatre, as Mary had said.

“Donald would have liked this,” Mary added. “He loved folk music.”

“And Russell?”

“Oh, now, Russell would have adored those two women. Really very, very good, they were. I heard her husband several times, you know; he was one of the greats. I remember one night he was on at Ronnie Scott’s. I so wanted to go, but Donald hadn’t been well. He always was inclined to chest trouble, you know. I think it was being in that prisoner-of-war camp in Italy for so long.”

“I didn’t know he was a prisoner of war.”

“Oh, yes, he was. For over a year. Terrible conditions, they didn’t get nearly enough to eat, and in the winter they were always cold. When he finally got home, he seemed to have shrunk, skin and bone and somehow shorter and this terrible cough. But… we fed him up and the doctor told him he should spend as much time as possible in the fresh air. He got an allotment and it did him so much good. It works a kind of magic, gardening does.”

“What a time you all had of it,” said Maeve. “My grandparents got off pretty lightly, I think. My grandfather was too old to be called up.”

“Yes, it was hard. But you know, it toughened us.”

“Indeed it seems to have. And you’d never have met Russell without it.”

“Indeed. And missed out on so much happiness. Oh, now, Georgia, dear, how lovely to see you.”

“Abi said you were all here.” Georgia bent and kissed her. “Enjoying yourself?”

“So much. Aren’t we, Maeve?”

“Where are the boys?”

“On that carousel for the fourth or is it the fifth time,” said Maeve, “and they’ve all had their faces painted, and Liam has made a fine willow basket. It’s such a success, Georgia. I do congratulate you.”

“I didn’t do much. It’s Abi who’s made it happen. Is Tim around?”

“He certainly is,” said Mary. “He and Lorraine brought me over. They think it’s wonderful.”

“You’ve got a grandstand seat up here, haven’t you?”

“We have indeed,” said Maeve. “And we’re about to open our thermos of tea. Would you join us, Georgia?”

“Oh… no. That’d be lovely, but I promised Abi I’d go back down. Some television company has turned up now-we’ve done so well for publicity-and they want to… well to…”

“To have you on, I’m sure,” said Mary. “Of course. The festival celebrity.”

“Mary, hardly. There are masses of celebrities here. Some really well-known musicians. Very small beer, I am.”

“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Mary. “Very few who’ve been on TV at peak viewing time. I felt so proud of you, dear.”

“Well… that’s very nice. Look… I’ll be back later. How long do you think you’ll stay?”

“Well, certainly for another hour. And then we’ll probably set out for home. They’re all coming back to Tadwick for the night.”

“Patrick has his fine new job now, you know…”

“Really? I’m so pleased. I didn’t know.”

“Yes, he’s office manager of a haulage company,” said Maeve, “and even better, he’s to be based in Reading, so that we can all see one another very much more easily, and Mary comes up most nearly every weekend at the moment, to help and to babysit, so that Patrick and I can go out for an hour or two now and again.”

“That sounds lovely. I’m so pleased. Look, I must go, Abi’s waving at me. I’ll come back later, promise.”

“Don’t worry too much, dear. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“I’m going down to find the boys,” said Maeve. “They’ll be sick if they have any more rides on that thing, on top of those burgers and the candy floss. Patrick has no idea how to refuse them anything. I won’t be long, Mary.”

“No hurry,” said Mary. “I’m very happy.”

And she was. She sat, looking down into the golden evening at the little families wandering about, smiling, holding hands; at the young couples, arms around one another; at the lights of the little roundabouts and the small old-fashioned carousel turning so tirelessly; at the stage with the small figures playing on it, beside their larger selves on the screens; at the hundreds of tents, snuggled down into the grass, barbecues smoking gently; at the lovely evening-blue July sky, a few clouds drifting across it streaked with the sunset; and she felt an immense gratitude all of a sudden, and thought how blessed she had been in her life, her long, mostly uneventful life, to have loved and been loved so much and known so much happiness, in spite of the sadness that she had had to bear. One could not ask more than this, she thought: to be in a beautiful place, on a beautiful evening, surrounded even now by people she loved and who cared for her, and with a head full of memories, wonderful, charmed memories, and not one of them bitter, or angry, or ugly in any way. If her two husbands-both of whom she had loved so much and been so happy with-could be aware of her happiness now, they would be well pleased. And somehow, this evening, looking at the sky and the dusk just beginning to appear above the sunset, she felt it was very possible they were.

Laura was sitting on the sofa with Daisy, watching the evening news, when the announcer suddenly said, “And now, as some properly seasonal weather seems finally to have arrived, and with more of the same promised for days to come, we take you over to one of those great icons of summer, a music festival. A rather special festival, one created for charity, in aid of the victims of the M 4 crash late last summer, and for the hospital that cared for them. The brainchild of two of the people involved, although not hurt, in the crash, Abi Grainger and Georgia Linley-you may remember Georgia from Moving Away , the haunting Channel Four drama early this spring-they conceived it, nurtured it, and brought it to life today. It is being held, indeed, on the farm of William Grainger, on whose land the air ambulance landed that day, and who, incidentally, married Abi just three months ago. Isn’t that right, Abi?”