The Way to a Woman's Heart (27 page)

Billy shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I just don’t buy it.’

‘But,’ Poll insisted, ‘you saw it. We all saw it. And it worked.’

Ella rubbed her eyes. She didn’t believe in fairies. She simply didn’t… But then, what in God’s name had happened there?

‘Actually,’ Onyx spoke slowly from the rocking chair, ‘I
think that dandelions
are
connected with water… on a more, er, personal and basic level. Aren’t they used in herbal diuretics?’

‘Pis-en-lit!’ Poll suddenly clapped her hands. ‘That’s what dandelions are known as – yes, Onyx, you’re right. We always called them that as children!’

‘Wet the bed?’ Ella frowned, translating roughly. ‘Nice.’

‘Do you mean –’ Ash looked at Trixie ‘– that these dandelion fairies – if that’s what that was all about –
peed
on the cooker to put out the flames? Jesus, that’d go down well with the health and safety brigade – not to mention Gabby Dewberry.’

Ella giggled.

Trixie looked affronted. ‘You can all think what you like. I know the truth. And believe or not, you’ve just seen fairy magic in action. No, please don’t thank me – I’ll just pop upstairs and have a little herbal tincture. Magicking always takes it out of me. Excuse me, dears.’

‘She’s not the only one who needs a drink.’ Onyx exhaled loudly as Trixie headed out of the kitchen. ‘I’m not sure I know what’s what any more.’

‘Neither do I.’ Ella, shaken, clutched at the table. ‘Come on then – tell me – did that actually happen?’

Ash and Billy shook their heads.

‘Of course it did.’ Poll clasped her hands, beaming. ‘Oh, and wasn’t it absolutely wonderful?’

‘I think,’ Poll said as she sat on a hay bale and watched Billy hammering nails into the barn’s rapidly improving walls, ‘that I do believe in fairies now. After last night…’

Billy looked down from his ladder and wobbled precariously. ‘Don’t, Poll, I’m still trying to forget it.’

‘Why?’ She looked up at him. ‘It was amazing.’

‘It was bloody damn scary.’ Billy smiled at her. ‘I don’t know about you, love, but I’m always a bit worried about things that have no rational explanation.’

‘Oh, I’m more than happy to accept things with no explanation whatsoever. And it was so exciting, wasn’t it?’

‘Like I said –’ Billy turned back to his repairs ‘– it was pretty scary. And, fairies aside, we’re going to have to rehearse and rehearse just to stop getting in each other’s way and making such a mess.’

‘But the food tasted lovely.’

‘OK, I’ll give you that. It did. Young Onyx polished off
loads of it, didn’t she? And said it was delicious. We can certainly cook.’

‘And Trixie can certainly conjure up fairies.’

Billy looked over his shoulder and smiled gently at her. ‘You believe what you want to believe – me, I’ll keep an open mind.’

She smiled back at him. The fairy magic had been exciting and astounding – but to her, nowhere near as exciting and astounding as these lovely times spent alone in the barn with Billy. It had become their special place, somewhere they could talk alone together, as it was being miraculously transformed from a tumbledown ruin into an extremely serviceable building.

Billy, Poll thought happily, was truly amazing…

‘Anyway,’ she said softly, ‘and leaving Trixie’s fairy intervention out because we’re clearly not going to agree on it, I think that, forewarned being forearmed, we really should have our menu completely ready. I mean written down and everything? Don’t you? Just in case?’

Billy, rocking slowly on the ladder as he negotiated a particularly tricky repair, nodded. ‘Good idea. Why don’t you ask Ella to do that on her computer – always assuming she’s got one. But Poll, love, please don’t get disappointed if we’re not chosen. I’d hate to see you disappointed.’

‘I won’t be,’ Poll said quickly. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit… So, have you and Ash finally decided on the first course? Is he sticking with the nettles?’

‘Yes, I think so. Last night’s run-through was a good idea because – fire and fairies apart – it showed us if we’re going
to cook three courses then we’re going to need to be at the oven at the same time, and we really haven’t got that much time to cook, have we?’

Poll sighed. They’d been over and over this already – both since last night and before. Sometimes she secretly wondered of this
Dewberrys’ Dinners
thing was going to turn into another of her huge mistakes – like painting the house or the cannabis factory or the illegal farm shop… Still, at least this time Dennis wasn’t around to pour scorn on her dreams, was he? And Billy – she glanced upwards and smiled as she always did when she looked at him – would never mock her.

‘Well, we’ve done the timings over and over again, and, as long as there are no further disasters, it should work out OK. You and I will be using the oven, Ash is just using the hob and Ella will need both.’

‘And, to avoid all that mess and confusion, we can divide the kitchen table into three sections like in a proper restaurant so we don’t trip over each other all the time.’ Billy fanned himself. ‘Mind, if this heatwave don’t let up we might as well just invite them out into the garden for a barbecue, if –’

‘We’re chosen,’ they finished together and laughed.

Poll stretched her legs out in front of her. How lovely it was here in the barn, with clear blue sky outside stretching to the shimmering horizon, the sun dappling through the gaping doorway and the wild flowers sprinkled across the meadows like jewels. And there was no sound except the lazy bumbling of the bees and the constant singing of the birds and…

And – a car? On Hideaway Lane?

‘Visitors?’ Billy queried.

‘Probably the postman.’ Poll’s mouth was dry as she scrambled to her feet.

‘Poll.’ Billy’s eyes were gentle. ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up. I don’t want you to have your heart broken. You’re too precious to me for that.’

Poll swallowed. ‘My heart will never be broken – at least, not by
Dewberrys’ Dinners
.’

‘
And not by me, either.’

‘I know. But if it is the postman, I’m going to have to dash. I want to get there before Trixie does – just in case…’

‘OK, love,’ Billy laughed. ‘And don’t forget I’ve got a nice handy shoulder to cry on should it be needed.’

‘Thank you. Just keep your fingers crossed. I’ll be back in a minute…’

And with her hair swirling round her face, Poll hoiked up her long skirt, ran out of the barn and across Hideaway’s desiccated fields.

The postman, in the all-year-round uniform of shorts and polo shirt, was just clambering from his van outside the front of the farmhouse.

‘Morning, Poll. Another scorcher, eh? Lots for you all today – and one to sign for.’

‘Really?’ Poll tried not to look overexcited. Tried to stop the butterflies leaping from her stomach to her throat. Tried to stop her heart from crashing through her ribs.

It was probably Ella’s contract from the solicitor. At last.

She reached out and took the fat brown Jiffy bag.

Oh, Lordy Lord! The
Dewberrys’ Dinners
logo was plastered all over it…

Poll’s hands shook as she scribbled an indecipherable signature in the little orange box. Stop it, she told herself, it’s bound to be a thanks but no thanks. They’d have to write and tell you that, wouldn’t they?

But, what if… ?

‘Loads of them today,’ the postman said cheerfully, tapping the logo. ‘Didn’t know so many people round here had applied to be on it. Loads of disappointed people this morning. Thought Tarnia Snepps was going to have me throat out when she ripped hers open. Envelope, that is, not her throat – sadly. Scream? I’ve never heard nothing like it.’

Poll worked some saliva into her dry mouth. ‘Oh, so Tarnia wasn’t lucky?’

‘No, thank God. Me and the missus have been to one or two of her shindigs – you know the ones she put on for the hoi polloi when her old man was angling for a gong? – and she uses caterers, couldn’t boil an egg herself, so she don’t deserve to be picked. Pity in a way though, because she’s a queen bitch, and her and that Gabby Dewberry would have made a fine pair. I’d have liked to see them go head to head on the telly.’

‘And Tarnia had one of these packets?’

‘Yep, and so has that Geordie geezer from Willows Lacey who pretends to be Italian – he hasn’t made it either and his language was pure Tyneside, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, dear… poor thing.’

‘Ah. He didn’t get selected – and nor has a good fifty more on my route alone.’

‘Really? So these are the refusal letters, are they?’

‘Looks that way. Sorry, Poll, if you was expecting different. It’s been a right vale of tears this morning, I can tell you.’

‘Yes, I can imagine.’

‘Still, at least you’re not too upset. No point really. Right, then, got to do Angel Meadows now – and I’m not looking forward to that either.’

Poll watched him drive away along the dusty lane. The sun beat down relentlessly on her bare head. She tucked the other letters under her arm and cradled the Jiffy bag against her Indian print frock, feeling icy cold.

They hadn’t made it. These were the no thank yous. Everyone had got one today. Of course, the lucky applicants would have already been contacted by phone, wouldn’t they? The also-rans would get a letter – this letter – to be signed for so that it was all legal and above board, and probably a Gabby and Tom cook book or something as a consolation prize.

It had been just another foolish dream.

Wearily she climbed the steps and plodded through the farm’s open front door. It was dark and cool and she shivered. She dropped the letters on the hallstand as usual for everyone to take their own as they passed.

The Jiffy bag was too big to sit on the top so she slid it to the bottom of the pile. There was no point in opening it yet. She’d leave that for later, when they were all together, and by then she’d have shed all her disconsolate tears in private.

Poll exhaled slowly and realised, despite all she’d said to the contrary, just how very much she’d really, really wanted them to be chosen.

‘. . . and then,’ Onyx said, swinging her long legs from the kitchen table – legs, Ella thought, that looked even more amazingly never-ending in a pair of skimpy white shorts – ‘I got this weird phone call asking me to do a private show. Well, I was shocked. I mean, I’m not that sort of girl and I told him so in no uncertain terms.’

‘Yes, well, of course, you would.’ Ella looked up from folding George’s clothes into the ironing basket. ‘And what did he say?’

Onyx laughed and swirled the melting ice round in the water jug on the table. ‘He said he wasn’t that sort of bloke either and I’d got the wrong end of the stick and what he meant was would I dance for a private charity function he was putting on.’

‘Oh, right… how funny. Um, do charity things have, um, exotic dancers, then? Sorry, it’s not an area I know anything about.’

Onyx had arrived about half an hour earlier to see Ash and, as he was still at work, had plonked herself on the table to wait and chatted non-stop. Mainly about the previous evening’s fairy thing.