‘I know that, darling,’ said Maisie, conciliatory now that Dylan was making a token effort. She could see how vain and self-centred her husband could be, but unfortunately she loved him. ‘But you’re not going to win or lose the job based on the size of your lapels, are you?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Dylan, lowering the jackets with a disappointed pout. The truth was he had numerous reasons for wanting to look his best at the Cranley party, not least of them a desire to outshine Tatiana Flint-Hamilton’s much-talked-about new boyfriend. Things had calmed down at school since Dylan’s attempt to get rid of Tati, after his failed efforts to get her into bed. The headmaster, Max Bingley, seemed to have forgotten the incident, no doubt distracted by his new romance with Stella Goye, a local potter with whom he was spending more and more of his time. As for Tatiana herself, now an official special needs teacher and an accepted part of the staff room at St Hilda’s, she treated Dylan with the same cool, cordial professionalism that he afforded her. Even so, Tati’s rejection of him sexually, and his inability to outmanoeuvre her politically at work, both still rankled. He still wanted the little tease to know what she was missing.
Looking at Maisie he thought how tired and unattractive she looked, with her baby-food-stained clothes and the shadows under her eyes as dark as bruised plums. As for her body, since having the baby she’d completely lost her washboard tummy and her boobs had been totally destroyed. What had happened to the beauty he’d married? He prayed she was going to at least wash her hair for the party and put on a half-decent dress. It was so hard to make one’s way in the world with a wife who couldn’t be bothered to make an effort. Last month when they’d been invited to a drinks party at Max Bingley’s place, Maisie had actually fallen asleep on the sofa and started snoring loudly, like a beached sea lion.
Please don’t let her embarrass me like that again, thought Dylan.
Two days before Jason’s party, Angela Cranley stood perched on a ladder in Furlings’ hallway, tying balloons to a chandelier. Cross-legged on the floor beneath her, Logan was thoroughly enjoying herself blowing them up with a manual pump like a giant cake-icer.
Before he left for New York on business, Brett had been scathing about Angela’s decorating plans. ‘He’s twenty-one, not four,’ he said sourly over breakfast, just hours before his flight. But the days when Brett’s every word had the power to hurt her, or change her decisions, were behind her now. Angela had merely shrugged and said, ‘Jase likes balloons, and so do I.’
‘And me,’ piped up Logan.
‘Besides, it’s a birthday party, not a bloody corporate meet and greet,’ Angela added. ‘I don’t know why you’ve invited so many business contacts.’
‘To make up the numbers,’ Brett said bluntly. ‘If we only invited Jason’s mates, the house’d be deserted.’
This comment did sting, because it was true. They’d lived in England for a year now, but Jason still seemed very much like a fish out of water. Other than Tatiana Flint-Hamilton, and a couple of acquaintances from the village, drinking buddies from The Fox mostly, he hadn’t made any friends. Work was still an obligation, something to be got through every day, rather than a place where he felt he belonged. Not once had Angela known her son to stay up in London for drinks or dinner with colleagues after work. If he’d made friends with anyone at Brett’s office, he’d never brought any of them home, or mentioned anyone.
Even more worrying than his loneliness, and the way he still drifted through life, was how reliant he seemed to have become emotionally on Tatiana. It wasn’t even as if they saw one another very often. Brett had banned Tati from the house and would stalk out of rooms in a huff if her name was so much as mentioned. Jason and Tati’s ‘friendship’, such as it was, was based around chance meetings in the village or at Logan’s school – nothing more. It was clear to Angela that Tatiana only bothered with Jason at all out of kindness and pity. Equally clear was the fact that Jason had a huge, hopeless and utterly unrequited crush on Tatiana. Ever since he learned she had a boyfriend in London, Jason had sunk into a morass of despair that at times had brought Angela close to panic. She tried to share her concerns with Brett, but he point-blank refused to talk about it. Bizarrely however, in the last month, Jason seemed to have emerged from his self-imposed funk all on his own. Turning twenty-one, and the prospect of a big party, seemed to have miraculously lifted his spirits. And the nearer the party drew, the happier he became. Even when the rumours began flying at school about Tatiana Flint-Hamilton bringing her boyfriend down to Fittlescombe for the event, Jason remained resolutely upbeat. He’d even started playing the piano again, a sure-fire sign that his mood was on an upswing.
‘When’s Dad getting back?’ asked Logan, handing her mother a long, yellow balloon like a giant rubber banana.