Authors: Tanya Landman
Tessa rolled her eyes in irritation. “As if I didn’t have enough to do without having a mad woman running about the premises,” she said to Sally.
Sally smiled sympathetically but was too preoccupied with her own catering concerns to be really listening. So I took the opportunity to ask Tessa casually, “Did you work for Bill when he was married to Angelica? I mean, do you know her?”
“What was that?” Tessa looked around to see who had spoken. She was one of those grown-ups who preferred to completely ignore the existence of anyone under twenty. Eventually her eyes fell on me – looking slightly surprised, as if I was a talking cat or singing dog. “No,” she replied crisply. “This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her.”
“So how long have you been working for Bill?” Sally asked, obviously feeling she ought to take a polite interest.
“Since June.”
“What a job to land! There are people who’d kill for an opportunity like that.”
Tessa laughed but it sounded slightly forced. “Don’t let Bill hear you say that. I gather his last PA died rather tragically.”
“Oh, really?” I asked, my curiosity well and truly aroused. “How?”
“He got trampled by a herd of cows.”
Was it my imagination or just a trick of the light? Tessa’s face had seemed to darken for a moment.
If Sally hadn’t been there I’d have asked more, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was glaring at me. Graham’s mum is about as enthusiastic as mine when it comes to our uncanny talent for getting mixed up in sudden deaths. “I’m sure there was nothing suspicious about it, was there, Tessa?” she asked pointedly.
“Suspicious?” Tessa looked puzzled. “No, of course not. It was an accident. The verdict was death by misadventure, I believe.”
By now we’d reached the very top of the villa, where our three tiny rooms made up what had obviously once been the servants’ quarters.
“You have the best views on the island up here,” Tessa told us by way of compensation. “Not that you’ll have any time to admire them.” She fixed Sally with a piercing stare. “You’ve read through my instructions, I take it? Think you can manage?”
“Oh yes,” said Sally with a lot more confidence than I knew she felt. “It’s all under control. I’ll set my alarm for four thirty – be up bright and early to get everything done.”
Tessa nodded approvingly then turned to Graham and me. “And what are you two going to do?”
“Help Mum if she needs us,” said Graham. Sally looked rather alarmed at the prospect so he added, “We can lay the tables if you want.”
“Hmm,” grunted Tessa. “Well don’t get under her feet. Things are going to be hectic enough around here without a couple of kids in the way.”
She didn’t wait for us to reply but turned on her heel and clicked back down the staircase without another word.
I was so tired that I crashed into bed without even bothering to brush my teeth and quickly fell into a deep sleep. But towards dawn I started to dream. I was in the audience – right in the front row – of one of those huge Roman amphitheatres, and all around me the crowd was baying for blood. Down in the ring two gladiators were fighting, but they weren’t big, burly soldiers in armour. It was Josie and Angelica circling in the dust, swords pointed at each other’s throats, spitting and snarling like wild animals. Beside me Bill fell to his knees begging them to stop, but they couldn’t hear him over the noise of the crowd. Even if they had, I knew he was wasting his breath.
I could see in their eyes that both women intended to fight to the death.
Bill
and Josie’s Big Day dawned as bright and sunny as you’d expect on a Greek island in the middle of summer. By the time I woke up, Sally was already hard at work. I got out of bed and pulled back the blinds to see that Tessa had been telling the truth: the view was spectacular.
The villa was perched right on the edge of a cliff – if I’d jumped out of my window, I’d have plummeted straight down into the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. Or at least I would have done if there hadn’t been a balcony jutting out from the floor below. I could see Angelica sitting on it, wrapped in a bathrobe, staring out to sea, motionless as a block of ice.
I craned my neck to the left and realized that the island consisted of two mountains rising from the sea like a pair of badly made sandcastles. We were perched on the top of one, and a chapel balanced precariously on the other. A cobbled street led from our villa down to a sandy bay, where white houses were strung out like a line of beads. Then the street climbed again, finally reaching the chapel in a series of sharp bends.
The main beach looked pretty crowded, but there was also a tiny cove nestling at the foot of the cliffs about a hundred metres away. A narrow path zigzagged down to it and there was a creaky-looking pedalo pulled up on the sand. It was a people-free zone.
We ought to check on Graham’s mum first, I thought, but if she really didn’t need our help, this would be the ideal place for us to Keep Out of the Grown-Ups’ Way. I started rootling around for my swimming stuff, just in case. The prospect of a quiet swim seemed very appealing.
But it turned out that fate had other ideas. Suddenly there was a loud banging on my door, and before I’d even said “Come in”, Tessa burst through clasping a weakly protesting Graham tightly by the shoulder. She was closely followed by a tearful Josie.
“What’s going on?” I asked indignantly, uncomfortably aware that I was still in my pyjamas. “Are you OK, Graham?”
When she saw me, Tessa released Graham and crossed the floor with terrifying speed. She looked me up and down, then spun me around and made a rude remark about the size of my bottom.
“What’s going on?” I repeated, looking at Graham for some clue. He shrugged, baffled, but said nothing.
“Yes,” said Tessa to Josie as if I hadn’t spoken, “they’ll just about do. I’ll get them down to Lucia right now. She’ll have to do some restitching to accommodate this kid’s bum, but it will be fine. Go back and relax.”
Josie nodded, swallowed, took a deep breath and went back to her preparations, leaving Tessa to explain.
It seemed that the chef wasn’t the only one to have gone down with a hideous bug. Overnight, two of Josie’s vital bridal attendants had contracted it too. So while they were throwing up into the nearest toilet, Graham and I were being roped in to act as their replacements.
“Can’t she just manage without?” Graham looked horrified. “It’s Bill she’s marrying, isn’t it? What does she need
us
for?”
“Look,” snapped Tessa, “Josie has very particular ideas about this wedding. She’s been planning the whole thing since she was seven years old! The bridal attendants are integral to her whole scheme. She’s worked out exactly how each photo spread in
Hi!
magazine will look.” There was a pause and then Tessa added under her breath, “Bill’s life won’t be worth living if she doesn’t get what she wants.”
Now Graham might have been appalled by the prospect of being actively involved in the wedding, but I was thrilled. We’d have front-row seats! We’d get to witness everything. If Angelica threw a scene, we’d see every second of it. And if she didn’t – well, we’d still be at the wedding of the century. It had to be more interesting than laying tables or shredding lettuce. It was even preferable to lying on a beach or going for a swim.
I looked at Graham. “Come on, it won’t be so bad,” I said cheerfully. “All we have to do is dress up a bit. We can manage that, can’t we? It’s not like we haven’t done it before. Remember when we were flowers in
The Wizard of Oz
?”
“How could I ever forget?” said Graham bitterly. But he was weakening. I could tell.
“We’ll do it,” I announced.
“Thanks,” Tessa replied. “I owe you one. I’ll buy you some chocolate or something.”
Half an hour later, when Graham and I were clad in flesh-coloured leotards and having seams adjusted and golden fig leaves stitched on in strategic places, I thought Tessa owed us more that one. In fact, she owed us about a million. And even a building-sized bar of chocolate wouldn’t be enough to make up for this.
What Tessa had so carefully failed to mention was that Josie’s ideas of appropriate bridal gear were either (a) refreshingly original, or (b) downright peculiar, depending on whose opinion you listened to. Sizal Bouffant, who turned out to be the hairdresser who’d been flown in for the occasion, was wildly excited about it all. (“It has the feel of ancient Rome, darling. All that excess! Quite thrilling.”) Bill’s mother Ruby, on the other hand, declared everything to be “blooming hideous”, adding, “If she wanted a fancy-dress do, why didn’t they go to Rio?”
You see, Josie was going for a Venus and Adonis theme. Graham could mutter all he liked about people who confused their Greek and Roman mythology, but Josie and Bill were dressing like a god and goddess and some of the “celebrities” were bridal attendants. There were going to be a dozen nymphs, several dryads and a lot of rather seedy-looking satyrs. Graham and I were the only children involved, and according to Tessa, our role was pivotal. We were the cavorting cupids.
We had matching pairs of white, feathery wings, tightly curled blonde wigs, and a golden bow and arrow each. Graham looked dangerously close to using his on Lucia, the dressmaker, who was currently adjusting his fig leaf.
“This is worse than the Pink Petunia,” he said through gritted teeth. “When will I ever stop listening to you? People at school will laugh themselves stupid when they see the photos.”
“Maybe they won’t see them,” I said hopefully.
“They’ll be in
Hi!
magazine!” Graham wailed. “Do you know what their circulation is? Our chances of no one spotting us are approximately forty-five thousand to one. We’ll never, ever live it down.”
Even I had to admit that the costumes were toe-curlingly embarrassing, but Lucia promised, “Believe me, kids, your own mothers won’t recognize you when I’m through. You’ve got to have your make-up done yet. I’ll tell Hazel to slap it on good and thick, OK? And she can stuff your cheeks with cotton wool to change the shape of your faces.”
“OK.” There was nothing else we could say. Because just then Tessa came striding through, snapping out instructions left, right and centre, shouting at the seamstress who hadn’t adjusted my costume quickly enough, giving my bum another withering look, and glaring at Graham and telling him he wasn’t holding his shoulders straight enough and what did he think he was, a bag of chips? It was perfectly clear that, however mortifying, we had no choice whatsoever about being the cavorting cupids. Anyone who said no to Tessa might find their life expectancy severely reduced.
We
tested out Lucia’s claim on Graham’s mum. We were supposed to go straight up to have our wigs adjusted once Hazel, the make-up artist, had finished with us, but instead we slipped down to the kitchen. It was boiling hot in there, with pans simmering on every ring, and there seemed to be hundreds of people rushing in different directions. Sally was barking commands and doing something violent to half a dead animal with a very large cleaver. She did a massive double take when she saw us coming.
“What the…?”
Lucia and Hazel had clearly done a brilliant job, because she didn’t have a clue who we were until Graham mumbled through a mouthful of cotton wool, “It’s me, Mum.”
“Dear God!” Sally dropped the cleaver and it clattered noisily to the floor. “What on earth are you two doing?”
We explained about the bug and Tessa press-ganging us into service.
“That woman’s got a nerve!” said Sally crossly. “Still, at least I won’t have to worry about you getting sunburnt. Or drowned. Or both. I guess it will keep you out of trouble.”
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Graham’s mum was rushed off her feet, so we left her to it and took ourselves up to the room that Sizal Bouffant, hairdressing supremo, had set up as a temporary salon.
“Cupids!” he exclaimed ecstatically as we appeared in the doorway. “Darlings, how absolutely delicious you look. Straight out of Botticelli!”
“Where’s Botticelli?” I whispered to Graham.
“Not where,” he hissed. “
Who
. Botticelli was a painter.” He didn’t say any more but I could see he wasn’t too thrilled by the comparison.
“Come along, my plumptious beauties!” cooed Sizal, indicating where we should sit. “By the time I’ve finished, you’ll look truly divine.”
Graham stomped across the room and dropped into his chair with a grim, tight-lipped expression. I followed, settling myself down next to him.
Sizal adjusted our wigs to fit in a matter of minutes, but it turned out that our visit to the kitchen had been a big mistake. The steamy heat had caused our ringlets to unwind and we had to spend the next hour sitting in curlers being reset.
While we were waiting, the woman who’d remarked the night before about Josie having a bald patch came in. It turned out that her name was Kelly and she was one of the attendant nymphs.
She sat down in the chair on the other side of Graham, and Sizal explained how he was going to dress her long, red hair. Apparently she didn’t have any say in the matter, he was following strict instructions from Josie. He started work and it was then that I made the discovery that women like to talk to their hairdressers. I mean,
really
talk. About everything: boyfriend troubles, runaway husbands, faithless friends, money worries, holiday destinations, sick dogs and squashed cats. I reckon if you sat in a salon for long enough, you’d get to hear every single detail of a perfect stranger’s life.
While Sizal plaited and twirled her hair into place, Kelly related her entire life story. It wasn’t particularly gripping but it passed the time. After a while she began to ask Sizal about his work, and all of a sudden eavesdropping got a lot more interesting. Smiling at him in the mirror, she said, “You do all the stars’ hair, don’t you? I bet you’ve got a few stories to tell.”
Sizal Bouffant grinned, flashing his perfect teeth. “Oh yes, darling. I’ve had them all in my chair, so to speak.” He winked suggestively at me and Graham. “You should see me on Oscars night. I’m doing extensions faster that Bob the Builder!”