The Vintage Summer Wedding. Jenny OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
a hat and a scarf and take it in the dark? All it does is say I’m fat and or ugly. Surely that’s an immediate no from everyone, because fat, ugly people know the trick because they’d do it themselves, and everyone imagines if they were fat and ugly that’s what they would do. He’s a fool.’
Jackie laughed and swiped the shadowy image away.
‘He’s quite nice though.’ Anna edged closer as a picture of a snowboarder popped up, all tanned, chiselled cheekbones and crazy bleached hair.
‘Never fall for the snowboarders or surfers. Believe me, without the get-up they’re all pretty average and all they talk about is how great they are.’
‘I take it you’ve been on quite a lot of dates.’
Jackie shrugged. ‘A fair few. Before this it was eHarmony and Match. I’ve done them all.’
Seb crossed his arms over his chest and sat back against the wooden slates of the booth, ‘It’s interesting isn’t it, the idea of being paired by a computer?’
‘I wonder if you two went on something like eHarmony,’ Jackie said without looking up from her swiping, ‘whether they’d match you.’
‘I doubt it,’ Seb guffawed.
Anna tried not to show her shock. ‘You don’t think?’ she asked, as neutrally as she could.
‘Oh come on. You’re always going on about how different we are,’ he laughed, taking a sip of his pint.
Anna felt her mouth half open, saw Jackie glance up with a wicked look in her eye.
‘Well you are!’ Seb said, as if he knew suddenly that he’d said the wrong thing. A slight look of worry on his face.
‘Yes.’ Anna nodded. ‘Yep, I am. Yeah, they’d probably never match us,’ she said casually and sat back with her wine, her legs crossed, trying to set her face into a relaxed expression.
Seb looked away from her, back to the phone screen and she felt a chill over her skin despite the stifling humidity. This was a man who used to look at her like she was made of gold, who saw a goodness in her that she barely saw herself, who saw the softness beneath the plating.
She suddenly felt like her dusting of glamour was wearing off.
‘Actually, Anna‒’ Jackie said, handing her phone to Seb. ‘I wanted to ask you a favour.’
‘A favour?’ Anna felt herself stiffen.
Seb paused momentarily and glanced up.
‘Well it’s just,’ Jackie licked her lips and Anna wondered if she was nervous. Wondered how long she’d been sitting there, laughing and joking, building up to asking whatever it was she was going to ask. ‘There’s this, this dance group. In the village. They’re only little ‒ you know, eight to sixteen. No one’s older than sixteen. And well, they always perform in the summer shows and they put on little routines and stuff and everyone really loves it. Well, they’ve been working towards a Britain’s Got Talent audition.’
Anna snorted in disbelief at the idea of wanting to go on some hideous ITV show like BGT.
‘They’re really excited. I mean, really excited. And I know they’re not the best but well, the whole village is kind of behind them.’
They never got behind me, Anna thought with a feeling not dissimilar to jealousy.
She could tell Seb was listening despite feigning disinterest.
‘Anyway,’ Jackie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘They’ve been working super, super hard and well, Mrs Swanson’s au pair was teaching them but her visa ran out a fortnight ago and she hadn’t told anyone, so now, well, she left on Wednesday. There’s um, no one to help them.’
‘I see.’ Anna did a quick nod, rolling her shoulders back. No way, she thought, no way in God’s own earth, Jackie, no way. Keep going, but this is never going to happen.
Someone wedged the front doors open and the sounds from outside got louder, the laughter and chatting, but the heat stayed where it was, like a wobbling great blancmange.
‘You could do it,’ Seb said, jumping into the silence, unable to keep his trap shut.
‘I don’t think I could, Seb,’ Anna glared at him.
‘Well yeah, I mean that was exactly what I was going to ask. You see, it’s been me and Mrs McNamara—’
‘She’s still there?’
Jackie nodded.
Anna blew out a breath of disbelief. ‘It’s like time literally stood still here.’
‘Neither of us are particularly good dancers. I mean, I can hold my own at a party but you know, I don’t exactly know enough to teach them and well, we all know McNamara’s not exactly a lithe mover. I just don’t want to let the kids down.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Anna tried to find something to distract herself, and rummaged in her bag for her lip gloss. Anna didn’t dance. Anna hadn’t danced in ten years. She hadn’t set foot on a stage, hadn’t warmed up, hadn’t looked out at the glare of the spotlight or felt the hard floor beneath her feet. Anna’s name had never been in lights. ‘God, it’s so hot. Why does it have to be so goddamn hot?’ She could feel Seb watching her.
‘Some of them aren’t the best kids and it’s really good seeing them involved in something—’
‘Jackie, I’m really sorry,’ Anna cut her off. ‘God, it’s just insufferably hot.’ She pulled her top away from her stomach, ‘I’m not going to do it. It’s just a definite no.’
‘Could you just think about it? We’d pay you?’
‘No.’ She shook her head again, reaching for the sing-along song sheet to fan herself with. ‘All the money in the world and I wouldn’t do it.’
‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ she heard Seb add and shot him a look. ‘Actually,’ he said, sitting back with a grin on his face, ‘You’d be bloody awful teaching kids.’
She narrowed her eyes. He raised a brow. While half of her could sniff out his attempts at reverse psychology in an instant, the other half felt like he was deliberately being mean. Like this was almost her punishment ‒ for hating Nettleton, for spending all their money, for not trying hard enough.
‘It’s OK.’ Jackie shook her head, picking up her gin and tonic and taking a sip. ‘I just thought I’d ask.’
Anna rubbed her forehead and felt the heat prickle over her body. Jackie looked away, pretending to glance at the menu chalked up on the blackboard. The fan whirred on above the din of chat in the bar, a low hum beating out the seconds of their silence. Anna watched a fruit fly land in a spilt drop of her white wine and was about to lift her glass to squash it when Seb almost leapt from his seat.
‘Holy shit!’ he shouted.
‘What?’ Both Jackie and Anna said at the same time, equally desperate for some distraction after the dance snub.
‘It’s Smelly Doug.’
Jackie pulled the screen her way. ‘God, it is as well. And look, he has a Porsche, he’s photographed himself leaning against it. Oh no.’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’ Anna said, confused.
Jackie took another sip of her drink. ‘You know, Smelly Doug. Never washed his hair, trousers too short, huge rucksack...?’
Anna only had a vague recollection. ‘Was he in the year below us?’ Everything to do with school, pre-London, pre-The English Ballet Company School, was a bit of a blur. All she could remember was coming back for a few summers to stay with her dad and despising every minute of it.
‘This is fascinating,’