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‘Bring any spare wood for the bonfire,’ he had written at the top of the card.
It gave her a bit of a jolt to see that he was sending out proper invitations—but then maybe it really was time that she banished her image of the old Drew for ever. He now wheeled and dealed and part-owned hotels. He was a man comfortable in his own skin, and in his place within the community. She was the one still cast adrift.
She read down to the bottom of the card, where it said, ‘Don’t bother to reply since it’s very casual. Just turn up if you feel like it.’
Which was extremely irritating because it meant that she didn’t have to make a decision until the last possible moment! Anyway, she definitely wasn’t going. Not unless Jennie was.
‘No, I’m not going,’ shrugged Jennie. ‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘Oh. Don’t you mind?’
‘Not at all. I’m his sister, not his best buddy! Anyway, I wouldn’t go without Jamie and there’s no chance of Drew inviting him. Not unless he changes his ways, as my dear brother keeps saying,’ said Jennie darkly. ‘What Drew doesn’t seem to realise is that Jamie’s free spirit is the man I fell in love with—not some boring suit who works from nine to five!’
Shelley thought fleetingly that maybe there was something in between a free spirit and a boring suit—who could accommodate family life a little better than Jamie was currently doing! But she also thought that Drew was an unforgiving man. Did he really think that alienating Jamie would make him treat his sister better—or didn’t he care?
She changed her mind at least fifty times about going, and then changed it back again. Maybe she would just stroll along and have a look. She looked in the mirror and scowled at her reflection.
She wasn’t just having a bad-hair day—more like a bad-hair month! The trouble with a short, severely cropped style was that it looked awful when it started to grow out. As growing out it was—fast! She certainly wasn’t going to keep having it cut and tinted every six weeks. What had seemed like the only thing to do in Milan now seemed like sheer madness here in Milmouth. She would rather walk on a windswept beach than sit with a plastic cape tied round her!
The highlights and lowlights were on their way out—leaving behind the caramel gloss which was her natural colour. And leaving her roots!
No, she definitely wasn’t going!
And even if she was—she had nothing to wear. Nothing which was suitable for a beach party where everyone would be dressed down. She couldn’t wear her blue jeans again because Drew would be bound to look at them and associate them with Ellie being sick all over her!
On the evening of November the fifth she was finger-drying her hair and telling herself that she would just wander down as far as the cottage to have a peep. And if it looked boring—unlikely—or, worse, if Drew had a woman draped all over him—much more likely—well, then she would quietly slip away and come home and drink a very large gin and tonic and put it all down to experience.
She wore her black jeans and the black cashmere sweater, though neither seemed quite as baggy as they had done when she’d first arrived.
Had she put on weight? She turned and looked critically at her reflection. Maybe just a bit. Her bottom seemed more curved and her breasts a little heavier. She squinted. And if she was being objective rather than vain she had to admit that she didn’t look too bad. She looked over her shoulder at her denim-clad rear. Not bad at all.
It was a perfect night for fireworks—pitch-dark, cold and clear, the sky thick with stars. Carrying a bottle of wine, a bag full of bits of old wood and a packet of sparklers, Shelley wrapped up warmly in a sheepskin jacket and let herself out into the starry night.
As she walked towards the beach she could hear the whizz and bang of fireworks, and over on the Isle of Wight she could just make out the ghostly red glow of a distant bonfire.
She passed the Smugglers, to see that the place was heaving. Although it was a bitter night, they had flung open the doors and people were already spilling out onto the green. They cradled drinks in their gloved hands while they waited for the arrival of the pyrotechnician to put on the traditional firework display.
Shelley made her way through the sand-dunes towards the cottage, and could tell immediately from the chatter of party voices that everyone was congregated outside in the garden—where large torches were flaming at various vantage points.
She approached in silence, and when she saw all the shadowed figures silhouetted against the spiky mountain of the bonfire she almost turned back. But maybe Drew had been looking out for her, or maybe it was just coincidence that she heard his voice carry across the garden as he called her name.
