Page 81 of All Summer Long

Two mornings later in Borne, Alice pulled her suitcase out of the front door of the manor and locked it behind her, still unable to believe what she was about to do. Or what they were about to do, to be more precise. Her eyes settled for a long moment on the ‘For Sale’ sign that had been unceremoniously banged against the driveway wall by the eager estate agent yesterday afternoon. The bank manager from Bibbs & Downey had wasted no time in sending her a brief and to the point ‘no way on God’s green earth am I loaning you any money’ letter in the mail that morning, he must have written it as soon she left his office and raced to the post office to make sure he made the evening collection. She wasn’t at all surprised, and it had been the final push she’d needed to make contact with the estate agents. It had taken them precisely ninety-two minutes from taking her instructions over the phone to put the house on the market to arriving at the manor in a screech of Porsche tyres on gravel to get the ball rolling. Seeing the sign there broke another piece of Alice’s already battered heart, but she was doggedly determined. There was no other way.

Dragging her case awkwardly over the uneven drive, Alice glanced back once at the manor slumbering quietly under the steel grey skies and then resolutely headed along the lane.

She paused at Niamh’s gate, and a couple of seconds later her friend emerged pulling an equally cumbersome case behind her and slamming her front door with a grin.

‘I am so bloody excited!’ she laughed, yanking her case down the path to Alice. ‘Isn’t this mad?’

‘That’s one way to put it,’ Alice said mildly. ‘I’m still not sure we’re doing the right thing.’

Niamh opened her gate. ‘Do you think this is all right?’ She gestured down at her bright red skinnies and Converse boots. ‘I’ve tried to go for the “American girl about town” look.’

‘Niamh, you’re neither American nor a girl about town. You’re an English village rose through and through.’

‘So what, I should be wearing a vintage tea dress and have my hair in a neat bun?’ Niamh’s hair was never tidy. Messily pulled back with paint splatters was the usual order of the day, although today it was glossy and hung in loose curls around her pretty face.

‘Niamh. You look gorgeous, okay? God, will you calm down? You’re making me more nervous than I already am.’

‘Why are you nervous? You don’t need to be,’ Niamh said quickly. ‘I think it’s brilliant that Marsh invited us all to go over. Maybe he’s not as cuckoo as he seemed.’

Alice nodded. ‘It’s a bit strange though, don’t you think? He couldn’t get Robinson away from Borne fast enough, and now he’s suddenly inviting half of the village to be VIP guests at the concert and flying us all around the world?’

It just seemed such a turnaround. Alice hadn’t heard a word from Robinson himself, and neither had she expected to. She hadn’t tried to make any contact either; they’d agreed and she wasn’t going to go back on her word. It didn’t mean she hadn’t thought of him and their magical summer every damn morning as she woke alone in the manor, at noon as she ate lunch and each night as she closed her eyes to sleep; it just meant that she understood the rules of the game.

She’d railed vociferously against Niamh when she’d turned up yesterday and declared that they were flying out to Nashville en masse in twenty-four hours’ time. It was thoroughly outlandish, and so ridiculously out of the blue and short notice that it caught her unawares. Why? Why on earth would Marsh, who had so very clearly disliked them all, decide that a visit from the Borne Seven would in any way be a welcome surprise for Robinson? Niamh had of course told everyone else before letting Alice in on the secret, taking away any chance she might have had of vetoing the trip.

They were all in a state of near hysteria, and it was clear that the Borne Six would be hitting Nashville even if their seventh member decided to stay at home. It made no sense, and Alice had a feeling in her gut that it couldn’t possibly end well, but none the less they were all meeting the minibus on the car park of The Siren in ten minutes to head out to the airport. It was just what she needed, Niamh had insisted, a total change of scene. Her injuries had thankfully turned out to be minor, easily controlled with the pain killers, and the last thing she needed was to show gawkers around the manor until she’d at least had chance to get her head around the fact that it was even for sale. Let’s be spontaneous, she’d said. Let’s throw caution to the wind and have a mini adventure seeing as it’s landed in our laps. In the face of extreme pressure and beseeching smiles, she’d finally agreed to set aside her own misgivings and go with the flow. How bad could it be? And somewhere in Alice’s heart of hearts, buried too deep to be acknowledged, was a tiny flare of hope.

‘Darlings! There you are,’ Stewie boomed as they rolled their cases onto the smooth tarmac of The Siren’s car park a few minutes later. ‘You’re the last, we’re all here and raring to go!’

Alice sighed inwardly at the sight of Stewie. What else would he be wearing besides his Elvis tribute costume? His jet-black wig stood a good six inches on top of his head and his belt buckle was so huge that had it been a solar panel it would have powered the entire village. Rummaging in his bag, he produced a wavy ginger wig followed by his favourite Rod Stewart mullet. Turning to Dessy and Jase, he held them out.

‘Do me the greatest favour, chaps? I need to get these to the US of A and I don’t think they’ll be allowed on the plane in my bag. Bloody rules and regulations gone mad, if you ask me.’

He handed the ginger one to Dessy.

‘Goes with your eyes,’ he said, winking devilishly. Dessy held it at arm’s length between his thumb and finger as if he’d been handed a live hamster.

‘You are joking?’

He stared at Stewie, who ignored him and placed the ash blond shag wig on top of Jase’s buzz cut.

‘God, you look beautiful! If only you were a woman and I was twenty years younger. Reminds me of a film I made in nineteen seventy seven …’

Dessy shouldered Stewie aside, the ginger curls now firmly in place. ‘Out of the way, old man, this cutie pie is mine, all mine.’

Jase didn’t miss a beat. ‘Hello, handsome. Haven’t seen you around these parts before.’ He manhandled Dessy’s leather-trouser-clad ass. ‘Fancy a holiday romance?’

Alice turned away from the scene, jolted by Jase’s choice of phrase. It couldn’t have been less similar in circumstance to her own holiday romance, but nonetheless the words stung. She’d come so close to getting in touch with Robinson over the last day or two, because she was not at all sure that they, or more specifically she, would be a welcome intrusion into his real life. If it hadn’t been for Marsh’s insistence that it had to be a surprise, she would have. Or maybe it was closer to the truth that she hadn’t got in touch in case he stopped her from coming. God, she was confused.

She looked up when the others started jostling and clapping with excitement as the mini bus pulled onto the car park. Pushing all of her worries and misgivings to the back of her mind, she smiled at Niamh and rolled her case across to join the others.

‘Right then,’ Dessy said, as they neared the front of the queue to go through customs. ‘As soon as we get through this bit I need to buy a litre of gin from duty free.’

Jase slung his arm around Dessy’s shoulders. ‘Chill out, babe.’

He looked over Dessy’s shoulder at Niamh and Alice and mouthed ‘nervous flyer’, tipping his head towards his husband.

‘Our turn,’ Hazel said brightly, ushering Ewan forward.

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