Emily jerked her head towards Charlotte who was weeping into the bacon sandwiches. ‘Izz. Do something. Say something.’
Oh, bums. Charlotte was crying. So why had Oliver just walked away as if nothing was going on?
‘Ummm … Happy birthday!?’
‘Thank you, Izzy. That is kind.’ Sniff. Wipe. Charlotte gave her head one of those quick shakes a person performed when they were hoping to look perfectly fine. It wasn’t entirely successful. ‘Bacon sandwich?’ She hastily loaded some bacon into a crusty roll then handed it to her.
Izzy took it and made a show of it being mmm-mmm, delicious, while Charlotte and Emily stared at her.
Wait a minute. Emily hadn’t spilled the beans about why she’d come back to the UK, had she? She’d promised.
‘Emily! Did you—’
‘No,’ Emily said through gritted teeth. ‘This is about Charlotte. Charlotte who’s got lots of feelings today.’
‘Charlotte Mayfield!’ Izzy planted her hands on her hips. ‘You aren’t being funny about turning forty, are you? You look amazing. Gorgeous. I want to be you when I grow up. Forty’s the new black.’ She kept spluttering platitudes until Emily cut her off.
‘Oliver’s cheating.’
Ah. She hadn’t expected that.
Then again, the man had felt her up at his own wedding.
‘Sorry. Sorry, girls.’ Charlotte swept away some tears then gave a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘Honestly. It isn’t about that. Well, it is, but … I’m just going a bit mad is all. One minute I was frying bacon, happy as can be. The next I was bawling my eyes out and telling my least emotionally available friend – sorry Emily, you’re lovely, but we both know you’re not equipped for these sorts of histrionics, are you?’ Emily nodded. It was fine.
‘I’ve been like this for hours.’ Charlotte was on a roll. ‘All night actually. One minute I can’t bear the sight of him and the next I’m absolutely, positively sure I want nothing more than to devote my life to making our marriage better. He said he wants it to work. I want it to work. And then … all of a sudden … I don’t! It’s like being on one of those – those …’ She looked up to seek the best word, tears dripping off her chin.
‘Waltzers?’ offered Izzy. They’d once made Charlotte go on one and she’d never seen a human more pale.
‘Yes.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘Just like that.’
Clearly the memory hadn’t faded.
‘Okay. Right. Well, first of all, the man’s an idiot.’
Charlotte offered Izzy a forlorn smile through her tears. ‘Her name’s Xanthe.’
Izzy scoffed. ‘That’s a stupid name.’
‘It’s Greek, actually. She’s a junior partner at his law firm.’ Charlotte almost sounded wistful.
‘So? Anyone can become a lawyer. Monty’s a lawyer.’ They threw each other guilty looks. ‘No offence to Monty.’
‘She’s very pretty. Especially in a bikini.’
‘You’ve seen her poolside?’ Emily looked appalled.
‘Instagram,’ explained Charlotte.
They all nodded and quietly thought on the complex world of cyber-stalking.
‘She also might be pregnant.’
‘Oh!’ Izzy said in her upper register. That made things more complicated. ‘Ummm … Is there a plan?’
‘No, you na-na. She’s only just found out,’ Emily said.
‘Muuuuum! I’m starving.’
Charlotte’s son dropped onto a bench where he was clearly expecting to be served as Charlotte hastily wiped her face with … was that Freya’s origami bunting?
‘I’ll get a tray of sandwiches up in a minute, darling. Why don’t you go over to the kitchen tent and see if you can’t find the ketchup and brown sauce?’ Charlotte looked and sounded like a modern Doris Day. How did she do that?
‘Brown sauce?’ Jack made a vomit face. ‘Mother.’ He shuddered.
Charming.
He pointed at Izzy. ‘Why’s she got one then?’
Doubly charmed. Izzy resisted giving him a slap round the back of his head and telling him to pull his socks up because his mother had just found out his dad was a lying, cheating bastard.
‘Because she’s a guest, darling.’ Charlotte gave Izzy a sorrowful look. ‘With low blood sugar. It’s a condition.’
Gosh. Charlotte told a fib! Izzy tried to figure out the best way to look as if she had a condition when Emily cut in. ‘Go. Ketchup. Brown sauce. It’s your mother’s birthday.’
Wow. Guess no one had given Emily the memo about telling other people’s children what to do. Even so … Jack obeyed her.
‘Okay, Lotte. What do you want us to do?’ Izzy whispered as soon as he was out of earshot, noting that Oli, the bastard, still hadn’t left yet.
Charlotte ran her index fingers under her eyes to swipe away invisible mascara stains.
‘Well, there’s no plan really. Yes,’ she said abruptly straightening her spine. ‘There is a plan. It is to do nothing. Oliver reckons we’ll get through this. Just an early morning wobble is all. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m being a silly goose.’
‘What? About your husband having an affair?’
Charlotte nearly lost her composure.
‘No, of course not. He’s said he’s put a halt to it. That the pregnancy isn’t for sure. Most likely a lie to get him to choose between the two of us. That’s what all of these phone calls are for.’ She vaguely gestured out towards the meadow where Oli was, once again, jabbering away on his mobile. He caught Charlotte’s eye, pointed at Izzy’s sandwich, then at himself.
Dickhead.
‘It’ll be just a moment, darling. Izzy’s got low blood sugar!’
Izzy did a little wobbly knee move to make it look true.
‘Is that what you want? To carry on?’ Emily asked her.
‘Yes.’ Charlotte clapped her hands together decisively. ‘Now. If you two wouldn’t mind keeping this under your hats, I’d really appreciate it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to create such a fuss—’
Freya marched up to their group, mouth already open in ‘I’m about to give a speech’ mode. One of the children had probably messed up the recycling bins or some equally heinous crime.
Emily’s eyes silenced her.
Emily was a powerful ally in a crisis.
‘Can I tell Freya?’ Izzy was horrid with keeping secrets. Most secrets, anyway.
‘Tell me what?’
‘Oliver’s having an affair. Shit. Sorry, Lotte. And she’s preggers. Crap. Is that all right? Fuck. My bad.’
Emily glared at Freya as if it was her fault Izzy had spilled the beans.
Freya’s open mouth dropped even further. Izzy was tempted to close it for her.
‘Charlotte