Of course, if she was being totally objective, itwasn’t. It was being told quite firmly to go away, and then being told to come back for a specific purpose, coming back for the purpose, making a probably ill-advised sexual decision in the middle of it, being told to leave again, finally fulfilling the original purpose, then leaving.
Her whimsical desire to eat bread and honey while leaning on a gate and absorbing the timelessness of everything satisfied, Audrey got back in her Mini and set off towards the M25. With Sunday traffic, if she got a good start, she’d be able to make it home before noon.
She did not get a good start. She was only about two minutes out of Tapworth when she stopped, did a probably illegal U-turn, and began driving back towards Patchley House. Because sure, the mature thing was to put all of this behind her and never think aboutBake Expectations, or any of the contestants, or Jennifer fucking Hallet ever again. But sometimes being mature could go fuck itself.
So twenty minutes later she was parking again, just as thepeople who were still actually competing on this season were filing out of hair and makeup and heading into the ballroom. As Audrey strode with more purpose than she really felt past the house itself and towards Jennifer’s trailer, she saw Grace Forsythe and the judges coming the other way. With no cameras around, each of them looked slightly different—Wilfred Honey a little less warm, Marianne Wolvercote a little more relaxed. Even Grace Forsythe, who Audrey suspected was one of those performers who wason24/7 seemed to be having a moment of being merely effusive rather than ebullient.
“She’s in a foul mood this morning,” Grace Forsythe warned her as they crossed paths.
A more on-the-ball Audrey—not necessarily a version of Audrey that had ever actually existed—might have taken the moment to pretend that she didn’t know whichsheGrace Forsythe was talking about, or at least to pretend that her assumptions regarding thesheAudrey was looking for were unfounded. But she didn’t. She just pivoted mid-stomp and said, “Isn’t she in a foul moodeverymorning?”
“When you’ve known her as long as we have,” explained Wilfred Honey, “you’ll learn that there’s a lot of different flavours of foul.”
Marianne Wolvercote nodded. “And in case you were wondering, this very muchisn’ta blasted heath situation.”
“Come again?” Audrey was not, all told, in the mood for riddling.
“Where Jennifer is concerned,” clarified Marianne Wolvercote, “foul is most definitely not fair.”
The three more famous people continued on their way to the ballroom, but, as Audrey was getting back to her own journey,Grace Forsythe broke off from the group and tapped her on the shoulder.
“By the way, old thing,” Grace Forsythe was saying before Audrey had even managed to turn around. “I’ve told Jennifer that she shoulddefinitelykeep fucking you.”
“What?” It wasn’t thelastthing Audrey had been expecting. The last thing she’d been expecting was probably something likeI’ve been working undercover for the CIA this whole time and now I need your help to save the president.But it was pretty near the bottom of the list, expectation-wise.
“If you want her to. Obviously.” Grace Forsythe put her hands into the mea culpa pose. “Not suggesting anything untoward. It’s just that the impression I got from her was that you’d given her indications and that you’d, y’know, like her to and that she’d blown it as usual.”
There were several things to unpack here. “So…first of all, I’m not sure I like that she was discussing this with you.”
“It wasn’t a professional conversation, darling. It’s just that as it turns out I’m the closest thing young Jennifer has to a friend. Which must be pretty miserable for her, now I think about it.”
Filing that away undertoo complex to deal with at the moment, Audrey pressed on. “Okay, but I’m also not super comfortable talking about…”
“Or you could fuck her, of course,” Grace Forsythe continued with the blithe insouciance of a woman who has made a career out of insouciant blitheness. “Whichever works for you. Actually, might work even better that way around because honestly Jennifer is carrying alotof tension.”
There were many things that could have gone wrong banging Jennifer Hallet. Audrey had known that. She’d never quite realisedthat being gossiped about by a beloved eighties television personality was on the list. “Oh my God, this is not—”
“She also told me that she kicked you out immediately afterwards.”
Audrey covered her face with her hands. She should have just gone home. This was getting beyond humiliating. “Please, just stop.”
“I told her she was being an arse, if it helps.”
It didn’t, especially. “And how did she take that?”
“About as well as you’d imagine.”
Looking up, Audrey treated Grace Forsythe to her most interrogative expression. “So why are you so keen for us to keep, um, fucking each other in whatever configuration suits us?”
“Partly, I just think Jennifer needs to get laid really rather badly, but I’ve also got a sneaking suspicion you’d be good for her.”
“But would she be good for me?” Audrey wondered out loud.
Grace Forsythe shrugged. “I think she could if she’d let herself. Although I admit that’s a very bigif.” She grimaced. “Thinking about it, probably not what you’re looking for in a girlfriend. Forget I said anything.”
Before Audrey could reply, Grace Forsythe had set off determinedly for the ballroom, spitting obnoxiously loud vocal exercises as she went.
Now that she’d been interrupted, Audrey couldn’t quite say what she was intending to do once she got to Jennifer’s trailer. She’d started with the intent of having a vaguely self-righteous storm, something in the vein of “I won’t be treated like this,” which would inevitably fail as hard as it had every other time she’d tried it. On the other hand, she didn’t think there was much mileage in showing up with “An interfering boomer who works for youthinks we should bang” either. It had the virtue of honesty, but the not-a-virtue of being absolutely mortifying.
