Having unloaded and paid off the taxi, Jessica shoved her arm through Callie’s. ‘Once more into the breach, dear friends. Once more. Those who are about to die, we salute you! Ooh look,’ she said, changing tone dramatically and pointing to the stone pillar. ‘Sandy Vistas. Nice girl.’
‘I see your sense of humour hasn’t matured one iota,’ Johnny complained, ‘despite motherhood.’
And to his little sister’s raucous laughter they climbed the track to the party.
Eleven
J.M.W Turner 1775–1851
English Romantic painter. Known for dramatic watercolours, landscapes and seascapes. Try out large scale colour washes. Sunset background with black sugar paper silhouettes.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Sandy Vistas was a large rambling Victorian villa with an enormous garden. Higher up God Almighty Hill than Sea Haven House, it had spectacular views, not just over the cliffs to the east but of the sun currently setting out its glory westwards. It was just dipping its toe into the sea and a vivid orange, rippled with pink and purple, spread over sky and water.
As the others opened the garden gate and headed around a tall hedge to the sounds of revelry, Callie caught her breath and held back, letting them go ahead. She couldn’t resist pausing to take some pictures on her phone. A painting of a sunset was clichéd beyond belief but there was no denying its beauty.Scope for an abstract? The colours were irresistible. Maybe add in some 3D where the golden streaks pierced through? Goldfoil perhaps.Ideas formed and reformed in her head, swirling around as much as the clouds above.
‘Absolutely marvellous, isn’t it?’
Callie had been so lost in the view she hadn’t noticed Johnny’s Aunt Sybil approach. Dressed in flowing lime green linen she was as colourful as the sunset – and clashed horribly.
‘Nature giving us a jolly good show,’ Sybil continued. ‘Top hole. Can’t beat it I say.’ She thrust her arm through Callie’s and forcefully tugged her forward. ‘Carrie, isn’t it? Come along. You must tell meallabout yourself.’
‘It’s Callie.’
‘That’s right. Carrie. I never forget a name. Let’s grab some vittles. Stomach feels like the old throat’s been cut.’
Callie looked around frantically searching for Johnny, or even Jessica to rescue her from the rather alarming Aunt Sybil but they’d disappeared into the higher part of the garden nearest the house and which was crowded. White lights had been strung up all around the garden but were only just warming up into illumination.
Against the light spilling out from the open French windows of the house all she could see were flitting silhouettes, none recognisable. Most of the garden was now in a deep and slightly damp shade.
Johnny’s mother brushed past. A cloud of Diorissimo enveloped them. ‘Oh there you are, Sybs,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘Can’t find anyone, it’s getting so glum. The band is complaining it’s too dark for them to see to play, the torches should have been lit by now and those solar powered lights are worse than useless.’
‘Fret ye not, Dorrie. We’ll grab ourselves some meat and all will be well.’
‘That’s just it, Syb,’ Dorrie said, increasingly agitated. ‘The catering team have only just arrived. It’ll take an age for themto get the barbeques hot enough to cook anything and the pig roast hasn’t turned up at all. Why doesn’t anyone do their jobs properly anymore? It would have been easier for Sid and the boys to run the barbeque themselves, but you know how Sid likes to burn his sausage.’
‘Has the champagne been opened?’ Sybil boomed.
‘I’ve absolutely no idea. Sid’s in charge of all that.’
‘Then, all hands to the deck, let’s get the guests sloshed and they won’t notice how long they have to wait for a bit of snap. Come along, Carrie.’
Callie felt rather than saw Dorrie peer at her. ‘Oh is that Callie? How good of you to come. It’s rather a disaster, I’m afraid. Isn’t Jonathan with you? He really shouldn’t run off and leave his guest alone.’
‘She’s not alone, Dorrie,’ Sybil said. ‘I’m looking after the gel.’
‘That’s rather what I’m afraid of. Come along both. I think a glass of bubbly is in order. Everything always seems so much brighter after fizz, doesn’t it? This way, I think the booze has been set up on the terrace. I have to say it’s far chillier than anticipated but that’s England in August for you. At least we won’t need wine coolers I suppose.’
‘Colder than a badger’s arse in the snow,’ Sybil put in.
‘Yes, quite, but not a terribly helpful observation, Sybs. The patio heaters should have been turned on by now. Oh it’s allsucha mess.’
Callie followed Dorrie and Sybil to some steps which led up to the brightly lit terrace and the sound of chatter. Taking each woman by the elbow, she helped them up and, once her eyes had adjusted, spotted several tables covered in white cloth and groaning with alcohol. It bore no resemblance to any barbeque Callie had ever attended. Servers, dressed impeccably in white shirts, black trousers and long khaki aprons stood behind, heads down, shoulders slumped, engrossed in their phones.
Indignant in fuchsia pink and kitten heels, Dorrie marched over to them, had stern words and they leaped into action. She returned with three champagne flutes. Handed one to Callie and Sybil in turn and downed her own in one.
‘I say, steady on, old girl. Got to keep a clear head at these things. Otherwise the whole caboodle will fall apart.’
