The Happy Glampers. Daisy Tate
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eyes jumped from friend to friend as conversations pinged all over the shop. Everywhere but on the question of when they’d meet again. Did they care as much as she did that their ‘household’ was splitting up? It was a bit late in the day to fret about whether or not her role as ‘The Organizer’ was the only reason they adored her. She’d almost slavishly taken to the role, taking charge of any and all pragmatic concerns – finding housing, creating cleaning rotas, always ensuring there was loo roll. Three short years ago they were strangers. Today? Today they were the most mismatched gaggle of girls she’d ever had the pleasure of calling her very best friends.
‘This is cardiovascular disease on an epic level,’ Emily said through a mouthful of icing. ‘And I never want it to end.’ The future Dr Cheung was too busy waiting for Izzy’s cackle of delight to notice how pleased Charlotte was at the backhanded compliment. If there was a way to preserve this moment in time – capture it in a jar, press it into a scrapbook, dangle it from a charm bracelet – she would do it in an instant.
‘C’mon girlie,’ Freya pointed at the empty chair beside her, her Scottish burr exaggerated by the rolling of the r. ‘Would you park your wee bum for once?’
Charlotte sat, pretending she didn’t care that they were devouring the cake like heathens, missing the fact she’d spent that little bit extra on the lemons, added a half-cup more drizzle, precious pence spent that she could barely afford on her student grant, because that’s the way her friends liked it best, but, as ever, she was unable to stop herself from beaming. She basked in the glow of their approbation. Relished that they loved it every bit as much as they had when, just a week into uni and shy as a dormouse, she’d made one for them in their very first student accommodation.
‘Nummy!’ Freya swept her wavy, pixie cut to the side and grinned at Charlotte. ‘Promise me we’ll meet up in London and eat cake?’
‘No!’ Emily put up a hand. ‘She’s mine. I refuse to let her leave. I claim you as my baking bitch for the duration of med school.’ She took a decisive bite as if the matter was settled. Emily had a way of drawing lines in the sand.
They all turned to Izzy, waiting for her to stake her claim on Charlotte. She looked up when she felt the group’s eyes on her. ‘What?’
Emily patted Izzy’s cheek. ‘Bless. What’s our little Izzy going to do out in the big wide world without all of us to look after her?’
‘Dunno.’ Izzy shrugged, that bloom of mystery surrounding her as it always did when she dodged their questions about the specifics of her life. ‘What are any of us going to do?’
Whatsapp Group: Happy Glampers
Charlotte: Hello Girls! I suppose it’s Ladies now. So pleased you’ve received the invites for my fortieth. I can’t believe it’s so soon! This is a test message, really. Techy things aren’t my forte. Oh! And as a small favour, I doubt you’ll be running into anyone else who’s coming, but you girls (sorry, ladies) are the only ones invited to stay, so … secret squirrels?
Charlotte: *taps on microphone to make sure you can hear me* LOL. Freya? Emily? Are these the correct phone numbers? Or does WhatsApp take a few days to get up and running?
Charlotte: Emily! So sorry to have used your work mobile. No wonder you ignored me! I hate to think I might’ve interfered with one of your surgeries. Sounds like the NHS is running you ragged. Has this message come through? Do say if I’m becoming a pest. Freya? Are you out there or have I got the wrong number? x Charlotte
Freya: Sorry, Charlotte! Monty put my phone in the wash last week, the numpty! Am using Stone Age tablet until I can wrestle phone off one of the children. Was it the first bank holiday or the second? We’re a definite Yesx4 xoxoxxF
Charlotte: Oh, wonderful! Not about the phone, obviously. It’s the SECOND May bank holiday. I’m so pleased you can make it. Bank holidays seem to get booked up so quickly! As you know, families and plus ones welcome. I’ll get one of the children to help me forward a map and the rest of the details for Sittingstone. Any more questions just throw them my way. x Charlotte
Emily Cheung: Sorry for erratic communiqué. Story of my life. Like my new scary doctor name? The patients love it. Lotte (still okay if we call you Lotte now you’re a married mother of two?), I just googled Sittingstone. It appears to be out of doors. Or are we staying in the castle?
Freya: Emms, you eejit! Didn’t u read the INVITE? IT’S GLAMPING (SOZ FOR THE SHOUTING … CAN’T FIGURE OUT HOW TO TURN OFF ON THIS GERIATRIC BEASTIE!) XOXOXOX
Charlotte: Oh, dear. Glamping’s not a problem is it, Emms? I have been assured all of the yurts are done up to the highest level.
Emily: Like, indoors, highest level? Or still outside but pretending to be inside? #chinesepeopledontcamp
Freya: EMMS! SHOW SOME GRATITUDE. WE EXPECT NOTHING LESS THAN FULL SOPHISTICATion from you Charlotte. (Hey! Lower case!) x F
Emily: Plus ça change.
Freya: What’s with the Francais?
Emily: Charlotte! I’ve been in touch with Izzy. Can she come too? She’s going to be here. (Praying you say yes as I already told her and she’s really excited.)
Charlotte: Izzy!!!!!!!!! I haven’t seen her in years! Gosh. A proper Bristol Uni girls reunion. Absolutely. xx Charlotte
Freya: Wait. What? Izzy’s here? *faints in disbelief* xF
Charlotte: There’s a bell tent that will be just perfect for her. Does anyone know if she’s eating meat again? Is there a plus one I should know about?
Emily: You know Izz. Expect the unexpected.
Bunting. Charlotte could’ve kicked herself. How could she have forgotten the bunting? It definitely wasn’t in the car. She’d checked three times on the way to Sittingstone. The same three times she’d pulled into lay-bys to ‘check directions’. Her children hadn’t commented that the Land Rover’s satnav was in the front of the car rather than the boot. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the slight edge of pink round her eyes. Yes, it was all there bar the bunting. The cool boxes, the wellies, the cake. The same placid smile, the same pale pink lipstick and, of course, the same sensible, ash-blonde mum do she’d had three hours earlier when Oliver had ripped her world in two.
A real stalwart, her hairstyle. Not so much the husband.
At least he’d offered to drive to West Sussex separately to give her some space to absorb his news. Although, what better way to avoid seeing her normally composed exterior crack into fractals of disbelief? Absence worked a treat when Oliver wanted to prevent a scene.
As if she’d ever cause a scene.
He really should know her better by now.
So she started the car, followed the signs, and sped along the motorway as if she could outdrive the fact her marriage might not last the day.
An hour later, as the Discovery crackled over the gravel at the entrance to the Sittingstone Estate, Charlotte’s heart lifted. The castle was every bit as wonderful as it looked on the internet. The stone structure soared up into the bright blue sky with full Tudor Gothic grandeur. The remains of the first castle – a fortress,