‘We want to bring peace,’ I said.
‘Idealistic bollocks,’ said Fi as she rolled her eyes and made for the door. ‘Good luck with that.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sara
Present day, February
‘Rebecca’s arriving later this afternoon,’ said Katie Brookfield, ‘so come down early and we can show you round our living arrangements. Do bring Ally too.’
‘And our friend Jo? Do you mind if she tags along?’
‘The more the merrier,’ Katie replied.
Filming for programme one – ‘Let’s Hear It for the Girls’ – had been moved forward because Katie Brookfield had been in touch to let us know that they had planned the celebration for their friend Rebecca’s birthday. It was to be held in a hotel close by to the village where Katie lived just outside Bath, and the party theme was Holy or Whore. ‘We love any excuse to dress up,’ said Katie. ‘I’m going as Lord Shiva with a blue face. It will match my veins.’
It was too good an opportunity to miss and would be, as Gary frequently liked to say, ‘TV gold.’
*
Jo, Ally, Ajay and I travelled down by train to Bath first thing in the morning, then took a cab to Katie’s house in the village where she and the other Bonnets lived.
‘Remind me of their names again,’ said Jo as we left the main road and drove down a country lane into a picturesque village. The houses were built with soft honey-coloured brick which gave the whole area a golden glow.
‘Katie, Bridget, Gabrielle and Jenny,’ said Ally. ‘All in their eighties now. As you know, Sara,Katie is my author, Bridget used to run an advertising agency, Gabrielle was an actress and Jenny was a dress designer.’
‘Creative bunch,’ said Jo.
‘Like us,’ said Ally. ‘And Rebecca was a playwright – she’s the one coming over later today from Italy.’
‘We’re meeting at Katie’s house to do a short interview with the first four,’ I said, ‘then a quick tour of where they live.’
‘Great,’ said Jo. ‘I love having a nose into other people’s homes.’
We stopped on a quiet street with a row of houses with picket fences and small front gardens on one side and a large green verge on the other.
‘This is Katie’s,’ said Ally, as she pointed at a double-fronted cottage with a wooden porch and bay windows painted a soft grey-green. The door opened and a black dog rushed out, followed by Katie, who greeted us warmly before ushering us inside. She was a striking woman, her posture and mobility giving nothing of her age away. I loved her style too. She was wearing a scarlet velvet tunic dress, ropes of amber necklaces and brown leather boots. Her soft brown hair was cut in a neat bob just above her shoulders, but it was her eyes that drew attention, sharp as a bird’s. I got the feeling she missed nothing. Katie introduced the dog as Doodle. ‘He’s a labradoodle, hence the name, and is an absolute sweetheart.’
We were soon ensconced in a charming red snug with comfy tan sofas, floor-to-ceiling curtains, and book-lined walls. It had the feel of an old-fashioned library and reminded me of Ally’s sitting room.
‘So this is home,’ Katie told us, as she settled herself on the sofa. She was soon joined by Doodle who put his head on her lap. ‘The others will be along in a moment. If Gabrielle’s been baking, be polite, her cakes never rise. I’ve taken no chances and bought some scones from the farm shop in case anyone’s hungry.’
Katie lifted up an album from the coffee table that contained photos of The Bonnets. One showed them all dressed as nuns outside a pub. On the back, someone had written – How Do you Solve a Problem Like O’Mara?
‘That was for Bridget’s birthday,’ Katie explained. On another photo, the women were dressed as though for Ascot in huge hats. On the back of that one was written: Ascot Gavotte for Gabrielle’s birthday.
‘We sang “My Sweet Lady Jen”, to the Rolling Stones song, “My Sweet Lady Jane” for Jenny’s birthday, all dressed in Renaissance gear. I can still remember the lyrics.’ Katie launched into them, her voice as clear as a bell.
Our great matey Jen (that’s you Jenny)
A birthday again
Your best friends are we
Although we’re a pain.
Our great matey Jen
Spends too long in the can
Problems with her bladder
Have made her go madder
Golden years are here my dear,
But never fear my dear
We’ll all be here for matey Jen
Oh, dear matey Jen
We’re all on our knees (and not sure we can get up)
For time’s running out (not a moment too soon)
For your dear pals and thee.’
So let’s drive fast cars dear friend
And burn our bras dear friend
And make the most of, matey Jen.
We all laughed. ‘Love it,’ I said.
‘On one of Katie’s big birthdays, they dressed in silk dressing gowns and long blonde wigs, including the husbands. They sang the Beatles “Paperback Writer”, all dressed up to supposedly look like Katie. I was there for that one,’ Ally said.
‘I was so touched by their efforts.’ Katie smiled as she closed the album and placed it back on the table.
Moments later, the doorbell rang and three elderly women entered. Each of them looked sprightly and vibrant and, like Katie, younger than their years. Gabrielle was willowy and elegant with white hair and was dressed in pale lavender and grey. ‘I brought cake!’ she said as she produced a cake tin.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ said Katie, then winked at Ally when Gabrielle wasn’t looking.
Bridget was colourful in a dark red and maroon calf-length dress and bright purple Indian scarf, Jenny in a mustard tunic and olive green leggings and matching scarf.
After introductions had been made, everyone seated, tea made, cake offered and refused by Ally and me (Katie was right,
