‘Really? It would be much more prestigious having it at the Avalon, plus you could invite all the hotel guests, too. You’d probably raise a lot more money.’
‘True,’ admitted Charley. What she didn’t admit was her fear that if the event moved to the Avalon, Tara would completely take it over.
Will was head down at the kitchen table deep in work when Angie got home.
She went over to kiss him, ‘Still hard at it?’
He wrapped his arms round her waist and held her to him. ‘Governors’ meeting.’
She grimaced on his behalf and then pulled away to head upstairs to check on the children. Not because she didn’t trust Will to have put the kids to bed; she did it because she loved them and she wasn’t going to beat herself up for that.
Baa-Baa, Finn’s fluffy sheep, had fallen out of his bed. She picked it up and gently popped it under the duvet next to him. Then, adoring the way he crooked his forefinger over his nose as he sucked his thumb, she stroked his cheek softly before crossing the room to Eliot’s bed. Eliot had taken his mega truck into bed with him. The truck had sharp edges so she carefully edged it out from under his arm and put it at the end of his bed. Then she ran her fingers lightly through his curls. Across the landing, Beth had fallen asleep reading, with her bedside light on. Angie eased the book out of her grasp and put it in her book bag for the next day. When she switched off the lamp Beth stirred. ‘It’s all right, lovely. Back to sleep.’
She went downstairs, made a pot of tea and sat down at the table next to Will.
‘How was the meeting?’ he asked, gratefully taking the mug of tea Angie handed him.
‘Lovely. Lots of crisps!’
He chuckled before going back to his paperwork.
‘Actually… can I quickly ask you something? Tara wants to make the Prosecco Night a much bigger event this year. Could we use the school hall?’
Will shrugged lightly. ‘It’d be fine by me, but it can’t be a school event, sorry. It’d have to be a PTA thing. You’ll have to ask them.’
‘Noooo!’ groaned Angie. ‘Don’t make me talk to the PTA. That Felicity Whatshername’s an absolute nightmare. Can’t you ask her?’
‘No, I can’t. Anyhow she’s not that bad. She’s just a bit…’ Will struggled to find the right word.
‘Patronising… bossy… condescending?’
Will raised his eyebrows at her.
‘Only trying to help,’ she protested.
‘Motivated,’ finished Will, tactfully.
Angie sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll talk to her then. If I must.’ Felicity Whatsername’s going to eat me alive, she thought gloomily.
The following afternoon Tara sat at the Reception Desk of the Avalon, stressed to the nines and struggling to keep her temper, when Charley arrived to drop off fifty top-of-the-range pamper bags for a hen party.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘No. I’m having a complete pig of a day wrangling the Hen Party from Hell, plus, Rent-a-Git said “No” to holding the Prosecco Night here.’
‘You weren’t really expecting otherwise, were you?’ pointed out Charley, trying to conceal her inner relief.
‘No,’ sighed Tara, ‘But he was just so sodding pompous about it.’
She’d spent a frenetic morning dealing with the never-ending stream of must-haves, don’t-wants, and can’t-eats of the Hen Party from Hell. When she’d finally managed to grab five minutes with her manager, and pitch the fundraiser to him, his little eyes had initially lit up greedily. He’d rapidly bought into the idea of a room full of women buying bucketfuls of Prosecco and demolishing a small mountain of bar snacks to mop it up, even offering to pitch the event to Head Office himself, until Tara poured cold water over his fantasy.
‘No, you don’t quite get it. They don’t buy the Prosecco from the hotel, we bring the Prosecco.’ He looked at her blankly. God, it doesn’t take much to confuse his tiny little brain, does it? she thought, before explaining slowly, as if to a five-year-old child, how a charity fundraiser worked. ‘We will bring the Prosecco, some nibbles, and a range of Prosecco-themed products, all of which the women will buy from us. The money we raise goes to the Hospice. All the hotel has to do is provide the room and the parking.’
‘So, what’s in it for the hotel?’ he asked.
‘Kudos, and a lot of good publicity.’
He thought about it for less than nanosecond before spluttering, ‘No way! You can’t bring your own food and drink to the hotel! I’m not asking Head Office if we can do that. It’s a completely unacceptable request,’ he finished highhandedly.
‘It’s for charity!’ Tara had countered. ‘For a hospice for the dying.’
‘Absolutely not. And that’s my final decision,’ he said, all too evidently enjoying asserting his authority over her.
Tara seethed. For a brief moment she thought about going over his head and contacting Head Office herself, but realistically she knew that if they refused, the obnoxious little berk would never let her live it down.
‘Seriously, Charley, you have no idea what a nightmare it is working for such a complete and absolute…’
‘Jerk?’ suggested Charley.
‘Arsehole,’ finished Tara, bitterly.
Charley hesitated, as if she were deciding what to say, or maybe whether to say anything at all. Then leaning across the desk, she bent her head closer to Tara’s, and lowered her voice. ‘Tara. Will you listen to yourself? The man is an arsehole, an utter arsehole, and he’s making your working life miserable.’ Tara rolled her eyes, but Charley didn’t give up. ‘Look, I know you keep joking about him, but honestly, now I’ve actually met him, and I’ve seen how unhappy you are here, I’m not sure it’s actually very funny.’
Tara shook her head lightly, dismissing Charley’s concerns. ‘Don’t worry, I can deal with a little prick like him. You’ve just caught me on a bad day.’ Which was partly true, but what was also true was that the
