Page 10 of Hit For Six
‘I almost forgot,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘A couple of family members caught wind of what happened at the final and they’reunder strict instruction not to bring it up today. The last thing I want is for Roddie’s party to be ruined.’
This from the woman who had paid a small fortune for a little boy to be serenaded by Sinatra as opposed toSing a Song of Sixpenceat his birthday party.
‘You do realise that such capers are not just a byproduct of T20 and have even been known to take place at Wimbledon, Mother?’ Monty’s exasperation loosened his tongue. ‘Most probably with the royals in attendance.’
He didn’t often challenge Helena but he really did despair at times. No doubt Darling Dante (aka golden boy son-in-law who owned a multi-million pound private helicopter business) had done his worst to egg her on. Luckily Helena simply threw him a disapproving look, leaned in to straighten his shirt collar and remove some invisible dust, then tottered off to dispose of the cricket bat.
Bloody hell. It felt more like a wedding reception than a child’s birthday party as Monty stepped outside via the vast and bustling kitchen and took in the sight. Fragrant summer honeysuckle floated on the breeze, waiting staff ferried drinks and canapés about with airborne noses, a middle-aged Rat Pack tribute who’d missed his vocation belting out bygones on cruise ships was trying to console himself by pretending he was one of the nouveau riche. And the grown-up chit-chat sounded reliably haughty-taughty, peppered with the usual giggles and guffaws. In fact, there were just a handful of little ones running around. What Roddie and co really wanted was a bouncy castle. How Monty wished he’d arranged one of those for his nephew’s birthday present. His grandmother’s face would have been worth every penny. He chewed back his grin. Next time.
‘Uncle Montyyyyy!’
A little pair of hands grabbed at his calves– thankfully Monty was wearing chinos; he didn’t have the hairiest of legs,but Roddie pinched like a crab– and almost toppled him into the pistachio and rosewater croquembouche tower. Nevermind getting him to follow in Dante’s hooves to play sodding polo; Roddie had the makings of a rugby player.
‘Come here, you little rascal!’
Monty pulled a funny face and twisted to flip his nephew up in the air, where he turned him into a plane.
‘Careful with the birthday boy!’ came Sakia’s husky Marks & Spencer ad voice as she peeped out from a giant bough of honeysuckle. ‘You do realise he’s scoffed down anentahtube of Smarties when Mummy wasn’t looking. As inourmother; don’t worry, I’ve not started talking about myself in third person quite yet.’
‘Phew and ew!’ said Monty, making Roddie laugh, whilst wondering how it had come to this; that he and his siblings lived in a perpetual hum of low-level fear where their mother was concerned.
He gently put his nephew down and Roddie went back to running around with his friends. Blissfully carefree. What Monty would give to turn the clock back. Actually, no. That would mean reliving his strict childhood.
‘You’re a natural with children, little bro… and I need more nieces and nephews to cluck over. Isn’t it about time you got a move on, finished sowing those wild oats and found yourself The One?’ said Saskia, lifting a brow.
Monty took a glass of Pimm’s from a passing waiter. ‘Why, thanks for the congratulations over yesterday’s win, big sis.’ He raised his drink to her.
‘Oh, yes, that. Well done, you!’ Saskia planted a smacker on his cheek. ‘I am proud of you, even if I don’t understand the rules of new-age cricket– actually, I still don’t understand the rules of the traditional game. There. Is that better?’
‘It’s a start.’
Monty allowed his lips to curl into a smile. He loved both his sisters, but if he was honest with himself, Saskia edged it in the affection stakes over Beatrice. She’d had his back so often growing up. He couldn’t stay annoyed at her for long.
But talking of age, Monty’s overtly second coming of age seemed to be the words on everybody’s lips. Had they seriously got nothing else to obsess over? After circulating the garden and exchanging pleasantries with all and sundry, Helena welcomed some fashionably late guests into the fold. There was nothing too unusual about that… except her over-obvious attempts at matchmaking.
‘Monty, there you are!’ Honestly, he felt like a pet dog sometimes the way his mother talked to him, as if he was constantly wandering off and getting into scrapes. ‘I wanted to introduce you to Joanna Bennoy-Bell.’Quelle surprise.Another double-barrel bidder. Majorly hypocritical of Monty, considering his own toffee-nosed surname.
Ah, so the middle child was in on the act now too, hey? Yes, she bloody well was. Monty fake grinned at his other sibling, whose eyes were busily darting about in the background, trying to pretend this had nothing whatsoever to do with her. It was typical of Bea to turn up with one of her latest parade of friends whenever Hugh was away on ‘business’. And yes, that noun was meant to be in inverted commas. It was well known in these circles that her darling husband had been embroiled in a string of extra-marital affairs, which Bea chose to point blank ignore. Even when the evidence was splashed all overHELLO! Magazine’s society pages. Monty had tried to talk sense into his sister. He couldn’t bear her doormat ways and panicked they’d rub off on her impressionable young girls. But there was only so much he could do when she was adamant that Hugh’s mental health caused him to stray, so concessions needed to be made. His family was so headstrong in so many ways and cuttingthrough the bullshit was impossible most of the time. It was easier to accept that and let everyone live their own lives. If only the favour could be returned.
‘Hi, Montgomery. So… I hear you’re in marketing, too? I’ve just been promoted to director in my company, Phnaphnaphna.’ At least that’s how Monty’s cochleas translated the woman’s nasal vibrations. Joanna, her coltish frame, chunky velvet headband and thick thatch of auburn hair, took horsey to stratospheric heights. She skewered him with a challenging look that told him he really ought to know everything about her business and its place in the FTSE 100 index. ‘Luxury London event planners. We’re practically on speed dial for the Palace and A list celebs. You must have heard of us.’
So dull, even if admirably to the point. But ultimately– and regardless of their position in the posh stakes– all the single ladies trotted out these lines when they were foisted on him at a Beauchamp-Carmichael do. And they all hogged the conversation, as if desperate to mark their territory before another woman got a look in. Monty was sick of it.
‘Actually, I’m much more into Twenty20.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Joanna snort-laughed. ‘I’m partial to a bottle of that too. Although a nightcap of Sheridans after dinner is so underrated, don’t you think?’
Dear God. She actually thought he was talking about that horrific Mad Dog fortified wine that everyone had necked in the nineties– only to very swiftly regret it when they turned the shade of the kiwi-lemon variety. On cue, Monty’s father appeared, much to his loitering mother’s disdain. Helena waved her hands frantically in the air in a bid to catch her son’s attention and keep him talking. Well, she could carry on doing the Charleston. He wasn’t interested and he wasn’t playing this game.
‘Please excuse me, Joanna.’ Monty didn’t want to lead the woman on but such was his thrill at the escape route that he found himself taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. Now his mother would be Viennese waltzing around the lawn at the prospect of wedding planning. ‘It’s been wonderful to chat but my father’s giving me one of those looks whose hidden meaning would imply that we’ve had a major catastrophe with one of our overseas branches. Toodle pip.’
‘Oh, that’s okay, sweetie. I’ll be sure to catch you later and we can pick up where we left off,’ he swore he heard the woman mutter under her breath.
Not if he could help it. Monty would never usually lie or peddle out such a goodbye– Christ, he’d be saying holibobs next– but Joanna unnerved him and he intended to give her a wide berth. Saskia flashed him a conciliatory smile as he cut loose. Not that any of her friends were much better. But after his eldest sister’s teenage matchmaking schemes had seen her cohort bombard him en-masse to the point that he’d locked himself in the tennis court changing rooms, where he’d been forgotten about until he’d failed to show up for supper, Saskia had at least had the sense to give up and watch from afar as the rest of the family played Cupid instead.
It wasn’t that he’d never met a woman of his own accord. But for some reason, unfathomable only to his family, most of the women Monty had felt a genuine connection with over the years had been educated at state school. And so he’d known for a long time that he didn’t want the posh version of cricket or relationships. He didn’t fit into the jigsaw he was expected to be a piece of.
‘Hey!’
