“That’s Honey, there. The blonde,” I say to Beth, in defiance of myself. Watching expressions veer wildly across Honey’s face, I am sure of it-I have taught girls older than her: she is too young to be having that baby. I feel something close to anger, but I can’t tell who or what it’s aimed at.
Then Dinny appears beside Beth, smiling his guarded smile. His hair is unbound and it hangs around his jaw, messy and black. He stands half turned toward the fire, half away, so the light cuts him in two, throws his face into sharp relief. It stops a breath in my chest, holds it until it burns.
“Glad you came down to join in, Beth, Erica,” he says, and as he smiles again I see the faint blurring of alcohol about him-a true warmth, for the first time since I saw him again.
“Yes, well, thank you very much for having us,” Beth replies, looking around at the party and nodding as if we are at some society do.
“You’ve got lucky with the weather tonight, anyway. It’s been foul,” I say. Dinny gives me an amused look.
“I don’t believe in foul weather-it’s all just weather,” he says.
“No bad weather, only the wrong clothes?” I ask.
“Exactly! Have you tried my punch? It has a certain… punch. Don’t take any naked flames near it, whatever you do,” he smiles.
“I tend to avoid punch,” I say. “There was an incident with punch, I’m told. Although, they might be lying because I sure as hell don’t remember anything about it.”
“Beth, then? Can I tempt you?” Beth nods, lets herself be led away. She still looks slightly dazed, almost bewildered to be here. Dinny’s hand is on her elbow, guiding her. For a moment I am left alone as he pulls her away, and some emotion scuttles through me. A familiar old emotion, to be left behind by Beth and Dinny. I give myself a shake, find faces that I know and foist myself upon them.
I can feel the whisky heat in my blood and I know I should be careful. Eddie tears past me, grabs my sleeve and pulls me round.
“You haven’t seen me! Don’t tell them you’ve seen me!” he gasps, breathless, grinning.
“Tell who?” I ask, but he’s gone, and seconds later a small tangle of children, and Harry, scurry by in his wake. I take another long pull of whisky then pass the bottle to a pixie-faced girl with rings in her nose, who laughs and thanks me as she passes. The stars wheel over my head and the ground seems to vibrate. I can’t remember when I was last drunk. Months and months ago. I had forgotten how good it can feel. And I see Beth standing next to Dinny, in a knot of people, and even though she is not speaking, she looks almost relaxed. She is part of them, not locked up inside herself, and I am happy to see it. I dance with Smurf, who spins me until I feel a little sick.
“Don’t fall in love with her, Smurf. These Calcott girls don’t stick around,” Dinny shouts to him as we pass by. I am too slow to ask him what he means. I get as close to the fire as I dare, use a poker to rake a jacket potato from the ashes at the edge, then burn my tongue on it. It has the tang of the earth. I greet Honey, and even though her reply is stilted I don’t care. And I watch Dinny. It’s not even conscious after a while. Wherever I am I seem to know where he is. As if the fire lights him a little brighter than it does everybody else. The night spins out around the camp, dark and alive; then I see flashing blue lights, coming along the lane toward us.
The police have to park and walk down to the camp. Two cars, disgorging four officers. Marching in with an air of diligence, they start checking for drugs, asking people to turn out their pockets. The music goes quiet, voices fall away. A hung moment in which the fire snaps and roars.
“Is there a Dinsdale here?” a young officer asks. A pugnacious gleam in his eye. He is short, square, very tidy.
“Several!” Patrick calls back at him.
“Can I see some identification to that effect please, sir?” the policeman asks stiffly. Dinny waves Patrick back, dips quickly into his van and presents the officer with his driving license. “Well, even so I’m required to ask you all to disperse, as this is an illegal gathering in a public place. I have reason to believe that things may escalate, constituting an illegal rave. There have been several complaints-”
“This isn’t an illegal gathering in a public place. We have the right to camp here, as you well know. And we have the same right as the rest of the population to have a few friends around for a party,” Dinny says coldly.
“There have been complaints about the noise, Mr. Dinsdale-”
“Complaints from who? It’s only ten o’clock!”
“From people in the village, and at the manor house…”
“From the manor house? Really now?” Dinny asks, glancing over his shoulder at me. I go over, stand next to him. “Have you been complaining, Erica?”
“Not me. And I’m pretty sure Beth and Eddie haven’t either.”
“And who might you be, madam?” the officer asks me, somewhat dubiously.
“Erica Calcott, the owner of Storton Manor. And that’s my sister Beth, and since we’re the only people living at Storton Manor, I think we can safely say all residents there give this party their full endorsement. And who might you be?” The whisky makes me bold, but I am angry too.
“Sergeant Hoxteth, Ms… Lady… Calcott, and I…” I have flustered him. At the edge of my sight, I see Dinny’s eyes light up.
“It’s Miss Calcott. Are you any relation of Peter Hoxteth, the old bobby?” I interrupt.
“He’s my uncle, not that I think that has any relevance to-”
“Yes, well. I remember your uncle. He had better manners.”
“There have been complaints, nevertheless, and I am authorized to break up this gathering. I don’t wish for there to be any unpleasantness about it, however-”
“The Hartfords over at Ridge Farm have their summer ball every year, with twice this number of people and a live band with a massive amp. If I ring up and complain about that, will you go trooping in and break it up? Start searching for drugs?”
“I hardly think-”
“And anyway, this isn’t a public place. This is my land. Which, I suppose, makes this my party. My private party. To which you boys are not, I fear, invited.”
“Miss Calcott, surely you can understand-”
“We’ll turn the music down now, and off at midnight, which we were planning to do anyway. The kids need to get to bed,” Dinny interjects. “But if you want to send us all packing without making some arrests, you’d better come up with a better reason than made-up complaints from the manor house. Officer.”
Hoxteth bridles, his shoulders are high and tense. “It is our duty as police officers to investigate complaints-”
“Well, you’ve investigated. So piss off!” Honey chips in, waving her belly aggressively at the man. Dinny puts a restraining hand on her arm. Hoxteth’s eyes flicker over Honey’s youth, her beauty, the swell of her midriff. He flushes, knots forming at the corners of his jaw. He nods at his officers and they begin to file away.
“Music off. And everybody gone by midnight. We’ll be back to check,” he says, raising a warning finger. Honey raises a finger of her own, but Hoxteth has turned away.
“Tosser,” Patrick mutters. “Full of youthful zeal, that one,” he adds. Once the cars have pulled away, Dinny turns to me with a smile, an arched eyebrow.
“Your party, is it?” he asks, amused.
“Oh, come on. It did the trick,” I reply.
“That it did. I never had you down as the antiestablishment type,” he says wryly.
“Shows what you know. I even got arrested once-do I get some kudos for that?”