those palm trees with them?” Luke is saying incredulously. “And the sunbeds? It’s hardly the right time of year. As for the patio heaters, I read a piece the other day about those….” He starts talking about global warming, but I can’t listen, because I’m staring in slight terror at the palm trees.
Palm trees. Isn’t that the sign? Isn’t that what swingers have in their gardens to alert other swingers?
My heart is thumping hard as we walk up the path to the front door. It’s on. It’s real. Suze was right. I have to tell Luke, quick.
As he lifts his hand to ring the doorbell, I grab his arm.
“Luke,” I say in a desperate whisper. “I’m not sure they want to talk about wine. It’s all a front.”
“What?” Luke stares at me.
“I think they want…you know.” I gulp, then whisper even more quietly, “An orgy.”
“What?” Luke gives a bark of laughter, then peers at me again. “Becky, are you being serious?”
“Yes! Craig is into threesomes and foursomes and…everythingsomes. Suze saw it online. He goes to sex parties all the time. And look at the palm trees.” I gesticulate wildly toward the back garden. “It’s the sign! Swingers!”
“I’m fairly sure the sign for swingers is pampas grass,” says Luke calmly.
“Palm trees, pampas grass—it’s all the same. We need a plan,” I add urgently. “We need signals.”
“Hi, guys! You made it!” Craig’s raspy voice greets us, apparently out of nowhere, and I jump. He’s leaning out of an upstairs window, wearing an open-necked shirt and beaming.
Oh God. Did he hear us? No. I don’t think so.
“Hi!” I say in a strangled voice. “We were just…Hi!”
“Hi there!” Luke hails him easily.
“I’ll be down in a sec….” Craig’s head disappears and I hear him calling, “Nadine, they’re here!”
I can already hear high heels approaching on the other side of the door. Shit.
“Our safe word is sprygge,” I gabble in panic. “OK?”
“What?” Luke looks baffled.
“Sprygge! Safe word! Sprygge!”
I don’t have time to say any more before the door swings open and there’s Nadine, wearing a smart silk shirt that displays her amazing cleavage and wafting some musky perfume.
“Guys,” she says, embracing Luke, then me. “Welcome!”
“Hi,” says Luke. “We brought a little something.”
Nadine takes the bottle and our coats and ushers us into a nice big room with a fire blazing in the hearth and fairy lights decorating the mantelpiece. The look is kind of half country cottage, half music studio. There are linen-covered sofas and chairs, but there are also three guitars on stands and a couple of massive amps.
“Guys!” Craig comes striding in, wearing his usual ripped jeans and clutching what looks like an expensive bottle of wine. (The label’s really old and torn, that’s how I know.)
He kisses me and shakes Luke’s hand warmly. Soon we’re sitting on the linen sofas, listening to the fire crackle, and watching the fairy lights on the mantelpiece flash on and off. Nadine passes round olives and nuts and Craig puts on some music and I start to relax a bit. It doesn’t feel like a sex party. Not that I’ve ever been to one.
“What do you think of the wine, Luke?” Craig asks. “Can I pour you some more?”
“Luke, come nearer the fire,” chimes in Nadine. “Is that sofa comfortable for you? Can I get you another cushion? More olives?”
Instantly my radar starts to prickle. They’re both all over Luke, like they were in the pub. But maybe they’re just trying to be friendly.
“The house looks amazing!” I say, to make conversation. “All the fairy lights! Beautiful!”
“I made Craig do those,” says Nadine with satisfaction. “I was like, babe, get up on your ladder, now.”
“She’s the boss,” agrees Craig with a chuckle. “You should see her manage her team at work. More wine, Luke? What are you up to for Christmas?”
“We’re hosting for the first time,” says Luke. “Becky’s the mastermind.”
“Hosting Christmas for the first time!” says Nadine, with a sympathetic eye roll. “I remember doing that. I nearly went mad. All my family were like, ‘Can we have this, can we have that?’ In the end, I was like, ‘Enough! We’re doing it my way!’ ”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, feeling a bond with Nadine for the first time. “Same! I’ve started a Christmas WhatsApp group, and it’s sending me demented. Everyone wants different chocolates and mince pies and traditions. My sister’s vegan and my best friend wants to do children’s crafts and her husband wants to watch opera and our neighbor Janice