A little smile hovers around Mum’s lips. “Do you think that maybe because you feel so passionately about writing, you’ve assumed Meg feels the same about dress designing?”
“I’m sure Meg wants to be a designer,” I say. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
The rest of the week speeds by. Meg is still in a mood with me. She’s out most days babysitting, then off with her own friends in the evening. I’ve written to Design Dreams to say that she won’t be coming for an interview – “unavoidable change in circumstances” is how I put it. I still feel cross but, as Mum says, what Meg does for work has to be her choice. I try to talk to Meg a couple of times, to persuade her that being a designer would be really cool, but she refuses to listen.
Amy is out most of the week too, at Katy Brown’s house. On the Thursday before Easter weekend, she trots off at lunchtime, announcing that she and Katy are going to the cinema, but she’ll be back by five.
Mum nods, looking pleased. Amy’s friendship with Katy has gone from strength to strength since the incident in the shopping centre and Amy has massively lightened up as a result. I’ve made her promise to tell me if she hears any more from those mean girls in her class but so far standing up to them seems to be working. I’ve told Lateef – in strict confidence – that we need to look out for her a bit more, and Lateef has promised to do what he can to make sure she’s OK when the summer term starts.
Everyone’s home in time for our Skype call with Dad at six.
I grab an apple and a cereal bar from the stash in the kitchen, then take my place on the long sofa next to Mum. Beth is already on Mum’s other side.
The Skype call sound chimes out.
“Meg! Amy! Come on!” Mum calls, as the pair of them rush into the living room and crowd on to the sofa beside us.
Meg and I usually squish up together, but this evening she sits further along the sofa, next to Beth.
Clearly she’s still annoyed with me. I don’t have time to dwell on this, though, as seconds later the image of Dad fills the screen.
I can’t help but smile at the sight of his familiar face: the thick eyebrows and high forehead. Of all of us, I think he looks most like Meg, only with a long, sloping nose. His eyes twinkle as he smiles out of the screen at us.
“Oh, sweetheart, you look thinner,” Mum says. “Is the food terrible?”
“Nah, I’m eating well,” Dad says, beaming. “How are all my girls?”
It’s weird only seeing him like this every few weeks. It feels like seeing a stranger sometimes – though of course he isn’t one and soon we’re chatting away as normal, Dad asking what we’ve been doing and smiling, his dark eyes darting over each of us in turn. I get my chance to tell him about the stories I’m writing. Dad is encouraging, as ever, urging me to keep going, asking for the link to my new Tallulah stories so he can read them too. And then comes the best moment of all, when Dad says he has an announcement – that he’ll be home this weekend, late on Easter Sunday, just three days away.
We all cheer, and even after we hang up the good mood stays as Mum bustles around the kitchen, overseeing our dinner preparations. She’s got three job interviews next week – and is confident she’ll soon be offered a permanent position. So Dad coming home feels like the icing on the cake for us.
I look around at the excited faces, grinning. Things are going well, at last. I’ve got my friendship with Lateef, the excitement of my stories and a music festival ahead. OK, so Meg and I have fallen out, but she’ll get over it sooner or later, and apart from that she seems well and happy. It strikes me that we’re finally settling here in Ringstone. All at once I’m brimming with happiness, sure that from now on things can only get better.
I couldn’t be more wrong.
Chapter 7
The next three days pass as normal. I don’t try to talk to Meg about the design internship again and she doesn’t mention it herself. She doesn’t talk much at all, in fact, but least she doesn’t seem quite so annoyed with me any more.
To be honest, everyone’s so excited about Dad coming home there’s hardly any time left to talk about anything else. The time until he gets here seems to stretch out like a piece of gum that gets further and further away as you pull on it. We all work on making the house and garden as nice as possible, tidying our rooms and weeding and pruning outside. Amy does a portrait of us all in charcoal and frames it, so that Dad can take it away with him when he leaves. Lateef brings us fresh flowers from his garden to fill the vases, so that the air is rich with scent. We all want his visit home to be perfect.
And then, finally, the day itself is here. Even though Dad’s return this evening is the Main Event of the day, Mum insists that preparations for our usual Easter lunch with Aunt Em continue as planned. Meg helps her roast a leg of lamb and a tray of potatoes while Beth makes an apple tart for dessert. I’m in charge of prepping the green beans, a grubby head of cauliflower and some garden peas that Mum has bought at the local market, while Amy and Lateef – who’s been allowed to come for lunch on condition he goes to a family function with Uncle Jim later – lay the table.
Aunt Em herself arrives at midday. It’s teeming down outside and though, as usual, she’s dressed to the nines in a cashmere coat with a fur collar, her usually sleek hair is a little ruffled.
“Josephine?” she barks as I let her into the hallway. “Do something with this umbrella, it’s soaking.”
I take the umbrella from her – black with a silver handle. It’s barely damp.
“It can’t have rained much on the way from your taxi to the front door,” I’m unable to resist saying.
“No need for backchat.” Aunt Em tuts, heading straight for the downstairs bathroom. She emerges a moment later with smooth hair and a fresh application of bright red lipstick. “That’s better,” she says, marching into the kitchen. “Hello, everyone.”
“Hi, Aunt Em!” Meg glances up from the potato tray, her face flushed with the heat from the oven.
Mum hurries over to kiss her sister-in-law on the cheek. They couldn’t look more different: Aunt Em is neat and thin, all cheekbones and hard angles, whereas there’s a softness to Mum, in spite of her slimness and her height. Watching them together it strikes me that even though everyone says I look like Mum, I probably resemble Aunt Em more physically. I don’t like the thought.
“Hello, Auntie,” Amy says with a winning smile, coming in from the living room. “Would you like a drink?” She always seems to know the right thing to say to our formidable aunt.
“Indeed I would,” Aunt Em says approvingly. “White wine, please, Amy. You’ll find a chilled Sancerre in here.” She passes Amy her capacious handbag. Meg’s eyes linger on it longingly so presumably it’s some sort of designer accessory, though I can’t see an obvious label or logo.
“Hello, I’m Lateef. I live over the road.” Lateef beams, offering his hand for Aunt Em to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Aunt Em eyes him thoughtfully. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too, young man.” She shakes his hand, then turns to Beth. “Are you not going to say hello to me, Elizabeth?”
Beth trots dutifully over and kisses Aunt Em on the cheek. She finds Aunt Em’s abrasive manner terrifying.
“And how is your music coming along?” continues Aunt Em. When Beth murmurs that she’s still practising daily, Aunt Em’s delicate brows arch.
“Good, and perhaps you’ll also practise not mumbling quite so much when you speak to me too.” She grins, as if she’s said something funny. Beth shrinks away. I glare at my aunt, who fixes me with a stern look. “That frown doesn’t suit you, Josephine,” she tuts. “And while I’m on the subject, your hair needs shaping into a proper style. A trim at least. It really could be your crowning glory, if you could be bothered with it.”
“Maybe there are more important things in life than hair and—?” I begin.
“Lunch will be ready in about an hour,” Mum interrupts, throwing me a warning glance. “Jo, please
would you open some crisps while Amy gets Aunt Em her drink? Lateef, do make yourself at home, dear.”
Grudgingly I empty a bag of ready salted into a bowl and take it through to the living room where Meg is grilling Aunt Em about her handbag, which leads to an account of her recent business trip to Paris. Amy hovers attentively on Aunt Em’s other side. Lateef is smiling and nodding, his usual charming self.
I plonk my bowl of crisps down, earning a brief look of scorn from Aunt Em, and retreat to the kitchen, where Mum is now basting the lamb, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and Beth is carefully layering caramelized apple slices along the top of her tart.
“It can go straight in to heat up when you take the lamb out to rest,” she’s saying.
“Thanks, Bethy,” says Mum, wiping her forehead. “I just want everything to be nice.”
Beth turns to me. “Don’t listen to Aunt Em, Jo,” she says quietly. “I think your hair is lovely just the way it is, all long and wild.”
I kiss her cheek, check that Mum doesn’t need help with anything, then slip away to my room and lose myself in a Tallulah Templeton mystery. Much more fun than making small talk with Aunt Em.
Lunch passes smoothly enough. Aunt Em does most of the talking, telling us more about her work trip to Paris.
“For once I made sure to leave enough time at the end of the trip to do some of the museums,” she says with a smile. “The Louvre is just extraordinary.”
“Did you make it to the Musée Marmottan ?” Amy asks. “That’s where all the Monets are. We did about them at school.”
“Oh I love the Impressionists” Aunt Em says, which sparks off a general conversation about the French artists and Monet in particular. To my surprise, Lateef joins in avidly – and knowledgeably; it turns out Uncle Jim took him to a big Monet exhibition in London a few years ago and he remembers several of the paintings really well.
I knew Lateef had travelled across Europe a lot with Uncle Jim, but I hadn’t realized how many places he’d visited: he’s been all over Spain and France and Italy. I listen with envy as he chats breezily away with Aunt Em about their respective trips.
Write what you know. Rowena Riddell’s author advice pops into my head and I grimace. My life is so boring – I’ve only ever lived in a dull suburb on the outskirts of London and now here, in small-town Ringstone. We used to go on holiday to Devon, before Amy came along, but for the past few years we haven’t even been able to afford that. I’d be embarrassed to admit it to anyone at school, but I’ve never even been abroad.
I tune back into the conversation, only to find the subject has moved on and that Meg is now holding court, making everyone laugh with her tale of little Tommy Gardiner’s recent attempt at finger painting – and how his mother came home to discover bright blue handprints all over her favourite sofa.
I offer to clear away as soon as the apple tart has been eaten. Beth leaps up to help me. I’m hurrying, as usual, and manage to tip a glass of water into Aunt Em’s lap. She jumps up as though scalded. Amy, thinking quicker than anyone else, grabs a clutch of paper napkins from the sideboard and falls to her knees, dabbing at Aunt Em’s skirt. Lateef’s eyes meet mine, sparkling with humour and I have to press my lips together, hard, to stop myself from laughing out loud.
“It’s only water,” Amy says, soothingly. “If we get the worst off I don’t think the fabric will come to any harm.“
I apologize quickly, then scurry away with my plates to start washing up. Lateef dries and Beth puts away. Once we’ve finished, Lateef gives a sigh and heads back to Uncle Jim’s house in order to get ready for tonight’s family function.
Not wanting to go back into the living room, Beth and I wander into the garden with mugs of tea. The earlier rain has stopped and the sun is shining. Beth sits in the only un-damp chair, under the awning, and looks out over the flowers that are just starting to spring up.
“I love this time of year,” she says softly. “And I’m so glad the garden’s looking nice for Dad to come back to.” She grins. “Isn’t it great, Jo? He’ll be home in just a few more hours.”
“I know,” I say, smiling at her.
“I never imagined Ringstone would feel like home,” Beth says thoughtfully, “but it does now, doesn’t it?”
I nod. She’s right; it does.
“So much has happened,” she goes on dreamily. “Mum’s got all those interviews next week and I’m sure at least one of them will lead to a job, and Meg’s really happy looking after the little Gardiner boys.”
“And Amy’s got friends,” I add, “and I’ve got my stories and you have your new piano to play.”
Beth sighs, bending down to pick up a crocus that’s snapped off at the stem and is lying, alone, on the grass. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever do anything except play the piano…”
There’s something odd in her voice – something sad – that makes me look up, but before I can ask, Mum calls from the kitchen.
“Girls!” She isn’t shouting loudly, but something urgent in her voice sends a chill down my spine. I meet Beth’s gaze and can see she’s feeling the same.
We hurry inside.
Mum is leaning against the kitchen counter, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, her face the colour of pale ash.
“What’s the matter?” Meg asks. She, Amy and Aunt Em have come in from the living room.
We all stare at Mum as she looks up at us, fear in her eyes. I’ve never seen her look scared before – not when Dad went away, not when she lost her job. Never. Mum is the strongest person I know – but now she looks as fragile as the crocus in Beth’s hand.
“It’s Dad,” she says at last, her voice a whisper, and it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. “He’s seriously ill. He … he collapsed just now, at the airport in Germany when he was waiting to change planes to … to come home. He’s been taken to a local hospital in Frankfurt. That was the consultant on the phone. They’ve managed to stabilize him and they’re running some tests tonight.”
“Oh no!” Meg and Amy say in unison. Beth gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
“What’s the matter with him?” Aunt Em asks sharply.
She sounds cross and cold, like she so often does. I shoot her a warning look. This is not the time for harsh words. Can’t she see how upset Mum is?
“They don’t know yet.” Mum’s voice cracks. “Hopefully they’ll have a better picture in the morning.” She gulps. “They want me to fly out there straight away.”
“Oh, Mum… Poor Dad.” Our voices chorus. I can’t bear the idea of him alone in a hospital, so far away.
“Can we go with you, Mum?” Beth asks. “Please, Mum.”
“No, my darling,” Mum says, touching her cheek gently. “The doctors say he’s not well enough for visitors, even you four. I have to go on my own. I’ll ring you as soon as I have any news at all, I promise.” She looks at us each in turn, her forehead creasing with anxiety. “I hate to leave you.”
“We’ll be OK, Mum,” I say stoutly. “Meg and I can keep an eye on the others.”
“I don’t need keeping an eye on,” Amy whines. “You don’t need to—”
“Oh no, I won’t hear of you girls being on your own.” Aunt Em’s curt voice cuts in. “Obviously, I shall have to come and stay.”
We turn and stare at her, open-mouthed.
“For as long as need be.” She glances at Mum. “No need to worry about it.”
“But Emmeline, I can’t ask you to—” Mum stammers.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Aunt Em says emphatically. “And if you remember, I’m the one who paid the landlord the deposit on this house, so I’ve as much right to be here as the rest of you.”
“Of course.” Mum blinks, clearly completely thrown. “I didn’t mean to—”
“For pity’s sake, do stop blathering on,” Aunt Em interrupts. She turns to the rest of us. “Margaret, you help your mother pack. Josephine, research flights and book the first one out �
�� if you can manage that. Here’s my credit card. Amy, you can come with me and help me pack. Which leaves…” Her eyes light on Beth. “Elizabeth, perhaps you’d get your mother’s room ready for me? And you can help her later, Josephine – if you’re able to do it without damaging anything.” She claps her hands together, clearly irritated by the fact that we’re all still gazing at her in shock. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go!”
We all jump into action. And just an hour later, around the time we’d have been expecting Dad to walk in the door, we find ourselves waving Mum off in her taxi with messages of love for Dad and deep anxiety in our hearts.
Aunt Em, who arrived back from her own house about half an hour ago accompanied by two of the largest suitcases I’ve ever seen, has already got me and Meg to haul them upstairs and is busy unpacking her things in Mum’s room.
The rest of us huddle in the living room. The sky is darkening outside but nobody switches on a light. We all sit in shock. I know what the others are thinking. How can a day that started in one way, full of such hope and promise, finish so differently?
“I hope Mum’s got everything she needs,” muses Meg, a little frown between her eyes that reminds me of Mum.
“I know. I packed a book for her to read in hospital,” I add, thinking of the lonely hours she will spend waiting for news.
“I hope she remembered her washbag,” adds Amy.
“I hope Dad’s going to be all right,” Beth says.
There’s a long pause. Aunt Em’s footsteps tap down the stairs.
“Meg?” she calls. “Do you have any Evian water? If not, could one of you go to the store?“
“This,” I say with a sigh, “is going to be weird.”
Part Three
Summer
Chapter 1
Three months have passed.
When the test results came back, it turned out that Dad had contracted encephalitis in Syria. He’s still in hospital close to the airport in Germany where he collapsed – the doctors said it was important not to move him – but Mum says he seems far stronger now and is hopefully well on the way to a full recovery. She has rented a cheap apartment there, which the army are paying for.
Becoming Jo Page 10
