by Keane Jessie
Dad had blown his top spectacularly over her giving Javier the cold shoulder again.
‘Why not have dinner with the man?’ he’d raged. ‘Would it bother you so much to at least be polite?’
Milly had no answer. She upped and fled to the city, to get away from the whole rotten lot of them. Mum didn’t even seem interested that she’d left. Nula was in one of her downtimes again, barely speaking, not engaging with anyone, just scribbling in her notebooks. Well, fuck it.
So Milly took herself off to the Smoke. She spent too much in Harvey Nicks, wandered around Tiffany’s, offloaded a fortune of the very generous allowance Charlie paid her because no daughter of his, he always said, was ever going to have to work for a living. She blew hundreds in Harrods, raided Bond Street, then went back to the flat loaded with bags and flopped out on the couch, feeling a bit happier – until she thought of Nipper again, and wondered if she was being a fool, wondered if she was so desperate for affection that she’d just settled for sex instead.
Deep down she knew all too well that Nipper was a worthless bastard, Harlan’s glove puppet. But at least her and Belle were together again, best mates. No way was a man ever going to come between them.
Suddenly she choked back a tear and looked at all the purchases surrounding her. Her pleasure in them faded instantly. Then there was the noise of male voices, and the key turned in the lock. She straightened with a guilty jolt. If it was Dad, he’d moan like fuck about all the shopping bags. It was one of Charlie’s ‘things’ – he chucked money about like confetti on stuff for his own amusement, but he always complained if Milly or Nula or Harlan spent a penny.
But it wasn’t Charlie. It was Harlan, with a few hard-looking young men coming in behind him. He paused when he saw her sitting there.
‘What the fuck you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Right back at you,’ said Milly, annoyed. She hadn’t realized Harlan was staying here. She didn’t want to share the place with him and his mates. She saw that Nipper had trailed in among them. He looked at her blankly. And there was Ludo, decked out in more chains than the Queen Mary, nudging Nipper, grinning when he saw that she was there.
Harlan came and slouched down on the couch opposite her while his mates wandered around the big room, picking up vases and artworks that were probably priceless – Charlie liked his art – and slapping them back down, disinterested, then stopping by the floor-to-ceiling windows to admire the view.
She felt uncomfortable, red-faced, seeing Nipper here. And he was ignoring her. It was clear that Ludo knew about their relationship, but Nipper didn’t want Charlie finding out. And he didn’t want to acknowledge her in front of Harlan, either. That must be why he was blanking her.
‘I had the key for this place, so I thought I’d come on over here for a while and stay. What, the country getting too boring for you, was it?’ asked Harlan.
Milly shrugged. She wasn’t about to chat about family matters in front of all these tossers.
‘You can go now,’ said Harlan to the others, his eyes still fixed on Milly.
One by one they headed for the door. Meek as lambs, she thought. She’d seen her dad’s people react exactly the same to an order from Charlie. Nipper didn’t even glance at her as he left.
‘I miss Beezer,’ she said when the door closed behind the last of them. She’d always liked ‘Uncle’ Beezer. He’d been around all her life, a fixture. And he always made her laugh, however bleak her mood.
Harlan smiled. ‘That stupid old fart? Old school, wasn’t he. Old ideas, old ways. I don’t think he liked me much.’
Milly didn’t know what to say to that. Beezer had always been viewed with tolerant affection by the family. But not by Harlan. Again she thought of what she’d found in Harlan’s room, and she thought of Beezer, and what he’d seen on the morning of baby Jake’s death.
‘Maybe he had reason not to like you,’ she said.
‘Meaning what?’ Harlan’s pale grey eyes were sharp as lasers on her face.
Milly shrugged.
‘I said, meaning what?’
‘You remember the party on the day of baby Jake’s christening? Beezer saw you coming out of the nursery in the small hours the next morning. The morning Jake was found dead.’
Harlan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Beezer did?’
‘Yeah, he did. And you never liked the baby, did you. I can remember you watching Mum and Dad with Jake, I can remember how you used to look at him.’
‘And how was that?’
‘Like you hated him.’
‘Christ, it must be a family thing,’ said Harlan. His mouth was smiling but his eyes were very cold.
‘What?’ Milly was bewildered.
Harlan lifted a hand and twirled his fingers against his temple. ‘The insanity. Like mother, like daughter, yeah?’
‘I’m not mad, Harlan. Not in the least. And if Mum ever was, it’s thanks to you.’
‘What?’
‘I found things in your room. Remember that day you were spying on Nipper and me in the pool house? I went indoors and into your room and I found . . .’
Her voice tailed away. Harlan had jumped to his feet and was across the carpet and grabbing her by the arm and hauling her up, so quickly that she didn’t have time to react. She found herself staring into those icy grey eyes from inches away and she thought, Oh Christ he’s going to kill me.
‘Tell me what you found,’ he said, shaking her. His grip on her arm was intensely painful.
‘Just . . . ow! . . . I found the tape recorder. And the tape. The baby crying. You played it to frighten Mum, didn’t you. To make her think she was going mad.’
He was silent for a moment, staring into her eyes. Then he said: ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do.’ Her voice shook.
‘No I don’t. You’re crazy, just like she is.’
‘No. That’s not true.’
He held her there, fixing her with that stare while he weighed up what she’d just told him. She could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain. Then he said: ‘Beezer thought he saw me, you say? Going into the nursery?’
Milly nodded dumbly. As a boy, he’d been weedy; thin. Now as a man he was very strong, while she was flabby and weak.
‘He must have been off his head on something,’ said Harlan. Suddenly he let her go. ‘And Mills – bear this in mind. I wasn’t there. Beezer imagined it.’
Her arm where he’d gripped it was throbbing with hot pain. Her mind was racing, any minute now he was going to warn her not to tell anyone. But she’d already told people. She’d told Belle. She’d told Mum. And Mum had told Dad.
‘Who’ve you told, Milly?’ he demanded.
Milly licked her dry lips. She could lie. But he’d get the truth out of her; she knew he would.
‘I told Mum. She told Dad, but I don’t suppose he believed her anyway, and . . .’ Her voice tailed away.
‘And?’ He gripped her arm again and she let out a cry. ‘And, Milly?’
‘I told Belle.’
84
Belle asked Milly where the Stone manufacturing bases were. No one had ever told her anything about them.
‘Why d’you want to know that?’ asked Milly.
‘Because I want to do something. Work at something.’
Milly looked at her old pal in amazement. ‘But you don’t have to.’
‘I know I don’t have to. I want to. I’m bored with hanging about doing nothing. I want to do something with my life, OK?’
‘Well yeah. Sure. If that’s what you want.’
‘So . . . ?’ Belle looked at Milly expectantly.
‘I don’t know where they are. How would I? You know the parents don’t like us even asking about the business. And anyway it’s dull as fuck. Sofas and armchairs? Beechwood frames and fabrics? Not exactly exciting, is it?’
‘You really don’t know where the business addresses are?’
‘I really don’t. Harlan does, but he ne
ver talks about any of it. And me? Kept in the dark and fed bollocks, that’s me.’ Milly pouted. It was one more example of her being treated like the useless one, while Harlan was the favoured son, granted all the inside knowledge. All right, she didn’t want to know about the bloody business that kept them all in such style, but still – it did sting.
‘So how are we going to find out where they are?’ asked Belle.
‘We’re not,’ said Milly, disinterested. Belle was off her head, wanting to schlepp to some damned factory or office to spend her days there grafting. The way Milly saw it, they were fortunate. They didn’t have to lift a finger. OK, sometimes that was a bore. But then – so was working for a living.
‘Oh come on. There must be a way.’
‘Well – really? – all right then. I think you’re mad, but maybe there’s something in Mum’s journals?’
‘What?’
‘I bet there’ll be something about the furniture factories in there. But look, Belle, there’s no point. If your dad or mine got wind of you working at one of their places, they’d blow a bloody gasket and you’d be straight out the door.’
Belle considered this. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Milly was thinking too. ‘They do visit the factories. They’ve got the manufacturing bases for the big retailers, but they’ve also got the accounts offices and admin departments and so on.’
‘So?’
‘Harlan said something about the staff at the admin and accounts offices never seeing your dad or mine at all these days.’
So they had to wait for Nula to go out, then creep into the sitting room and open the big pouffe where Nula stashed her current journals. There were a lot of them in there and they sweated for over an hour to find details of the family business.
‘This is ridiculous. Can’t we just ask your mum?’ said Belle, getting impatient.
‘Nope. She won’t tell us anything. She never has, and never will. I’ve asked her before, and she always shuts me down.’
‘This is so fucking silly,’ said Belle, thumbing through. Then she stopped. ‘Wait. What’s this?’
There was an address in Clacton. She showed it to Milly.
‘Do you know this address?’ she asked.
‘Nope,’ said Milly.
‘This could be it. One of the admin offices?’
‘Yeah, but look, Belle. You won’t get anything except a kick up the arse for your trouble.’
Belle ignored that. She made a quick note of the address and tucked it in her jeans pocket. Then she helped Milly load the journals back into the pouffe. Through the lounge window they could see the Bentley coming up the drive, Paul at the wheel this time. Nula was back.
‘You’re so fucking obstinate,’ said Milly as she and Belle left the lounge.
‘Quitters never win,’ said Belle. ‘And winners never quit.’ It was something she’d heard Milly’s dad say, more than once. And in that he was absolutely right.
As they were crossing the hall, Charlie came out of his study. Spotting Milly there, he hooked a finger at her. ‘In here,’ he said, and turned and went back in.
‘Catch you later,’ said Milly to Belle, and followed him into the study, closing the door behind her.
Charlie was pacing the floor, his face thunderous.
Feeling increasingly nervous, Milly waited.
‘What the fuck,’ he said at last, ‘are you doing, mucking Javier about?’
‘What?’
‘You heard. He’s a valuable business associate and would it hurt you to be nice to him? He’s just been on the phone telling me you’ve cancelled a date with him. You’ve broken the poor bastard’s heart.’
‘What the . . .’ Milly was gobsmacked. ‘That’s ridiculous! I don’t like him, Dad. For God’s sake, he’s a horrible little—’
Charlie flew at her. He grabbed her arms and shook her, hard.
‘You listen to me,’ he snarled. ‘You be civil to Javier. You hear me?’
Milly was staring straight into her father’s face. She saw anger there, and in his eyes a hint of desperation. Suddenly, as if realizing he was going too far, Charlie let her go. He drew back, scraped a hand over his face.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Off you go.’
Milly didn’t need telling twice. She bolted out the door and was gone.
85
Belle drove over to the Clacton address next day. She checked the maps when she got there and then sat in the car, frowning and staring at what appeared to be a house set in a row of identical Victorian houses. She had expected a proper office on an industrial estate, but this was just a house.
She got out of the car and walked over. There was a small chequered black-and-white path leading up to a battered-looking front door with . . . what the hell? There was a mirror hanging on the outside of it.
Very odd.
She opened the little metal gate and walked up the path. There was a bell beside the door but it looked as if someone had wrenched it out of the wall. Undeterred, Belle knocked at the flaking wood.
Nothing.
She must have the wrong address.
But she knew she didn’t. She knew she had the right one.
She leaned in to knock again. As she did so, a tiny black-haired woman opened the door a crack and let loose a torrent of some foreign language at her.
‘I’m Belle Barton,’ said Belle loudly. ‘Is the manager here? Can I speak to the manager?’
What she should have done, she could see it now, was ask Dad if there was any work going in any of Charlie’s factories. But then, she was nervous of doing that: she knew Dad would only put her off. He’d tell her not to be silly. To enjoy herself. Didn’t she have a big enough allowance? And then she would have felt guilty, and awkward, and she would still be fed up and unsatisfied.
The woman stopped talking. She stood there, her eyes wide with alarm. A rabbit in the headlights. Getting annoyed at all this, Belle pushed forward. The woman was very slight, very small. She looked malnourished, really. It was easy to shove past her and go inside.
Now the woman started gabbling at her again, following behind her, touching nervously at the sleeve of Belle’s coat.
Belle walked along a shabby hallway. To her left there was an open doorway. Empty desks in there. Like a normal office. But no one about. She walked on and then pushed open another door. Once it had probably been a kitchen. But as she entered she saw no cosy domestic scene. There were men in here – they looked Chinese or Vietnamese, like the woman – and they were wearing facemasks and protective coveralls. Pots of bubbling liquid were all around. Steam and smoke was rising. There was an acrid scent in the air. Belle almost choked the minute she walked in. She stood there and stared. They stared right back at her. Then they erupted into movement and started shouting at her.
Alarmed, Belle backtracked. Suddenly they were all clustering around her, clutching at her, trying to either force her out or to stop her leaving, she didn’t know which. She ran along the hall, pushing past the woman and the men in their weird outfits, choking on something horrible, and she didn’t stop running until she was back at the car. Then quickly she put the key in the lock with a shaking hand. She got in and locked the door behind her. They were gathering out by the gate of the house, pointing and yelling. She wondered if they were actually going to come after her.
Gasping, panicking, she started the engine and quickly steered the car out into the traffic.
What the fuck?
86
Belle thought about it for days afterwards.
‘How’d it go then? Did you talk to the personnel people? Any luck? I think you must be demented to bother, but . . .’ Milly shrugged.
‘No,’ lied Belle. She didn’t want to discuss it with anyone, not yet. She was still trying to process what had happened. So far, it wasn’t adding up; not at all. ‘Actually, I didn’t bother. You’re right. What’s the point? Dad and Charlie would only kick off if they found out I was working there. It was a stupid idea.�
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Finally Belle came to a decision, made a quick call and drove up to Cambridge. It took just over an hour on a trouble-free M11. She parked up – the traffic in the centre was hell, but she managed to find a space. She walked over to the college and there he was, waiting for her by the porter’s lodge.
‘Einstein! Hello,’ she said, thinking that he hadn’t changed a fraction since their schooldays. He still had that long, solemn face, that carroty shock of hair. He was taller, but still gangly. His jeans were saggy but his white T-shirt was clean, with RED DEVILS emblazoned across the front. ‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’
‘No problem. Nobody calls me Einstein any more, by the way. It’s Nige. Hi, Belle.’ He gave her a timid peck on the cheek. ‘Although, I’m a bit pushed for time, as I told you on the phone. You want to sit, or shall we walk . . . ?’
‘Let’s walk.’
The place was so beautiful. Belle couldn’t stop staring at the fabulous soaring towers of honey-coloured stone, the immaculate lawns sweeping down to the River Cam. The sun sparkled on the water and people steered punts with long poles.
‘So how’s chemistry?’ asked Belle.
‘Demanding,’ he said. ‘I’m working on biophysical and spectroscopic studies of macromolecule structure, dynamics and function.’
‘Of course you are,’ said Belle, laughing. He’d always been the brainiest of all her friends, stunningly intelligent. ‘It don’t seem like five minutes since you were scaring us all to death in the science lab at school, setting fire to things with a Bunsen burner.’
Einstein laughed too. ‘I still do that.’
‘I bet you do,’ she said.
‘You see any of the old crowd much? Davey or Phil? What about Milly? Didn’t your dads work together?’
Belle’s smile faded. ‘I don’t see Davey or Phil. But Milly? Yeah, we live side by side, we’re big pals.’
‘I liked her,’ said Einstein. ‘Nice quiet girl.’
‘Yeah. She hasn’t changed.’
‘So what’s the emergency?’ he asked as they paused by the riverside. Two swans glided past, snow-white and elegant against the dark waters. ‘On the phone you seemed anxious.’
