Paradise End

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘Sorry,’ Sam says again. ‘I’m really, really happy, that’s all. I’ve had some great news.’

  ‘Oh?’ says Dad. ‘Let me guess. You’ve made the first fifteen at last.’

  ‘You passed your maths exam,’ says Mum.

  ‘You got Ellie Smithers to kiss you back,’ says Lauren.

  It’s Sam’s turn to go scarlet. Lauren is triumphant.

  ‘Ellie Smithers! Ellie Smithers!’ she chants.

  Sam tries to ignore her.

  ‘I’ve got myself a job,’ he says. ‘It’s really good. Weekends and evenings, and only now and then. It’s with Jepson’s.’

  ‘What’s Jepson’s?’ says Lauren, her eyes all sharp and nosy.

  Sam ignores her. He’s looking at Mum, who’s frowning.

  ‘They do catering, don’t they? For parties?’ she says. ‘What sort of a job are they offering you?’

  ‘I’m going to be a waiter,’ says Sam triumphantly. ‘I’m going to walk around in a little white jacket and black bow tie like in the films and wow all the girls. It’s dead easy. All I’ve got to do is pass drinks and stuff round on trays.’

  Mum’s looking doubtful.

  ‘What about the late nights? Your school-work?’

  ‘Lighten up, Mum.’ Sam’s beginning to look annoyed. ‘All my mates have got jobs. It won’t even be every weekend, and I can always say I can’t do it.’

  Dad chips in.

  ‘Good for you, Sam.’ He looks over at Mum. He doesn’t like disagreeing with her in front of us, but I can see the fact that he approves is bringing her round to it. ‘Sounds like a great idea to me. We’ll be able to charge you rent at last.’

  He grins to show he doesn’t mean it.

  Sam’s stuffing a massive piece of pizza into his mouth, but he still goes on speaking through it.

  ‘Thought I’d spend it on driving lessons.’

  That wipes the smile off Dad’s face. Mum can see an argument’s going to break out.

  ‘Guess what’s for dessert?’ she says.

  We don’t usually have a dessert, but today Mum’s got our favourite chocolate ice-cream roll out of the freezer for a special treat. While I clear the pizza plates away, she dollops it into our bowls. Lauren watches, her eyes like slits, in case anyone gets more that anyone else.

  No one talks much while they get stuck into their ice cream. I’m doing what I usually do, working round the edge of the lump with my spoon, then licking it off slowly, letting the cold, creamy sweetness slither down my throat.

  Then I catch sight of Tia. She’s taken a couple of delicate little mouthfuls and stopped. She’s pushed her bowl to one side with a sort of grand unconcern. She doesn’t seem to realize how special this is, and how everyone’s dying for more.

  I feel like a total yob, like a caveman or a barbarian or something. I slow down and try to take smaller mouthfuls of ice cream too, and I have to look away from Dad, who suddenly looks like a greedy bear, and from Mum, who looks dumpy and like a kind of sweet-o-holic.

  Thank God, the meal’s over at last. Sam jumps up.

  ‘Got something for you, Spiky-head,’ he says to me, barging out of the room.

  I sit and wait, numb with horror. This has been the most awful meal of my entire life. It can’t possibly get any worse. Sam can’t do anything more to me now. He’s totally destroyed me already.

  He’s back a minute later, and he plonks my old Walkman and a stack of tapes down beside me.

  ‘I’ve mended this thing for you,’ he says. ‘Took hours. Goes like a dream now though. And I taped all those tracks you wanted. Got some more for you too.’

  He starts singing, in an awful tuneless voice, ‘Cry me a river . . .’

  Suddenly he looks funny, and quite handsome, and sort of cool. For a moment, I almost forget the last ghastly half-hour.

  ‘Wow, Sam,’ I say, ‘you’re a dude.’

  ‘Right,’ says Mum, heaving herself to her feet. ‘Washing up.’

  ‘It’s Carly’s turn,’ Lauren says. ‘I’ll take Tia upstairs.’

  ‘Carly’s excused today’ Mum says. ‘It’s you and Sam, Lauren.’

  Lauren’s face sets itself and I know we’re in for a whining session. I grab Tia’s hand, get her out of the kitchen and slam the door behind us. I lean against the door of the cupboard under the stairs and feel myself trembling all over.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’m really, really sorry. I did warn you. I know you’ll want to go home now, and never see me again, but. . .’

  Tia’s staring at me, her eyes wide open.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about, Carly? I think your family’s great. They’re lovely.’ A slight blush is spreading up her cheeks. ‘What’s Sam – I mean, is he still at school? Where does he go?’

  I’m not thick. I’m quite sharp actually, when it comes to these things, and I can tell that the weirdest, whackiest thing has happened, something I’d never have believed in a million years. Anastasia Lucille Braithwaite Krukovsky actually fancies my revolting brother Samuel John McQuarrie.

  If Tia had been anyone else, like one of my friends at school, or Lizzie or Simone at tap, I’d have had a go at her about Sam, but I knew better than to try it out on Tia. Here, in our noisy, quarrelling house, she seemed almost fragile, like her own porcelain doll.

  I couldn’t remember, as I opened my bedroom door, whether I’d left it looking like a tip or not. Luckily, I hadn’t, for once. My side was OK. Lauren’s was as messy as usual, though, with her Barbie stuff scattered all over the place.

  ‘Oh! It’s Barbie!’ Tia said, picking up the revolting thing and stroking its golden hair. ‘One of my nannies gave me one when I was little. I adored it. Mimi hated it and made me throw it away. She said it was . . .’ She stopped and bit her lip, embarrassed.

  ‘Naff,’ I said, nodding. ‘She was dead right.’

  Tia put the doll back on Lauren’s bed and turned to look at my Ginger-and-Fred poster.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ She looked almost reverent. ‘But I don’t think I could . . .’

  I read her mind.

  ‘No, that’s not how I want my costume to look. Ginger’s dress is too grand and fussy. I want mine to be like your doll. Clean lines. Simple. Honestly, Tia, it’s so lovely, so elegant and sort of classy.’

  A door slammed downstairs and a shout of laughter from Sam wafted up from below. Tia looked towards the door. Banging noises came from the sitting room, right underneath our bedroom, where Dad must have been turning the sofa back upright again. Mum’s voice was booming out over the others as she tried to make herself heard on the phone.

  I began to feel embarrassed again.

  ‘Dad keeps saying we ought to move to a bigger house. You can hardly turn round in this one. I never get any space to be on my own.’

  She looked round at me, her thin, flying eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said.

  ‘You’re having me on,’ I said, annoyed. I couldn’t believe she was sincere. ‘What did you say that for?’

  She could see she’d irritated me. I was beginning to understand how sensitive she was to all my moods.

  ‘If I lived in this house, I wouldn’t get scared at night,’ she said at last.

  I thought of her huge bedroom. It had been fine in the daytime, but I suddenly realized that to be there in the dark, on your own, to hear the wind rattling the windows, the floorboards creaking outside in the long gallery, and the tick of the old clock echoing round the high-roofed hall below would be horribly scary. I knew, though, that wasn’t the only thing she’d meant. I wanted to get her to tell me more, but I stopped myself.

  People aren’t tin cans, Mum says sometimes. You can’t prise them open with a tin opener. You remember that, Carly, before you go barging in and trampling all over people’s finer feelings.

  You’ve probably guessed by now that ‘tactful’ isn’t exactly my middle name. I was beginning to realize, though, that I’d have to learn
some tact if I was going to get on with Tia. She was like a wild animal. She’d shy away from me if I came in too close. I was starting to see that I’d have to be patient for once, and let her tell me stuff when she wanted to, without me forcing it out of her. It was a new experience for me.

  ‘Your mother looks really kind,’ she burst out suddenly.

  ‘Kind?’ I thought about it. ‘She gets furious sometimes. And she’s usually on Lauren’s side. It makes me mad, I can tell you.’

  ‘Your father’s nice too.’

  ‘He calls me Twinkle-toes. I hate it.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You’ve just got no idea how lucky you are,’ she said.

  ‘What’s your dad like then?’ I said, letting my curiosity have its way.

  She looked out of the window, and I felt her pull back from me again.

  ‘I’m supposed to see him once a year, in the summer, but something usually turns up to stop me going. Mimi messes up the plans, or says I’m ill or something, and won’t let me go.’

  ‘I don’t get it. Why does he let her? He’s your dad, isn’t he?’

  She stared at me.

  ‘You don’t know Mimi. Anyway . . .’

  ‘Anyway what?’

  ‘He’s married again. How do I know he really wants to see me? And Lucia, that’s his new wife, I’ve never met her, but she’ll probably hate me. You know what stepmothers are supposed to be like. She’ll be obsessed with the baby anyway.’

  ‘What baby? You mean your brother?’

  ‘My – brother. Yes.’

  I nearly said, You know what, Tia? You’ve got to toughen yourself up. Be a bit braver. Get a bit more confidence in yourself, but I didn’t. All I said was, ‘She’ll like you if you play with the baby and keep him out of her hair. Mums always do. What’s his name anyway?’

  ‘Jojo. But it’s really Joachim.

  I had a whole heap more questions I was dying to ask, but then the door opened and Lauren crashed in. Trust Lauren. I mean, that is so typical. You’re having a really intimate conversation with your own exclusive friend when little Miss Sneaky-ears Hide-as-thick-as-a-warthog comes barging in, nose quivering, trying to sniff out everyone else’s business.

  ‘Mum says you’re planning Carly’s costume for the display. Say I can help. Please, Tia!’

  ‘Look.’ I turn on her savagely. ‘We’ve got an agreement here, remember? Whoever’s got a friend round gets to have some space. The other one goes away, or at least shuts up and doesn’t interfere and lets them get on with it. OK? OK? Or has your pigeon-sized brain shredded that particular bit of information?’

  ‘It’s all right, Carly’ Tia’s voice breaks in. ‘Let her stay. You’ll be really quiet and let us get on with it, won’t you, Lauren? If you do, I’ll make an evening dress for your Barbie. Midnight-blue velvet with a sequinned jacket. Would you like that?’

  Lauren’s speechless. All she can do is nod. She tiptoes to her bed and sits on it, absolutely still, sucks her cheeks right in and watches us, wide-eyed and silent.

  ‘Tia,’ I say, slightly put out, ‘you don’t have to waste your time on crappy Barbie dolls.’

  I stop. I’ve suddenly remembered the one her mother made her throw away.

  ‘I’d love to, honestly’ I can see she means it. ‘Perhaps we’d better start. Have you got any paper, Carly? And a pencil?’

  I couldn’t believe how brilliant Tia was. She sat back on her heels and thought for a bit, then she leaned over the paper and started to draw. She rubbed it all out lots of times and started again, but at last there it was – the dress I wanted, not exactly like the one her doll was wearing, but even better. Right for a girl. Right for me.

  I held my breath while she worked on it, watching it take shape on the paper.

  It would fall, I could see, in a straight, clean line of black silk from shoulder to knee, fitting, but not hugging too closely. She seemed to know without me saying that I wouldn’t want the whole world to see how flat my chest was. She’d drawn in a big white flower just under one shoulder, a real touch of glamour, and a long string of beads to give a hint of the 1920s. I’d look amazing in it, I knew I would.

  I looked up once and caught Lauren’s eye. She was sitting unnaturally still, holding her Barbie close to her chest. She looked so funny, not daring to move an inch, as if she was frozen stiff, that I nearly let out a laugh.

  Then Mum put her head round the door.

  ‘How are you girls getting on? It’s so quiet up here I thought you must have passed out or something.’

  ‘Look, Mum.’

  I held out Tia’s sketch. Mum took the paper and studied it. I could see respect in her eyes.

  ‘This is lovely, Tia,’ she said, in the kind of voice she uses at school when one of her dim kids has surprised her. ‘You’ve got a talent for design, I can see.’

  ‘Can you do it, Mum?’ I was desperate to know. ‘Can you make it?’

  Mum’s mouth twisted to one side.

  ‘I’m not sure, quite frankly. It’s the sort of really simple thing that’s not easy to get right. It’s all in the cut, and without a pattern . . .’

  ‘I’ll ask Graziella to help me,’ said Tia. ‘She won’t mind doing it, I know she won’t.’

  ‘Graziella’s Tia’s housekeeper,’ I said, enjoying the grand sound of the words.

  Mum’s eyebrows snapped together, and I could see the words ‘getting above yourself zipping through her mind.

  ‘It needs to be cut on the cross, that’s what’s tricky,’ Tia said, sounding brilliantly professional, though I had no idea what she meant. ‘Graziella’s awfully good at sewing. She could make the pattern easily, and do the cutting. She was a dressmaker once. She—’

  ‘Tia.’ Mum cut right across her. She was frowning with disapproval. ‘We can’t possibly ask your mother’s housekeeper to put in all the work that’s needed for this. She’s got her own work to do.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mrs McQuarrie,’ Tia said nervously, as if Mum was a cross teacher at school or something. ‘Graziella and I often make things together. She really likes doing it. And my mother won’t even know. She’s never there. She wouldn’t care at all.’

  The obstinate look that I knew only too well was creeping over Mum’s face. When she thinks something’s wrong, you can’t budge her, whatever you say. It’s so irritating it always makes me want to go right out and do the other thing.

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not right to deceive your mother and exploit her employee,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll have to—’

  Downstairs, the front doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ shouted Sam.

  We all stopped to listen. A woman’s murmured voice floated up to us.

  ‘There’s Graziella now,’ said Tia, looking disappointed. ‘I didn’t think she’d be coming so soon. I suppose I’ll have to go.’

  Mum went out of the room and we followed her down the stairs. Sam stepped back from the front door. Graziella, looking worried, stood on the step, and behind her, by the front gate, I saw a heavily built man in a black suit. He looked like a bouncer.

  ‘Tia, you must come home with me now,’ Graziella said urgently. ‘Mr Braithwaite has come. He is angry because you are not at home. He says I have to take you back at once.’

  A look of alarm swept across Tia’s face.

  ‘What’s Hollins doing here?’ she said, looking at the man outside.

  ‘Nothing. Not to worry, Tia. Mr Braithwaite sent him with the car to fetch you. Come, you must hurry.’

  Tia was halfway out of the door already.

  ‘I’m frightfully sorry, Mrs McQuarrie,’ she said, looking over my head at Mum. ‘My uncle gets into a terrible panic sometimes. Thank you so much for having me. It was awfully good of you. I’ve had a lovely time.’

  She sounded like a little girl at a birthday party, repeating lines she’d learned off by heart.

  ‘But you can’t just go, Tia!’ I said. ‘What are we going to do?
About the dress?’

  ‘Graziella and I will work on it,’ said Tia. She smiled coaxingly at Graziella. ‘I just know you’re going to love this, Grazi. I’ll tell you all about it. Carly, can you – I mean could you possibly come over tomorrow, so we can take your measurements?’

  ‘Tia! Come!’ Graziella said even more urgently.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Tia said over her shoulder, as she stepped into the back of the huge black car that was waiting at the kerb ouside our house. Mr Hollins, who had been holding the door open for her, looked up and down the street as he slammed it shut, and got into the driving seat, with Graziella in the front beside him. Then he drove off quickly up the road.

  10

  ‘Well,’ said Mum as she closed the front door.

  ‘Very cool, I must say.’

  ‘Who’s cool? What do you mean?’ I said sharply.

  Mum looked at me, and I could see she was about to start. Normally, I punch out first before she gets going, but I wasn’t in the mood for a row.

  ‘Mr Braithwaite must be her uncle,’ I said, to sidetrack her. ‘You wouldn’t believe what his nickname is.’

  ‘Something weird, I know,’ Mum said thoughtfully. ‘Ice or Snow or something.’

  I could hear Sam snort behind me and Dad, who had come to the sitting room door, laughed.

  ‘It’s Frost, actually’ I said, feeling quite defensive.

  ‘Frost! You have to be kidding!’ said Sam, but not very loudly. I could tell, actually, that he’d been dead impressed by Mr Hollins, and especially by the big car.

  ‘Frost! That’s it!’ Mum’s face cleared. ‘I knew I’d seen it somewhere. There’s a piece about them all – it even mentions Tia, I think – in the magazine I picked up in the staffroom last week. I didn’t connect her with it at the time. Now what did I do with it? I tried to find it yesterday.’

  Dad went into the sitting room and came back with a magazine in his hands.

  ‘This it? I found it under the sofa.’

  She snatched it from him.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness. Carole wants it back. Now where was that piece? Yes, here we are. Page twenty-four.’

  We all looked over her shoulder. There was a grainy photograph of a girl with long blonde hair in a bikini that could have been Tia. It was hard to tell. It must have been taken from miles away with one of those really powerful telephoto lenses. The girl was sitting on the edge of a swimming pool in what looked like a tropical place, with palm trees in the background. She was dangling her legs in the water. Under the headline, BRIDES OF THE FUTURE: the world’s most eligible girls, it said: