Any other time I’d have practically fainted with pleasure, but now I can’t wait to get away. I say, ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Litvinov. It’s only because you’re such a brilliant teacher. I hope your mum’s feeling better,’ and then I almost push her out of the way as I fly out into the hall where the lights have gone up and everyone’s putting their coats on.
Tia’s already gone down to the front of the hall and is standing in the middle of my family. There’s a tall, slim man with a bald head there too. He’s got to be her father.
She’s the first of the group to see me, and she comes dashing up the aisle.
‘Oh, Carly, you were so brilliant, I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything like it. You were miles and miles away the best of everyone. And wearing the dress. I felt so proud I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to stand up and shout or something.’
She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the others.
‘Daddy, here’s Carly. My best friend.’
Have you ever felt so happy you wanted to sing at the top of your voice, but with a kind of sadness mixed in that eats you up inside? That’s how I felt that evening, after the display.
Everyone crowded round me and told me I was great, brilliant, wonderful, fantastic, a genius, except for Lauren, who said, ‘I’m going to be as good as you. Miss Tideswell says.’ And Sam, who said, ‘I don’t get it, Carly, what had those floorboards done to you?’ The triumph of it all made my head feel light. But the best thing, better than the triumph, better than the praise, was knowing that my best friend had come.
‘You got here! I thought you were in London. I thought you might have gone to Buenos Aires. I didn’t expect you at all,’ I said.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant all the awful things I’d said last time we’d met, but I couldn’t find the words. She seemed to have forgotten though, because there wasn’t a shadow in her face as she smiled at me.
‘I told you I was going to come, ages ago. Don’t you remember? I promised you,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t have stayed away.’
‘She dragged me here,’ her dad said, nodding at me.
I don’t know what I’d expected him to be like, but he was different anyway. For one thing, he had a foreign accent. Then he was quite handsome and young-looking, although he was bald, but not a bit like I’d imagined a multi-millionaire count would be like. I could imagine him with Dixie. They must have looked great together.
It was odd, but at that moment I almost missed Dixie.
Her cruel, selfish side that I’d always found so frightening was fading in my memory. All I could remember were the rare moments of warmth, and the flashes of radiance in her smile.
Tia didn’t seem to notice that I’d gone quiet. She was saying something, but I didn’t take anything in until she got to the last few words.
‘. . . see you next year.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘What about next year?’
She stepped away from her father and I saw the old anxious look in her eyes.
‘Are you OK, Carly? I was just saying, you know, what we might do. I mean, I might come over to England in the Easter holidays or something, but if you’d rather . . .’
‘Oh!’ I turned to her eagerly. ‘You mean you’d come back and stay at Paradise End?’
‘No.’ I held my breath. ‘It’s going to be let, till I’ve grown up anyway. I thought maybe – I mean, would you mind if I came and stayed with you? Just for a few days.’
Lauren overheard. Trust her. She grabbed Tia’s arm and started jumping up and down.
‘Tia’s coming to stay, Tia’s coming to stay!’ she chanted.
‘It’d be great,’ I said, my sadness gone. ‘If you know what you’re letting yourself in for. Have you quite finished, Lauren?’
‘And then next summer, do you think – I mean would you like to come to Argentina?’
My jaw dropped. My eyes practically bulged.
‘You have to be kidding, Tia. You really, really do. It would cost a fortune for starters. I’d never . . .’
‘It doesn’t have to cost you anything.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘We’d send you a ticket.’
My head started whirling round. I nearly said, ‘Wow, would you? That would be so amazing.’
But then, I don’t know why, an uncomfortable pride kicked in.
‘I don’t think I’d want that,’ I said slowly. ‘It might change everything. I might start feeling – I don’t know -strange or something.’
‘Oh!’ She sounded upset. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’
I smiled. My head was steady again. I could dimly see that our friendship was going to change. It wouldn’t be about Tia’s need and my envy any more. We were going to find a new way forward, a more equal way.
‘It’s all right. I don’t mean that I won’t try to come. But if I do I’ll pay for it myself. I’ll get a job or something and save up.’
‘Would you? Really?’ She looked impressed. ‘It would take you ages.’
‘We’ve got ages,’ I said, and the future suddenly looked different, more interesting, more serious and much, much longer. ‘We’re best friends, aren’t we? And that means for life.’
Time’s a funny thing. It plays strange tricks on you. It’s nearly a year since Tia left England and went to Argentina. Frost moved out of Paradise End at once, and I don’t think he’s been back since.
They let Paradise End to a country club. The builders moved in again, but not for long. They didn’t change too many things. If you walked in through the big front door, and looked to the left and right, into the red dining room and the golden drawing room, you’d think it was just the same, except for the reception desk in the space under the gallery, where there are telephones and notices on a board and there’s always someone on duty.
The rooms haven’t changed much except for a few small things. The china parrots have been taken out of the dining room, and so has the big table. There are lots of smaller ones there instead, usually set ready for a meal. Some of the pictures in the drawing room have been put away, and the precious carpet’s in storage. There’s a plain one in its place. The big grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs has been moved to a corner of the library, out of harm’s way.
How do I know all this? Because I’ve got a weekend job there, that’s why. It’s a struggle, fitting it round my tap, but I manage it. Just. Mum says my homework suffers, but she’s wrong. I squeeze more things in, that’s all.
I’m working for Jepson’s, who got the contract to run the catering services at Paradise End. I’m only needed when they put on big functions, and want waitresses or someone extra at the reception desk. There are weddings and parties most Saturdays, and on Sundays sometimes as well, so the money’s piling up. I’m saving most of it for my trip to Argentina. I reckon I’ll have enough by this time next year.
When I email Tia, I tell her little snippets about what’s happening at Paradise End. ‘The pink roses by the terrace are in flower’, I write, or, ‘They’ve put new lights round the pond. It’s magic at night.’ I don’t tell her about how some of the books in the library have been nicked, and how her bedroom’s been divided up into three small offices.
I don’t tell her either that the spirit of Paradise End has changed. For a long time, Dixie’s beautiful, wandering, cruel spirit seemed to linger in the rooms. It’s gone now. Paradise End feels safer, even a little ordinary. Sometimes I remember how Tia and I slipped through its enchanted rooms on that beautiful, terrible night and I shake my head in disbelief. But I know it happened. I know what we felt. Then and now, Paradise End was our house, hers and mine, and it still is.
I tell her stuff about my life, when I write. Sam’s gone off to college at long last, so I have his room in term-time. It’s great to have my own space. Maybe that’s why Lauren and I get on better these days, because she’s not crowding me out the whole time. My tap’s going brilliantly. I’m going for the county championships this year, and if I win – who knows
? Mrs Litvinov says I could even try for a dance-and-drama scholarship when I leave school. She says why not aim for the stars? You can only end up on the ground, where you started from in the first place.
Tia didn’t come at Easter. Her dad was ill and she didn’t want to leave him. But a letter came from her last week, a proper one through the post, on notepaper with a fancy border. I’ve propped it up on the shelf in Sam’s room and I read it whenever I go in. It says:
Dear Carly.
Guess what? I’m coming to England in July! Definitely this time. Daddy and Lucia are going to Austria, and I’ve persuaded them to let me stay in England instead. Do you think it would be all right if I came to stay with you? I don’t want to be a nuisance, or be in the way or anything. Will it be OK? What would your mother say? I just can’t wait to see you.
Frost’s going to be in London. I’ll have to spend some time with him. He almost never leaves Zurich now. Daddy seems to think he’s become a bit of a hermit.
Give my love to everyone. Please say I can come. I can’t wait to see you!
Lots and lots of love,
Tia
The letter confuses me. I’m pleased and excited at the thought of seeing her, of course, but I’m nervous too. I’m afraid she’ll have changed. Maybe she’ll have become grand and posh, like the rich girl she is. Maybe I’ll start feeling spiky and jealous, like I used to sometimes.
There’s a photo slipped in with the letter. Tia’s sitting on a fence somewhere in a garden. She looks great, with her hair tucked back behind her ears and a happy smile on her face.
But if I look closely I think I can see the old anxious questions in her eyes.
You still want to be my friend, don’t you, Carly? You don’t think I’m totally useless? I can trust you, can’t I?
Yes, I say, as I put the picture down again. It’s OK, Tia. You can trust me. We’re best friends, and that means forever.
Paradise End Page 19
