by Helen Eve
‘I’m all packed,’ I reminded him. ‘You said you’d drive me to the airport this morning. You know how much I want to see Charlie.’
Edward was looking upwards, and I followed his gaze to the windows in Meadows. Grinning, he put his fingers in his mouth and emitted a loud whistle.
‘What are you doing?’ I said in panic. ‘No one can see me like this!’
He whistled again as the windows started to open. ‘Good morning, children!’ he yelled to the tousle-haired Shells and Removes staring out at us from their dormitories.
They pointed in confusion for a moment. ‘It’s Edward and Caitlin!’ someone shouted, jumping up and down in excitement.
‘Now what?’ I said uneasily as they disappeared from the window.
Edward counted down under his breath. ‘Five … four … three…’
The door swung open and a swarm of kids surged into the quad. They pushed and shoved as they picked up Easter eggs, the littlest girls sometimes breaking ranks to hug us.
‘We love you, Caitlin,’ they said sincerely, exactly as I’d watched them say to Stella at kick-off. ‘You’re our favourite Star!’
‘Why are they so excited?’ I murmured, watching the hysteria. ‘Have they never seen candy before?’
Edward smiled. ‘Did I forget to tell you about the jackpot?’
His voice was drowned out by a red-haired girl crawling out from the rosebushes. Her slippers fell off as she jumped up and down in delight. ‘I’ve got the golden egg!’
‘What’s she got?’ I craned to see her crack open the plastic egg to reveal bank notes. My mouth fell open in shock. ‘How much did this cost you?’
Edward sounded casual. ‘It’s just a little incentive.’
Just then Miss Finch appeared and started to herd the students back inside. ‘I thought we agreed there would be no cash,’ she snapped.
Edward smiled ruefully, as if it were beyond his control. Miss Finch tried to keep the students away from us, but it seemed that every single one stopped to hug me.
‘I assume I can count on your vote next term?’ Edward said over and over again as he shook each of them by the hand.
When they’d gone, he turned back to me. ‘So you’ll stay here? My party is today.’
I thought again of Charlie, who usually had a ton of play dates and school activities scheduled for the vacation; of my mom, who was giving a paper at Duke instead of meeting me at JFK. And I thought of the Shells, who might have found a new favourite Star by the time I returned.
‘Are the other Stars going to your party?’ I asked.
He looked at me as if I’d said something really stupid. ‘Everyone’s going.’
He held my hand. ‘I’ll walk you back to Woodlands and you can tell your mum you’ve changed your mind.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Stella
Luke is planning to drive me to Edward’s party, which lasts an entire day and night and is the highlight of most people’s Easter break, but as I head outside to wait for him I see another familiar car.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask Paula as I open the passenger door of her battered Corsa. ‘Is something wrong with Syrena?’
She looks resigned to managing the timetable of a family who are unable to communicate directly. ‘Your mother told me that, as you won’t pick up your phone, she sent your invitation in the post.’
I think of the overflowing pigeonhole that Mary-Ann empties for me every week. ‘What invitation?’
‘It’s Syrena’s birthday,’ she reminds me. ‘You’re all going out for lunch.’
I look at my watch. Luke might possess saint-like patience but he must have a limit somewhere. I half-dial his number and then cancel the call, unable to face letting him down yet again. I’ll deal with him later. And at least Caitlin will be safely trapped in New York.
* * *
Although Seraphina isn’t keen on birthdays, I’m only half-surprised about this invitation. She isn’t good with children, so a day celebrating with Syrena – or worse, Syrena’s friends – must be a terrifying prospect.
They are sitting out on the restaurant terrace when I arrive, which is less about waiting to greet me than giving Seraphina quality time with her Gauloises. She looks the same as ever – icy, blonde and sort of metallic in her white Chanel suit and stilettos. She stands and air-kisses me four times before looking me carefully up and down for signs of body fat. The restaurant, which is French haute cuisine, may not have been Syrena’s choice.
I’m braced for Syrena to launch herself at me as she always does, a tangle of gazelle limbs and yellow hair, but she remains in her chair with her legs decorously crossed, stirring a glass of elderflower. For a second I think I see her take a drag of the lit cigarette Seraphina has balanced in the ashtray, but, as she bats the smoke away, that seems absurd.
‘Happy birthday,’ I say, kissing her on the head before she can stand up and show that we’re the same height.
Syrena’s childish grin has evolved into something harder to define, but she kisses me back, smudging her lip gloss. It’s only four months since I last saw her, but she’s changed tangibly. The last of her baby fat has been subsumed into her growth spurt, and her cheeks, once soft and roundly pink, have hollowed out. I feel an unexpected pang for the child who set off fireworks in the summer house so she could enjoy them at close range, who mistook wallpaper paste for porridge and spent a week in intensive care, and who amused herself one rainy afternoon by industriously shaving her guinea pig.
Seraphina leads the way inside. ‘Hamilton,’ she announces to the maître d’.
‘Mrs Hamilton,’ he murmurs as he searches his pad for her booking.
Beside me, Syrena winces.
‘Miss Hamilton.’ Seraphina’s voice is glacial.
The maître d’ looks as though he might collapse under the weight of his error as Seraphina follows him through the crowded space towards our table. I listen to the hypnotic click of her heels on marble before registering that they echo not only in symphony with my own, but with someone behind me. Turning, I look at Syrena’s feet for the first time.
‘Are those my shoes?’ I ask in surprise as I take in her studded Louboutins.
She nods. ‘Although, if I keep growing, your shoes won’t fit me anymore and I’ll have to switch to Siena’s.’
‘You’re supposed to grow,’ I tell her. ‘You’re twelve years old, and you’re lucky that you’re going to be tall.’
‘I want to be little like you,’ she says.
I remember standing on tiptoes each birthday as Siena measured me against the kitchen door frame. I want to be tall like you, I’d tell her enviously as each year showed me further and further behind her at the same age.
You’re lucky to be petite, I hear her reply. I wish I could tell her that I’m still a good six inches off that final, seventeen-year-old mark.
* * *
Syrena is a dancer who skips and twirls barefoot, and even in shoes has always been unfettered and unselfconscious. Sometimes she moves instead of speaking, as if it’s easier for her to communicate that way.
Now my shoes hobble her like clamps, rooting her to the floor.
‘Take them off,’ I suggest as she struggles to keep pace with me. ‘They’re bad for your posture.’
Seraphina turns and stares as if I’m mad. ‘Are you suggesting she goes barefoot?’
‘She should always be barefoot,’ I say.
I hang back at the table so that Syrena takes the place beside Seraphina and leaves me to sit opposite them. Sometimes I want to reach out for Syrena so badly that I have to sit on my hands to stop myself. I have an idea that, once I yield, I won’t ever know how to let her go.
‘Is that my dress too?’ I ask her as the maître d’ takes her coat.
She’s wearing the red silk Dior that I wore to Winterval last year. It hasn’t needed much altering, and the effect unnerves me.
‘You’re wearing Siena’s dress,’ she correctl
y observes.
Seraphina looks impatient as she takes in these facts. ‘You both own the entire Moschino spring–summer collection, yet you persist in wearing hand-me-downs?’
The champagne arrives immediately and a waiter stumblingly tries to address the atmosphere by telling Seraphina it will be free.
‘Mrs Hamilton,’ Seraphina mutters in disbelief as he staggers away with her alimony-funded mink. She stares at her sapphire engagement ring. ‘As if I kept anything of that man’s.’
When I slide Syrena’s champagne glass away from her, Seraphina glares as if I’m ruining her party. ‘It’s Syrena’s birthday,’ she snaps.
‘Syrena’s twelfth birthday,’ I point out, ‘shouldn’t be the first time she gets drunk.’
‘It won’t be,’ Syrena reassures me as she takes it back.
I pick up my own flute, drinking at speed with some idea of keeping alcohol away from her. This doesn’t work, and Seraphina, having kept pace with me, looks disappointed as she finishes the bottle to discover that no waiters are in range.
Sitting back in her chair, she allows Syrena to rest her head against her shoulder as she absentmindedly combs her fingers through Syrena’s hair. As usual it tumbles to her waist but Seraphina brings it under control, pulling curling strands away from her face. This level of attention is unprecedented: I haven’t seen her so occupied with one of us for years. Something about Syrena today has reanimated her and restored her to the present.
‘That reminds me,’ Seraphina says as she reaches for her tote with her free hand. ‘Your gift, Syrena.’
Syrena produces a present from her own matching Balenciaga bag. ‘Can I open this one first?’ she asks me.
Although she’ll thank me in September, Syrena is currently underwhelmed by the Temperley High inventory I’ve ordered for her. I’m momentarily relieved that I appear to have bought her something else, and I lean over to see what it is.
‘Where did you find that?’ I ask, staring at the red tissue paper with her name printed on it in my handwriting.
‘It was in your room,’ she says. ‘It’s addressed to me!’
‘It is for you,’ I say slowly as she rips it open. ‘I’d forgotten all about it.’
She uncovers the battered copy of Ballet Shoes that Siena gave me on my own twelfth birthday with instructions to impart. At some point I rewrapped and addressed it ready for Syrena, and then managed to put it out of my mind.
Now I see Siena’s familiar, forgotten inscription inside the cover.
‘If you ever wonder which of the Hamilton sisters you’d choose to be…’ Syrena reads.
‘One day you’ll see,’ we say in unison. We look at each other, but we’re thinking of someone else.
Seraphina hands Syrena a silver package that I know Paula has wrapped for her. Childish for a second, she rips it open and gasps at the sight of the sharp-toothed, sapphire-embellished comb that glints under the lights.
‘Is it mine?’ she asks incredulously.
Seraphina twists her fingers into Syrena’s hair until it’s an aureate rope. She picks up the comb, pushing its teeth deep and fixing yards of spun gold into an elegant chignon. Syrena takes a mirror from her own handbag and studies herself, restraining the pleasure I know she feels at this attention. She moves her head back and forth, examining her hair, her face and her slender, elegant neck.
‘Well?’ she asks. ‘Am I pretty?’
Seraphina inclines her head away from me and kisses Syrena’s cheek before whispering into her ear. Syrena sits up straight and looks past me with an expression I recognize. As she lowers her head and looks upwards through her long eyelashes, I notice that she’s wearing mascara.
She smiles, and moments later an ice bucket is in front of us.
‘Who ordered that?’ I ask the waiter, who blushes and gestures awkwardly behind me. Turning, I see a middle-aged man sitting directly in Syrena’s eye line. He smiles, and I glare at him until he lowers his gaze.
‘Don’t think you’re having any,’ I warn Syrena as the waiter pops the cork.
‘It’s Dom.’ She sounds disdainful. ‘I prefer Cristal.’
As Seraphina laughs delightedly I reach for my handbag, walking the length of the restaurant to the balcony doors. Seraphina follows me, but I stand with my back to her, leaning over the balcony to stare at Notting Hill in the springtime. Then I draw back as the height makes my palms sweat.
Chapter Twenty-five
Caitlin
I drummed my fingernails on the window ledge as I waited for Mom to pick up the phone. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks and was half-hoping I could leave my news via answerphone, but she answered just as I was about to hang up.
‘You should be glad I’m making new friends!’ I said before she could argue with me. ‘Isn’t that why you forced me to come here?’
‘I thought you wanted to come home for your vacation,’ she said. ‘You were so excited to see Charlie. Please don’t punish him because you’re angry with me.’
‘I’ll see him for the summer,’ I argued. ‘And you’ll only be working.’
She sighed. ‘I’ve taken time off, actually. I thought the three of us could go to Nantucket for a few days.’
My resentment swelled. Why did she get to make me feel guilty? She’d pushed me out of my own home without a second thought, and now she needed a babysitter she wanted me to come back. Even though I should be happy that she was spending time with Charlie, it felt even worse to know that she’d only started to make an effort once I was in a different country. She’d been content for days to pass without seeing me when we lived in the same house.
‘Say hello to him, at least,’ she begged. ‘He’s been so looking forward to this. His teacher says you’re all he talks about in school.’
Charlie’s last letter, composed in purple crayon, had told me he’d growed a quarter of an inch and lost another tooth. He had twelve new words and wanted me to take him to the movies because Mom wouldn’t let him spray cheese on popcorn.
I heard his high, babyish voice as she passed him the receiver. ‘Caity? Caity? Hello?’
Suddenly I missed him so much I felt like the walls were closing in. A lump in my throat made it hard to speak, and I didn’t want to try. The more contact we had, the harder it was to be apart. How could I spend the vacation with him, knowing I had to leave again?
I hung up and sat on the floor, trying to stop myself from crying. It didn’t work.
‘Caitlin?’
I was mortified when Luke put his head around the door, and suddenly very conscious that my cheeks were streaked with tears.
He had the decency not to comment. ‘Have you seen Stella?’ he asked. ‘We’re supposed to drive to Edward’s together, but I can’t find her anywhere.’
I nodded. ‘I saw her leaving in a car this morning. I didn’t see who with.’
‘Leaving?’ He scratched his head, looking baffled.
I searched for words to make him feel better, but what could I say? ‘Do you want to come in?’ I managed finally.
‘Aren’t you flying home this morning?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want to make you late.’
‘Edward persuaded me to stay after all,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve got plenty of time if you want to talk.’
I expected him to say no, but he sank down beside me on the floor, picking up and stroking my plush rabbit. I wondered if it was acceptable to hug him.
He looked exhausted. ‘Why does she do this? Why doesn’t she tell me anything?’
I was still trying to figure out what to say when my phone rang. Luke looked at the display as I answered.
‘Hey, Edward,’ he said loudly.
‘Luke?’ Edward said. ‘Have you kidnapped my girlfriend?’
‘Luke’s having a bad day,’ I said, putting Edward on speaker.
‘I’m about to leave,’ Edward told Luke. ‘Come with us. I’ve got a house full of beer and girls, and I’m pretty sure that none of them will be called Hamilton.’
>
Luke and I smiled at each other. ‘Can we make a pit stop?’ Luke asked Edward. ‘If Caitlin’s not going home to her family, she can at least drop in to see her dad.
‘If that’s okay with you,’ he added quickly as I hung up the phone. ‘You look a little unhappy and I thought that might help.’
I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and we both blushed. ‘Stella’s crazy if she can’t see how perfect you are,’ I said.
* * *
On my mall trip with Lila and Penny, I’d been so desperate for freedom that I’d wanted to open the window and gulp fresh air like a dog. New surroundings had made me giddy, like I was being released from a cage. This time was entirely different. I stared back as the majestic buildings vanished from view, thinking not of what lay ahead but only of what I might miss. I was suddenly grateful to Edward for persuading me not to leave the country.
‘Is anyone at home?’ Luke asked when Edward pulled up outside my house. The neighbourhood was as deserted as ever, and the memory of staying there with only my dad for company made me shudder with loneliness.
‘I wanted to surprise him,’ I said. ‘He’ll be around somewhere.’
My dad hadn’t answered the phone when I’d called earlier, but I’d figured I could just show up. He sometimes visited the gym on Saturday mornings, but more often he stayed home to read the papers and catch up on his sports on TiVo.
The house had never seemed like a home, but it seemed more unfamiliar than ever when I stepped into the massive hallway.
‘I didn’t know your dad had a girlfriend,’ Edward said conversationally.
I gritted my teeth at the huge selection of expensive-looking women’s coats on the rack and the neat stack of high heels that had appeared beside the front door. ‘Neither did I.’
Edward grabbed my hand as I stalked into the kitchen. Evidence of female inhabitation was everywhere, and this was a woman I’d never encountered before. My mom would never have shopped at Cath Kidston. She’d never have baked oatmeal cookies, let alone bothered to ice them with Easter chicks. She’d never have arranged a vase of spring flowers on the table. Our home in New York was more likely to be covered in research papers and books, and, if Rosa wasn’t around, my dad was lucky if he got a grilled cheese sandwich before midnight. I’d once been so proud of my mom’s academic accomplishments, but now I just wished she’d tried harder to keep my dad happy.
