by Jilly Cooper
‘Certainly isn’t,’ said Pete Wainwright, joining them. ‘Here’s something to cheer you up, lad.’ He handed Feral a typed envelope.
Feral stared at it stupidly.
‘Well, open it and read it,’ ordered Pete.
‘You ought to know, man, I didn’t get no English.’
‘I’ll read it,’ said Graffi. ‘Wow!’ he said after a quarter of a minute. ‘Fuckin’ hell, fuckin’ wicked!’ and went into a series of Tarzan howls. ‘Mr Wainwright’s offering you a job, man, as a junior player at Larkminster Rovers, starting next week.’
Feral swung round in bewilderment.
‘I ducked out of that trial.’
‘I know, and I know why you did. I saw you playing one evening after exams. Emlyn showed me some tapes. You’ll have to clean a few boots to start with, spend a bit of time observing on the bench. But you’re good and so was that speech you just made. I like generosity in my players.’
Feral tried to read the letter.
‘It ain’t no wind-up?’
Janna by this time had rushed up, hugging Feral, telling everyone the good news. ‘Oh Pete, this is really wicked.’
After that Feral, like Pearl, got thoroughly above himself.
‘I’m going to be the next Thierry Henry,’ he yelled, punching the air, ‘and I’ll be so fucking rich, I’ll be able to take out that bastard Rupert Campbell-Black – in fact he’ll be crawling to have me marrying his daughter.’
‘He probably will,’ said a dry voice behind him.
It was Rupert, who’d just arrived with Taggie and Xav.
‘Feral’s got a job,’ cried Janna as the press surged forward, ‘with Larkminster Rovers. And well done, fantastic results!’ She hugged Xav. ‘And well done, Taggie.’
‘Taggie, Taggie!’ The children surged round her: ‘I got a B.’ ‘I got a C.’ ‘I got an A.’ ‘I got a C.’
‘I can’t believe it.’ Taggie tried to hug them all.
Meanwhile, Rupert had turned to Feral.
‘I’ve brought you a congratulatory present,’ he drawled.
And Bianca erupted out of the car and, stopping, gazed at Feral, who gazed at her in wonder.
Slowly, they moved towards each other. Seizing her hand, chucking his ball to Partner, Feral led her off into the garden.
‘I thought your father didn’t approve of Feral,’ whispered Kylie.
‘He’s just got a B in English lit.,’ whispered back Xav, ‘I think he’d even accept Tony Blair as a son-in-law.’
Having congratulated Taggie on her food technology triumph, Janna was now hugging Rupert – such a pleasure as he was so handsome.
‘Randal is going to be furious about your B.’
‘Good,’ said Rupert. ‘I should be congratulating you and apologizing for doubting that you and Larks would be the best thing for Xav. He’s found himself.’
Across the playground, Xav was surrounded by friends, thumping him on the back.
‘I’ve bought a few bottles, they’re in the car,’ added Rupert. ‘Which one’s Graffi? I want a mural in the long gallery.’
Feral, wiping off crimson lipstick and grinning like the Cheshire cat, later talked, somewhat warily, to Rupert, who said, ‘Sorry I called you a black bastard.’
‘It’s OK, man. If I caught my daughter in bed with some no-good nigger, I guess I’d call him the same thing.’
They looked at each other, dislike melting away.
‘Thank you for looking after Xav.’
‘Thank you for beating Stancombe. He’s a bastard, really evil, and I know, man.’
‘You do interest me. Why don’t you come out to lunch with us?’
‘I’d like to, man’ – Feral looked longingly at Bianca, who was dancing by herself, as lightly as the thistledown drifting in from the long grass – ‘but actually I’m lunching wiv Lily and the Brig. I’m going to be a witness at their wedding,’ he added proudly.
‘Hmmmm, that sounds a party that’ll go on,’ said Rupert. ‘You’d better come to lunch tomorrow.’
Grinning, very tentatively they exchanged a high five.
Round the back of the building, Rupert tracked down Graffi spraying in large purple letters: ‘Graffi Williams for the Tate, Feral Jackson for Wembley, Randal Stancombe for the High Jump.’
‘Excellent sentiments.’ Rupert handed Graffi a paper cup of champagne. ‘But I want something marginally more figurative for Penscombe. Are you anti blood sports?’
‘Not if you pay me well enough,’ said Graffi.
‘Then I’d like you to do the hunt.’
Feral and Bianca were dancing in the hall.
Graffi’s board saying ‘Larkminster High School Prom 2004’ had been thrown in the bin, but the silver moon and stars still curled on the long black curtains.
‘And I will take Feral and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine,’ said Bianca softly.
Feral picked up a fragment of balloon.
‘Since Romeo and Juliet, I haven’t fort of anyone or anyfing but you. I couldn’t ask you to be my girlfriend when I had nothing to offer. Now I have.’
‘I’ll come and watch you every week.’
‘Every goal will have your name on it.’
‘You will come to lunch tomorrow, won’t you, or it’d break my heart.’
Feral drew her into his arms. Both of them had to hold each other up, as he kissed her.
Later Bianca was approached by a man from the Daily Express. ‘Your family’s done so well today. Your mum’s candidates all got through, Rupert got a B and Xav the Magic Five.’
‘I’ve done best.’ Bianca did a joyful handstand, peering back and up from between her arms and black waterfall of hair. ‘They got Bs and Cs, but I got Feral Jackson.’
118
Over at Bagley, the celebrations were no less euphoric, as faxes and emails spread over the globe to Lando France-Lynch playing polo in Deauville, Lubemir in a casino, Anatole on a yacht and Cosmo on top of Mrs Walton.
‘In my case, my angel,’ boasted Cosmo, ‘GCSE stands for Great Cock Satisfaction Ensured.’
There was as much press interest in Bagley as there had been at Larks, particularly when a jubilant Hengist announced that not only Cosmo Rannaldini and Primrose Duddon, but Paris Alvaston had achieved straight As and A stars, and Bagley appeared to have gone above Fleetley in the league tables.
Paris who, as it was still holidays, was one of the only boys in school, was bewildered by his results and ran straight over to Hengist’s study.
‘I couldn’t have got an A star in history, sir,’ he panted, ‘I trashed my second paper.’
‘You’re imagining things,’ Hengist said firmly. ‘You’d been working too hard and were understandably upset about Theo. You didn’t know if it was Christmas or Easter when you took that last paper. I saw it. It was fine.’
‘I wrote gibberish,’ insisted Paris.
‘Strange things have happened this year. A boy at Fleetley evidently got an A star in English lit. and missed an entire P3 module. Your first history paper must have been exceptional. Ian and Patience will be delighted.’
They were. Ian had opened a bank account and put in £25 for each brilliant grade, totalling £250, but Paris wasn’t happy.
‘I want to ring Theo.’
‘You can’t, I’m afraid.’ Hengist went to the fridge and got out a bottle of white. ‘Let’s have a drink to celebrate.’
‘I want to ring Theo.’
‘You can’t. How many times do I have to tell you the police have expressively forbidden any contact.’ Hengist ran his hand through his hair. ‘Imagine how I’d like to ring him, but I don’t want to prejudice his case.’
‘How can it, if I just thank him and give him my grades?’
‘Biffo’ll tell him.’ Hengist was rootling round for a corkscrew.
‘Who?’ asked Paris quickly.
‘Someone will,’ said Hengist quickly. ‘Oh look, Rupert and Xav are on
the box, turn the sound up.’ But Paris had shot out of the room.
Hengist shook his head. He must calm Paris down.
After some lovely film of Penscombe, the lunchtime news cut to Sian Williams in the studio. What a pretty thing she was; Hengist turned up the volume.
Xavier Campbell-Black, she told the viewers, who’d been excluded from Bagley Hall for bullying last September, had just notched up five A–C grades at his new school: Larkminster High. A maintained school had thus succeeded where a prestigious independent had failed.
Xav used to be such a fat slob, thought Hengist, now he was clear-eyed, smiling, good-looking and confident.
‘I made so many friends at Larks,’ he was now saying, ‘I didn’t need to bully anyone. I found teachers who believed in me and helped me to understand. It helped that my mother joined the staff as a teaching assistant. Everyone she taught food technology to passed.’
‘Did you find the teaching better at Larks?’
‘Much,’ said Xav, who’d been at the Veuve Clicquot, ‘and Alex Bruce, my housemaster at Bagley, was a twat.’
Hengist choked on his drink as the interviewer hastily asked Xav about Rupert’s B.
‘He’s laid back, my dad, but he worked incredibly hard and we’re all really proud of him.’
Now it was Rupert’s turn. Age cannot wither him, thought Hengist, particularly when he’s happy, mouth and long eyes lifting.
‘I’m knocked out by my wife Taggie’s results,’ admitted Rupert, ‘and Xav’s and my own.’
‘Who taught you?’
‘Well, Miss Jennings at Cotchester College gave me some very good coaching, but mostly I read and wrestled on my own. Couldn’t understand a word of it at first. Lucky to have Xav’s headmistress, Janna Curtis, and Bianca’s headmaster, Hengist Brett-Taylor, to tell me when my ideas were crap.’
‘And by passing you won your bet with Randal Stancombe, for an undisclosed sum.’
‘Not at all undisclosed, it was a hundred thousand pounds, which is not going to worry Stancombe. He spends that in a day on aftershave and greasing palms.’
‘Bastard,’ howled Stancombe, who was watching the same news, ‘and he got that treacherous bitch, Janna Curtis, and that shit, Hengist, to help him. No wonder he got a B. They’ve obviously been cramming him. After all I’ve done for Hengist. Building the Science Emporium and his taking Ruth off me. My God, I’ll bury all three of them.’
Alex Bruce, also watching, was even more outraged. How dare that insolent brat call him a twat, and how could he have got the Magic Five? Janna Curtis must have shown him the papers. Even more distressingly, Lando and Jack had ploughed science, so Alex still hadn’t equalled Theo’s record of getting everyone through.
Worst of all, his star pupil Boffin Brooks had not achieved straight As. He had just had Sir Gordon Brooks in a towering rage from his villa in Portugal.
‘There’s no way Bernard could only have got a B in history. It’s one of his strongest subjects. That’s why I donated five thousand for a history prize, which will now go to some other student.’
‘Rest assured, Gordon, I shall approach our Senior Team Leader and appeal. May I have a word with Charisma?’ She was staying with the Brookses.
‘I can’t understand, Dad, I only got a B for Urdu,’ whined his G and T daughter.
The last parents and children had drifted away; only Mr Khan lingered.
‘You have a brilliant daughter,’ pleaded Janna, ‘won’t you just consider her going on to sixth-form college?’
‘She has a husband waiting for her in Pakistan. He has been very patient. He is a good man and will take care of her.’
‘But she’s so young— Excuse me, that’s my mobile.’
It was Hengist. ‘Darling, I’ve just seen the one o’clock news. Well done, Xav, how brilliant and what a smack in the face for stupid Alex for letting him go. How did the others do?’
After Janna had told him, and about Feral’s fantastic new job, she asked after Paris.
‘Wonderful.’ What purring content in Hengist’s voice. ‘Straight As and A stars for Greek, Latin, both Englishes and history. Absolutely wonderful.’
Janna was ecstatic.
‘Ian and Patience must be so thrilled.’
‘Relieved, as well. Little Amber did surprisingly well, too.’
‘How’s Paris in himself?’
‘Withdrawn. We had a bit of a set-to just now. He wanted to ring Theo and tell him about the A stars to give him some comfort. But he mustn’t get in touch. All the press are hanging round. They all know it’s Paris, but he can’t be named because the so-called “offence” began when he was fourteen.’
‘Oh God, poor Theo. Will he get off?’
‘Christ, I hope so. The evidence is pretty damning. Case comes up later in the year, bound to coincide with the Queen’s visit. The press’ll make a meal out of two old queens. One shouldn’t laugh.’
Janna had taken refuge in her office; glasses and discarded envelopes were everywhere.
‘Jade only scraped five Cs, which won’t please Stancombe,’ Hengist was now telling her, ‘and, by the way, I’ve just seen Rupert on the box saying how much we helped him and slagging off Stancombe. It’s going to be a long time before dear Randal forgives either of us.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I do miss you. Let’s have a drunken celebration before term starts.’
Dear Hengist, Janna smiled as she switched off her mobile.
Outside the playground was empty; Mr Khan had gone. Tomorrow, she thought wearily, she’d continue the battle to stop the parents chucking it all away. Lily’s wedding was at two-thirty; she’d better step on it. Hastily, she toned down her flushed cheeks and shrugged on her white jacket. What did it matter how she looked, if Emlyn wasn’t going to be there?
‘Next week,’ she told Partner as she tied a white silk bow round his neck, ‘you and I will look for a job and probably somewhere to live. Today all that matters is those fantastic results.’
But as she splashed Diorissimo on her wrists, Ashton rang.
‘I can see why you haven’t phoned, Janna, these wesults are dweadfully disappointing.’
‘Disappointing?’ cried Janna in outrage. ‘They’re brilliant. You should focus on where those children came from. No one expected them to get any grades at all. You forget there are four pass grades below C. They may not all have got brilliant grades but they got grades. It’s a miracle.’
‘Janna, Janna,’ sighed Ashton, ‘exonewating yourself as usual. It’s going to be tewwibly difficult justifying all the extwa funding you’ve had from the DfES. We expected far better.’
‘My kids really worked, so did my teachers,’ yelled Janna. ‘What d’you know about work, sitting in your ivory tower surrounded by hundreds of apparatchiks doing fuck all on vast salaries? Don’t talk to me about wasting money.’
‘No need to be offensive. You’ve failed, that’s all, but there’s no point in talking to you in this mood.’ Ashton rang off.
Like a slow puncture, Janna’s pride and delight ebbed out of her.
‘These are the children that God forgot,’ she whispered in horror as she gazed up at the happy, optimistic group photograph on the wall. ‘I’m not going to change anything for them; I just suffered from hubris, putting them through exams because I wanted to prove to the world that I was a brilliant head.’
119
To ward off her desolation over Emlyn’s absence and Ashton’s vile remarks, Janna got dreadfully drunk at Lily’s wedding and danced most of the night away with a euphoric Feral and Lily’s whacky, charming family, who included Dicky and Dora. Lily, in the same blue dress she’d worn to the prom, had no need of Pearl’s make-up. Never was a bridegroom prouder than her Brigadearest.
Next morning, groaning with hangover, Janna went over to Larks. She had only three days left to leave the place shipshape. Wally had lent her a van to clear out her belongings. At first, as she drove up the drive, she thought a
television crew had rolled up, then she realized the place was swarming with workmen; one of them, in a bulldozer, had just smashed down half a dozen of Wally’s saplings. Drawing closer, she recognized Teddy Murray, Stancombe’s foreman, who’d supervised the rebuilding of Appletree.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Taking over,’ said Teddy curtly.
‘On whose authority?’
‘Stancombe’s, of course.’
‘Stancombe?’ said Janna in horror as another bulldozer crushed Sally’s oriental poppies. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘Owns the property. Just paid twenty-five million.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘See for yourself.’ Teddy waved a heavily tattooed hand towards the bottom of the drive and the hayfield of a lawn outside the ruins of the main buildings, where two big crimson signs announced ‘Randal Stancombe Properties’.
‘What’s he planning to do?’
‘Search me. Slap luxury houses all over it. Flog it to some supermarket giant. Flatten the Shakespeare Estate and move in some decent customers. All part of his caring “clean up Larkminster” campaign.’ Just for a second sarcasm predominated over indifference in Teddy’s voice. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Janna . . .’ Revving up he smashed down two willows.
‘Stop it,’ screamed Janna, but he had wound up his window, so she ran into Appletree, to find all her stuff had been dumped outside her office.
She was on to Stancombe in a flash.
‘Have you bought Larks?’
‘I have indeed.’
‘You never said anything.’
‘You never let on you were coaching Rupert Campbell-Black, you treacherous bitch.’
‘I didn’t help him,’ protested Janna. ‘Rupert showed me one essay, from which I deleted a few swear words.’
‘After all the support I gave you,’ howled Randal, ‘I don’t feel predisposed to help you ever again.’
Janna gave a gasp of horror as, outside the window, she noticed a JCB gouging out the pond. What would be the fate of Concorde, the carp and the natterjack toads?
‘Anyway,’ went on Stancombe, ‘I put up the money for Appletree, so I own it anyway,’ and he hung up.
