The Name I Call Myself

by Beth Moran

  I changed into one of the designer dresses Perry had bought me, attempted to cover up the haunted look on my face with dabs of make-up, slipped on a pair of obscenely expensive shoes, and braced myself to look in the mirror.

  Yikes.

  I closed my eyes, took a few fortifying breaths – out with the stress, in with the calm, Hester style – and took another peek.

  It was only a haircut. But Polly was right. My hair had been such a defining part of me, without it I felt more vulnerable, not less. Like a turtle without its shell. I probably weighed a lot less, too. Instead of my usual mane a razor-sharp chocolate bob swung an inch above my jawline. It brought out the green in my eyes, contrasting dramatically with my creamy complexion.

  “Come on, Faith. You can pull this off.”

  I straightened my spine and pulled my shoulders back. Tipped my chin up a couple of millimetres. Remembered the timid little girl with her cloud of red curls, cowering as she tried to make herself invisible. The reflection in the mirror scowled. This woman had poise. She looked striking. Anything but invisible. This woman commanded a second look.

  A perfect disguise.

  I marched round to Perry’s in my high heels, swishing my hair and tossing cool glances at the young men lingering outside the shop who whistled through their teeth at me. I did need to duck behind a tree a couple of times to tug my dress back down, as the silky material kept riding up. I also skidded on a patch of slippery wet pavement, tumbling into a wall and laddering my tights. The wind played havoc with my hair, too short to tuck safely behind my ears, and the tiny handbag I’d brought instead of my rucksack kept sliding off my shoulder, so I had to hitch it back up every few steps. I had a way to go in perfecting my new persona, but nevertheless I could stride through the streets with some confidence, sure Kane would see nothing of Rachel if he happened to see this new Faith.

  Perry looked surprised when he saw me, but quickly regained composure. Encouraging, as it was nothing compared to the shock he would feel once I started talking. He beckoned me into the living room, giving me a chance to steel my nerves while he fetched me a drink.

  He handed it to me with a kiss. “You look gorgeous. I’ll miss those curls, but it’s kind of sexy having you look so different. Like a whole new you.”

  “I hope there wasn’t too much wrong with the old me.”

  “There could be nothing wrong with any version of you. Red hair, brown hair, scruffy jeans, or a ballgown. That’s just the wrapping. It’s the you underneath I love.”

  I took a deep breath. “What if the person underneath isn’t what you think?”

  He tugged on a strand of my hair. “Half the time I don’t know what I think. You are a mystery to me, Faith. An enigma. It’s part of your appeal: the challenge to find out what lies beneath. Discover what makes you tick.”

  If this was true, he’d done a brilliant job of hiding it.

  “I said this morning I need to talk to you, and part of that might help explain. I want to tell you about my family.”

  “Great. You can tell everyone. I’m sure they’ll be dying to know. And don’t worry, nobody’s expecting to hear you’re actually twenty-fourth in line to the throne, or have an ancestral home hidden away somewhere. It doesn’t matter how humble your beginnings, we Uppertons are a welcoming lot.”

  “What?”

  “No, really. One of Mother’s grandparents worked as a housemaid, and nobody thinks any the less of her.”

  “Perry, slow down a minute, please. This isn’t about my social status.”

  The doorbell rang. Perry stood up. “That’ll be them. Fantastic. You can regale us over dinner.”

  A minute later he ushered “them” in. Larissa and Milton, of course. Aunt Eleanor to make things even better.

  “My goodness.” Larissa pecked the air to the side of my face. “You look almost like one of us.” She scrutinized my head. “Not a bad job either. Is this the girl you’ve booked for the wedding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmph. Milton, will you remind me to let the stylist know we don’t need him for Faith? It’ll give him more time for the others.” She turned back to me. “Is she doing the bridesmaids?”

  “Yes. You knew this. We talked about it ages ago.”

  “Well, seeing is believing and all that. She might not have been quite Nottinghamshire Life standard.”

  No point, Faith. Say nothing. Keep blowin’ it out.

  Perry, ever the perfect host, made more drinks and settled everyone down before throwing me to the wolves.

  “Faith was just going to tell me some more about her family. Isn’t that marvellous?”

  I choked on my orange juice.

  Aunt Eleanor raised one eyebrow. “Well. That would depend on what she tells us.”

  I tucked a strand of my new bob behind my ear. Looked at these people I would soon be a part of. I felt tired and scared and utterly fed up with these ridiculous games. There were parts of my past I would never share as they belonged right there, in the past. But I already fell below Upperton standards. That was their problem, not mine.

  “I didn’t used to be called Faith Harp. My name was Rachel.”

  And I told them – the short version – of how my mother had lived, how she died, and why I changed my name.

  Talk about awkward. Larissa and Aunt Eleanor stared at each other across the table, sending silent posh messages regarding what they thought about that revelation.

  Milton folded and unfolded his napkin a few times. He muttered, “Change of name. That explains why Google drew a blank.”

  But Perry, he looked straight at me. He took hold of my hand. Cleared his throat.

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  I shrugged, glancing at his family. “I think you can understand why I didn’t.”

  “So.” Larissa took a large swig of wine. “You lived in Chester. Did you ever go to the racecourse?”

  “No.”

  Perry sighed. “Of course she didn’t, Mother. She left age six.”

  “No.” She pulled a tight smile. “I suppose even if you had you wouldn’t remember.”

  “I never went.”

  “We were last there… remind me, Milton. Seven years ago? No. It must have been eight, as Hugh hadn’t graduated yet.”

  “No, Larissa.” Eleanor shook her head. “It couldn’t have been more than six. It was before my operation.”

  My phone rang. I looked at the screen. Sam. Calling from his own phone, not the hospital line.

  “Excuse me.” I stood up, interrupting the discussion about which horse had won what race. “I need to take this.”

  Perry frowned at me. “Sam?”

  I nodded, hurrying out of the room. Moving into the kitchen, I answered the call. “Sam?”

  “Hi. Yes, it’s me!”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m home.”

  “What?” I sat down, hard, on one of the chairs.

  “I know! I can’t believe it. But I’m doing really well. Feeling great.” He sounded it, too.

  “How did you get home? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “April came. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  I rested my head in my hands, tried to keep my voice positive. “Well, you managed it. I’m surprised.”

  I left Perry’s as soon as I could without seeming rude. I knew the story about my family remained half told. If anything, I’d left the most important bits out. But trying to keep up the pretence of happiness at Sam’s return exhausted me. A hurricane raged through my aching brain. All I could do was hope and pray the police found Kane before he found us.

  I spent the following week on red alert, scurrying round to visit Sam, quaking my way through a few work shifts, and overseeing the final preparations for the weekend’s Grand Grace Gala. I didn’t tell Sam that Kane had been to the chapel to look for me. Or that he’d phoned the office there. I didn’t tell him that when I left choir practice, a bashed-up green car parked across the str
eet pulled out behind Marilyn and me, keeping right behind us until we lost it at a level crossing.

  I marvelled at his latest painting, listened to his future plans, politely declined his invitations to go walking with him and April, and kept on hoping, praying, begging that somehow this would all end without destroying us both.

  I pestered Gwynne almost daily. Kane had been at work all week, she reassured me. It would have been nearly impossible for him to have been in Nottinghamshire on Wednesday afternoon to follow me home.

  “What about Saturday?” I asked. “Does he work weekends?”

  “Lock your doors, keep your phone charged, don’t do anything stupid, and try not to worry. We’re keeping an eye on him.”

  I spent Saturday at HCC, supervising the layout of the ballroom, hanging up fairy lights, decorating tables with tiny black musical notes, and filling glass centrepieces with flowers wrapped in cones of sheet music, only pausing for one last brutal rehearsal with Hester.

  The tight coil of tension in my guts never quite left, but the Grand Grace Gala, those lively, hilarious, excited choir members, and a whole day doing what I did best went some way towards providing a distraction.

  At seven, the first guests began to arrive. All spruced up in our choir dresses, we welcomed them in, trying not to feel too daunted by the flash of diamonds, the glint of gold watches, and the swish of dresses that cost more than we were trying to raise for the whole trip. Perry and Marilyn had come up trumps in working their HCC connections. Each choir member had been allowed to bring one guest at a discount price, while the other eighty tickets had been sold for a preposterous amount. We had better make it worth their while.

  Thirty minutes in, Mags took the microphone to welcome everybody and invite us to take our seats.

  “Who’s your guest, Marilyn?” Leona asked, as we all sat down.

  “I haven’t got one.” Marilyn shrugged. “My sister’s babysitting. I wanted to ask Anton so he could sit next to Polly but she wouldn’t let me. And most of the other people I know have paid full price to come here.”

  “Poor you,” said Kim, half sitting in Scotty’s lap. “It’s rubbish James couldn’t be here.”

  Marilyn shrugged. “He’ll be back in a week. I’m expecting Faith to dance with me instead, seeing as Perry is over persuading the rich boys to get their wallets out. I’m more interested in Hester. Did anyone manage to find out who her plus one is?”

  We all looked at Hester, still deep in conversation with the Mayoress on the other side of the room. There had been much speculation about Hester’s guest. Rowan had even tried to start a sweepstake before someone pointed out that might not be an appropriate way for a church choir to treat its director.

  Suddenly Rowan, sat with her grandad, gasped. She looked around at us, eyes glittering and mouth hanging open. “Get. A load. Of this, girls. I can take credit for the hair. But the rest? Like, wow.”

  We swivelled our heads around to see.

  Kim let out a long whistle. “Check him out!” She pulled a wide grin before suddenly remembering Scotty. “Not that I’d want to, of course.” She leaned in and nuzzled his neck. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you, babe.”

  “That is one fine figure of a man,” Melody murmured to her sister.

  Millie started flapping her hands in front of her face. “Whewie, Janice. If I was ten years younger…”

  “Try forty years,” her son said, turning crimson.

  He wasn’t the only one feeling disconcerted. Dylan, who had waited to escort Hester to our table, sauntered up, breaking into a grin as he approached.

  Like every woman on the planet, I think all men scrub up well in a tux.

  Some men have a lot more scrubbing up to do than others. For example, those who usually wear faded T-shirts and paint-splattered jeans, forget to shave, and walk about in work boots with sawdust in their unkempt mop of hair.

  It was universally accepted that Dylan was a hunk.

  With his hair cropped, clean shaven, and a slick suit on?

  Well – hooten tooten as Marilyn would say.

  Which she did, several times, as she kicked me under the table.

  Oh no. He was coming to sit next to me. Pull yourself together, Faith! Lungs, stomach, hormones – control yourselves!

  “How are you, ladies? Having a good time so far?” Dylan pulled out Hester’s chair for her, then sat down. “You’ve done an amazing job. The place looks incredible.”

  He looked round the table with a smile, then turned in my direction. “Hi, I’m –”

  He stopped, his turn to stare. “Faith? Wow. Your hair. I didn’t even realize it was you.”

  I pulled a face. “Well, that was sort of the plan.”

  He studied me for another minute before nodding. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay. Perry’s taking care of me. I’m fine.” I couldn’t look at him.

  “Right.”

  Throughout the whole of the meal I concentrated on making conversation with Marilyn, on my other side, and the rest of the table. Dylan, too, made no attempt to speak directly to me again. And yet. All I could think about was him. His arm, only a few inches away from mine. His beautiful face, that I carefully positioned just outside my field of vision. Sometimes when he moved his hand to accompany an anecdote I caught his scent, the usual pine and leather overlaid with a hint of aftershave.

  I wondered if this was still the teenage crush I had never had. One last (and first) hurrah before I committed to a lifetime of comfortable, steady, safe.

  Or was it more? Was this what falling in love felt like? Had these past few months of choir, and letting go and breathing out, of gradually, like a flower bud, opening up to this new life of friendship and fun and acceptance, had it produced the unexpected – and totally unwanted – side effect of repairing my heart to the point where it could fall in love?

  And if so, why had I gone and fallen for the wrong person?

  And if he was the wrong person, why was being near him the only time everything seemed right?

  And what on earth was I going to do about it?

  April and Sam arrived moments before we were due to sing. Not yet up to a whole big night out, Sam wanted to hear the choir. He planned to stay for half an hour or so, then catch a taxi back with April.

  We took our places on the stage at the front of the room. Hester checked our posture, pointing to her face to remind us to smile and giving us a discreet thumbs up before turning to address the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. May I please express my thanks on behalf of the Grace Choir at your being here tonight. I started the choir eighteen months ago with one purpose in mind. To bring together a group of ordinary women and, by teaching them how to create something beautiful and magnificent, I would show them that they, in fact, were beautiful and magnificent.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as our lovely soloist Rowan would say – epic fail!”

  She paused, scanning the room. “Not one woman who came to join our group was ordinary. I am ashamed for thinking otherwise. And they have taught me far more than I could ever teach them. I am proud –” Hester paused to clear her throat. Almost as if she held back tears!

  “I am so very proud to introduce the bravest, strongest, kindest, and quite possibly strangest bunch of extraordinary women I have had the pleasure to know. Put your hands together for the Grace Choir!”

  At that point, as the ladies and gentlemen put their hands together, Marilyn, standing at the end of the back row, suddenly ran to the front of the stage, elbowing Hester out of the way, and launched herself off the edge.

  Sailing through the air, she landed with a skid on the wooden dance floor, before sprinting across the room and into the arms of James.

  James caught her, spinning her around a few times before placing her back on the ground, holding her at arm’s length while he took her in.

  “Excuse me,” he said, looking round at the crowd with mock horror. “I seem to have made a terrible mistake. F
or a moment there I thought this woman was my wife. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen her. Please don’t take offence.”

  “I’ll take this,” Marilyn said, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him an enormous kiss that went on so long a couple of people wolf-whistled.

  They broke off and stood there, foreheads pressed together. I couldn’t catch what James said to his wife as she glowed with health and happiness, but his grin, his tears, his hands firmly planted on her backside said it all.

  Hester coughed into the microphone. “Shall we continue?”

  James stood back, to let Marilyn rejoin us on stage.

  She shook her head. “It’s fine. They can manage without me.”

  “No,” James frowned. “You have to get up there. I want to hear you sing.”

  “Trust me,” Marilyn smiled. “You don’t.”

  James looked at Hester for back-up.

  “Trust your wife, James. She knows what she’s talking about.”

  So the Grace Choir sang without their top lip-syncher, and, no offence to Marilyn, we sounded our best yet. Nearly everyone stood to their feet by the end. We bowed, graciously, and took a much-needed break to catch our breath, quench our thirst, and steel ourselves for the next part of the evening – the auction.

  Did we really have anything these people who had everything would want to pay good money for?

  Had they loosened up enough to bid high anyway?

  Aha. We had forgotten one thing.

  Those good old fashioned posh-people traits of one-upmanship, competitiveness, and mob mentality.

  Yes, at times the bidding became so frenzied, we indeed seemed to be on the verge of a mob.

  Guided – and goaded – by Hester’s forthright use of the auctioneer’s gavel, the bids began to rise. Somebody paid over three hundred pounds for a hair styling session with Rowan. After seeing the before and after photos, two members of HCC paid a monstrous amount for Marilyn to give their wives a workout training session. From the looks of them, as they slapped each other on the back, red-nosed and sweaty-faced, they could have done with the training themselves.