Having a Ball

by Rhoda Baxter

  Marsh was watching her intently. "Stevie," he said. "What is it that you're not telling me?"

  Damn. She should have looked him in the eye. Stared him out. Damn. "Nothing. Why?"

  "Come on. I know when you're being cagey."

  That was true. He did always know when she was hiding something, just like she normally knew when he was. She'd always thought it was her superior intuitive powers. Perhaps it was just a side effect of growing up with your brother as your best friend and guardian rolled into one. "I don't know what you mean."

  Marsh thought for a moment and then shrugged. "If you say so. I guess you're entitled to a few secrets."

  Just like you feel entitled to yours. "Yes. Actually, I am."

  There was another silence.

  "How's Jane?"

  "She's okay. She's starting to show now. It's not too obvious yet, but she's definitely getting a tum."

  "She'll probably have a tiny designer bump," said Stevie. "Has she stopped feeling sick?"

  "Yes, that's much better now, which is a relief."

  "Good."

  More silence. Stevie shifted her weight. "Listen, Marsh. I've got to finish packing and do some stuff..."

  "Right. I guess I should be getting back too," said Marsh. "Look, I'm sorry I flew off the handle"

  "And I'm sorry I brought Jane up again with the press."

  "Please don't do it again. She really was very upset."

  Stevie nodded. Marsh put his hand on the door. "By the way," he said. "What's does Evelyn do? Lou said she was an academic."

  "She is. And quite a good one, by the sound of it. She's giving a lecture that's going to be taped for Radio 4. That's why she needed to get someone to take over the ball work."

  "Sounds interesting. What's the full name? I'll have to listen out for it."

  "Evelyn Blackwood."

  Marsh froze in the act of opening the door. "Blackwood?" Slowly, he shut the door again. He turned round. "Tom. Blackwood?"

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  "What about him?"

  "The same Tom Blackwood that I was at uni with?"

  Stevie shrugged.

  "Stevie, are you out of your mind?"

  "What? He's my employer's son. So?"

  "SO? Don't act all innocent with me, Stevie. You fancy him. I can tell from the way you talked about him. Don't you remember what happened the last time you met? He got you stoned. You were only thirteen."

  "Exactly. I was only thirteen. In case you hadn't realised, I've grown up a bit since then." She turned away. "Besides, it wasn't him that got me stoned. It was Jeremy the spliff."

  "That's immaterial. He shouldn't have let you have anything in his room. He was an adult. You were a child. It was irresponsible and ..."

  "But I'm not a child anymore!" Stevie stamped a foot and immediately realised how childish that seemed. "I'm twenty-two, Marsh. Old enough to make my own decisions. Even my own mistakes. You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."

  "You're going to get hurt. That's what Tom does. He uses women and then drops them. It's what he's always done. He's not good boyfriend material."

  "You don't think anyone's good boyfriend material for me. Just because you don't want to take any risks doesn't mean I have to live like that too. I want to do things my way. So you can bloody well take your advice and shove it up your anally retentive arse."

  There was a stunned silence from Marsh. He glared at her. She glared back.

  "Fine," he said, icily. "Be like that. Throw yourself at Tom. Don't expect sympathy when he spits you out like a worthless piece of rubbish. I warned you. It's not my fault you're too pig headed to listen."

  "Oh spare me the holier than thou speech."

  Marsh's lips tightened. He turned to leave.

  "It's a good job you're having a child," Stevie shouted at his back. "That way you'll finally have someone else to stifle."

  Marsh paused, but didn't turn round. Without a word, he left, slamming the door behind him.

  Stevie stared at the door for a moment then stamped her foot again. Spinning round, she grabbed a cushion and threw it across the flat at the postcard of Indiana Jones. It hit the board hard enough to dislodge the push pin. Both Indiana Jones and the photo of her family slid to the ground. Stevie sank into the sofa and started to cry.

  She was still crying when Tom phoned to say he was downstairs. Stevie managed to control her voice enough to say "I'll be right down."

  She dashed into the bathroom and washed the tears off her face. Her bag was only half packed, so she shoved handfuls of underwear and her toothbrush in. At least she knew her clothes for the ball were good to go. She looked down at the light summer dress she was wearing. She had intended to change into jeans and t-shirt, but there was no longer enough time. Sighing, she stuffed those into her bag too and zipped it shut. Tearing round the flat, she closed windows and made sure things were locked and ready to be left for a week before grabbing her stuff and pelting downstairs.

  Tom was sitting in the car, tapping away into his phone. He saw her come out of the building and glanced irritably at his watch.

  "Sorry," said Stevie. Despite running around as fast as she could, she knew she'd kept him waiting a good quarter of an hour.

  Tom said nothing, merely popped open the boot of the car and put her bags in it. Feeling sheepish, Stevie let herself into the passenger seat and sank into the leather. Tom slid back into his seat and pulled out. He hadn't said a word to her. Clearly, he was annoyed. She hoped he wasn't going to sulk all the way to Oxford.

  Stevie's eyes still felt raw. She rubbed her hand on her cheek, trying to get rid of the starchy feel left by the tears. The movement brought with it a fresh wave of loneliness and her eyes filled up once more. She blinked them back and inadvertently sniffed.

  Tom threw a glance at her and then focused back on the road. Stevie pretended to stare out of the window and quickly wiped away a tear that had leaked out of the corner of her eye. The silence in the car seemed to get heavier and heavier.

  Finally Tom said, "Are you okay?" Rather than sounding annoyed, he actually sounded concerned.

  "Fine," said Stevie, her voice quavering.

  "Sure?"

  She turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows.

  Stevie sighed. "Just had a small argument with my brother, that's all." She wiped her eyes. "I'll be okay in a minute."

  Tom nodded. "Do you argue a lot?" he said after a moment. "With Marshall, I mean?"

  Stevie shrugged. "I guess."

  Tom nodded again. "My brother and I never really got on either." He paused to manoeuvre round a roundabout and get them onto the motorway. "That's one of the advantages of growing up. We moved out of home and don't have to see each other anymore."

  How strange, that the very thing Tom thought was an advantage was making her feel like she'd lost everything. She didn't say anything aloud, but a little snort escaped her. She resumed staring out of the window.

  "Marshall really upset you, huh?" said Tom. "I guess he has got a temper on him."

  "No he hasn't." She was allowed to complain about her brother, but that didn't mean other people could. "He's just very protective of..." she was about to say "his family", but realised she wasn't sure who that meant anymore. Did it still include her? Right now she didn't feel very protected by Marsh. "...of some people," she finished. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it."

  "Okay. Just trying to help," said Tom.

  Now she'd offended Tom as well. Stevie sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you. It's just that Marsh and I manage to wind each other up so well. Years of practise."

  Tom nodded. "I know that feeling. Dan and I were similar."

  "Do you still argue?"

  "Not really. I only see him on Mum's or Alice's birthday. He's always away on expeditions and conferences and things. That's why poor Alice has to spend her holidays with her grandmother."

  Stevie filed this piece of information away to think about later. "Alice
seems happy enough to stay with Evelyn."

  "She doesn't have much choice. She's been dumped on Mum and Dad often enough though, so they're all used to it. It was okay when she was little, doing up a house can be lots of fun when you're seven or eight years old, but now she's a teenager, she's probably missing her friends and dying of boredom."

  Which might explain why he'd bought Alice an iPhone? "You're fond of her, aren't you?"

  For the first time that day, Tom smiled. "She's a great kid. We used to have lots of fun when she was little. It's harder now that she's older and trying to be cool, but I think we still get on quite well."

  Stevie looked at him in surprise. His voice was warm and full of affection. She had never heard that before.

  "What's it like?" she said, slowly. "Having a niece?"

  "Great fun. You get to play with them and they think you're wonderful. Then you can hand them back when they get tired and cranky. Best of both worlds."

  Stevie wondered if she should be feeling some sort of bond with this unborn child of Marsh and Jane's. She felt nothing towards it at the moment, merely resentment towards its parents. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. Perhaps there was a vital Aunty gene she was missing.

  "Why do you ask?" said Tom. "Is this part of your party planner research? Trying to see how best to get work out of me and Alice?"

  Stevie gave a little giggle. "No," she said. "I've already figured that one out. It's just that I'm going to be an aunty. I hadn't really thought about it before, that was all."

  "Ah yes. Marshall's child. When is it due?"

  Even Tom knew.

  "In about six months, so it doesn't feel real yet."

  "It won't feel real until she...or he...is actually born."

  "Oh. That's good."

  There was a pause. "You said you'd figured out how to get work out of me and Alice," said Tom. "How do you propose to do that?"

  "I was going to get Evelyn to ask you."

  Suddenly, Tom laughed. "I see I've underestimated you. You're a devious one. I'll have to watch you."

  Stevie stole a glance at his laughing face, handsome in profile. She smiled. She knew she would be watching him. With pleasure.

  Chapter 10

  Stevie woke up from the dream with tears on her cheeks and immediately scrambled for her phone. It was 2:00 a.m. Even if she'd felt inclined to call Marsh, there was no point doing it at this hour. Looking around the unfamiliar room, she remembered she was in Oxford. Absolutely no point calling Marsh, then.

  She lay back down, clutching the phone to her chest. Under her fist, her heart still thundered. She tried to breathe slowly. Eventually, her heart settled down to a more normal pace. Now all she had to do was get back to sleep. She closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids was an imprint of a white lily. In gloved hands. Her eyes flew open again.

  Her room was up near the attic. It would once have been an anteroom used for preparing flowers for chapel, but was now a comfortably furnished single room with a lovely skylight that let her watch the moonlit clouds without leaving her bed.

  After a few moments of staring at the night sky, Stevie felt a little better, but was no closer to returning to sleep. She might as well go make herself a hot drink. Pulling a dressing gown over her short pyjamas, she stepped out into the corridor.

  The house was eerie in the dark. Moonlight slanted in through undraped windows, leaving a patchwork of light and dark. Clutching the banister, she took the stairs slowly.

  She hadn't managed to count all the rooms in the house. Some were part of the original building, some later additions as people had extended it to suit their needs. The corridors that connected them all looked similar, making it impossible to keep track of where she was. There was a real danger of getting lost and spending hours wandering down corridors. She made a note to suggest that some signs be put up to guide guests around.

  She only knew one way to and from her room and that was through the kitchen. Ignoring the unfamiliar corridors and doorways that she passed, she stuck to her route. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realised she could actually make out a lot of detail--doors, light switches, fire exit signs, the outlines of pictures on the walls. Getting to the kitchen using her special route involved crossing the small courtyard. As she stepped out into the warm night air, the ground was cool and gritty under her bare feet. A light was on in the kitchen.

  It was bright enough to hurt her eyes. She blinked. There was no one there. Pots, which had been scrubbed clean after the day's cooking were stacked on the side ready for when they would get together to finish making the snacks. Passing Evelyn's enormous fridge, Stevie resisted the temptation to check on the bowls of ingredients and fillings inside.

  When she picked up the kettle, she realised that the water was still hot. Someone had been down not long before. She refilled the kettle and set it to boil while she hunted through the cupboards. After some cursory searching, she located a jar of Ovaltine.

  Once she'd made herself a drink, she looked around. Warm and comfortable though the kitchen was, she didn't feel like sitting there under the clinical strip lighting. Turning the lights off behind her, she padded up to the library.

  She poked her head round the door. Huge swathes of moonlight fell into the room, silhouetting an armchair pulled out to face the window. The room appeared to be deserted. She debated turning the light on, but the moonlight was enough to see by as she made her way towards the window.

  Suddenly something stirred in the armchair. She shrieked and hot Ovaltine slopped on her wrist.

  A figure rose out of the chair. "It's only me, Tom."

  Stevie stood still, getting her breath back, too shocked to speak.

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  She hesitated. Should she go back to her room and leave him alone? Or would that be rude. She nervously moved the mug from one hand to the other.

  "You can sit down, you know. I don't bite."

  "Why are you sitting in the dark?" Stevie pulled up a chair and sat down, a little unsteadily. "If you don't mind my asking."

  Tom shrugged. "I was looking out of the window." He gestured towards it. "And I have a headache. The light makes it worse. What are you doing wandering around in the dark?"

  "I couldn't sleep." She didn't mention the nightmares. It was too personal a thing to discuss with strangers.

  "You can turn the light on, if it makes you feel better." Tom sat back down again. Now that the moonlight caught him, she could see his face and limbs, pale and slightly hazy against the dark.

  "No, that's okay."

  Tom in the daylight was distractingly attractive and quite irritating. This slightly spectral Tom was somehow easier to deal with. She settled back. The chair was an old fashioned one with deep wings either side. There was something comforting about being surrounded by thick velour.

  The garden glowed through the window. The moonlight was bright enough to make out a hint of colour. The white gazebo and night flowers shone ghostly against the dark green foliage. "Oh. It's beautiful."

  "Isn't it? There's something wonderful about the garden at night." He smiled, making the shadows move on his face. His voice was soft, almost reverential. "It's pretty during the day too, but at night it's something special. The night jasmine and honeysuckle smell wonderful too."

  "Why are you looking at it from inside then? Why not go outside and enjoy it properly."

  "I did. I got cold."

  She took another look at him. He was wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt. So, not much. Her face flushed. She was even more grateful for the darkness.

  Under her gaze, he self-consciously crossed his legs. "I wasn't expecting to have company. I don't normally, when I'm up in the middle of the night."

  Stevie was glad of her dressing gown. She hadn't been expecting to see anyone either, but had opted for sensible short pyjamas and a spaghetti top because she was in a client's house. At home she would have been in a large t-shirt and nothing els
e. She wondered if Tom would normally have bothered pulling a t-shirt on over his shorts. Probably not, if he was in his flat.

  The silence was beginning to feel strained. She had to say something. "Do you often wake up in the middle of the night?" Oh dear. That sounded too personal. Her face suddenly felt very hot.

  Tom shrugged. "I have trouble sleeping sometimes." He frowned. "Well, quite a lot, actually. These headaches don't help." He rubbed his temples.

  "You get them a lot then?"

  He nodded, still rubbing his temples.

  "Have you seen a doctor about it?"

  He opened one eye and nodded.

  "And..."

  "You're not nosy at all, are you?"

  She said nothing and kept watching him. She was on safer ground now. Headaches were easy to talk about. And not embarrassing.

  He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes glittering. Then he sighed and looked away. "Stress apparently."

  She nodded. That tied in with what he'd been saying the day before. It would also explain the grumpiness. She took a sip of Ovaltine. Having lived with a workaholic brother for so long, she knew the signs of burnout.

  What had driven Marsh to work so hard was the pressure of suddenly being responsible for himself and his sister. But what drove Tom? He didn't seem to have any major insecurity that she could see. His mother was still alive and he clearly came from a fairly wealthy background.

  There was only one way to find out. He'd already decided she was nosy. What did she have to lose?

  "Why do you do it?" Her voice sounded unnaturally loud. She lowered it. "If working so hard is making you ill, why not slacken off a little."

  His eyes narrowed. "What?"

  "I mean, you've got a good job, a nice home to come to. It's not like you've got a family to look after..."

  He leaned forward. "You want to know why I do it?" He stood up in one swift movement. "Here," he said, his voice taut with annoyance. "I'll show you."

  He strode over to the other side of the room and turned on a small reading lamp. The room was instantly flooded with a warm yellow glow. He crouched down, his long legs folding underneath him. "Here. Look." He pointed to a shelf.