Looking For Lucy

by Julie Houston

  ‘A family that was moving across from Cheshire has given back word only in the past five minutes,’ Mrs Theobold said in that same sniffy, nasal tone she’d previously used to turn down Allegra from the school. ‘I need to know if you want to accept the place for Allegra, Mrs Broadbent, as I have a list here of children who are clamouring at the door for a place at Westenbury Church of England.’

  ‘Oh, right, er, well, yes please then, Mrs Theobold,’ I stuttered, feeling that same mixture of awe and intimidation I thought I’d left behind once I hit adolescence and realised teachers, along with traffic wardens and the police were just ordinary people in a mantle they assumed for the duration of their working day. Having said that, I couldn’t imagine this woman on the other end of the phone in any other role but that of bossy headmistress. For a split-second I hesitated. Did I really want Allegra going to this white middle-class oasis when she’d been totally happy spending her days with the multicultural, somewhat dysfunctional clientele of Beaumont Street Community School at the bottom end of town? But what bliss to be able to walk Allegra down into the village every day rather than fighting the traffic each morning to get her across town to her old school.

  ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Theobold,’ I said in my most grownup, married-lady voice. ‘Of course I accept.’

  ‘Well, you need to call in today to pick up the uniform list and all the other information we have for new parents. I’ll leave it all at the office for you—someone will be here until midday. The new term does start on Monday, you know.’

  I’d only just put the phone down and was calling Allegra in from the garden to tell her the news when the phone rang once more.

  ‘Clementine? Ah, good, caught you in. David Henderson here. I was wondering if you’d thought any more about doing a spot of cooking for me?’

  I had a sudden vision of the ‘Richard Branson of the north’ sitting alone at a table, napkin around his neck, knife and fork at the ready in the manner of some hungry cartoon character, and stifled a giggle. I needed to be grownup about this—I’d just chatted with the headteacher from hell and now here I was talking with the number one businessman in the north of England.

  Before I could say anything, David went on hurriedly, ‘Well, not me by myself, of course. An odd lunch or two for business clients over from Italy or Russia?’

  ‘Well, that sounds really like something I’d love to do…’ I tailed off, not quite sure what else to say.

  ‘Look, why don’t you pop over to the barn with me and I’ll show you around and together we can decide what might be best.’

  ‘The barn?’ I asked, puzzled. I could see the Hendersons’ beautiful old manor house across the fields. It certainly didn’t look anything like a barn.

  ‘The company has a house—an old barn that was renovated just a couple of years ago. My son lives a bachelor life in it most of the time but he knows if I need to butter up clients, he has to move back in with us for the duration so that the clients have a home from home while they are in the area. They seem to prefer it to the third-rate hotel that masquerades as Midhope’s most salubrious place to stay. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you could seduce them into spending obscene amounts of money with us by cooking wonderful lunches for them?’

  I felt a frisson of excitement and prayed it was the thought of creating a marinated brochette of swordfish perhaps, together with a strawberry crème brulée and rosewater shortbread, and not the thought of the great man himself. I shook my head to get rid of the vision of David Henderson pulling a black cashmere sweater, the colour of his hair, over broad, tanned shoulders and said, ‘That sounds really great, David. I’d love to.’

  ‘Brilliant. I’m actually off to Milan this afternoon, so I’m glad I caught you before I leave. How about I pick you up next Tuesday morning and drive you over and you can see the kitchen and dining area and see if you think it’s feasible?’

  ‘That’ll work well,’ I said. ‘I’m really excited because I’ve just got Allegra into the village school after being told there wasn’t a place for her. She starts next Monday so Tuesday would be good.’

  David laughed. ‘Oh, is she starting with The Fear-Bold?’

  I giggled. ‘The Fear-Bold? Brilliant name. You know her?’

  ‘Oh God, yes. She’s run that school with a rod of iron for years. Seb, my son, went there as a little boy until he went to King Edward’s at eleven. She’s a tyrant but, I tell you, it’s a fantastic little school. I’m actually a school governor there.’

  ‘Really? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have time with everything else you do.’

  ‘Well, I don’t do much else for the village—it’s my one bit of voluntary work and I’m part of the furniture now. Probably once The Fear-Bold leaves, I’ll go too.’

  *

  I’m happy, I thought later that afternoon as I cut bunches of basil and rosemary from the pots of herbs I’d planted outside the kitchen door just after Allegra and I had officially moved in with Peter. I’d taken Allegra into Midhope and kitted her out with the navy skirts and sweatshirts as directed on the new school list. I still wasn’t used to having a bankcard that I knew wouldn’t be handed back by embarrassed shop assistants, and had kept the expenditure on Allegra’s uniform down to a minimum. The little white shirts and black school shoes she’d had at Beaumont Street Community still had plenty of wear in them, but I’d treated Allegra to a pair of navy long socks with a navy frill around the top that she’d coveted from the moment we stepped into the queue, waiting our turn with other last-minute, harassed mothers to purchase garments a size too big in order that ‘they’ll grow into them soon enough and last that bit longer.’

  ‘I’m happy,’ I repeated, aloud this time, refusing to think, at least for that moment about Lucy. Once I’d got Allegra started at her new school, and Sophie and Max had also started back at their respective schools, then I would really begin in earnest to think about what I was going to do about her. I felt the despair over Lucy begin its pernicious attack on my senses once more and tried desperately hard to savour the moment of the early September afternoon warmth in this beautiful haven of peace. I breathed in the scent of newly mown grass as Eric Williams, Peter’s gardener, moved methodically across the vast area of lawns.

  Peter had been up early, had left the house before I was even awake and now, with Max and Sophie both back at their mother’s for several days and Allegra sitting at the kitchen table cutting out her new ‘paper dressing-dolly’, I revelled in having the house and garden to myself. I lay on the soft grass, book and mug of tea to hand and, closing my eyes knew, for a couple of moments at least, if not happiness then certainly contentment.

  I realised I hadn’t actually seen much of Peter over the past few days. He’d appeared preoccupied, anxious almost—‘nothing for you to worry about, darling,’ he’d smiled—and was forever on the phone or disappearing into his study for hours on end, emerging only to eat distractedly before apologetically absenting himself once more. I knew, because he’d told me, he was having problems with Vanessa who, he said, was being totally unreasonable over maintenance and the children’s school fees. He said at some stage soon he was going to have to have a showdown with her in order to sort it all out. But that was Peter’s problem, I told myself, reaching for my tea and the chocolate and pistachio muffin I’d baked from a new recipe that morning. This afternoon, in my garden, sitting on my grass, eating my recipe muffin I was happy.

  *

  The following Tuesday, as I was waiting for David Henderson to pick me up to show me his barn and discuss my working for him, Harriet rang to suggest that as I’d be only two minutes away I join her and Grace for lunch at her place. When I told her I’d actually arranged to meet up with Izzy she said no problem, she’d ring Izzy too, and as it was such a beautiful day we should be able to all eat in the garden.

  I so loved having a bunch of girlfriends after years of really not having anyone and, what with seeing Allegra trot confidently into her ne
w classroom, the invitation to lunch with these women with whom I felt a real affinity and friendship, and the imminent meeting with David, I started to think my life might really be beginning to improve at last. I moved a hopeful, tentative hand over my stomach; there was still no sign of my period and, while my constant worry and fears with regards to Lucy meant I could never totally relax and be truly happy, just for this moment, on this beautiful autumn morning, I was at one with myself.

  *

  ‘You’re looking well,’ David smiled as he leaned over me, expertly fastening the seatbelt I’d been unable to find on the wrong side of my seat.

  He looked and smelt divine. I glanced across at him, taking advantage of his turned head as he reversed down Peter’s drive to the country lane that bordered both our properties. He had a full head of very dark hair, greying now at the temple, olive skin and eyes I assumed also to be dark behind the expensive looking Ray-Bans that were shielding his eyes against the late summer sun.

  Although not usually overly vain about my appearance, I knew I was looking good. I’d made a big effort washing my long dark hair, drying it upside down so that it hung in a layered curtain below my shoulders. I’d paid particular attention to my makeup, outlining my brown eyes in soft brown kohl and my mouth in red, rubbing it off crossly—I was going for a job interview for heaven’s sake—before defiantly re-applying it once I heard David’s knock on the kitchen door.

  ‘I’ll give you a bit of history on the barn,’ David was saying as I found myself unable to shift my gaze from his competent-looking hands deftly steering the upmarket four-wheel-drive round substantial hedgerows grown dense following the recent warm weather. Feeling guilty, I tried hard not to compare David’s large, olive-skinned hands with Peter’s small, white, almost pudgy pair, but was finding it difficult not to.

  ‘History?’ I asked, pulling a face. ‘Can’t say I was overly good at history at school. I seem to remember I was sent out of a lesson on The War of Jenkins’ Ear for writing “I Love Robbie Williams” in the margin of my history book.’

  David laughed. ‘It was Kim Wilde for me. God, she was gorgeous—I had a huge poster of her on my wall in the dorm at school. But I’m talking history as in how I’ve ended up with the barn. As I’m sure you know, now that you’ve met her, Grace and Sebastian, my son, bought the house together when it was a total and utter wreck. Once Grace had Jonty, my grandson—I still can’t believe I’m a grandfather for heaven’s sake—she really wasn’t well and they all ended up staying with Mandy and me while it was gutted and done up. And then, Grace and Seb split. By then, because I’d actually ended up taking on the renovations, I couldn’t bear to let it go and decided it would be a good place to put up clients from abroad rather than in The King’s Head down in town. As I said to you on the phone, Seb stays there a lot of the time but is more than happy to move out if we’re putting people up. Your way with food, Clementine, is so exceptional, I thought it would be an added bonus to get you to cook on an ad hoc basis, if it’s something you might like to do.’

  ‘My plan—before Peter came along and swept me off my feet—was to look for hotel management work once I’d finished my degree. I have to say, it never occurred to me to do outside catering—I assumed if I was going to go back to cooking it would have to be in a restaurant with restaurant hours and I just couldn’t do that with Allegra being so little. Now that I don’t have to work full time to keep us both, this sounds perfect.’

  ‘And how is married life? As I said, you’re looking very well on it…’

  ‘I’m so lucky. Peter has been very kind.’

  When I didn’t say anything else, David, who had stopped at traffic lights, looked across at me. He didn’t say anything else either, but gave me a sympathetic smile, patted my arm and then drove the rest of the journey telling me about his various businesses but particularly L’uomo, the company he and Nick Westmoreland had started only a couple of years previously but which had exceeded all expectations, expanding into Russia, China and soon, Brazil.

  *

  ‘Yoo-hoo. We thought we’d come down and meet you and walk you back up to our place for lunch.’ Harriet Westmoreland, holding the hands of two ravishing blond-haired toddlers appeared at the French window of the barn. ‘Although with these two, who insist on walking everywhere instead of riding in their buggy, it might be suppertime before we get back. What do you think of this place? What a brilliant idea to cook fabulous lunches for rich businessmen.’

  ‘I’m so excited. If it’s what these people want then, yes, I’d love to do it. David says I can have free rein with the menus so I’ll be in my element planning it all. It will fit in so well with Allegra too—she’s just started at the little village school in Westenbury.’

  ‘Has she? Ooh, well done. It’s a great little school by all accounts… Fin, come away from the wall. Oh, and Jesus, the cowpat too.’ Harriet dashed across the lawn to the adjoining meadow and grabbed her little boy who was poking an experimental sandal-shod toe into its crusty perimeter. ‘Hi, David,’ she called as David Henderson stopped to lock up before stepping into the garden. ‘Have you finished here? Can I take Clem away now?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ David walked over to us, kissed Harriet briefly and patted her daughter’s blonde curls before turning to me. ‘I’ll be in touch, Clementine.’ He smiled. ‘I think I’ve just acquired another business partner.’ His eyes held mine for longer than was necessary and I felt myself blush. He waved a brief goodbye and made for his car parked up against the wall of the narrow lane.

  I felt ridiculously happy.

  ‘Right, are you ready?’ I was brought back to earth as Harriet pulled Fin away from an ancient stone water trough almost completely hidden in the seeded long grass. ‘God, these two are exhausting… yes, darling, it’s a slug but put it back where you found it…’

  *

  ‘Are you going to tell us, Clem?’ Izzy asked gently. ‘Tell us about the girl in the nightclub on your hen do?’ I felt my heart begin to beat faster as Grace, Harriet and Izzy turned as one towards me.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Izzy,’ Grace protested. ‘Clem hardly knows Harriet and me.’

  ‘No, it’s OK. It’s really OK, Grace. It’s about time I talked about Lucy…’

  18

  I took a deep breath, a too big gulp of wine and said, ‘It would actually be really good to tell someone about all this. It’s been years since I’ve had a gang of girlfriends. Oh God, that’s presumptuous of me, isn’t it, assuming you are all my mates suddenly, after only knowing you all—apart from Izzy of course—for a couple of months or so?’

  ‘No, no,’ Harriet said, beaming. ‘You really are our new best friend, and I’m not saying that in that awful affected way people go on about their new “bezzie’—bloody stupid handle when used by anyone over sixteen, I reckon. Honestly, Clem, Grace and I were saying only the other day how much we really liked you and how we wanted to see more of you. Women really need other women; well, I certainly do anyway. I’m a big believer in that.’

  Grace, who could obviously see I was quite affected by Harriet’s little speech, patted my arm and filled my glass. ‘Hat and I have been friends since we were eleven. We’ve nothing left to talk about—in fact I don’t think I even like her very much really.’ She ducked as Harriet threw a child’s soft toy frog at her. ‘I certainly welcome any new coven of women friends.’

  ‘We could form a book club and… and go to more gay bars in Leeds,’ Harriet laughed. ‘I really enjoyed that night.’

  ‘Don’t forget Mel,’ Izzy said. ‘She’s new to the area—well, not new, she was born here, of course—and she will need new friends.’

  ‘Right, that’s sorted then. I think we should drink to that.’ Grace smiled, lifting her glass.

  I swallowed hard. Gosh, I really did feel quite tearful.

  ‘OK. The girl you saw at the lap-dancing club was—is—my sister, Lucy.’

  ‘Blimey.’ Izzy took in a sharp breath before exh
aling deeply. ‘You’ve kept that to yourself, Clem. I’ve known you four years and you’ve not once mentioned a sister, let alone her name.’

  ‘Well, you can certainly see the family resemblance,’ Harriet said, obviously remembering how she’d come across the almost-naked girl when she’d wandered into the club and seen her swaying around her pole.

  I smiled and bit my lip. ‘Lucy’s actually my twin. My identical twin.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘No wonder you looked as if you’d seen a ghost when I said you had a double dancing round a pole. Did you know that she was in Leeds? That she’d taken up…’ Harriet paused, desperately trying to think of the right words ‘… dancing as a career?’

  ‘No, Harriet, I didn’t. The last time I saw her—two years ago—she was working the streets down near the centre of Midhope.’

  ‘The streets…?’

  ‘She’s a prostitute, Harriet. A sex worker. A whore. Call it what you will.’

  ‘Harriet, do you want this food out here?’ A tall, motherly-looking woman appeared at the door with Fin, Harriet’s little boy, giggling and clinging on to her back. ‘It’s ready.’

  ‘Thanks, Lilian. Sorry, Clem, Izzy, this is St Lil of Desperate Mothers. Please don’t try and pinch her, anyone, because I will have to shoot you if you do.’ There was real affection in Harriet’s voice and the woman smiled.

  ‘Aw, get on with you,’ the woman said in a rich Southern Irish brogue. ‘I’m going nowhere except upstairs to put this one down for a nap. Thea is already asleep upstairs and Jonty—’ the woman smiled at Grace before nodding back towards a pushchair in the kitchen ‘—is still spark out as well. Enjoy the peace while you can, ladies.’

  ‘I’ll come and get it, Lilian.’ Harriet pushed her chair back. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Clem,’ she apologised. ‘Don’t say any more until I get back.’