I did remember – it had been years ago, back when we all lived in West London. Felicity had told us her flatmate wouldn’t mind us crashing in her room one night after we’d had a bit too much wine, but the girl – I forget her name – came home at four in the morning and woke us up screaming. We were forced to all sleep in Felicity’s room. We thought it was funny, at the time, but looking back, it wasn’t really. It was horrible. I was exhausted for all of the next day. Felicity didn’t stay in that flat long after that, I don’t think. Mind you, she never stayed anywhere for that long – New York is, so far, a record.
‘God, yes,’ I say, with feeling, and for a second Alice and I lock eyes. I feel a rush of warmth towards her, for the friendship we once had, for all the years and years of memories we have built together. She smiles back at me, and my heart momentarily lifts.
‘Hannah?’ I call, pushing open the door to the main lodge, and to my surprise she calls out from a room to the left, in the opposite direction to the way we walked before. This place is so big, I think we’ve only seen a quarter of it.
‘In here!’
We follow the sound of her voice and both of us stop dead in the doorway.
We’re in a dining room, even bigger than the rooms we saw before. In the centre of the room is a long wooden table – it looks like it could easily seat twelve but there are only three place settings, complete with folded white linen napkins and shining silver cutlery. By each place sits a tall, sparkling glass of champagne, full to the brim. Hannah is standing awkwardly to the side, hovering.
In the centre of the table sits a feast – there is no other word for it. There is a bowl full of fresh fruit – guava, pawpaw, flat yellow peaches, inky purple grapes – and two large blue patterned plates laden with meats and cheeses. A couple of bottles of red wine sit neatly beside them, and globe-like wine glasses are ready and waiting. A loaf of bread stands on a wooden board, a serrated knife next to it, and a dish of butter glistens beside it, not melted even in the heat. Water jugs stand at each side of the wine, ice cubes and thin slivers of lemon jostling inside, and three candles are burning brightly, wax collecting rapidly on the rims of their tall silver candlesticks, gathering speed as we stare. Elsewhere in the room, someone has lit a joss stick on the mantelpiece, and the scent of jasmine drifts slowly around us, heady and aromatic. The fireplace is empty, but for a beautiful statue of a lion on its haunches, cut from gold, with dark marble eyes that seem to be watching us as we gape at the spread.
‘Wow,’ Alice says. ‘God, who did all this? Did you lay this out, Han?’
She shakes her head.
‘I wish! My domestic skills aren’t quite up to it, I’m afraid – you should see what poor Chris has to put up with! Fishfingers, mostly. No, I got here just a minute before you and it was like this. It must be the staff – I guess Felicity left them instructions. It all looks as though it’s just been done. Look – the butter’s not even melted, and the candles are freshly lit.’
There is a pause while we all listen, but there is no other sound in the lodge apart from the three of us breathing, and the soft lap of the water outside.
‘Maybe there’s a separate staff lodge,’ I say at last. ‘There must be. Felicity probably gave them instructions to make themselves invisible – a bit like the driver. Some people do that sort of thing, don’t they?’
I’m talking rubbish, really – it’s not like I’ve ever stayed anywhere with staff, and I’ve no idea how rich people behave, whether this is normal or not. I think of my own arrangements back home – a scrubbed pine table stained with Rosie’s nail varnish, dotted with faded wine rings. A world away from where we are now.
‘Look, we’ve got place names,’ Hannah says, pointing, and we all step forward to the chairs, which are high-backed and imposing. There are twelve all in all, but three are pulled back slightly, as if showing us where to sit. To be honest, they don’t look as comfortable as the Ikea ones Rosie and I have, but they’re impressive, giving the room an almost regal air.
Little white cards are propped up next to our champagne glasses, and I see our names embossed on them in the same curly script as the invitations. I am on one side of the table; Hannah and Alice are on the other. It enters my mind that this is the third time I’ve been put alone, separated out, but I know I am being ridiculous so I push the thought from my head and stretch my red lips into a big smile, determined not to show the others that actually, this has made me feel a little freaked out. As I do so, my stomach growls, and I realise how hungry I actually am – I haven’t eaten since before we got on the plane, seeing as I slept the whole way so unexpectedly.
‘Well, it all looks pretty amazing,’ I say. ‘Nobody’s veggie, are they?’
None of us used to be, but we don’t know each other as well anymore. The sharpness of this fact raises its head, stark in the glossy surroundings. I force myself to stay upbeat, cling to the moment of warmth I felt with Alice out on the deck. We can get to know each other again, can’t we? There is nothing stopping us.
‘Not me, carnivore till I die,’ Alice says, and she pulls out her chair and sits down, reaching almost simultaneously for her glass of champagne.
‘Nor me,’ Hannah echoes, and she does the same, taking a long gulp of her drink before raising the glass in the air.
‘Well, here’s to the staff, whoever they are. Everything looks delicious, and I’m gasping for this drink.’
The three of us clink glasses, and I tuck my chair in underneath the table, feeling the wooden back hard against my spine. The champagne is deliciously cold, and the bubbles fizz happily on my tongue. Hannah and Alice are both smiling, and as I drink more, I start to feel the uneasy feelings drift away, as my body loosens and relaxes into the sumptuous surroundings of Deception Valley Lodge. Honestly, I don’t know what we were worried about – being served a mouth-watering meal and free champagne is hardly something to be concerned by, is it? I’ve got to unwind a bit, to stop taking everything so seriously.
Felicity’s note on my bed flashes before my eyes, and I momentarily feel my breath catch in my throat, but I rationalise that there must be a simple explanation, that it must just be a joke – harmless, meaningless. I’m just being silly, taking it to heart – silly Grace, over-sensitive as always.
Though as I look at my friends, I can’t stop myself from wondering if they got a note too, and if so, what did theirs say?
‘Wine, anyone? We seem to have finished our fizz,’ Alice says, grinning, and I watch as she effortlessly uncorks the first bottle of red, pours it into our bulbous glasses. The dark red liquid reminds me of blood, and I think about the wilderness outside, about the wild animals that surely cannot be too far away. I don’t like the photographs in the hall – upon inspection, the lion close-up had blood on its teeth, and the zebra looked like it was being chased by a predator, as though the end was near. I think of what the next shot would be, a shutter clicking to capture the zebra’s body, mauled on the ground, purple insides spilling out onto parched earth. There is something vaguely aggressive about them all.
‘This is good wine,’ Hannah says. ‘God, it’s been forever since I had a guilt-free drink.’ She gestures to her breasts. ‘Max is still breastfeeding, so I have to be careful.’
‘I thought that was a myth,’ Alice says, and Hannah frowns, but I can see she’s sort of smiling underneath.
‘Well, no, it’s not a myth,’ she says. ‘If I drink booze, it can go through to him via the milk, so I just have to watch it, that’s all. Though’ – she grins – ‘there are times when I’m tempted to sedate him with a drop or two of whisky.’
I take a sip of wine, it is nice, she’s right, though I mainly drink the Co-op’s finest so I don’t have much to compare it to.
‘How is it, having kids?’ Alice asks, suddenly, and Hannah sighs, reaches for the platter of meat and cheese and begins loading her plate. I watch her, trying to work out whether she’s taken aback by the bluntness of Alice’s question, but h
er body language is impossible to read. I break off a piece of bread and slather it in sunshine-yellow butter, my mouth watering. The champagne has made me even more hungry but really, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, is there? Especially as it’s only the three of us here. I add some cheese to the bread; it’s a soft, gooey kind that my knife sinks straight through.
‘I’d rather we didn’t talk about it too much in front of Felicity,’ Hannah says, looking at us meaningfully; we nod dutifully and she looks relieved, as though she’s got something awkward out of the way that she hadn’t wanted to say. ‘Well, OK, so we’ve only got the one,’ she continues, chewing thoughtfully, and her eyes look a bit wistful. ‘For the most part, it’s brilliant, you know, it’s what we both wanted, Chris and I, but it is – it is full-on.’ She looks a little stricken even at this, as though she’s admitted something terrible. But of course she hasn’t – anyone looking at her could tell that she finds it full-on. It’s funny, I think to myself, the way we all imagine our secrets to be hidden, when in fact, so often they’re in plain view.
‘Max is still so little, really,’ Hannah continues, ‘and Chris is out at work all day so that leaves me alone, most of the time. It’s why I decided to come here in the end – I just wanted to be around adults for a while, even if it’s only for a few days.’ She laughs, but the sound isn’t genuine. ‘I get a bit sick of talking to Peppa Pig, that’s all.’
‘It must be hard,’ I say, and to my horror, I see that her eyes are beginning to fill with tears, glittering in the light of the lamps and threatening to overflow.
‘Han, oh no, are you OK?’ Alice asks, setting down her wine glass, and putting a hand on her arm, her red-painted nails shining.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘God, how embarrassing. I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just – it’s a relief to talk to you guys, I suppose. Nobody ever asks how it’s going, really.’
Her words fill me with sadness, thinking about all the conversations we have missed in these last two years – about Hannah’s wedding, her firstborn, huge life milestones that we all imagined we’d be part of. We used to talk to each other about everything and anything, our lives full of each other’s words, but now there are just gaping holes, blank with everything we’ve missed out on.
‘Not even Chris?’ I say, passing her my napkin and watching as she dabs her eyes. She looks pretty in the candlelight, even though her skin’s going a bit blotchy now that she’s upset.
She sniffs, the sound watery. The room seems to shimmer a little; a drop of wax disengages itself from the candle, falls to the table, and begins spreading into a plump, rounded stain. We used to light candles up in Felicity’s attic as kids; I picture them still there, the wax stiff and cold, forgotten. Holding on to old secrets.
‘Chris is a lawyer,’ Hannah says, though we both know this – he was a lawyer when they first met six years ago. ‘He works such long hours, and although I know he loves Max – and I know he loves me – his job is always the thing that comes first. A few weeks ago we had his colleagues round for supper. I think he thought it would cheer me up – God, it was the absolute last thing I needed. But for him, it’s all about keeping in with people.’ She pauses, gazes at her wine glass as if it will give her the answers. ‘I think he is – or he tries to be – a good father. But sometimes I think he doesn’t really know what makes me happy at all.’ Her expression is wistful, as though her mind is far away from us, wandering over an uncharted territory that neither of us can approach.
‘I think that about Tom,’ says Alice, pulling off a couple of grapes from the bowl in the middle of the table and popping them quickly into her mouth, one after the other as though they’re sweets. ‘We’ve bought this house together – well, it’s a flat actually – and when I look back, the whole thing was what he wanted, not what I wanted. I just went along with it. I didn’t know what else to do.’
She swigs her wine, smiles ruefully. ‘Still, at least I’m doing something I want this weekend. And, Han, I bet Chris is a better father than most. Better than Felicity’s, at least.’
Her words seem to turn the air around us cold. All at once, the image of Felicity’s father, Michael, comes to me – his slightly stooped back, the sound of him clanking around downstairs as we huddled up in the attic. He spent most of Felicity’s childhood ignoring her, until her mother died. And then he took matters into his own hands in that dreadful, dreadful way.
‘Remember Michael?’ I say, suddenly, and their expressions change; Alice gives a little shiver, rubs her hands up and down her arms, and Hannah pulls a face.
‘God, of course. Poor Flick.’
‘He wanted to control her, didn’t he?’ Alice says, and she looks around the room, her eyes darting into the corners, as if Felicity’s father might stalk out of the darkness at any time.
‘He used to scare me,’ Hannah says, taking a sip of her drink. ‘The way he looked at you. I don’t know how she stood it. And then of course, when she was older, and he did what he did—’ She breaks off. ‘You know, I sometimes think we should have talked to—’
‘I can’t bear thinking about it,’ Alice says, interrupting Hannah and pushing a strand of black hair beneath her ear. Her big earrings jangle. ‘Let’s talk about something else. I prefer moaning about men our own age.’
The pair of them look at me, their eyes swinging towards mine almost in unison. I’m reminded suddenly of one of the photos on the wall – a still of a pack of hyenas identifying their prey. I know they’re waiting for me to contribute, to talk about the man in my life, but of course, there isn’t one. There hasn’t been for a long time, now, but neither of them knows why.
‘I fancy some more champers, actually,’ I say, abruptly – the red wine is making me feel lethargic and sad, but the bubbles will lift me up. ‘Shall I go see if there’s a wine fridge anywhere?’
I stand up, feeling the blood rush to my head as I do so. The floorboards creak slightly as I cross the room and exit through the double doors, leaving them sitting there. My heart is pounding – I don’t really want to venture into this huge, dark lodge on my own but I can’t stand the thought of them pitying me, of recognising that look on their faces. It’s the kind of look Rosie and Ben give me, and I’ve flown thousands of miles to avoid it. Poor, single Grace. Always on her own. I can almost see the thought bubbles rising sadly above their heads.
The next room I come to is cooler, and almost smells dusty, in contrast to the rest of the place, as though nobody has been in here for a while. I feel for a light switch with my right hand, running my fingers across the bumpy clay wall, feeling the rough ridges of the thick paint beneath my skin. The darkness is intimidating – the talk of Michael Denbigh has freaked me out and I feel my heart rate accelerate again. I left my phone at the dinner table, so I don’t have a light, and I’m just contemplating going back when I find the switch and flick it on, illuminating the room.
It’s a little library – two soft, squashy armchairs are sat facing each other on top of a sheepskin rug, and on the wall behind them are rows and rows of bookshelves – the pages must have gathered a bit of dust. On the low table between the chairs sits a board game, chess, with the pieces laid out in perfect symmetry. It’s a nice set, high-end, and I pick up one of the pieces, the carved black Queen. The wood is smooth in my hand, and without thinking I pocket it in my wide-legged trousers, feel the weight of it thud against my thigh. The most important piece in the game, I think: underestimate her at your peril.
Moving to the bookcase, I run my hands over the spines of the books, dirtying my fingers with grey flakes of dust. There are some guidebooks, possibly left by tourists, and a collection of classics – Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Rudyard Kipling. I pull out a battered copy of The Jungle Book – it was always my favourite, as a child, and to my surprise, something flutters out of it, falls to the floor and lands softly on the sheepskin rug. Stooping to pick it up, I see that it’s a piece of paper, folded into an origami square, the corners tucked in
like the games we all used to play in the school playground and up in Felicity’s attic as children. We called them fortune tellers. You used to have to pick an option to unlock the next layer, before you got to the answer in the middle. There is nobody to play it with me, so I unfold the corners myself.
The first four corners say: zebra, cheetah, lion, gazelle. Heart thudding, I open lion, the name of my lodge. Underneath that are four more options: truth, lie, truth, lie. I pull back one of the truths, and when I read the words underneath, the paper in my hands begins to shake.
The birthday party isn’t the only reason you’re here.
Alice
Now that Grace has said it, Alice would like some champagne too but Grace being Grace she is taking bloody ages about it. Alice drains her red wine in the meantime and opens the second bottle – Hannah places her hand over her own glass, saying that she’s had too much already, but Alice laughs and shifts her fingers to one side, and Hannah stops protesting as Alice knew she would when she fills her friend’s glass to the brim.
‘Are you nervous about seeing Flick?’ Alice says to Hannah, watching as she chews a piece of meat. There’s a breadcrumb to the side of her mouth, and she reaches up to brush it off, frowning at Alice. There’s a pause before she answers; she’s wondering how much Alice knows.
‘Nervous? No.’
So that’s how she’s going to play it. Well, fair enough.
‘I just wondered,’ Alice says, running her fingers around the edge of her wine glass, ‘because of what happened last time, that’s all.’
Her face changes, but only slightly. Nothing an outsider would notice. But Alice isn’t an outsider, is she? She’s her best friend.
Hannah and Alice were always a little bit closer than the rest of them. They had more shared experiences, Alice supposes; their houses used to be only a street away when they were growing up in Richmond, until her parents moved, that is. She always felt as though they had a bond that outweighed the others’, somehow – as if when it came to it, if the four of them were stuck in a burning building, she and Hannah would choose each other. Felicity would choose Alice, she thinks, or perhaps just save herself – and Grace? Who would save Grace? Hannah would try, but if she’d already saved Alice, she might not be able to go back. But her mind’s wandering – they’re not in a burning building, are they, they’re in a luxurious lodge in Botswana having a wonderful time.
The Wild Girls Page 9
