by Gemma Fox
‘Bugger,’ he snorted, all embarrassed and self-conscious, red-faced and breathing hard, trying to hold on to some last shred of dignity while Gareth reared up over him and mimed a final nasty mortal thrust.
‘Hang on a minute,’ protested Adie, struggling to get back to his feet. ‘I’m supposed to kill you, you bastard.’
It took Jasmine quite a while to compose herself. Leonora made them both more tea and gave her a box of tissues as the shock sank in and tears ran unchecked down her tiny pale face. Owl-eyed and silent, Jasmine watched while Leonora gave Patrick his tea and then fed Maisie. It was almost as if the girl was too tired, too stunned to move or leave or say anything—not that Leonora made any attempt to send her on her way. After all, give or take a detail or two, they were both in the same boat, and somehow, however strange it might be, Leonora found it comforting to have Jasmine there.
‘What the hell am I going to do?’ Jasmine said at long last, sniffing miserably. Leonora had settled Patrick in front of his favourite video and had Maisie nestled in the crook of her arm. Awake, but happy to be carried, she curled tight against Leonora’s body.
Leonora sighed. She felt very old and tired and was already way, way beyond the place where tears would help. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘But it’ll be all right, don’t worry.’ Even as she said it Leonora realised it was a stupid thing to say. It wouldn’t be all right at all. What possible way back was there for any of them?
‘How can you be so calm? He lied to you too,’ said Jasmine, in case there was some possibility that Leonora may have missed it. ‘Aren’t you angry?’
Leonora shook her head. Anger wasn’t her natural ground; she couldn’t sustain it for long. But she did feel hurt that someone who once upon a time had said he loved her could behave so very badly. Perhaps anger would be more productive, more useful. ‘I’m re ally hurt that he’s betrayed us.’
‘Bastard,’ spat Jasmine suddenly. ‘All those bloody lies he told me. All that crap he told me about you—about everything.’ Her voice crackled with loss and hurt and fury, and her hand settled protectively onto the little rounded swell of her belly which, if Leonora hadn’t known better, could so easily have been puppy fat. ‘How could he do this to me? How could he do this to either of us—to his kids? What a bastard.’
Jasmine’s thoughts echoed Leonora’s own. ‘I know, but please try not to get too upset. The baby—’ she began, but it was too late.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ Jasmine sobbed. ‘My mum and dad are so excited about the baby and so pleased for me. They keep talking about being a grandma and granddad for the first time and about me being settled. What am I going to tell them now? What can I say? How can I explain all this?’ Jasmine looked around, her eyes working over Leonora, the house, Patrick and Maisie. ‘It’s like some bloody daytime phone-in programme or a soap opera. How could he do this? How could he?’ She squared her shoulders, all outrage and indignation, puffing herself up like a kitten taking on a Rottweiler. ‘We’ve got to find him; we have got to talk to him.’
Leonora nodded. How very quickly the two of them had become ‘we’.
‘Have you got a car?’ asked Leonora, wondering as she did just how much to tell Jasmine about Gareth’s whereabouts.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I do know where he is at the moment,’ Leonora said, each word as heavy as lead. ‘But after tomorrow he’ll leave there and then he could go anywhere.’
Jasmine visibly brightened. ‘Well, we could go and see him then, sort all this out. I’ve only got a van at the moment—you know, what with the shop and that it’s more convenient than a car. But it’s not a problem—I could take you and me…’ and she then looked at Maisie and her voice faded. ‘There are only two seats.’
Leonora hesitated, then said, ‘There’s no one to look after the children and I’m still feeding Maisie.’
‘I could go on my own,’ Jasmine said quickly. ‘We can’t just let him get away with this.’
There was a little weighty silence while Leonora considered the idea. What possible good would Jasmine do on her own? Leonora needed to be there too. They both needed to be there. And then, as if on cue, the phone rang. The two women looked at each other. It rang again, neither of them moved. Maisie stirred, eyes moving left and right, trying to track down the sound.
‘Do you think that’s him?’ whispered Jasmine, staring at the receiver as if it was a snake.
Leonora shrugged, but she knew that she had to find out. She picked up the receiver and almost immediately a smooth Irish voice, said, ‘Hello, you don’t know me but my name is Raf O’Connell. Diana—the woman who organised the Belvedere High School reunion asked me to ring you. She said that you needed a lift down to Burbeck House.’
Leonora felt all the tension ebb out of her shoulders. ‘Diana phoned you?’
‘Yes. That’s right. A friend of mine is taking part in the drama reunion this weekend too—she’s playing Lady Macbeth—and Diana mentioned that you needed a lift. She said you’d got little ones. I’ve got a people carrier—so it won’t be a problem if you’d like me to come over and pick you up. I’m going anyway.’
If he’d been there Leonora would have kissed him. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ she said.
‘Not at all.’
Across the table Jasmine was watching her expectantly. Leonora took a deep breath. Their rescuer needed to know what he was getting himself into.
‘Did Diana explain what was going on?’ Leonora asked. ‘I mean, it might not be as simple as a straight lift down there and back.’ She didn’t like to dwell on what else it might be.
Raf O’Connell sighed. ‘She did tell me a little bit but not much. I can understand that you need to talk to your man. And any help I can be…’ He paused to let the offer sink in.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Leonora. ‘I just need to get down to Burbeck House. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this.’
‘Don’t mention it. Now whereabouts do you live? I can pick you up first thing tomorrow morning, if you like.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Leonora. She looked across the kitchen; Jasmine was craning forward, hanging on her every word. ‘Before I give you the directions I was wondering if you’ve got room for another passenger,’ Leonora asked.
‘Sure, of course, that’s not a problem.’ She could hear the warmth in his voice. ‘And I can understand that you’re in need of a little moral support. I can’t say as I blame you.’
‘Actually it’s my husband’s girlfriend,’ she said, trying hard not to choke on the words.
‘Ah…’ said Raf slowly.
‘She’s pregnant,’ added Leonora softly, as she struggled to keep her tone neutral.
‘Right, well, sounds to me as if you’ve got enough on your plate without having to worry about the transport side of things,’ said the voice at the end of the phone. ‘Don’t fret, I’ll get you all there safe and sound. It’s going to be a rough day for you and her, and an interesting day for your husband, although I can’t say I’m overcome with sympathy for your man.’
‘No, me neither,’ said Leonora, ‘but I did think you ought to know what you’re letting yourself in for.’ She waited for him to bale out and when he didn’t she continued, ‘if you’ve got a pen I’ll give you my address, Mr O’Connell.’
‘Call me Raf,’ he said.
Back on his feet, all dusted down and with his dignity restored, Adie, followed by Gareth and the rest of the crew, headed back into the hall to continue the last of the day’s rehearsal. Carol—whose death would be no more than a nasty scream in act five, scene five, and which had always been done on tour by the boy who worked the curtains, hung back with Diana.
Diana—a woman on a mission—was heading off towards the far end of the hall and when she got there she pulled out yet another enormous cardboard box hidden under a table. Behind the table was a hessian pinboard.
‘What on earth have you got in there?’ said
Carol in astonishment as Diana struggled to move it. ‘Did you drive down here in a truck?’
Laughing Diana shook her head. ‘No, just the Volvo. I was planning to do a bit of a display on this wall; lots of people have sent me photos and brought things in from the original production. Although I was wondering if maybe I should wait until tomorrow, you know, until after the disco tonight. I don’t want any of the stuff defaced or lost or anything.’
‘You mean nicked?’ said Carol, helping her to lift the box up onto the table.
Diana nodded. ‘Well, I didn’t like to say that, but you know what people can be like after they’ve had a few beers. The crew were talking about getting a barrel of bitter up from the pub.’
‘I bet you don’t get this with the Brownies,’ said Carol, lifting out a pile of photos. ‘How about we get the pictures photocopied—they are bound to have a copier in the office.’
‘Good plan.’ Diana started sorting the other things in the box into piles.
Carol picked up a large-scale map and unfolded it.
‘I was thinking we could use that as a centrepiece,’ said Diana. ‘It shows all the performances from the original flyer and the side trips we did. I’ve marked them on, and I’ve got some little glass pins as well.’
Carol shook the map out and stared at it. ‘I’d forgotten all about these places. Look at this. It was one helluva trek, wasn’t it? As kids you tend not to realise. Oh, and all the dates are on here too. It seemed liked such a huge adventure—can you remember some of those hostels?’
Diana laughed. ‘Uh-huh, I most certainly can: damp beds, dodgy loos and dark spooky corridors full of spiders and mice. How could I ever forget? Mind you, at least there were no bears.’
‘That’s true.’
Diana handed her a handful of drawing pins. ‘I’ll hold it straight,’ she said. ‘You can pin it up.’
Carol nodded and once the map was firmly in place ran a finger along their route. They had been gone ten days and yet in some ways it had seemed like a lifetime.
Half-past nine on one sunny Friday morning twenty years ago, and Mr Bearman and Miss Haze having waited for the last of the latecomers, shooed everyone out of their groups and gaggles and up onto the bus.
Carol looked back over her shoulder and waved to her mum and dad. There was a huge fizzy giggly feeling of excitement amongst the drama group. OK, so they might be all sixth formers and top of the school’s pecking order, but coolness and confidence ebbed and flowed.
This was the first extended drama tour the school had ever done. Their itinerary was a bizarre mix of performances, cultural trips and sight-seeing. A grand tour with Macbeth at its heart.
As they filed aboard, Carol momentarily considered sitting with Gareth. After all, everyone knew that they were an item, but it was up to him to make the move, to ask, for her to smile and decline or slide in alongside him. She was too nervous just to do it. What if he had asked her what the hell she thought she was doing? What if someone else shuffled up and said she was in his seat? It was something that she would never have lived down.
Although Carol had had boyfriends before, this felt different. Being around Gareth was much hotter and far less comfortable than going to the pictures with the boy who worked in the local record shop. More significant than the crush she had had on the guy who had been in the year above her last year and now helped out at the local pub; more disturbing than going to the disco with Diana’s cousin, Bill. So Carol followed the others and tried hard not to catch Gareth’s eye. It was up to him to catch hers, wasn’t it?
Netty, who had been lolling by the wall having a last fag, was fractionally too late to get to the back seat, wrong-footed by a big spotty boy in the stage crew, so, a little crestfallen and annoyed, she found them five seats well towards the back and staked a claim. It amounted to three twos re ally, with Adie taking turns sitting with each of the girls and the spare seat being piled high with the detritus of travelling: bags and books and a pile of packed lunches.
A few rows forward—though not over the wheels, obviously—Fiona and her mother were busy settling in, sorting out travel sickness tablets, plaid blankets and lavender-scented pillows.
Miss Haze moved amongst them, counting and ticking everyone off on her clipboard, while Mr Bearman stood up and, using his best stage projection to rise above the voices and giggles and general pandemonium, set out the ground rules for the trip.
‘Right, everyone, let’s take it from the top. No smoking, no spitting or swearing, no sex, drugs or rock and roll.’ A huge groan of complaint went up, Mr Bearman laughed and shrugged theatrically. ‘Don’t blame me, blame the chair of governors.’ Fiona’s mother’s face folded into a nasty little pleat that passed for an indulgent smile.
‘More immediately, no walking around while the bus is in motion and if anyone feels sick, for God’s sake tell someone—preferably before it happens. Is everyone clear on that so far?’ There was a murmur of agreement amongst the students. ‘Right now, is everyone here, Miss Haze?’
She nodded. ‘All present and correct.’
‘Righty-ho, well, let’s get this show on the road then.’ Mr Bearman signalled to the driver, and the engine roared into life
School rules insisted that pupils travel in their school uniform. Rumour had it that it was so they could be easily identified if they tried to make a break for it. As soon as the engine on the coach started, Carol slipped off her blazer and, rolling it into a ball, stuffed it in the overhead rack. Everyone else was busy doing the same thing, sliding off their ties, pulling off sweaters and pushing up their sleeves. The morning was already warm and there was a sense of settling in for the long haul.
By the time they got to the bottom of the school drive Fiona was the only person on the coach still in anything approaching full school uniform.
For a moment Carol had felt odd as she caught sight of her dad waving. It felt as if she was leaving for good, as if things would never be the same.
On the bus there was a sense that the adventure was underway. At first there was singing and then talking and whooping, and then finally, as the miles began to roll by and the countryside grew more and more unfamiliar, the noise settled down to a low rumble of conversation, an expectant hum, the excitement still evident but cooled from a roaring boil to a quiet simmer.
Sitting in the window seat, next to Diana, who was talking to Jan across the aisle, Carol pulled out her script and tried to read it through one more time for luck.
‘It’s too late. If you don’t know your part by now, you never will, said Diana, offering her an Opal Fruit. Sighing, Carol declined and then tried closing her eyes, wondering if she would be able to sleep. From where she was sitting Carol could see the back of Gareth’s head. He was sitting by himself. She wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Had she missed a signal, had he assumed that she would just sit next to him without any prompting—and how complicated was all this dating stuff that no one knew the rules? Would it always be this hard? Would she always be this unsure, this uncertain about what the right move was? Sleep didn’t look as if it was going to work either.
Meanwhile, alongside her, Diana pulled a pack of cards out of her duffel bag. ‘Poker, anyone?’ she said conversationally. ‘Or how about a little nine-card brag?’ And then, as Carol watched, Diana cut and shuffled the deck with one very practised hand before setting it down in two neatly stacked piles on the little drop-down shelf on the back of the seat.
‘We ought to do a play set on a Mississippi paddle-steamer. Something hot and steamy in New Orleans,’ said Carol, picking up the deck and dealing the five of them in. ‘You’d be a natural, Di. You could have one of those ringletty wigs and a hooped skirt tucked up into your knickers at one side.’
Across the aisle Adie grinned. ‘God, yes, I love all that cowboy gear, checked shirts, tight jeans and leather chaps.’ No one said anything, just looked down at their cards. ‘I’m only saying,’ protested Adie. ‘Now can you tell me the rule
s again? What did you say we were playing…?’
Later, when Diana had been persuaded to give them all their spending money back, they ate their packed lunches at some sort of badly maintained nature reserve with nasty toilets and a gift shop that sold biros with bats in them and squirrel keyrings, and then headed on to their first venue.
It was a high school somewhere deep in darkest Lincolnshire, and the students would be staying at a small church-run hostel about seven miles from it.
‘Right,’ said Miss Haze as the bus stuttered to a halt outside the front door of the hostel. ‘Now the plan is that we take all our things inside. Once we’ve had a cup of tea and a bun we’ll be heading off to the school to get the stage set. Any questions so far?’
Carol looked at Diana and then out at the hostel. ‘Oh my God,’ whispered Carol grimly. ‘Will you look at that?’
‘Jesus,’ said Diana. ‘It looks like a gothic prison.’
Netty snorted. ‘It looks all very Scooby-Doo to me. There’s bound to be an evil janitor, who would have got away with it if it wasn’t for us pesky kids.’
Over their heads and apparently oblivious to the looks of horror on most of the students’ faces, Miss Haze was still busy running through the evening’s itinerary.
Carol swallowed down a little flurry of nerves.
‘Welcome,’ said an officious-looking woman in a grey serge suit, from the steps of the building, who had announced her presence with a sharp clap of her hands followed by a whistle blast.
‘See, what did I tell you?’ hissed Netty. ‘Evil janitor material if I ever saw any.’
Hands on hips, the woman peered into the pack to see where the noise was coming from. When the culprits weren’t immediately obvious she continued, ‘My colleague is waiting by the boys’ entrance. Girls, if you would like to follow me.’ There was no question in the sentence—who would dare do otherwise? Humbled in the face of so much overbearing and rugged leadership, Miss Haze led a rag-tag crocodile of girls across the tarmac and up the steps.
