by Gemma Fox
‘And how does it feel?’ he said, turning back to look at her over his shoulder. He was grinning and looked wolfish in the half-light, and as their eyes met she felt an intense flutter of desire. ‘Does it feel good?’
‘Yes, it does. It’s just as scary, though.’
He laughed. ‘Scary? Are you serious?’
‘Yes, except back then it was because I didn’t know what I was doing and now I do.’
‘And that’s scary?’
Carol nodded; there is no way back from where she was heading. Even if she and Gareth had no future together, stepping through that door would change everything. Was that what she re ally wanted?
‘You don’t regret doing it, though, do you?’ purred Gareth. ‘It felt right then, didn’t it?’
‘You know it did,’ Carol said softly. But did it feel right now? said a voice deep in her head.
Gareth was looking at her.
She hesitated, trying to work out what was wrong. ‘I had to see if it was still here—the thing we talked about last night.’
‘The stuff?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Yes, the stuff. The love,’ Carol said, not afraid of the words.
He smiled, eyes crinkling up around the edges like tissue paper. ‘That’s a big word. So, do you still love me, Carol?’
She stared up at him, drinking in the details of his face and slowly shook her head. ‘No, Gareth, I don’t, but once upon a time I did and I still feel something—like the ghost of something long gone, it’s a warm, wonderful memory.’
If he was hurt or shaken or disappointed he didn’t show it. ‘I’m the same. And how do you feel about me—us—now?’
Carol’s gaze didn’t drop; it was important that she found the truth in amongst the tangle of echoes and desires and might-have-beens. ‘There isn’t any “us” now. I don’t know who you are now,’ she said, steadily meeting his eyes.
He laughed and tried to wave her doubt away. ‘You know what I think? I think that you worry too much, sweetie. Just relax. There’s no rush. We’ve got plenty of time. I was hoping that we could start over.’ As he spoke he pushed open the door at the head of the stairs. ‘I’m between contracts, so at the moment I’ve got some time on my hands. I’ve just moved out of my last place. What I’m saying is, I’m a free agent.’ He paused. ‘I’d re ally like to see you. We can start all over again.’
‘Again?’ she repeated.
He nodded and tipped her face up to his. She bit her lip as he peered into her eyes.
‘Come on,’ he said, and moved aside.
Carol peered past him into the gloom. Inside, was a dimly lit storeroom, so much like the one first time around that it made Carol gasp. She stood at the threshold, heart beating in her chest, knowing full well that if she stepped across into the shadows then everything was lost. Going inside with Gareth was a tacit agreement to whatever else might follow. But did she re ally want him? Heart racing, she hesitated, suddenly stone-cold sober.
Gareth was close now. ‘Come on, sweetie. You know that this is what you want. You were so good, so perfect,’ he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair, hands sliding up under her top. ‘I’ve missed you so very much. We’ve got all the time in the world now. We were meant for each other, you know that, don’t you? We’ve got as much time as we need. It will be so good, so right…’
But would it? The words were as smooth as oiled silk; but she could feel the pressure behind them. Her whole body ached for him. What was holding her back? Wasn’t this exactly what she had dreamed of? Still Carol didn’t move, her body absolutely rooted to the spot, leaden and unwieldy.
‘I came here to see you, Carol,’ Gareth was saying. ‘That was why I came back—to see if I felt the same about you.’
Carol pulled away and stared up at him. ‘Do you mean that?’ she said, her voice low and flat.
He nodded. ‘Of course I do.’
Carol barely dared ask the next question, afraid of what the answer might be, but then again wasn’t that why she had come to Burbeck House?
‘And the feelings you had for me—are they still there?’ she said in an undertone.
He grinned. ‘Surely you must already know that?’
She didn’t say a word and so he did. ‘I feel the same as you do. We don’t know each other—but unlike you I do know that we’re worth another shot, worth another chance.’ And as he spoke Carol sensed him trying to steer her across the threshold into the storeroom, every molecule in his body encouraging her inside, encouraging her to surrender, guiding her into the gloom.
She stood so still, desperately aware of her own resistance, aware of her desire, aware of being pulled in different directions; wasn’t this what she had dreamed about for years? Wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? But as she stood there, there was something else, something that refused to be ignored, something that Carol hadn’t known up until now.
Gareth’s lips met hers, he pulled her up against him and for an instant Carol felt as if she was drowning and panicking, and pulled away.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said, eyes bright with desire. ‘What is it? Come on—come inside.’
She opened her mouth and began to speak. ‘No, this is a mistake, Gareth—I—’
But before she could finish there was a great whooping wailing cheer from further down, from around the dogleg in the stairs. And all at once the whole troupe and crew, not to mention a host of wild-eyed Christians—led by Dave the DJ and one of the lay preachers who had been helping with record selection— lurched up onto the landing singing, ‘We can do the cong-a. We can do the cong-a,’ at the top of their voices, all bobbing and kicking and giggling like maniacs.
‘I want you,’ Gareth said, but it was too late, the moment had gone. His jaw dropped as he saw the revellers heading towards him, although before Gareth could say anything else or protest he was caught up by a great tidal wave, as the crew swept past and around him. A gap opened in the conga chain and an instant later he was swallowed up and carried away on a bubbling, bobbing crest of dancers. Carol watched in astonishment as he vanished around the next corner, quite unable to get away.
‘Jump aboard,’ yelled Diana as she swung past.
Carol laughed and did as she was told.
The conga line threaded its way backstage, down through the dressing rooms, out through the kitchens via a fire exit, around the front of Burbeck House, down through the formal gardens, up through the vegetable patch, twice round the fish pond and then in through the back doors until, triumphant, muddy, totally exhausted and out of breath, the revellers all collapsed back in the main hall. DJ Dave clambered up on the stage, dropped ‘We are the Champions’ on to one of the decks and wound up the volume, to a roar of approval.
Carol looked round for Gareth but it seemed that he had vanished in the melee, which on balance was probably not a bad thing. As she caught her breath Diana handed her a tumbler full of rum and Coke. Without a word they toasted each other with a chink of glasses and as they did, Carol stopped looking for Gareth. If he wanted her he would find her. She took a long pull on her drink, letting the alcohol roll through her. What was hers would come to her.
Diana, grinning, said, ‘You know, it’s been far too many years since we did this. I’ve re ally missed you; how come we’ve left this so long?’
Carol was thinking much the same thing. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘God, I’m completely knackered,’ said Diana suddenly.
Carol laughed. ‘You re ally can read minds, can’t you? I’ll drink to that too. I’m totally exhausted.’ And draining her glass to the dregs, she followed Diana, somewhat unsteadily, across the dance floor.
They made their way between the last stragglers in the conga line, across the hallway and up to bed.
On the far side of the hall Callista Haze was helping George Bearman back up onto his feet. It was, she thought, remarkable how agile and how tenacious he was, although she didn’t like to add, for a man of his age—but it was true. He’d hun
g on in there right to the bitter end.
‘Time for Bedfordshire, I think, my dear,’ he said, hobbling slightly. He looked into her eyes as they climbed the stairs. ‘I was wondering if you would care to join me for a little nightcap? For old times’ sake. I’ve got a bottle of brandy in my room.’
She smiled. ‘George, you are incorrigible.’
He laughed. ‘How very nice of you to notice.’ He winced. ‘Oh, my feet are killing me.’
‘Mine too. But it is hardly surprising. I can’t remember the last time I danced so much. I re ally need to get to bed.’
He looked at her expectantly.
‘Alone,’ she added firmly.
George sighed, his expression hangdog, although this time Callista suspected that at least in part it was a joke.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, squeezing his arm in what she hoped was a friendly, nonflirtatious manner.
He nodded. ‘Actually yes, I think I am. You know, the odd thing is I feel rather excited in a funny kind of way. I have waited all these years for things to come right, for some miracle that would set me free without me having to do anything and now suddenly here it is. I’ve been thinking this evening that even though it hurts terribly at the moment, I’ve finally got exactly what I wished for.’ All at once George’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They do say be careful what you wish for, don’t they? All those years wasted. I’m just worried that maybe I’ve left it too late after all.’
‘It’s never too late,’ Callista said, gently patting his hand.
‘re ally?’ he said, brightening visibly, but Callista shook her head and this time unpeeled his fingers from her arm. ‘No, I don’t mean me, George, I meant life in general. It’s high time you started getting on with what you want to do. Judy’s right—you need to grab it with both hands while you still can.’
It wasn’t a particularly good choice of words; Callista followed his gaze as it travelled very slowly up over her body. As their eyes met she raised her eyebrows into a caricature of disapproval.
George grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. You know me. I always was rather slow on the uptake,’ he said. ‘But actually I think you’re right. It is time to get on with life. So, come on then—how about that nightcap? Just one won’t hurt, and I promise to try and behave.’
Carol woke up in the wee small hours with a very dry mouth and a nasty angry, troublesome pain in her head. It had to be flu, she thought, or maybe there had been too much salt in the casserole they had had for supper. With eyes narrowed, she pushed back the bedclothes—even doing that hurt. Flu definitely, or maybe it was a bug, a nasty bug with big teeth and horns; she had the most terrible taste in her mouth. Maybe it was food poisoning.
Gingerly she climbed down out of the bunk and walked very slowly across to the bathroom, although it felt as if with every step a landmine was being detonated somewhere up under her skull.
Her fingers lingered over the light switch in the bathroom just long enough to consider whether she re ally wanted to see her reflection. More to the point, did she want to see her reflection floodlit by heaven knew how many rows of naked overhead fluorescent tubes? On balance the answer was obvious. Eyes thinned down to slits now, Carol picked her way through the heavy velvety black shadows, cursing the producers of rum and Coke, rock music and red wine everywhere.
As she was coming back, having drunk half a gallon of water to reduce the effects of the highly potent rum bug; Carol glanced round the dormitory. At least a lot of alcohol had rendered her oblivious to the amazing cacophony of sounds coming from the various bunks. People were snorting and wheezing and snuffling like there was no tomorrow.
On the far side of the room the sash window by the fire escape was wide open, curtains blowing on a summer breeze. Close by Adie was on his back snoring like an elephant seal calling for a mate.
Carol did a quick stock-take of her friends: Adie, Netty, Jan, Diana—all present and correct and all curled up and sound asleep, some noisier than others—and then she noticed that one bunk was very obviously empty, the bedclothes neatly rolled back, the bundled sheets glowing white in the darkness.
Odd. Odder still when she realised it was Fiona’s bunk. Carol paused. Fiona? The name formed again in the achy tangle of barbed wire behind her eyes. It wasn’t like Fiona to break the rules, or curfew and go missing—unless, of course, she was in sick bay or having a nasty attack of something somewhere. Carol smiled; not that she had noticed a sick bay and the bathroom had definitely been empty. It occurred to Carol that she hadn’t seen Fiona at the disco and had been too tired and far, far too drunk to notice if Fiona had been there when she and Diana had come upstairs at the end of the evening.
The window rattled in its frame and then rattled again, more violently this time as the wind careened recklessly around the old building.
Before she climbed back into bed Carol padded across and pulled the sash closed to stop the noise and as she did, glanced across into the gardens below. There in the moonlight was Fiona—well, at least it looked like Fiona—picking her way tentatively across the dew-heavy moonlit lawn, all wrapped up in a blanket or maybe it was a robe.
That was very odd. Carol narrowed her eyes, trying hard to focus. Fiona wasn’t exactly at home in the great outdoors, being allergic to most of it and terrified of the rest of it. Carol stared, wondering if perhaps Fiona was sleepwalking, or maybe Carol was dreaming. Peering into the gloom, she considered calling out and then she saw that Fiona was not alone, or at least she thought she did. As Fiona reached the shrubbery Carol could have sworn that a man stepped out of the shadows and, to her amazement, took hold of Fiona’s hand and pulled her towards him.
Carol stared, not quite believing what she had seen. The lawn was empty now. There was no sign of a movement, the only sound a welltimed Hammer House of Horror movie owl hooting somewhere close by. And a single trail of footprints through the dew.
Carol tried hard to focus, squinting to see into the deep shadows until her headache began to complain. Was Fiona all right? Should she go and investigate? As the thought formed the first heavy raindrops of a summer storm breaking began to pitter-patter down onto the windowsill and fire escape, the noise as raucous as gravel being shaken around in a biscuit tin.
Carol considered the idea for a moment or two more. Who on earth was Fiona with? She paused, trying to replay an image that was a millisecond long and picked out in monochrome against a raft of shadows. Fiona hadn’t looked as if she was being threatened or anything. Carol was too tired and too drunk to concentrate any longer and so she turned and clambered back into bed. Strangely, despite the driving rain and the clatter of thunder, she was asleep in seconds.
Fiona looked up into Gareth’s eyes.
‘So are you feeling better now?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, you were right, a sleep did me the world of good. I thought I was getting one of my migraines.’ She giggled. ‘Mummy is always saying that I need someone to take care of me. How was the disco?’
‘You didn’t miss very much.’ Gareth stroked the hair back off her face. ‘Are you warm enough?’
Fiona pointedly curled up against him. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t realise quite how much until I saw you last night.’
‘re ally?’ She pulled back a little to look up at him.
‘re ally. And I’m so impressed—you’ve done so well for yourself, when I saw you on TV I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mind you, I always knew that you’d got talent.’
Fiona preened. ‘You’re just saying that. Was it Casualty?’
Gareth nodded. ‘Yes, yes, it was.’
‘I was so lucky to get that part, although it wasn’t my first TV credit. I was in—oh God, it’s starting to rain.’ She peered up angrily at the sky. ‘I think I re ally ought to be getting back. I don’t want to catch cold and my hair goes frizzy if it gets damp.’ She pulled her dressing gown up over her head.
‘You know what I
think?’ said Gareth, not letting go. ‘I think that you worry way too much, sweetie. Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. I was hoping that we could start over.’ As he spoke he guided her under the cover of the hedge. ‘Why don’t we go back inside? I’ve found this wonderfully snug little place—out of the way, very private.’ He smiled wolfishly. ‘Very, very private. Just like before. Remember?’
‘re ally?’ said Fiona.
Gareth nodded and, taking her hand, set off back towards the hall. He laughed. ‘Relax. There’s no rush. I’ve been thinking—once we leave here, I’m between contracts at the moment so I’ve got some time on my hands. I’ve just moved out of my last place. I’m a free agent.’ He paused. ‘I’d re ally like to see you; we can start all over again.’
‘Again?’ Fiona repeated.
He nodded and tipped her face up to his. She bit her lip as he peered into her eyes.
‘Come on, Fiona. You know that this is what you want. You were so good, so perfect,’ he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair, hands sliding up under her pyjama top. ‘And I’ve missed you so very much. We’ve got all the time in the world now. And it will be all right this time around. We were meant for each other, you know that, don’t you? We’ve got as much time as we need. It will be so good, so right.’
Fiona giggled.
‘Carol? Wake up. Come on, come on. We’re late.’
Reptile-like, Carol slowly opened one eye, very reluctantly, despite the urgency in the voice and the vigorous shoulder-shaking, and licked her lips. She had been dreaming that she and the rest of the cast and crew had been asked to do a read-through in the Sahara Desert and they had forgotten to lay on any catering. It hadn’t been that hot but God, she was parched. Outside, in the real world beyond the nice cosy darkness of her eyelids, the daylight was horribly bright. She looked across at her torturer. Diana was peering at her anxiously.
‘Come on, get up.’
‘Bugger off.’
‘No, I won’t bugger off. Did anyone ever tell you, you are incredibly grumpy in the morning? Come on, get your arse in gear. We’re late. The alarm clock didn’t go off.’ Diana was wrapped up in a pink dressing gown and winceyette nightie. There were bears on the nightie.
