by Judy Astley
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘YAY! TOPSHOP VIP shopping experience! That is to’ally sick. Thanks so much, Mum.’ Rachel flung herself on Viola and hugged her hard.
‘So you like it then? It includes a personal shopper, nails and so on and £100 of clothes vouchers. And it says you can take a friend along too.’
‘Like it? Love it. Ace happy. And thanks for bringing me the coffee and the choccy croissants, completely yummy. Gran would say you were spoiling me.’
‘She’d be right. But it is your birthday, so it’s allowed. And feel free to return the favour when it’s mine, won’t you?’
‘Yeah. I will.’
Viola sat on the edge of Rachel’s bed and felt hugely relieved – trying to find a present that a fifteen-year-old girl wouldn’t pick over in barely disguised scorn wasn’t that easy. ‘I can’t hang about, I’m afraid. I have to be at the college by nine so that I can see what they all got and arrange my face the right way for each of them.’
‘Hope they’ve all passed,’ Rachel said, through a crumby mouthful of croissant. ‘Cos it must be so mizz if you don’t. All those years of school and then you leave with nothing. Hope that won’t happen to me.’
‘Oh, most of them will be fine, and so will you when it’s your turn. There’ll be a few who don’t make their uni grades, but something else will work out for this lot.’ She thought of the idle, affluent Benedict Peabody, his secure bank job awaiting him after a long luxury-travel break – if any job could be said to be secure. But he was one lucky sort. She knew he’d even make that press photo of him partying into a sort of badge of honour. In fact, there wasn’t one among her last intake who couldn’t have afforded to do a couple of years’ work experience for nothing. What would happen when it was Rachel’s turn? Marco – who would do anything to help her if he could – said the advertising business was full to capacity with unpaid workies and interns bodging away at tasks no one could any longer afford competent professionals to do. The fashion business – which Rachel was so keen on – would surely be the same. Helping on Gemma’s stall was definitely to be encouraged.
‘So, lunch with Marco and me later? He’s going to drop by with your present and wait here till I get back from the college,’ Viola said as she got up to leave for Medway and Gibson.
‘Er …’ Rachel frowned. ‘Um, well, that would be cool but I thought you said it was OK to go over to Emmy’s? I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to, but, you know, you said it would be all right and it’s …’
‘Oh – I thought that was just for the evening?’
‘Well, not really, it’s more of an all day and evening thing. Please?’ Rachel looked as woefully plaintive as only a negotiating teenage girl could.
‘All right, no worries. But stay here till your dad’s been round, won’t you? He’d be pretty hurt if he turned up with your present and you hadn’t waited to see him.’
‘Course I will! And anyway, I want to see what he’s got me. I hinted massively when we were in Ireland, so he really can’t get it wrong.’
She was slipping away from them fast now, Viola thought as she started up the Polo. Fifteen. Naomi had once said that was very much the Little Cow stage with daughters. Rachel wasn’t at all a little cow, but she was pretty determined. She had a knack of asking for what she wanted with the reasons why she should have it all stacked up neatly in case of argument. The next couple of years were going to be tricky.
Greg hadn’t called back, which ironically told her a whole lot. As Viola drove through the early commuter traffic she wondered about calling him again to explain the mix-up over the gladioli, but his silence indicated that her suspicions had probably been right. If Mickey hadn’t told him about the call then it was probably for a very good reason. And if she had and he chose not to do anything about it, well, OK, maybe it was best to leave it. On the plus side, she supposed she should give herself some credit for getting out before any real damage was caused. That was a bit of a first; maybe she really was growing up and putting the hex days behind her at last. Pity the thought of that didn’t, in this case, make her feel a lot like celebrating.
As she turned in through the Med and Gib gates, past a few photographers waiting to get shots of the more gorgeous exam celebrants jumping up and down, shrieking and hugging, she felt another tweak of sadness when she saw the line of espaliered fruit trees which were flourishing beautifully. When challenged about those while they were out planting the tulips, Greg had neither confirmed nor denied that they were his work, but had muttered something about an old song about apples and teachers. ‘Teacher’s pet,’ she’d then teased him, and he’d replied with the wolfy grin and a naughty sparkle, ‘Oh, do they? Excellent.’ Oh, if only, she thought, giving in for a moment to how she’d really feel if things were different.
Sandra Partridge, formal as ever in a dark suit, high heels and shiny tan tights in spite of the roasting temperature outside, was already in the college hall with three computers, several staff members and a heap of papers and brown envelopes, somehow making the place look like a polling station on election night. Viola, walking in and taking in the scene, felt nervous for her students, especially the ones who’d previously had a tough time at regular schools and had seen the tutorial college as a quiet refuge from bullying. Also, there were one or two who had fallen behind at previous schools due to problems such as glandular fever or ME – here they’d been given flexible time and calm space to work their way through slow recoveries as well as the A-level courses. She crossed her fingers for them all, even the wilder ones like Benedict.
‘Good morning, Viola.’ Sandra’s face gave nothing away about the results. ‘Good holiday so far?’
‘Yes, fine, thanks, Sandra. I’ve been moving back into my own home and am up to here in sorting. How about you?’
‘Oh, you know, the usual. Too much to catch up on and never enough time.’ She turned back to the computer, clearly not intending to elaborate, and leaving Viola to speculate whether she meant that it was family, house renovation, celebrity gossip or serious reading that she’d failed to catch up on. There wasn’t much point asking: Sandra liked a lot of executive distance. She thought of asking her if she’d seen Benedict on the front page of the Mail, but decided it would be too much of a tease on today of all days. Tempting, though.
‘Hey, Vee – how have we done? Do we know yet?’ Amanda bounced into the hall, wearing jeans, flip-flops and a flowery top.
‘Mrs Breville – this is a work environment,’ Sandra Partridge tutted at her, looking her up and down.
‘But it’s still the holidays for another few weeks, Sandra,’ Amanda said, pulling a face at Viola while Sandra was studying the computer.
All Viola’s students had passed. Even Benedict Peabody had managed a C in English, which was about right, by Viola’s reckoning. If he’d got an A she’d have had to suspect he and his über-rich family had nobbled the markers. His pair of girl admirers had each scored an A grade, also unsurprisingly, and one of them had secured a place at Cambridge.
‘Hey, mine have done pretty well.’ Amanda looked up from the lists, delighted. ‘No disasters at all! I was half expecting a tearful bunch demanding remarking, but it looks like they won’t need it. How about yours?’
‘Really good. Though Benedict might wonder why he didn’t get more than a C and ask for a recount. If he does, I’ll remind him he mostly smoked his brain away over the last three terms and he’s done pretty well considering. Aha – talk of the devil, here they all come.’
‘ ’Lo, Vo!’ A hyper-bronzed and sun-blonded Benedict strolled into the hall with a cohort of slouching mates. Sandra handed their envelopes over and told Benedict and his girls that they were to open them outside, near the gates. ‘You must have noticed the press out there,’ she said, looking at the girls, who immediately started fluffing up their hair and unfastening a couple of top buttons.
‘Hello, Benedict – good summer?’ Viola asked, grinning at him.
He gav
e her a sharp look. ‘I had you down as a Guardian reader,’ he said.
‘And you’re right. But sometimes I walk past newsstands and catch a glimpse of headlines. Looked like you were having fun, anyway, which can’t be bad.’
‘Was ex-cell-ent! Polzeath with the olds. They’re still down there so it’s, like, party at mine tonight, celebrate this. Or not,’ he replied, waving his envelope at her.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, giving him a smile. ‘Come back in when you’ve had a look at the results.’
She didn’t really expect him to. Outside, little groups of students squealed and bounced and the photographers snapped away at the most photogenic. Benedict’s girls pouted and giggled and flirted with the cameras. Sandra Partridge watched from the window and smiled contentedly. Some of those girls were close to model standard – this lot could make several front pages, which would mean hugely useful free advertising for the college.
‘Thank you! You were fuckin’ ace!’ To Viola’s surprise, Benedict rushed back in and gave her an enormous hug. ‘Like, really happy! Thank you!’
‘Ah, bless the boy,’ Amanda said as Benedict and an ever-growing collection of friends left the hall to go out and celebrate. ‘Sometimes it’s all worth it, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Sometimes it just is,’ Viola agreed. ‘Always feels strange though: they get quite close and you know them pretty well and then, suddenly, you know you’ll probably never see them again.’ Ridiculously, she felt a bit like crying. Who would ever have thought she’d react like that to the absence from her life of Benedict Peabody?
‘Just you and me for lunch then. I’ve brought food, in case you’d rather stay here? I’ll make us a salad, if you like.’ Marco was waiting at the cottage for Viola, stretched out on a lounger on the terrace with a mug of tea, the Guardian crossword and a view of the crazily overgrown lawn.
‘A salad would be perfect, thanks, Marco. I feel like I’ve been awake half the night thinking about the results and now it’s all over and done I’m knackered.’ Viola flopped on to a lounger alongside him and kicked her shoes off.
‘I’ll get us a little glass of something,’ he said, getting up and giving her a quick kiss. ‘I put a bottle in your fridge to chill. Rachel’s gone over to Emmy’s and said she’ll see you in the morning. She was a bit mysterious about it; almost devious, I’d say. Ah, teenagers, don’t you remember it well? I was baaad!’
‘I think she was only like that because Emmy’s planned a surprise, so she doesn’t know exactly what she’s going to. Did she like her present?’
‘She did. Which isn’t remotely surprising, because there can’t be anything she didn’t tell me and James in Ireland about the various hair straighteners and volumizers and the benefits of every single one. Even I couldn’t get it wrong. I slipped her a few quid as an extra as well. Oh, and while you were out Kate called and said she’ll be round with a present. How were your students? Did they do well?’
‘They did, actually. Some of them better than I’d expected, none of them worse. Perfect, really. Even Sandra managed to crack a smile. I thought her face would shatter.’
Marco went into the house and came out with two glasses of wine. ‘So why don’t you sound like it’s perfect? Are you all right?’
Viola thought for a moment. ‘I’m all right and I’m not.’ She got up and went into the kitchen and pulled the pair of cards out of the dresser drawer, then took them back outside. ‘I had these – well, you saw the first one, but I had another – just before I moved in. It’s kind of given me the creeps a bit. And then …’
‘And then?’ Marco came and sat beside her and put an arm round her. ‘There was more? Because this one with the kittens is horrible. Who’d send it? One of those nutters from after Rhys died?’
‘Well, who else? Though I thought they’d long moved on. And nobody outside the family knew I was coming back here.’
‘Must have been someone inside the family then.’ He almost laughed, but seemed to think better of it.
‘What? Are you serious? Which one? No, they wouldn’t.’
‘No, look, sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was just being flippant. Ignore me, darling. And ignore this. If there’s been nothing since, then it’s gone away. Destroy. Destroy and forget.’
‘Do you think Miles, possibly? He didn’t want me to come back here, not at all. And Kate didn’t either. But they wouldn’t stoop to this. Would they?’
Marco said nothing. They both sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then the doorbell rang. Viola went to answer it, her heart beating fast, hopelessly thinking it just might be Greg. A single Greg with no baby and no commitments. Just him with a lovely bag of bulbs to plant in the middle of the night and a kiss to die for. Stop it, she told herself, as she opened the door to her sister.
‘Hello! I’ve brought a present for the gorgeous Rachel and something for you as well.’ Kate handed over a gold-wrapped parcel and a large white envelope. ‘I’ll just leave them and run, too much to do, people to see! Open that envelope though, it’s full of family-tree info – you’ll be interested.’ And she was off, racing back to her car in what looked like a new pair of madly high scarlet shoes, a sure sign that Kate was at last really enjoying life. She’d been depressed and a bit dowdy for way too long. All that had gone wrong with her and Rob had certainly taken its toll, but it looked like she was moving on. Good luck to her, Viola thought.
Marco was in the kitchen, assembling a salad of figs, cheese and prosciutto. There was a big crunchy rustic-style loaf on the board beside him.
‘This is so sweet of you, Marco. I don’t deserve it.’
‘Of course you do, darling. And it’s our daughter’s birthday – even if she’s run off with her shrieky-teen mates, it doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate. Now – tell me some more about this man with the nursery that Kate was dropping such subtle – not – hints about recently.’
The two of them carried the salad, plates and bread outside and arranged them on the table under the sunshade.
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Marco said, after Viola had explained about Greg. ‘The Fabian plant-rental set-up is the biggest in the ad business, but I don’t know him personally. Is he devastatingly gorgeous? Have you …?’
‘No. I wish I had but I haven’t. And I don’t think it’s likely now. I’ve goofed again, Marco. Goofed yet again and so, so stupidly, whichever way the truth turns out.’ And the tears that had been threatening all morning found their way from her eyes.
‘Hey, don’t cry! That cheese is already over-salty and you’ll make it worse, dripping on it. Come on, tell Marco all about it and we’ll see what can be salvaged.’
So she did. And the worst bit was telling him what she’d done to the flowers. ‘They were so beautiful and it was such a beautiful thing of him to do but before I found out they were from Greg, what was I supposed to think, after getting those cards? I was so scared it was the mad person, persecuting me. And I couldn’t tell anyone, because I want to stay here. I can’t uproot Rachel all over again.’
‘A mess, yes, agreed. But if he really is with someone else …’
‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever know now. I called, left a message with the Mickey woman but he didn’t call back. Says it all. And we were going out to plant crocuses.’ She sobbed but giggled through it, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. ‘Oh, I wish I’d gone – those bits of fun with him were pretty damn innocent, and he was lovely just to hang out with.’
Marco frowned. ‘Yes, but hanging out with someone who’s attached to someone else, that’s dangerous stuff, Vee. Best out of it, do we think? Long run? There’ll be …’
‘Someone else. No. I don’t think there will be. I really do give up. First Rhys, then this. Still, at least this time nobody died. Comes to something when that’s the only plus, doesn’t it?’
TWENTY-EIGHT
RACHEL FELT WAY out of her depth on just about every level. This was one seriously palatial house with huge creamy rooms and enorm
ous abstract paintings everywhere. Ned had let her and Emmy in, hugged her, pointed them towards a massive basement kitchen, saying to help themselves to drinks, and then vanished. Emmy poured herself some wine but Rachel, still preferring sweet drinks and secretly wishing there was some 7-Up among the many bottles and cans on the worktop, scooped up a tumblerful of a drink full of fruit that had been mixed in a big bowl. Pimm’s, she heard one of the other girls say. She tasted it warily and was relieved it seemed to be mostly lemonade. She stuck close to Emmy, wondering how she could give the impression that she wasn’t totally out of place, knowing nobody and feeling awkward.
There were so many people who all seemed to be each other’s best friends, and every one of them looked like they were way older than her and Emmy. It was a hot night and most of the partygoers were draped over each other out in the garden, lolling on the terrace steps, smoking and drinking, giggling and chatting. Flicky-haired, skinny-legged confident girls were squealing at each other as if they’d never heard anything so hilarious ever, and most of what she overheard was about A-level results, which uni and which flights to Costa Rica.
‘I want to go home,’ Rachel murmured to Emmy. ‘I’m feeling, like, about twelve?’
‘Don’t be ridic. This is, like, so lush.’
‘Ridic? We’ve been here five minutes and already you sound like them. You’ll be all ya ya ya by the time we leave.’
‘No, really, give it a chance. Let’s check out the garden, come on. Those Jaz and Baz blokes must be somewhere.’
Rachel quickly gulped down half her drink, a passing boy in a torn dinner jacket topped it up from a jug he was carrying, saying to her, ‘You’ll love this. Really retro gear,’ which she didn’t at all understand, and she followed Emmy out through the huge, folded-back glass doors into the garden where more and more people were collecting. Jaz and Baz appeared and suddenly Emmy had vanished with them, whirled away to join a group of smokers sitting on a blanket under an apple tree. Rachel felt abandoned and a bit lost and thought about finding a sofa inside the house where she could just curl up and read a book till Emmy was ready to go home. This was not how it was supposed to be.
