by Carmen Reid
‘Dermot has to work in the café. It’s staying open late . . . for all the couples who want to go out together but don’t want to commit to dinner, apparently.’
‘So we’re all going to the café then?’
‘Yeah . . . I guess . . . probably Mrs Knebworth’s going to have a more exciting Valentine’s Night than us.’ Gina groaned. Then she thought of something else.
‘Did you send Angus a card?’ she asked Niffy.
‘Ha!’ Niffy replied. ‘I don’t think he deserves one.’
Chapter Twenty-four
IT WAS EARLY Saturday morning, and Amy was kneeling in front of her huge white wardrobe with its six doors. On the bed behind her was a collection of cardboard boxes. She was supposed to be sorting out all the clothes, shoes, handbags and who-knew-what-else she would find in there.
Some of the boxes would go to her gran’s home, some would go with her dad, and one box would come back to school with her. But most of the boxes were supposed to be full of things to sell. She’d written ‘eBay’ in big black letters on the sides.
But now . . . now that she looked at the racks and racks in front of her, it just seemed too big a job.
She had to get on with it though, because once she’d finished in here, she was supposed to help her dad sort through the rest of the flat and pack up everything else. She could hear him moving about out there, pushing boxes around.
‘How are you getting on?’ he called out.
‘Fine,’ she answered straight away, even though it was a big fat lie.
She stood up and pulled a handful of clothes down from the clothes’ rail, tossing them onto the bed. She turned back to the wardrobe and there, hanging right in front of her, was the astonishing white dress which she’d worn to the summer ball last year: an amazing creation of satin, chiffon and silky soft white feathers. It had come from Harvey Nichols, at a breathtakingly high price. Over a thousand pounds, she remembered with a wince.
There weren’t going to be any Harvey Nichols spending sprees for some time now.
She brought the dress out of the wardrobe and held it up against herself.
Should she sell it? Should she keep it?
Would she ever wear it again?
Would she ever again feel proud and confident enough to go out in this?
Thoughts of last summer’s ball flooded over her . . . how amazing she really had looked, of how Jason, her crush of all crushes, had just about begged to kiss her.
Amy held the dress in front of herself, looked hard in the mirror and didn’t know if she would ever again feel as good as she had done on that summer night.
Jason had been hopeless, she’d broken up with Finn – by the looks of it, for good – and now this horrible stuff was going on with her dad. They were moving out of their home and tenants were moving in. She didn’t honestly know when or if she’d ever be living here again.
She felt a small tear of pain and confusion slip down her face.
There was a tap at the door, so she quickly put the feather dress down on the bed, wiped her hand over her cheeks and set a smile in place.
Her dad had enough worries on his mind. She didn’t want to add to his troubles.
He opened the door, holding a mug of tea in his hand.
‘Drink of heroes,’ he said, coming into the room and handing it over to her.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ she added, shooting him a wink.
He sat down on the bed beside the dress. ‘Wow,’ he said, stroking the feathers. ‘I’d forgotten about this number.’
‘It was very expensive.’
‘Yes, I remember that!’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to get a good price for it.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I’m going to sell loads of my old stuff – my really fancy, designer stuff – and hopefully make some money. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dad, I’m going to try and pay my own way . . . a bit. I’m going to get a weekend job as well.’
Her dad put his arm around her and hugged her tight.
‘That’s my girl,’ he told her, ‘but don’t worry. This is temporary. It’s only money: it comes in, it goes out. It’ll come in again. I’ll make sure of that. Don’t sell the dress,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to hang on to the good times. And doesn’t every girl have to have something fantastic hanging in the wardrobe at the ready?’
Amy rested her head on her dad’s shoulder.
‘Hey.’ He pulled something from the pocket of his dressing gown. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he said, and handed her a shiny, foil-wrapped chocolate heart.
‘Oh! Thanks.’
Her eyes felt all blurry again. This was probably going to be her one and only Valentine.
‘Well, we’d better get on with the job.’
‘Yeah,’ she agreed. But as soon as he went out of the room, she stared at the rows and rows of clothes and shoes ahead of her and wondered how on earth she would manage to do this on her own.
‘There’s a van pulling up in the driveway . . . the man’s coming out with bunches of flowers!’
Every St Jude’s boarder who’d heard Tricia from the Upper Sixth call this out suddenly found a reason either to get to a window, or to make their way to the entrance hall, just for a little look . . . not that anyone was hoping for, let alone expecting flowers . . .
As the delivery man came in with three big bouquets and two baskets of blooms in his arms, there was an audible gasp.
Everyone looking at the flowers wanted to be one of the girls who was going to get them. Flowers! Bunches of flowers on Valentine’s Day! That was just too romantic for words.
Mrs Knebworth scuttled out of her sitting room to inspect the delivery man’s offerings.
‘Oh my goodness!’ she said. ‘Let me help you with those.’
Really she was just as eager as everyone else to see who the bouquets and baskets were addressed to.
Gina, Niffy and Min were all milling about in the corridor leading to the entrance hall, along with lots of other girls – everyone just about ready to burst with curiosity.
‘Right,’ Mrs Knebworth said, laying the bouquets down on a side table, ‘shall we find out who the lucky girls are?’
For a few moments, there was rustling as she looked for name cards on the bouquets.
‘Florence Goldie,’ she called out, ‘in the Upper Sixth. Does anyone know where she is?’
The name was called out down the corridor and someone took off in the direction of Florence’s dorm.
‘Then there’s Celia Walker and Jenny McCallan.’
Again the names were shouted out around the boarding house.
Gina, Min and Niffy glanced at each other. There was something just a little bit hopeful in Gina’s face. Maybe Dermot would surprise her? Maybe he’d sent that cute little basket on the table there, overflowing with pink roses.
Min and Niffy looked giggly – neither was expecting anything – but as Celia walked red-faced along the corridor to pick up her flowers, Niffy couldn’t resist a whistle and a little: ‘Ooooh, lucky you!’
‘Rosie Clayton,’ Mrs Knebworth said next, making Niffy and Gina giggle. Amy’s younger friend Rosie was going to be teased to bits for this.
‘It’s from my mum . . . definitely from my mum!’ Rosie insisted as she made her way down the corridor to collect the first little basket of flowers.
‘And . . . last but not least,’ Mrs Knebworth said, holding up the little basket of roses and enjoying the fact that so many eyes were turned on her expectantly.
‘The label says: The Nifster Nairn-Bassett. I expect that’s you, Luella, is it?’
Giggles, shrieks and whistles filled the hall as a totally astonished Niffy went forward to collect her basket.
‘Happy Valentine’s,’ Gina called after her friend.
‘Good grief,’ Niffy muttered under her breath.
When she returned with the basket, she warned her friends: ‘If you’ve all clubbed together to humiliate me, I’m goi
ng to kill you!’
‘No!’ Min insisted. ‘This is for real.’
Gina peered over Niffy’s shoulder as she tore open the little envelope and looked at the note written inside.
‘Hello, gorgeous. I’m back. See you tonight? A x’
‘A? A!! That’s Angus! It can’t be anyone else can it? He’s back from France and he wants to see you tonight!’ Gina exclaimed. ‘This is amazing news: he’s missed you, he wants to pick up just where you left off.’
‘Or . . . he’s no longer able to hang out with glamorous French girls so he’s decided to give boring old me another whirl,’ Niffy said with a face which was an odd mixture of shy, excited, anxious and amused. She obviously had no idea what to think.
‘Stop it,’ Min said. ‘It’s very exciting. I wonder where he wants to meet you?’
‘Oh God, my hair,’ Niffy groaned, putting her hands up to her mop, which was still dotted with weird orange patches.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll help,’ Gina said kindly.
‘Here’s the postman!’ Mrs Knebworth called from the hallway. ‘I bet he’s laden down today.’
Girls now all flocked into the hallway. Sure enough the postman handed over two huge bundles of mail. Much of it was in pink and red envelopes.
‘Calm!’ Mrs Knebworth insisted as she took the bundles and stood over the mail table to sort them out.
She read out the names on the envelopes and anyone who happened to be in the hallway when a card was passed to them was treated to whistles and applause.
Niffy, holding her flowers, whistled the loudest when first Gina and then Min were each handed a card, Gina’s in a bright pink envelope.
Then it was the turn of all the girls to whistle and laugh when Mrs Knebworth said of one pale pink envelope, ‘Oh! This one seems to be for me.’
Min had to ask Niffy sharply: ‘Did you send that?’
‘No. Our surprise is on its way,’ she replied, shooting Gina a wink.
‘Open yours, Min,’ Gina instructed as she tore at her own envelope.
Min opened hers more carefully and brought out a folded sheet of graph paper. On the front of it there was a heart which had been made completely out of scribbled numbers and formulae.
‘No guessing who that’s from then?’ Niffy said as Min blushed and giggled.
‘So what has Dermot sent you?’ Min asked, wanting the attention away from the card in her hands as quickly as possible.
Gina had a shop-bought card in her hand. Pink and white with gold bits. Not really Dermot’s taste, she couldn’t help thinking – a little too gaudy.
Had his mum bought it for him? The thought crossed her mind. Maybe he’d been too busy studying to get to the shops.
She opened the card and read out the words that had been printed with a red felt-tip pen:
‘Roses are red, roses are pink, a surprise date would be fun . . . what do you think? Sunday Feb 15. Scott Monument, Princes Street, 12 noon. Shhhhhh. Could a lad like u more? Xx’
‘Wow!’ Min said. ‘That sounds so romantic.’
‘About time,’ Gina said. ‘He’s been so boring about his studying. And he’s spending Saturday night working in the café.’
The mobile in her pocket began to buzz.
She pulled it out, looked at the screen and said: ‘Amy says Happy Valentine’s, and did we all get something.’
Gina texted an update.
Back came the message: UR ALL SO LUCKY! NOTHING 4 ME?’
NO, Gina had to text back.
NEVER MIND, Amy replied.
But Gina and her friends had a feeling that she probably did mind very much. Last year four cards had arrived for Amy. She’d been the most popular girl in the year.
How could she not mind that things were so different this year?
HOW GOING IN G’GOW? Gina texted next.
BIT GLOOMY, came the reply.
‘Poor old Amy,’ Gina told her friends.
‘Look, same card as me,’ Milly from Daffodil dorm said, pointing to Gina’s card and holding up her own as she walked past. ‘Did you enjoy your wine?’ she added in a whisper.
‘Just about to,’ Niffy replied.
Just then two sixth formers came in through the front door and one called out: ‘Hey, Mrs K, there’s something for you out on the stone steps.’
Niffy shot Min a wink.
‘This is your surprise, is it?’ Min asked.
‘We wanted her to know how much Jaguar man could care . . . with a little encouragement,’ Niffy whispered.
‘Jaguar man?’ Min wrinkled up her forehead. ‘But didn’t I tell you? He’s not a date of any kind. He’s her late husband’s cousin.’
‘Oh no!’ Gina exclaimed.
Chapter Twenty-five
AMY HELD UP a skinny gold belt. She had no idea when she’d last worn it, so she tossed it into the eBay box. This was her new policy: if she couldn’t even remember wearing something, then – unless it was absolutely gorgeous and she was sure she would wear it again – into the box it had to go.
Two hours had passed and the eBay boxes were filling up. Amy wasn’t just getting a sense of how much money she might make with her wardrobe sale, she was also getting an idea of just how much money she’d spent over the past few years.
Her dad had always given her a very generous amount of pocket money every month – and she’d always spent it all. Overspent, even. She actually had her own credit card, backed up by Dad’s funds.
It had always made her feel good, knowing that her dad was loaded. Knowing that she could just about have everything she’d ever wanted. When snobby witches like Penny Boswell-Hackett tried to tease her about being a trashy Glaswegian whose dad ran ‘sleazy’ nightclubs, being able to flaunt her wealth had made Amy feel better. She’d worn real diamonds to school, designer clothes at the weekends and show-stopping dresses to the dances.
Expensive clothes, expensive jewels and envy-inducing labels had been her thing. Her armour. Her defence against any kind of hint that she wasn’t good enough to be at St Jude’s; that she wasn’t posh enough or snobby enough.
Girls like Penny, and even Niffy, were the kind of girls whose mothers had gone to St Jude’s. They felt as if they belonged.
Amy had always known that she didn’t belong. Min and Gina, who were both foreign, never seemed to mind too much that they too didn’t belong. But for Amy, it bothered her. She wanted to fit in, be a part of the school and belong.
Now that there wasn’t going to be the armour of being rich, she wondered how she would manage.
She would all of a sudden be much more ordinary. She wouldn’t be able to boast about her dad and his fabulous career any more, would she?
The violet silk blouse in her hands was carefully considered. She wouldn’t give this away. She needed to hang on to some really good things. To be honest, she wanted to keep up the pretence of being rich for as long as possible.
As soon as she was wearing chain-store clothes and high-street shoes . . . everyone would know. Everyone would know her dad’s business had failed, that she was staying on at school by a thread and she wasn’t able to splash her cash about like she had done in the good old days.
She folded the blouse carefully into a box going to her gran’s.
Mrs Knebworth, clutching the bottle of wine, began to walk towards Niffy and her friends.
‘Uh oh,’ Gina hissed.
‘Told you!’ Min warned.
‘Stay calm,’ Niffy instructed.
‘Girls? Luella?’ Mrs Knebworth began. ‘Is this anything to do with you?’
Niffy shook her head and gave a shrug.
Min’s ‘no!’ was of course totally innocent.
Gina’s ‘no way,’ sounded completely convincing.
‘Luella?’ Mrs Knebworth asked once again, her eyebrows raised, her look very stern.
‘Mrs K . . . I have washed windows, I have hoovered the tops of all the wardrobes, I have waxed the dining-room floor, I have unblocked the laun
dry room drains . . . do you honestly think I would play another single trick on you ever again?’
Mrs Knebworth continued to look at Niffy long and hard.
Then a smile broke out across her face. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘I didn’t think so.’
Then, waggling the wine bottle in front of her, she said, ‘Well then . . . I’ll have to accept that this is possibly the sign of a whole new development.’
Min gave Niffy a horrified look. She hoped it told Niffy that now was the time to confess, right now, before things went even more haywire. But Niffy stayed silent.
A glance at her watch told Amy it was nearly two o’clock. She’d been working on her cupboard clearout for hours. And on Valentine’s Day! It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day . . . although everyone seemed to have forgotten her.
Four cards! She’d had four Valentine’s cards last year. She’d suspected at least one had been sent by her dad, but even so . . . to go from four to zero was upsetting.
There still hadn’t been a word from Finn either. Niffy had said it was OK for them to go out again. Amy had emailed him twice to ask when they could see each other, but she’d heard nothing.
Every time Niffy asked about it, they both felt embarrassed. ‘I can’t understand it,’ Niffy had mumbled the last time. ‘He really liked you.’
Another tear dripped from the edge of Amy’s nose. She wiped it away angrily. She didn’t want to feel so sorry for herself. She really didn’t. What would her dad think of her? He’d think she was being a feeble loser.
She threw the last things from the wardrobe into the boxes going to her gran’s house, then bundled her duvet, pillows and sheets into big plastic bags and that was it. The room was packed up. She went and stood by the large glass window and looked out over the river. She wondered when she would next be able to look at this big, sweeping view again.
Then, making sure that all trace of her tears was gone from her face, she stepped out of her bedroom, determined to help her dad with the rest of the packing.
The airy, open living space with its huge windows, was in chaos. Boxes, piles of books and papers and half-wrapped pictures were all over the place. Amy went over to the nearest pile of paperwork and began packing it into the nearest box.
