by Nina Manning
‘I haven’t had any lunch yet – shall we step out?’
It’s almost four thirty when we arrive in the crowded café along the high street and join a long queue towards the counter. It doesn’t surprise me that it’s only now that Caitlin is thinking about lunch – she is usually here until seven during the week and then eight or nine o’clock on a Friday to tie things up before the weekend, when she finally kicks back and relaxes. It amazes me how quickly she is able to make the transition from high-profile commercial solicitor to slob and couch potato. I always thought as someone who spent an inordinate amount of time in the countryside as a child, Caitlin would relish the outdoors, and with spending such a long time in this office, she would be off running or hiking at the weekend. But Caitlin sleeps until midday on Saturday, mooches about in her pyjamas until five, reading the papers whilst Chuck is off rowing or playing tennis, then she and Chuck wander to Waitrose to grab some food and cook and drink red wine until they pass out about midnight. Then they do the same thing again on Sunday. By Monday, she is back in the office by eight sharp.
She is still childless like me – funny how we have both arrived at our early thirties without starting a family. From where I stand next to her, I look at her pale skin, a vast contrast to my golden colouring. Even without the outdoor activity, her freckles in the summer are as prominent across her nose as they were when she was a child. I know she hates them. However, I notice for the first time just how much she has begun to look like Ava. With the way she has cut her hair short, and even though she has coloured it from dark brown to a copper colour, she is a mirror image of her mother. I can say that more confidently now that I had just seen Ava in the reception, but something is stopping me from mentioning my near run-in with her mother.
‘It’s so busy,’ Caitlin says impatiently, trying to survey how many people are in front of her.
‘Don’t you always say five o’clock is a solicitor’s lunchtime?’ I speak. ‘I’m going to get us a seat and go to the loo.’
All the windows are wide open, allowing in a welcome breeze. I wait for a flurry of customers who are all leaving to pass me, all workaholics like Caitlin who suddenly found themselves ravenous for food after skipping lunch. Caitlin seems to know a few and they nod polite hellos as they pass her.
‘Grab me a muffin as well,’ I say as I head to a table in the corner with a view to the busy street outside. I leave my bag to reserve our table but take my phone and dash to the loo.
Inside the single female toilet cubicle, I lock the door and take out the skull figurine from my shorts pocket. I think about us as kids and how such a small object gave Caitlin such a sense of power. A power that Caitlin had wanted to take from Ava. I thought about how I had just seen Ava in the reception. It must have been important for Ava to make the journey from Surrey. After her email the other day, and now seeing her in Caitlin’s office, it all feels very unusual. But I’m glad that I had managed to stay hidden and avoided engaging in conversation with her. Ava has a way of extracting information from you before you even know you’ve given it. It was the same at Josephine’s funeral last year. I had made a deal with myself to stay away from her, and if our paths crossed, then I would keep the conversation light and neutral. But I was at the buffet table at the hotel when I heard her coarse, cut-glass voice behind me. Before I knew it, I was answering all her questions about my business and my boyfriend. I hated myself afterwards and just wanted to get in my car and drive straight home.
I thrust the skull back in my back pocket, and as I am washing my hands, I look in the mirror and try to see the innocence of that young girl from all those years ago. But she’s gone, and in her place is a woman I barely recognise these days, with too many secrets reflecting in her eyes. On the plus side, I feel I’ve aged well – there are still no signs of grey hairs or wrinkles, I keep my figure trim with three trips to the gym a week, Pilates and the odd parkrun, and I get my long hair highlighted every two months. I know I can’t rival Caitlin’s classic style and ability to look good no matter what she wears these days, but I have to give myself some credit.
I make it back out into the café just as Caitlin is finishing up at the counter and heading over to the table. I slide into my seat and plaster a welcoming smile across my face. It feels as though it’s been such a long time since we last spoke.
Caitlin places the tray down on the table between us and I see she hasn’t purchased any food for herself, just a coffee. I take my black coffee, the one that Caitlin knows to order for me in here, and I start nibbling at my muffin as Caitlin puts the tray against the wall and sprinkles one sweetener in her milky drink.
‘Is this the bride-to-be diet? Coffee and sweetener? I thought you said you hadn’t had lunch.’ I blow across the top of my coffee; it will be too hot to drink for a few minutes.
‘I haven’t.’ Caitlin screws the sweetener paper up into a tight ball and drops it in front of her on the table. ‘I had a big breakfast and I’ll eat tonight with Chuck.’ At the mere mention of his name, the atmosphere between us becomes charged. But I must be imagining it because when I look at Caitlin, she is stirring her coffee with one hand and looking at her phone with the other, pulling a strained expression.
‘So, how have you been?’ I go for neutral questions before I hit her with making a decision about the favours. Maybe she will think they are still too cliché after all.
Caitlin finishes up stirring her coffee, places the spoon down and looks at me.
‘Favours.’
‘What?’
‘I haven’t replied to your text. I’ve been a little… busy. Preoccupied.’ Caitlin chews the tip of her nail. ‘I know I’m a terrible bore not replying, but you know.’ She waves her hand around.
No, I thought, I don’t know. But instead, I say what I usually say to appease her and keep the peace. ‘Okay, well that’s understandable, you’re planning a wedding.’
‘Correction. You’re planning the wedding, and I should have answered your texts. As I said I have a couple of things, well, rather one big contract I am trying to tie up at the moment. It seems to be taking up all of my time.’
I nod and try to put on my most understanding face.
It is not exactly an apology from Caitlin but it’s the closest I’ll get. I feel a swell of happiness that I smother with a tight nod. I take a sip of my coffee.
‘Sooo, I’m still organising this wedding?’
Caitlin snorts. ‘Why anyone would want to is beyond me, but you seem to be enjoying it. I prefer to remain blissfully ignorant to it all anyway.’
I had a sudden urge to clear my throat. I suddenly feel a prickle of paranoia.
‘Blissfully ignorant?’ I ask, just testing the waters to check we are still discussing the wedding.
Caitlin pushes a stray lock back in place with the rest of her perfectly quaffed hair. Then she looks straight at me and I see a flicker of something in her eyes.
‘I find that it’s sometimes the best way to be. About most things. Where possible. Like this wedding.’
‘Your wedding,’ I correct her.
‘Right.’ She sips her coffee. ‘My job is too much of a distraction sometimes, I get that.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. Because I really do understand, but I also wish she could see how successful she is, the sort of success people like me still crave.
‘But you, you are doing a good job getting things organised, and I am happy here on the sidelines.’ Caitlin waves her hand again as if she were dismissing another problem. ‘Between the wedding and your little business, you must be quite run off your feet.’
The word little stings. But I try to ignore the way she belittles Space. I have worked on that venture for three years solid. Alone. Without any financial input. Will anything I ever do be good enough for Caitlin?
As I adjust myself in my seat, I feel the push of the skull keyring again.
‘I always think about Saxby, you know.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can re
ally think about them. I know they will annoy her. Maybe, subconsciously, I want to hurt her back. ‘It doesn’t deserve to be sat there all alone with no one to love it. Not the way we did.’
‘It’s just a house, Sasha,’ Caitlin says as she raises her head in acknowledgement at a passer-by. ‘Bricks and mortar.’
‘That’s not what you told me when we were kids. You said the house was so much more than that, the way it could hold on to so many secrets. You said it had eyes and ears.’
‘Troy and Abel visit all the time with their girlfriends. It’s not abandoned.’
‘And you, do you want to get back and visit sometime soon? I could go with you. It’s not too late to change the reception venue, or you could even get married there. It’s absolutely heavenly, I just don’t know why—’
‘Because!’ Caitlin snaps and I sit back in my seat. She looks around the room before lowering her voice. ‘Because it’s not my home. It never was.’ She says the last words quietly then absently stirs her coffee again.
‘Then why keep it, why hang on to it?’ I ask.
Caitlin shakes her head, exasperated. ‘Oh, Sasha, you’re like a dog with a bone sometimes. So many questions.’ She gives me a hard stare.
Caitlin brings her concentration back to her coffee. And doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I know she won’t return to it.
‘So, these damn party favours,’ she says eventually. ‘You think dandelion dust or whatever it’s called, is better than a candle? You’re the expert in this field. As my bridesmaid. Honestly, where would I be without you?’ She lifts her cup and brings it to her lips. But behind the cup I can see the beginning of a smile I know is there. And although my heart is bursting with happiness, that, yes, Caitlin still wants me as her bridesmaid and my duties will resume immediately, I cannot help but feel that she is holding back so much; that there are deeper reasons why she won’t go back to Saxby. When we were young, Caitlin and I were renowned for thinking the same thing then belting it out without a thought, grabbing each other’s little fingers for a jinx. I have a strong sensation that this is one of those occasions. I can feel that energy fizzling between us, that our heads are filled with similar images and thoughts, but I know this time she won’t say it. She will keep it buried like the secret it was meant to be. But me, I almost let mine out once, I am not sure I’ll be able to hold it in for much longer.
8
Saxby House, Dorset, August 1988
It was Caitlin’s twelfth birthday weekend, and Mum had been cleaning the main house like mad all week, under the strict guidance of Ava. We had been living on the estate for just over four months, and Mum would often come home after a day’s cleaning, moaning about ‘that bloody woman’. But to Ava’s face, she managed to hold a smile, crack a joke and, more than that, even give a compliment. Today, I had been invited over for tea at the main house to help celebrate Caitlin’s special day. But not before a long, drawn-out conversation with Mum that almost made me late.
‘You’re making a nuisance of yourself, Sasha – it’s not normal, you spending so much time with them.’
‘But I was invited, Mum,’ I protested, and saw the look of sympathy in Dad’s eyes.
‘Phil?’ Mum looked anxiously at Dad for support.
‘If she’s been invited, Darcy, in the same way you think it’s not right her spending all that time with them, it would appear rude if she were to decline,’ Dad said. He flicked his eyes towards me with a slight twinkle. He turned and put his arm around Mum’s shoulder. ‘You mustn’t worry, Darcy. Sasha being with the Clemonte girl isn’t going to affect anything. Our jobs are secure.’
I watched Mum tighten her lips with her arms folded. I could almost hear her thinking. She took in a deep breath and let it out.
‘I think that means you’re free to go.’ Dad smiled and reached his hand out. I took it and he squeezed it. I didn’t see why I couldn’t spend time with people like the Clemontes, just because they had money and my parents worked for them. Mum’s unnecessary protesting only spurred me on more. The Clemonte family liked me and Caitlin was the only decent friend I had made since I moved here.
I skipped out of the door, blocking out Mum’s parting words.
‘It’s not right, Phil. People like us just don’t mix with them sort…’
When I arrived at the main house, I could smell Ava’s perfume lingering in the hallway and hear her voice, high and tight, coming from the floors above me. I could only imagine she was talking to Caitlin. I hovered in the hall and waited for Caitlin to arrive downstairs; a few minutes alone would give me time to calm my nerves. It was the first time I had been invited to anything formal like this, but Caitlin had said it wouldn’t be a proper birthday if I wasn’t there with her.
The Clemontes had extended family visiting and a family friend, Chuck, whose real name was Charles, was coming to stay with his parents for the weekend. Chuck was older than Caitlin by two years, and since Caitlin had found out he was coming she hadn’t stopped yacking on about him. He was such ‘a character’, ‘a hoot’, ‘a joker’, ‘a real card’. A pain in the arse was what he sounded like to me after Caitlin had droned on about him for fifteen minutes straight. I wondered what would happen when Chuck arrived and if Caitlin would still want to hang around with me. Would I suddenly become the caretakers’ daughter when Caitlin had one of her own kind to play with?
It was Friday and so most of the guests would be arriving later that night, driving straight from London from their high-profile jobs. But for now, I had Caitlin all to myself.
She came down the stairs wearing a red-and-black flamenco dress that looked so small I could see red marks appearing around the tops of her arms, and as she high-fived me when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs – followed closely by a flustered-looking Ava – I noticed she couldn’t raise them fully.
We were seated in the dining room around a huge oval mahogany table that would host at least ten, but Judith had huddled all the seats at one end. There was a large free-standing plastic fan whirring in the corner and I could hear the tinny faraway sound of the radio coming from the kitchen where Judith was listening to Radio 2. The dark green heavy curtains were drawn too, with just a slither of sun slipping through the gap, sending a shard of light across the dining-room table. It was 3 p.m. and the sun had hit this side of the house, but even with the curtains virtually closed, the heat was almost overbearing, even as I sat in my white vest top and pink cotton skirt.
I sat as straight as I could on the high-backed solid chair, but my bare legs kept getting stuck to the shiny wood in the heat, and my bottom was hurting already after only five minutes. I could see Ava, who was sitting opposite me, eyeing me intermittently, so I tried to stop myself fidgeting. Josephine was next to her and Caitlin’s father, Maxwell, who had put in a rare appearance for the occasion, was next to Josephine, opposite Caitlin. Everyone’s attention was brought to Beverly, the other housekeeper, who came in to serve food and help Judith out, as she brought in a tray laden with cakes and sandwiches and a chorus of oohs and ahhs erupted around the table.
‘Cook made them all herself,’ she said in a Welsh sing-song accent.
‘Well, Beverly, you must tell Judith that we are most impressed with her culinary skills as usual. A birthday is a special occasion, isn’t it? Ava, dear?’ Maxwell spoke to his wife, who looked as though she were somewhere else, far away.
Josephine picked up her dessert fork and started inspecting it, her long bony fingers curled around the tiny silverware. ‘We used to have more of this style of fork, didn’t we, Beverly?’
‘Yes, we did, ma’am. I think the little ones got hold of them and maybe some found their way into a bin, sadly.’ Beverly busied herself taking plates off the tray and placing them on the table.
I watched Josephine carefully put the fork down in a straight line next to her napkin. Then she began giving the plates a nudge here and there so they were all sat snuggly next to one another. I felt uncomfortable when sh
e looked up and caught me staring at her, as though I had just witnessed some sort of private ritual. We locked eyes for a second as my heart quickened, and then she beamed one of her smiles, washing away the awkward feeling swimming around in my tummy.
‘Well, well, what a day indeed. My little Caitlin is turning twelve. I remember when you came out, all pink and squirmy, trying with all your might to cry, but it came out as barely a husky whisper.’ Josephine smiled with her head tilted at her granddaughter. Caitlin gave her granny a tight smile and shifted in her seat, the sound of the material of her dress swishing against the chair. ‘Sounds horrifying, Granny.’
‘Do you remember it, Ava, that cry, more of mewl, wasn’t it?’ Josephine looked across at Ava, but Ava looked back at her mother with an icy stare. I tried to fathom if I had misheard some of what Josephine had said, maybe a word or two that could have made Ava’s face turn sour.
‘A mewl that soon became the most pitiful cry and with such an earnest look about you too.’ Josephine leant across and patted Caitlin’s hand.
‘I still feel rather foolish that I wasn’t there.’ Maxwell hooted, a small smile across his lips. ‘Stuck up in London for a bloody conference that went on and on. You weren’t due for another three weeks, you know. I had to cancel the rest of my meetings for that week. Never did nail that contract.’ Maxwell’s smile became a frown as he shook his head.
Caitlin looked up at her father. ‘Papa?’ she said quietly.
Maxwell looked at Caitlin, his taut expression softened. ‘Not your fault now, was it? Bloody nature doing its thing.’ Maxwell patted Caitlin on the back, her body jerked forward by the force.
‘Well, I was there, dear, and I remember every second of it as though it were yesterday. Some things in life you will never forget.’ Josephine pressed her palms together. ‘It was awfully lucky, Ava, you were here at Saxby – imagine going into labour in stuffy old London? And, of course, we were eternally grateful to the local midwife, who was able to pop along at such short notice to help us all out. What was her name, again?’ Josephine screwed her eyes together.
