Love, Lies and Lizzie

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘That’s when I fell in love with her,’ Lizzie’s father was fond of relating. ‘She looked so white and wan and small.’ (At this point the girls always giggled, since, having given birth to five children in very quick succession, their mother was now rotund, chubby cheeked and a force to be reckoned with.)

  It had been Harry who called the ambulance, Harry who sat in A&E while Alice’s broken hand was attended to, Harry who patiently mopped his jeans with a paper towel after Felicity had hurled a can of Coca-Cola at him and stormed out in a huff.

  ‘He asked me out that very night,’ Alice would recount proudly, ‘even though I’d been sick down my skirt and smelled evil.’

  ‘Too much information,’ Meredith would mutter. (People who didn’t know Meredith well were tempted to call her Merry; people who did never bothered, because frankly, she was anything but. Lizzie constantly told her to lighten up, Jane tried to be kind and say that it was just that Meredith found life challenging, and Meredith said that life wasn’t the problem, it was the rest of her family.)

  ‘I think,’ her Uncle Guy had whispered to Lizzie at her sixteenth birthday party, when recounting the story for the umpteenth time, ‘that your parents getting together was the main reason your grandparents decided to sell up and buy a condo in Puerto Banus. They had their hearts set on your dad marrying Felicity – but she was a total snob and I think Harry was well out of it.’

  He had winked at her, knowing full well that when it came to snobbery, Alice Bennet could give anyone a run for their money.

  ‘You have to admit,’ Lizzie said to Jane now, hurling a cushion on to the floor and stretching out on the bed, ‘it would have been a whole heap easier for Mum if Felicity had just disappeared off the scene, instead of stalking Dad for months, and then marrying his best mate – what was he called? Something bizarre.’

  ‘Ambrose,’ Jane replied. ‘Like the creamed rice.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Lizzie said laughing. ‘And then they all decided to go into business together, so Felicity’s forever under Mum’s nose.’

  ‘And more to the point, under Dad’s,’ added Jane. ‘You have to admit Dad was slightly lacking on the tact and discretion front.’

  ‘He should never have agreed to be godfather to their kid,’ Lizzie nodded. ‘I mean, that was bound to wind Mum up.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if Ambrose hadn’t made Dad co-guardian of the baby in the event of his death,’ Jane remarked, ‘and then gone and promptly died. Though, to be fair, I don’t imagine that Ambrose actually planned the dying bit. Or leaving the business in such a mess.’

  ‘True,’ Lizzie nodded. ‘But honestly, why has Andy – sorry, Drew – come out of the woodwork after all this time? I thought once his mother remarried and went to live in America, that was that. Dad sent birthday and Christmas presents – end of story.’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Jane shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll find out over supper – assuming there’s enough unburned bits to go round.’

  ‘I don’t want supper,’ Lydia announced half an hour later. ‘I’m off out.’

  ‘But darling, you’ve been out all day,’ her mother began, pulling off her apron and tossing it to one side. ‘Where were you? Shopping?’

  ‘No way – I was out pulling,’ Lydia laughed. ‘What’s more, I reckon I scored!’

  ‘You are a little monkey,’ her mother sighed affectionately, ruffling Lydia’s hair.

  Jane and Lizzie exchanged exasperated glances. It never failed to astonish them that Lydia could get away with behaviour that would have resulted in a week’s grounding if either of them had tried it on. But then Lydia was their mother’s favourite: unlike most parents, who try to conceal their preferences when it comes to their offspring, Alice had always blatantly favoured Lydia and, far from disapproving of her wayward behaviour, seemed almost proud of it.

  ‘I don’t think you should be going anywhere, Lydia,’ her father interjected. ‘Sit down and eat your supper.’

  ‘No way! It’s all arranged – I told Denny.’

  ‘So unarrange it,’ her father replied. ‘You can see your school friends any day of the week.’

  ‘School friend? Get real – like, I’d really go out with one of those losers,’ Lydia replied scathingly. ‘Denny’s not from school, he’s at uni and he’s got a summer job working for his dad.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s employed as senior footman at Buckingham Palace,’ her father said. ‘Sit!’

  ‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll just die,’ Lydia whined.

  ‘Promise?’ muttered Meredith.

  ‘Mum, tell him,’ Lydia pleaded, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

  ‘Well, I suppose if your father says . . .’ Alice began.

  ‘And what’s more,’ Mr Bennet went on, somewhat illadvisedly, ‘when Drew arrives, we’re going to have proper, leisurely family meals, with no histrionics, no silly conversations —’

  ‘Of course you can go, sweetie,’ Mrs Bennet said at once, glaring at her husband and turning to Lydia. ‘You have fun – but do eat something first.’

  ‘Denny’ll buy me something at the bar,’ Lydia replied airily.

  ‘Lydia, you can’t let him do that – you said he was a student,’ Jane interjected. ‘And believe me, students don’t have spare cash.’

  Lydia pouted and then brightened.

  ‘OK, so can I have my allowance early?’ she asked, turning to her mother (past experience having taught her that her terminally uncool father had no idea what it cost to be fifteen). ‘And an increase, now that we’re rich?’

  ‘You most certainly cannot,’ her father expostulated as Alice got up and walked over to the sideboard for her purse. ‘It’s still only July and it’s time you learned that money —’

  ‘Oh sweetheart, you are naughty!’ her mother teased, cutting him short. ‘But just this once.’

  She reached for her purse.

  ‘Right, since my opinions are completely superfluous in this family, I’m taking my meal into my study.’ Harry, teeth clenched, stood up and picked up his plate.

  ‘Don’t go, Dad,’ Lizzie cried, irritated at her mother’s total indulgence of Lydia. ‘Tell us about Drew. When is he coming?’

  ‘A week tomorrow,’ her father said in clipped tones, glancing at his wife as she scrabbled in her bag for her purse. ‘So you lot will all have broken up for the summer and can spend time with him.’

  He took a gulp of wine, dabbed his mouth and continued enthusiastically, though still refusing to sit down. ‘He’s over in the UK as part of his hotel management training scheme, which sounds fascinating . . .’

  ‘Not,’ muttered Lydia.

  ‘Anyway, he wants to see the sights and watch some cricket – I thought Toby could take him to a match.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lizzie caught Jane’s eye and pulled a face.

  ‘Now come on, Elizabeth,’ her father said. ‘It’s hardly going to kill you to part with Toby for one Saturday. You see each other every five minutes and —’

  ‘Not any more, we don’t,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘We’ve split up.’

  ‘You have done what?’

  Lizzie’s mother was so distraught that she dropped her purse, spilling coins all over the wood block floor. ‘What did you do? How could you have let this happen?’

  ‘What did I do?’ Lizzie burst out. ‘I saw sense, that’s what I did. Mum, I’m not even eighteen yet. I don’t want to hang out with someone who’s already planning how many kids we’ll have.’

  ‘Good on you, Lizzie,’ her father said.

  ‘But he’s like one of the family,’ Alice cried, throwing him a murderous look. ‘Like the son we never had and you two were perfect for one another. What does the minister say?’

  Mrs Bennet always referred to Toby’s father by the totally inaccurate job description rather than his name, although whether this was out of snobbery or an inability to keep a straight face while speaking of a man who gloried in the name of Xenophon, Lizzie
had never worked out.

  ‘And just what am I supposed to do with this Drew person now,’ Mrs Bennet went on, before Lizzie could answer, ‘if Toby’s not around to keep him out of our hair?’

  At this point, her husband, who had been hovering by the door, slammed his plate back down on the table and glared at her. ‘Don’t talk like that about the son of my dearest friend,’ he retorted. ‘Ambrose and I were in business together and —’

  ‘And because you followed some of his damn stupid ideas, you lost a whole load of money,’ Alice snapped back, slamming her purse on the table. ‘Money that would have paid for our girls to go to private schools and —’

  ‘None of which is Andrew’s fault,’ Harry retaliated. ‘Besides, he doesn’t need Toby to entertain him. I shall take a few days off from the office, and anyway, the girls will enjoy taking him out and about.’

  ‘I could take him litter-picking in Rockingham Forest,’ Meredith suggested.

  ‘The excitement would probably kill him,’ Lydia muttered, her hand outstretched for the twenty-pound note her mother had retrieved from the floor. ‘This guy – is he fit?’

  ‘Fit? Well, he’s never mentioned any illness,’ her father replied.

  ‘Dad! Fit – as in sexy, cute, snoggable.’

  Her father sighed. ‘I really don’t know,’ he snapped.

  ‘He did say he was very into Scrabble, though.’

  ‘That,’ muttered Lydia, ‘is so not a turn on.’

  Lizzie was about to take a shower when her mobile phone bleeped.

  R u back? Can’t w8 2 c u! Life here sucks. Catch up 2moro? Emily xx

  Lizzie’s fingers hovered over the keys. She was very fond of Emily, but right now she wasn’t in the mood to listen to all her problems (‘I’ll never get a guy, I’m useless, my life’s so boring, I’m hideous . . .’). Not that her low selfesteem was all her fault – Emily’s parents constantly compared her to her younger sister Maria, who was an A-star-type student and really pretty; Emily, on the other hand, struggled to keep up with work in the Sixth Form and had what her kinder friends called an interesting face and what her father had been heard to label ‘plain as a pikestaff’. Lizzie was in the middle of a campaign to give her friend a totally new image, but not tonight.

  Before she could key in a reply the phone jangled out the opening bars of the latest Ecstatics hit.

  Toby calling.

  She closed her eyes, willing the answerphone to cut in. He’d been phoning and texting almost hourly since their row and she knew that she should really talk to him. But what was the point? It wasn’t as if he had anything new to say. That was the thing about Toby; he was so predictable.

  She knew she couldn’t avoid him for ever. A-levels were over, and they’d both officially left school, but like loads of the school-leavers, Toby was getting paid to do sports coaching for the tennis squad most mornings, and Lizzie was helping with rehearsals for the Key Stage 3 end-of-term concert. They were bound to bump into one another. But, she decided, she would deal with that when it happened. For now she’d simply switch off and let him leave a voicemail. It would say exactly the same as all the texts he had bombarded her with: I love you. I can’t live without you. Ring me. I’ll do anything.

  And that was the problem. He would do anything. Except the one thing she wanted – simply to be left alone.

  Lydia burst into Lizzie’s bedroom minutes after she’d switched off her light and settled down to sleep. ‘Lizzie, I have to talk to you. If you don’t help me out over this one, I’ll never speak to you again!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Lydia, it’s half past eleven!’

  Dealing with Lydia in drama queen mode was more than she could stand right now.

  ‘Sorry, but this is, like, so crucial,’ her sister gabbled. ‘You have to help me.’

  Lizzie eyed her sister more closely. Her face bore the drying streaks of recent tears and her eyes were suspiciously pink. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked more gently.

  ‘It’s Dad, he’s just such a dinosaur. You know what he’s done? Grounded me.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have something to do with the fact that you went out without permission? Got back late?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘Ten-thirty is such an unreasonable curfew,’ she moaned. ‘Amber’s allowed out till midnight.’

  ‘Amber’s a spoilt brat,’ muttered Lizzie. Amber had been Lydia’s best friend since primary school; the kind of kid who could wrap her mother round her little finger, usually by threatening to hate whichever new man was on the scene in her mum’s life at the time.

  ‘She’s not spoilt – she’s just got a free-thinking mother.’

  ‘Drop the thinking bit and you could be right,’ Lizzie murmured.

  ‘Whatever. Anyway, I’ve got a plan.’

  Lizzie groaned inwardly. In recent years, Lydia’s famous plans had landed her in A&E twice, the local police station once, and in detention at school more times than Lizzie could remember.

  ‘If it involves me —’ she began.

  ‘It doesn’t – well, it does sort of, but only for a tiny minute and . . .’

  ‘Go on.’ Lizzie was resigned to hearing her sister out, if only to get rid of her and get some sleep.

  ‘Denny’s going to be at the Bingleys’ tomorrow evening, right? He’s mates with their kids. That’s the only reason I’ve agreed to go to the party in the first place. Thing is, he’s planning to get a whole group of guys from the college to go into Meryton later and he’s invited me – Amber’s going too, cos she, like, so wants to pull Tim. I told you about Tim, yeah – he’s the one —’

  ‘Lydia, get to the point.’

  ‘Well, the thing is, I’m going with him of course and —’

  ‘No way is Dad going to fall for that one,’ Lizzie observed. ‘We were never allowed to go into Meryton on a Saturday night at your age.’

  ‘Stuff that – I’m going to pretend to be ill, you’re going to take me home, then I’ll slip out of the house, and by the time you get back from the party, it’ll be too late for Dad to do anything.’ She eyed Lizzie eagerly. ‘So what do you say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no? You have to – if I don’t go, Denny’ll find someone else, and my life will be over.’

  ‘I very much doubt it. Night night, Lydia.’

  ‘You know something, Elizabeth Bennet? You are so up yourself!’

  As Lydia slammed the door so violently that a crack appeared in the newly painted ceiling, Lizzie felt her eyes prick with tears. It wasn’t that she gave a toss for her sister’s opinion, it was just that Lydia had used the very same words as Toby had yelled at her twenty-four hours before.

  But it wasn’t true. She wasn’t up herself. She simply saw people as they really were. And if they didn’t like it, that was their problem.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘Tease him, laugh at him . . . I dearly love a laugh.’

  (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

  THE BENNETS WERE AMONG THE LAST TO ARRIVE AT THE party the following evening, largely because Lizzie’s mother had spent almost two hours deciding what to wear. The result – a billowing fuchsia-pink skirt that barely skimmed her knees, a sleeveless cotton top trimmed with home-made ribbon roses that would have suited someone half her age and a lilac fascinator – was, Lizzie thought, at best unwise, and at worst disastrous.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ her mother had declared when Lizzie ventured to suggest she was a tad overdressed for the occasion. ‘We’re moving in different circles now. We don’t want the Bingleys to think we are new-money upstarts.’

  ‘Which we are,’ Lizzie had replied, and then gave her mother’s arm a squeeze by way of apology for her unerring honesty. ‘I mean, we don’t really fit in round here, do we?’

  Mrs Bennet sniffed. ‘Of course we do! We are simply now living the way we should have been years ago had your father not been taken in by that Ambrose. And by the way, I simply won’t have you going to the party
in jeans.’

  There followed a lengthy argument about clothes, a further delay when Meredith announced that she wasn’t going to the party because she was down on the ditch-clearing rota with her Youth for Conservation group and yet more time wasted hanging about for Mr Bennet, who just had to hear the end of his new recording of La Traviata before leaving. By the time they reached the wrought-iron gates of Netherfield, Mrs Bennet’s face was almost the same colour as her outfit and her agitation levels were through the roof.

  ‘Wow! That’s some house!’ Lizzie gasped.

  Even Lydia, with all her pretensions towards sophistication, was rendered almost speechless at the sight of the Bingleys’ home. Standing in several acres on the edge of the village, backing on to open countryside a quarter of a mile from Priory Park, Netherfield Manor was an imposing three-storey Georgian house with lofty chimneys, sash windows and swathes of clematis and Virginia creeper clambering up the walls. Worn stone steps led up to a porticoed front door, and either side of the sweeping gravel drive were manicured lawns flanked by larch and willow trees. To one side of the house, a wrought-iron gate was wedged open with a croquet mallet to which was attached a luminous pink card in the shape of an arrow bearing the words LOAM Party this way.

  ‘What on earth does Loam mean?’ Lizzie muttered, as they followed their mother, who was eagerly dragging her husband along the path at the side of the house.

  ‘Some quaint village custom, perhaps?’ teased Jane. ‘Maybe there’s going to be cheese rolling and dung throwing!’

  ‘It’s all a bit posh, isn’t it?’ Lizzie remarked, eyeing the huge expanse of lawn, the pond complete with fountain, the walled vegetable garden and the distant shimmering of a swimming pool. ‘Very Homes and Gardens.’