Love, Lies and Lizzie

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t want to go,’ James snapped. ‘Just because you and I are into that kind of stuff . . .’

  Jane took a deep breath. ‘No, I’d like to go. Really. It’ll be cool. Lizzie – you’ll come too, yeah?’

  ‘I don’t know, I . . .’

  ‘Oh, you must,’ Charlie butted in. ‘Caroline will be really miffed if you don’t.’

  Which served only to prove to Lizzie that, friendly as Charlie might be, he really didn’t have a clue when it came to reading human nature.

  After the guys had left, Lizzie went to her room and played the CD. It was obviously an amateur recording, but that couldn’t disguise the fact that Jenna’s voice had a haunting quality, as though the singer’s heart was breaking with every note.

  Suddenly the track stopped, and there was a lot of rustling. And then the first few bars of Angry in Your Face. Was this the same girl? Feisty, spunky, spitting out the lyrics and then abruptly dropping into a soft crooning of the refrain.

  ‘And one day, babe, I’ll show you how, it feels to be, here, without you, now.’

  ‘Amazing!’ Lizzie spoke the word out loud as she pressed the Rewind button. The range of her voice was astonishing and what was even more surprising was the fact that anyone related to James could sound so – well, abandoned, uninhibited – normal, in fact.

  She found herself wondering just what it was that James had been going to reveal about Jenna when Drew had burst in on them.

  And, despite her reservations about anyone associated with James, she determined there and then to find out. Anyone with a voice like that was someone she needed to know.

  By Monday evening, Lizzie was in the depths of despair. Never mind dreams – her singing exam was over, and she’d messed up.

  The examiner had been totally po-faced, and had been scribbling like crazy, which meant he had loads of things to criticise. She thought she’d done OK with the Vaughan Williams, and the Fauré Chanson was fine, but she’d totally blown the Handel aria and as for the Irish folk song – she was rubbish.

  She’d never get Distinction now. So she might as well stop dreaming.

  It had been a dumb idea anyway.

  CHAPTER 8

  ‘. . . a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.’

  (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

  ‘YES, YES, YES!’ LIZZIE PUNCHED THE AIR AND WAVED THE envelope above her head.

  ‘She said yes! I got it! The first of October for six weeks – and maybe longer! Cool or what?’

  ‘Lizzie, if I had the slightest idea what you’re talking about,’ her father observed, draining the dregs of his coffee before leaving for work on Thursday morning. (Three days doing the sights of London and Stratford on Avon with Drew had given Harry a sudden urge to attend to overdue paperwork at the office.)

  ‘A placement with Madeleine LeFevre,’ Lizzie cried. ‘At her music centre in France – doing singing therapy. Me!’

  ‘Darling, that’s wonderful news,’ Harry replied. ‘I knew you were trying to get work experience at a concert hall or something, but you never mentioned you were applying for a placement abroad.’

  ‘I only found out about it when we were on the choir trip,’ Lizzie explained, thrusting the letter into her mother’s hands as she came into the kitchen. ‘There was a guy from the LeFevre Centre at one of our concerts and he was going on about student placements. You must have read about the place, Dad?’

  ‘Well, no, I —’

  ‘It’s famous all over the world for getting through to kids with brain injuries and autism and stuff, through music therapy and singing.’

  She gave him a hug.

  ‘This guy said that one of their placement students had dropped out and they were re-advertising. I thought I’d go for it. I never dreamed I’d get it. And it’s not conditional on my exam results – so I can go anyway!’

  ‘Well,’ her mother said, scanning the letter and looking as pleased as if she’d achieved it all herself, ‘that’ll be something to tell them all at the mast meeting tonight, won’t it? If I hear one more word from that Helen Bradbury-Wells about how her daughter’s going to be on the front cover of Tatler . . .’

  ‘Mum, never mind her, can’t you just be pleased for me?’

  ‘What? Of course I’m pleased. I’m ecstatic. Just wait till I tell . . . Lizzie? Lizzie where are you going?’

  ‘France?’ Drew exclaimed later that morning after Lizzie, still on a high from her good news, had volunteered to take him to Sulgrave Manor for one of their Living History days. ‘Wow – that’s great.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lizzie admitted, biting her lip as she nervously negotiated a roundabout. ‘There must have been loads of applications.’

  ‘No, no, I mean you and me in France at the same time,’ Drew countered.

  ‘France is a very big country,’ Lizzie said hastily. ‘I mean, I’ll be down at Figeac. It’s a town in the south-west.’

  ‘I don’t believe it! The south-west? That can’t be far from Balaguier, which is where I’ll be working,’ Drew said. ‘Isn’t that thrilling?’

  Lizzie, brought up not to tell lies unless absolutely necessary, said nothing.

  ‘Say,’ Drew continued undaunted, ‘on my days off we could meet up and have ourselves a good time.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Lizzie murmured non-comittally, since good times and Drew were worlds apart. ‘So come on, tell me – what do you know about the Washington family and Sulgrave Manor?’

  As she had hoped, Drew was so taken up with expounding his knowledge of Anglo-American history (‘I don’t like to brag, but I majored in history and my tutor said he’d never seen a brain as retentive as mine’) that the subject of France was forgotten.

  Lizzie made a mental note not to raise it again.

  Whatever faults Drew had, Lizzie had to admit he was very enthusiastic. He bounded round the manor like a puppy on speed, gasping with delight at the Tudor kitchen with its spit and bread oven, ooh-ed and aah-ed over the herb garden and listened avidly to the talk of Remedies of Bygone Days, even engaging the guide in an in-depth conversation as to whether calendula would cure his athlete’s foot.

  He bought her what he called ‘one of your awesome English afternoon teatimes’ in the Buttery café, and insisted on taking her photograph in a dozen different locations to email to the folks back home.

  And then he suggested a walk in the woods.

  ‘So come on, Lizzie, tell me all about yourself,’ Drew urged as he groped for her hand, and Lizzie tried equally determinedly to avoid it. ‘I know Jane’s doing sociology, and Meredith’s set on saving the planet – but what floats your boat?’

  ‘Music,’ Lizzie replied at once. ‘Singing, mainly.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course – you were quite the best in the church choir on Sunday. That solo verse you had – brilliant! I was transported.’

  I wish, thought Lizzie.

  ‘And, of course, I am used to an exceptionally high standard of choral singing at Willow Grove Congregational. So do you want to be a singer?’

  ‘I don’t know what I want to do yet,’ Lizzie replied hastily. She knew it was a lie, but she had a feeling that if she were to verbalise her dream to Drew, the whole family would know about it within a day, and then the pressure would really be on.

  ‘But school? You’re going in October?’

  Lizzie shook her head.

  ‘I’m taking a gap year,’ she told him, sidestepping quickly to avoid Drew’s arm which was hovering dangerously near her right shoulder. ‘What I’d really like is to do so well at the Centre in September that Madame LeFevre keeps me on for the rest of the year. That would be so cool.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that just be the most perfect thing?’ Drew breathed, edging closer to Lizzie. ‘Us together in France – what could be better?’

  Root-canal work by a blind dentist, Lizzie thought, but refrained from commenting and merely smiled. She should have stuck to her promise and kept her
mouth shut.

  ‘The moment I saw you, I just knew,’ Drew went on. ‘And you did too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Knew what?’ Lizzie asked cautiously.

  ‘That spark between us – you felt it, surely? No, don’t deny it. I just know you did. Oh Lizzie, you are so gorge—’

  ‘Drew!’ Lizzie shouted as he began pulling her towards him. ‘Get off me! Like now!’

  ‘All I’m saying is don’t ever expect me to go anywhere with Drew on my own,’ Lizzie declared that evening, after Harry had taken their visitor off to the County Cricket Ground to watch the Twenty20 match and she and Jane were getting ready to go to the cinema. ‘God, his hands had a life of their own.’

  ‘Well, I bet he got the message,’ Jane said with a smile.

  ‘You think?’ Lizzie retorted. ‘I doubt it – he tried to pretend I was being coy. Kept winking at me and making suggestive remarks all the way home. At least on Saturday there’ll be a crowd of us and someone else can hang out with him.’

  She turned to Meredith, who was attempting to ram her sleeping bag into its bag in preparation for her trip the following day.

  ‘Pity you won’t be around to come along,’ she teased. ‘You seem to get on with him OK.’

  ‘I think he’s quite a troubled soul,’ Meredith said solemnly. ‘And anyway, he listens to me. Which is more than can be said for the rest of you.’

  ‘Well, of course, you could always invite him along to drain ditches or whatever it is you’re going to do.’

  ‘I could, couldn’t I?’ Meredith said thoughtfully. ‘Only all the places are full, and besides, it’s for under twenty-ones and —’

  ‘Meredith? It was a joke.’

  Her sister yanked the drawstring of the bag and glared at Lizzie. ‘Everything I do is a joke to you, isn’t it?’ she retorted. ‘But don’t worry about it – the people who matter take me seriously.’ She eyed them smugly. ‘I just heard – the Chronicle want me to do a weekly piece for teenagers all about how to make their families more aware of conservation issues. They want it to be really hard hitting.’

  ‘You’d be good at that,’ Jane said encouragingly, shooting Lizzie a warning glance.

  ‘Trouble is, they want it to be funny too,’ Meredith said. ‘And conservation is a really serious matter.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lizzie. ‘I can see that would be tricky. Hey, is that my phone?’

  She fumbled in the pocket of her shorts.

  Text message, read her phone.

  She punched the Read button.

  Just 2 say Hi 2 sum1 very sexy! Drew xxx

  Lizzie hurled the phone at Jane, who read the message and exploded into giggles.

  ‘How the hell did he get my number?’ she stormed.

  ‘Dad gave him all our numbers the day he arrived,’ Jane said. ‘He thought they might come in handy in an emergency.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ muttered Lizzie. ‘Jane, how am I going to stop this creep coming on to me?’

  ‘Well,’ Jane mused, ‘you could pray that he finds someone else. Although that’s hardly going to happen within the next two weeks.’

  ‘Jane, you are a star! Of course – it’s obvious. They’re made for one another.’

  She snatched her phone and punched in a number.

  ‘Come on, come on . . . oh, hi Emily! It’s me, Lizzie. Say, how do you fancy a day at the races on Saturday? What? Oh, loads of people – and guys too. Yes, available ones. You will? Cool!’

  She tossed the phone aside and grinned at Jane.

  ‘Lizzie, Em’s your friend,’ Jane said. ‘You can’t honestly expect she’d fancy Drew?’

  ‘Jane, Emily’s desperate to have a guy. I’m desperate to get him off my back. What’s to argue about?’

  In the event, getting rid of Drew turned out to be rather more difficult than Lizzie had hoped. Since James was driving Caroline, Charlie and Jane in his Ferrari, and Denny had invited the twins to take the last two places in the college minibus, it was left to Lizzie to borrow her mum’s Polo on Saturday morning and take Emily and Drew to Brighton. Trying to keep up with James on the motorway was a total impossibility in the Polo. Added to which, her nervousness, combined with the unceasing flow of conversation from Drew as he filled Emily in on his complete life history, job prospects and the fact that this quaint little race meeting would be nothing compared to the Kentucky Derby where his mom had taken a box, meant that when she finally parked up and found the Members’ enclosure, she was feeling more than a little frazzled.

  ‘Hey, Lizzie, where’ve you been? We arrived ages ago!’ Lydia, a glass of what Lizzie hoped was lemonade in one hand, bounced over to them.

  ‘Hi Emily, hi Drew, isn’t this the coolest thing?’ She looked, Lizzie had to admit, a million dollars and way more than her fifteen years. Wearing a scarlet mini-dress and a funky cloche hat, from which peeped huge fake tiger’s eye earrings, she looked like a cover girl for Teen Vogue rather than a kid who hadn’t yet taken her GCSEs. And just for a moment, Lizzie envied her.

  ‘Come on,’ Lydia urged. ‘We’re all in the Champagne bar. Posh or what?’ She grabbed Lizzie’s hand. ‘Well, not all of us, actually, because Denny and the guys are helping to set up the stand, but they’ll be along in a bit. Denny’s cousin is with them – he’s called George and he’s really fit. And guess what? I think Katie’s actually managing to pull! Like how bizarre is that?’

  Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, but Lydia was in full flood as they pushed their way through the clusters of drinkers outside the bar.

  ‘Amber and Tim are here too – you know I told you Amber’s keen on Tim? Well, she is and anyway, Tim’s bought his mate Ben along and he sat next to Katie in the minibus, and she was going all pink, you know like she does when she’s shy, which is always, of course, but then . . .’

  She babbled on, regardless of the fact that Lizzie couldn’t hear a word she was saying over the noise of the bar, which was packed with racegoers, some poring over their race cards and perusing the Racing Post, some watching the odds on the overhead screens and others queuing for expensively priced seafood.

  They elbowed their way through to the far corner, Drew managing en route to blunder into one woman and send her plate of prawns crashing to the floor before standing on someone’s foot, causing them to spill their champagne down his trouser leg.

  ‘You’d better help him sort it out,’ Lizzie muttered to Emily, shoving her eagerly in his direction as he flapped about with a handkerchief. ‘Look after him, will you? He’s not fit to be let out on his own.’ (Lizzie had read enough psychology books to know that Emily loved being needed, and estimated that with a bit of luck she would be glued to Drew’s side for the rest of the day.)

  ‘I owe you an apology.’

  Lizzie turned as someone tapped her on the shoulder. To her surprise, James, looking like one of the society guys in the social pages of Tatler with his straw trilby and navy blazer and appearing more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, took her arm, leading her towards the bar where a couple of spare stools had become vacant.

  ‘I should have driven more slowly,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t realise you’d only just passed your test and by the time Jane mentioned it, I’d completely lost you. Sorry.’

  For a moment, Lizzie was speechless. When he smiled, James looked far less arrogant and he did appear genuinely concerned.

  ‘That’s OK,’ she murmured.

  ‘Now then, I guess you’re not used to being in places like this,’ James went on, pausing to let a stout guy balancing a plate of lobster salad edge past him. ‘ “The Members”, I mean. There’s an etiquette in these places; bit archaic but —’

  ‘But totally beyond a state-school kid to cope with, is that what you mean?’ Lizzie snapped, silently admonishing herself for ever thinking the guy could change.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ James retorted, perching on a stool. ‘Do you only have one line of repartee? Is it beyond you to come up with something new? I don’t give a dam
n how much you argue with me, but you are getting to be rather boring!’

  ‘Not half as boring as your patronising attitude,’ Lizzie countered, noting with relief that Emily had managed to move Drew away from his somewhat irate victims. ‘So how about you treat me like I’ve got a brain, and I overlook the fact that you are so out of touch with reality as to be unreal?’

  To her surprise, James burst out laughing. ‘Better!’ he replied. ‘Much better. There’s hope for you — Oh dear! That was patronising, I guess?’

  Despite herself, Lizzie smiled.

  ‘I’ve heard you say worse,’ she replied. ‘So – if I promise not to swear, strip off or create a scene unworthy of such elevated company, why don’t you tell me more about your sister? That CD —’

  ‘Not now,’ James said. ‘Not here. OK?’

  It was the look of raw emotion on his face that stopped Lizzie from pressing him further.

  ‘So – how about you? I know you live in France, but . . .’

  ‘Not full time – that’s my aunt’s place. And a whole other story. My home – the place my father grew up – is in Braemar. That’s in Scotland.’

  ‘No! You don’t say? And me with my crap education thought it was in Africa.’

  James grinned and held his hands up in mock surrender.

  ‘And are you at uni in Scotland, then?’ Lizzie asked.

  James shook his head.

  ‘I was at Oxford with Charlie,’ he explained. ‘But I’m about to start a Masters in International Human Rights Law at Birkbeck College in London.’

  ‘Wow,’ Lizzie began, and then decided to change the subject. No way did she want to look even mildly impressed. Or surprised that James Darcy was even vaguely interested in human rights.

  ‘And how about your aunt’s horse? Is that an OK subject?’

  ‘He’s called The Bog Hurdler and he runs in the 2.45 – that’s the second race. Can’t see him doing much, though; he’s used to a mile and this is a mile and two furlongs. He won’t stay, the trainer’s already said that, but when my aunt makes her mind up about something, nothing will shift her.’