by FJ Campbell
He stepped closer to her and bent his mouth to her ear, careful not to touch her. ‘Why don’t you let me drive you back home? Or I could drive you to the party? If you get caught drink-driving, you’ll be in trouble. They always have extra cops on the road into town after race days – they’ll be waiting for you.’
‘Shit. Is that true? You’re not just saying it to make me go home with you?’
Milo couldn’t believe she was flirting with him. He blushed. Floppy had noticed too, and he climbed into the driver’s seat and revved the engine of the ludicrous jeep. Livvy and the others were calling to Elizabeth, but she ignored them and the jeep roared off.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s charming, isn’t it? Now I’ll have to come with you.’ But she looked relieved. ‘Why don’t you come to the party too? Come and have some fun. You look like you need it.’
Milo led her to Mrs Toms’ car, opened the door for her and wound down the window on her side. He drove out of the now-dark racecourse car park and as he turned onto the road to Melchester, he asked her for her address. She didn’t answer, and he glanced over, only to discover she was asleep.
Milo chuckled, despite himself. All the tension from seeing her again disappeared. She had fallen asleep in his car. Unbelievable girl. Also, her language was appalling. He pulled over and reached for her bag, to find her address. He rummaged around for a minute before he found a fake ID card with her name and an address in Melchester on it.
He headed towards the Cathedral Close and found the street, no problem. He rang the doorbell, keeping his fingers crossed that it was a real address and that Elizabeth’s aunt, with whom Livvy had said she lived, wouldn’t be home tonight. There was no answer. Good. Her keys were in her bag too, so he opened the door of the house before going back to the car. He gave her a gentle shake but she was fast asleep, so – taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves – he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house. His heart was thumping so loudly, he was certain it would wake her any second.
Inside, he didn’t know where to take her: up the stairs to her bedroom, the thought of which nearly made his legs buckle under him; or through a half-open doorway to the left into a living room. He thought that would be the safer option, and so pushed open the door with his elbow and managed to get her through the narrow doorway without banging her head on the frame. There were two sofas facing each other and a low table between them, covered with books, newspapers and old coffee mugs, overflowing ashtrays and something that might have been a pizza last week. He laid her down as gently as he could on one of the sofas and spread a blanket from the back of the sofa over her. He plonked down on the other sofa, exhausted, and gazed at her.
*
He must have fallen asleep because when he jolted awake, the clock on the mantelpiece said three o’clock. He didn’t feel like leaving her yet; if she woke up she might be confused, or she might need him if she was sick in the night. It was the responsible thing to do, to stay with her.
He peered back into the hallway and found his way to the kitchen, to make himself a cup of instant coffee. The living room and kitchen were small and the hallway was narrow. He felt too large for it all. There were some unpacked removal boxes lying about; he stubbed his toe on one and splashed coffee on his jeans. There wasn’t much furniture, and the kitchen was pretty much empty, except for some more dirty coffee cups and a loaf of bread on what looked like a garden table. Milo looked in the fridge – the milk was off. He decided to drink his coffee black.
Back at the sofa, he started looking through the books on the table. There was one underneath a pile of last week’s newspapers, a new hardback called Ten Lives by James Hurst. He opened it with mild curiosity and a letter fell out of the first page. He wasn’t meaning to read it, but somehow the word ‘Beth’ caught his eye and he couldn’t help himself.
Dear Anne,
So, here it is at last. I hope it’s something we can all be proud of, because without your help and Beth’s agreement, I couldn’t have done it.
The publishers are on board with all our ideas about how to protect both of your anonymity; you can see that all of the pictures they used were the ones we agreed showed the family resemblance least. I think we can get away with this, I really do.
I’m still waiting to hear from the agent in LA about when I need to be there, but I’ll plan to stay for at least two years. After that, Beth will be in a better position to protect herself, or at least make her own choices about her future.
See you on the 13th.
Big kisses for my favourite sister and niece,
James
Milo was confused. Why did Elizabeth need protecting? Who were Anne and James? Her aunt and uncle? What about LA? Feeling sure the answers must be in Ten Lives, Milo started reading, turning page after page, speed-reading, in case she woke up. The book was a biography of the Sauveterres, a mega-famous couple in the 1960s; he was a successful fashion designer, everyone in the world knew who he was. He married a stunningly beautiful young model, and they were a sort of mad party couple who lived in hotels, knew rock stars, partied with royalty and never stopped working and being talented and beautiful and cool. They basically were on a bender that lasted for about a decade.
And then suddenly that stopped. They stopped. They apparently decided one day to have a baby. Crazy decision, crazy people. But with the news of the baby, they changed. They did an interview together on a TV chat show, saying that the baby was the best thing that would ever happen to them, and they were going to settle down and give it a stable, normal life. They did some charity work, gave away all their money, moved to the countryside, stopped modelling, stopped designing – they became Mr and Mrs Ordinary. They did another interview when the baby was born, saying she was a miracle and that they had decided to live a new life full of good deeds.
That carried on for another year or so, and people lapped it up. They loved this ex-glamorous couple and their new virtuous life and their sweet baby, and yet people said how incredible it was that they had got away with all the drugs and the parties, their life of sin. And then the Sauveterres went and got themselves killed in a car crash.
That was August 1974. Their deaths made the front cover of every newspaper in every country in the world, and the world mourned the loss of their darlings. The book ended with the funeral, attended by hundreds of film stars, models, fashion people, royalty and anyone who was anyone.
Milo closed the book and knew without doubt what this meant: James Hurst was Elizabeth’s uncle, Anne was her aunt, their sister was the famous model, and the baby, the little girl who everyone assumed had died in the car crash, that had to be Elizabeth. Adopted by Anne, who changed her surname to Atkinson to protect her from being exposed to the press. Milo had never heard of the Sauveterres before now, but he knew about Ten Lives because he’d seen it in all the bookshop windows and the bestseller lists in W. H. Smith’s.
Milo closed the book and let it sink in. His mind whirling, thoughts whizzing in and out of his head, he tried to make sense of it. This girl, this miraculous girl who, let’s face it, he was madly in love with, was something like royalty. Even now, he could feel her drifting away from him as she lay there on the sofa, looking like a sleeping angel, and his heart ached because he knew for sure she would never want him. What was he? The son of teachers and grandson of farmers. He was nothing special, not jet set like her; he had never even been abroad, except to Jersey, which he thought didn’t count.
Time passed, the ticking of the clock moving him forwards to the moment when she would wake and he would be faced with this new Elizabeth, who would always be out of his reach. He wanted to stop time right there, freeze this night so that he would never have to face up to that. But he couldn’t, and around nine o’clock she stirred and opened her eyes.
‘Milo?’ She stretched and sat up on the sofa, looked around, wrinkling her forehead in confusion and pain. ‘The thing is, I have a shocking headache and I’m going to need a cof
fee before I can work out what’s going on here… would you…? No milk please…’
Milo, dark circles under his eyes, his frayed and dirty shirt stinking of yesterday’s work at the racecourse, his back aching and his heart as good as broken, stood up, rubbed his eyes and turned away from her towards the kitchen. When he returned with two coffees, they sat opposite each other and sipped in silence. Her eyes fell on the book, lying face down on top of the newspapers. She looked quickly from the book to him and he couldn’t hide from her that he knew. Here it comes, thought Milo. She’s going to tell me to leave, shout at me, give me one of her evil glares. But she didn’t. She let out a long sigh and flopped back against the sofa cushions.
‘Shit. Crap. I just need to think.’ She rubbed the base of her palm on her forehead and closed her eyes briefly. ‘OK, listen, you can’t tell anyone about this. I dread the life I’d have to live if anyone knew who I was.’ She shuddered. ‘I have to be able to… just be me. Can you do this for me? Can you keep this secret?’ She joined him on his sofa. ‘Look at me, Milo, this is important.’
He looked at her and saw that she was serious and there was a fierce determination in her eyes.
‘You stepped up for me last night when I needed you. Now I need you to do it again. You brought me back here, I was drunk, you didn’t take advantage of me—’
‘God, no, I would never—’
‘Relax. The question is, can I trust you? What I need you to be is my friend. Not boyfriend, friend. Do you understand?’
He swallowed and paused, knowing that this was all she could offer him now, and it made him feel grey and empty to think that this was all it could ever be.
‘Yes. You can trust me, I can be your friend.’
CHAPTER 4
It was almost lunchtime when Milo left her house. She closed the door and leant against it for a moment, before wandering through the living room towards the garden. She picked up Ten Lives and flicked through its pages, stopping to look at the photos of her mum and dad. With the book in her hand, she settled herself into a deckchair and closed her eyes, the remnants of her hangover making her feel lethargic.
She smiled as she thought about Milo. What a nice, solid guy he was. She barely knew him, but she had an instinct she could trust him. It was the strangest feeling – when she’d realised he’d read the book and put two and two together, instead of anger or fear, she’d felt only relief. Then she’d spilled everything. For the very first time in her life, she had told someone about her parents, just as Anne and James had told her when she was a little girl.
‘Why did they tell you when you were so young? Didn’t it upset you?’ Milo had asked. He looked exhausted, he reeked of stale alcohol (yesterday Livvy had said something funny about an exploding champagne bottle; she hadn’t made much sense, she’d been wasted), his hair was tousled and dirty and his eyes were half closed. But he insisted he was fine. Beth felt sorry for him, so she plied him with coffee and toast and he beamed at her. Easy to please.
‘Not so much, really. I was too young, I suppose, to know what it meant. I just accepted it. Like you do. I thought it was quite exciting, to have a real name and a made-up name. I used to… umm…’
‘What?’
‘No, nothing. It was so silly.’
‘Go on. You can tell me.’
‘No, I really can’t.’
‘It can’t be that bad. When I was young, my best friend was also an only child, and we used to pretend we were brothers. We thought we had it all worked out – my mum, his dad, they must have “done sex” together.’ Milo wiggled his fingers in the air. ‘So one day we accused them of it and, let me tell you, they were not at all impressed. We got into so much trouble.’
‘They didn’t see the funny side of it?’
‘Might have been something to do with the fact that we made the accusation in front of about a hundred people, all of whom knew my parents, at the village fete.’
Beth smiled.
‘And once, when I was about nine, I tried to run away, to go to his house. I had a map of England, a compass, all my Beano comics and a bar of Kendal mint cake. Suffice it to say, I didn’t get there.’
‘There? Where did he live?’
‘London.’
Beth burst out laughing. ‘OK, well, I suppose it’s not that bad. I’ll tell you mine. But it goes no further than this room, agreed?’
Milo nodded, with a serious look on his face.
‘I used to pretend I was this girl called Elizabeth de Sauveterre – please note the addition of the pretentious “de” – and that I was a heroic soldier lifting the siege at Orleans and burning at the stake.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Or that I was a doomed but plucky princess languishing in the Bastille.’ Beth felt safe; she liked telling Milo all this stuff. ‘Or an ingenious Resistance spy caught by the Gestapo.’
‘Not that ingenious, then.’
‘Exactly.’ She grinned. ‘I just always had to be French and I always died young. Read into that what you will.’
Milo looked like he was about to fall asleep. More coffee required.
She continued, ‘It was a good plan, to change my name. I didn’t know it at the time, but all Anne and James ever wanted for me was to have an ordinary childhood. A normal life. Not like my mum.’
‘How come nobody ever tried to look for the baby – for you? The press, I mean. Didn’t anyone ever suss out that you weren’t in the car on the night of the crash?’
‘Don’t know. Anne and James reckon it was a complete fluke. There were a couple of reports and questions in some newspapers, but it never came to much. Then, two weeks after the funeral, Watergate happened and Nixon resigned. Our story was forgotten. Anne and James used to do this toast at Christmas to Tricky Dick and then pour wine down their Deep Throats.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess you had to be there.’
‘So then, what made your uncle write the book if you were all so happy being ordinary? If you thought you’d got away with it?’
Beth hesitated. She’d been asking herself the same question this whole time. ‘I know. It seems stupid, doesn’t it? But we thought about it for ages and there were loads of reasons to do it. We knew that the story would come out anyway, sooner or later, and we thought this way would give us more control over it. We also… I know it’s greedy, but we’ve never had any money. We had enough to get by, but never more than that, do you know what I mean?’
Milo nodded like he knew exactly what she meant.
‘And we thought it would be cool to have a bit of extra pocket money; it was too much to resist. But then it all got out of hand. The publisher’s pissing his pants because it’s selling like hot cakes and James’ agent is talking about Hollywood, and then these cheques start turning up and… I dunno, it was all so exciting and we just couldn’t stop it, or didn’t want to. I suppose we thought we deserved it, anyway. Anne and James never got a penny from my parents; they gave away all their money or snorted it up their noses. Ten Lives is payback.’
Beth tried not to sound bitter, but she had always had a measure of contempt for her parents, no matter how much Anne and James had adored them, because in her opinion they’d been spoilt and selfish. Their decision to bring her into the world had seemingly been made while they were having some sort of drug-addled mental fit. Not a thought of how it might be for her: a life of being stared at and talked about, simply because of who they were. But Anne had given her as normal a childhood as possible, and for that she was eternally grateful.
Milo said, ‘And why did you choose The Island?’
‘The what?’
‘The Island – Weatherbury Hall. Didn’t you know everyone calls it that?’
‘No, it wasn’t in the official speech.’
‘It’s been called that for as long as I’ve been around. It’s so cut off, you see – the river to the south, all the farmland to the west and north, and the hills to the east. It’s so remote, one road in, one road out – it may as well be a
n island.’
‘Huh. Well, I think that was kind of the point for us. We wanted somewhere that was out of the way, so that I could just kind of disappear again for a couple of years. James had to go to LA to write the screenplay and if there was no connection between us, we thought we’d stay anonymous for another few years. So The Island is a perfect hideout.’
Milo shuffled in his seat and rubbed his hands on his jeans absent-mindedly. ‘I… I don’t know how to thank you for what you did. The scholarship. I couldn’t believe that someone would do that… be so generous.’ He raised his eyes to hers. ‘One day I’ll pay you back.’
She shook her head. ‘No you won’t. Don’t think of it that way – that I gave you money. Even if you hadn’t needed that scholarship, I still would’ve given it up. It would have been unfair for me to take it when someone else could use the financial help.’ She saw his shoulders slump. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it was you who benefited. But for me, it was more about the principle,’ Beth lied smoothly. Milo didn’t need to know how much she would have pushed to ensure he got her scholarship.
Milo stood up, unfurling himself and easing up to his full height. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at school next week.’
*
She fell asleep on her deckchair and awoke to the sound of the phone ringing.
‘Hi, it’s me, Livvy. We lost you last night. What happened?’
‘You didn’t lose me, you left me at the racecourse, remember?’
‘Ah, but we left you in good hands. Milo take you home?’
‘Yes.’
‘And…?’
‘And what? I hope you’re not suggesting, Miss Rose, that anything happened with me and Milo last night?’
‘When did he leave?’
‘Mmm? Pardon?’ Beth cursed to herself.
‘At what hour did the gentleman leave, Miss Atkinson?’
Bloody Livvy. ‘About half an hour ago,’ she mumbled as quietly as she could.
