Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Everything okay?’ said Juliet.

  ‘That was work,’ said Amy distractedly.

  ‘Don’t let David hear you say that,’ said Claire, her smile fading as she saw the serious look on Amy’s face.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Juliet, sitting up and placing her book on her lap.

  ‘E-Squared are throwing a dinner on the same night as the Fashion 500 gala. And it’s in London.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Juliet, immediately grasping the gravity of the problem. ‘Do we know what they’re doing? Is it just a dinner or a big party?’

  ‘Doesn’t really matter, does it? They’re inviting the same fashion people, and fashion people are fickle.’

  ‘But your party’s going to be enormous, isn’t it?’ said Claire. ‘Surely people won’t miss out on that.’

  Juliet shook her head. ‘It’s the distance, darling. It could be a visit to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon; people get jumpy when they have to leave Zone Two.’

  ‘Can’t you fly them there in helicopters?’

  Amy smiled. ‘I think you’ve spent too long in Max’s orbit, honey. And no, it’s too expensive and too intrusive for that many people.’

  ‘Well you can’t cancel now,’ said Juliet. ‘We’re just going to have to find some way of getting them all there.’

  ‘What about a cruise?’ said Claire.

  Amy groaned. ‘Serious ideas, please. We can’t move Blenheim to the coast.’

  ‘No, I meant like a river cruise. Max and I went on one on the Nile a few years ago. It was gorgeous, all ball gowns and silver service, so chic.’

  Juliet pouted thoughtfully. ‘Blenheim’s just north of Oxford, isn’t it? Could you cruise up the Thames?’

  But Amy wasn’t listening. She’d swung her legs off the sunlounger and reached across to Juliet, picking up the Agatha Christie novel she’d been reading. ‘What about this?’ she said, holding up the cover. ‘Not Death on the Nile, like Claire’s cruise, but Murder on the Orient Express!’

  ‘Murder?’ said Claire dubiously.

  ‘We get one of those old steam trains and ask everyone to dress up in 1920s glam. Butlers with white gloves, and beaded dresses and fur coats and . . .’ She looked up, her eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t you think that’d be amazing?’

  Juliet stared at her for a moment, then a smile drifted across her face. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

  Chapter 12

  Max groaned as he dropped a cardboard box on the table. ‘Christ, this is the hardest I’ve worked in ten years,’ he puffed, using the tail of his garish shirt – bright blue parrots today – to mop his brow.

  Amy looked up from her lounger. She had spent the hour since lunch furiously making notes about the Blenheim Express, as she was now thinking of it, and felt more energised than she had in ages.

  ‘What are you doing, Max?’ she called.

  ‘Oh, haven’t you heard?’ Max tore open the box and held up a dress. ‘We’re doing a photo shoot.’

  That piqued Amy’s interest, and she put down her notebook and walked down the steps from the terrace. To her surprise, she found a young man in shorts crouching at the far end of the pool fitting a long lens to a camera on a tripod.

  ‘That’s Willem, he’s the snapper. Does a lot of our catalogue shoots,’ said Max, still sorting through the box of clothes. ‘Don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before, really. I’m sick of paying corporate rates for all those location houses. Some of them charge twenty grand a day. I reckon this place could pay for itself within five years.’

  Claire walked over. ‘Darling, we bought the house for quality family time together. And I spent fifteen years on photo shoots. They’re irritating and boring. Do you really want to bring them here?’

  Max waved a hand. ‘We’ll see how it goes. Anyway, turns out Willem has a house in Ménerbes. Bunged him a couple of K to come down for the day.’

  The young man looked up and waved, then turned back to his equipment.

  Amy peered into another of the boxes piled next to the pool: kaftans, she guessed, or perhaps headscarves. It was the sort of casual leisurewear Max’s company sold by the truckload. ‘I didn’t know you had this planned.’

  ‘I didn’t, not until I saw Josie in the pool yesterday.’

  Amy’s eyes opened wide. ‘Josie?’

  Max nodded enthusiastically. ‘She was looking so glorious splashing about with the girls, the sun was all hazy, dragonflies and whatnot, and I thought – pow! – too good an opportunity to miss. Got the entire beach range Fedexed overnight.’

  ‘But Josie?’ stuttered Amy. ‘I mean, she’s not a model.’

  Max waved a hand. ‘All the better. Models are a pain in the arse, eating lettuce and needing Evian twenty-four/seven. Anyway, our punters like to see the clothes in a natural light; they prefer the girl-next-door type. Models make them feel fat.’

  Amy looked at the pool with her professional eye. Max did have a point. It looked perfect with the sun slanting off the water and the golden brick of the house in the background. But Josie? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the idea of the girl being in a fashion shoot made her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Josie is supposed to be looking after Tilly and the twins, remember?’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Max, snapping his fingers. ‘Peter’s doing a show with them in the pool house while she’s in hair and make-up.’

  As if on cue, Josie walked out of the house wearing one of the kaftans Amy had seen in the cardboard box. Wow, she thought. Josie’s hair was sleek and bouncy, her skin tanned and shiny. She was pretty, but not beautiful. And sexy too, in a wholesome kind of way.

  ‘Isn’t she magnificent?’ said Max, a pleased grin on his face, but Amy thought Josie looked awkward and nervous, standing with her arms folded defensively across her chest. She walked over to her.

  ‘Are you okay to do this?’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.’

  The girl looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry, Amy, I didn’t think to ask. I mean, Max was so flattering, and Peter said he’d watch the girls . . .’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine with me,’ said Amy. ‘That’s why I asked: I know that Max can be very persuasive when he gets an idea in his head. I just wanted to check you wanted to do it.’

  Josie straightened her back and smoothed her hands down her thighs, as if she were gaining control of herself. ‘I’ll do it. I don’t want to let Max down, he’s been so nice.’

  ‘Josie, it’s not about Max—’

  ‘Mummy!’ Amy was cut off as Tilly ran across and wrapped herself around her legs. ‘Where have you been? Me ’n’ Hettie and Alex are doing a play. I’m being Red Riding Hood.’

  Peter was trailing behind Tilly looking exhausted. ‘Does someone else want to take over?’ he asked with a good-natured grimace.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute, okay, Tilly?’ said Amy, but when she turned back, Josie was being led away by the photographer. Amy watched as she laughed at something Willem had said, her eyes lighting up, her smile wide, genuine. And suddenly she saw Josie for what she was: not their new nanny, not Karen’s daughter, just a young girl on an adventure, trying new things, having fun. Wasn’t that why Amy had offered to help her in the first place? To get her out of Potts Field, to show her another side of life, opportunities beyond the high walls of the estate? But still, she couldn’t shake her uneasy feeling.

  She felt responsible for Josie, that was for sure. But she wasn’t entirely convinced that the stiffening of her back was a protective maternal instinct kicking in. No, she didn’t like watching the way Josie’s presence made Willem behave. She didn’t like to see her effect on men.

  ‘Mummy?’ said Tilly, her little neck craned back to see her face. ‘Do you want to come and watch our play?’

  Amy smiled. ‘Of course I do.
’

  She looked over at Josie again. You’ve got to stop trying to be her mother, she told herself. You’ve got an actual daughter who needs you.

  ‘All right, Peter,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he breathed, striding off towards the house without a backwards glance.

  ‘Looks like Mummy’s in charge now,’ said Amy, ruffling Tilly’s hair. ‘Why don’t we do the play outside on the lawn? It’s much too nice out here to be stuck inside the pool house.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ said Tilly, jumping up and down. Amy smiled to herself, remembering how primary school teachers had pulled the same trick down the years, making sitting on the grass seem like a real treat.

  ‘Let’s go and get Hettie and the props,’ said Amy. ‘So if you’re Red Riding Hood, can I be the Big Bad Wolf?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Tilly, suddenly serious. ‘Daddy is the Big Bad Wolf.’

  It was a long play. Both Tilly and Hettie wanted to play the lead role, leading to a protracted negotiation that was only resolved when Amy suggested there should be two Red Riding Hoods, twin sisters who both needed to visit Grandma’s house on urgent business. There was another hitch when David’s turn as the Big Bad Wolf was cut short by Max calling him out to the pool, but it was the big finale involving all the girls’ stuffed toys singing a rousing chorus of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ that took up most of the time. The song had to be rerun four or five times so that various teddies didn’t miss their chance in the limelight. It was, however, a lot of fun lolling about there on the sunny lawn, and after the first ten minutes, Amy had allowed herself to relax into her role as stagehand and chief cheerleader. It was wonderful to watch the kids interacting with each other. Once they’d settled on a pecking order, they played nicely, laughing, teasing, making up crazy jokes that only made sense if you were under ten. Why couldn’t adults get along so easily?

  Amy left the children to get a snack while she walked back to the pool, stretching after too long bent-backed on the ground. Max was leaning back in his chair, see-sawing back and forth on two legs in the manner that universally drove teachers mad.

  ‘How’s the shoot going?’ she asked.

  ‘Great, great. Josie’s a natural.’

  Amy looked across to where Josie was emerging from the water wearing a green bikini, the sun glimmering on the droplets on her skin. Willem the photographer was peering into his camera and calling out encouragement. ‘Yes! Yes! More of that! Now look over your shoulder and wave. Higher arm! Higher!’

  ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’ said Max. ‘And don’t they make a lovely couple?’

  ‘Couple?’

  Amy looked beyond Josie and for the first time noticed David, who was wearing ludicrous red Bermuda shorts and waving at Josie.

  ‘Hang on, David’s in the shoot now?’

  ‘Just background shots,’ said Max, shrugging. ‘The punters like to see a family set-up.’

  Willem looked up from his camera. ‘Day-vid, can you please look as if you’re happy to see her? Look, she’s wearing her new bikini.’

  Amy watched as David gave a wider smile. He was usually uncomfortable having his photo taken, but he seemed to be enjoying this.

  ‘Josie, smooth your hair back and walk towards David,’ called Willem, the camera motor whirring. ‘That’s it, more slinky, more sex. Now touch his shoulder, like he’s teasing you.’

  Mesmerised, Amy watched the scene, this tableau of the fake couple at play around the swanky pool. Only it didn’t look fake. It looked real, David and Josie, the handsome older man and his sexy cellulite-free trophy wife.

  ‘All right,’ shouted Max, clapping his hands. ‘That’ll do. We’ll bring the kids in for the next one.’

  ‘The kids?’ said Amy. ‘I hope you don’t mean Tilly.’

  ‘Don’t worry, they won’t be in shot – well, not really. Just cavorting about blurred in the background.’

  ‘No, Max,’ said Amy firmly, not sure she wanted her daughter all over Max’s company’s promo material. ‘It’s enough that you’ve co-opted my husband.’

  ‘Don’t you want to help my business, Amy?’ said Max, in a ridiculous sing-song voice.

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Max, we both know that I have done a great deal to help Quinn, as has Juliet, as have all your friends.’

  He couldn’t deny it. The brand had received a huge amount of free editorial space from both Verve and Living Style down the years, not to mention the two women putting in a good word with other journalists and editor friends. But it was typical of Max to demand more and more, a sulky little boy with a quivering lip who stamped his foot whenever anyone said no.

  ‘David was keen!’ he said. ‘He wanted to do it!’

  ‘And I suppose you twisting his arm had nothing to do with it?’

  ‘I may have twisted a little, but he’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.’

  ‘Not when it comes to Tilly. Not without my say-so. That’s how it works when you’re married.’

  ‘Mummy?’ Tilly was pulling at her sleeve, but Amy was intent on venting her anger on Max.

  ‘Not now, Tills, I’m telling off Uncle Max.’

  ‘I don’t feel well, Mummy.’

  That got her attention. She looked down at her daughter and gasped in sudden horror. Tilly’s face was bright red.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said, kneeling down in front of her. ‘Are you hot?’

  ‘Really hot,’ nodded Tilly. ‘It’s like my skin’s made of lava.’

  Amy gently put a hand on Tilly’s face, and they both flinched, Tilly from the pain and Amy from the heat. The little girl was burning up.

  ‘I think she’s caught the sun,’ said Max, looking at her warily.

  Amy’s stomach turned over. Oh God. In her rush to get the girls out onto the lawn, she hadn’t made them put on any sunscreen – and they’d been in the pool all morning, washing off any protection they might have had. No wonder Tilly looked like a lobster.

  Claire rushed across holding her daughter by the hand. Mercifully Hettie and Alex looked relatively unscathed. ‘We should of been wearing hats,’ she said piously, then looked up at her mother for approval. ‘We do that at school.’

  ‘Oh darling, does it hurt?’ Claire looked at Tilly in horror.

  ‘Yes, and I feel a bit sicky too. Can I have some ice cream?’

  ‘Maybe later,’ said Amy as David strode over. ‘First we need to cool you down and put on some suncream.’

  ‘It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?’ snapped David, taking Tilly by the shoulders and leading her away. Amy noted that he didn’t look in her direction. He didn’t need to.

  ‘Is Tilly going to get cancer?’ asked Hettie. ‘That’s what Miss Baker at school said. She said if you don’t wear hats and cream you die of cancer.’

  ‘No, Hettie,’ said Claire. ‘Tilly’s just a bit burnt. She’ll be fine.’

  Amy mouthed ‘sorry’ to Claire, then turned towards the house, walking quickly so no one could see the tears running down her face.

  Chapter 13

  Tilly was finally asleep, breathing gently in and out, one arm thrown around Mr Lion, today’s favourite toy. Cool towels draped over her face and forearms had lowered her temperature, and the cream from Max and Claire’s huge medicine cabinet had taken most of the sting from the burns. Alain, Max’s driver, had been in the medical corps in the French military, and his gentle bedside manner – plus his prognosis that Tilly would peel a little but would otherwise be fine in a few days – had calmed both the little girl and her parents. Well, Amy at least. David was fuming, and this time, Amy couldn’t really blame him.

  She reached across and pulled the sheet a little higher. Without the pink skin, Tilly would have been perfect, and this moment – mother and daughter at the end of a long, warm day – would ha
ve been perfect too. It was Amy’s favourite time of day, no question. Working mums got precious little time with their kids, and what they did get was concentrated at either end of the day, compressed like a handful of multicoloured Plasticine. Each moment with Tilly was a bubble of intense joy although it was often accompanied by a sense of exhaustion or the nagging feeling that she had to shoot off to do something

  Today was no different, so there was both relief and sadness when Tilly had finally flaked out. Amy sat there on the edge of the bed, stroking her daughter’s perfect head, trying to hold the image in her head like an overexposed photograph. She was painfully aware that her time with Tilly was slipping through her fingers. Where had that tiny baby gone, the toddler with the golden hair and the single tooth? Disappeared already, passed into memory while she was fretting about cover lines and captions. She bent her head, listening. Air in, air out. Right now, it was all she asked.

  She tugged the sheet over Tilly’s shoulder and dropped a kiss on her forehead, then got up and went back to her own room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard a splash from outside, the slap and ripple as someone entered the water. She walked to the window and looked out. There were lights strung between the trees and underwater lighting in the pool, and she could see Josie diving beneath the surface, her body distorted, stretched by refraction, the green water churning as she surfaced and stroked effortlessly one end to the other – a tumble turn, then back again.

  Where had she learned that? wondered Amy. Not at the Mermaid, surely, the crappy municipal leisure centre on the outskirts of Westmead, all cracked tiles and veruccas. You couldn’t move for kids bombing and dunking each other most weekends; certainly no room to perfect a decent crawl. But then Amy hadn’t been back to the estate in years; the sporting facilities in the area could have come on in leaps and bounds for all she knew. She stood watching Josie’s sleek body cutting through the water – swish, swish, duck, swish, swish – and felt unsettled. There was no sense to it, no reason to suspect anything about her. But still there was that nagging sensation.