by Mia James
‘Hi, Grandpa,’ she gasped.
‘Too grown-up to give your grandfather a kiss?’ he said.
‘Of course not, Gramps,’ said April, kissing his leathery cheek.
‘That’s better. Now let me have a look at you,’ he said, stepping back to inspect her. ‘Ah, you have my good looks, Princess.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re growing into a fine woman, just like your mum, huh?’
‘Poppa, you’re embarrassing her,’ scolded Silvia, although April could see she had enjoyed the compliment.
‘Embarrass you?’ he roared, squeezing April’s cheeks with his paw. ‘Why should my girls be embarrassed that they’re beautiful?’
A thin, familiar figure in a dark suit appeared at Thomas’s elbow. ‘Afternoon tea is served, sir,’ he announced in a subdued voice.
‘Ah! Thank you, Stanton,’ replied Thomas, turning and putting his arms around the two women’s shoulders. ‘Shall we have some cake?’
He led them through the wide entrance hall and under an archway into the drawing room. It was just as remarkable as the rest of the house, with a high ceiling, elaborate plaster mouldings and a carved mahogany fireplace, above which hung a huge portrait of a man looking remarkably like Thomas, only he had a moustache and was sitting proudly astride a rearing horse. Her grandfather caught April looking at the painting as they sat down in armchairs arranged around an elegant walnut table formally laid with crisp linen and polished silver.
‘Do you remember you were always frightened of that picture as a girl?’ Thomas laughed. ‘You would hide under the table and squeak, “Grandpa, he’s looking at me.”’
‘Well, who can blame her?’ said Silvia. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘Horrible? Nonsense!’ cried Thomas. ‘It’s magnificent!’
‘I always thought he was a villain from a fairy tale,’ said April. ‘Like the wicked uncle who captures the princess and tries to take over the kingdom.’
Thomas roared with laughter and reached over to squeeze April’s hand affectionately. ‘That is your ancestor, Princess, a very great man. He was known as the Black Prince.’
‘Poppa, don’t start with all this again,’ said Silvia irritably.
‘Why not? She should know her lineage - how else can she learn who she is? Especially now you live so close to your ancestors.’
Silvia shot her father a look, but Thomas ignored her and turned to April.
‘I thought you knew our family has a vault in Highgate Cemetery?’
‘No way!’ said April, almost choking in surprise. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I thought your mother would have told you. You have a great-uncle and two cousins there,’ said Thomas proudly. ‘That branch of the family came to London many years ago. I wanted to bury your grandmother there, God rest her soul, but it wasn’t to be.’
‘Why not? What happened to Grandma?’ asked April. Her father’s parents were both dead and neither of her parents ever talked about their extended families, so she was very sketchy regarding her relatives. April noticed that look pass between her mother and grandfather again.
‘Your grandmother went back to the Old Country,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s what she wanted—’
‘Not now, Daddy,’ interrupted Silvia. ‘Perhaps when April is older—’
Thomas frowned. ‘Why do you always do this, Silvia? It’s always “when she is older”, “she won’t understand”. I think you underestimate my princess. She’s a strong woman, like all Hamilton women.’
They stared at each other for a moment. April looked from her mother to her grandfather.
‘What? What is it?’ she asked. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘It’s nothing, darling,’ said Silvia, with a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘Just some stupid myths and superstition.’
Her grandfather looked as if he was about to say something, then looked away and shook his head.
‘So this Black Prince,’ asked April, intrigued now, ‘who was he?’
‘He was a visionary and a revolutionary,’ said Thomas proudly, puffing out his chest. ‘his family owes him a debt we can never repay. We would be mere peasants begging for scraps were it not for your great-great-grandfather’s bravery—’
‘Poppa!’ said Silvia with force. April had seen that look on her mother’s face before. It was the ‘don’t mess with me’ look she got when she had made up her mind about something. Only April’s father dared to defy her when she looked that fierce - and he had the scars to show for it.
‘Yes, yes, perhaps you’re right,’ said Thomas, smiling at April indulgently and reaching out to stroke her face. ‘Maybe I’ll save the history lesson for another time. Ah, here come the florentines.’
They ate and drank in silence for a while, listening to the rain rattling against the windows. The weather had been getting steadily worse over the past few days and now it sounded like a storm was building.
‘A toast, I think,’ said Thomas, tapping a silver spoon against his teacup. ‘To my dearest daughters and to family.’
They raised their cups and the mood lightened.
‘So,’ said Thomas, smiling at April, ‘I hear you’re going to a party?’
April glanced at her mother before answering. ‘Yes, a girl from my new school has invited me to her Halloween party.’
‘Well, that’s good!’ said Thomas with pleasure. ‘Making friends already, it’s important to have friends.’
‘It’s at a very big house in Highgate, Poppa,’ said Silvia. ‘April’s friend comes from a very wealthy family.’
‘Mum,’ said April, reprovingly, ‘like that’s important.’
‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t be letting you out on a Sunday night if I didn’t think they were the right sort of people.’
‘Mum!’ said April, exasperated. ‘ “The right sort of people”?’
‘No, your mother’s right, Princess,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s good to have wealth. Don’t be afraid of money, it’s a good thing. Only those who have never known poverty think money isn’t important.’
‘But I’m not going to the party because Davina’s dad’s rich,’ protested April. ‘Anyway, it’s not even Davina’s party, it’s at Milo’s house. Some of us aren’t so shallow as to judge people only on their money,’ she added, looking pointedly at her mother.
‘But maybe you’ll meet a nice rich boy there?’ said Thomas with a sly smile.
‘Grandpa, we’re not all boy-crazy, you know.’
‘Well, if you’re anything like your mother …’ he teased.
‘Poppa!’
‘Oh yes, all the boys came running when my Silvia walked by, I can tell you.’ Thomas smiled proudly. ‘She was the most beautiful girl in London back then. Still is.’
‘Please, Poppa,’ said Silvia, smiling despite herself.
‘No, tell me more,’ said April, glad to have the attention deflected away from her and her non-existent boyfriends. ‘I’ve never heard what Mum was like when she was my age.’
‘A wildcat!’ cried Thomas. ‘She would sneak out of the school window to go to all these stylish parties in Chelsea, meeting all these boys from Eton and Harrow. She thinks I don’t know, but the headmaster told me everything.’
April was pleased to see her mother blush: another first.
‘She was exactly the same at university, running around with the lord of this or the marquis of that. There was even an American she was very sweet on. Texas oil heir, isn’t that right, Silvie?’
‘Rhett’s family—’
‘Rhett!’ April laughed. ‘He wasn’t really called Rhett, was he?’
‘His mother was a big fan of Gone with the Wind,’ said Silvia defensively. ‘And it wasn’t just oil, they had interests in electronics too.’
April found herself in fits of giggles, partly because of the mental image of her mother cast as Scarlett O’Hara, partly from the pleasure of seeing Silvia squirm as her dirty laundry was aired.
‘Your mother was even
engaged to a sultan at one point.’ Thomas grinned mischievously.
‘He wasn’t a sultan.’ Silvia sniffed. ‘He was an emir, and we were never officially engaged. I think he was far more committed to his polo ponies than he was to me!’
They all cracked up with laughter at this, and it finally broke the ice. April watched with pleasure as her mother relaxed fully for the first time in a long while. The banter between her and her father as he raked over Silvia’s old boyfriends and transgressions was warm and filled with genuine affection; a loving father and daughter reminiscing about the good old days. While she was happy to see them bond, it was tinged with sadness. April could vividly remember a time, not so very long ago, when this was exactly the way her parents had behaved towards each other; teasing and joking, enjoying the companionship and affection. How had it all changed? Why had it all become so tense and difficult? How could two people who loved one another become such a raw irritation to each other so quickly?
‘Of course, your mother was never much good at picking the right man,’ her grandfather was saying.
There was an abrupt frosty silence. April could suddenly hear the rain drumming on the windows and the traffic on the wet roads outside.
Brilliant, thought April, a sinking feeling in her stomach. When it was all going so well.
There was a long pause from the other side of the table before Silvia spoke.
‘And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?’ she asked quietly. To the untrained ear it was a simple enquiry, but to someone well versed in years of inter-family combat, it was a question loaded with history.
Thomas ignored his daughter and turned to April. ‘Your mum could have had her pick of the men in London. A billionaire, a prime minister, maybe even a real prince, but no. She married someone who writes about dragons and mermaids.’
‘Grandpa, please,’ said April, her eyes wide and pleading. ‘Don’t go through this again.’
‘No, I’d like to hear it,’ snapped Silvia. ‘It’s always interesting to have someone tell me how I should have lived my life, especially when their own life has been so blameless.’
‘What?’ asked Thomas innocently. ‘So I’m not allowed to discuss my own daughter’s life? I suppose I’m only your father, who fed you and clothed you—’
‘Oh, here we go,’ said Silvia, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘The same old story, again and again.’
‘Didn’t I give you the best education money can buy?’ he asked, colour coming into his face. ‘Didn’t I buy you a flat on the King’s Road and give you a sports car, keep your wardrobe full of all those boutique dresses? And how do you repay me? By marrying some loser!’
‘A loser? A LOSER?’ yelled Silvia, slamming her hand down on the table so hard the bone china rattled. ‘That’s what you call my husband, the father of my child? How dare you?’
‘I dare because I am your father, because I care about what happens to you.’
‘It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it, Poppa? A little late to be worrying about “what happens” to me? Like you didn’t have it all mapped out from the very start.’
Thomas glanced across at April. ‘Silvia …’ he said, his voice quivering with fury. ‘There’s no need to—’
‘Oh but I think there is,’ hissed Silvia. ‘I think there’s every reason. You were the one who wanted to tell your granddaughter about her heritage,’ she said, contemptuously gesturing at the glowering portrait above the fire. ‘Well, why don’t you tell her, if you’re so proud of everything you’ve done? If my husband is such a bum and you’re such a fine upstanding member of the human race, let’s hear it. Let’s tell her everything.’
April had never seen her mother more furious. She was leaning over the table now, glaring at her father. He was returning her gaze with defiance and she could see his shoulders quivering with anger. They were like a pair of dogs straining on the ends of their chains, desperate to tear at each other’s throats. Thomas looked away first.
‘This isn’t the time,’ he said quietly.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Silvia.
‘Please!’ said April. ‘I don’t know what you’re arguing about, but I hate to see you both like this. We were all having such a nice time - why do you always have to spoil it?’
‘See?’ said Silvia. ‘You’ve upset her now. You’re always the same, like a bull in a china shop with people’s feelings.’
‘No, Mum,’ said April, turning on her mother, ‘it’s not just Grandpa. You’re as bad as each other, always picking at the same bloody scab, whatever the hell it is.’
‘But, honey—’
‘No, don’t “honey” me, not this time.’ April threw her napkin down and pushed her chair back. ‘I asked you to be nice to Gramps today, but no, that was too much to ask, wasn’t it?’
‘Darling, your mum’s a passionate woman,’ said Thomas. ‘She was only—’
April turned to her grandfather. ‘And you’re just as bad. You always have to say something about Dad, don’t you? Even though you know it upsets Mum and upsets me. Well, you’re both right about something - I am old enough to see that you’re behaving like a pair of children. And I’m old enough to get a taxi home by myself. I’ll leave you to discuss whatever it is you can’t bear to tell me. I’m sure it’s fascinating, but I think I can live without knowing.’
‘But, Princess, honey—’
‘Forget it, Grandpa,’ she said, turning to leave, then swung back around. ‘And don’t call me Princess. From now on I’m April. Don’t forget it.’
Chapter Ten
It was a perfect Halloween: gloomy and cold, enlivened by the odd sudden downpour. April gazed out of her bedroom window at the dark treetops whirling in the wind, then flinched as the glass was peppered with hail. Yesterday had been miserable, with her shopping expedition under grey skies and the lashing rain at her grandfather’s house. By Sunday, the weather had wound itself up into a full-blown gale with the distant rumbles of thunder promising even more fun later on.
‘It’s pointless, Caro,’ moaned April. ‘Whatever we do with my hair, I’m going to end up looking like a drowned rat as soon as I go out there.’
‘Stop being such a wuss,’ said Caro, waving a huge can of hairspray. ‘And come back and sit down - I’ll make you look like a L’Oreal advert.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ April pouted, but sat back down on the chair that was serving as their makeshift salon.
‘Don’t worry - my mum’s a hairdresser, remember? I grew up with straighteners in my hand. Anyway, that’s the beauty of a Halloween-themed party. No one knows if you’re supposed to look pristine or like one of the undead.’
April glanced up anxiously. ‘Can you steer away from the undead, please? I’d like to at least look as if I’ve got a pulse tonight.’
‘I’d say that would be a distinct disadvantage,’ Caro muttered as she tugged at April’s hair.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Caro tapped her on the forehead with her comb. ‘Oh, lighten up, buttercup. It’s Halloween! Undead is hot! And stay still, or you’ll turn out like Marilyn Manson.’
The truth was April was feeling uncomfortable about going to Milo’s party. She didn’t know anyone, least of all the party’s host. Caro informed her that Milo and Davina’s families were old friends, so it was sort of a joint party, but that didn’t really help April, and anyway, even if she did find a semi-friendly face, what would she say? Caro seemed to pick up on her mood.
‘It’s all about state of mind,’ said Caro between blasts of hairspray. ‘Don’t think of yourself as April the new girl, think of yourself as April the sex kitten. Here, take a look.’ She turned the mirror to face April. ‘Ta-dah!’
April gasped. If the dress complemented her figure, Caro’s hair and make-up had worked a miracle. She looked amazing, with dark smoky eyes and artfully tousled hair falling in waves to her bare shoulders. She looked like a catwalk model in some gothic f
ashion show.
‘Bloody hell, Caro,’ she whispered.
‘What? Don’t you like it?’ said Caro, chewing a fingernail nervously.
‘Like it? I love it!’ cried April, grabbing her friend and spinning her around. ‘You’re brilliant!’
‘Hey, hey, careful, you’ll smudge the blusher,’ Caro scolded as she disentangled herself, but April could see that she was pleased.
‘Caro, you’re a genius!’ said April, leaning in to the mirror to examine the make-up more closely. ‘I look like a human being.’