Wicked!

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘They’ll probably bid for specialist status now they’ve got Hengist B-T on board,’ joked Cindy, who must have been aware of Janna’s proximity.

  ‘Crime’s Larks’s only speciality,’ sneered the Rotary chairman’s wife. ‘They hold their old school reunions in the nick.’

  ‘How dare you slag off my school!’ Janna jumped to her feet. ‘And you, Councillor Payne, haven’t even had the courtesy to visit Larks.’

  Seizing Col Peters’s bottle, she was tempted to give Councillor Payne’s mousy hair a red rinse, when Hengist grabbed her wrist, increasing pressure so violently she gasped and dropped the bottle, spilling red wine all over Pearl’s mother’s lovely dress.

  ‘Now look what you’ve made me do.’ She turned, spitting, on him. ‘Get off me, you great brute.’

  Loosening his grip only a fraction, Hengist dragged her out into the corridor and let her have it:

  ‘When are you going to learn to behave?’ he yelled. ‘Have you got some sort of death wish? Do you want to wreck everything we’re doing to save your school?’

  Bursting into tears, Janna fled into the night.

  24

  Janna woke to find herself on the settee, her breath rising whitely as a reproving sun peered in through the window to dissect her hangover without the aid of anaesthetic. Pearl’s mother’s green handkerchief dress was her only protection against the bitter cold.

  Whimpering and wailing, she pieced together last night’s broken dreams. How could she have nearly tipped wine over Cindy Payne, sworn at Col Peters and Hengist, who’d made such a lovely speech about her, then driven home plastered?

  As a contrast to such anarchic behaviour, she caught sight of the green and gold serenity of Graffi’s mural of Larkshire. He had worked so hard. But now she had stormed out on Hengist, Graffi and his pals would no longer get the chance to run joyously on Bagley’s green and pleasant pitches or blossom in art studio, library or concert hall. She had blown it for them and she’d never see Hengist again.

  Staggering to her feet, she noticed Pearl’s make-up all over the recently upholstered coral settee. Why did she ruin everything? Tottering into the kitchen, wondering if she could keep down a cup of tea, she fell over a padded blue basket and gave a moan of horror as she took in the tins of Pedigree Chum on the window ledge and the blue collar and lead with the newly engraved disk: ‘Partner Curtis’. In the fridge was a Tesco’s cooked chicken to tempt his appetite.

  Glancing at the clock she realized she was due to collect him in three-quarters of an hour. Rescued dogs, particularly ones as traumatized as Partner, needed calm, relaxed owners and she hadn’t had the decency to stay sober the night before his arrival. Bloody Larkshire Ladette. And what the hell had she done with Pearl’s mother’s shawl?

  Partner’s delighted wagging when he saw Janna was still punctuated by whimpers. His tail, which they’d managed to save and had wrapped in a net gauze dressing, was still very raw and sore.

  ‘Bathe it constantly with cold water,’ said the nurse, ‘and he’ll need antibiotics and painkillers for another fortnight. We ought to keep him in longer, but he’s pining in here. He’ll do better in a home environment.’

  As Janna sank to the floor holding out her arms, Partner crept into them, licking away her tears as they poured from her reddened eyes. ‘He needs me as much as I need him,’ she whispered.

  ‘Be happy for him,’ said the nurse, handing her a box of medicine. ‘He’s such a brave little dog; we’ll all miss him.’

  Reluctant to leave at first, Partner perked up in the car, resting his roan nose on Janna’s shoulder all the way home. He peed in excitement over the stone kitchen floor before wolfing a huge chicken lunch.

  Janna’s hangover was hovering like an albatross. She must plan tomorrow’s staff meeting. Still cold, she lit a fire. Determined to start as she meant to go on with Partner, she brought his basket into the lounge. Ignoring it, he jumped on to the sofa beside her.

  ‘Not on my new settee,’ she said firmly, then caught sight of the streaked make-up and relented.

  ‘Agenda for staff meeting’, she read. On top was a note that Mrs Chalford, head of history, who’d been off all term with stress, would be back in school on Monday. Evidently she was a dragon and a bossy boots. The file dropped from Janna’s hand.

  She was woken by furious barking. Partner, although he was taking refuge under the sofa, was defending his new home against an enchanted Lily.

  ‘What a charming dog. Part corgi, part Norwich terrier, I would say.’ Then as Partner, cheered to be attributed with such smart origins, crawled out to lick her hand: ‘Oh, your poor little tail. How are you feeling?’ she asked Janna.

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘I’ve brought you a hair of the dog.’ Lily brandished a bottle of last year’s sloe gin.

  Janna shuddered. ‘I’d never keep it down.’

  ‘It’s to celebrate Partner’s arrival. What are you going to do with him during the day?’

  ‘Take him and his basket to Larks.’

  ‘It’s too soon. I’ll look after him here until his tail mends.’

  ‘Oh Lily, you’re an angel. Are you sure?’

  ‘I expect he’ll tree the General to start with, but the old boy needs a bit of exercise.’

  ‘OK, I will have a glass,’ said Janna.

  As they toasted Partner, Lily said, ‘You look terribly tired. What happened last night?’

  Janna was about to tell all, when to her horror Partner went into another frenzy of barking and up rolled Graffi, Feral, Paris and this time Pearl. Janna had completely forgotten they were coming.

  From Paris’s point of view, the afternoons spent at Jubilee Cottage had been the happiest of his life. Afterwards, the memories of gentle football, picking apples and sweeping leaves and twigs for bonfires would be suffused by a golden glow. Best of all had been his hours by the fire with Janna toasting marshmallows and crumpets, the long, leisurely conversations about books, the quiet after the needy, anguished clamour of the children’s home. Often, when younger, he had pretended to be his mother and read out loud to himself. Sitting on the floor, not quite letting his head fall on to Janna’s little jeaned knees, he had listened to her reading from the Aeneid, Aesop’s Fables, Paradise Lost– ‘With thee conversing I forget all time’ – with no other sound except the swish of Graffi’s brushes and the crackle of Lily’s apple logs.

  Paris had never loved anyone as he loved Janna, but never by the flicker of a pale eyelash would he betray his feelings or embarrass her. He never had any difficulty attracting girls – they lit up like road signs in his headlights as he approached – but it was only an illusion that faded once he’d passed. For, however much they ran after him, inside him was desolation. He must be worthless and unlovable if his mother hadn’t wanted to keep him.

  Paris didn’t have to be back at Oaktree Court until eight o’clock – nine, when he reached fourteen in January – so as the evenings closed in, he would wander the streets of Larkminster: wistful, lonely, pale as the moon, gazing into rooms lit up orange like Halloween pumpkins, bright with books, pictures, leaping fires and mothers, arms round their children’s shoulders, as they helped them with their homework.

  Bleakly aware that he was incapable of expressing the love that would make him lovable, that he had nothing to offer emotionally, longing for a family would overwhelm him and he would howl at the night sky, reaching for the stars beyond the branches.

  What terrified Paris was once Graffi’s mural was finished, there would be no excuse for them to roll up at Janna’s every weekend, so he kept dreaming up extras for Graffi to include: ‘Put Rod Hyde in the stocks.’

  As the Wolf Pack rolled up that Sunday, blown in like dry, curling leaves, Paris tried not to feel resentful at having to share Janna with Graffi, Feral and a chattering, first-among-equals Pearl as well as Lily, who was puffing away on the sofa, already stuck into the booze with a fox on her knee, who promptly shot terrified under the sofa
.

  ‘Meet Janna’s new dog,’ said Lily.

  ‘Is it all right if we come today?’ asked Graffi.

  ‘Sure,’ said Janna weakly.

  In agony, Paris noticed her swollen, reddened eyes, ringed by vestiges of Pearl’s eyeliner, and loved her more than ever. Had she had bad news? He’d kill anyone who hurt her. Instead he knelt down by the sofa and began to coax out the little dog.

  ‘Come on, good boy.’ At least Graffi could string out a few more afternoons adding Partner to the mural.

  Janna took a reviving slug of sloe gin. ‘You must all speak very quietly,’ she begged, ‘and avoid any sudden movements. Partner’s scared of humans.’

  ‘And I’m scared of dogs,’ said Feral, keeping his distance and defiantly bouncing his football.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ Janna told him, but noticed in dismay a purple bruise on his cheekbone and that one of his eyes had closed up. She prayed that Uncle Harley hadn’t done him over. He was wary of her today, with no sign of that wide, charming, dodgy, insouciant smile.

  Later, when conversation moved on to the subject of films, Janna asked if anyone had seen Shrek. They all shook their heads, which meant Uncle Harley had lied about Feral’s mother taking Feral and the other children to the cinema last night.

  While Graffi got down to work, Pearl, her shiny black eyes darting, wanted to hear all about last night. Janna told her, omitting the indecent proposal from Uncle Harley, the row with Col Peters, the attempted wine-drenching of Cindy Payne and the screaming match with Hengist.

  ‘Everyone thought I looked fantastic. Lots of people didn’t recognize me. Others who’d previously ignored me were all over me. I felt like a princess.’

  ‘Meet any nice guys?’ said Pearl.

  Shut up, Paris wanted to scream.

  ‘Think there’ll be anything in the paper?’

  ‘Well, they took my picture with Hengist B-T and he told a reporter about your brilliant make-up.’

  ‘Nice guy, Hengist,’ observed Graffi, mixing rose madder with burnt sienna to paint in a copper beech. ‘Like to see him again.’

  ‘Knowing the Gazette,’ said Janna quickly, ‘they’re bound to print the most hideous pictures, but I’ll try and get some prints. I’m afraid I spilt wine over your mother’s lovely dress and left the shawl behind. I’ll get it dry-cleaned.’

  ‘Don’t matter,’ said Pearl.

  ‘Probably nicked,’ murmured a grinning Graffi.

  ‘Shurrup,’ snarled Pearl.

  Feral was examining the mural. It had come on since his last visit, with a wedding spilling out of the cathedral, dog walkers in the water meadows and otters and fish in the turquoise river.

  ‘It’s cool,’ he said, then, aggressively bouncing his football, sent Partner under the sofa again.

  ‘Stop it, you’re scaring the dog.’ There was such ice in Paris’s voice and eyes that Feral stopped.

  ‘Why don’t you play in the garden?’ suggested Janna.

  Lily struggled to her feet. ‘I’m off to watch Arsenal. You coming, Feral?’

  Janna was feeling really ill – perhaps Ashton had spiked her drink. She wasn’t up to cooking for this lot and there was nothing in the fridge except Partner’s cold chicken.

  ‘How’d you like a Chinese?’

  ‘Wicked,’ said Pearl. ‘I’ll come and help you.’

  Paris could have knifed her.

  Looking at Pearl’s heels, Janna decided to drive.

  ‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Pearl asked Paris.

  ‘I’ll stay with the dog,’ said Paris sulkily.

  ‘Oh, would you?’ Janna’s face lit up. ‘He’s really taken to you. You’re an angel.’

  Paris thought he would live after all.

  The increasingly bare woods seemed to have been invaded by swarms of yellow and orange butterflies as leaves drifted down. The sun was already sinking.

  ‘Everywhere you look, the colours make you want to be a fashion designer,’ observed Pearl as they drove towards Larkminster.

  ‘I met Feral’s Uncle Harley last night,’ said Janna.

  There was a long pause, then Pearl said, ‘He’s not a real uncle. He’s kind of scary, laughing one moment, crazy wiv rage the next. People say he’s got Feral’s mother hooked on crack’ – her voice faltered – ‘so he can do what he likes wiv her.’

  Listen, listen, listen, Janna urged herself, let Pearl stumble into more indiscretion.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone I told you, miss, but Harley’s the Shakespeare Estate supplier. Also collects rents for Randal Stancombe. You don’t want to be late paying or Uncle Harley cuts you up.’ White-knuckled, Pearl’s little hands were clenched on her thin thighs.

  ‘He seemed keen for Feral to stop truanting.’

  ‘Only so Feral can push drugs. ’Spect he heard about us bonding wiv Bagley. Means Feral’ll have access to rich kids.’

  Oh dear. Hengist had said the same thing.

  ‘Uncle Harley gave Feral’s brother Joey a gun for his sixteenth birfday, same as a deaf warrant. You didn’t hear this from me, miss.’

  As they waited outside the Chinese takeaway for their order, which included a double portion of sweet and sour prawns for Feral, Pearl grew more expansive.

  ‘My boxer dad got a prison sentence for burglary, feeding a drug habit. He’s convinced Harley shopped him. Last year’ – Pearl lowered her voice, shiny robin’s eyes darting round for eavesdroppers – ‘Feral ran away because Uncle Harley beat him to a pulp. No one went looking for him. Frozen, bleeding to death and half starving, he was forced to crawl home. He’s so proud, Feral. Never asks for help, feels he’s got nuffink to offer in return. Don’t say anyfing, miss. I’m not supposed to know these fings, picked them up, listening.’

  ‘You’ve been so helpful, Pearl, this’ll be our secret.’

  ‘Did they really like my make-up?’ asked Pearl.

  When they got back to the cottage, Partner only barked once, wagging his tail as Janna went into the sitting room but staying put on the sofa beside Paris.

  ‘Oh look,’ shrieked Pearl. ‘Sorry, sorry, Partner,’ she whispered. ‘Graffi’s drawn him into the fields wiv you, miss. You’ve both got the same colour hair.’ Then she started to giggle because Graffi had painted in Mike Pitts, Cara, Skunk and Robbie: instantly recognizable as gargoyles.

  Janna tried to look reproving. ‘I’ll never be able to ask any of them for a drink now. Did anyone ring?’

  Paris shook his head, noticing how she kept checking her mobile for messages and how she now pounced on the telephone when it rang.

  Janna felt herself winded by disappointment when, instead of Hengist, it was the shrill voice of Dora Belvedon.

  ‘You probably don’t remember me, Miss Curtis. I was waiting at table when you came to dinner with Mr and Mrs Brett-Taylor and we met by the lake. I’m having tea with my Aunt Lily, she says your new dog has arrived. Could I come and see him and bring your shawl back? And I’ve got a letter for you from Mr Brett-Taylor . . . Miss Curtis?’

  But Janna was out of the house in a flash.

  Dora had been dying to steam the letter open but wily old Hengist had sealed the blue envelope with green wax, imprinted with his crest of a griffin and a lion.

  Dora felt only mildly guilty she had sold the story about ‘Bagley beckoning Janna Curtis’ to the Gazette. Janna would be far happier teaching at Bagley than that horrible Larks.

  ‘I’ve heard of a new CD that stops dogs being frightened of fireworks, Miss Curtis. You play it every day when they’re having their dinner and they get used to the bangs.’

  But Janna wasn’t listening, she had torn open the envelope and it wasn’t just the setting sun reddening her face.

  ‘Darling Janna,’ Hengist had written. ‘Sorry I bawled you out. I just want to open every door of your advent calendar for you. Very much looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday afternoon. Bring about sixteen to twenty children; they can play football and case the
joint and have tea together. I’ll ring you this evening. Love, Hengist.’

  She was brought back to earth by Dora’s gasp of delight. ‘Oh, what a sweet dog, he looks like Basil Brush.’

  Suddenly Janna’s hangover had vanished.

  ‘We’re coming over to Bagley next week,’ she told Dora. ‘Paris and Feral are indoors, and Pearl and Graffi. Do come and meet them.’

  Dora sidled away. ‘I’ve come to see Aunt Lily. She misses the family since my horrible brother Jupiter chucked her out of her house. Another time. That is a very cool dog.’

  Dora had not forgiven Paris for telling her to fuck off or Feral for kicking his football between her pony Loofah’s legs.

  Birds were singing agitatedly as the day faded. It was getting cold, so they had tea in the kitchen. It amazed Janna that so much food should vanish so quickly. Feral had cheered up; he’d been at Lily’s sloe gin, Arsenal had won convincingly and he was delighted to have an extra helping of prawns. Partner, exhausted by his social afternoon, snored in his blue basket among the moon and stars.

  Radiant, able to eat and even keep down a glass of wine, Janna broke the news of the trip on Wednesday.

  ‘Randal Stancombe’s been really kind and given us our own minibus to enable us to go to plays and rugby and football matches against other schools, so please stop writing rude things on the walls of Cavendish Plaza.

  ‘And on Wednesday,’ she went on, ‘a bus load of Larks pupils has been invited over to Bagley on a recce.’

  ‘Wreck will be the operative word,’ snapped Paris.

  ‘Send Johnnie Fowler,’ taunted Pearl. ‘He’ll break the place up. I wouldn’t want to meet those stuck-up snobs,’ she added sulkily.

  ‘How would you all like to go?’ said Janna.

  ‘You’d send us?’ asked Graffi slowly.

  ‘Yep.’ Janna smiled round at their incredulous faces. ‘And some pupils from Year Ten, just to look round and have some tea and see what we’d like to do in the future: playing golf, using the running track. The art and the music rooms are to die for; they’ve even got a rock band.’