A Desirable Residence

by Madeleine Wickham

  Piers arrived at the television studios five minutes early for his appointment. Usually he would have been at least fifteen minutes early, but today he liked to think he could be a bit more relaxed. He smiled disarmingly at the girl on reception, and gave her his name self-deprecatingly, as though he were already an established member of the cast; a well-known figure at the studios. This time in a couple of months, he thought, then, out of habit, stopped himself. But he couldn’t stop his heart jumping a little as the girl nodded a couple of times on the phone, then beamed at Piers and said, ‘Alan Tinker will be out presently.’

  When Alan appeared, he greeted Piers like an old friend.

  ‘Great to see you, Piers. Marvellous.’ He swept Piers through a pair of double doors and down a corridor and into a waiting-room. ‘Be back in a second. Explain everything then. Help yourself to coffee. Ciao for now!’ He winked at Piers, then disappeared out of the door. Piers flashed him a smile, turned around, and froze. Sitting on a plushy chair in the corner, sipping at a polystyrene cup, was a young man. He was tall and dark, and wearing smart-casual clothes together with an elaborate air of confidence. He looked, Piers realized with a shock, not unlike Ian Everitt.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said, in a voice which could only belong to an actor. Piers felt his heart begin to thud. What was going on?

  The door opened, and Alan Tinker ushered another young man in. He was tall, and dark, and wearing a blue shirt just like the one Alice had spilled coffee over.

  ‘Bear with me,’ said Alan Tinker, addressing the three of them cheerfully.

  ‘You’re all here now, but we’ve just got a bit more setting-up to do. I’ll be two ticks.’ And he disappeared again.

  ‘Hello there,’ said the third man nervously. ‘Are you here to audition for Rupert in Summer Street?’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ said the man in the corner. ‘Bloody cheek, I call it. I thought I was the only one up for it. That bastard practically said the part was mine. I couldn’t believe it when he said there were three of us.’

  ‘Me too,’ said the man at the door in fervent tones. ‘I thought I’d got the job weeks ago.’ He looked at Piers. Then he looked back at the man in the corner. ‘Gosh,’ he exclaimed, walking into the room. ‘Don’t we all look similar?’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  >At six o’clock, Ginny heard the sound of the key in the front door lock. She rushed to the top of the stairs, her head half full of heated rollers, in time to see Piers enter the house, not with the triumphant swagger of success, but quietly; almost deferentially. A disastrous pounding began in her chest.

  ‘Well?’ she almost shouted. Piers looked up at her and gave an eloquent shrug. ‘What? They still haven’t told you?’

  ‘They’re going to phone tonight,’ said Piers. ‘At least, that’s what they said.’

  Ginny stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I need a drink,’ said Piers. ‘Is there any gin?’

  ‘In the kitchen,’ said Ginny. She looked at her watch. ‘Shit. I’ve still got to do my hair.’

  She nevertheless followed Piers anxiously into the kitchen, watching him as he poured out a large gin and tonic; shaking her head when he offered her some. He cracked a couple of ice-cubes into the glass, then took a large swig. He took another. Then he wiped his mouth.

  ‘Bastards,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ A painful stab of panic went through Ginny’s chest. She stared at Piers, nervously twisting a stray strand of hair round and round in her fingers. ‘What did they do?’

  ‘It wasn’t just me auditioning,’ said Piers.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There were three of us. We had to go on one after another. They wanted to be able to compare us easily, they said.’ Piers’s voice held mocking scorn. Ginny looked at him blankly.

  ‘I thought it was just you.’

  ‘So did I. So did the others.’ Ginny’s heart began to thud.

  ‘And what were the others like?’ she asked, trying not to sound too urgent.

  ‘One of them looked a bit like Ian Everitt. He was called Sean something. The other one was a bit of a wimp. Fresh out of drama school, I think.’

  ‘Did you see them auditioning?’

  ‘No, thank God. At least we didn’t have to watch each other.’ But then at least you’d know what the others were like, thought Ginny impatiently.

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘Well, it was a bit strange. We’d all done our bits, and we were sitting in the waiting-room.’ Piers took a final swig, and poured himself another drink. He cast his mind back to the scene; the unbearable tension between the three of them; the false smiles and idle, distracting pieces of gossip.

  ‘And then,’ he said, ‘Alan Tinker came in, and asked Sean to come back and do another little bit. And he told me and the other bloke to go.’ A dead weight dropped to the bottom of Ginny’s stomach. ‘But then he said,’ added Piers, ‘that we mustn’t read anything into it. And that they’d let us all know this evening.’ He scowled, and took another huge gulp of gin. Alan Tinker’s voice floated back into his mind. Now, don’t get alarmed, you two. Don’t think this means we’re rejecting you. And he’d smiled at them both. Had he smiled especially hard at Piers? Piers couldn’t tell.

  ‘Oh God.’ Ginny sank into a chair. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would they have wanted to see the other guy again?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Piers looked at her with dark, unhappy eyes. ‘I asked myself that all the way home. Were they just bullshitting me? Have they given it to him?’

  ‘Well, if they have,’ said Ginny indignantly, ‘why couldn’t they have just told you on the spot?’

  ‘God knows. The bastards. Oh Christ!’ Suddenly he crashed his glass down on the table. ‘This fucking audition’s been hanging over me for months. I just want to fucking well know!’ Ginny looked at her watch.

  ‘Did they say when they’d phone?’ Piers shook his head.

  ‘Of course they didn’t,’ he said sarcastically. Ginny looked at his taut face.

  ‘What do you really think?’ she said carefully. It almost killed her to say it. ‘Do you think they gave it to the other guy?’ Piers shrugged. He didn’t want to think about it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I really don’t know.’ He looked up at Ginny and forced himself to smile. ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘I’d better start getting ready for the party, I suppose.’ Ginny smiled back and took his hand. Inside her, a heavy misery battled with a piercing, desperate hope. It was unbearable. She felt drawn-in, unable to face the outside world. What’s the point of having this stupid party? she thought. What’s the point of it all now?

  Liz had told Alice at tea-time that if she liked, she would do her hair and make-up for her. And Alice, who felt rather unwilling to go back and face Ginny after the coffee episode, had eventually agreed. Now she sat on her mother’s bed, feeling the soft brushes and pencils tickling her face, telling herself that if it looked too gross she could always put loads of black eyeliner on top. Her mother seemed in a really good mood. She had opened a bottle of wine for them to drink while they got ready, and she was humming, and kept telling Alice she was going to look stunning.

  Eventually she told Alice to look in the mirror. Alice stared at herself in agreeable surprise. She couldn’t put her finger on what was different, but her face seemed much brighter than usual. Even her hair looked shiny.

  ‘Go and put on your dress,’ said Liz, beaming at her. ‘You’re going to be the belle of the ball.’ Alice stared at her mother. Usually she told Alice she was too young to be wearing such a lot of make-up. But today she seemed really keen for Alice to wear it. And actually, thought Alice, looking more carefully at her mother’s face, she herself was wearing a lot more make-up than she normally did.

  ‘You look nice,’ she offered. ‘Your make-up.’

  ‘I had it done at Sedgwick’s,’ said Liz gaily. ‘At one of the counters.’ Alice stared at her mother, flabbergasted.
>
  ‘You sat on one of those little chairs? In front of everybody?’

  ‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘Why not? It’s free. And I can’t afford to buy all those expensive things myself.’ Not yet, anyway, she added to herself.

  When Alice had disappeared to her room, Liz pulled out her new party clothes from the wardrobe. She dressed carefully, brushed her hair until it was gleaming, and then looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror. Was it her imagination, or did she already give off a slight veneer of being well-to-do? Was she picking up Marcus’s confident bearing; his easy manner with luxurious things? She walked up and down a few times in front of the mirror, admiring the way her new silk shirt skimmed gracefully over her trousers. All her bulges seemed magically to have disappeared.

  When Jonathan knocked on the door, she looked over unhurriedly, and in an elegantly enquiring voice, said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you,’ said Jonathan, heading for his bedside cabinet and picking up a book. He turned back and looked admiringly at Liz.

  ‘You look wonderful!’ he said. As if you’d know, thought Liz scathingly. ‘I’ve just been speaking to Daniel Witherstone’s mother,’ added Jonathan. ‘I haven’t managed to get through to Geoffrey yet.’

  ‘Oh, what, this scholarship thing?’ Liz paused. ‘What time are you phoning the . . . the parents?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘I’m not. They’re coming here. It turns out they’re going to this party too.’ Jonathan smiled at Liz. ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it? Mrs Witherstone said they’d be able to give us a lift. But they’re very keen to find out the result first.’

  ‘Oh gosh,’ said Liz. Her heart began to flutter. She didn’t want to see Marcus yet. Not here. Not with his wife.

  ‘Actually,’ she said rapidly, ‘it’s probably more sensible if Alice and I go separately.’ A stroke of inspiration hit her. ‘After all, we’ll need to have the car there to get back.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Jonathan thoughtfully. ‘And, now I think about it, I didn’t mention Alice. There may not be room for all of us.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think that would be a problem,’ said Liz tersely. ‘I mean,’ she amended, ‘that Witherstone boy seems to get picked up in huge cars. They seem pretty well-loaded to me.’ She lay the statement down like a challenge. Jonathan shrugged.

  ‘I guess they are.’ Liz looked at him crossly. Wasn’t he even going to express the smallest amount of jealousy?

  ‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I can’t think why they need a scholarship at all.’

  ‘It’s not just the money,’ said Jonathan mildly. ‘A scholarship to Bourne is very prestigious in academic terms. That’s partly why I’m staying behind to telephone. I’d very much like to know how young Daniel has done. You know,’ he looked at Liz, ‘if he does well, it could be very good for us. For the tutorial college. News travels fast in Silchester.’ But Liz wasn’t listening. She was suddenly anxious to be gone, before Marcus and Anthea rolled up in their smart car and smart clothes and smart veneer of togetherness.

  ‘OK then,’ she said. ‘You come along later.’ She picked up her bag, and went out onto the landing. ‘Alice,’ she called, ‘are you ready yet?’ Jonathan sighed. He looked at her clothes strewn in careless haste around the room. He picked up a crumpled shirt and gazed at it. Then he shrugged, threw it back onto the floor where it had lain, followed Liz out, and stopped in amazement. Alice was coming out of her bedroom, looking like a twenties flapper in a short, flirty dress and dark-lashed, shining eyes.

  ‘You look beautiful!’ said Jonathan with conviction. ‘Really stunning.’ His eyes rested on her Doc Martens. ‘I take it those are part of the ensemble?’ he added humorously.

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered Alice. She looked at him, at his battered grey trousers and faded shirt. ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’ she began in alarm.

  ‘No,’ said Jonathan patiently. ‘I’m going to change. Don’t worry, Alice,’ he added, in a light, toneless voice, ‘I won’t embarrass you in front of your friends. I’m not going to come as a duck.’ He tried to catch her eye, but Alice flushed and looked away. Liz, who had been applying a last coat of lipstick and not listening, looked up.

  ‘Right, come on, Alice,’ she said. ‘See you there, Jonathan.’ And with a schoolgirl-light step, she hurried down the stairs. Alice followed slowly, dragging her feet, half wanting to smile at her father and say, ‘See you there!’ and half hoping he would decide at the last minute not to come. She turned at the bottom of the stairs, and looked up, thinking she could compromise by saying a friendly, ‘Goodbye!’ But he had gone.

  When Alice and Liz arrived at twelve Russell Street, the lights were on, and music was pounding through the walls. Liz hesitated momentarily.

  ‘Is this my sort of party?’ she said, more to herself than Alice.

  ‘Of course it is! Come on!’ Alice looked crossly at Liz. She was feeling a bit nervous, too, and didn’t need her mother making her feel worse.

  But when Duncan opened the door, suddenly everything seemed OK. He was dressed, like Liz, in a red silk shirt, with rosy cheeks to match. Music flooded out and around him like a warming wave of water, and he kissed each of them elaborately before allowing them past the threshold.

  ‘Welcome, welcome!’ he exclaimed. ‘Some honest Silchester residents! You’re the only people from Silchester so far,’ he added in a stage whisper.

  ‘Who are all those people in there, then?’ asked Alice, giggling.

  ‘Horrible Londoners,’ replied Duncan confidingly. ‘Not our sort at all. But they insisted on coming, so what can you do . . . ?’ As he led them into the crowded sitting-room, Liz looked at Alice and laughed.

  ‘He’s quite a character!’ she said, raising her voice above the music.

  ‘I know,’ said Alice, feeling suddenly superior. These were her friends. She looked around for Piers. But although there were plenty of men in the room who looked a bit like Piers, he didn’t seem to be one of them.

  ‘Hello, you two!’ Ginny bore down on them, eyes glittering. ‘Have a drink! Have two!’ Alice looked at Ginny uncomfortably.

  ‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ she began.

  ‘Oh that!’ Ginny waved her hand rather manically in the air. ‘No problem! No problem!’ She grinned fiercely at Alice.

  ‘What happened? At the audi . . . meeting?’

  ‘They’re still in conference,’ said Ginny airily. She thrust the bottle she was holding at Alice. ‘Here, help yourself. I must just go and say hello to my business partner.’ She strode off, and Alice looked at Liz helplessly.

  ‘Well!’ said Liz. ‘What’s with her? Is she on drugs?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Alice puzzledly. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s not normally like that.’

  Ginny felt as though she was about to fall over the edge. As she swooped down on Clarissa, glamorous even in pregnancy, shrieked over the sight of her swelling stomach with unbearable gaiety and engaged in the obligatory treble kiss, her eyes were darting feverishly around the room. She wanted to scream. Bloody Duncan seemed to have invited everyone they knew to this party, friends and enemies alike. They’d all come down from London in a convoy of cars, and all the property people were yelling about provincial house prices, and all the actors were asking if it was true that Piers was up for a part in Summer Street.

  And still the phone hadn’t rung. For a while, Piers had come down and talked to people, always with one eye permanently on the telephone, parrying questions about Summer Street until people gave up. Now she didn’t know where he was. And that bloody little Alice, with her dowdy mother, turning up and asking so blatantly about the audition. If she’d asked any louder, somebody might have heard. Ginny looked across the room at Alice, already being chatted up by some flash London friend of Clarissa’s, and suddenly regretted having been so confiding with her. One way and another, she had basically told Alice everything—about the audition, about Piers’s career, even about want
ing to start a family, for Christ’s sake. She’d told all her secrets to a bloody school-girl. It was too much.

  Alice looked over at Ginny and wished that she would come across and talk to her. The man she was talking to had a balding head and a pony-tail and looked really old and gross, but he kept trying to make out to Alice that he was really cool, and going on about what labels were in and had she been to any gigs recently? She’d already told him that she couldn’t afford to go to gigs, she was only fourteen, but he didn’t seem to understand. And now he was talking about club life in New Orleans. What did she know about New Orleans? She really felt like having a cigarette, but no-one else seemed to be smoking and it would be really obvious if she started. Perhaps, in a minute, she could get away and have one in the garage. If she could make sure her mother wouldn’t see her. Alice hadn’t acknowledged her mother’s existence since those first few minutes of the party. It was bad enough only being fourteen. But having your mother at the same party . . .

  As Marcus pulled the car up in front of the tutorial college, Anthea suddenly clutched his arm.

  ‘Perhaps we should wait,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should just let them phone us.’ Marcus looked at her. Her face was drained of all colour, except for two patches of blusher carefully applied earlier in the evening.

  ‘Come on,’ he said comfortably. ‘Now we’re here, we might as well know.’

  ‘I can’t bear it,’ whispered Anthea. Marcus leant over and kissed her neck.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ he said, ‘we love Daniel and we love each other. Don’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ faltered Anthea.

  ‘Well then,’ said Marcus, ‘nothing else is really important. Come on!’ And he opened the car door.

  Jonathan was waiting for them. He had just tried Geoffrey’s number, only to be rewarded with the engaged tone.