The Nothing Girl

by Jodi Taylor

  Three things came out of that particular conversation. Uncle Richard came to see me that evening with a suggestion that I study with the Open University. He spoke so kindly that I burst into tears again. He said it was a shame to waste such good exam results; that study suited me; that I was a clever little girl. He would get some course details for me to have a look through.

  I stopped crying, gulped, and nodded.

  ‘And, Jenny, if you’re going to study on-line then you’re going to need a really nice computer. Would you permit your aunt and I to give you a … a… “good exam results” present? Would you like a new laptop?’

  I nodded again.

  He smiled, ‘And, of course, you’re going to need somewhere to study. Come with me a minute.’

  We walked along the landing, opened the door, and climbed the attic stairs. There was a large attic, lit by three dormer windows. The floor was boarded and because it was part of Aunt Julia’s domain and subject to her rules, there was no clutter and little dust. A few flattened cardboard boxes lay in one corner and that was it.

  Thomas had followed us up. ‘Oh yes,’ he said enthusiastically, wandering across to look out of the window. ‘ We could really do something with this. Bed here, bookshelves all across that wall, desk or table under the window, TV over there, rugs, artwork, the works. And your own bathroom in that corner over there. ’

  ‘What?’ I said, in my head. ‘They’ll never do all that.’

  ‘They’re feeling guilty. Go for it while you can. I suspect you’ll be spending a lot of time in here.’

  So I did. With Thomas prompting me from behind, I pretended I was Francesca and asked for everything I could think of. Neither Uncle Richard nor Aunt Julia argued or haggled. I got everything I wanted. A wonderful space, warm and full of light. Plenty of room for my books, a big table at which to work. I chose my favourite colours – no one argued. I thought I might get some grief from Aunt Julia who believed in the God of Colour Co-ordination but I had my own way in everything. Six months later, I had my own little palace.

  Thomas was right, however. We spent a lot of time in my room. Fifteen years later and I was sick of the sight of it, so when Russell Checkland asked me to marry him, I said yes.

  You can blame Thomas. I did.

  I was alone in the house when the doorbell rang. Aunt Julia and Francesca were shopping. Even Mrs Finch was out.

  ‘Well, answer it,’ said Thomas, not moving from in front of the TV.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘I’m a horse. I don’t answer front doors.’

  I sighed theatrically. ‘Tell me what happens.’

  I puttered anxiously downstairs and was relieved to see it was only Daniel Palmer, Francesca’s fiancé.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said cheerfully, stepping through the door. ‘You do right to stay in out of all this rain, Jenny.’ Which was nice of him because I hadn’t actually been asked on the shopping expedition. Or even known about it. ‘Is Francesca back yet? I was supposed to pick her up ten minutes ago. Is she here?’

  I shook my head and gestured him through to the lounge. He wandered in, still chatting amiably, shaking the rain out of his greying hair and wiping his wet face on his sleeve. His thick coat made him look bulkier than he was, although he wasn’t by any means fat. He wasn’t actually that much older than Franny, although his deeply lined face and quiet manner made him appear so. And, I suspect, associating with Francesca on a regular basis was enough to age anyone prematurely. I liked Daniel Palmer. He actually talked to me and usually phrased his questions with yes/no options for reply.

  And now the time has come to talk about that eternally interesting triangle: Daniel Palmer, Russell Checkland, and FrancescaKingdom.

  I knew Russell from childhood. He, Francesca, and I were much of an age. Christopher was three years older and had his own set of equally unpleasant friends, so we never saw much of him. Actually, I didn’t see much of Russell and Francesca either, but sometimes they allowed me to tag along for nearly ten minutes before they lost me.

  Francesca was a pretty child who grew into a stunningly attractive woman. She has an enormous amount of dark red hair that curls exuberantly around her head, green eyes, and flawless, milk-white skin. She’s tall, effortlessly slender, and graceful. She’s got the brains of a teapot, but no one really cares, least of all Francesca. She’s got all she needs to get by.

  And get by she does. Not surprisingly, someone told her she could be a supermodel so that’s what she decided she would be. She and Aunt Julia went up to London, engaged a stupendously expensive photographer, and sent her shots round to modelling agencies. She was, not surprisingly, picked up by the best and went off to make her fortune.

  In London she again met Russell, who had been studying art, whose paintings were attracting considerable attention from those who mattered, and who was in London to make his fortune. It was, apparently, love at first sight and the rising young model with the promising future hooked up with the rising young artist with the promising future and they moved in together.

  They were London’s golden couple. One or other or both of them were always in the papers. It was a fairy-tale romance – he was tall too, he too had dark red hair, although his hung down over his forehead in what everyone assumed was a romantic poet-ish look. If ever two people had everything going for them it was those two. Their lives were stuffed with all the fame, fortune, prospects, and excitement that my own life lacked. I followed their doings in newspapers and magazines, never dreaming that one day I’d be part of the story.

  Anyway, it was all going really well for them and then Francesca was offered a part in a new TV series. Some time ago a magazine had done a piece on her and her eccentricities – never wearing any colour but black, white, or green (this was sheer affectation; she looked stunning in every colour) and praising her unusual Renaissance-style beauty. This was seen by producer Daniel Palmer, who was looking for an actress to play a small part in his new TV series about the Borgias. That Francesca had no experience of acting seemed to bother no one, and actually all she had to do was look sinister, or mysterious, or lustful (often in that order, but sometime simultaneously) and occasionally utter a few words. The series was a huge hit. As was Francesca.

  Russell meanwhile, looking for a centrepiece for his new show, hit on the idea of painting Franny in one of her Renaissance frocks. Arguably, it was the best thing he’d done to date. A besotted Daniel Palmer snapped it up. And Francesca as well.

  Francesca, who had decided her future now lay with acting rather than modelling and possibly seeing Daniel as an easy way in, allowed herself to be snapped up. They disappeared over the horizon in a cloud of happiness and, in her case, ambition, and Russell Checkland woke one morning to find himself alone.

  He took it badly. I don’t know the details, I don’t think anyone does. Twelve months later his deeply disapproving father yanked him back to Frogmorton, the dilapidated family home, paid his many debts, sobered him up, and packed him off into the army. Russell put up no sort of fight and allowed himself to be packed off.

  There was no news of him for a couple of years, while Francesca’s acting career was not quite the glittering success she hoped for either. She spent a lot of time at home. Aunt Julia said she was resting.

  Then, suddenly, Russell Checkland was back, discharged from the army. He’d thumped someone: an NCO I think. I thought that was what the army was all about, but apparently you can’t do that sort of thing if you’re an officer.

  So he was back in disgrace, and his father died three months later. Rumour said the two events were not unconnected. Daniel Palmer had to go abroad for a few months and Russell and Francesca were spotted eyeing each other hungrily one evening at a secluded pub out near Whittington.

  Rushford enthusiastically resumed gossiping about its two favourite gossipees and now that Daniel had just returned, everyone was waiting to see what would happen next.

  I think Aunt Julia, in a refined and tasteful ma
nner of course, and without raising her voice in any way, was tearing her hair out. What Daniel Palmer was thinking was anybody’s guess.

  Exciting, isn’t it?

  So, here was the apparently wronged fiancé sitting on Aunt Julia’s couch, waiting for Francesca, who genuinely was out shopping with her mother. I was wondering what to do when Thomas strolled in.

  ‘They all lived happily ever after,’ he said, and it took me a minute to realise he was talking about the film and not the real-life drama currently being played out all over Rushford. ‘Aren’t you going to offer him some tea?’

  Daniel declined, much to my relief.

  I got a tiny nudge in the small of my back. ‘And make an effort.’

  Focus, breathe, and speak. ‘… Are you working on … anything … interesting at the moment?’

  He waited while I got that out.

  ‘Yes, I’m thinking about the Tudors. There’s always plenty of material there. Do you think something about Elizabeth would go down well?’

  I nodded.

  ‘She’s been done to death, of course. I’d need a fresh approach and I haven’t really had the time recently to get my head around it. It’s still on my “ideas” pile at the moment. What do you think?’

  I nodded.

  ‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘Find something to focus on, take two breaths, and speak again. You can do it.’

  I focused on the rose-patterned cushion, tracing the design with my eyes and edited my thoughts. ‘Focus on relationship … between Elizabeth and Mary. Introduce each episode … as a game of chess. Elizabeth … red queen. Mary white. Each queen introduces characters taking … part. Outlines plot. First … piece moves. Fade to normal action. At the … end … go back to chessboard and show new state of play in game … including all the dead … bodies or taken pieces lying on the board.’

  I stopped, exhausted.

  ‘Well done,’ said Thomas. ‘The sentences were a bit choppy, but otherwise not bad.’

  Daniel Palmer was smiling at me. ‘That’s an interesting concept. There’s a lot going on in your head, isn’t there? I’ll give it some thought.’

  ‘What’s an interesting concept?’ said Francesca, coming through the door laden with shopping bags. He jumped up to greet her and I forgot all about it.

  ‘Oh, how nice for you,’ she said mockingly, ‘Jenny’s been chatting to you.’

  Did I forget to mention she’s a bit of a cow as well?

  ‘Yes, she’s been keeping me very well entertained.’ He was such a nice man. ‘In fact, I nearly forgot my other reason for coming today.’

  He pulled two envelopes from his pocket. ‘Invitations to our post-Christmas bash.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ said Aunt Julia, bustling in. ‘I do enjoy your parties, Daniel.’

  ‘One for you and Richard, and one for Jenny.’

  I took the envelope as if it was solid gold.

  Aunt Julia noticed me for the first time.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t see you there.’

  I was sitting, large as life, on the couch. I saw a TV programme once, where a young girl was ignored by everyone around her and eventually faded away. I looked down to check if I was still visible and then opened the envelope and read the invitation.

  ‘Now, Daniel, you know Jenny doesn’t go to parties. Sometimes they’re a little too much for her.’

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to imply our parties are that lively, Julia, but it’s just drinks and nibbles at our house. No dancing girls, no gambling, and certainly nothing to frighten the horses.’

  I opened my mouth to decline politely.

  ‘You should go,’ said Thomas quietly and something in his voice was different.

  Francesca looked up from investigating her shopping. ‘She doesn’t do parties.’

  ‘You should go.’

  Now Aunt Julia pitched in. ‘Thank you Daniel dear, but I’m afraid that Jenny …’

  ‘You should go.’

  For a moment, everything was perfectly balanced and I had to decide which side to come down on.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and everyone stared at me. ‘Yes, I’d like to … go. Thank you.’

  ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘We look forward to seeing the three of you. Tuesday week. Francesca, are you ready?’

  She gathered up her bags.

  He turned to Julia. ‘My best to Richard. Jenny, I’d like to talk some more about Elizabeth. Can we grab a few minutes at the party?’

  I nodded, feeling like a real person.

  ‘What was that about?’ grumbled Francesca as they went out the door.

  My aunt turned to me. ‘He’s a very kind man. You know that, dear. It might be wise not to read too much into what is probably just social politeness.’

  I nodded and tried not to let my pleasure spill away. I wanted to hang on to this moment. I was going to a party and someone wanted to talk to me there. Just like a real person.

  It didn’t happen. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t Daniel’s fault. It wasn’t the best party he’d ever thrown, although I enjoyed every minute.

  I spent the next ten days worrying about the party. ‘What will I do? Will people want me to talk? What will I say?’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ said Thomas, not very comfortingly. ‘ You should be obsessing about what to wear: how to do your hair and shoes.’

  ‘Shoes?’

  ‘Isn’t that what women think about all the time? Shoes?’

  ‘I know what I’m going to wear,’ I said. ‘I’ve got shoes. And so have you – you’re a horse. That’s not what’s bothering me. How shall I know what to do? I wish I hadn’t said yes. I’m going to make such a fool of myself. No one will want to spend the evening listen to me regurgitate words. This is a disaster.’

  ‘No it isn’t. Stop panicking. We’ll walk it through. Now, you arrive, beautifully dressed and coiffured.’

  I snorted.

  ‘You don’t want to do that. Firstly, it’s not ladylike and secondly, you just said a really bad word in Horse.’

  ‘Really? What did I say?’

  ‘Never you mind. I don’t want to hear language like that again from a young foal like you.’

  I giggled, suddenly feeling much better.

  ‘ Right, you get out of the car. Slowly. Remember, do everything slowly. It gives you time to think and makes you look elegant. Let your aunt and uncle go in first. Walk in behind them. Pause and look around so you’re not blindly walking into the room. Someone will take your coat. You don’t have to say anything, just smile. Someone will offer you a drink. ’ He looked at me. ‘Nothing alcoholic.’

  I nodded. Absolutely nothing alcoholic.

  ‘ Your host and hostess will greet you. Just smile and thank them for the invitation. Step aside for the next guests and look around. Do not find the nearest corner and stand there all night. ’

  ‘But you’ll be there, surely? You will come with me?’

  ‘ Of course I will, I just don’t want to spend the evening standing in a corner. Now, you look around the room. Smile and nod if anyone catches your eye. There’s no need to say anything. I know you don’t think so, but most people are kinder than you think. ’

  I nodded again.

  ‘ When you’ve got your bearings, start to move slowly round the room. He’s got a great art collection and most of the rooms will probably be open so we’ll wander round and have a look. I particularly want to see Checkland’s portrait of Francesca, don’t you? ’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and the library will probably be open, too. We can look at the books.’

  ‘ There you go. That should keep us out of mischief for a while. Then we’ll get something to eat, have another non-alcoholic drink, and go home. Your aunt turns into a pumpkin at midnight. ’

  I laughed, suddenly feeling better about the whole thing. It was a good plan. Shame we never got to use it.

  I came nervously down the stairs, wearing a plain black dress. I’d tied my mother’s lovel
y purple, blue, and green glass pendant on a purple ribbon around my neck. I’d left off my pony tail and wore my hair loose with a jewelled slide.

  My aunt watched me. ‘Richard, I’m really not sure about this.’

  Well, at least she hadn’t reeled back in horror at my outfit, but she could have said something.

  ‘I think you look lovely,’ said Thomas softly, behind me.

  ‘My dear, Jenny will enjoy an evening out. It’s not as if she’ll be making a habit of it.’

  ‘No, but she’ll get tired and …’

  I’m right here, I thought.

  ‘Just tune her out,’ said Thomas. ‘ That’s what I do. I haven’t heard a word she’s said in the last ten years. Don’t let her upset you. Stay calm.’

  Not easy. My heart was thumping away and my palms were clammy and I hadn’t even left the house yet.

  Somehow, Uncle Richard overcame her misgivings and we climbed into the car. I sat in the back and stared out of the window. Perhaps I could just stay in the car until it was time to go home.

  ‘Don’t make me come and get you,’ said Thomas, appearing briefly and then disappearing again. The Cheshire Horse.

  The Palmers lived in a lovely old house on the other side of Rushford. It was built of soft red brick and had those wonderful twisted chimneys.

  I ran over Thomas’s instructions. Uncle Richard helped Aunt Julia out of the car and then me. He gave my hand a little squeeze, which I appreciated. Perhaps I could enjoy this after all.

  It all went just as Thomas had said. I smiled at the person who took my coat and stood behind my aunt and uncle as they talked to Francesca and Daniel. They moved away and I stepped forward. Daniel was kindness itself. ‘I’m so glad you came. Look, Francesca, Jenny’s here.’

  But Francesca had already stepped aside to talk to more interesting people. My heart sank, but he glossed over it well. ‘Never mind, she’ll catch you later. Most of the house is open tonight, so please feel free to wander around and have a look at my little collection. And I know you’ll be interested in the library. Francesca’s portrait is in there.’

  She called him to her.

  ‘Nip along and have a look if you get the chance, Jenny. And I still want to talk to you later. Enjoy yourself.’ He disappeared.