‘For a commie, Ruth’s pretty keen on this world,’ she jokes weakly as they pause for a moment in a guest bedroom, where it’s quieter, more discreet.
Luke nods. ‘She’s a bit …’ he starts.
‘What?’ says Kat, unsure if she’s going to like what comes next.
‘Her head is turned easily,’ he says.
Kat nods, though she has never quite thought of Ruth that way before.
‘If someone likes her, she responds so quickly.’ He smiles. ‘She’s not like you in that way.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kat stops, hears Ruth’s voice in the next room. She looks at Luke’s kind, open face.
‘I don’t think you’re so easily flattered,’ he continues. ‘Superficially, maybe, but I think there’s more substance to you than that. I think once you fall in love, that’s it.’
Luke is so close Kat can smell the washing powder on his shirt. It’s crisp and clean like pine forests. She doesn’t tend to give nice boys a chance, but something has shifted momentarily between them, like the change of a channel. It’s as if no one has noticed her before. Not like this. Not even Richard.
Ruth bounds back into the room, breaking the spell. ‘I’m going to the maze!’ she exclaims.
‘Go for it,’ Kat smiles. She turns back to Luke. ‘Do you fancy climbing the Hundred Steps?’
He glances at her, changes tack. ‘What’s going on between them?’
Kat is silent. She doesn’t want to say it.
‘He likes her,’ Luke says. ‘She likes him. I don’t know why they just don’t get on with it. Give us all a bit of peace.’
Kat looks at him. Could he really be that oblivious? ‘I’m not sure she does like him,’ she says instead.
It’s more of a climb than she expected up the Hundred Steps. As they pass a lone monkey puzzle tree they turn to look back at the maze and make out the figure of Ruth scampering through it, though who her performance is for Kat can’t work out. Until she spots Richard in the centre, waiting. As Ruth approaches, they rush at each other like Apache dancers in a move that, from a distance, looks almost violent.
‘Well, look at that,’ laughs Luke.
Ruth and Richard are kissing and kissing, wrapped around each other, completely oblivious to the small children in the vicinity.
The sight hurts Kat so much it’s hard to find the words for it. It’s like something wild opening its wings inside her. ‘Oh God,’ she says.
‘I know,’ says Luke. ‘They’re going to get us all thrown out.’
‘Let’s carry on walking,’ says Kat, turning and continuing up the steps. ‘I’d like to see the Cascade.’ Her face hurts from not showing her emotion, from keeping it neutral.
The afternoon gets even worse.
‘I think about you all the time,’ says Luke abruptly when they stop to look at the Cascade from the top of the hill. He pulls her around to face him. ‘I want to kiss you.’
Kat slides her hands under his jacket and can feel his skin, warm through his shirt. She keeps her head tucked under his chin, so his mouth can’t find hers. ‘I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘I can’t,’ Kat swallows, thinks she might try the truth. ‘I’m in love with someone else.’
Luke stiffens. ‘Richard?’ He pulls away.
‘I didn’t say that,’ she says quietly.
‘You didn’t have to. Fuck.’ He takes a step away. ‘I can’t believe it’s happening again.’
‘Again?’
‘There was a girl before – in our first year. I was so into her. And he took her off me. Just because he could.’
‘Believe me, I know a bit about that.’ The light spray of water is cool against Kat’s back.
‘Must have stung a bit to see him with Ruth.’
She nods, checking the pocket of her coat for cigarettes.
‘Richard put that other girl off in the end, anyway,’ says Luke. ‘He’s jealous. Obsessive.’
‘He doesn’t seem it,’ says Kat coolly.
Luke snorts. ‘Ask Caroline. She won’t go near him.’
When they meet back at the car at four as planned, Richard isn’t there. Ruth’s eyes are swollen, her face pink and prickled.
‘We had a tiff,’ she says to the others.
‘A lovers’ tiff?’ asks Luke.
Ruth ignores him. ‘He says he’ll join us at the pub later,’ she tells Kat.
Kat frowns. No matter what sort of mood Richard is in, it won’t be the same with just three of them. ‘I don’t want to go without him,’ she says.
‘For fuck’s sake, let’s just go.’ Ruth climbs in the back and slams the door, glowering out of the window.
‘He’s a big boy,’ says Luke. ‘And the pub’s not far. I think you and I deserve a stiff drink.’
The evening, as Kat suspected, is a complete write-off. There is absolutely no sign of Richard, Luke is sulking and Ruth doesn’t eat or say a thing. Kat orders way too much wine on her father’s credit card, as part of his annual guilt splurge on her birthday, and finds herself wondering if she can join a rather Sloaney stag party taking place in the far corner of the bar, which looks, at least, distractingly fun.
‘Ruth,’ she says eventually, putting her cutlery down. ‘This is ridiculous. You should go. Go and find Richard.’
Ruth looks away. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do know what I mean.’ Kat tries to laugh but it feels as if she has glass in her throat. ‘Everyone knows what I mean. The landlady knows what I mean. Fuck, even Luke knows what I mean.’ She sighs. ‘Go and find Richard. That can be my birthday present.’
Ruth, to be fair, looks distraught. ‘I didn’t want to, I didn’t mean to,’ she says.
Kat takes a large slurp of wine. She doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to be part of it at all. She needs this star-crossed lovers act to play out elsewhere. ‘Darling, do fuck off and find him. Honestly, the pair of you are unbearable.’
Ruth gets up and makes her way over to Kat. She presses a kiss on the top of Kat’s head. Kat can feel the wetness of her tears.
‘I love him. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’ She spins on her heels and makes for the door.
The table is silent for a moment except for the sound of Luke filling up Kat’s glass.
‘I love him. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Isn’t that the plot of Brief Encounter?’ he asks.
‘It’s the plot of every film ever made,’ sighs Kat. She can’t bear to be alone with Luke, not now. ‘Hey,’ she shouts over to the stag party. ‘We have spare wine going. Come on,’ she says to Luke. ‘Let’s see if they’ll let us join in.’
The evening passes in a blur. Outside, it starts to rain.
‘They’re out in that,’ Kat murmurs to Luke.
‘Fuck them,’ he says.
And she loves him for a moment for not saying, ‘Love will keep them warm.’ Or anything shit like that. So she lets him kiss her, lets him lead her up to bed to the snug little room over the bar, with beams and an uneven floor. But Kat’s heart isn’t in it and, because Luke’s decent, he stops and they lie and look at the ceiling, the way the light changes as the night progresses. Eventually, Luke falls asleep and Kat is left alone, lying awake, seeing in her twentieth birthday listening to the rain.
The next morning, Kat and Luke find Ruth and Richard huddled by the fire in the bar with cups of coffee. Their hair is damp, but whether that’s from being out all night or freshly washed this morning, she can’t tell and she doesn’t ask. Even after a night without sleep, Ruth glows. She hides her euphoria better than Richard, who is gripping Ruth’s hand and looking at her moonily. And a part of Kat can see now that this was always perfect and inevitable. And another part, which is in control today, wants to die.
‘Well,’ she says. ‘That was quite the night. Did you lovebirds get any sleep?’
Richard grins. ‘No.’
At the same time, Ruth says, ‘A little.’
Kat d
oesn’t feel like being fun today. ‘I didn’t sleep much either,’ she says shortly. ‘Shall we get some breakfast?’
Luke is the only one who eats a hearty meal. Kat can’t touch hers, and Richard and Ruth push food around their plates, stealing sly glances at each other.
‘Whose turn is it to drive?’ asks Luke as they finish.
‘Actually, I’m getting the train back,’ Kat says, surprising herself for a moment.
Honestly, she thinks to herself, making her way back up the uneven staircase to her room. It’s my fucking birthday. And there are limits.
Naomi
I felt like a fish out of water at the school disco – I always did, particularly without Ruth by my side. She’d always gone before me – to Pony Club Camp, to school and, finally, to university. There had always been someone waiting for me, one person in a room I knew would be on my side. It meant I rarely had to start new things alone and I felt her absence in sixth form more than I’d anticipated. And particularly at social events like this – while the younger girls bopped around in Indian skirts or artfully ripped jeans, we prefects had to perform our duties in uniform. It was as awkward as hell. The whole thing was: huddles of girls and boys in separate corners, not really mingling. That would come later, right at the end of the night. And my job – mine and the other prefects’ – was to keep an eye out for drinking, smoking, and what our teachers called ‘excessive contact’.
There had been a long, excruciating discussion about how much contact was allowed. Kissing was OK, for instance; hands under tops were not. Oral sex was a serious no-no. I found the best approach, on the whole, was to stay in the sports hall – there weren’t many students stupid enough to attempt a blow job there.
A gaggle of girls brushed past me. Fourth years. They were the worst: hormones stirring and nowhere to go with them. By the fifth and sixth form the girls were given more freedom, but in the fourth year all the fourteen-year-olds would relieve their frustration through bullying and petty politics.
Heading the gang was Lizzie Clark, a pointy-faced girl with a nasty streak. ‘Suck!’ she stage-whispered to the others, glancing back to check I’d heard. I looked away for a moment, pressing my lips tightly together.
How did girls like Lizzie, with her attitude and tiny skirts, get to be so sophisticated so young? She looked like a weird little girl-woman, with her spindly legs, hollow cheeks and smudgily applied eyeliner. But it wasn’t just that it was embarrassing to be bullied by a much younger girl: it was something else, too, something akin to jealousy. Because Lizzie wasn’t afraid of sex, I guess. And I still was.
The girls following Lizzie closed ranks around her as she sashayed over to the best-looking boy in the building and I asked myself: what would Ruth do? Ruth never thought things through, but perhaps sometimes that was the best way. I marched over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Lizzie?’
‘Yeah?’ Lizzie didn’t even bother to turn round; she was just staring at the older boy.
‘Could you do something for me?’
‘Depends.’ She still didn’t bother to look at me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a teacher watching us. I put my mouth against her ear. It smelled of stale smoke and expensive perfume.
‘Try not to be such an utter bitch.’
Lizzie pulled away, too surprised to say anything back. And I marched away out of the main hall and into the foyer, my face burning, my heart hammering in my ribcage. It felt amazing. I walked smack into Miss Wick.
‘Naomi.’ She raised an eyebrow, looking amused. She always looked amused around me. Strange to think she was only seven years older. ‘I’ve been asked to do a round of the games field.’ She added in a whisper: ‘To catch smokers and heavy petters. Do you fancy joining me?’
I had been very careful about controlling my thoughts about Miss Wick. Whenever I felt a thought meandering in that direction, remembering something she had said, or the way she occasionally looked at me, I would firmly drive it into a dead end and park it. Miss Wick was a woman and a teacher. Sort of a teacher. Not quite a teacher. But similar.
And this was just one of those unsettling experiences that around 40 per cent of women – I had been doing some reading – went through. Any day, I hoped, I would fall in love with a boy and life would be straightforward again.
We walked in silence at first. Miss Wick was taller than me and she took longer strides. When we got away from the sports hall, she took out a pouch of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette.
I cleared my throat. ‘We probably shouldn’t.’
And Miss Wick laughed and put a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t worry, Naomi. I have a plan.’ She kept walking in her loping gait. She stopped for a moment, at the periphery of the pool of light cast by the sports hall, to concentrate on rolling.
We walked on in silence, away from the lights. At the very edge of the sports field, a line of trees separated the games pitches from a wire fence that kept the space, and the schoolgirls, enclosed. On the eastern side, by the railway track, the fence was particularly high. Behind the trees was a patch where some of the wilder girls went to smoke dope and make out. I remember wondering if Miss Wick knew that. But whether or not she did, that was where we ended up. And, on any other occasion, with any other person, it might have seemed just like a patch of grass by a railway track, but that night with the trees rustling above us, and the music in the distance, it felt as if we’d slipped through to a better version of the world: sharper, brighter.
She took off her jacket and threw it on the ground. And we sat and chatted as she smoked. I’ve always liked the smell of fresh smoke, the phosphorous fizz of the match – it reminds me of home and the hotel bar at the end of the evening, when everyone sits around talking and whoever is behind the bar starts topping up people’s drinks without charging, where all the usual rules are suspended for a short time.
I told her about my fight with Lizzie.
‘Nasty age, eh?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They don’t know who they are.’
‘No,’ I said and smiled, looking down to her jacket, where her hand was very close to mine. ‘At what age do you know?’ I asked.
Miss Wick laughed. It was a warm cackle. ‘God knows.’
‘But you’re …’ I adopted a self-conscious tone. ‘A teacher.’
Miss Wick glanced at me. ‘Not exactly.’
And the way she looked at me made my heart thunder in my chest. And then we lay back staring at the sky, and she put her arms around me and our breathing settled into the same rhythm. For a while it felt companionable, safe. And then, at some stage, my breathing changed, became swifter, shallower, and it didn’t feel as safe any more. When we finally kissed, she let me come to her, she let me make the choice. She didn’t rush me, like the boys who’d tried to kiss me before. She knew how to take her time.
The thrum of the music reverberated from the sports hall – just a few pricks of light in the distance. When we broke from kissing, we were holding each other so close that she could feel the pulse of my heart leaping in my chest like a jackrabbit. And she laughed, but not nastily, as if she was happy with the effect she had on me. She kissed me again, more passionately the second time, and my body started to swim beneath her.
The squeal of a train made us jump. We stopped for a second. We could hear the rumble and screech of it in the distance, but we didn’t think what it meant. We weren’t thinking at all. It’s like when the sand slips from under your feet as you get pulled too far out to sea; the ground slopes away from you and you are suddenly kicking out, trying to pull yourself back, out of the current. But the best thing to do about a riptide is to let it take you, because it will take you anyway.
And then two things happened. The train roared into view, illuminating our little strip of land like a searchlight. And faces – strangers’ faces – zoomed past blankly. So many faces, even at this time of night – adults and children, couples and old people – every so often seeming to
look straight at us as they peered out into the black.
It used to haunt me: could they see anything in the patch of grass just outside their window? Could they see us sprawled out on the grass just yards away from them? Or could they make out, as I could – just a stone’s throw away – Lizzie Clark pushed up against a tree kissing the boy from the sports hall?
Lizzie Clark, with her kohl-smudged eyes wide open in the dark, breaking away from her embrace as the train thundered past. In that moment, knowing she could be seen. Knowing, too, what she was seeing.
Alice
‘I always satisfied her – in the bedroom, if you know what I mean?’ Her client’s eyes move from Alice to her junior solicitor, who is making notes on Alice’s right. She can hear the younger woman, an ardent feminist with the looks of Brigitte Bardot, shift in her chair, can feel disapproval radiate from her like heat.
‘We know what you mean, Mr Peterson,’ she says coolly.
He rests a hand on his paunch, looks past Alice out of the window behind her. ‘She says I was controlling.’ He laughs. ‘I never heard her complain when it came to spending my money.’
There is a spluttering to Alice’s right. The client frowns. ‘Have I said something funny?’
Alice takes control. ‘How long have you been living apart?’ she asks smoothly, making a mental note to talk to her junior colleague. Once in a while, one’s feminist principles had to be left at the door. Or, as someone had once advised her, ‘It’s about them, not about you.’
She thinks about her morning now as she reaches home, as she drops her briefcase in the hall. It’s always more difficult working for someone you don’t like. This particular client is trying to protect his assets from a woman he had prevented from working for seventeen years. His wife going back to her career, after bringing up two children, had precipitated the breakdown of the relationship – not another man, as far as she could tell. Not that Alice would blame her. He makes her skin crawl: the way he dyes his thinning hair, the way he speaks in innuendo-laden jibes, his gaze sliding over her legs.
The Girl Before You Page 13