‘Mum, it’s Italy,’ Jamie broke in, ladling more mashed potato on to his plate. ‘Hardly the African bush. She’ll be fine.’
Caitlin threw him a grateful look.
‘When she goes, can I have her bedroom?’ Anna, her thirteen-year-old sister asked.
‘I’m going for two weeks, not for ever,’ Caitlin told her. ‘And you so much as set a foot inside my room––’
‘This Summer Tilney – isn’t she Magnus Tilney’s daughter?’ her father butted in. ‘The marmalade people? I sat next to him once when he spoke at a Law Society dinner – seemed a decent enough chap as I recall.’
Caitlin reckoned that he didn’t know the half of it, but that this was not the time to set him straight. When he helped himself to more vegetables and winked at Caitlin, she was glad she’d kept her mouth shut.
‘Can’t see any problem with that,’ he said with a smile.
‘Hang on a minute, Edward,’ her mother broke in. ‘I’ll want to meet them before I agree––’
‘Great,’ Caitlin interrupted hastily. ‘I’ll ask Summer over.’
‘Not Summer, the parents,’ her mother insisted.
‘Parent, singular,’ Caitlin remarked, putting on the most solemn expression she could muster. ‘Her mother died under desperately tragic circumstances. That’s why her dad wants me to go over there – to kind of cheer Summer up because she’s still traumatised by it all.’
Just as she had hoped it would, this brought about something of a transformation in her mother.
‘Poor lass,’ she murmured. ‘And how awful for the father. But a man on his own . . . no woman to keep an eye on the kids . . .’
‘His new woman–– er, there’s going to be an aunt there,’ Caitlin gabbled, remembering just in time her mother’s view of cohabitation. ‘And Summer said something about inviting other people too. Please, Mum . . .’
‘Lynne, she’s nearly seventeen,’ her father remarked equably. ‘It’s time she spread her wings.’
‘Yes, well, you would say that, you’re a man,’ said her mother. ‘But she’s very young for her years, and naïve and––’
‘Well, I’m not going to get to grow up if you carry on treating me like I’m still in nappies, am I?’ snapped Caitlin. ‘Besides, there’s this art project we’ve got to do and Italy is just the best place on earth for me to guarantee getting an A star.’
‘Well, I suppose in that case, it would be an experience.’
As Caitlin had hoped, the connection with schoolwork was clearly altering her mother’s perspective. Her parents had not been at all keen on letting her go to Mulberry Court – which her father called an ‘incubator for the moneyed classes’ – but that didn’t stop them wanting her to shine now she was there.
‘You have to trust me, Mum – I’m not stupid,’ she added hastily, for good measure.
Her mother smiled ruefully and nodded.
‘You’re right,’ she sighed. ‘OK, darling, you go and have a lovely time.’
‘Mum, you’re an angel!’ Caitlin leaped up, nearly knocking over the water jug and hugged her mother.
‘But there is one condition – we arrange to meet her father before you leave.’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ Caitlin said quickly. ‘Oh, and just so you know – I’ll be spending all day Friday at Izzy’s house, helping her get ready for the party.’
‘Oh yes – the party. I’m not comfortable about this,’ her mother said. ‘I’ve heard about these upper-class types snorting cocaine and all sorts. You are sure her parents will be there?’
‘Of course they will.’ Caitlin nodded, although she hadn’t a clue where they’d be. ‘And Jamie’s going too.’
‘Oh well, that’s all right then,’ her mother replied, sounding relieved. ‘Jamie’s got his head screwed on the right way. I’m sure everything will be fine.’
‘Sure it will. I mean, Izzy’s dad’s an MP, for heaven’s sake – he’s in charge of education. Izzy says he might be the next Home Secretary,’ Caitlin added.
‘Considering the state of this government,’ remarked her father, ‘I don’t see that as any sort of recommendation.’
‘Italy?’ Even over the phone, Caitlin couldn’t miss the astonishment in Izzy’s voice. ‘She’s never asked anyone over for a sleepover, never mind a holiday.’
‘Well, she said––’
‘Not that I’d want to go,’ Izzy raced on. ‘Not with Summer and all her hang-ups. I wonder why she chose you? I’ve known her longer than you . . . Still, I’m sure you’ll have a good time. ‘
‘I know! It’ll be so cool – but listen, you know you were saying about Summer’s mum dying . . .’
‘Oh, sugar!’ Izzy butted in. ‘My mother’s yapping at the door, insisting I go to church with her. Honestly, my parents are such hypocrites – they hardly ever went till Pa got this cabinet post and now it’s all this “we have to lead by example” stuff. Got to go!’
By the time term ended on Wednesday, Caitlin, to her great delight and surprise, was flavour of the month with at least half a dozen Year Elevens. Every time one of them got stressy with Izzy and said that this whole fancy-dress thing was too complicated and why couldn’t she just have a normal hang-out type party with loads of booze and fit guys, Izzy sent them straight to Caitlin.
‘She’s a whizz with costumes,’ she informed them all. ‘She’ll sort you. Of course, if you don’t want to come . . .’
Since no one who valued their social standing for the following year would even consider falling out with Isabella Thorpe, Caitlin found herself inundated with requests for ideas.
‘I have to look dazzling,’ Bianca told her at breaktime on Tuesday. ‘Now that Louis and me are a couple . . .’
‘I didn’t know things had gone that far!’ Caitlin exclaimed. ‘You only met him four days ago.’
‘You’ve just been proved right,’ Bianca said laughing. ‘About the French and testosterone. He’s one full-on guy. So, come on – what do I wear? Something that shows off my legs, since they’re about my only asset.’
‘Pocahontas,’ Caitlin said decisively. ‘You know, Native American – suede miniskirt, low-cut bodice, braided hair . . .’
‘Kinky boots . . .!’
‘I don’t think they wore boots . . .’
‘Well, they do now!’ Bianca laughed. ‘Neat – thanks, Caitlin.’
An hour later, it was Sophie’s turn.
‘I’m skint,’ she told Caitlin, which for a Mulberry Court girl was quite an admission. ‘I need something stunning but cheap.’
‘Ann Darrow from King Kong,’ said Caitlin firmly. ‘See-through white nightie with spaghetti straps, gorilla handprint on one boob, hair loose . . .’
‘Perfect!’ Sophie cried. ‘You convinced me as soon as you got to the see-through bit.’
‘So, who are you going as?’ Caitlin asked Summer later.
‘Me? Oh, I’ll think of something,’ she said airily. ‘It’s no big deal.’
In between dashes to Brighton’s North Laines market to get cheap fabric, sequins and ribbon; long sessions cutting, snipping and eating popcorn in her bedroom with a variety of mates; and a fair amount of time explaining to Jamie, as slowly and clearly as she could, that while cropped jeans with holes in could possibly be fitted into his costume, it was unlikely that a Pirate of the Caribbean would have Silverstone 05 stickers as part of the ensemble, Caitlin worried incessantly about her own costume. She thought about the Ice Queen from Narnia, but dismissed that idea in case it suggested to Ludo that she was cold and frigid; she mulled over the idea of going as Hermione from the Harry Potter films but ruled that out as just too juvenile and goody-goody. She wanted romance tinged with tragedy; elegance with just a touch of the wild spirit . . .
‘Oh my God!’ The words escaped her lips even though there was no one in the room. ‘That’s it!’
The idea was stunning in its simplicity – but extreme in its daring. She grabbed her mobile phone and punched
Izzy’s number.
‘Izzy? It’s me. Listen, your party . . . what? Yes, your costume’s ready – it’s great. Come over and try it.’
She held the phone away from her ear while Izzy squealed in delight.
‘Listen,’ she went on hurriedly, ‘I’ve had . . .’
No, she wouldn’t say a word. Just in case Izzy told her she was way out of order. ‘See you later, yes?’
She zapped the phone and flung it on the bed.
She couldn’t believe she was going to do this, but then there was a lot happening in her life that she could hardly believe. Trip to Italy, party with one of the social elite, love affair with Ludovic Tilney . . .
Well, not a love affair yet. But if it didn’t work out, it wasn’t going to be for want of trying.
‘About this trip to Italy – you said Summer’s going to invite a whole crowd?’ Jamie asked Caitlin early on the day of Izzy’s party, while making a half-hearted attempt to remove oil stains from under his fingernails.
‘Her dad’s dead keen on the idea,’ Caitlin said. ‘Why?’
‘Just wondered,’ Jamie muttered. ‘So – what’s Izzy doing this summer?’
‘You mean, you haven’t asked her?’ Caitlin teased. ‘But then of course, what with your face being permanently buried in her neck, speech must be tricky and––’
‘Shut it!’ said Jamie, grinning. ‘I was just wondering about her and me – well, you know – maybe, although of course she probably wouldn’t want to, but it could be quite nice if . . .’
‘You want to go on holiday with her, right? Snog her senseless in the sun?’
‘Something like that, yes,’ Jamie admitted, wiping his hands on a tea towel. ‘Trouble is, I’m not exactly in funds right now – well, I’ve got a bit, but hardly enough for the five-star stuff she’s probably used to . . .’
‘Jamie, she adores you – she’d go anywhere to be with you.’
‘Really? You think so?’ Jamie looked as eager as a five-year-old let loose in a sweet shop. ‘See, what I was thinking was, if you’re going to be in Italy with Summer . . .’
‘. . . that Mum and Dad might be cool about you two if they thought you were coming to Casa Vernazza as well?’
Jamie nodded. ‘Do you think you can fix it?’
‘I’ll give it a go,’ Caitlin promised. ‘But Izzy said she wouldn’t want to go to Italy with Summer.’
‘That really means she desperately wants to, trust me,’ Jamie said.
‘For a guy, you’re quite emotionally intelligent,’ Caitlin conceded. ‘And actually, another guy around might suit my plans rather well, too.’
Caitlin’s heart pounded as she took a final look at herself in Izzy’s bathroom mirror. She’d spent the whole of Friday helping to string fairy lights all round the huge basement of Izzy’s house where the disco was set up, sticking movie posters on the walls and laying out food in the vast sitting room on the ground floor. Izzy was so lucky – Caitlin couldn’t help wondering how her own mother would have reacted to having the house taken over; but Mrs Thorpe had simply told them to enjoy themselves and hurried off to join her husband at some Gala Ball at the Royal Pavilion, wearing what Caitlin was absolutely sure was a Versace gown.
‘So what are you exactly?’ Bianca queried as Caitlin emerged from the bathroom.
‘Rose from Titanic, of course,’ said Caitlin with a smile, tugging slightly at the bodice of her simple white dress (one that had started out in life as a pair of voile curtains) to show her cleavage to better advantage.
‘Oh, yeah. Right.’ Bianca sounded less than impressed but Caitlin didn’t care. Her moment would come. ‘Come on, let’s hit the action.’
Two hours later, she wasn’t feeling nearly so upbeat. Sure, she hadn’t stopped dancing – with Tom, who really fancied himself as a Roman gladiator; with Charlie, bare-chested and sporting a Gloves Off sticker in a rather delicate position; and with half a dozen guys whose names she didn’t even know, but who clearly saw themselves as inter-galactic travellers. She’d taken some stunning pictures for Izzy’s birthday album, done a couple of caricatures of the guys Sophie and Bianca were drooling over, and drunk rather more than perhaps she should have done. But one thing was missing.
There was no sign of Ludo or Summer.
‘I told you she wouldn’t come,’ Izzy reminded her smugly. ‘But would you listen?’ She smirked. ‘Just because you’re swanning off to Casa whatever with her, don’t think you understand her. No one does.’
In desperation, Caitlin grabbed her mobile phone and began texting.
Where r u?
She paused and added, U r missing gr8 party.
She zapped the message on its way and turned round to find Tom holding a bottle of vodka in one hand, the other stretched out to grab hold of her.
‘Come on,’ he said, dragging her towards the stairs that led up from the basement to the main entrance hall. ‘Conga time – it’s another Izzy tradition.’
‘On account of her being a total show-off,’ Bianca cut in. ‘She wants the whole Crescent to see that it’s her birthday!’
‘Last year,’ Sophie added, ‘she stopped the traffic for five whole minutes!’
‘Round everyone up!’ Izzy ordered. ‘No dropouts!’
Caitlin had just reached the hallway when her mobile bleeped.
C u in 5. Sum
Her heart soared. They were coming! Now was the moment – did she dare do it? Would it be over the top? No, of course it wouldn’t – she had read enough society magazines to know that the more off the wall you were the better you fitted in.
Do this and she’d be noticed by everyone who mattered.
She darted for the stairs that led to Izzy’s bedroom.
‘Hey, Caitlin, the conga!’ Tom called.
‘Two minutes!’ she yelled back and scooted to the bathroom.
‘Caitlin! Oh my God, what’s happened?’
Bianca stared at her, open mouthed.
‘You’re wet!’ Sophie gasped. ‘And what’s that in your hair?’
‘I get it! Oh, that’s so cool!’ Izzy exclaimed admiringly, her arms hooked firmly round Jamie’s waist. ‘Get it everyone? She’s Rose, right – the Kate Winslet character in Titanic? And the ship’s gone down and she’s drowning.’
She giggled as everyone turned. Caitlin’s white dress was soaking wet, clinging to her curvaceous figure and showing clearly the outline of the skimpy white bikini underneath. Caitlin had threaded thin strands of seaweed from the beach through her wet hair, spread a little glue to the shoulders of the dress and sprinkled sand on it, and, as a final touch, dropped a couple of pink shells into her cleavage. Her pièce de résistance was the lifebelt (actually an old rubber ring from swimming-lesson days) with the words Who will save me? scribbled on in scarlet lipstick.
She was conscious of a load of admiring glances, not least from the guys, some of whom were edging closer to her. It was Tom whose arms went round her waist and whose lips began exploring the back of her neck.
‘I’ll be your saviour,’ he murmured, nibbling her earlobe. ‘And I think you need serious mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over a long period of time!’
Suddenly, the chatter and laughter was broken by a loud shrilling. Someone had their finger on the doorbell and they were not about to remove it.
‘Let’s hope whoever it is has brought more booze,’ Izzy shouted.
‘It’ll be Ludo and Summer,’ Caitlin said, trying to wriggle out of Tom’s sweaty grasp. Perfect timing. The dress was clinging in all the right places; Ludo couldn’t fail to be impressed.
‘Come on, you lot!’ shouted Izzy, grabbing hold of Jamie. ‘First to the door gets the fittest guy! De der-der-der-de derder . . .’
She conga-ed her way to the door, squeezing past Bianca who was glued lip to lip with Louis, snogging as if her life depended on it. Caitlin, relieved to be free of Tom, grabbed the nearest bottle to top up her glass.
And that was when Izzy flung open the door.
For one awful moment, Caitlin thought a bomb had gone off. The blinding flash made her blink and reel backwards, straight into Tom’s arms.
‘Bloody hell!’ she heard him exclaim. ‘What the––?’
His expletives were drowned in a babble of voices from the front step. As Caitlin’s vision cleared, she realised that a cluster of press photographers and reporters were crowding towards the door, cameras flashing and microphones being thrust forward.
This is it, she thought excitedly. It could be Tatler, Hello!, even Harpers, maybe . . .
Izzy seemed frozen to the spot, so Caitlin pushed forward, hoping that she would be in close up on the front cover of a glossy.
‘We’d like a comment from your father – is he here?’ one of the reporters asked, calling over Caitlin’s shoulder to where Izzy was standing.
‘Or would it be fair to say he’s hiding his head in shame?’ shouted another. ‘Thought he could keep his memos under wraps, did he? Threatening school cutbacks on the nation, pontificating about bad parenting – and all the time he and his family splurge out on a––’
Caitlin was beginning to realise that this was not your usual society interview.
‘My father’s out,’ Izzy shouted angrily. ‘This is a private party and I’d be grateful if you’d respect our privacy.’
Caitlin had never heard her friend talk like this before. It was almost as if she’d pressed a play button and a recorded message was popping out of her mouth.
‘Looks like you’re having a pretty lively time here,’ a thin guy with a microphone remarked. ‘Parents out, teens raving . . . You’re Isabella, I take it?’
Another flash dazzled Caitlin’s eyes at the very moment Tom decided to grab her and hold her to him in a somewhat drunken embrace.
‘So where are they this time?’ demanded another one. ‘Using tax-payers’ money to buy themselves another night on the tiles?’
‘They’re at a ball at the Pavilion.’ Izzy suddenly sounded small and scared.
‘The Pavilion!’ the guy yelled, and as one the posse turned and began clattering down the steps. ‘Let’s split, guys! Get over to the Pavilion, pronto!’
Summer of Secrets Page 5