“I don’t exactly see you the same way,” he said, “not really as a sister at all.”
“No?”
“No. Not in the least. Actually, I think you’re utterly gorgeous. Sorry.”
Georgia stared at him; then she stood up, went round the table, and put her arms round his neck.
“Oh, Merlin,” she said, kissing him repeatedly, first on his cheek, then on his forehead, then finally and rather recklessly on the mouth, “oh, Merlin, don’t get lost. Don’t say sorry. I…”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
***
They went to her room. She said she’d rather, although he did offer her his place: “I’m self-contained, and anyway, they won’t mind; it’s part of their religion…”
“No, no, I wouldn’t feel… happy.”
“I want you to feel happy,” he said. “Come on.”
***
She was nervous again, going back. He was probably incredibly experienced-which she wasn’t. He’d find her dull, disappointing, and she hadn’t made the bed properly that morning; he’d think she was a slut, and she was wearing some really grotty old pants; he must be used to the likes of Ticky in Agent Provocateur…
None of it mattered. He clearly didn’t find her dull; in fact, he was surprisingly… well, straightforward, which was a relief, and there certainly wasn’t time to notice the unmade bed; they were on it in seconds after shutting the door behind them, and as for her knickers, well, he just yanked them off completely unceremoniously; anything better would have been a complete waste.
In fact, it was all wonderful; it was as if they had been ready and waiting for each other, perfectly matched, perfectly tuned… “That was totally amazing,” he said afterwards, lying with his face buried in her hair. “We saw, we conquered, we came.”
She hoped he didn’t say that to all the girls.
***
That was the only thing that worried her: how could he be so suddenly and so totally taken with her, Merlin Gerard, so gorgeous, so sexy, so… so sophisticated. Merlin, who was used to girls like Ticky, as gorgeous and sexy and sophisticated as he was; how could he want to be involved with her?
After a few days, a few nights, when she was beginning to feel more confident, she managed to ask him that; he smiled and kissed her and sat up on the pillows.
“I find you totally gorgeous and sexy, Georgia. I always did. You’re so special. So unique. So not like anyone else. The first moment I saw you, I felt a catch in my heart…”
“Merlin!” That really did sound a bit rehearsed.
“No, I did. But…”
“Well, but you had Ticky then.”
“Yes, of course. And now I’ve got you. My own beautiful brown bird. Would you like to sing for me once more? Before we go to sleep?”
Crushing the distaste for this, telling herself he was just… wonderfully poetic, that was all… she smiled at him ecstatically and climbed onto him, her legs straddling him.
“I love your energy,” he said. “It’s so amazing.” They fell asleep with his head on her breast.
In the morning they met Jazz on his early rounds, as he put it: checking the terminally leaking taps, the blocked lavatories in the house.
“Ah,” he said, “very nice. Thought that might be how it was, Merlin, you old bugger. How come you get to pull all the best ones? Georgia, my lovely, any trouble with him, you come straight to me, OK?”
She laughed and said OK; she loved Jazz.
And now, nearly three weeks later, she could hardly imagine life being any different. It was totally, totally wonderful; she was the luckiest, happiest girl in the world.
***
Emma hadn’t got the job in Glasgow; she went to see Alex, almost in tears.
“That’s the second. I’m beginning to feel victimised.”
“My dear Emma, you wait till you’re trying to get a consultancy. That really does feel like victimisation. Nine jobs I went for before I got this one; it was ghastly. You get there and you see the same old faces each time, with a few variations, and it’s always the bloke you least like who gets it, gets called into the boardroom while you all sit waiting like a load of cretins, and then you all shake hands and say you never really wanted it anyway, and crawl back to your hospital with your tail between your legs. I had a special interview shirt; it got quite threadbare towards the end.”
“Yes, well, thanks for all that. I can’t wait,” said Emma. “Meanwhile, it’s tail-between-the-legs time for me. Can I stay, Alex?”
“Of course you can. Nothing could please me more. Sorry… not what you want to hear.”
“It sort of is. Thank you. There are lots more jobs I can apply for in the pipeline, but…”
“Emma, the thing about obstetrics is that it’s a very popular discipline. There’s always going to be lots of jobs, but also lots of people applying for them. You’ll get one in the end, promise. Meanwhile, you’re a fantastic member of the team here. You can stay as long as you like.”
At least she still had a job… even if she didn’t have anything else.
***
“Barney! Hi, darling! How are you?”
“Fine. Yes. Thanks. And you?”
“Oh, pretty good. I called to invite you to my leaving do.”
“Your leaving do! That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
“Not really. It’s just that it’s so long since we talked. I’ve done my time. Start at Darwood’s in a fortnight. At the French desk there. Taking a bit of a break first.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We-Micky and I-are off to Barbados for ten days…”
“Micky?”
“Yes, I’m engaged. Again. To Micky Burne Proctor. Getting married in the summer. Slightly déjà vu, but at least I’ll be in a different dress. I thought that really would be unlucky, wearing the same. Or could be. But… otherwise, same venue, same church, same time of day even. I think. Mummy and I are working on that one. Anyway, Friday evening, sixish, Terminus. Hope you can come.”
Well. She didn’t let the grass grow under her feet. You had to hand it to her, Barney thought with a sense of grudging admiration: she’d survive an earthquake and hurricane combined, Tamara would. And come up looking immaculate. And sexy. Micky Burne Proctor, eh? In the Sunday Times rich list the previous year. Hedge-fund boy. Better prospect than Toby.
He couldn’t think why she’d want him at her leaving do. But… might be fun. He hadn’t had much of that lately. He wondered if Toby knew. Or cared.
***
“Order, order. Georgia, you first.”
“Right. Well the play-offs are going brilliantly. We’ve already got three winners from three pubs. One’s really fantastic. Called Literate. I don’t think they’ll be unsigned for much longer. Oh, and a sweet folk band as well. Lots of stalls are coming on board… face painting, weaving, a little roundabout, a bouncy castle. Everything we discussed, really. Some guy’s got a hat stall… says they went really well at Glastonbury”
“What sort of hats?” said Abi.
“Every sort. Baseball hats, sort of trilbies, berets, reggae hats, sun hats for kids. Oh, and some really nice girl’s got a sort of beauty stall, does, like, makeovers and massages and all stuff like that. What do you think?”
“Mmm.” Abi considered this. “No, don’t think so. Doesn’t go with the family feel. But quite like hats. Welly stall?”
“Oh, yes, got one of those. Merlin says it’s essential, don’t you, Merlin?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, I do hope it doesn’t rain,” said Emma.
“It will,” said Abi. “Best to accept it. After that anything’s a bonus. We might even get some good gear out of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some guy I met, friend of William’s, he had a festival on his land. It rained so hard, two-day festival it was, people were just getting into their cars at the end, stepping out of their filthy, muddy clothes and just leaving them. This guy sai
d lots of it was really good stuff: Fat Face, Abercrombie, all that. His wife washed it about thee times and then they wore it. And their kids, loads of Boden.”
“Cool. Best pray for rain then.”
“Who’s responsible for litter?” asked Merlin.
“Me, I s’pose,” said Abi. “Comes under the heading of site management.”
“Make sure you’ve got loads and loads of bins and bags. Twice as much as you think.”
“Yes, please do,” said William. He had a sudden vision of endless acres of litter and what his father might say or do.
“OK, OK.”
“You need people specially briefed to pick it up too,” said Merlin. “It’s really important. And loos… Abi, is that you?”
“Yeah, I’m toilet queen.”
“Can we not have those awful urinals in rows where you face the other blokes and try not to look at them, and you all pee into a pit in the middle?”
“Sounds fun. I’ll do my best. How are the bookings looking, Georgia?”
“Oh, nothing much yet. But the Web site’s only been up and running a couple of weeks. Lots of hits, though.”
“Great. Any reactions to the name?”
“Nope. Well, only from my mum. She thinks it’s great. She had an LP called In Good Company in the seventies.”
“Great. Exactly the image we’re after. Mum’s favourites. Oh, dear. Maybe we should change it.”
“We shouldn’t,” said Merlin firmly. “It’s a great name.”
“Yeah, well, you would say that,” said Georgia. “You thought of it.”
“Shut up. Any other objections?”
There weren’t.
“OK. Well, I’ve got everything booked site-wise,” said Abi.
“Arena, electrics, sound systems, water. What does everyone think about campfires?”
“We think no campfires,” said William firmly.
“Barbecues?”
“Not happy.”
“William! People love them. Specially families.”
“I’ll… think about it.”
“Bless. We’ve got the alcohol licence; the police are on-side. Got St. John’s for the first-aid tent as well.”
“You’ve done so well,” said Georgia, beaming at her. “Security?”
“I’ve talked to a couple of firms. Both very expensive.”
“You have to have security,” said Merlin. “And they have to check for drugs.”
“Yes, all right. I know that. I just said they were expensive. Now, what are we going to do with our thousand pounds from wonderful Mrs. Mackenzie? Blow the lot on publicity, say, or split it, put it into the various pots?”
“I think split it,” said William, “in case we don’t get any more.”
“William, you are such a ray of sunshine,” said Georgia irritably.
***
She was very jumpy now; Moving Away was going on air in three weeks, and the publicity machine was cranking up. Davina and Bryn Merrick had been the most in demand. Davina’s lovely, laughing face had been everywhere, but Georgia had done two interviews already, one for the Daily News arts roundup and one for You magazine, both of them talking her up as one of the new faces of the summer. She was surprised about it, hadn’t thought anyone would take any notice of her. The one in You had been a big profile, very personal, had asked her about being adopted-and by white parents, had that been difficult, how had she coped-and had mentioned, inevitably, the crash. She’d hated it, but Linda told her it was fantastic she was getting so much coverage, and she should just be grateful.
“You’re getting talked about; most people at your stage would give their eyeteeth for any publicity.”
The DVDs of the show hadn’t gone out to the critics yet; she was dreading that, everyone seeing how bad she’d been. Although the girl from You magazine, who had managed to wangle one out of the press office, said she’d been “stunningly good.” Well, what did she know?
***
The meeting was over; the others left. Abi looked at William and smiled. “Love you.”
“Love you too. You… busy now?”
“Not terribly. You?”
“I’ve got an hour or so.”
“Cool.”
“Where’s Sylvie?”
“Out for the night. With Mr. Perv.”
“Right then. Shall we…”
“Yeah. I want to show you something first, though.”
“That’ll be nice.”
“No, no,” said Abi. “It’s what I’m going to wear on Friday.”
“Couldn’t it be afterwards?”
“No. You might find it exciting; you never know. Although, actually, I hope not. Give me five minutes.”
“OK. No more, though.”
“No, promise.”
She was back in ten.
“How do I look?”
“Blimey,” said William.
“Is that it? Don’t you like it?”
“Quite… you don’t look quite yourself.”
“That was the idea.”
“Abi, you are yourself. That’s why I love you.”
“I know, but…”
She walked out into the hall and looked at herself in the long mirror there. It was true: she didn’t look quite herself. She looked good, though, she thought. She was wearing grey trousers and a pink wraparound sweater. And low-heeled shoes. Her makeup was… well, it was rather nice, she thought. Grey eyeshadow, grey eyeliner, not much mascara, pink lip gloss. Her hair was tied back.
She went back to William.
“I think I look great.”
“Well… you do. But… not yourself. Like I said. And why?”
“I thought it would be more suitable this way. More the sort of girl they’d like. Approve of.”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that.”
“It’s never too late. That’s my motto.”
“Abi, my mother’s already seen you starkers. Twice.”
“Not starkers. I’ve always worn shoes, at least. Oh, you’re so disappointing, William. Here I am trying to be a lady and you tell me there’s no point.”
“I don’t want a lady. I want you.”
“This isn’t for you. Anyway, this is what I’m wearing on Friday.”
“OK. But… get it off now. Please.”
They were going to have dinner with the Graingers on Friday at the farm. It was not a keenly anticipated evening. Except just possibly by Mr. Grainger.
CHAPTER 55
“So… tonight’s the night, is it?”
“Yup. I am shit scared.”
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous. When were you frightened of anything?”
“I’m frightened of Mrs. Grainger. Or rather, upsetting Mrs. Grainger.”
“I’d have thought you’d done that plenty already, Abi.”
“Well, OK. But I do want tonight to go well. She’s being very good, he said…”
“That’s big of her.”
“ Georgia, you’re not being very helpful. She’s said, apparently, that she’s considering letting us have cottage number one, to live in.”
“Even bigger…”
“No, well, it is a source of income for them.”
“So is William.”
“I s’pose. Anyway, it would be cool. It’s really sweet, or could be. Needs tarting up a bit. But it’s got three bedrooms…”
“One for you, one for the children, one for her.”
“Oh, stop it. No, I could use one as an office. When I start my company. I mean, it doesn’t matter these days where you work, does it? I can go and see clients; they don’t have to come to me. I’m really excited about it.”
“Won’t you be living on her doorstep? Literally?”
“Well… sort of. But it’s about quarter of a mile from the farmhouse. Right at the bottom of a track thing. I don’t think we’d have to see much of her. Anyway, listen, what I’ve really rung to say is, have you seen the Mail?”
“No. Why? I’ve had t
wo missed calls from Linda; could that be a clue? I was just going to call her.”
“Could be. It’s got a really nice piece in it about Moving Away. Saying how great it is.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. And then it says something about some promising newcomer, Georgia Linley”
“What, like she’s crap, lets the whole thing down?”
“Well, obviously But then it says your performance is… let’s see, oh, yes, extraordinary. And that you’re… yes, here it is, ‘that rare thing, a completely fresh, individual talent. One minute funny, the next heartbreaking, she looks set to steal the show.’”
“Oh. My. God. Oh, my God.”
“Yeah, I know. So cool. Georgia, you’re not crying, are you? How extremely unusual.”
***
Friday. Her lucky day. Always used to be. And she’d met Barney on a Friday… if you could call it lucky. And Luke, actually, come to that. And got her finals results. And passed her grade-five ballet with distinction.
So… this would be the day to do it. She really would. She’d… well, that was a good idea: she’d text him; that would be so much less embarrassing for both of them; why hadn’t she thought of that before? He could ignore a text, or send her something noncommittal back, like… well, like, “Nice to hear from you.” He wouldn’t have to struggle to find the right words, or to sound pleased to hear from her. And she wouldn’t have to act either-at sounding all casual and as if she’d just suddenly thought she might call him, just for old times’ sake. Yes, that’s what she’d do. When she was on her way out for the evening, not a Billy-no-mates, sitting in her room at the hospital. Mark and some of the others had asked her for a curry. Or even when she’d had a couple of drinks. Nothing like a bit of drink dialling…
***
Abi had gone to have her hair blow-dried. It was the only way to get it all silky smooth, like those posh girls had. Then she’d go home, change, and set off in enough time to arrive really cool and collected. She’d even bought a much lighter perfume, not her usual heavy stuff.
The Best Of Times Page 54