Lady: Impossible

by Fraser, B. D.

With a heavy sigh, I lead us out of the room, the two of us holding hands like best friends in year eight. Every time I look at her, she seems closer to tears. My guess is that she’s wondering how she’d fare if she was in my situation. It’s practically unimaginable.

  ‘Maybe it’s not as bad as your father thinks,’ she says as we make it to the ground floor.

  ‘Oh, it’s definitely bad. That’s why he was so afraid to tell us.’

  I immediately steer her away from the direction of the study, taking her the long way around to the piano room. That’s where I moved the flowers, thinking they’d be happier next to the sunny window instead of overwhelmed in my all too yellow room. However, when we get there, we find Blair in plain clothes, transferring the flowers to a different vase.

  He bows his head. ‘Your Ladyship. Mrs Carrington. I’ll soon be out of your way. Just changing the vase – this one is a crystal Baccarat. Apparently it was your grandmother’s, m’lady?’

  I drop Abby’s hand, alarmed that he’s still here. It’s his day off. Yet here he is in jeans and a dark-grey V-neck top, carrying out duties as he normally would.

  ‘Um, I thought you’d left for the day.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be off soon. Overslept this morning.’ He takes the time to rearrange a few of the orchids, apparently not satisfied with the presentation. ‘I’m no good at this sort of thing. Perhaps you and Mrs Carrington would like to try?’

  Abby comes off much brighter than me, though she too seems to be caught off guard. ‘We’ll have a go.’

  I wring my hands, not even bothering to hide my anxiety. ‘Yes, we can do that.’

  He rewards us with a lopsided grin. I die a little on the inside, hating the continued denial of our trysts and wishing I was free to keep him.

  ‘Thanks. I don’t want to miss my bus. Well, I already have, but you know what I mean.’ He scratches the back of his neck before digging his hands into his jean pockets, his bare feet adding to the casual look. ‘Anyway, I’d best be off.’

  I snap my fingers and point to the vase that’s been replaced. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  He turns to pick up the vase, only to be halted by Abby’s voice.

  ‘No, we’ll take care of that. She was joking. You don’t want to be late for the, uh, public transportation thing.’

  I stare blankly at her before returning my attention to Blair. ‘Yes, those buses can be… troublesome.’

  I clearly have no idea what I’m talking about. Abby neither. Blair raises his hands and leaves the vase alone, striding past us to get to the doorway.

  ‘M’lady. Mrs Carrington. Have a good day.’

  Abby manages to wave. I, on the other hand, continue to gawk, mouth still open after he’s gone.

  How can he be this calm around me? Is it easy for him to act this way now? Days and days of indifference, of treating me like any other person. It’s immature of me to sulk, but lately all I’ve wanted to do is scream when he’s around – in a true ‘this is an injustice’ kind of way, rather than an ‘I need One Direction concert tickets’ kind of way.

  ‘Mills?’

  With my shoulders slumped, I plod over to the table where the flowers are. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’

  ‘You are not fine.’ She joins me at the table and puts an arm around my shoulders. ‘Your butler, on the other hand…’

  I nudge her in the ribs, pouting. ‘Don’t. I can’t take it today.’

  ‘All right, no teasing.’ She removes her arm and picks up the card sitting in front of the new vase. ‘May I read?’

  ‘You may.’

  She clears her throat and reads out the printed message:

  Millie,

  How mistaken I was in thinking I could forget you. I’m in Zurich at the moment but, if you’ll let me, I’d like to take you out when I’m home – not for another ten days, unfortunately, but I can call you on Saturday to see if you’re still interested. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these flowers.

  Yours truly,

  Oliver

  Nerves get the better of me again. I clutch my stomach and slow my breathing. All this sentiment may be for nothing if Andrew’s financial assessment proves direr than expected. Oliver won’t want anything to do with me if complete ruin is on the cards – the tabloids will be all over it like shoppers at a sample sale. I just have to hope that Andrew is confident that selling will leave us with enough funds to continue living comfortably, albeit without Silsbury Hall, and that any ensuing gossip blows over quickly.

  ‘Have you tried calling him?’ Abby asks, gently placing the card back on the table.

  ‘Calling? No. I don’t want to seem too keen. Besides, I’m not sure if his mobile will be connected in Switzerland.’

  ‘I’m sure it would be.’ She pauses to take a closer look at the flowers, moving an orchid to the front. ‘Andrew says clients get very cross when he’s unreachable.’

  ‘Money does tend to make people edgy.’

  ‘Very true. Look, I’m no expert, but if you call him before the weekend – finances permitting – I think he’ll be chuffed. Settling things with Al, these flowers and broaching the subject of a date are all good signs.’

  ‘Definitely good signs.’

  She gives me a sidelong glance. ‘You don’t look excited. You can still be excited, even with the terrible news.’

  I shrug. ‘It’s called being cautious.’

  Not wanting to elaborate, I busy myself with the arrangement, adjusting the height of the orchids until I’m satisfied. Meanwhile, Abby takes interest in the vase, running her fingertips across the intricate crystal and rotating the base when I’m done with the flowers.

  ‘How much do you think it’s worth?’ I ask, admiring how it looks in the white light.

  ‘Ten thousand, probably. But it’s vintage, so maybe a little more.’

  ‘I should go around the house valuing everything. Price tag, anyone?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see how things go. I mean –’ She stops suddenly, apparently distracted by something she’s seen through the window. I follow suit when she cranes her neck to the right, keen to see what’s going on.

  I come around to her other side, unable to see what she’s spotted. ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a girl at the gate. Do you think she’s a girl guide or something?’

  She stands aside, allowing me to see through to the gate. There is someone there: a girl pacing up and down and occasionally rubbing her eyes.

  ‘I think that’s Julie. Blair’s sister.’

  ‘Really? But Blair just left, didn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe he hasn’t yet. Maybe she’s waiting for him?’

  ‘How did she get here? She doesn’t look old enough to drive.’

  I mimic Abby’s awkward intonation from before. ‘The, uh, public transportation thing?’

  ‘Ooh, should we say hello? I think she’s spotted us!’

  Indeed, Julie has stopped pacing and is now looking in our direction. I’m sure it’s her. She’s wearing the same grey jeans as when I first met her, this time paired with a salmon-pink top.

  I hesitate. ‘Blair won’t like it if we talk to her.’

  ‘If he slept in, and was supposed to leave earlier, then why is she here now?’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll call him.’

  I take my phone out of my skirt pocket and call Blair, who takes until the sixth ring to answer.

  ‘Yes, m’lady?’

  ‘Where are you right now? Have you left the house?’

  ‘I’m walking to the bus stop. Is something the matter?’

  ‘Um, Julie’s here. Were you supposed to meet her?’

  ‘Julie?’ He certainly sounds shocked. ‘Why is she at the house?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.’

  He groans, obviously not needing this in his day. ‘Bloody hell. I’m walking back now. I’m so sorry about this.’

  He hangs up without saying goodbye, like he’s
on a TV crime series where there’s no time for that kind of thing. Who knows, maybe he’s walking down the street sporting a pair of aviators and a CSI jacket?

  I turn to Abby, who’s decided to wave to Julie even though they’ve never met before.

  ‘He’s coming back now.’

  She whacks me on the arm, jumping with excitement. ‘Oh look, she waved back!’

  ‘Yes, children are capable of doing that.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and see if she’s all right?’

  I think it over. ‘I suppose so. He can’t have a go at us for checking, surely.’

  Actually, he could. But I don’t want to be told off for not acknowledging her, either.

  We quickly make our way to the front door and step out onto the garden path, with Julie waving shyly as we approach. Abby falls back, following behind me, either because I’m the one who Julie is familiar with or because she doesn’t really know how to deal with young people.

  ‘Hi, Julie.’ I unlock the gate and swing it open, but am taken aback when I see that she’s been crying. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Is my brother here?’ she asks, lip quivering.

  Oh no. This doesn’t sound good.

  ‘He’s coming back right now. He was about to catch the bus.’

  She takes a deep breath and starts rambling in a nervous manner. ‘Why is he late? He always comes home early on Wednesday. Francie texted him but he didn’t reply. Stephen and Sylvie are at work, so I lied to my mum and Francie and said I was going to a friend’s place. I got your address from the emergency contact list we have at home.’

  ‘Aw, sweetie, he slept in. That’s all. You weren’t able to text him?’

  She sniffles. ‘I don’t have any credit.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Not exactly a problem I’ve encountered before, but that’s beside the point, which I need to get back to… Francie and Sylvie must be Blair’s other two sisters, so the problem seems to be a case of missed messages and bad timing.

  Abby emerges from behind me, apparently brave enough now to introduce herself. ‘Hi. I’m Abby, Millie’s friend.’ She digs into her pocket and hands Julie a tissue. ‘Here you go. Blow your nose.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Poor girl was distraught enough to travel all the way to her brother’s place of work. She must really miss him when he’s not around. And how did she even know how to get here? She must be very resourceful.

  I usher her out onto the path, taking the opportunity to look down the street to see if Blair is anywhere close. I’m not sure how far the nearest bus stop is, so it’s not like I can properly estimate how long it’ll take him to get back, but judging from his reaction on the phone, he’s probably doing his best to hurry.

  I turn back to Julie. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

  ‘He’s going to be angry,’ she says, glancing down at her feet. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you.’

  Abby gives her a funny look. ‘Why not? Millie is really friendly.’ She pauses. ‘When she wants to be.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Thanks, Abby.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Julie blows her nose again before answering, building the suspense. ‘He says you’re a bad role model. I don’t know why. I think you’re nice.’

  I almost fall over her choice of words. Or should I say his choice of words: ‘Bad role model?’

  I may not be the most down-to-earth individual, or the most understanding, but labelling me a bad role model is harsh. How could he say such a thing to his sister? She doesn’t know me. She met me once, in a supermarket aisle when I was giggling at my basket of vegetables.

  The shock must be evident on my face, because Abby is quick to give me a warning. ‘Mills, don’t take it personally.’

  ‘How can I not take it personally?’

  Suddenly conscious of Julie’s curious gaze, I try to make my expression neutral. It’s not her fault.

  Presumably to distract me, Abby engages Julie in a bit of conversation.

  ‘So how old are you, Julie?’

  She looks up at us with teary eyes, her unkempt hair making her look even more miserable. ‘Thirteen in September.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s a good age. Are you enjoying the school holidays? What have you been up to?’

  ‘Everyone works a lot so I mostly stay at home or go over to my friends’.’

  ‘I see. How about a boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend?’

  I interrupt before Julie can answer. ‘She’s twelve. Why would she have a boyfriend?’

  Abby waves me off. ‘Why wouldn’t she? She’s very pretty.’

  Julie laughs, her smile brightening her whole face. She digs her hands into her pockets and rocks on her heels, suddenly exuding an unexpected confidence. ‘I had a boyfriend last year, but he moved schools.’

  ‘Really?’ I’m genuinely intrigued, letting curiosity override how offended I feel, at least for a few seconds. ‘Were you sad when he left?’

  She shrugs, nonchalant. ‘Yeah. A bit.’

  I raise my eyebrows and turn to Abby. ‘I think we have ourselves a little heartbreaker here.’

  Abby nods enthusiastically. ‘You should give Millie some tips on how to impress the lads. She’s not very good. They all run away.’

  If Blair was to return right now, he’d be livid at the topic of conversation. He already thinks I’m a bad role model. Now Abby is urging Julie to give me advice when, really, I’ve done enough to bonk her brother – twice.

  And only twice, I remind myself. It’s all over between us.

  ‘Why do they run away?’ Julie asks.

  Oh to be twelve again. Such an innocent age.

  ‘Probably training for the Olympics.’

  Abby plays along. ‘Very quick runners.’

  ‘The quickest.’

  ‘You know in athletics, the four-by-one-hundred relay team? Millie’s ex-boyfriends.’

  ‘Yes. Sprinters, the lot of them.’

  Somehow I think the humour is lost on Julie. She gives us one of those polite smiles that people give when they have no idea what the other person is on about. It makes me feel old, not being able to connect with her in this instance. No one wants to be out of touch.

  I let out a low whistle. ‘Where is that brother of yours?’

  Probably looking for another bad role model to fuck, that’s where.

  Oh my God, I’m so bitter.

  ‘Should we wait inside?’ Abby asks. ‘How far away is this “bus stop”?’

  I snort at her implied quotation marks. ‘The bus stop is real. You don’t have to say it like it’s hypothetical.’

  ‘It’s not that far,’ Julie says. ‘I’ve walked longer.’

  Abby nods, seemingly impressed.

  In the end, it takes Blair another couple of minutes to make it back. He arrives in a flustered state, rushing to a stop just inside the gate.

  ‘Jules, what are you doing here?’

  She rushes over to him, hugging him around the waist and not letting go. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘I sent Francie a text. You must’ve already left the house.’

  Abby nudges me. ‘How sweet. Better than postcards, don’t you think?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say under my breath.

  Abby and I hang back as Blair hugs his sister. It’s a poignant scene. He’s clearly irritated that she’s here, his frustration evident in his features. Yet he comforts her anyway, rubbing her back soothingly and telling her not to worry so much.

  He shoots me an apologetic look. ‘Sorry about this.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  The scene is a blow for me on two counts. The first being the pang of loss I feel at my own brother’s absence – both physical and emotional. The second hits home as I remember what it’s like to be held by Blair.

  I turn my head away, clenching my jaw to stave off any emotion that dares show itself.

  Abby leans in and whispers. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

&nb
sp; ‘You didn’t. I promise.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Blair interrupts our little side-discussion, apparently very keen to leave. He even seems wary of the house, glancing at the front door as if it’s going to suck him back in for an extra shift. ‘I suppose we’ll be off now, if that’s okay?’

  I answer without meeting his gaze. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘All right then. Enjoy your day.’

  I fight back a snort. Enjoyable, my arse. ‘Yes, see you later.’

  I force a smile at Julie, who has finally let go of her brother’s waist. She rewards me with a toothy grin, the last thing I see before I turn my back on both Baxters. Abby does the polite thing and waves – she’s always been better than me when it comes to niceties.

  I wait for them to leave the property before speaking again. ‘I should’ve asked him about the bad-role-model thing.’

  It’s not in my nature to leave things uncontested. This is going to drive me nuts until I confront him about it.

  Abby gestures for me to follow her back into the house. ‘Oh no. You don’t want to do that. That’s a terrible idea.’

  ‘The man lives in my house and knows all my secrets,’ I say, following her up the path. ‘Okay, maybe not all, but a significant portion of them. Why shouldn’t I question his loyalty?’

  ‘It’s not loyalty. It’s an opinion. And if you look at things from his point of view, it’s not without basis.’

  ‘What?’ I stop in front of the doorway, staring at her as she steps into the house. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re not role models for the youth of today, or any day for that matter. You can’t exactly aspire to be entitled, can you?’ She tilts her head and beckons me inside, seemingly bemused that I’m being so sensitive. ‘Forget about it. You have other things to worry about. Namely money.’

  Grumbling, I step inside and shut the door on the world. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  I continue to mull over her words as we return to the piano room. Admittedly, on some level, it is borderline ridiculous that I feel so offended. I’ve never put myself out there as some sort of perfect woman, someone girls should want to emulate. I think what bothers me is that I try to be a good person. Telling a child not to be like me is, at the end of the day, a negative assessment of my character.

  Abby sits down at the piano and starts playing a classical piece she knows off by heart. It’s a dramatic number, a fitting soundtrack for my predicament and not very uplifting. As if she can read my mind, she changes to an upbeat honky-tonk number, matching her expressions to the peppy tune.