by Ashe Barker
“Hey, Einstein. Come over and sit with us.”
I ignored him. He was obviously not talking to me. I headed for the rear row of seats.
Declan leapt up and darted across to meet me before I could sit down. “We saved you a seat. Over here.” He grabbed my elbow and firmly led me back to where Fraze waited.
Dumbstruck, I dropped into the spare seat and plonked my bag on the floor next to me.
“So, we can’t keep calling you Einstein. I’m Fraze and he’s Declan. You’re Ellie, right?”
“Er, yes. How did you…?”
Fraze just offered me his glowing smile, and my questions ceased. These two knew everything, everyone. I waited, miserable, knowing they had brought me over here to make fun of me somehow. It seemed all the more cruel, coming from them, these god-like creatures.
But they didn’t. They were nice. They were good company and generous. Fraze—Iain Frazer-Lyons—was heir to the Duke of Erskine, rich as Croesus and lined up to inherit most of the Highlands and Western Isles as far as I could make out. Declan was his friend, the son of the duke’s housekeeper. The two had grown up together on the vast estate, and Fraze’s father insisted they attend the same school so he was paying the fees for both. Declan displayed not a shred of servility despite the difference in their station in life, nor did Fraze seem to expect it. They were equals, inseparable, and merciless in their teasing of each other. Declan would order Fraze about, and Fraze would call him a peasant. Neither took the slightest offence, it was just the way it was with them. From their behaviour on the train it would seem not a lot had changed.
They took me under their wing somehow, and my life at St. Hugh’s was transformed. I found myself eating with them in the huge refectory and soon learnt the rudiments of posh table manners. I would watch them playing their respective sports, seated next to Fraze at soccer matches or with Declan as we clapped politely and congratulated Fraze’s batting prowess when he hit yet another six. Because I was in their exalted orbit, I bathed in the reflected glow and found a new acceptance among the other students. I was still shy, still awestruck, but less lonely now because I was part of the social fabric of St Hugh’s.
All of this came at a price, of course, and it was one I was happy to pay. I helped them with their prep, coached them before exams, went over the notes from our lessons again and again to help them to understand what the teacher had tried but utterly failed to get across.
“We both fucked up maths for the last two years,” explained Fraze. “My father will insist on a private tutor if I don’t manage to get a decent grade this time, and that’ll put a stop to me going on a rugby tour in New Zealand. That’s not happening, so we’re relying on you, Ellie, to get us through the exam.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I’d love to help you.”
All went well. I tutored them in prep, and in return I became the envy of every girl at St Hugh’s. I was scrawny, wore cheap National Health glasses and chain store clothes, but I was accepted because Fraze and Declan made it clear I was part of their crowd. Life was good, and I was happy.
Then, disaster struck. Lawrence Mortimer, another boy in our year and one not known for either integrity or honesty, broke into the office of the head of maths and photocopied the exam paper which we were all to sit the following week. For a mere hundred pounds each he would sell a copy of the paper to anyone who fancied a sneak preview.
Naturally, he offered the deal to Fraze. And naturally, having been brought up to do the right and honourable thing, Fraze refused.
But I had other ideas. I knew how vital the exam was to Fraze, and I also knew the likelihood of him passing with a decent grade was pretty slim, however much I coached him. Declan was marginally better at quadratic equations, but there wasn’t much to pick between them. That stolen exam paper could make all the difference.
“I could work through the paper, and you could copy my answers. All you’d need to do is remember them for the exam. You’d get at least some right, enough to pass, surely.”
“It’s cheating,” Fraze pointed out unnecessarily. “We could get expelled for this.”
“Not as long as your father’s footing the bill for the new gymnasium,” I replied. “And anyway, we’re not going to get caught. I’ll run through the questions, work out the answers and let you copy my paper. Simple.”
Fraze had his doubts, Declan, too. I waved away their worries. “Everyone cheats if they can, it’s just the way it is. Come on, let’s go find Lawrence Mortimer.”
I’m not a naturally deceitful person. I wasn’t then, either. I would never had dreamed of cheating in an exam for my own benefit—never had to—but I was so completely dazzled by Fraze and Declan, and so desperate to remain indispensable to them, that I was ready to do anything to make sure nothing changed. I was under their spell somehow, so I squashed my own conscience, ignored their objections, and did what I thought needed to be done.
Declan and I waited behind the cricket pavilion while Fraze bought the paper from Lawrence, then the three of us headed for the small double room they shared. Soon I was leafing through the exam paper, making notes and working out the various problems and calculations. It was easy enough, and I’d have had no trouble at all in the exam a few days later, sneak preview or not. When I finished, I let them have my notes from the cribbed exam paper.
By now both boys had managed to overcome their finer feelings on the matter. Fraze scanned the pages then hugged me. Declan swung me around until my glasses flew off, then he grinned as he helped me retrieve them.
“You’re a star,” he declared. “Brains and beauty, what a combination.”
I was ecstatic and remained so—for all of twenty-four hours. By then the maths tutor had noticed that his office had been robbed and made some enquiries. Lawrence Mortimer was soon identified as the culprit, and he took little persuading to expose the other students who had bought the copied paper. Fraze was hauled in to see the head teacher, and Declan, too, of course, since they were known to do everything together.
I waited in the dormitory I shared with seven other girls. It was only a matter of time before the head master sent for me, too. My father carried no influence with the board of governors. He wasn’t paying for a new library wing or upgrading the swimming pool, and in any case, I had been the ringleader. Fraze and Declan would never have approached Lawrence Mortimer but for me. We’d all be in trouble, but they would probably scrape by with a telling off and disqualification from the exam. Me? I’d be expelled for certain.
St. Hugh’s hadn’t exactly embraced the scholarship concept with enthusiasm, and this would be their excuse to be rid of me. They’d say I most likely cheated on my exams before, that I didn’t truly deserve the place in their prestigious school. I’d be sent back to my comprehensive in Leeds, in disgrace. My parents would be mortified, ashamed of me. Deeply honest and hard-working themselves, they wouldn’t even start to understand why I’d done such a thing. As I sat, quivering, on my narrow bunk, I was hard pressed to understand it, either.
But no one came. No stern-faced prefect appeared at the door with a message requiring me to attend the head master’s office. I didn’t dare tempt fate by venturing out and asking what was going on, so I stayed in the dorm and pretended to be ill. The school nurse came to see me, could find nothing to alarm her so let me stay where I was. The kitchen sent my evening meal up to me and my breakfast the next morning. By then I decided I would draw more attention by continuing to hide than by rejoining mainstream school life, so I went to the refectory at lunchtime and found a seat as far as I could from the table I normally shared with Fraze and Declan.
They were there, in the dining hall, and even from the other end of the room I could tell that both looked very subdued. I later found out that the trip to New Zealand was cancelled and that both of them were condemned to spend every evening and weekend until the end of term cleaning the school toilets and showers. Naturally, they were both deemed to have failed the exam.
“Who says I did? What have you heard?”
She shrugged. “Just that Fraze and Dec were caught cheating, and that someone helped them to do the maths paper. Everyone knows it was you. Who else could it have been?”
“How should I know? It was nothing to do with me,” I lied. I was convinced the entire school was watching me, listening to my falsehoods. Even now, after so many years have passed, I can still feel the heat that rose up from my neck as I flushed, the very picture of guilt.
Phoebe just smirked at me. “Okay, okay. Who cares, anyway? So, tell me, is Fraze a good kisser…?”
I glared at her, refusing to answer as I busied myself with my semolina pudding. Phoebe gave up. But she knew. They all knew…
But no one else ever confronted me with my crime. I sat the exam the following week and did well, of course, though I took no pride in it. The sneak preview made no difference, I’d have aced it anyway, but even so…
By mutual but unspoken consent, I stayed well away from Declan and Fraze from then on. I no longer sat with them, stopped attending the sports events, ate my meals with Lucinda mostly, though she bored me with her constant chatter about cosmetics and fashion.
Although we never spent time together any more, I knew when Fraze and Declan left St Hugh’s and I missed them desperately. Declan got a place in the Newcastle United Academy and was on the road to becoming a professional footballer. He was playing on their first team by the time he was seventeen and joined the Scotland international squad two years later. Most of his playing career was spent in Spain, though I saw on the news that he recently transferred back to play for a club in the English First Division.
Fraze’s career has been less in the public eye. The Duke of Erskine died in a freak skiing accident, and Frazer inherited the title when he was just twenty. I read somewhere that he studied law at university, and, despite his lack of mathematical aptitude, has proven in the decade or so since to be adept at financial management. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the country, and if the Financial Times is to be believed, has elevated his position on that league by several places since he took over the Erskine estates.
Neither of my childhood heroes has ever married—I’d have spotted that little snippet had it occurred. Declan was involved with an American model for a while, but they had a rather public split when she took it into her empty, but extremely pretty head, to sleep with the team captain in Barcelona. Idiot woman! As for Fraze, I never heard or read anything to associate him with either a specific woman or any scandal. His father would have been very proud.
Chapter Two
I manage to make a decent show of ignoring Declan as I pretend to be absorbed in my work. He soon abandons any attempt to engage me in conversation and resorts to studying his iPhone. A sneaky sideways glance tells me he’s actually reading an ebook rather than playing Candy Crush Saga. Whatever, it keeps him occupied until Iain returns with one of those small paper bags the train services hand out for carrying drinks.
Iain places an espresso in front of Declan and a tall latte in his own place. He also produces a bottle of water from the bag and sets that down beside my laptop.
“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but it’s a long journey, so I thought…”
I gaze across the table at him as he retakes his seat. He dazzles me, again, with that gorgeous smile. Still nice, still generous, still thoughtful and kind to those around him, even a not especially polite stranger on a train.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “Next time I’ll go and get the drinks.”
“Okay.” He takes an experimental sip of his coffee. “How’s the work going?”
“Oh…fine.” I drag my gaze back to the screen and pretend to be studying the data displayed there. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
“No problem.” Iain settles back to admire the view of southern England as it hurtles past outside. “Don’t let us disturb you.”
The next hour or so passes in silence, more or less. We are disturbed only by the ticket inspection and a brief stop at Newark. More passengers get on, and one youngster travelling with his father recognises Declan. The man looks sheepish and apologises for disturbing us, but could his son have an autograph, please?
Declan obliges, scrawling his signature on one of the napkins which came with the coffee, then agrees to the ubiquitous selfie, too. He chats with the lad for a few minutes before the father, clearly embarrassed but grateful for the attention, drags the boy away to their seats.
I’m not certain what to say. In creating the impression that I haven’t met my fellow passengers before, I’m not supposed to know that Declan is a footballer with an international career, an icon for every budding David Beckham. Neither can I reasonably ignore what just happened. It’s not every day that perfect strangers ask for an autograph. I’m spared having to deal with the issue when Iain chuckles.
“Christ, you kick a lump of leather about, score a goal or two, and suddenly you’re a fucking superhero.”
“Ah,” I murmur, seizing on the opening, “you play football.” As if I didn’t know…
“Yeah.” Declan smirks at Iain, and this time it’s he who offers the single-finger salute. He turns to me. “Please excuse my companion’s language. He’s jealous because no one ever asks him for a selfie, and because women prefer me, too.”
Iain merely laughs at that. “Talking of women, how’s the beautiful Allannah these days?”
“She’s well, except that she always complains when I don’t go to see her while I’m in Scotland.”
I rack my brains and recall that Allannah is the name of Declan’s mother, the housekeeper to the duke.
“If you do get there I might come with you and beg her to come back to Hatfield with me.” Iain grins at his friend. “I could offer to marry her,” he adds hopefully.
“You can forget that. My mother’s retired now and done skivvying for you posh dickheads and she certainly wouldn’t fancy marrying one. She’s having a fine time living in her little cottage, playing crown green bowling and breeding cairn terriers. She hardly has time to take my phone calls let alone mop up after you.”
Iain shrugs. “Pity. This new woman we hired is okay, but she doesn’t have Allannah’s touch with pastry.”
“Get used to it,” snarls Declan, then returns to his ebook.
I’ve been trying to give the impression I’m not listening, that I’m not in the least interested in their conversation. Declan might be prepared to let me continue with my little fantasy but not Iain, it seems. He leans across the table to offer me a mint. I’m about to decline but at the last moment I decide I do quite fancy one.
“Thank you.” I pop it in my mouth and savour the sudden, sharp burst of peppermint before returning to my work.
Iain decides to strike up another conversation. “So, do you suffer from migraines, Eleanor? Is that why you chose to research it?”
I shake my head. “No, not any more, though I used to as a child. It was something that interested me and it affects a lot of people.”
Iain nods. “My cousin used to suffer from migraines, too. They were triggered by eating too much chocolate.”
“No they weren’t,” I retort without thinking. “That’s a common myth.”
He raises one blond eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“A craving for sweet foods and chocolate is common at the start of an attack, and many people associate eating the chocolate, say, with the migraine that follows. It’s a symptom not a cause.”
“I see. I must remember to mention this to Fiona.”
“You could send her a Godiva gift box,” suggests Declan without even looking up from his phone. “No, better still, I will. Maybe I’ll give her a call, too, while I’m here.”
“Dream on, bro. You might as well save your money. Fiona never much liked you.”
>
“Yes she did!” Declan regards Iain under his dark eyebrows. “She almost let me kiss her in the stables one time when she was staying at Hathersmuir.”
“Liar. You probably sneaked up on her and she was too kind-hearted to kick you in the nuts as you deserved. No problem, I’d be happy to do it for her. Anyway, I doubt she’d let you kiss her now, and her husband certainly wouldn’t.”
“That accountant of hers?” Declan gives a derisory snort. “Fiona married him on the rebound. It won’t last.”
“Adrian’s a director of the Bank of England, and they’ve been married for eight years. They have two little girls. Fiona adores him, as you well know.”
Declan shrugs. “If you say so.” He turns to me, his expression pleasant and deceptively calm. “Eleanor, if I tried to kiss you, would you try to kick me in the nuts?”
“What?” I gape at him. “What did you just say?”
He turns back to Iain who is scowling from across the table. “See, Eleanor agrees. She wouldn’t have kicked me in the nuts and neither would Fiona. I think maybe I’ll just drop your lovely cousin a text…”
“You’ve embarrassed our companion.” Iain bestows his smile on me again. “You must forgive my uncouth friend. He had a deprived childhood and as a result experiences difficulty controlling his delusional tendencies. He’s further hampered by total lack of anything that might pass for manners. It’s really very sad. Perhaps you could find a cure for him—after you’ve finished with the migraine, obviously.”
I’m speechless. Caught in the middle of their banter, it’s as though I’m twelve years old all over again. I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“See? Now who’s embarrassed our companion?” Declan stretches out his long legs as he leans back in his seat. “You’re only jealous because our gorgeous Ms Dickinson doesn’t want to kiss you.”
“Of course she does, though neither me nor the lovely Eleanor are given to public displays of affection. It’s the breeding…”