Twenties Girl

by Sophie Kinsella

  Yeah, right.

  “Anyway!” says Mum quickly. “That was before.”

  “Quite. Obviously things have somewhat changed now,” Dad continues. “So if you would like to be involved in planning it-”

  “Yes. I would like to be involved,” I say, almost fiercely. “In fact, I think I’ll take charge.”

  “Right.” Dad glances at Mum. “Well. Absolutely. I think that would only be right, given the amount of… of research you’ve done on her life.”

  “We do think you’re a marvel, Lara,” says Mum with a sudden fervor. “Finding all this out. Who would have known, without you? The story might never have come out at all! We might all have gone to our deaths, never knowing the truth!”

  Trust Mum to bring all our deaths into it.

  “Here are the funeral directors’ details, darling.” Dad hands me a leaflet, and I awkwardly pocket it, just as the buzzer goes. I head to the video intercom and peer at the grainy black-and-white image on the little screen. I think it’s a man, although the image is so crap, it could equally well be an elephant.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Gareth Birch from Print Please,” says the man. “I’ve got your business cards here.”

  “Oh, cool! Bring them up!”

  This is it. Now I know I really have a business. I have business cards!

  I usher Gareth Birch into our office, excitedly open the box, and hand cards around to everyone. They say Lara Lington, Magic Search, and there’s a little embossed picture of a tiny magic wand.

  “How come you delivered them personally?” I ask as I sign the delivery form. “I mean, it’s very kind, but aren’t you based in Hackney? Weren’t you going to send them by post?”

  “I thought I’d do you a favor,” Gareth Birch says, giving me a glassy stare. “I value your business greatly, and it’s the least I can do.”

  “What?” I stare at him, puzzled.

  “I value your business greatly,” he repeats, sounding a bit robotic. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Oh my God. Sadie. What’s she been doing?

  “Well… thanks very much,” I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I appreciate it. And I’ll recommend you to all my friends!”

  Gareth Birch makes his exit and I busy myself unpacking the boxes of cards, aware of Mum and Dad looking at me, agog.

  “Did he just bring these himself, all the way from Hackney?” says Dad at last.

  “Looks like it.” I try to sound breezy, as though this is a normal course of events. Luckily, before they can say anything else, the phone rings and I hurry to answer it.

  “Hello, Magic Search.”

  “May I speak to Lara Lington, please?” It’s a woman’s voice I don’t recognize.

  “Speaking.” I sit down on one of the new swivel chairs, hoping she doesn’t hear the crunch of plastic. “Can I help?”

  “This is Pauline Reed. I’m head of human resources at Wheeler Foods. I was wondering, would you like to come in for a chat? I’ve heard good things about you.”

  “Oh, how nice!” I beam over the phone. “From whom, may I ask? Janet Grady?”

  There’s silence. When Pauline Reed speaks again, she sounds puzzled.

  “I don’t quite recall who. But you have a great reputation for sourcing talent, and I want to meet you. Something tells me you can do good things for our business.”

  Sadie.

  “Well… that would be great!” I gather my wits. “Let me look at my schedule…” I open it and fix up an appointment. As I put the phone down, both Mum and Dad are watching with a kind of eager hopefulness.

  “Good news, darling?” says Dad.

  “Just the head of human resources at Wheeler Foods,” I say casually. “She wanted a meeting.”

  “Wheeler Foods who make Oatie Breakfast Treats?” Mum sounds beside herself.

  “Yup.” I can’t help beaming. “Looks like my guardian angel’s watching out for me.”

  “Hello!” Kate’s bright voice interrupts me as she bursts through the door, holding a big flower arrangement. “Look what’s just been delivered! Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lington,” she adds politely. “Do you like our new office? Isn’t it great?”

  I take the flower arrangement from Kate and rip open the little card.

  “To all at Magic Search,” I read aloud. “We hope to get to know you as clients and as friends. Yours, Brian Chalmers. Head of Global Human Resources at Dwyer Dunbar plc. And he’s given his private line number.”

  “How amazing!” Kate’s eyes are wide. “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know anyone at Dwyer Dunbar?”

  “Er… no.”

  Mum and Dad both seem beyond speech. I think I’d better get them out of here before anything else crazy happens.

  “We’re going to lunch at the pizza place,” I inform Kate. “Want to come?”

  “I’ll be along in a sec.” She nods cheerfully. “I need to sort a few things out first.”

  I usher Mum and Dad out of the office, down the steps, and onto the street. An elderly vicar in a clerical collar and robes is standing directly outside on the pavement, looking a bit lost, and I approach him, wondering if he’s OK.

  “Hi. Do you know where you are? Can I give you directions?”

  “Well… yes, I am a stranger to the area.” He gives me a dazed look. “I’m looking for number 59.”

  “That’s this building-look.” I point to our foyer, where 59 is embossed on the glass.

  “Ah, yes, so it is!” His face clears and he approaches the entrance. But to my surprise he doesn’t go in. He just raises his hand and starts making the sign of the cross.

  “Lord, I call on you to bless all who work in this building,” he says, his voice a little quavery. “Bless all endeavors and businesses within, particularly at this time Magic-”

  No way.

  “So!” I grab Mum and Dad. “Let’s go and get some pizza.”

  “Lara,” says Dad weakly, as I practically manhandle him down the street. “Am I going mad, or was that vicar-”

  “I think I’ll have Four Seasons,” I interrupt him brightly. “And some dough balls. How about you two?”

  I think Mum and Dad have given up. They’re just going with the flow. By the time we’ve all had a glass of valpolicella, everyone’s smiling and the tricky questions have stopped. We’ve all chosen our pizzas and are stuffing in hot, garlicky dough balls, and I’m feeling pretty happy.

  Even when Tonya arrives, I can’t get stressed. It was Mum and Dad’s idea to ask her along, and the truth is, even though she winds me up, she’s family. I’m starting to appreciate what that means.

  “Oh my God.” Her strident greeting rings through the restaurant, and about twenty heads turn. “Oh my God. Can you believe all this stuff about Uncle Bill?”

  As she arrives at our table, she’s obviously expecting a bit more of a reaction.

  “Hi, Tonya,” I say. “How are the boys? How’s Stuart?”

  “Can you believe it?” she repeats, giving us all dissatisfied looks. “Have you seen the papers? I mean, it can’t be true. It’s tabloid rubbish. Someone’s got an agenda somewhere.”

  “I think it is true,” Dad corrects her mildly. “I think he admits as much himself.”

  “But have you seen what they’ve written about him?”

  “Yes.” Mum reaches for the valpolicella. “We have. Wine, darling?”

  “But…” Tonya sinks down into a chair and looks around at us all with an aggrieved, bewildered expression. She clearly thought we would all be up in arms on Uncle Bill’s behalf. Not merrily tucking into dough balls.

  “Here you are.” Mum slides a wineglass across. “We’ll get you a menu.”

  I can see Tonya’s mind working as she unbuttons her jacket and slings it over a chair. I can see her recalibrating the situation. She’s not going to stick up for Uncle Bill if no one else does.

  “So, who uncovered it all?” she says at las
t, and takes a gulp of wine. “Some investigative journalist?”

  “Lara,” says Dad with a little smile.

  “Lara?” She looks more resentful than ever. “What do you mean, Lara?”

  “I found out about Great-Aunt Sadie and the picture,” I explain. “I put two and two together. It was me.”

  “But…” Tonya’s cheeks are puffing out in disbelief. “But you weren’t mentioned in the papers.”

  “I prefer to keep a low profile,” I say cryptically, like a superhero who vanishes namelessly into the darkness and doesn’t need any reward other than doing good.

  Although, truth be told, I would have loved to be mentioned in the papers. But no one bothered to come and interview me, even though I straightened my hair especially, just in case. All the reports just said, The discovery was made by a family member.

  Family member. Hmph.

  “But I don’t get it.” Tonya’s baleful blue eyes are on me. “Why did you start poking around in the first place?”

  “I had an instinct something was wrong regarding Great-Aunt Sadie. But no one would listen to me,” I can’t help adding pointedly. “At the funeral, everyone thought I was a nutcase.”

  “You said she’d been murdered,” objects Tonya. “She wasn’t murdered.”

  “I had a general instinct that something was amiss,” I say with a dignified air. “So I chose to follow up my suspicions on my own. And, after some research, they were confirmed.” Everyone’s hanging on my words as if I’m a university lecturer. “I then approached experts at the London Portrait Gallery, and they verified my discovery.”

  “Indeed they did.” Dad smiles at me.

  “And guess what?” I add proudly. “They’re having the painting valued and Uncle Bill’s giving Dad half of what it’s worth!”

  “No way.” Tonya claps a hand to her mouth. “No way. How much will that be?”

  “Millions, apparently.” Dad looks uncomfortable. “Bill’s adamant.”

  “It’s only what you’re owed, Dad,” I say for the millionth time. “He stole it from you. He’s a thief!”

  Tonya seems a bit speechless. She takes a dough ball and rips it with her teeth.

  “Did you see that editorial in The Times?” she says at last. “Brutal.”

  “It was rather savage.” Dad winces. “We do feel for Bill, despite it all-”

  “No, we don’t!” Mum interrupts. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Pippa!” Dad looks taken aback.

  “I don’t feel for him one little bit.” She looks around the table defiantly. “I feel… angry. Yes. Angry.”

  I gape at Mum in surprise. My whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever known Mum to actually say she was angry. Across the table, Tonya looks just as gobsmacked. She raises her eyebrows questioningly at me, and I give a tiny shrug in return.

  “What he did was shameful and unforgivable,” Mum continues. “Your father always tries to see the good side of people, to find the excuse. But sometimes there isn’t a good side. There isn’t an excuse.”

  I’ve never known Mum so militant. Her cheeks are pink and she’s clutching her wineglass as though she’s about to punch the sky with it.

  “Good for you, Mum!” I exclaim.

  “And if your father keeps trying to defend him-”

  “I’m not defending him!” says Dad at once. “But he’s my brother. He’s family. It’s difficult…”

  He sighs heavily. I can see the disappointment etched in the lines under his eyes. Dad wants to find the good in everyone. It’s part of his makeup.

  “Your brother’s success cast a long shadow over our family.” Mum’s voice is trembling. “It affected all of us in different ways. Now it’s time for us all to be free. That’s what I think. Draw a line.”

  “I recommended Uncle Bill’s book to my book club, you know,” says Tonya suddenly. “I made eight sales for him.” She looks almost more outraged by this than anything. “And it was all lies! He’s despicable!” She turns on Dad. “And if you don’t think so, too, Dad, if you don’t feel livid with him, then you’re a mug!”

  I can’t help giving an inward cheer. Sometimes Tonya’s forthright, trampling-over-feet way is just what you need.

  “I am livid,” Dad says at last. “Of course I am. It’s just an adjustment. To realize your younger brother is quite such a selfish… unprincipled… shit.” He breathes out hard. “I mean, what does that say?”

  “It says we forget about him,” says Mum firmly. “Move on. Start living the rest of our lives without feeling like second-class citizens.”

  Mum’s got more spirit in her voice than I’ve heard for years! Go, Mum!

  “So, who’s been dealing with him?” Tonya frowns. “Hasn’t that been a bit tricky?”

  “Lara’s done everything,” says Mum proudly. “Talked to Bill, talked to the gallery, sorted everything out-and started her own business! She’s been a tower of strength.”

  “Great!” Tonya smiles widely, but I can tell she’s annoyed. “Well done you.” She takes a sip of wine and swills it around her mouth thoughtfully. I just know she’s searching for some little vulnerable spot, some way to regain ascendancy…

  “So how are things with Josh?” She puts on her sympathetic look. “Dad told me you got back together for a bit but then broke up for good? That must have been really tough. Really devastating.”

  “It’s OK.” I shrug. “I’m over it.”

  “But you must feel so hurt,” Tonya persists, her cowlike eyes fixed on mine. “Your self-confidence must have taken a knock. Just remember, it doesn’t mean you’re not attractive, Lara. Does it?” She appeals to Mum and Dad. “There are other men-”

  “My new boyfriend cheers me up,” I say brightly. “So I wouldn’t worry.”

  “New boyfriend?” Her mouth sags open. “Already?”

  She needn’t look so surprised.

  “He’s an American consultant over on assignment. His name’s Ed.”

  “Very handsome,” puts in Dad supportively.

  “He took us all out for lunch last week!” adds Mum.

  “Well.” Tonya looks affronted. “That’s… great. But it’ll be hard when he goes back to the States, won’t it?” She visibly brightens. “Long-distance relationships are the most likely to break down. All those transatlantic phone calls… and the time difference…”

  “Who knows what’ll happen?” I hear myself saying sweetly.

  “I can make him stay!” Sadie’s low voice in my ear makes me jump. I turn to see her hovering right by me, her eyes shining with determination. “I’m your guardian angel. I’ll make Ed stay in England!”

  “Excuse me a moment,” I say to the table generally. “I’ve just got to send a text.”

  I get out my phone and start texting, positioning the screen so that Sadie can see it.

  It’s OK. U don’t need to make him stay. Where have u been?

  “Or I could make him ask you to marry him!” she exclaims, ignoring my question. “Too much fun! I’ll tell him to propose, and I’ll make sure he chooses a simply stunning ring, and we’ll have such fun planning the wedding…”

  No, no, no! I text hurriedly. Sadie, stop! Don’t make Ed do anything. I want him to make his own decisions. I want him to listen to his own voice.

  Sadie gives a little harrumph as she reads my message. “Well, I think my voice is more interesting,” she says, and I can’t help a smile.

  “Texting your boyfriend?” says Tonya, watching me.

  “No,” I say noncommittally. “Just… a friend. A good friend.” I turn away and tap in, Thanks for doing all that stuff to help me. U didn’t have to.

  “I wanted to!” says Sadie. “It’s fun! Have you had the champagne yet?”

  No, I text back, wanting to laugh. Sadie, u r the best guardian angel EVER.

  “Well, I do rather pride myself.” She preens herself. “Now, where shall I sit?”

  She floats across the table and sits on a spare chair at t
he end, just as Kate approaches the table, looking pink with excitement.

  “Guess what!” she says. “We just got a bottle of champagne from the off-license round the corner! The man said it was to welcome us to the area! And you’ve had lots of calls, Lara; I’ve written down all the numbers… and the post arrived, forwarded from your flat. I didn’t bring it all, but there was one package I thought might be important; it’s come from Paris…” She hands me a Jiffy bag, pulls out a chair, and beams at everyone. “Have you ordered yet? I’m absolutely starving! Hi, we haven’t met, I’m Kate…”

  As Kate and Tonya introduce themselves and Dad pours out more wine, I stare down at the Jiffy bag, feeling a sudden breathless apprehension. It’s come from Paris. It has girlish handwriting on the front. When I press it, I can feel something hard and bumpy inside. Hard and bumpy like a necklace.

  Slowly, I lift my eyes. Sadie is watching me intently across the table. I know she’s thinking the same.

  “Go on.” She nods.

  With trembling hands I rip it open. I peer inside at a mass of tissue paper. I push it aside and see a flash of pale iridescent yellow. I look up, straight at Sadie.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” She’s gone very white. “You’ve got it.”

  I nod, just once. Then, barely knowing what I’m doing, I push back my chair.

  “I just have to… make a call.” My voice is suddenly grainy. “I’ll go outside. Be back in a moment…”

  I thread my way through the tables and chairs to the back of the restaurant, where there’s a small secluded courtyard. I push my way out through the fire doors and head to the far corner, then open the Jiffy bag again, pull out the mass of tissue paper, and gently unwrap it.

  After all this time. I’m holding it. Just like that.

  It’s warmer to the touch than I expected. More substantial, somehow. A shaft of sunlight is glinting off the rhinestones, and the beads are shimmering. It’s so stunning I have a sudden strong urge to put it on. But instead I look up at Sadie, who has been watching me silently.

  “Here you are. It’s yours.” Automatically I try to put it around her neck, as though I’m giving her an Olympic medal. But my hands sink straight through her. I try again and again, even though I know it’s no use.