by Gemma Fox
Adie grinned and then growled playfully.
‘I think we should be heading back to the hacienda,’ said Carol, glancing at her watch; hadn’t Miss Haze said that she was going up to the house too? They all looked at her. ‘Well, Diana is there all on her own,’ she added weakly. ‘And I’d promised to help—and everyone else should be there soon.’
‘Yes, sirree, Mother Teresa,’ said Jan. ‘And maybe Gareth’s showed up already. Don’t want you missing him now, do we?’
Carol reddened.
‘See,’ said Adie triumphantly. ‘I told you that Jan’s a cow. I’m not being singled out for any special treatment. It’s just that I’m just an easy target. She may still look like butter wouldn’t melt—but beneath that serene composed chic exterior beats the heart of Lucretia Borgia. I bet she enjoyed a bit of interior decoration as a way of unwinding between all the poisoning and torturing.’
‘Did Lucretia Borgia torture people? I always thought she was a straight-down-the-line poisoner—bit of a one-trick pony, re ally,’ said Jan conversationally, as if being compared to Lucretia Borgia was something that happened every day of her life.
‘I see you more as Cruella de Vil,’ said Netty. ‘I watched that film and thought: finally somewhere Jan can put her talents to good use. Although I suppose Adie is the closest thing we’ve got to a poor defenceless animal.’
Jan, deadpan, said, ‘Nah, I’ve never liked spots. I think I’d prefer something with a little tabby in it, or maybe tortoiseshell.’
Everyone winced and without a word got to their feet.
Tongues loosened by alcohol and food and a sense of relief that things hadn’t changed so very much after all, the four of them headed slowly back, laughing, teasing, still easy and connected up after all these years, meandering through the village, then in through the gates in Burbeck House’s kitchen gardens. Although they could hardly say they’d caught up, Carol thought—it felt more like they had just scratched the surface.
‘So what about you, Netty?’ asked Carol. They were walking side by side, Carol relishing the sound of their feet crunching over the fine gravel, the afternoon sun warming her face. It was a glorious day. There was a sprinkler set up in one corner of the walled garden and where the water arced, rainbows filled the air as millions of tiny droplets refracted the sunlight. It was one of those perfect moments that would linger in the memory.
Ahead of them Adie and Jan were talking, laughing; Carol laid down the images like good wine. Espaliered fruit trees hung on tight to the old brick walls, creating a rich green backdrop to row after row of beautifully laid out vegetable plots, herb gardens and asparagus beds. Just past an old-style wrought-iron greenhouse, figs and peaches and grapevines settled back against a row of pan-tiled sheds and drank in the heat and light. You didn’t have to be any kind of gardener to appreciate the tranquillity or beauty of Burbeck House’s kitchen garden.
‘What have you been up to?’ Adie said, swinging round and walking backwards. ‘We need to get the history all sorted before we get lost in the mêlée—so far we’re not doing very well at all. You either ‘fess up faster than that or I’m going to have to come bunk down with you lot after all.’
Netty lit up another cigarette and blew out a blast of smoke. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll hurry. I’ve got four hairdresser’s shops and beauty salons—all with nail parlours now.’ She extended her hands to show off a set of perfectly manicured undoubtedly fake talons. ‘Two ex-husbands, a daughter called Kirsten, who hates me, and a toy boy called Paul, who thinks the sun shines out of—well, all of me, to hear the way he goes on. Kirsten has a real problem with him.’
Jan perked up. ‘Which is?’
‘That he doesn’t fancy her.’
‘That’ll do it,’ said Adie, nodding.
‘And how old is he?’ asked Carol.
‘Twenty-seven next birthday,’ Netty said, almost defiantly.
‘Very nice if you can get it,’ said Adie, with a grin.
‘What about you then, golden boy? You’ve been very quiet so far,’ said Jan.
‘Only because I couldn’t get a bloody word in edgeways,’ he said, smiling still.
‘Well, now’s your moment,’ Jan fired straight back. ‘I mean, I know all about you but I’m sure your fans want to hear all the sordid details.’
He pulled a face. ‘There’s not a lot to tell, re ally. I was hoping that we’d hear all about you first.’
‘What, so you’re hoping for a big build-up, were you?’ laughed Jan.
Adie shook his head. ‘No, I was being gentlemanly.’
‘OK,’ said Jan briskly, as if her words and potted biography would clear the decks for his. ‘Well, I’m single.’ She flicked her long hair back over her shoulder as if defying anyone to comment. ‘I’ve got a Fine Art degree and an MA in textile design and had planned to teach but changed horses after graduation and now I design fabrics, do some styling for magazines—occasionally get some interior design work—and I lecture as well. I’ve got a re ally nice little place in Highgate.’ She paused. ‘That’s about it, re ally. I travel a lot, work, love my job—well, jobs. It’s a kind of patchwork of things that all tie in.’
‘It doesn’t sound like very much for twenty years,’ complained Netty, lighting up another cigarette. ‘Are these the U-certificate edited highlights? What about all the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, broken hearts, mad passions, significant others?’
Jan waved the ideas away, a row of bangles on her wrist tinkling like sleigh bells. ‘Sometimes, occasionally kind of, but it’s been a now-and-then thing. To be honest, I travel so much and am so busy that I don’t have the time. I kept thinking some day, one day—but it just hasn’t happened.’
‘So far,’ said Adie.
Netty pulled a face, her expression matched by Carol’s.
Ignoring Adie, Carol said, ‘How can you say that you don’t have the time? I don’t understand. How can you not have time for people?’
Jan bristled. ‘I do have time for people,’ she protested. ‘I just don’t have time for the sort you wake up with in the morning. I lived with people and I went out with guys at college. And then about ten years ago I was part of a group that set up workshops in India and more recently in Africa. They’re both run cooperatively and they print and export fabric. It has re ally taken off and that takes up a lot of my time and energy, and to be honest I never seem to have the time for all that, you know, bunny-slippers and kissy-face stuff. I’ve got two Burmese cats called Lucifer and Diablo, and yes, before you say anything, yes, they are my surrogate children and yes, I do spoil them. And that’s about it re ally.’
‘Sounds a bit dull,’ Netty growled. ‘I like a man in my life. I’ve always enjoyed the exquisite pain that only a re ally bad relationship can bring.’
Jan grinned. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time in India and the Far East, sourcing silk and fabrics, and trust me, when it comes to pain, there’s nothing beats amoebic dysentery.’
Netty snorted.
‘Right,’ said Jan, with barely a pause for breath, ‘now then, Mr Can’t-get-a-Word-in-Edgeways boy. Your shout. Off you go. Let’s have it.’
They all looked at Adie, who held up his hands in surrender. ‘OK, I’m not fighting it, I’ll come quietly. I went to uni straight from school. Got a pretty shitty degree and then I didn’t re ally know what I wanted to do so I went travelling and did all sorts of stuff. I went to Australia, Bali; worked in bars, played guitar, grew my hair, smoked a lot of dope.’ He laughed. ‘And I suppose I finally grew up. While I was in Thailand I met someone, we travelled together for a couple of years and then when we came back we decided to try and give it a go and we’ve been together ever since—I suppose that must be nearly fifteen years or so now.’
‘Someone?’ asked Jan pointedly.
Adie nodded. ‘Yup. We bought a re ally nice place in Tunbridge Wells. I own a shop—I sell clothes—and…’
Carol was aware that they were all hanging on his ever
y word now.
‘And you’re happy?’ said Netty suspiciously.
He grinned. ‘Blissfully, and before you make any kind of sarky remark about it, no one is more surprised than me.’
Jan made a funny little noise in the back of her throat that might have been disbelief but could equally well have been disgust.
‘re ally?’ said Carol.
He nodded. ‘Yes, re ally. My partner is a GP and I can feel all sorts of middle-aged angst creeping up on me. I’ve started writing letters to the broadsheets complaining about young people, falling moral standards and litter in the street.’
‘Oh my God, you’ve grown up to be Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells,’ said Carol with a giggle.
He grinned. ‘Not exactly. Actually, I’ve grown up to be Gay of Tunbridge Wells. My partner, Mike, said that if I get any more conservative he’s going to buy me driving gloves and an Argyll sweater for Christmas.’
Carol looked at him. There was a brief moment when the waves parted, and then the sea closed back over the gap with no great sense of revelation, nor anything unexpected being revealed, just an acceptance of what had—at some level—always been obvious.
‘How was it at the pub?’ Diana was in the dining room, hunched over a box of what looked like Christmas decorations, her whereabouts signposted from the main hall by a number of cards and home-made banners, that read: ‘BELVEDERE SCHOOL REUNION—THIS WAY’ in a confident bold italic hand that suggested they had been written by someone with a lot of experience at impromptu crowd direction.
‘Great, you should have come. We ate, we drank, we were merry, but Carol here had a fit of conscience and decided it was too cruel to leave you with all the work, and actually she is most probably right. Here, give me that bunting,’ said Adie. Grabbing one end, he clambered up onto a stepladder. ‘Have you got any drawing pins?’
‘Well, of course I have,’ Diana said, sounding terribly affronted.
Carol laughed; as if Diana would be the kind of event planner who would arrive without every eventuality covered. It felt so good to be back with them all; why had they left it so long before meeting up? So many years…too many years.
‘Why didn’t you ask us to help you with all this? We wouldn’t have minded,’ said Netty, pulling out a huge bag of balloons and a thing that looked like a cardboard bicycle pump from one of the boxes. ‘Do these things actually work?’ she said to no one in particular, as she tipped the balloons out in a heap onto the table and then pumped the tube thing furiously into mid-air.
‘No, but they make a great noise if you put your finger over the end,’ said Adie from the top of the stepladder. ‘Like a big wet fart.’
‘Oh well, that’s re ally helpful,’ growled Netty.
‘Here,’ said Jan, ‘let me,’ and started to stretch the balloons vigorously with all the zeal of a woman on a mission.
Diana seemed a bit stunned by their manic activity. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Come off it, you can’t do it all on your own,’ Carol snorted. ‘And besides, you asked me to pitch in, I seem to remember.’
But before she could say anything else, Adie said, ‘Yeah, Di, lighten up. We’re all more than happy to muck in, aren’t we, folks?’
Everyone looked at him and pulled faces and groaned jokingly. Adie scowled, but unperturbed, unrolled a great string of flags that spelled out welcome in a dozen different languages.
Carol took hold of the cord of the flags and pulled it across the room, wondering how likely it was that she could convince them that any enquiry about who else had arrived since they had been down the pub was purely casual. Just as she was about to speak Jan threw down the balloon she had been torturing and snapped, ‘You’re always so fucking flippant, aren’t you, Adie? Mr Quickwit. So sure of yourself.’
Everyone looked at her; he hadn’t said anything for the best part of two minutes.
Adie was stunned. ‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ he said gently.
Jan flipped a stray hand across her face as if swatting away a fly, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Nothing,’ she growled crossly. ‘Nothing at bloody all. I’m just pissed off with you always assuming you’re master of ceremonies, Mr I’m so bloody funny.’
Carol stared at her.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Adie began, looking bemused.
Jan sighed. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘Hello, anyone home?’ called a loud male voice from out in the hallway, diverting everyone’s attention away from Jan. Seconds later a vaguely familiar face appeared round the door and then there was another; two more of the backstage crew appeared in the doorway as Diana headed off to greet the first two, and then there was another and another.
Callista Haze and George Bearman were amongst the flurry of newcomers, and all at once it seemed as if there was a roomful of people, the round of hellos and whoops taking the attention away from Jan, who picked up another balloon.
‘You sure you’re all right?’ Carol said in an undertone. ‘I mean, we all know how frustrating balloon-blowing can be.’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Jan sniffed back the tears. ‘Don’t mind me.’
‘But I do,’ said Carol. ‘What’s the matter?’
Jan shook her head and pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. ‘Nothing. I think it’s seeing all you lot again. Where did the years go? You keep thinking that there is plenty of time and then all of a sudden there isn’t.’
Carol nodded and patted Jan on the arm. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said softly. Raf and the boys felt a million miles away.
Gareth Howard picked up his mobile and, slotting it into the cradle on the dashboard, switched it back on to check his voice mail. There was Diana, ringing to make sure that he was still coming, three angry outbursts and furious pain-filled silences from Leonora and a call from Fiona. He pressed the recall button as Fiona’s message ended.
‘Hi, Fiona. How’s it going? Where are you?’
She giggled. ‘Oh, hi. It is so nice to hear from you. Stuck in a traffic jam on the M25. How about you?’
‘On the way. I’m re ally looking forward to catching up at long last,’ he said. ‘Make up for lost time.’
‘re ally?’ purred Fiona’s voice on the end of the phone.
He laughed. Oh yes, Gareth planned to make up for lost time, all right.
The signal crackled and broke up. Gareth switched the phone off, threw it onto the passenger seat and put his foot down. With a bit of luck he’d make it to Burbeck House in time for supper.
FOUR
In her suburban house a long way from Burbeck House, Leonora settled the baby down in her cot and after checking that Patrick was still listening to his story tape in the nursery, headed across the landing into the main bedroom.
It had been such a quiet day since Gareth left. The children were subdued and slightly fretful, as if they knew something was wrong and were anxiously waiting too. Waiting. She had been waiting all day. No phone calls, no texts, nothing. It felt as if Gareth had stepped out of the door and vanished off the planet. Rapture.
In the dining room at Burbeck House, everyone was coming to the end of supper. Carol handed the coffee-pot down the table to Adie, who grinned his thanks. ‘Penny for them?’ he said.
‘I’d save your money if I were you. I’d have thought it was pretty bloody obvious what she was thinking about—or rather who,’ said Netty, dropping sugar lumps into her cup. ‘She’s been miles away all through supper.’
‘Looking at the door.’ Jan.
‘And the clock.’ Diana.
The four of them all turned to look at Carol and then at each other, and then Adie burst into the song ‘It Must Be Love’. Two bars in and all of them were singing.
Carol reddened furiously. It was getting re ally tough to sustain the illusion of being sociable when so much of her was busy waiting for Gareth Howard to show up. Damn him, it was totally crazy, but however hard Carol tried to deny it the feeling was getting worse an
d worse, and she was driving herself crazy, let alone the others.
‘Relax,’ hissed Diana, dropping out of the impromptu barbershop quartet. ‘He did say that he would be here as soon as he could.’
Carol stared at her; she had had no idea that it was that obvious.
Diana grinned. ‘You scrub up well and you’re all nicely puffed up too. I’m sure he’ll be impressed. We are.’
Carol resisted the temptation to pinch her.
Gareth would probably barely remember her; he was probably happily married. Actually, he probably was. The thought wedged firm. God, what if he was with someone else, someone he adored? What if he re ally didn’t remember her? Carol shook her head to try and clear it.
‘Do you want that?’ said Netty, eyeing up the after-dinner mint on her plate.
‘Paws off.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she whined. ‘You won’t miss it. You’re in love, and we all know love makes you blind.’
‘Blind maybe, but it doesn’t effect my eating habits.’
‘I always lose weight when I’m in love and then comfort-eat when they bugger off. Come on, let me have it, and then when it all ends in tears I’ll send you a box of Kit-Kats.’
Whining aside, Netty was on top form, Adie too—the jokes, the funnies, the sharp digs and long-forgotten memories had been served and volleyed and smashed around the table all evening. Carol had laughed so much her stomach hurt and her face ached. She’d heard about who had stayed in touch with who, courses and colleges, dogs and cats and kids and houses, lovers, love affairs and jobs that had gone horribly wrong.
From across the room came a great roaring whoop of laughter. Diana’s decorations looked lost in the dining room, but even vaulted acres of institutional grey couldn’t dampen the atmosphere. The long tables were full of people enjoying themselves, the room full to the rafters with the sound of voices and laughter—halfremembered, half-familiar faces all catching up.
She looked up at the clock again; she re ally ought to have rung Raf and the boys to tell them she had arrived safe and sound, so why hadn’t she?