by Diana Finley
Chapter Twenty
1994
Lucy
As a smaller girl I just accepted what had happened to my grandparents, and my lack of a father – why wouldn’t I? – even though it upset me very much. It never occurred to me to ask more questions about them, at least not until I met Cassie. Most of my friends at school had known me since playgroup or Reception, so they were used to the idea that my dad was dead. I don’t remember any of them asking me questions about him – but Cassie was different. Looking back, getting to know Cassie was a turning point in my life, but of course I didn’t think of it that way at the time.
Cassie joined our class partway through the second year of middle school. Our form teacher, Mr Williams, introduced her one morning at registration. Cassie’s dad was in the RAF, he said, and the family had moved around a lot. Cassie had been to lots of different schools, which had interfered with her education. She was perfectly clever, he said, but because of her interrupted schooling she was a bit behind with the curriculum. So she was joining our class, even though her age – she was twelve and a half – meant she should really have been in the year above. Having a September birthday meant I was one of the oldest in my class too – only four months younger than Cassie.
‘I know you’re all going to make Cassie feel welcome,’ said Mr Williams. He turned to Cassie.
‘They’re a nice bunch of kids,’ he said in his loud “give me your attention” voice, ‘friendly, kind, polite and well behaved, even if they are a bit too gabby! Isn’t that right, everybody?’
A wave of chuckles murmured round the classroom. We liked Mr Williams; I guess because he liked us too, and he was funny. Cassie stood unsmiling next to him. She turned her gaze from him to the class, her dark eyes scanning over us all like a searchlight. They rested on me. She jerked her head, sweeping her dark hair back, like a horse flicking its mane.
‘Now, let’s see,’ said Mr Williams, ‘there are a few empty desks to choose from … over there next to Carl, but I don’t suppose you’ll want to sit there, will you, Cassie?’
Carl grinned sheepishly and his friends laughed and nudged him, making squealy noises.
‘Or, there’s that seat next to Tiffany,’ Mr Williams said, pointing, ‘or there’s a vacancy beside Lucy here …’
Cassie raised her face to him, then scanned the room again, stopping at me. ‘I’ll go and sit next to her,’ she said, ‘Lucy.’ And she walked straight towards me without any hesitation.
‘Hi,’ she said, as she swung her body in next to mine. Her voice was low. She gave a trace of a smile. I carved my face into what I hoped was an equally neutral, indifferent smile.
‘Hi,’ I said, trying to sound casual, not too needy. My heart raced with delight. I could hardly breathe.
It was the start of one of the most significant friendships in my life. It wasn’t that I was without friends or was shunned by other children; Laura, Jennifer and Megan, in particular, had been friends since we all started school, but I sometimes felt that they preferred one another – that I was a bit of a “hanger-on”, at the periphery of the group. With Cassie it was completely different; it was as if she had chosen me.
She was a striking-looking girl, really gorgeous. Her hair hung in two curtains at either side of her face. In the sun, it reflected streaks of red and gold. Cassie would fling her head to one side, sending a cascade of brown and copper colours over her shoulder. She had a habit of cocking one eyebrow in a quizzical manner when talking to people, and she loved to question everything, including the opinions of teachers!
She was the most confident person I had ever encountered, and at first made me feel as immature and unformed as a tadpole. Yet, even though I felt a bit intimidated by her, I discovered that Cassie was loyal and affectionate. She always appeared to value what I did or said. She was never scornful. In return, I grew more confident and relaxed in her company.
That first day, out in the yard, all the kids seemed keen to get to know her. Perhaps it was partly the attraction of her being a bit older than other children in our year, and maybe it was partly her air of friendly detachment. She answered the questions good-naturedly and responded by showing interest in other kids, but after a while she grabbed my arm and steered me to one of the benches.
‘Come on, Lucy,’ she said, ‘let’s just you and me sit and talk.’
I was swelling with pride, but tried to act cool. No one had ever shown so much interest in me before. When the bell rang and we headed towards the door, Cassie said, ‘You know, I’ve never had really good friends before, ’cos we moved about so much, but I just knew you’d be interesting. I knew I’d like you.’
I had to fight the urge to fling my arms round her and hug her. Interesting, me!
* * *
Cassie’s mother and father were lovely too, always warm and welcoming to me. We were both “only children”, and they welcomed our friendship, unlike Mummy.
‘Friends are so important,’ Cassie’s mum, Fiona, said over tea one afternoon, ‘especially at your age, with the terrible teens not very far ahead!’ She gave each of us a hug. She was always hugging me. It was really noticeable to me that Fiona – as she insisted I call her – was completely spontaneous in showing affection, whereas I always felt my mother’s show of feelings was a deliberate effort. I know it sounds strange, but it was almost as though Mummy set herself a target for regularly assuring me that she loved me. Like she told herself “I must tell Lucy I love her at least twice every day”. She was a bit fixated on numbers.
It was different when we came to Cassie’s home after school. As soon as we stepped into the kitchen, Fiona’s face would show instant joy. She really was genuinely happy to see us both, and would always greet us with something like ‘Hellooo, my darlings! How are my gorgeous girls today?!’ accompanied by a double embrace.
Being in the RAF, Cassie’s dad Simon worked away from home quite a lot, but when he did come home, if I was there he would tousle my hair and call me “The Lovely Lucy”. I was a bit shy of him, but I liked the way both of Cassie’s parents always included me in the family.
My mother wasn’t a huggy sort of person like Fiona. She never hugged Cassie – and even her hugs for me were saved for “appropriate” settings, like bedtime. I don’t blame her for that. I knew she had a reserved personality, not outgoing like Fiona’s. But I did wish she didn’t make it quite so obvious that she didn’t really like Cassie. She never actually said she didn’t like her. She never prevented us from meeting, and accepted that Cassie would spend some time at our house, but she made it clear she wasn’t at all enthusiastic about her, or our friendship. It was as if she felt threatened by Cassie.
‘I do wish she wasn’t quite so forward and pushy in her manner. I’m not sure I like that in a young girl.’
This was early on in our relationship. One time, while we were having tea at our house, Cassie looked straight at Mummy and said in her loud, cheerful voice, ‘I’d much rather call you Alison than Mrs Brown, if you don’t mind. Mrs Brown sounds so formal and old-fashioned, don’t you think?’
Mummy looked uncomfortable and stiff. She frowned and turned away with a sniff.
‘Very well, dear, if you wish,’ she replied coolly, in her “I’m not happy about this at all” voice. She turned towards the sink. Cassie gave me a tiny smile and winked.
Chapter Twenty-One
1994
It was after Cassie and I had known each other for about three months, and were already firm friends, that I decided to tell her about an incident that had puzzled and preoccupied me for some time. I’d never mentioned it to anyone else before – certainly not my mother. Not Megan, nor Laura – and not even Claire next door. Claire was seventeen now, and had always been like an older sister to me. I still liked and trusted her more than almost anyone else in the world, but I hadn’t mentioned this particular event. I’m not sure why – it was something that had bothered me a bit for about a year.
Of course, Mummy had
talked to me about periods. I suppose most mothers did. In our case it had been a very uncomfortable discussion, mainly because, even at eleven years old, I could tell how embarrassed Mummy was, and that made me feel embarrassed. She talked really fast, as if she couldn’t wait to finish the conversation, and then she showed me what she called “the necessary equipment”. She said she had bought it in readiness and would put it away in her room for the time being. Being small and slight, I probably wouldn’t “start” for at least a couple of years. (I didn’t tell her that more than half the girls in my class had already started!) Nearer the time, she said, we could keep the equipment accessible in the bathroom cupboard.
If we hadn’t had PSE lessons about periods and puberty two years before at my first school, I’m not sure I’d have made head or tail of what Mummy tried to tell me.
* * *
Some months after our conversation, I’d come home from school not feeling too well. Mummy made me a mug of sweet tea.
‘Have a nice lie-down on the sofa, dear. I hope you’re not coming down with something.’ She felt my forehead.
‘You don’t seem very hot.’
‘Maybe I’m just tired.’
‘Have a little snooze then. I do need to nip next door and have a word with Susan about the jumble sale at the church this weekend. I’ll only be gone fifteen or twenty minutes.’
‘That’s fine, Mummy.’
‘Well, you know where I am if you need me. Just stay here and rest quietly.’
I wondered if I was coming down with something too. My head was aching and I had a gnawing pain in my tummy. Something felt wrong, different. I went to the toilet. That was when I saw it; in my knickers was a patch of blood. It was like being punched in the stomach – hit by a great lurch of shock, disgust and excitement all at the same time: I was growing up! It was thrilling. It was awful. I felt a bit like crying – I actually did cry, and really wished Mummy was there.
What should I do? I had to find the “equipment”. I checked to see if Mummy had put it in the bathroom cupboard, but there was no sign of it there. So I went into her room to see where she might have stored it. Mummy didn’t really like me going in her room when she wasn’t there. But I had to find the sanitary towels, so I knew she’d understand.
There weren’t many places to choose from. Her big wardrobe was neatly arranged with all her clothes carefully sorted: skirts, blouses and dresses one end, then some “slacks”, as she called them, with coats and jackets at the far end, all ordered according to length. Shoes, on a rack at the bottom, were graded by colour: white on the extreme left, then beige, light brown and so on, to black shoes on the far right. Nothing else in there.
I gazed at the clothes for a moment and ran my hand across them. I like clothes, but there were lots of things Mummy didn’t wear. Just very occasionally, she dressed up for some special events – a party or dinner with friends – and then she looked really lovely. But generally she wore the same sort of things all the time: slightly boring skirts or trousers and tops.
There were a couple of garments with full-length grey plastic covers on, I suppose to protect them from dust, maybe they were old. I pulled up the cover of one; it was a dull tweedy suit I’d seen Mummy wearing on one or two occasions, but not for a long while. I lifted the other cover and got a real surprise. Underneath was a vivid red coat I’d never seen before. Surely she’d never ever worn it? What a shame; she’d look so nice in a bright colour like that.
I pulled out the hanger and ran my hand over the rich red material for a moment. I stared at the coat. A strange shiver ran down my spine. I shook myself to make it go away. Then I pulled the grey cover back down over the coat, and replaced it in the cupboard, making sure to smooth it over and space the hangers again.
The chest of drawers held some geometrically folded tops, jumpers and underwear – no one was as neat as my mum! – but that was it. Next I tried her desk – a big old wooden knee-hole type. I opened each drawer in turn. Again, everything was carefully organised: stationery in one drawer, letters and documents in another; a file for household bills and receipts.
Inside the bottom drawer was a small carved wooden box I’d never seen before. It wasn’t going to contain sanitary towels, of course, but I was curious, and picked it up to examine it. It was locked. I felt around for a key but there was no sign of one. I returned to the stationery drawer. There was a small ruler, some scissors, and a rubber stamp and inkpad. The stamp was very black with ink. I peered at it – of course you had to read it in mirror image. I worked it out; it said “Christchurch, NZ”. I’d seen that stamped on Granny’s letters to us. It must have been something you had to use on the envelopes going back to New Zealand too. Funny, I’d never noticed that, but then maybe I didn’t see them just before Mummy posted them.
I opened the drawer containing the file marked “letters”. I’m not sure what I expected to find. I opened the file. There was a folder with some boring-looking official sort of letters; some from Mummy’s bank, one or two about rates, one from a solicitor, that sort of thing. Another folder was labelled “New Zealand”. It seemed to contain copies of all the letters Granny had written to me. That was a surprise, but rather sweet of Mummy, I thought. If she kept copies of all Granny’s letters to me, perhaps she really did care about her more than I’d realised.
Anyway, at the back of the drawer was a little tray for small items such as paperclips, board pins and so on. I noticed there were three little keys. Being nosy, I desperately wanted to see if one of them might open the wooden box, but I didn’t want Mummy to come home and find me searching through her desk – and besides I was starting to feel blood seeping into my underwear, maybe staining my school skirt. I was anxious to find what I needed.
There was only one place left to look: the bedside cabinet. Sure enough, there was a Boots bag containing sanitary towels. I took them into the bathroom and sorted myself out. When Mummy came back, she was quite shocked to hear that my period had started so soon. I told her it was OK – I’d found the bag in the bedside table in her room. She blushed slightly when we talked about it.
‘Oh dear, I am sorry – I should have given it to you sooner. Erm … did you find it … straight away?’
‘Yes, it was no problem. It only took me a minute.’
‘I’m glad you’re such a sensible girl, Lucy,’ she said.
‘Hey, but you know what, Mummy? I saw such a brilliant coat in your wardrobe. D’you remember – the bright red one under a grey plastic cover? Why don’t you ever wear it? It’d really suit you and—’
‘Lucy! How dare you?’ she interrupted in a shouty, angry-sounding voice. ‘You had no right to snoop among my clothes!’
I must have looked a bit shocked, because Mummy stared at me and put her hands over her mouth.
‘I wasn’t snooping,’ I said, feeling cross and upset that she was being so unfair. ‘I was just looking for the equipment. You should have left it in the bathroom if you didn’t want me to go in your room.’
‘Yes … yes, you’re right. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to snap, Lucy. It’s just that … that coat … I’ve never liked it … it has bad associations.’
‘What sort of associations?’
‘Oh just … I don’t know … oh, let’s not talk about it now. The important thing is you found what you needed.’
She paused for a moment and smiled in a bit of a forced way. ‘And here you are growing up already!’
‘Mmm – I suppose getting my period means I could have a baby now!’ I said, with a laugh. I wanted to lighten the atmosphere, but it didn’t work. Mummy seemed to go pale. She reached for the arm of the chair and sat down, breathing heavily.
‘Technically, yes,’ she said. ‘However, there’s no question of a young girl like you considering having a baby for many, many years. You need to concentrate on your school education first, and then going to a good university – and embarking on a suitable career, long before you even think of marriage and babi
es.’
‘I only meant it as a joke, Mummy.’
* * *
I didn’t think much more about that evening for a while. But as time went on, when I was lying in bed waiting for sleep, my mind sometimes returned to that red coat. There was something that troubled me about it, and I wasn’t sure what. Also, why had Mummy been so angry and upset when I mentioned finding the coat? I wondered if maybe she’d paid a lot of money for it and then didn’t like it enough to wear it. She’d have hated that; she couldn’t bear waste.
My thoughts kept drifting to Mummy’s desk – as if there were secrets there that she wanted to keep from me. I wished I’d had the chance to look inside the wooden box. Once I started to think about it, I just couldn’t seem to leave it alone. I’d have to wait for the chance to have another look.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alison
Of course I was unhappy about Lucy finding the red coat. I hated seeing her so confused and upset. How could I not be concerned? I was furious with myself for leaving it in a place where she could find them. How stupid, stupid, stupid of me! It had never occurred to me that she might search in my room. I had burned the dark blue coat, the dark wig, and the children’s clothes from that day in Riddlesfield, years ago, soon after we came to Newcastle. Somehow, I had admired the red coat and been loath to get rid of it at the time. I’d thought it was well hidden, and had forgotten it was still there all these years later – so very idiotic of me.
Yet, at the same time I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit hurt by Lucy’s reaction. I won’t go so far as to say I felt betrayed, but I did feel a mother should be able to rely on the loyalty of a daughter. Surely I’d done everything to make her life perfect: safe, secure, stimulating, full of love and affection, and full of rich and educative experiences? Didn’t I have the right to expect honesty and trust in return? Of course she had no reason to doubt that I was her mother, no.