by Nina Manning
The barman produces two shot glasses: dark red at the bottom, clear liquid in the middle and a brown, creamy liquor top.
‘Oh, my goodness, would you look at those!’ Caitlin exclaims. ‘Bottoms up!’ She downs one with barely a flinch. ‘I’m going to take this other one to that chap over there, Daz or Gaz… Oh I should have got one for you, my bridesmaid.’ Caitlin slinks towards me and brushes her lips across my cheek. ‘But you’re not much of a drinker, are you? I’ll have another one for you later.’
She walks back towards her awaiting crowd. Then she stops and turns and shouts over the music.
‘Sorry, what was it you wanted to say?’
It is as though all the words I have planned in my head have evaporated.
I shake my head. ‘I was just going to say, what a great time I’ve had. Everyone has.’ I force a smile, but it feels weak. Maybe Caitlin is too drunk to notice. She spins back around and carries on walking the way she was headed, but I hear her shout back at me, ‘You’re such a funny thing sometimes.’
Her words, so familiar, taunt me.
It was a stupid idea trying to talk to Caitlin tonight – she’s too preoccupied. But then she always is these days. I would find another way, another time. But it has to be soon. I have to tell her what I know about what happened that summer at Saxby.
For what started out as a beautiful adventure, where a friendship was cemented, soon unearthed deeply buried secrets.
4
Saxby House, Dorset, July 1988
I could smell the sweet scent of my own sweat from a day spent mostly on the school field doing sports and picking daisies. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Dad’s Volvo estate, my legs sticking to the hot leather. I had my Sony Walkman playing the Tracy Chapman album. Since it came out in the spring, I’d been obsessed and I felt the familiar tingle of excitement when each track began. I liked to listen so many times that I could almost work out what they were thinking when they wrote the songs. Mum said I was bonkers, whilst Dad just smiled and said, ‘Good on ya, kid.’ He loved his music. He deadheaded flowers and strimmed hedges by day, but at night, he sang in a rock band. At least he did before we moved here two months ago.
The car rumbled down the driveway of the fifty-acre Saxby estate, where Dad was the head gardener and Mum did the housekeeping and cooking. In return for their work, they received a tidy wage and a lovely three-bedroom cottage just next to the main house with its own garden. But the estate grounds were the real garden. I sometimes followed Dad around for his work, and other times I just disappeared off and explored. Dad told me to be careful, that if I saw Mrs Clemonte, the lady of the house and Dad’s boss, then I was to scuttle home as fast as I could. ‘Remember, I’m here to work, Sasha – we mustn’t get under their feet.’ I was told this regularly, but his words never really hit home. Living at Saxby was exciting in so many ways, and I was drawn to the house and the Clemonte family. Despite what my parents said, Josephine Clemonte was always nice and talked to me for ages sometimes. But I didn’t tell Mum or Dad that.
I knew this job meant so much to them both, that they were happy here now. So was my brother, Hunter. But I was sad when we first had to move miles away from London and all our friends and family. But Mum said she’d had enough of the city and didn’t want to raise us there any more. She said we’d make new friends, and I did make a few at school. And, yes, living at Saxby was much nicer than the rough estate we lived in in Hackney, but I missed my old friends and hanging out in the courtyard and car park at the bottom of the flats. I missed the lads on their BMXs doing wheelies and stunts over discarded pieces of scrap wood. I missed sitting on the patch of grass at the front of the flats, flicking through Jackie magazine and blowing pink bubbles with our gum, thinking we were the bees’ knees because we had just discovered the secret to boys via a few flimsy pieces of paper.
Saxby came into view as we rounded the corner where the elderflower tree stood. Its branches, which usually offered an abundance of flowers, were desolate and browning. Any leftover flowers would now turn to berries. I’d learnt so much about plants and flowers in the short time since we’d arrive. Mum had picked most of the flowers and made several batches of sweet elderflower cordial, which I was discovering I had a real taste for. She had taken to hiding it on the highest shelf and only brought a bottle down once a day, handing me a glass as if it were medicine.
I still felt an extreme sense of awe as we rounded the drive to be greeted by the ornate sixteenth-century mansion. Even with its faded red brick, it still stood proud with its three storeys and six chimneys. The large, high wrought-iron gates stood permanently open and there was a wide driveway bordered by wildflowers on either side. At the top of the drive, the heavy wooden front door created a majestic entrance for the many guests who frequented Saxby. Dad said the whole house was in need of some repairs, but from the outside you couldn’t tell; it was the grandest building I had ever seen, with its high arched windows framed with heavy curtains that hung down in perfect curves. I was happy in our little cottage, yet when I looked out the lounge window or my mum’s bedroom window, there was Saxby House, looming like an older, wiser relative, inspecting us at all times.
‘There’s someone new at the main house today – she’s looking forward to meeting you,’ Dad said as he pulled up in front of the cottage. He turned off the engine, and I clicked myself out of my belt, but we both stayed seated. I felt the still heat of the air through the open windows.
Hunter, my eight-year-old brother, jumped out the car and ran into the cottage, ready for his snack, juice and a reset before he would be ready to run around again.
‘It’s Caitlin, do you remember us mentioning her? She’s Mrs Clemonte’s granddaughter.’ He felt he needed to show a level of professionalism when he was speaking of the lady of the house, but Mrs Clemonte had quietly told me on the day I met her, that I was to refer to her as Josephine. I did remember Dad mentioning Caitlin once and Josephine had mentioned her a few times, but I had yet to go into any of the formal rooms at Saxby so I hadn’t seen any photos of her.
‘She’s the same age as you.’ Dad turned in his seat to look at me. ‘She’s Ava and Maxwell’s daughter. They have twin boys as well. I can’t remember their names, but I met Caitlin today.’ Dad looked out of the window, always aware that someone could be watching or listening, before he muttered, ‘Curious little thing. She had lots of questions to ask me about gardening, mind.’ He looked back at me. ‘I think they all stay for a few weeks in the summer, and now Caitlin is a bit older, she sometimes stays on for the whole of the school holidays. She’s picked up a passion for “botanical drawing” apparently.’ Dad said the last part of the sentence in a drawn-out posh voice, a stark contrast to his usual London accent.
‘Oh, botanical drawing,’ I said, mimicking him.
We both chuckled. Dad laid his hand out, palm up, and I laid my hand on top of it. Then he squeezed it in his. It was our little thing that we did; Dad’s way of telling me I needed to be strong or brave, or that everything was okay. ‘Look, kid, I know things are different, that these people are not quite like us, that some of their ways and opinions may differ to ours.’
I immediately thought about the fox hunting conversation I had overheard Josephine having in the courtyard, and what an ‘absolute necessity’ it was around here. But I had seen stuff on the news where people wanted to ban fox hunting. To me, it didn’t feel like a necessity. It felt cruel and heartless. And when, later that week, I caught sight of two cubs crawling out of the bushes at the far end of the field near the driveway, I kept it to myself. I was doing my part to protect them from the Clemontes.
‘I know it was hard leaving all your friends behind right at the end of your first year of secondary school, but Caitlin seems nice. It might be good to have someone to play with sometimes? You’ve done really well to adjust to this new lifestyle. But this girl, this Caitlin, she seems, I don’t know, different from the rest of them. I think you’ll like her
.’
‘So, is she here now?’ I asked, looking out of the wound-down window at the noble, expansive house that stared back down at me.
‘Yes, she’s at the house. The Clemontes said to come on over once you’ve freshened up after school.’
‘One must look presentable for these meetings,’ I said mockingly again.
‘One must. Now get inside, you. I’ll come and collect you in half an hour and take you over there.’
* * *
I dumped my school bag in the hallway, and I could already hear Mum’s remonstrations from when she would later return home and almost trip over it, like she did every night.
I walked through the wooden-floored hallway with timbers protruding through the plasterwork in the walls. Mum had oohed and ahhed when we’d viewed the property, saying she loved the character, and she was now enjoying filling all the nooks with her favourite ornaments and books. I passed the lounge on my right, where Hunter was getting stuck into a bag of crisps and a Beano comic.
The kitchen was at the end of the hallway: a long room with a large window looking out onto the garden – a circular patch of grass with an apple tree in the middle and a small vegetable patch at the end. Nothing like the size and grandness of the Clemontes’ garden, but it felt cosy and homely.
I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took an apple from the fridge before heading out of the kitchen and taking the stairs to my bedroom, which also looked out over the garden. As I did, I was aware of the shadow of Saxby house. It was so huge and our cottage so small, and no matter where I was in the grounds, I felt its presence acutely.
I changed out of my school uniform and I pulled on a pair of pale blue denim shorts, frayed around the edges, and a white vest top over my bra. I had started developing and Mum kept saying it would be time for ‘The Big Talk’ soon. But so far no such conversation had occurred. Thank God.
I looked at myself in the new oval mirror Mum had put on my dressing table. It wasn’t quite straight, so I nudged it to the right. As I did, it began to slide to the side. I reached out to grab it, but before I could it had hit the dressing table, smashing into tiny bits, hundreds of shards of glass scattering across the table and carpet around my feet.
I looked at the mess. I wasn’t worried about Mum’s response; I knew she would be cross and try to blame it on my clumsiness, but she would come around and realise it would have been wiser to have asked Dad to nail it to the wall.
All I could think about as I backed out the room looking at the mass of glass all over the floor, was that I had now been cursed with seven years’ bad luck.
* * *
Dad and I walked across the courtyard towards Saxby House, and he ushered me up the steps. Pippy and Purdy, Josephine’s border collies, came bounding down to greet us. I gave them both a pat and they both followed us through the back door and into the large kitchen where Mum was working. I stood close to the Aga, which pumped out heat all year long, and immediately I could feel a pool of sweat on the small of my back. Mum regularly complained about the heat in Josephine’s kitchen, saying these people had more money than sense, and here she was, shining the silverware at the kitchen table, sweating. Dad gave Mum a quick kiss on the cheek, and she flinched and playfully shoved him away. ‘Ooh, too prickly – it’s like being kissed by a hedgehog.’
Dad rubbed his stubble. ‘I rather like it – it makes me feel more rugged.’
‘You know, you should take a little more pride in your appearance, Phil. Especially when you come over here,’ Mum hissed.
‘I’m the gardener not the bloody butler,’ Dad retorted.
I began to drift off listening to my parents’ conversation and looked around the kitchen, feeling a bubble of nerves building in the pit of my stomach. I knew I had to tell Mum about the smashed mirror back at the cottage, because since we’d moved out of Hackney, she had suddenly become so protective of ‘the nice things’ she had bought. But my nerves were over meeting Caitlin. It was stupid, I was only meeting Josephine’s granddaughter, but something about it felt monumental. So far my time at Saxby had been pretty uneventful. I was ready for some adventure. Knowing I was about to meet Caitlin felt like something special.
Dad said he’d see Mum for tea, gave me a quick wink and mouthed, ‘Good luck,’ which only seemed to send my guts wobbling even further.
I edged my way over to the table where Mum was furiously rubbing polish into a silver candlestick, preparing for a dinner party that was happening at the weekend.
I moved closer. Perhaps if I got the confession of the broken mirror off my chest, I might be better prepared for meeting Caitlin. I leant in and spoke quietly. ‘Mum, I erm, I…’
‘What is it, baby? Speak up, you know I don’t like it when you mumble.’ Mum rubbed hard at a stubborn spot on the candlestick, her face set in deep concentration.
‘I, um—’
Before I could finish my confession, there was a commotion just outside the kitchen door, and a young girl with long, dark, thick wavy hair had edged her way into the doorway. This must be her, this must be Caitlin, I thought. She had plump pink cheeks on a porcelain face and freckles that started on each cheek and met on the bridge of her nose. I noticed the blue of her eyes, almost turquoise. She wore a purple-and-orange smock dress with pink leggings underneath. I had to stop myself from sniggering at the boldness of her outfit. She was overtaken in the doorway by a tall, rosy-cheeked brunette woman, who looked younger than my mum. Just behind her were two small boys, who looked to be about four years old, and I guessed these were Caitlin’s twin brothers.
‘Hello, I’m Natalie, Caitlin’s nanny,’ the woman said, ‘and these two troublemakers are Troy and Abel.’ Natalie tried to encourage them to wave but they both hid behind her legs.
Then I felt like I did when I was watching a Disney film and a bad character appeared on the screen as another figure appeared in the doorway behind Natalie. She was a perfect replica of Caitlin except older and the thick, wavy dark hair was cut short like Princess Diana’s. She was wearing a plain white cotton dress, showing off toned, tanned arms. She had a small grey-and-black rectangular camera hung around her neck.
This, I thought, must be Caitlin’s mum. She was not wearing the same smiley expression as Natalie.
Mum looked up and said brightly. ‘Hi, nice to meet you Natalie, Caitlin. Hello, Ava. I was just putting the kettle on, would you like some tea?’
I glanced at my mum, who suddenly looked untidy in comparison to Ava with her hair scraped back in a messy ponytail and a film of sweat across her forehead.
Caitlin stared at me, unblinking.
Ava moved into the kitchen. ‘Caitlin, come through,’ she said. But Caitlin stood rigid still, staring at me. ‘Tea would be splendid, Darcy, absolutely called for on a day like today. I do like to drink tea when it’s warm out, don’t you?’
Whilst Mum and Ava discussed their beverage preferences, I took a moment to look back at Caitlin. She was still staring right at me but had begun chewing the skin around her nails and wrinkling her nose a little as she did so. I took a moment to take in her strange, oversized attire and her laid-back attitude. I had expected her to be dressed more primly.
‘I’ll pop the kettle on, Darcy, you’ve your hands full.’ Ava edged over to the Aga and shot a look back at her daughter. ‘Caitlin!’ she hissed.
Caitlin shot Ava a steely look before moving forward. ‘Hi, I’m Caitlin.’ She held her hand out towards me.
I shot a look at Mum, who nodded with her eyes wide.
I took Caitlin’s hand in mine. It was warm, but not sweaty, considering the heat of the afternoon.
‘I’m Sasha,’ I said and pulled my lips inwards, feeling embarrassment at our interaction. I dropped Caitlin’s hand.
‘Why don’t you girls go on out and play?’ Mum said, her concentration back on the silver as she rubbed it so hard, the flesh on her arms shook.
‘Mama, you said we would practise my backhand today, before tennis
starts,’ Caitlin said to her mother’s back.
Natalie started to move back out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll get these little tykes back outside. Say goodbye to Mummy,’ Natalie said as she pulled the twins out of the door.
‘Lovely to meet you!’ Mum called in her best sing-song voice.
The twins didn’t say goodbye to their mum, and Ava didn’t turn to say goodbye to them.
‘Yes, well, Caitlin, I have a few jobs to do, so I can’t now. But you have Sasha to occupy you now,’ Ava replied as she busied herself with making the tea.
‘But, Mama, you promised, when I asked you last night you—’
‘Caitlin!’ Ava said through an embarrassed laugh as she turned around. Her daughter went silent and looked at her feet.
‘It’s nice for Caitlin to finally have someone her own age to play with,’ Ava said, brushing her hand through her dark hair. ‘And now you have your lovely new friend, there is even more reason for you to want to stay here over the summer.’ Ava’s voice rang out loud and shrill as she turned back to the Aga and continued with the tea. Her voice was laced with a hint of sarcasm and I glanced at Mum for confirmation. She was concentrating harder on her silver polishing, but her lips were pursed and her eyebrows raised in a way that suggested she had heard Ava’s tone too and it didn’t sound the way a mother should speak to her daughter.
Looking back at Caitlin, her face had morphed into one of determination. She stared hard at her mother’s back, her face hardened and reddened. She stepped forward and grabbed my arm and practically dragged me from the kitchen. On the way out, she picked up an open picnic basket from the inside porch. It was lined with a red gingham material and I could see a bottle of lemonade and some bread rolls poking out.
Once we were out of earshot of any adults, with that same look of conviction etched firmly across her face, she said, ‘Come on, I know somewhere really cool we can go.’