‘Oh darling, I don’t think I have ever been cool!’ Prim’s face flushed with obvious joy, despite her denial.
Victoria felt a flash of sympathy for her friend, who she knew struggled to keep her mum and dad happy; wonderful as they were, their standards were high. And notwithstanding the sometimes unattainable demands placed upon her, there was much Victoria envied about Daksha’s life. She might have the upper hand academically and live with the very cool Prim, but Victoria knew she would have swapped it in a heartbeat – not Prim, of course, but the situation. How she would have loved to have the large family around her that Daksha enjoyed: a mum, a dad, two brothers, one sister and, of course, Nani, who spoke little but seemed to notice much.
It was one of her regular fantasies, to see Prim, Grandpa, Sarah and Marcus all seated at the table for Sunday lunch, swapping stories they had read in the weekend papers and laughing, laughing and laughing some more because life was so damn good! Victoria swallowed the bloom of guilt at the acknowledgement that maybe Prim was not always enough. She knew her gran was a rare being, encouraging her to use her brain and make her own way, agreeing that a fancy scroll and three years’ worth of debt would not help her achieve her goals. Although what those goals were exactly was yet to be determined. But that, Prim assured her, was all part of the adventure, and she was confident that a year of travelling and stepping outside of the postcode would help Victoria find something she wanted to pursue.
‘Plus,’ Daksha continued, ‘it’s a known fact that ninety-five per cent of all CEOs of Fortune 500 companies did not go to university.’
‘Is that true?’ Prim queried.
‘Well, it might be true.’ Daksha pushed her glasses up on to the bridge of her nose, from where they had slipped.
‘Ignore her, Prim; Daks does this all the time, makes stuff up and I fall for it. She says I am the most gullible person on the planet.’
‘You actually are.’ Daksha nodded.
‘Well, I don’t happen to think you are gullible, I think you are whip-smart and fair. Don’t ever change, Victoria. Always be a good judge.’ Prim smiled at her.
‘I will try.’
‘But you’re going to need your wits about you for this travelling malarkey. Not everywhere is like Surrey, you know,’ Prim offered grimly.
‘Thank God for that, or there’d be no point in going!’ Victoria let herself picture the tree-covered islands that dotted the wide Ha Long Bay in Vietnam, and the way the sun glinted from the gold-domed temple at dusk in Lucknow, India. All within reach if she continued to save every penny from her job in the coffee shop in Epsom town centre and added it to the travel fund she had been accruing since the idea was first mentioned over eighteen months ago. Prim, who had been gifted her splendid house and had been left comfortably off after the death of her husband, had offered to buy her ticket, but Victoria had noted the old lady’s obvious pride when she’d declined the kind offer, preferring to save up and really earn the trip. This was her chance to spread her wings, shake off her reputation as a rather bookish introvert and to grow a new skin. Never had she felt so fired up at the prospect of anything, ever. She was determined not to fear the world beyond the walls of Rosebank, and the thought of wandering the world without time constraint or agenda was not only appealing, but also hugely romantic – and romance was something Victoria was yet to experience in any form. Was it any wonder when she was so plain?
‘Where are you girls off to this afternoon? I do hope somewhere nice?’ Prim tried, as ever, to keep the enquiry casual as she plucked a pear from her pocket and bit the top from the fruit, stalk and all.
‘I know, Daks,’ Victoria said when she saw her friend wince. ‘She does that – eats the whole apple or the whole pear. It’s gross!’
‘It’s not gross!’ Prim took another mouthful. ‘It’s prudent and economic.’
‘It’s still gross.’ Victoria pulled a face. ‘And in answer to your question, we are off to the Ashley Centre and we might grab an iced coffee from work; I need to go and see about my hours for next week.’
‘Well, have a wonderful time!’ Prim spoke with a flourish of her hand, her large emerald ring glinting in the sunlight and her mouth full of pear as she headed towards the garden room and no doubt the comfort of the wicker steamer chair, which was nearly as old as Prim herself.
‘Do we need anything while I’m out?’ Victoria rubbed sunscreen into her pale, bare arms and popped her sunglasses on her head.
‘Actually, yes.’ Prim paused and rested her elegant hand on the doorframe, calling back over her shoulder. ‘We need marmalade, and not the sort with the spindly orange peel I find so irritating. I like my peel to be chunky and visible, not hidden and apologetic. Oh, and if you see any, grab some of those glorious little Greek filo things that I should not be eating. The ones with honey and walnuts; what are they called, balaclavas?’
This time Victoria and Daksha both laughed loudly.
‘Yes, Prim, balaclavas.’
‘Well, grab me a balaclava or two.’ She smiled.
‘We shall do our best.’ Daksha nodded.
The girls closed the gate of the front path and made their way along the lane.
‘I am so glad your gran doesn’t shop online. Can you imagine? She’d think she was ordering pastries and ten balaclavas would turn up!’
‘She’s not bad for eighty-four.’ Victoria pointed out, feeling mean that they’d laughed.
‘God, no! Not bad at all. I hope when I’m eighty-four I’m as switched on as she is. In fact, I want to be like Jane Fonda, all gorgeous and still sexy. I bet she’s still having sex.’
‘Daks, I love the way you say still sexy, as though we are sexy now. I think we both know that our appeal might lie elsewhere.’
‘Oh, you mean like if a boy wants someone who can handle his tax return, he might call on you, Miss Maths Brain.’
‘Yes, and if he is struggling with an ache or pain, he might look up your number, Dr Daksha.’
Daksha sighed. ‘Well, he might have to wait a few years before I can diagnose him, particularly as I’m delaying even starting my training by coming travelling with you.’
‘What’s that tone? Delaying your training? You’re desperate to travel! But it sounds like you don’t want to come!’ Even the thought hurt.
‘Of course I do! God, you know that! It’s just that sometimes I feel I have to convince Mum and Dad every single day why it’s a good idea. They say yes, agree it’ll be life-enhancing and then, moments later, quietly drop into the conversation something about commitment, and it feels like we’re back to square one.’
‘Well, luckily, you are a grown-up and can do what you want.’
Daksha snorted. ‘Have you met my parents?’
‘You know what I mean.’
Daksha ignored her. ‘You know, I sometimes think I would like, just for one day, to walk in the shoes of those girls who are so sexy, so shiny, neat and perfect. The ones who just have to look at a boy and his pants fall off.’
Victoria threw her head back and laughed loudly. ‘Does that actually happen?’
‘You know what I mean. The way Courtney Mulholland stares at the boys and they go a bit gaga. Many’s the time I have been chatting to Roscoe or Nilesh’ – she mentioned two of the less shy boys in their maths set – ‘waiting to go into class, and Courtney walks past, does no more than glance at them, and just like that I’m invisible! It’s like she has a magic power, a superpower!’
Victoria laughed again. How she loved being with her friend. Encouraged now by her laughter, Daksha elaborated.
‘I mean it, Vic. Roscoe once asked me which module I had chosen out of four we’d been given, and just as I was about to reply “Quadratic equations”, Courtney appeared around the corner and his mouth fell open and so I said, “I’ve chosen the one on cat farts. Why is it my sister can eat a whole jarful, but I literally have one mouthful of cat fart and I shit myself?” And he just nodded and watched Courtney walk past be
fore turning back to me and saying, “Yep, good choice . . . good choice . . .”’
Victoria sprayed her laughter. ‘I am Courtney Woman!’ She raised her fist over her head and placed the other hand on her narrow waist as she tried to look sultry. ‘I have huge tits and I can make a man’s pants fall off just by looking at him like this!’ She directed a hard stare at Daksha.
‘You actually look more constipated than sexy.’ Her friend sighed. ‘Might need to dip into that jar of cat fart – works for me.’
Victoria dropped her pose. ‘As I said, I think our appeal lies elsewhere.’
‘Do you think boobs help?’ Daksha cupped her own blossoming bust, which rested on her equally blossoming stomach, and stared at Victoria’s rather flat chest.
‘I don’t think they do any harm.’ She pulled her shoulders forward inside her cotton vest, trying and failing to achieve a cleavage of any note. ‘I think that if the situation should ever occur where we are liaising with a guy of our choice—’
‘Ooh, good use of “liaising”!’ Daksha interrupted, batting her lashes and feigning coy.
‘Yes, if we are liaising with a guy, we need to do our very best to summon our inner Courtney. I mean, how hard can it be?’ Victoria pictured pulling a Courtneyesque face that was both vacant yet sexy and realised it might actually be harder than she thought.
‘Not hard at all! The secret is in the giggle.’
‘The giggle?’
‘Yes.’ Daksha tutted at her friend’s ignorance. ‘Have you not seen the way they flick their hair and do that kind of high-pitched, silly little giggle that is doll-like and dumb?’ Daksha gave a less than convincing example.
‘Doll-like and dumb. I can do that. Probably.’ She logged this instruction away for future reference.
‘Anyway, forget that.’ Daksha flapped her hand the way she did to indicate a change in topic. ‘My sister is in Maisie McNamara’s class.’
‘So?’ Victoria was missing the point.
‘Flynn’s sister!’
‘Yes, I know who she is, but I told you, don’t meddle!’ She felt conflicted; in part she wanted to glean, if not access to the beautiful Flynn, then any information that might further fuel her fantasy of spending time with him. This boy who seemed to take life in his stride, who whistled as he walked, looking teachers in the eye and giving all manner of excuses about late work or absent assignments, which they fell for! As if they, too, were unable to resist his easy manner and unwavering gaze. It was like Flynn had life figured out. But sadly, she also greatly mistrusted Daks’s sister Ananya’s ability to act as go-between. Ananya, she knew, would not have to try so hard to achieve doll-like and dumb.
‘I’m not meddling! As if I would!’ Daksha rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘But I just might have some information that you may find useful. And anyway, as I seem to recall, you said, “Don’t meddle” as it would be too embarrassing “while we were at school”. But in case you hadn’t noticed, we have finished school. Case in point, it’s the end of August and I haven’t had a panic attack about the start of term.’
‘Okay. Just give me the information already.’ Victoria cut to the chase and stood in the lane with her hands on her waist.
‘Flynn has got himself a job.’
‘Is that it? So what? How is that good information?’
‘I haven’t finished. Jeez! He’s got a job in the sports shop in town.’
‘Well, we are hardly sporty!’ She sniffed, while simultaneously trying to swallow the leap of joy in her throat at the prospect of sauntering casually by.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that!’ Daksha beamed.
‘I think he might. Seeing as we were in the same academic year for the whole of secondary school and neither of us made any sports team, ever.’
‘How dare you!’ Daksha laid her palm on her chest. ‘Do I need to remind you that I was selected to throw the discus in that athletics match against Therfield! They even gave me an orange segment at half time!’
‘Selected?’ Victoria laughed. ‘You were only there because the actual athletics team were competing in Leeds and they had to trawl the year looking for anyone willing. I believe you were one of the only people with your PE kit in school that day!’
‘You are cruel. But this is good intelligence, Vic. It means we can swoop by whenever you need a Flynn fix. You just need to brush up on Chelsea FC – his team, apparently. Ananya thought it might be useful to know who he supports.’
‘God, is this what I’m reduced to?’ Victoria hid her eyes with her hands. ‘I refuse to learn about a football team just to impress a boy. I don’t want to be one of those girls!’
‘Well, firstly, I don’t believe you, and secondly, you don’t have to do a thing.’ Daksha beamed. ‘I googled Chelsea for you. You can thank me later. They play in blue and are managed by José Mourinho.’
Victoria shook her head as the two continued their amble into town.
With an iced coffee sunk, her work hours for the following week sorted and amid much laughter, the two window-shopped, idling around the clock tower and further planning their grand tour, bickering playfully over the minutiae of whether to travel by bus or boat and what to pack, both confident that the bigger issues of travelling would take care of themselves.
An hour or so later and with a jar of marmalade and a box of ‘balaclava’ nestling in the bottom of her book bag, Victoria stood on the high street and kissed her friend goodbye, watching as Daksha climbed into the passenger seat of her mum’s navy-blue Mercedes.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift, Victoria?’ Mrs Joshi called across the seats through the open window. ‘I’m more than happy to swing by your house.’
Victoria was glad she was out of reach; Mrs Joshi had a habit of pinching her skin. It was, Daksha assured her, how she showed affection. This was good to know, but no matter how well intentioned, it still hurt a little.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you. It’s the only exercise I get at the moment and it’s such a lovely evening,’ she lied, the soles of her feet itching to head in the direction of a certain sports shop.
‘Well, take care, don’t talk to strangers and we will see you soon!’ Mrs Joshi waved as she roared away from the kerb. Daksha pulled a face through the window, which of course made Victoria laugh.
Victoria made the slightest detour and found herself outside the sports shop where Flynn McNamara worked, according to Ananya. Her plan was to peek in casually, just to see if she could catch sight of his dark, dark hair or his lopsided, imperfect smile, which for some reason she could not quite fathom made her heart flip. But as she adjusted the sunglasses on her head and tucked wisps of her unruly hair behind her ears she saw him.
Oh no! Oh my God! Oh no!
She hadn’t banked on actual interaction and yet there he was! Flynn was outside the shop, shifting a large ‘Open’ sign from the pavement nearer to the store.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
As Victoria saw it, she had two choices. She could either click her fingers, as though she had forgotten something, turn on her heel and walk back in the opposite direction, or she could take out her phone and pretend to be absorbed in something fascinating on the screen and march straight past. It was in the split second, as she was deciding which course of action might be the least embarrassing, that Flynn looked up and raised his hand in a wave. She captured the moment in her mind, knowing Prim would want every single detail.
‘Hi, Victoria!’
He knows my name! I am not invisible! He actually knows my name!
‘Oh,’ she said, with as much surprise as she could muster, the delight she felt at hearing him speak the word ‘Victoria’ entirely out of proportion with the act. ‘Hi, Flynn, what are you doing?’
Why did you say that, you idiot? Isn’t it obvious what he’s doing? Moving a great big sign from the pavement to the store. You sound like a moron!
‘I work here.’ He pointed at the store.
‘Oh, right! I didn’t know
that, no one told me that at all. I had no idea. I was just walking this way home anyway, and there you were, are, were, whatever.’ Again she cursed her unnatural speech, spiked through with nerves, and the feeling of her cheeks and chest flushing red.
He looked at her quizzically. ‘How’s your summer going?’ he asked. And there it was, that fantastic, heart-flippingly glorious lopsided smile.
‘Good, yes, you know, hot!’ She fanned her face. ‘And yours?’
‘Good, yeah. Been working here, playing football, getting ready for uni.’
‘Cool – oh, you’re off to uni? Where are you going?’
Newcastle. Business Studies. This I know because I stalk you anonymously on Facebook. I know your mum is called Stella and works in Waitrose and your dad is Michael and works on oil rigs. I also know your birthday is the day before mine, 11 October.
‘Newcastle.’
‘Oh, really, Newcastle? Cool.’ For the love of God, stop saying, ‘cool’! It’s a word you literally never use, never! ‘And what are you studying?’
‘Business Studies.’
‘Oh wow! Business Studies. Brilliant. And they’ve got quite a football team. I mean, they’re no Chelsea, but . . .’ She swallowed, feeling her face flush further at the utter absurdity of the conversation and how far out of her depth she was paddling. If the shore was reason, she was already drifting towards a rip tide. She felt equally a little light-headed and thrilled by the prospect.
‘I didn’t know you liked football?’ He cocked his head to one side as if seeing her in a different light.
‘Yeah, I do. I do. I like lots of football.’ She nodded in an exaggerated fashion, kicking the toe of her sandal against the hot pavement. ‘I like the blues, Chelsea, who are blue, and I think Josie Macarena is doing a good job, don’t you?’ She swallowed.
‘Mourinho?’
‘Yeah, Mourinho.’ She cringed, having got the name so very wrong.
‘Well’ – Flynn ran his fingers through his hair – ‘he hasn’t been at Chelsea for a while. More recently he was at Man U and now Spurs.’
‘Oh! Spurs!’ She raised a finger as a memory stirred. ‘And Man U! They are the red ones?’
The Day She Came Back Page 2