The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  She sighs. ‘No, it’s not serious, and he should be fine, but I got a massive telling off from the doctor and she said I had to tell the nursery, so that was embarrassing. And now neither he or Bay can go back for ages, and chances are Bay will get it too because it’s really contagious, so I’ve got that to look forward to as well.’

  ‘But … how did he get it?’

  She sighs again. ‘I’m tired, Nick, and don’t massively want to have this conversation now, but according to the doctor, he got it because he hasn’t had the right injections. I’d guess probably from that dreadful soft play you take them to – there’ve been a few cases in the area, apparently, and it has now been shut down for a deep clean. It’s an awful place anyway.’

  I’m still confused. Aura’s always been obsessive about the children’s health and keeping them safe – she always took charge of medical appointments as she was at home and I was at school.

  ‘But you … were always so careful with their health,’ I say, keeping my voice steady, pleased with myself for phrasing it as a compliment rather than a criticism. ‘I don’t understand how you would have missed anything.’

  But it doesn’t work. ‘If you felt so strongly about their health, you could have helped!’ she snaps. ‘I spent hours doing my research about what was best for them; you were always at work or busy with “marking” and never showed the slightest interest.’

  ‘Aura, of course I was interested,’ I counter, ‘I just trusted you with it.’ I try and fail to keep the edge out of my voice.

  ‘They didn’t have MMR jabs – it’s too many illnesses all at once for their little bodies to cope with. Barbaric. I read the vaccine inserts and I discussed it on Facebook with other mums, and I came to the conclusion that there were too many risks. It’s not a decision I took lightly and I’m still convinced it was the best one. There was no way I was letting anyone put that poison inside their little bodies.’

  Poison? What is she on about? She decided this after talking to random Facebook mums? My face grows hot. She is still talking.

  ‘I saw a homeopath instead and both boys had homeopathic vaccinations. Much safer, according to my research.’

  ‘Homeopathic vaccinations? What? How is that even a thing?’

  ‘Of course it’s a thing!’ Her voice is shrill and hysterical now. ‘There are no needles or chemicals, so not vaccination in that sense, but it’s usually very effective. Sorrel was just unlucky.’

  What the fuck? How can Aura think she knows better than science? But this is not the time for a row – while she is home with my sick son and I’m stuck here in the Alps. I shouldn’t have come. It was selfish of me. But she should have made sure our sons were properly protected. In retrospect, so should I. But I thought I could trust her with something as important as this.

  I swallow my anger down. ‘I see,’ I say, as evenly as I can. ‘And how is he? What do we need to … do for him?’

  ‘He’s fine. He’s got a rash and a temperature. I bought the Calpol and have given it to him, even though I hate it. I’m giving him pulsatilla too, which I’m sure is helping much more.’

  ‘And … it’s not dangerous, is it? Measles?’ I feel tears well and brush them away. I’ll never live it down if the kids see me crying.

  ‘Not really,’ she says. ‘Well, the doctor told me about all these possible complications, but I think they only say that stuff to scare you. Back in our parents’ day, everyone caught measles, didn’t they? It’s only since Big Pharma realized they could make some money from their vaccinations in spite of the risks they’ve started making out these illnesses are more dangerous than they really are. The doctor said to keep him home, keep him comfy, give him the Calpol and call if I have any concerns. Which I don’t.’

  ‘Thank God. OK. Thank God I’m leaving tomorrow anyway. Or do you want me to try and fly home tonight?’ I cross my fingers that she’ll say no. Much as I want to be home with poor little Sorrel, there are rules around adult to child ratios on school trips and I’m not sure how easy an early departure would be to organize for many reasons, or indeed if I could get back any earlier than if I left early tomorrow as planned anyway. It’s a long way to the airport and I haven’t a clue how I’d get there.

  ‘No. It’s fine. Like I said, it’s not a serious illness and I’ve got it all under control. He’s sleeping most of the time anyway – to be honest, in most ways he’s easier to handle than normal.’

  ‘If you’re sure. Give him a kiss from me and I’ll see you all tomorrow evening.’

  Homeopathic jabs, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t she make sure they were properly protected? If anything happens to Sorrel because of this, I’ll never forgive her.

  47

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  And then … on the final night of the holiday, Molly seems to call a truce. After we are back from our final day’s skiing, showered and dressed, she gets the vodka out of the cupboard.

  ‘I thought we should celebrate our final night in style – what do you think?’

  I smile. I’ve got a headache and I’m not really bothered about drinking tonight, but I want Molly and me to be friends again – she’s my only real girlfriend in London after all, so I say: ‘Sounds fun. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Nothing special – I invited the boys to come down before dinner and I thought we could play cards or something. I bought some Coke to go with the vodka, and also some crisps and stuff. I thought it would be nice, just the four of us.’

  ‘That sounds lovely.’ And it does.

  She looks at the floor. ‘And I wanted to say sorry for … being a bitch this week. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not going to hassle you. If you don’t want to tell me about Jack or … whatever else, then that’s up to you. It’s not for me to force you. I know I can come on a bit strong sometimes but … you’ve been a real breath of fresh air for me. I haven’t really had a friend like you before.’

  Tears come to my eyes and I hug her. ‘Oh, I’m so relieved! I thought you were really angry with me.’

  She pulls away and I see her wipe a tear from her eye too. ‘I was.’

  ‘But that’s silly,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to tell. With Jack, I like him, but I just want to take it slow. You were right when you said that I’m … that I’ve never … y’know. And the whole Mr Dorian thing – it’s never going to happen and I’ve accepted that. It was just something in the club – a mistake.’ For him at least.

  She hugs me again, and then lets me go, holding me at arm’s length and looking at me. ‘It’s OK. I know now that nothing’s going on with you and Mr Dorian. I’ve been keeping an eye the last few days, and I believe you.’

  Brilliant, I think. Nothing like taking me at my word, is there? But then I remember that I’m not being entirely honest with Molly, so I don’t say anything.

  ‘But you have to PROMISE me that if anything does, you’ll tell me?’ she continues. ‘Straight away?’

  I hug her again. ‘I promise,’ I say. And as nothing is going to happen, it doesn’t matter if I don’t mean it.

  By the time we go down to dinner, we’re a bit drunk. But we’re clearly not the only ones who have been having our own pre-dinner party – just about everyone seems rowdier than they would normally be.

  As it’s the last night, the hotel has put on a ‘disco’ for us – there’s no proper dance floor as such but they have got an ancient-looking DJ who is playing the kind of songs my mum always embarrasses me by dancing to at weddings. A bit like the ones at the club the night I met Mr Dorian.

  I thought eating would make me feel less drunk but after dinner I actually feel more spinny – I don’t know if it’s a delayed reaction to what I drank before or whether Molly has been surreptitiously topping us all up with vodka. Perhaps both. By now I’m just up for a good night and I don’t really care if Molly’s been spiking my drinks all evening.

  The music couldn’t be worse but I see why they play this
dire stuff at weddings – it gets everyone dancing.

  I dance for ages with Molly, with Jack, with Ethan and with just about everyone else, even Mr Dorian, but only because Molly dances with him too, so I think I can probably get away with it. Then, suddenly, I feel really hot and a tiny bit sick.

  ‘I’m just going to stop and cool down!’ I shout at Molly over the music, who nods and carries on twirling round and round. I shimmy over to the door, yank it open and a welcome blast of cold air hits me as I stumble outside.

  I lean against the wall, enjoying the coolness along my back. I can still hear the music – another awful Eighties track I inexplicably know all the words to – and sing along gently to myself. The bitingly cold air is blissful. The sky is clear and I tip my head back to look up at the stars. It’s beautiful. All so beautiful.

  ‘Ella? Are you OK?’

  I turn my head too quickly and for a second the ground seems to move and then rights itself.

  It’s Mr Dorian. But instead of the usual panic and fluster I feel when he speaks to me, all I feel is happy. Gotta love vodka.

  I smile, move towards him and gently touch his arm, like I might if he was Jack, or Molly, like I’d never normally dare to do with him. I expect him to pull away from me, but he doesn’t. ‘I’m fine! Fine, fine, fine,’ I cry. ‘Couldn’t be finer. Why d’you ask?’

  He smiles back. ‘I noticed that you and some of the others are … a little worse for wear this evening, and when I saw you come out here I wanted to check you weren’t out here chucking your guts up or falling asleep in the snow or something.’

  Ha! He’s been watching me. Noticing me. He does like me, after all. I knew it.

  I shake my head, which makes everything wobble again. I stumble, and he takes my arm to steady me. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ I cry, over-enunciating each syllable in an effort not to slur.

  He laughs. ‘Ella, it’s fine. You’re not in trouble. You’re sixteen, you’re on holiday with your mates, away from your parents. It would almost be more of a worry if you guys hadn’t smuggled any booze in.’

  ‘Booze? What is this booze of which you speak?’ I tip my head to one side and look at him.

  He laughs again. ‘OK. Have it your way.’ There is a pause. ‘It wasn’t that long ago I was on school holidays myself. I’m not going to spoil your fun. I only wanted to check you were OK. I care …’

  He stops abruptly.

  My heart starts beating faster.

  ‘What did you say?’ I ask.

  I heard what he said. But maybe he meant something else.

  ‘Nothing.’ He lets go of my elbow, looks up at the sky and exhales loudly. ‘God, Ella, I wish I wasn’t your teacher,’ he mutters. ‘Sometimes I even wish I wasn’t married.’

  The ground sways and I stumble again. He takes my arm again to steady me.

  I look into his eyes.

  It’s now or never.

  I lean in and upwards and kiss him on the lips.

  He tastes of coffee and whisky.

  I feel his tongue push between my lips as he pulls me closer.

  48

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  A few seconds later, he abruptly pulls away.

  ‘Christ! Jesus! Sorry, Ella. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that, that shouldn’t have happened …’

  He runs his hands through his hair and looks around wildly. For a second I think I see movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I look around, no one is there.

  ‘It was probably my fault,’ I say teasingly, reaching out to touch his arm again. He jumps back as if he’s been electrocuted.

  ‘But you … But I … God! No one saw us, did they?’ He looks around again.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. There’s only you and me out here,’ I add flirtatiously.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Ella!’ he fumes. I feel a lurch of alarm as I realize that the mood has totally changed. ‘If anyone found out about this, I could … oh God!’ he is saying, kicking at a piece of snow on the ground violently. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

  ‘I’m … um … I’m sorry,’ I offer, not knowing what else to say.

  He smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he says, but tightly as if he doesn’t mean it. ‘I shouldn’t have … I’m the adult here, I’m the one who … Jesus! What was I thinking!’

  ‘I’m sixteen,’ I say quietly. ‘Kind of an adult.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ he says, sounding as if someone is strangling him.

  Mr Dorian casts around again and then turns towards me. He takes hold of my shoulders and puts his face close to mine. ‘Listen, Ella,’ he says in a low, voice, ‘I know you’re pretty wasted at the moment, but you have to take this seriously. You must NOT tell ANYONE about this! Do you understand! No one. Not Molly, not your mum, definitely not your boyfriend. No one. Got it?’

  His face is twisted somehow. He looks totally different to how he usually does. Angry? Scared? I’m not sure.

  ‘Jack isn’t my boyfriend,’ I say pointlessly, because he obviously doesn’t give a shit whether he is or not. ‘I understand. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’

  ‘And if anyone asks – we both deny it. No one can prove anything. If anyone asks us what we were doing out here, you felt sick, I came to check on you. OK?’

  ‘Umm …’ I’ve never heard him sound so aggressive before, and it throws me.

  ‘OK????’ he repeats, even more firmly.

  ‘Yes, OK,’ I reply. I just want to get away from him now. He’s scaring me a bit.

  ‘So say it,’ he continues.

  ‘Say what?’ I don’t know what he means. My head is spinning and I want to go back inside. I’m too drunk for this.

  He rolls his eyes and squeezes my shoulders tighter, giving me a little shake. ‘What we were doing out here! If anyone asks.’

  ‘I felt sick and you came to check on me,’ I say in a small voice.

  He lets go of my shoulders. ‘Good. Fine. No one saw us so we should be … fine. You do understand you mustn’t tell anyone?’ His voice is now almost pleading. Less aggressive. More like he is normally. Like he is when I picture how he would be with me if we were alone together as a couple.

  I nod. ‘Yes. I understand.’

  He smiles weakly. ‘Good girl. And Ella, I can only apologize for my behaviour. I’ve had a bad day, my son’s not well but … that doesn’t make it OK. What I did was inexcusable.’

  I shake my head. I’m not going to let him say that. I wanted him to kiss me. ‘No it wasn’t. Inexcusable, I mean.’

  He pauses. ‘Yes, it was. You need to understand that. You go back in now. I’ll be in in a minute.’

  ‘OK.’

  I stumble back over to the door and yank it open.

  I can’t believe it.

  Mr Dorian kissed me. He actually kissed me.

  ‘There you are!’ Molly yells, suddenly in my face before I’ve had time to fully process what happened outside. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Where’d you go?’

  ‘I, um, I felt sick, so I went outside,’ I babble, confused. Do I have to say that to everyone? I don’t want to get Mr Dorian into trouble.

  Molly lurches forward and gives me a hug. ‘Awww. Poor baby. Probably too much voddie. You OK now? You didn’t vom?’

  I nod and then shake my head, unsure of which question to answer first. ‘Yes I’m fine. No I didn’t vom. I think I was just a bit too hot.’

  She nods. ‘Good. But you’re all right now? Come and dance then!’

  I follow her back onto the makeshift dance floor and try to throw myself back into it.

  I keep looking out for Mr Dorian, but I don’t see him for the rest of the evening.

  49

  February, French Alps/London

  Ella

  It is a ridiculously early start the next morning, and I sleep pretty much the whole way back on the coach. I sit with Molly instead of Jack – I make some
excuse about us both listening to the same podcast but I’m not surprised when he doesn’t object. I think he knows it’s over between us (was it ever a thing, really?) but even so, I’ve realized something. I need to make it crystal clear that he and I are not a couple – it’s only fair to him. That kiss with Mr Dorian was how a kiss should feel. Like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Like nothing else exists except me and him. Like I would do anything at all for him. Anything.

  I like Jack, but however hard I try, I don’t feel that for him. I will tell him, definitely. But I can’t do it today. Not with all these people here. And I’m so tired. It can wait till we get back.

  I can see Mr Dorian sitting at the front of the coach with Miss Fielder.

  We haven’t spoken since we kissed.

  I wonder if he’s thinking about me?

  ‘Ella!’ Mum grabs me in a bear hug as I get down from the coach. She’s not usually so demonstrative. Maybe she missed me, though I find it hard to believe, as most of the time she barely seems to notice if I’m there or not. ‘Did you have an amazing time?’ she asks, speaking into my neck because she hasn’t let go of me yet.

  I nod. ‘It was brilliant.’ In so many ways, I think to myself.

  ‘I’ll get your bag, shall I?’ she says brightly.

  I smile. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll go and say ’bye to Molly and … everyone.’

  Mum bustles off to where the driver is unloading the cases. My breath catches in my throat as I notice Mr Dorian is there, helping to haul the cases off, and feel a little thrill as I see him grab my hot pink case and swing it out from the bus and onto the ground.

  I want to go and say goodbye to him, but I can’t.

  50

  February, French Alps/London

  Nick

  The coach journey is interminable and is not helped by the 5 a.m. start or that I, pretty much all the other teachers and a good number of the students too are extremely hungover. We’ve had to stop the coach twice before breakfast time to let kids off to throw up but at least they managed not to do it in the coach. Doesn’t bear thinking about.