A Place in the Country (12 page)

The deejay was a black girl who Issy thought looked great, with her hair twisted into about a thousand thin braids. She was wearing denim cutoffs and a black turtleneck and looked really cool. All the other girls were in skinny jeans or really short skirts and clingy tops. In her blue dress from Zara, even without the little black mesh shrug her mother had insisted on, she did not feel “cool” at all.

Lysander gave her another drag on his cigarette. She hated it but it made her look “cooler,” and she choked on a glass of what he told her was champagne. “It's mixed with something else,” she said.

“Brandy,” Lysander told her.

“Mmm.” Issy eyed it doubtfully, but she decided she liked it, and when they got up to dance she felt wonderful; she was one of
them,
and she was Lysander's special date. His girl.

It was after four when they returned to the house. Lysander kissed her all the way home in the big chauffeur-driven car, with Miranda, the model who had met her at the door, being felt up next to her by a much older man she'd picked up somewhere en route and who she'd told them was a famous photographer.

Issy didn't even protest when Lysander slid his hand under her skirt. Miranda was doing the same thing so it must be all right. In fact, Miranda's legs were parted and out of the corner of her eye, while Issy was being kissed by Lysander, she saw the famous photographer's hand reach all the way up under Miranda's skirt. Miranda wiggled a bit and moaned and Issy tried not to look, though Lysander was laughing.

At the house, Lysander put an arm round her waist as he walked her up the stairs. She snuggled into him, stopping outside her bedroom door.

“It was all so lovely, thank you, thank you…” she murmured, dissolving under another kiss.

Without warning, he pushed her backwards into her room, kicked the door shut and threw her onto the bed. Before she knew it, he was on top of her, his hands were up her skirt, tugging at her thong; his mouth was clamped over hers, she couldn't even protest or scream and then oh God, oh God, his fingers were inside her. Pushing. Spreading. Hurting. Oh God he was going to rape her … She needed to scream but he slapped her face … he was hurting her … she had to get away. This could not be happening. Anger gave her sudden strength. She got one knee up from under him twisted round and gave him an almighty crack in the balls that sent him gasping off the bed.

“
Little bitch,
” he snarled, lying there with his pants down and his thing hanging out.

For a second or two, Issy just stared horrified, at him, then she leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up all over the floor.

“
Jesus,
” she heard Lysander yell, then the door slammed and she was alone.

It seemed like ages, but was probably only minutes before she got to her feet and walked, still wobbly, into the bathroom, where she threw up some more. Then she took off her dress and the torn thong and washed herself down there.

She found her duffel and put on clean underwear and the cardi and the old sweatpants she'd brought for when she would be alone. She searched for her purse but it had gone. Somebody must have taken it. She flung on her mother's nice trench coat, stuffed everything else into her duffel and walked down the stairs, past the furious party sounds still coming from the drawing room, and let herself out of the house.

At the end of the street she caught a taxi to Paddington and paid with the money she'd stuffed into her pocket earlier, along with her ticket. Half an hour later she was on a train, on her way home.

Her hands still trembled, and her voice shook when she called Sam's mobile.

*   *   *

“What?”
Sam was instantly awake.

“You were right, I should never have gone.” Issy burst into tears.
“He practically raped me.”

There was a shocked silence, then Sam said, “I'm calling your mom.”

“No! No, don't!” She didn't want her mother even to know.

“But she'll have to come to the station to get you. Wait, though, maybe I should get
my
mom instead?”

Issy thought it would be better. “Okay,” she agreed. “But it's too early, they'll know something must have happened, and I can't tell them, Sam, I just can't. Wait til nine o'clock at least. Let's tell Maggie I hated the party, they were all older, and I just wanted to come home. And
please
—please Sam, don't tell my mother.”

Sam promised. “Don't worry,” she said, “she'll never know the truth.”

And of course, she never would know because Issy would never, ever, tell.

 

chapter 26

Caroline emerged from a haze
of sleep, saw her clock said twelve and for a minute couldn't decide whether it was day or night. Then she realized it must be noon and leaped out of bed.

She took a quick and gaspingly cold shower to wake herself up, smoothed lotion over her arms and legs and a dab of Clinique moisturizer on her face.

Peering in the mirror she took a closer look at
that
face. At those
lips
that had been kissed,
so very nicely kissed,
only hours ago. Oh my God, what had she been
thinking
!

She went back to her room and got into a pair of gray sweatpants, old and comfy, and a red cashmere sweater the moths had had a go at, leaving a couple of wounds that she'd stitched together in little puckers, around the neckline. It was still good though, and it was the softest, most comfortable garment she owned, and that included the yellow that was now too tight.

When she thought about it, which she did now, she hadn't looked half bad last night, despite the fact that she'd worn a short dress while everybody else wore long. She picked up the small wooden box. It was as beautiful as she'd thought it was. She would show it to Issy when she got home.
Oh Lord, Issy! The party!
She was expected home this afternoon; she had to find out the train time and go meet her.

She tapped in Issy's mobile number but her phone was off. Worried, she ran downstairs and saw Issy sitting at the kitchen table.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked, flabbergasted. “I just called you to find out what train you were taking.”

“I came home a bit earlier.”

Issy was holding Blind Brenda to her face but even so Caroline could see she'd been crying.

Something was wrong. She went and sat next to her. She didn't touch or kiss her or ask any questions.

“They were all too grown up for her,” Sam explained, buttering a piece of toast and handing it to Issy, who removed Blind Brenda long enough to take a bite, then allowed the kitten to lick the butter until Maggie told her sharply to stop that.

“I just didn't like it there,” Issy said, deliberately talking with her mouth full, because it was easier to fake-out her mother that way.

“Then you did right to come home,” Caroline agreed.

Issy said, “I think I'll just take a bath. Then maybe I'll lie down. I'm really tired.”

Sam said, “I'll come and run your bath for you.”

“No need,” Caroline said. “I'll do it.” She went upstairs and turned on the taps, throwing in half a bottle of the gardenia-scented oil she'd been saving for ages. Steam wreathed round her. Jim and the dinner party seemed a lifetime away. She was back in her role of single mom wondering how to deal with a daughter she knew was in trouble, and not daring to ask why. She hoped at least Issy would talk to Sam.

She went back downstairs and told Issy the bath was ready. Then, because her head was fuzzy and there was too much going on to think about, she put on sneakers and went out for a run.

The early afternoon was crisp with wavery sun behind silhouettes of black trees.

Of course she had been wrong to allow Issy to go to the party. She had allowed her daughter to tell
her
it would be all right to go, when she had known in her gut it would not, and should have said so. She had made a mistake. Now, something terrible had happened.

Her phone was in her pocket and now it vibrated. It must be Issy. It wasn't. It was Jim.

“I'll bet you're wearing the yellow sweater and drinking too much coffee,” he said by way of an opening shot.

“You're right.” Caroline laughed. “Actually, I'm running along the lane that leads to your house. And I'm wearing old sweatpants and a red sweater with moth holes.”

“I wish I could see it.”

She could tell he was smiling too when he said, “I wanted to ask you out for a bite, tonight, but now I'm afraid I can't. I have to deliver the staircase, all the way down in Sussex. I'll finish it there, then install it. I'll be gone at least a week.”

A week without him! Though she'd promised herself not to see him again, the thought upset her. She said, offhandedly, “Okay. I guess I'll manage the move without you.”

“I'm really sorry, Caroline, there's nothing I can do about it. It's work.”

“Don't worry,” she reassured him, softening. “I've got the student body arriving to do the move. Young and strong and hopefully capable.”

“Great.” There was a small silence then he said, “Tell me, how did Issy get on, at her party. I know you were worried.”

“I was right to be worried.”

“What's up?”

“I don't know, and I have the feeling I never will.” Then, remembering she shouldn't be unburdening herself on this man who was practically a stranger, she said, “See you when you get back. I had a lovely time, last night. And thank you again for the box. It's on my bedside table so I can see it before I go to sleep, and when I wake up.”

“Wish it were me you were seeing,” he said, laughing as he said goodbye.

 

chapter 27

Issy perched on the edge
of Sam's bed, knees under her chin, fingers laced tightly over them, long brown hair falling over her face. She was crying. “
Bastard,
” she muttered.

“
Prick,
” Sam agreed, then could have kicked herself. “Sorry, wrong choice of word.”

“I know what you mean.” In spite of her despair, Issy gave a sniffly little giggle. “Sam, do you think I'm still a virgin? I mean, like well, he didn't actually
do
it, just, you know … tried.”

Sam ran her hand worriedly through her blond hair. “Well, if you're not, you can always say you lost it riding a horse. Lots of girls blame that.”

Issy managed to laugh. “It still hurts,” she whispered. “Y'know what, Sam? I thought sex was supposed to be lovely, but he was so fierce and so angry and … ugly.”

“He was a brute.” Sam patted her shoulder. “Are you going to tell your mom now?”

“Never!” Issy recoiled in horror at the thought.

“Well, look at it this way, at least you can't be pregnant.”

“Oh my God,”
Issy said. “But Sam, if I didn't knee him in the balls he would have done it to me and I might have been.”

“Trust me,” Sam said. “He'll be hurting too.”

Then Caroline's mom came in with a tray of chocolate milk and a plate of Cadbury's chocolate fingers, their favorite.

“Talking over the terrible party, I'll bet,” she said. “Anyhow, this'll taste better than party food, whatever it was.”

“They should have hired you to cater it, Mom.” Issy felt a sudden surge of love for her mother; she was always there when she needed her, and she needed her now, even though she couldn't tell her why.

“Thanks,” she said, biting into a chocolate finger. Then as Caroline walked back out the door, “Mom?”

Caroline poked her head back in again.

“I'll help you move into the barn.”

“Great,” Caroline said. But Issy saw she was smiling as she closed the door behind her.

*   *   *

The moving day
weather forecast was fine with no rain expected. Issy had still refused to move and would be staying on at the Star & Plough until the “relocation” problems were worked out. Such as, for instance, the store delivering her new bed and the electricity actually working, which Caroline discovered when she arrived at six that morning, it certainly was not.

Then Georgki barreled up the drive crouched over the wheel of his beat-up third-hand Hummer, waving as he drew up in a cloud of dust.

He reached in back for an enormous cellophane-wrapped fern which he presented with a courtly bow. “For your new home,” he said, giving Caroline that wondrous smile that made him look like an aging, innocent choirboy.

She kissed him and said pleased, “My first housewarming present,” then caught sight of the decrepit student moving van wobbling along the lane. It missed the turnoff and drove past, then someone spotted her waving, and it backed slowly up her drive, trembling to a stop with a terrifying screech of brakes.

Georgki knew how to turn on the electricity, while the students hauled and lifted, tackling the spiraling stone stairs to the mezzanine without complaint.

They took a coffee break at eight when Caroline broke out the bacon sandwiches she'd prepared earlier that morning, and they all sat on the wall by the river, throwing bits of bread to the ducks.

By noon, they were finished. Looking round her new living room, Caroline realized how little furniture she really had; a couple of sofas and an armchair newly covered in heavy white cotton plus a small coffee table she'd found in the Oxford thrift shop, really just a Moroccan brass tray perched rather unsteadily on three legs. She'd said doubtfully she thought there should be a fourth, but the woman at the shop, who seemed to know about such things, told her no, in Morocco, it was always three.

There was a tall lamp with a base that looked like printed concrete, with a wide gold-speckled shade that Caroline had fallen in love with at a local auction, plus a couple of side tables topped with classic blue-and-white Chinese lamps. She'd bought a square of cream carpet to put in front of the fireplace, and had placed Georgki's plant under the tall windows where she was sure it would get enough light.