A Twist of Fate (13 page)

She looked at the crowds coming up the steps towards her. Normal people, affluent people, with homes and friends and places to go. She looked each one in the eye, challenging them to meet her
gaze. But none of them did.

How much braver did she have to be? Romy wondered, feeling dizzy with tiredness. How much braver
could
she be, before someone somewhere gave her a break?

All she needed was just one piece of luck.

Just one piece of luck . . .

‘Here,’ she heard.

A girl with blonde hair in a red coat stopped, bent down and dropped something in her lap. Romy looked at the money, the crisp note, then up at the girl, but she’d already walked quickly
on.

October 1986

‘Why did you do that?’ the voice behind Thea said.

Thea turned to see Bridget Lawson coming up behind her out of the Tube station. She was one of the most popular girls in Thea’s year, and she broke away from the other girls to catch
up.

‘Do what?’ Thea asked.

‘Why did you give that girl some money back there? Paying beggars isn’t the solution, you know.’

Thea turned and looked back at the girl outside the station. ‘She just looked . . . I don’t know . . . ’ Thea didn’t know how to put it into words. It was something about
the girl’s look, in the tiny moment they’d made eye contact, that had caused Thea to take out her purse. Perhaps it was because she looked so hopeless. So alone.

But now her stupidity had been enough to grab the attention of Bridget Lawson. Bridget with her dark curly hair coming from underneath the black beret. Bridget with her pretty freckles and
inquisitive eyes.

Their class was on a school trip to see a play at the National Theatre on the South Bank here in London, and Bridget had sat with all the other girls on the Tube here, fussing and primping over
their appearance, leaving Thea to read her Sidney Sheldon further up the carriage, alone. Now Thea felt a pang of jealousy for Bridget’s electric-blue mascara. She’d never have the
confidence to wear something like that.

But confidence was something Bridget Lawson possessed in buckets. She’d played Annie, Tallulah and Lady Macbeth in the school productions. She was also short and nimble and played centre
in the school netball team. She had a Benetton jumper in every colour of the rainbow and had never spoken to Thea alone even once before.

But Thea didn’t blame her. Ever since Brett’s assault last Christmas she felt as if any confidence she’d ever had had been drained out of her.

She tried to console herself with the thought that it could have been so much worse. Just as Brett had been kissing her and reaching for his fly, Cha-Chi, Storm’s dog, had nosed around the
door and started yapping. Thea, grabbing her opportunity, had chucked her glass of milk in Brett’s face, before sprinting to her room and barricading herself in.

She’d stayed awake all night, waiting for the morning when she’d tell her father exactly what Brett had done. But Brett had been waiting for her.

‘You breathe a word,’ he’d whispered, ‘and I’ll do much worse.’

‘Stay away from me,’ she’d managed.

He’d laughed then. ‘No problem. You’re one of those girls, anyway. You’d let anyone do anything to you.’

At that moment Storm had appeared in the corridor with an ice-pack pressed to her forehead and had announced that she was so stressed after the party that she was going to Crofters for Christmas
after all. Brett had whooped with delight and had said he’d go too.

Thea had feigned a stomach bug so that she could stay in New York with Griffin Maddox, hoping he’d protect her. Hoping for the right moment to tell her father. But the moment never came,
and when she ended up on the private plane with him to the Caribbean on Christmas Eve to join Storm and Brett, he’d spent the whole time chatting to two businessmen who’d joined them in
the plane at the last moment.

So she’d feigned her stomach bug at Crofters too, making sure she stayed locked in the turret room. And as the days and nights had blended into weeks, her resolve to tell her father and
expose Brett had weakened.

What if Brett had been right? What if her father didn’t believe her? Storm would certainly stick up for Brett, no matter what. And maybe Brett had been right on another account too. Maybe
it was somehow her fault. Maybe she had provoked his attack. Maybe, being ‘one of those girls’, she’d unwittingly given off the wrong signals.

The way her mind had veered back and forth between indignation and guilt had been exhausting. And it had only increased her sense of isolation and the realization that she had nobody –
nobody she could confide in. Not any more. Once upon a time she’d had Michael. But even if she knew where Michael was, how could someone good and wholesome like he was ever respect her after
what Brett had done?

Thea had felt relieved to go back to school in England. But in the dead of night, alone in the dorm with no real friends, she’d felt desperate at times. And as the slow months had turned
into school terms, Thea had become more and more withdrawn, opting to go to a tennis camp in France for the summer holidays, instead of going back to America where she might have bumped into Brett.
And even though the immediate horror of his attack had faded, now in the autumn term Thea still felt desperate at times. As desperate as that girl at the Tube station just now had looked.

But Bridget didn’t seem to be judging her at all, Thea thought. Well, at least not negatively. She’d expected Bridget to move away, back to the others, but she didn’t seem in
any hurry to go. In fact, she stayed right by Thea’s side as they crossed the road and walked on until the river was in sight.

‘Ah,’ Bridget said, taking in a deep lungful of crisp London air. ‘I love this time of year.’

‘Me too,’ Thea admitted.

The crisp evening reminded her of her childhood in Little Elms. The leaves swaying down from the plane trees, the skyline faded to a silhouette, the cast-iron lamps shining light on the
pavement, the boats sliding under the bridges on the Thames. Suddenly the evening she’d been dreading was infused with possibility.

Now she glanced at Bridget, embarrassed by her scrutiny.

‘We’ve never really talked before, have we?’ Bridget said, smiling.

Thea shook her head. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or mess it up. ‘We sit next to each other in biology.’

‘Ah. Well, I can’t talk to you then, I’m always too busy copying your answers,’ Bridget said. Then she laughed, looking at the shock on Thea’s face.
‘I’m kidding.’

Thea smiled back, feeling unsure of herself. ‘I wouldn’t mind. I know Poppy copies me, too.’

‘Poppy copies everyone. She’ll ace us all in the exams, though.’

‘Really?’

Bridget laughed. ‘Yes, really. That’s what I like about you, Thea. You’re so out there and American. Haven’t you worked it out yet?’ Bridget leant in and whispered,
‘It’s not cool to work hard. Or . . .’ she held up her finger, ‘to be seen to be working hard. They all swat like crazy in the holidays.’

‘Hey, Bridget. Who’s your new girlfriend?’ one of the girls called from behind them.

Bridget turned and hoisted up her two fingers. ‘Drop dead,’ she said, linking her arm through Thea’s as if they were long-lost friends.

As they walked towards the theatre Bridget Lawson slowed down, letting the others overtake them. But for once Arabella and Marcia could take a running jump, Bridget thought.
After Marcia’s party in the summer, she had been having second thoughts about hanging out with her set anyway. They were such spiteful bitches. All they did was criticize other people, as if
they were the most perfect girls in the world.

And Thea Maddox wasn’t half as bad as they had made out. Giving that girl at the Tube station money was kind of cool. All the other girls wouldn’t dare do anything spontaneous and
ballsy like that. But Thea was different. Probably good breeding, Bridget thought, thinking of what her father might say about someone like Thea. He’d approve. In fact there’d almost
certainly be a horse metaphor, Bridget thought, smiling to herself.

Of course Bridget had to admit that she’d played her own role in goading the American girl, especially when she’d first arrived at St Win’s. Who hadn’t? She was a sitting
duck for being teased, and hardly ever retaliated. She had that funny way of calling jam ‘jelly’ and holidays ‘vacations’. She was so
serious
. Such a bookish swat.
But no matter what they said to her, Thea never seemed to get her parents involved, so the girls knew they were safe.

In fact Thea had been so cool in not reacting to all the taunts that Bridget had considered palling up with her that first term, but somehow the moment had passed. She’d been in with
Marcia and Poppy then, who hated Thea and had told Bridget all about Thea’s mother, Alyssa McAdams, and her grim death from cancer. Marcia, who wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, had
told the others that cancer was catching and that Thea would probably die of it too.

She knew that was all hogwash, but Bridget couldn’t imagine anything worse than her own mother dying, and had steered clear of Thea. But she noticed now that Thea carried a sadness about
her and she wondered whether it was lingering grief. Or maybe something more recent had happened? Come to think of it, Thea had been a bit subdued since the start of term and she’d lost all
that weight in the last few months.

Out of the context of school, the Maddox girl took on a different light, Bridget thought. In fact, seeing her now in her red coat, she noticed for the first time just how pretty Thea was. She
was tall, with high cheekbones and piercing pale-blue eyes, which complemented her flawless skin and long blonde hair. She was elegant, like a swan. The best part was that she was totally unaware
of it.

Yes, she needed a new project, and Thea would be just right, Bridget thought. So what if freaky Thea Maddox was the most unpopular girl in school? Bridget was going to single-handedly make her
the most popular. All Thea needed was some trendy clothes and a new haircut and – bingo, Bridget would have a reinvention on her hands. Maybe she could persuade Thea to get her hair permed,
then she’d be a dead ringer for Kelly McGillis in
Top Gun
(God, how Bridget adored that film). Or she could even go more punky and get a bob like Debbie Harry, who’d looked
awesome on
Top of the Pops
last night. Whatever they decided, Bridget couldn’t wait to get started.

Checking to see that there were no teachers nearby, she reached into her pocket and opened her packet of Marlboro cigarettes.

‘No, thanks,’ Thea muttered, backing away. ‘I . . . I don’t smoke.’

Bridget took two out of the packet and lit them both with her Zippo lighter. She inhaled on both, then handed one to Thea.

‘Go on, give it a try,’ she said, talking through the smoke and handing over the cigarette. She watched as Thea took it, unsure how to hold it. She put it between her lips. Bridget
smiled and watched Thea take a tentative puff and blow the smoke out. She coughed and spluttered, putting her fist over her mouth.

‘Don’t worry. That always happens,’ Bridget assured her. ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it.’

So Thea Maddox was just as innocent as she looked, Bridget surmised, regarding the taller girl through the smoke-ring she herself now blew out. But hats off to her: she’d taken a
cigarette. As Bridget had suspected, there was clearly some spirit under there after all.

‘Why are they all racing to the theatre?’ Thea asked, as they walked on, watching the other girls giggling and jostling through the glass doors ahead.

‘Two reasons,’ Bridget explained. ‘Amanda’s just got her allowance from her dad and will be bulk buying vodka tonics at the bar as soon as the teachers are distracted.
Second, we happen to know that the King Edward boys are coming tonight to the production.’

‘Oh,’ said Thea.

‘You ever had a boyfriend?’ Bridget asked.

Thea shook her head.

‘Seriously?’

Thea shook her head again. But Bridget saw that she was blushing.

‘I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,’ Bridget said.

‘I told you
no
,’ Thea snapped the words. Bridget saw fury in her eyes.

‘Hey, it’s cool,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to hear about it anyway. I mean, it’s only stupid boy-stuff, right?’

‘Right,’ Thea said, looking relieved, the colour fading from her cheeks once more.

Bridget linked arms with her. ‘Hey, I just thought of something,’ Bridget said, stopping and looking at Thea. ‘Do you ride? Horses, I mean? Like your mother?’

She noticed a tensing in Thea’s muscles at the mention of her mother. She thought she’d crossed another line, but this time Thea smiled.

‘Yes. Well, I used to. I haven’t for a while, but I’d love to again.’

‘OK, cool,’ Bridget said. ‘You’re coming home with me this weekend. It’s settled.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘What about your other friends? Won’t they—’

‘Oh yes,’ Bridget said, ‘but you see, that’s the first thing you need to learn, if we’re going to start hanging out . . . ’

‘What?’

‘Being important enough to be bitched about by other people is the most fun any girl can have. So long as you learn how to play it just right.’

By Friday night Thea could hardly remember life before Bridget. It only took one person to think she was cool for Thea actually to
be
cool. She felt hopelessly and
pathetically grateful, as if this happiness was a dream and she would pinch herself and wake up.

At night in the dormitory Thea was no longer alone. She was ‘in’ on the inner circle, listening to Bridget and Tracy and Suze as they sat on Bridget’s bed, surrounded by
posters of Culture Club and Duran Duran, whilst flicking through Suze’s collection of
Jackie
magazines. They talked about boys they secretly fancied, and Thea found herself sharing her
childhood stories about Michael and they all listened attentively, telling her how wonderful it sounded and how lovely Michael must have been.

But the best thing of all was that Bridget had somehow made it possible for what Brett had done to stop occupying Thea’s waking thoughts. Bridget’s positive energy now filled the
place that had only been filled by Thea’s doubts and anxiety. She vowed that she would stop thinking about Brett. She vowed that she’d never, ever tell Bridget or anyone else what
he’d done.