An Autumn Affair (2 page)

‘Mum? Are you all right?’

Her daughter’s voice jolted Julia back to reality. ‘Of … of course,’ she blustered, deciding it wouldn’t be appropriate to share any of this with her offspring.

Faye looked unconvinced. ‘You seem a bit … weird. Has something happened?’

Julia pulled herself together with an overexaggerated, dismissive tut. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve only been to the boring old supermarket. What could possibly happen to me there?’

*****

Watching her mother scuttle out of the kitchen, Faye Blakelaw heaved a despairing sigh. Honestly. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that anyone could be so spectacularly uncool. The woman really was verging on the embarrassing. And why did she have to make such a fuss about the stupid shopping? Josie’s mother wouldn’t make a big deal of anything so mind-numbingly mundane. But that’s because Josie’s mother was the coolest mum on the planet …

When her parents had announced they were all moving to Yorkshire, Faye had been gutted. She loved her life in Bristol, had an extensive circle of friends, a buzzing social life, and a boyfriend of sorts – in a kind of laid-back, who-can-play-it-most-disinterested sort of way. Even school was tolerable. Which was just as well given the exorbitant fees. Faye did experience a slight pang of guilt when she totted up exactly how much her parents had spent on school fees over the years. But while the world of academia might be one in which her brother thrived, it most certainly was not for her. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. She had. Very hard in fact. But her GCSE results last year proved what the whole family had known for some time: that while Leo was a budding genius, striding confidently towards his goal of becoming a vet, Faye would never hover above anything other than average.

‘Oh, we’re so proud of Leo,’ Faye recalled her mother gushing to a friend, when the family had gone out for pizza to ‘celebrate’ the twins’ results. ‘He got the highest grades in the school, you know.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ replied the friend. ‘And what about you, Faye? How did you do?’

‘Faye did her best,’ cut in her mother, before Faye had a chance to open her mouth. And the tone in which it was imparted left Faye in no doubt that ‘her best’ was simply not good enough.

Having once harboured dreams of becoming a vet herself – not that she’d divulged those dreams to another living soul – her lack of academic prowess now meant a serious reassessment of her future. But the reassessment was taking longer than she’d anticipated. She still had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she desperately hoped that something would turn up – something glamorous and exciting with her name written all over it. Something that might even make her a household name. So, for once, everyone – including her parents – would take notice of her – and not just her brother. That, at least, had been her vision in Bristol – a large bustling city buzzing with opportunity. So, naturally, when the Yorkshire announcement had been made, Faye had freaked. Yorkshire consisted of nothing but sheep and the smelly stuff produced by their back-ends. Glamour and excitement would be as alien to Yorkshire as ducks were to the Sahara. Or so she’d thought …

Sick to the back teeth of constantly being compared to her high-achieving brother, Faye had steadfastly refused to join the local grammar school Leo had been welcomed into with open arms. Instead, she’d eventually worn down her parents into allowing her to do her A-levels at the further education college in Harrogate – a soulless, modern building languishing at the opposite end of the architectural scale to the Victorian red brick of her alma mater. But Faye soon discovered that a pleasant façade and lush grounds weren’t the only things missing. Used to a rigid timetable, with every minute of the day scheduled, she found the college’s lack of structure daunting: the emphasis being placed on the individual to organise and motivate themselves. Unfortunately, Faye was neither organised nor motivated. After the first week, she’d been seriously considering packing it in, when, on the way to catch the bus home one day, a girl about her own age appeared by her side.

‘Hi. You’ve just moved into Primrose Cottage in Buttersley, haven’t you?’

Faye, weary with the whole worrying-about-her-future thing, didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she shot the girl a withering look and continued marching towards the bus stop, willing the day she passed her driving test and got her own car. Then she wouldn’t have to put up with losers who …

‘I live there too. At the other end of the village. In Buttersley Hall.’

Buttersley Hall?
Faye almost stopped in her tracks. After the manor house, owned by the ridiculously posh Pinkington-Smythe family, Buttersley Hall was the largest, most stunning house in the village. Her interest peaked, Faye slowed to a more sedate pace and turned to look at her would-be companion. She wasn’t the usual type Faye would make friends with. For a start, she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up – not even mascara, which Faye wouldn’t be seen dead without. And her clothes were more BHS than Boho. But she was pretty in a kind of fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked, jolly-hockey-sticks kind of way. And, with her long blonde hair – which Faye suspected would look better with a few highlights – in two loose plaits, reminded her of a milkmaid.

‘I’m Josie,’ she said, her lips stretching into a grin. ‘Josie Cutler.’

‘Faye,’ said Faye, managing a fleeting smile. ‘Faye Blakelaw.’

‘Are you going for the bus?’

‘Ah ha.’

‘I’ll come with you. If that’s okay?’

Faye shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Why not,’ she said, deciding she had nothing to lose. Unlike Leo, who’d immediately become ‘Mr Popular’ at the grammar school, Faye didn’t have a queue of people battering down the door wanting to be her friend at the moment. And if Josie turned out to be a nerd, she could easily dump her. Besides, it was worth a few hours of listening to anyone wittering on, if the end result was a look around the gorgeous Buttersley Hall.

Fortunately, Faye didn’t have long to wait.

‘Would you like to come over tonight?’ Josie asked a few days later. ‘We could have a swim, then order in pizza or something.’

Faye’s eyes grew wide. ‘Have a swim? As in a swim at your house?’

Josie looked embarrassed. ‘I know it’s a bit flash having a pool, but as it’s there, it seems daft not to use it.’

‘Of course it would be daft,’ Faye agreed. ‘And I’d love to come over. What time?’

‘My tennis lesson finishes at six, so come over any time after that.’

‘Great,’ said Faye, scarcely able to believe her luck. ‘See you then.’

Floating up Buttersley Hall’s long gravelled drive a few hours later, Faye almost had to pinch herself. The house resembled something off the telly: one of those Georgian piles on Sunday night period dramas. She didn’t understand what Josie’s dad did – something to do with a drinks company, Josie had attempted to explain. But whatever it was, he obviously made a mint. Josie had attended a school with fees three times those of Faye’s, but had left to do her A-levels at college so she’d have more time to play tennis – the great love of Josie’s life, much to Faye’s bewilderment. Voluntary engagement in any kind of physical exercise remained an alien concept to Faye. She’d concocted all kinds of excuses – some of them particularly inventive – over the years to avoid PE, but Josie, for some inexplicable reason, seemed nuts about tennis. She hoped to take some exams and qualify as a coach, which Faye couldn’t get her head around at all. Just as she couldn’t get her head around the fact that Josie had zero interest in make-up and hadn’t even heard of the Kardashians. Still, though, despite all of the above, Faye was beginning to think Josie was all right.

She marched up to the front door, three times the size of the door at Primrose Cottage, and rang the brass bell, excitement fizzing in her stomach.

A minute later, the door was whipped open by a woman. A very beautiful woman. With waves of lustrous, long, jet-black hair. Swathed in a multi-coloured sarong, she put Faye in mind of an Amazonian Miss World contestant. Looking slightly on edge, she regarded Faye with dark, perfectly made-up eyes and glossy red lips that showed no hint of a smile.

‘Yes?’

Faye balked. When she’d left home, she’d thought she looked pretty cool in her cut-off denims and halter-neck top. Now, though, she felt like a blustering, blushing school kid.

‘Er, hi,’ she blustered. ‘I’m Josie’s friend, Faye. Josie invited me over for …’

‘Oh. Right. Just a minute.’ The woman didn’t wait for Faye to finish. She spun around on four-inch gold heels, and stalked across the black and white tiled floor of the hall, coming to a standstill at the bottom of a winding marble staircase.

‘Josie,’ she hollered up the stairs. ‘Someone to see you.’

Still hovering in the open doorway, Faye watched, entranced, as the woman then turned to a full-length gilded mirror, inspected her lipstick, and whisked off down a corridor.

Josie appeared a few seconds later, wearing shorts and a bikini top.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sorry about that. Mum’s in a bit of a bad …’

Faye’s eyes grew wide. ‘That was your
mum
?’

‘Ah ha. Should we go straight down to the pool?’

Despite having been dying to see the pool all day, Faye had no desire to go there now. She wanted to stay in the house. And observe the vision that was Josie’s mum.

‘It’s the perfect place to escape from Mum,’ said Josie, as if somehow reading Faye’s mind. ‘I don’t know what’s up with her. She’s been in a foul mood for days so I’m trying to keep out of her way. You ready for a swim?’

‘Can’t wait,’ Faye heard herself replying.

The swimming pool at Buttersley Hall was every bit as impressive as Faye had imagined. Yet, despite its imposing proportions, and the fabulous setting of lush lawns, two professional-looking tennis courts, and the gloriously warm September evening, it was still Josie’s mother who held Faye’s interest.

‘What does your mum do?’ she asked, when Josie surfaced for air after swimming two full lengths under water.

‘Nothing,’ Josie replied, wiggling a finger in her ear. ‘She used to work as cabin crew for one of the big airlines before she met Dad and had me.’

‘She looks really … young,’ Faye said. Silently adding a stream of other adjectives, including gorgeous, stunning, amazing …

‘She’s thirty-seven. She had me when she was twenty. What does your mum do?’

Faye rolled her eyes. ‘Panders to my hideous brother’s every need. And nags me about stupid, boring things like I haven’t eaten any vegetables, and I should be doing my homework.’

Josie giggled. ‘She sounds nice. I’d like to meet her.’

Over my dead body, Faye resisted saying. How could she possibly take Josie back to Primrose Cottage when she lived in this demi-palace with a supermodel for a mother? Honestly. Life just totally wasn’t fair.

‘I’m starving,’ she announced. ‘Should we go and order some pizzas?’

‘Okay,’ agreed Josie.

Sitting at the island in the enormous kitchen at Buttersley Hall a few minutes later, swathed in a fluffy black towel, Faye eyed her surroundings approvingly. The sleek white units were enhanced with every in-built shiny, chrome appliance ever invented. Even the tap was uber-trendy, with several other gadgets hanging off it. This was the kind of kitchen Faye would love, not the washed-out green-oak effort at Primrose Cottage.

‘This kitchen is awesome,’ she said to Josie, who was sitting at the opposite side of the island, slicing strawberries for their smoothies.

‘It’s a total waste,’ huffed Josie, shaking her head. ‘It only ever gets used when Dad’s at home now. And that’s like never.’

‘Doesn’t your mum cook?’

‘Not these days,’ replied Josie. ‘She used to make some great stuff when I was younger but now she’s hardly ever home.’

Faye’s eyes grew wide. She couldn’t imagine life without her mother trying to ram some ghastly healthy concoction down her throat every evening. Josie really didn’t know how lucky she was. ‘So you can eat whatever you like?’ she asked enviously.

Josie nodded. ‘Which suits me fine, actually. I need loads of carbs for tennis and, since Mum became paranoid about her weight, she wouldn’t touch a carb if her life depended on it.’

‘Unreal,’ sighed Faye, wondering what she must’ve done in a previous life to deserve her miserable fate. Josie seemed to have it made here.

‘Josie, I’m just popping out.’

Faye’s head whipped around to find Josie’s mother standing in the doorway, now wearing tight white jeans and a glittering turquoise vest top.

‘Okay,’ said Josie, tossing the strawberries into the blender. ‘Oh, by the way, Mum. This is Faye Blakelaw. She just moved to the village a few weeks ago. Faye, this is my mum, Miranda.’

Two perfectly made-up, huge brown eyes regarded Faye again. ‘Hi,’ she said, with a fleeting smile this time.

‘Hi,’ gasped Faye, wondering how anyone could look so glamorous when they were just ‘popping out’. And what a gorgeous name. It was so … so …
Sex and the City
.

‘Oh. And Eduardo said to tell you that he’ll pop by tomorrow to sort out payment for my next block of lessons,’ Josie added.

Miranda’s shiny silver clutch bag fell to the floor.

‘Er, right,’ she muttered, bending down to retrieve it. ‘Well, I’d, um, better be off. I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay,’ said Josie. ‘Have a good time.’

‘Where’s she going?’ Faye asked, as Miranda disappeared in a cloud of expensive perfume.

Josie shrugged. ‘No idea. We used to be really close not so long ago. But now she does her thing, and I do mine.’

And that was the way, Faye discovered, that life operated at Buttersley Hall. Josie did whatever she wanted – and while the things Josie did were not necessarily the things Faye would have done, it all was still mind-blowingly awesome. Meanwhile, Miranda swanned about in fabulous clothes, looking fabulous and no doubt doing fabulous things. And all from their fabulous house with its fabulous pool. It was a gazillion light years away from Faye’s dreary life at Primrose Cottage, where her mother wouldn’t know Prada from Primark, and completely freaked if Faye happened to mention something as mundane as missing a class at college. But, of the two worlds, Faye knew which one she belonged to. Or
should
belong to. Which was why, ever since that first meeting with Miranda, she’d spent every possible minute at Buttersley Hall, feeding her obsession with the woman. An obsession of a purely educational nature. Miranda was Faye’s ideal role model. And Faye suspected that whatever she learned from her, however covertly, would stand her in much better stead than anything they could teach her at Harrogate Further Education College.