Best of Friends (56 page)

Oliver’s family seemed so settled, his parents got on so well that he could never have understood what it was like to have your mum and dad split up. All she knew was that since her dad had moved out, everything was different and she hated it.

Coming up to the refuge and looking after the animals was a release from all that stress. Lady, Duke, Marmalade, Oscar and Smudge just wanted cuddles, biscuits and lots of sticks thrown for them. Twiglet, her favourite, was gone. Jean had kept him in the refuge as long as she possibly could, but when it came time for him to leave, Jess knew that there were too many things going on in her parents’ lives to introduce a dog into the household.

He’d gone to a good home, she was sure of that. Jean never rehomed any of the animals without checking out thoroughly where they were going. But Jess had hated the thought of Twiglet going, even though he went to a family with a huge garden.

“How’s it going?” Jean stood at the door of the animals’ quarters and peered in. Her shrewd eyes took in the fact that Jess had cleaned the whole area in about half the time that it took some of the other volunteers to do it. Nobody worked harder or gave more of herself than the sweet, shy schoolgirl.

Jean knew that something was going on in the Barton household, although Jess had never told her exactly what. All Jean knew was that in the last few weeks Jess had become even quieter, if that was possible. There was a sadness in her face that hadn’t been there before. Jean would have loved to talk to Jess’s parents about this, but she didn’t know if she should intrude or not. In the beginning when Jess was working for her, Jess’s mother had phoned up to talk to Jean and find out what kind of place the centre was and what sort of work her daughter would be doing. Jean, a no-nonsense individual, had found Abby Barton to be a very nice woman, in spite of the fact that she was on television and everything. Jean didn’t have much time for celebrities but Jess’s mother had sounded OK. She asked all the right questions and she was certainly interested in what her daughter was doing after school and at weekends. But she never came up to the centre itself. Jean found that a bit strange. What she didn’t know was that Jess herself had resisted all attempts by her mother to visit the refuge.

“I’m not a child, remember,” she’d snapped at her mother. “It’s an animal refuge. Look, here are photos of it from the paper and here’s their fund-raising leaflet. It’s not a crack den in disguise!”

Mum had looked upset at this and, deep inside, Jess had felt sorry. But she didn’t want her mother intruding in her place, and perhaps telling Jean what had been going on. She could imagine the conversation: “Jess’s father and I have split up, so I’m worried about her. Perhaps you could keep an eye on her …” Jess shuddered at the very idea.

“You’ve done a fantastic job, Jess,” Jean said approvingly now. “I wish everyone knew how to work as hard as you do. Some of the people who offer to help seem to think it’s all playing with puppies and kittens instead of bathing mangy, filthy cats and cleaning up after the dogs.” She was rewarded with a huge smile from Jess. “So,” Jean went on, “how are things?”

She left the question hanging in the air, hoping Jess would reply and perhaps open up a little. But Jess didn’t. She began scrubbing at a non-existent bit of dirt on the wall. “Yeah fine, everything’s fine,” muttered Jess absently. “How’s Lady’s limp doing?”

Jean knew better than to push it. She wasn’t the sort of woman to pry into others’ lives.

“She’s doing fine. The vet was here this morning and he says she’ll be right as rain in a few days. Come on, Jess. It’s time for a break,” Jean said. “Or Olga will have wolfed down all the cookies. She’s just spent an hour washing that Shetland pony which just came in and she’s worn out.”

“Oh, the Shetland looked so cute,” sighed Jess. She’d caught sight of the pony in the distance earlier, a tiny chestnut animal with a malted mane and tail that might have been palomino blond under all the dirt.

“Cute to look at, yes,” grinned Jean, “but not so cute to wash. This one can bite. Olga’s back is black and blue—the pony took chunks out of her each time she wasn’t paying attention.”

“I’ll just fix the dogs’ beds and I’ll be out,” Jess said.

She felt a bit guilty when Jean had gone. She knew the older woman was only trying to be kind but she didn’t want to talk about what was wrong with her. She preferred to stay and think in silence. It was easier that way. And she had something nice to think about too. Oliver was meeting her later in town and they were going to go for a long walk along the beach. She couldn’t stay out too late because then Mum would get suspicious and start worrying. Jess wondered if her mother would have worried so much about Jess and Oliver if Dad had still been around. Then, Mum had been a worrier, sure, but Dad would have made her understand that it was normal for someone of Jess’s age to have a boyfriend. Mum seemed anxious about the idea, but then she was anxious about everything these days … That was the problem with parents’ break-ups, she realised. They touched everything in your life. Mum seemed to think that Jess was just a kid and worried about whether she cried at night or had nightmares over her parents divorcing.

It was more complicated than that. She wasn’t a child anymore for a start, and only a complete child would think there was any hope of her parents getting back together. They talked to her about the importance of communication, and they couldn’t see that for the past year they’d never talked to each other. Dad always thought he was right about everything and couldn’t see any other point of view. Mum always seemed to put her foot in it with Dad, talking about her work, not realising that, for some reason, Dad hated her job. They were hopeless, really. Jess thought about telling them what she thought, but they never asked her opinion. She was the kid, right?

It was five thirty when she left the refuge to meet Oliver, and Jean watched her cycling down the rutted laneway to the main road at the bottom. Jean was worried about her. For the second time that day, she wondered if she should phone Jess’s mother and talk to her. But maybe she shouldn’t. Jess was a teenager and teenagers went through difficult years. Jean just hoped that she could talk to that nice young man of hers. Oliver—that was his name, wasn’t it? He’d come to pick Jess up at the refuge a few times and he seemed a nice lad. Jess could just be going through those hormonal teenage years; yes, that could be it. And Jean was sure that Jess’s family wouldn’t appreciate her interfering. Whatever was going on in the Barton household was sure to sort itself out without her help.

Mum appeared so quickly when Jess opened the front door that she knew her mother had been waiting for her. It was half-past eight and Jess and Oliver had enjoyed a wonderful few hours walking on the beach, talking, laughing, holding hands and doing nothing in particular.

“Hi, darling, how are you?” Mum’s voice was a little bit too bright and she was clutching a half-glass of wine. “There’s something I’d love to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” said Jess reluctantly, not knowing what was coming next. She hated those “I have something I want to talk to you about” conversations. They all meant trouble. Like: “We’re leaving the country on the next plane to live somewhere else and you’ll never see your father again” type of thing. Just at the moment anything was possible.

“A holiday, that’s what I want to talk about,” Abby said brightly. “We both need a holiday—well, I do and I’m sure you do after your exams. So what do you think?”

She sounded so excited, so like a child, that Jess felt the positions were reversed.
She
was the grown-up and her mother was the kid. The only problem was, tonight, she didn’t feel like being a grown-up. Tonight, she wanted to go into her room to lie on her bed, listen to music and think about Oliver.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said.

Her mother looked so downcast at this reaction that Jess felt a little guilty.

“I mean, we
could
go on holiday,” Jess pointed out, “but you know it won’t be the same without Dad.”

As soon as she’d spoken, Jess felt full of remorse. She hadn’t meant to say it like that—it had just come out all wrong—and now her Mum looked as if she was going to cry.

“I just meant …” said Jess, embarrassed, “I just meant it would be a different sort of holiday, wouldn’t it?”

Her mother looked shattered. “I’m sorry, Jess. I know this is hard on you.” Mum’s fingers were taut around the stem of her wine glass. Jess noticed she wasn’t wearing nail varnish or anything. Mum had always tried so hard with her nails; now she didn’t bother. “It’ll be a very different sort of holiday but you need a break and we have to start a new life somehow.” Now she’d started, she’d better keep going. “A holiday is only the beginning, Jess,” she added. “We’ll probably have to sell the house soon and move out.”

Jess said nothing.

“Anyway, back to the holiday,” Mum said, in overbright tones. “What about Spain?” she suggested hopefully.

Jess looked at her as if Abby had just suggested a trip to Mars without oxygen. “Spain?” she said in disdain. “I don’t think so.”

She remembered when Steph and the Anderson family had gone to Spain four or five years ago. Then, Jess had been mad to go, but not now. She didn’t want to go anywhere because then she’d be away from Oliver.

The after-effects of her day were jangling Abby’s nerves and she started to feel irritated. “Where do you think we should go then?” she asked, finding it hard to hide her impatience.

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Jess truculently. “Why don’t you ask Dad for his opinion?”

“You know I can’t do that,” snapped her mother. “This holiday is for you and me, not your father.” She took another big slug of wine and went back to looking at the brochures on the kitchen table. Jess was really being a complete pain.

“If you don’t know where you want to go, why do we have to go anywhere at all?” Jess glared at her mother for a minute before turning around and leaving the room.

Abby heard her daughter stomp upstairs and then heard the familiar sound of Jess’s door slamming shut. Sighing, she went back to the brochures. She needed a holiday and she’d better pick one soon.

Finally, she noticed the brochure detailing trips to Florida. One in particular caught her eye, a combination of a city break and a Disney extravaganza. Jess might say she’d hate it but in her heart she would love it, Abby felt. Florida it would be.

A few days later, the plans were ready. The tickets had arrived, a taxi was booked to take them to the airport and Abby had packed most of her clothes. For someone who specialised in decluttering other people’s houses, she was notoriously bad at packing her own suitcase. She knew that at the other end of the journey she would face two suitcases with lots of creased clothes in them, but what the heck? She’d bring an iron.

There was only one other thing to do before they left and it was unfortunately the sort of thing Abby hated.

Selina from Beech had been on to Abby and said that a journalist at
Style
magazine was eager to interview her.

“Maria Carroll is her name and she loves the show,” said Selina. “She’s a tough cookie and she can be bitchy enough in print, but she wants to meet you and it would be worth it because everybody reads her stuff. I know you’re rushing off on holiday, Abby dear, but please, pretty please, could you fit it in? It would be such good publicity for the show, and we need to launch with a splash.”

Abby was sick to the teeth of the show but she knew she would do it for Selina. And for her future career. “Yeah, sure,” she said. There was just one problem. What if the journalist asked about her happy family life? Selina knew it was all a sham and that Tom had left home weeks ago, but nobody else did, and it was one of Abby’s greatest fears that the journalistic world would discover her secret. She couldn’t cope with the headlines. Imagine them: “Abby Hides Secret Heartbreak.” Oh God, she could picture the stories all right, detailing every moment of her rise to fame and how she and Tom had done everything together in the beginning. Her success would be blamed, although in part it
was
to blame, she knew. And the articles would speculate on her future too, how she and Tom would probably have to sell their beautiful house. And what if they laid bets on her future love life too? Lining up lots of suitable eligible bachelors? She couldn’t bear it.

“OK, Selina,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll do the interview but could you sit in on it, please? Just to make sure that Maria Carroll doesn’t ask any horrible questions. Would that be all right?”

Once she’d got her way, Selina would have agreed to anything.

“Sweetie, I’d be delighted to sit in on it,” she said, magnanimous in success. “But you know, the press are going to find out about you and Tom one day and you’re going to have to talk then.”

Abby knew Selina was right but that didn’t make it any easier. Breaking up was hard enough without having your whole story spread all over the pages of the newspapers. Tom resented her career as it was. He’d resent it a lot more if their personal story became gossip fodder.

“Now, I’ll set this up and all you have to do is turn up and turn on that legendary Barton charm,” Selina said happily. “That’s what’s so nice about working with you, Abby, you’re such a pro.”

“Yeah,” muttered Abby, “a real professional, that’s me.”

The journalist from
Style
was a soignée forty-something, who also wrote a lifestyle column detailing her working life as a mother of three. Abby had never met Maria, but she had read her columns several times and guessed that behind the amusing anecdotes about family life and getting cat fur off the couch, there was a tough career journalist with a heart of steel. Taking Bach’s Rescue Remedy before such an interview could only do so much, so Abby decided that reinforcements were needed. The day of the interview, she nipped down to The Beauty Spot to have her nails and her make-up done.

It also gave her the chance to have a good gossip with Erin and Ruby in the salon. As she walked through the door, she was aware that she hadn’t been to the salon very much lately. It wasn’t the same since Sally’s death. Ruby and Erin did a really good job keeping the place going but Abby never drove past and saw those jaunty pink gingham curtains without remembering Sally and thinking back to those fun days when Sally had been alive, when the Richardsons had thrown the liveliest parties, when Abby and Tom had still been a couple.