Caught in the Act (5 page)

There was a moment then when they all settled and paused to take stock and in a tiny intense silence Carol thought that maybe it was going to be all right after all. She felt the tension
that she didn't know she had been holding on to, slip away.

And then Jan said, ‘So who else is coming?' unzipping her holdall and taking out a fluffy white dressing gown and toilet bag.

Carol seemed to remember that Jan—even in her teens—liked to move into a place. Every stop on the drama tour, out would come a big pink throw, clock, photos. True to form the next thing Jan pulled out of the bag was a thin scarlet Indian cotton throw, which she arranged over the miserable grey army blanket. It was like lighting a fire in the huge grey room.

Diana, meanwhile, was extricating a printed list from her bag, together with Carol's sheet, and said, ‘I've got it all written down on here, somewhere,' and began to scan the neatly typed pages. ‘Us, obviously—and the drama teachers, Mr Bearman and Miss Haze.'

‘God, they're coming too, are they? How the hell did you pull that off?' said Adie.

Diana looked bemused. ‘I asked them,' she said as if it was perfectly obvious.

‘That's great. I wonder how old they are. As kids you just don't think. I mean, Miss Haze could only have been, what—four, five years older than us? I often wondered if those two
had a thing going. You know,' said Adrian conspiratorially, ‘all that late night rehearsing, away for weeks on end together every summer. The way they looked at each other sometimes. You must have noticed.'

‘Of course we did, everyone noticed, and we all thought the same thing,' snapped Jan.

‘You never said anything.'

‘That was because everyone already knew,' Jan bitched right back. ‘It was obvious.'

‘Ouch,' whined Adie. ‘Don't bite.'

‘Play nicely, you two,' hissed Netty.

Carol found herself looking backwards and forwards between them, spectator to their verbal tennis match. She had completely forgotten the little needly thing between Jan and Adrian.

‘I don't take any notice, she's always like this,' said Adie.

‘I'm not.'

‘Are too. Last Christmas you bit me.'

‘You were the one feeding people grapes.'

‘No one else bit me.'

‘Is there any chance we can carry on fighting over a sandwich and pint?' asked Netty, stubbing out her cigarette on the windowsill. ‘Only I'm dying upwards from hunger over here.'

‘Great idea,' said Adrian. ‘Everyone coming? We can always unpack later.' He looked pointedly at Jan who was busy arranging two small, embroidered cushions. ‘It's a shame that I'm not bunked down in here with you lot, re ally.'

‘Not a chance,' said Diana wearily, although Carol wasn't sure whether she meant Adrian sharing a room with them or heading off down to the pub. ‘I've got to stay here and meet people as they arrive—but you lot go. It's not far. You go out of the back doors of the hall, follow the path down through the vegetable garden,' by this point Diana was pointing and directing with her hands, ‘out through the gates and there you are. Pub, post office and a Spar shop with an offie.' She paused, looking pleased with herself. ‘Everything a girl could want.'

‘You live in the country, don't you?' Netty said, eyeing Diana thoughtfully as she attended to her lipstick in a tiny silver mirror. ‘What about you, Jan, are you coming or are you planning on a complete makeover to the whole place before everyone else gets here?'

Jan, busy fluffing the cushions with care, wasn't at all put out. ‘I just like to be comfortable, that's all. I'm curious about who is going
to show up. What time does this shindig officially kick off?'

‘Five o'clock,' said Diana, glancing at her watch. ‘Informal high tea in the dining room and then dinner at eight. I thought I might say a few words. Adie, is there any chance you'd be master of ceremonies? I've got a programme of events and rehearsals printed up for everyone but if you could maybe read it through, say something clever, be funny, whatever.'

He groaned theatrically but didn't actually say no as Diana handed him one of her photocopied sheets.

‘And I just want to say I'm re ally glad you all got here early. I was worried—well, you know, it feels like you lot are the vanguard—the inner circle—and it means that everyone else will probably turn up as well, and if you don't mind the bears and the bunk beds then maybe nobody else will either.' Diana reddened furiously, eyes all bright. ‘It's so good to see you again.'

Carol could see that the nostalgia virus had infected Diana too.

‘For God's sake, stop going on about the bloody bears,' snapped Netty. ‘Unless you glued them up yourself they're not your fault.'

‘Everyone be here for tea and buns?' asked Adrian, looking down at the paper.

Diana shook her head. ‘No, not everyone—some people have said they won't be able to get here until later. Sheena Mason, Phillip Hudson—Gareth Howard.'

As if on cue, everyone, including Adrian, turned to look in Carol's direction. Carol felt a little flurry of something in her belly but, pretending to be totally unconcerned, she carried on unzipping her suitcase.

‘Have we got a cupboard each?' she asked casually, hanging a towel over the rail at the end of the bunk to stake her claim, not that she was fooling anyone. There was a pause; she could feel them all still looking at her. ‘All right, all right, so it will be great to see Gareth again—is that good enough for you?'

Adrian lifted an eyebrow. ‘We don't know yet, do we? What else had you got in mind?'

Carol slung a pair of socks at him. ‘Nothing, nothing at all. Besides, Gareth is probably happily married with half a dozen kids, a fish farm and a bloody Labrador by now. It will just be lovely to see him—to catch up, to catch up with everyone—but come on, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since…since…'
She couldn't quite find the right words to describe exactly since
what
.

Adrian came to her aid: ‘Since you and Gareth slipped off to God knows where with a sly grin and a packet of three?' he suggested helpfully.

Carol felt the heat roar through her. ‘I did no such thing,' she protested furiously.

There was another weighty silence and then Carol's composure and outrage deflated. ‘All right, all right, so maybe I did, but that doesn't mean that anything like that is likely to happen again—not at all. Is that clear?'

‘OK, well, as long as we've got that straight,' said Adie wryly. ‘So are you coming down to the pub? Only I'm desperate to get all the gossip and, let's face it, we're going to need all the time we can get if we're going to catch up on twenty years each.'

Carol hesitated, unsure whether she ought to stay with Diana. After all, hadn't she made some kind of rash promise to pitch in? Also Carol wasn't sure she could stand up to too much close questioning about her motives when it came to seeing Gareth again.

‘Go,' said Diana, waving Carol away before she could offer to stay behind. ‘This lot will need someone to ride shot gun on them.'

Carol picked up her handbag. ‘If you're sure…'

‘I'm sure,' Diana said. ‘Go.'

‘Oh, by the way, is Fiona coming?' asked Netty as she got to the door.

There was a fraction of a second's pause. Fiona Templeton, the girl for whom the phrase ‘drama queen' could well have been invented.

Diana nodded. ‘Yes, well, at least she said she would be here.'

‘I can't imagine that Fiona would miss it,' said Netty. ‘Any chance for a little limelight and adoration.'

‘Just as long as she doesn't bring her mother,' laughed Adrian.

‘That's not funny. That old stoat used to make my life hell. Lights out, fags out, boys out. God, the woman was such a pain in the arse,' snapped Netty. ‘Her and her precious little kitten.' She mimicked Fiona's mother with spiteful accuracy for someone whom she hadn't seen for years.

‘Oh, come on, Fiona has done well for herself,' said Diana pleasantly.

‘What do you mean
well
?' said Jan. ‘First road kill in
Casualty
?'

‘I saw her in an ad on telly for Boots last Christmas,' said Netty.

‘Third bunny on the
Emmerdale
Easter special,' laughed Carol.

‘And first drownee on the
Titanic
,' continued Adrian, topping the lot of them.

‘Oh, I didn't know that she was in
Titanic
,' said Diana innocently, at which point Netty and Jan keeled over giggling.

‘You pair are bloody horrible,' growled Diana as the penny dropped, although she did say it with a certain affection, which made them laugh all the harder.

‘So Fiona is definitely coming?' asked Carol.

‘She said she would, although apparently there was a chance she might be called back for filming, in which case it could make things a bit tight.'

‘Oh, she was just saying that to impress you. Of course she'll be here,' said Adrian. ‘Understudy to Mrs Macbeth, Lady Macduff—if there was ever a woman who needed stabbing…' He hesitated and then said to Carol, ‘You want to watch yourself on these steep stairs, you know. I don't think she ever forgave you for stealing the lead out from under her retroussé nose. She's probably still out for blood.'

Carol smiled grimly. ‘She was always out for blood.'

Netty nodded. ‘She was re ally pissed off with you, you know—you getting the leading role and the leading man.'

‘Come off it, it's a long time ago now. Let's go. I could murder a drink,' said Carol uncomfortably.

‘Poor choice of words,' said Jan. ‘I remember she was livid when the reviews came out; didn't get so much as a word.'

Carol laughed. ‘That's only because you three stole the show. Madam here,' she waved towards Diana, ‘and her magic wart.'

‘Anyway, Fiona said she might be delayed,' finished Diana, determined to bring the conversation round to something a little less anarchic.

‘So that's her
and
Gareth,' said Adie archly. ‘Right, well, let's go and find this pub then.'

The gang moseyed out with Adrian in the lead.

As they fell into step Carol let thoughts surface that hadn't come to the fore since she left school: why was it Gareth hadn't been interested in Fiona instead of her? Perhaps it was that he couldn't stand the idea of sharing the limelight. Two egos that big would probably have sent the place up in smoke.

‘And Gareth said he had a few things to sort out before he left,' said Diana to their backs.

‘And what did you say?' asked Carol, turning back but trying hard not to sound too eager.

‘Nothing much—God, you have got it bad, haven't you?'

Carol shook her head, reluctant to commit herself. ‘Not re ally, I just wondered…'

Diana grinned. ‘You don't fool me. You'd better head off and catch up. We can talk later.'

Carol nodded, while somewhere deep in her heart she felt a sharp little stab of betrayal for Raf.

Meanwhile in a large semi-detached town house in an unfashionable suburb of Hemel Hempstead, Gareth Howard was pulling on his jacket.

‘About these…' Leonora began, as she and Gareth arrived together at the front door. She held a sheaf of bills in her hand.

Gareth leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips and then each cheek. ‘I'll miss you, sweetie,' he purred.

‘What about th—' she began again, but wasn't anywhere near fast enough.

‘My God is that the time?' he said, looking
down at his watch. ‘I re ally need to be gone, darling.' As he stepped through the door Gareth took a small box from his jacket pocket, on top of which was an intricate curl of scarlet ribbon.

Leonora pulled a face, trying very hard to sustain the emotion that had propelled her downstairs after him. ‘What on earth is this?' she snapped.

He grinned. ‘Something to remember me by.'

‘What do you mean, remember you by? I thought you said you would be back on Sunday evening?'

As she lifted the lid Gareth was already stepping out into the street. Inside the box was a pair of black silk stockings, not unlike those he had tied Leonora to the bed with the very first night they had slept together.

‘Gareth?' she said, looking up, but he was already gone.

‘Mummy?' Patrick tugged at her cardigan. ‘Where's Daddy gone?'

Leonora shook her head. ‘I've got no idea,' she said, taking his hand and scooping the baby up from the pram just inside the hall door. ‘No idea at all.'

‘Callista? Callista Haze?'

Callista Haze looked up from a battered copy of
Macbeth
and her thoughts. Although it took her a moment or two to focus on the face she would have known that voice anywhere. George Bearman, former head of Drama and English at Belvedere High School, stood beside the pub table, looking down at her and smiling nervously.

George, it seemed, was not quite so certain that he'd got the right person. ‘It is you, isn't it?' he asked.

She laughed. ‘Of course it is, George. Who on earth did you think it was? How many women looking like me do you think there are going to be at this reunion?'

‘I just wanted to check. Actually, I was thinking how very little you'd changed,' he said quickly, colouring up to crimson.

‘Been watching me long, have you?' she asked, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

George's colour deepened. ‘Good God, no, of course not. Well, all right, maybe a few minutes, if that,' he blustered. ‘I was up at the bar and I couldn't help noticing. You look wonderful, actually. You don't mind if I join you, do you?' He indicated the seat alongside hers. He was cradling a pint of beer, a packet of crisps and a pie on a plate. Tucked into his top pocket were a knife and fork wrapped in a checked napkin.

‘No, not at all,' said Callista, half-rising to greet him.

George set down his drink and makeshift lunch and then, catching hold of her elbows, pulled her towards him and kissed her clumsily on each cheek. He smelled of pipe smoke and shaving cream, his skin all rough and ruddy against hers.

‘Have you been up to the hall yet? I dropped my bags off. They said their dining room and some sort of little café place they run was closed until later and recommended the pub; thought
I'd come and grab a pint and a bite before the off.' George paused, suddenly all dewy-eyed. ‘I'm gabbling, aren't I? It's just that it's been so many years. You know, I didn't think that I would ever see you again. Isn't it wonderful? I've been trying to imagine what it would feel like, you know, to meet up again after all this time,' he said.

‘And how does it feel?' Callista asked, her expression held very firmly in neutral.

George considered for a moment or two, lips pursed, face set and then he said, ‘Rather odd, actually. I felt quite nervous driving down—but it's good—a little unnerving—but it is wonderful to see you again. I wondered whether you might have changed—I mean, one never knows. But you look re ally, re ally…'

Callista could see him struggling to find the right word. ‘Wonderful?' she teased.

‘Yes, exactly, wonderful,' he said.

As George settled himself into the seat alongside her, Callista prodded the slice of lemon down into her gin and tonic and said nothing. After all, what was there to say? Hadn't they said it all before a long, long time ago? Her silence was a sharp contrast to the sounds of the pub around them.

‘So,' said George, a little self-consciously, ‘how's life been with you?'

‘Well, come on then, who's going to go first?' asked Adie, unpacking the round of drinks from the tray. ‘Truth or consequences,' he continued, handing Jan a glass of white wine, whilst looking at the bemused faces around the table.

On the way down to the pub they had agreed to try to keep all the catching-up on what had happened to who and when and why until everyone was settled down and could listen properly. It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone had found it hard not to break into spontaneous reminiscing during the walk, but now they were all settled and ready, it seemed that no one wanted to be the first to start.

‘Oh, come on, for God's sake, we're all ears. Netty, come on—‘fess up,' Adie said, taking a pull on his pint.

Netty shook her head. ‘Good God, no, not me. At least not until I've eaten. Let somebody else go first. I can only cope with my sordid past after a couple of stiff drinks and on a full stomach. How about our leading lady?' Everyone turned to look at Carol. ‘Come on, off you go, petal. You've got as long as you
need on your specialist subject, Carol Hastings,' said Netty, doing a very passable impression of John Humphrys. ‘What I did with the last twenty years of my life, starting now.'

‘Oh no, not me,' Carol protested, waving the words away, but Adie and Netty were insistent.

‘Stop being so bloody coy. Someone's got to go first or we'll be here all day.'

‘Why me?'

‘Why not?' said Adie. ‘C'mon.'

Carol sighed. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything. All the usual stuff. What you do, if you're married. And if so, how many times. Are you happy?' offered Netty.

‘Where you live.' Jan.

‘Whether you've got kids, a dog, a cat, a goldfish.' Adie.

‘And any strange personal habits, peculiar hobbies or bizarre sexual practices.' Netty.

‘Oh, yes,' said Adie, enthusiastically. ‘C'mon.'

‘The trouble is it's all surface. I can tell you what I've done but that doesn't tell you anything about who I am or what I feel or what I'm like,' said Carol, wriggling uncomfortably under their gaze.

Netty groaned theatrically. ‘Oh my God, you grew up to be a therapist, didn't you?'

‘No, I—' began Carol, but not quite fast enough.

‘We know who you are,' said Adie encouragingly. ‘Or at least we knew who you were when we were at Belvedere, and you don't seem to have changed that much. There's a whole leopard-and-spot thing here that I don't plan to go in to.'

‘No, I think she has changed,' said Netty, waving a crisp in her direction. ‘Counselling, God preserve us—probably reads ink blots and facilitates group hugs with her inner child,' she growled angrily.

Jan nodded in agreement as Carol, giggling, inhaled her shandy, and protested, ‘No, no, look, I'm not a counsellor. I'm a gardener—and before you start on about that, there's no need to go the whole Charlie Dimmock, Netty. Trust me, if I'd have realised that taking my bra off was a good career move I'd have done it years ago.'

‘You think anyone would have noticed?' asked Jan, deadpan. Netty choked.

‘Oh, me-ow,' hissed Adie, slapping Jan playfully and indicated to an imaginary waiter. ‘Saucer of milk, this table, please. The thing is, we need something to go on, Carol. We need
the facts, the dirt, the details. The whole enchilada. So, spill it.'

‘This feels like a job interview,' said Carol, pulling a face.

‘Not for any job you'd ever want,' said Adie.

‘You'd never get a job in my place with those shoes or that outfit—Cat boots, a rugby shirt and jeans—what were you thinking?' said Netty.

‘What's wrong with them? They're comfortable to drive in,' protested Carol, not at all offended.

‘You could have made an effort.'

‘I did,' said Carol with a grin.

‘Come on, behave,' growled Adie. ‘You look great. So, Carol, after three—two, three—and away.'

She paused for an instant, trying to collect her thoughts, painfully aware of how quickly the years had gone by. It didn't seem so very long ago that they had been out buying their first booze together.

Diana, heading up to the counter in an offie near the station, because with her hair up she looked twenty if she was a day, clutching the money from combined Saturday jobs for a bottle of vodka. Adie, arm in arm between Jan
and Netty, walking down Bridge Street to catch the train to Cambridge, guitar slung across his narrow back. Everyone smoking, everybody giggling. Getting stoned at the back of the library, getting drunk at the leavers' ball.

Carol smiled; she had loved them all so much and hadn't known it. She took a deep breath, struggling to slow down the frantic slide show of images that filled her head. Maybe if she started to speak, her brain, with something else to think about, would throttle back and slow down the montage of memories, words like weights making the rush of thoughts and recollections into something more manageable.

‘Come on, Carol, take no notice of them,' said Adie. ‘So, once upon a time Lady Macbeth left Belvedere High School and then…?'

‘And then, well, I worked in a bookshop in Cambridge—you remember that, Netty—we used to meet up for lunch? And I worked in a pub at weekends. I was planning on going to teacher training college when I met Jack French. He came into the shop and swept me off my feet, which sounds totally ridiculous now but it was true at the time. He kept coming in and flirting, and I said he would get me the sack. I remember that I was unpacking a whole box
of sale books onto a table display when I said it—and so he bought the lot and then took me off to lunch to celebrate in his Mercedes.'

‘Wow,' said Netty. ‘Bit flash. I don't remember meeting him.'

‘Unfortunately it was mostly all flash and balls. But I was very impressed, which shows how shallow and how gullible I was back then. To cut a long story short, I moved in with him, we got married—he was a lot older than I was—and we had two kids, two boys called Jake and Oliver.

‘He was thirty-six when I met him, and anyone of his own age would have seen straight through him. I think he was rather hoping I'd stay nineteen for ever—he was so very disappointed when I grew up.'

At which point Netty cleared her throat as if to say or ask something but Adie raised a hand to silence her. ‘There will be time for questions at the end,' he said officiously, and then nodded for Carol to continue. ‘Off you go, honey. We're all listening.'

‘Sad thing was it took me a while to wake up, but by then I'd got Jake. We'd bought a house, Jack had a drink problem, was a financial disaster and had a roving eye that perfectly
matched the other parts of his body that were prone to roving. He did about as much for my self-esteem and peace of mind as the
Titanic
did for maritime insurance. But what we did do—against the odds re ally—was have two re ally great kids and build up a good business between us, which is mine now. So it's not all bad news. I've been on my own nearly eight years and I'm doing OK, more than OK—I'm doing good.'

Adie nodded appreciatively.

‘And have you got anyone on the horizon. You know—a man, a dog, a cat, a goldfish?' asked Netty.

Behind them Carol could see two waitresses approaching with late lunches on a tray. She hesitated, hoping that the arrival of their food would break the thread. What could she possibly say that wouldn't make them think she was a perfect cow, keeping a good man on hold while she weighed up Gareth Howard? She suddenly realised it was re ally important that they didn't think badly of her.

‘Yes, I have,' Carol said, after what felt like for ever. ‘His name is Raf—and he's—he's…' She could see that she had everyone's undivided attention, ‘he's re ally nice.'

Netty groaned. ‘Bugger! Hard luck, kid,' she said, taking the plate of steak and chips proffered by the barmaid. ‘Never mind, it could have been a lot worse.'

Adie nodded. ‘God, yes, he could have had a decent job with a pension.'

‘Or be sensible.' Jan.

‘Or reliable.' Netty slapped her head and groaned.

‘Or no oil painting but good with his hands,' said Adie, shaking vinegar over his chips.

There was no answer. Carol looked down at her chicken Caesar salad, wondering how the hell she was going to be able to swallow it down past the great knotted guilty lump in her throat. She looked round the faces. ‘He re ally is nice,' she said thickly, but there was no way back now.

‘…And how have you been keeping?' George asked, as if there was some real chance that all the years could be condensed into a line or two, as he launched himself gamely into Callista's silence. ‘I kept meaning to ring—I always think of you on your birthday—but well, you know how it is.' He paused, his discomfort increasingly obvious. ‘There was
always Judy to consider and you know how things were, how they still are. I just wanted you to know that I've missed you. Missed you a lot. It wasn't an easy decision at the time, not easy at all.'

Callista Haze looked up from her drink, her composure totally unruffled. ‘George, please, there is re ally no need to put yourself through all this. It's fine, I'm fine. It was all an awfully long time ago now. Life moves on, people move on, so please just relax and enjoy your lunch.'

‘I know, I know, it's been so very many years. I'm almost afraid to work out exactly how long it is since I last saw you—and do you know what, Callista?'

‘What?' she asked pleasantly. Surely there couldn't be much more. George Bearman looked much the same as she remembered him, except he had a little less hair and what he had left had faded from old gold to a soft grey. He had the florid slightly purple complexion of someone with poor circulation and a bad heart. Poor George.

He took a deep breath. ‘I regretted ever letting you go,' he said. The words spilled out.

Callista stared up at him in astonishment, she felt her heart dropping like a stone. ‘Sorry?'
she began, but George wasn't ready to be halted.

‘Please, Callista, hear me out. Every single day since you left Belvedere I have thought what a bloody fool I was to have ever let you go. I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Callista; can you ever forgive me?'

She looked up into his eyes to see if there was some hint of jest, some cruel joke, and found none; instead she saw the bright promise of tears. Callista's expression softened. ‘Oh, George…' she whispered.

But he was in full swing now. ‘I felt so bad about everything, for betraying you like that, for abandoning you.' He shook his head in total despair.

Despite his obvious distress Callista couldn't help laughing. ‘Oh, come on. George, stop it, people are looking at us, for God's sake. What on earth makes you think that you abandoned me?'

He was surprised. ‘Well, all those times I told you that I was going to leave my wife for you.' He sounded slightly indignant. ‘All those times I promised you that we would have a life together—a little house, a fresh start, a cocker spaniel, be a real family.'