Going Home (35 page)

‘It’s really not about me most of the time,’ I said, embarrassed, blushing in what I hoped was a flatteringly modest way.

‘Hm,’ said Jess severely, and went back to her tea in silence.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Mum said. ‘La, la. Hum. Should I
invite Alice Eliot to our mulled-wine party this year then, or would it be too embarrassing? Poor woman. Imagine having sons like that. They sound mad, both of them. How funny. I always thought they were quite normal.’

‘And then they met Lizzy,’ Tom chimed in. ‘Ask yourself, Suzy. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?’

‘Tom, I’m going to deck you in a minute,’ I hissed.

‘It all seems perfectly clear to me,’ said Dad, unexpectedly.

I turned to look at him. ‘Does it?’

‘Yes,’ said Mum, as Dad got up and went out. ‘Me too. Perfectly. But you have to see it clearly yourself. And you don’t.’

‘I—’ I began.

‘So,’ Mum said, changing the subject, ‘did you see that Sophia Gunning girl snogging the trumpet player from the band?’

‘No!’ Tom said.

‘Yes,’ Mum said gleefully. ‘Our saviour was rather the worse for wear. She disappeared with him behind his kit for a good ten minutes, I’d say.’

‘Mum!’ Jess said. ‘You are awful. Talking of awful, though, did you see what Eliza Baker was wearing? A cut-off denim skirt. With stilettos.’

We spent the next forty minutes in this manner. Tom ate ten pieces of toast, Jess eight, me seven. Mum made another pot of tea. Jess went back to bed. The marquee men arrived to – you guessed it – take down the marquee. Mike appeared and gave them a hand. Rosalie went into the study with Dad, and showed him how to use Excel spreadsheets. I helped Mum with the rest of the clearing up. We picked some lavender for me to take back. We persuaded Tom to leave after lunch. Mum did some more packing and unpacking – the film crew were coming in ten days’ time, meaning some nifty forward planning was called for in terms of what Mum and
Dad would need over the next few days. Dad and Mike set up the barbecue, amid much arguing and abuse, and did the leftover sausages from the wedding breakfast. Kate appeared, with a potato salad and some ice-cream. We sat about, drinking beer and eating. The sun shone. Mike put a hanky over his head and went to sleep. Our cat, Collins, rolled around on his back on the lawn. I could smell lavender on my fingers every time I took a bite of my sausage sandwich. The barbecue and the flowers, an insect droning nearby – I felt calm for the first time in I didn’t know how long.

As the first summer’s haze hung over the garden, and evening approached, Tom, Jess and I stuffed our bags into the boot of Tom’s little car, with the others gathered round. The sun was sinking, and in the east the sky was a deep blue. A couple of early stars had appeared.

‘Goodbye, darling,’ Kate said, hugging Tom. ‘See you next week.’

‘’Bye, you two,’ Mike said, enfolding me and Jess in a hug. ‘We might catch you up on the motorway.’

‘Stonehenge, remember, Mikey,’ Rosalie said, behind him.

‘Yes, of course. Sorry. We won’t catch you up on the motorway, as we’ll be on a completely different one, dawdling around some bloody stones,’ Mike said amiably. ‘See you at Christmas, girls. Or come and stay. We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we?’

‘God, yes. Now everything’s…’ Rosalie trailed off. ‘Well, we’d love it. Think about it, won’t you?’

‘Thanks,’ we said.

‘ ‘Bye, Lizzy,’ Dad said, as Mum was kissing Jess. ‘We’ll see you soon. Let us know when you’ll be down next, won’t you?’

‘Of course. ‘Bye, Dad. Thanks. ‘Bye, Mum,’ I said, turning to her.

She hugged me, hard. ‘Think about what I said,’ she
whispered. ‘Look at things clearly. I’m so proud of you, Lizzy. So proud of you.’

‘Why—’ I began, but Tom pulled me away, pushed me and my sister into the car. Before we knew it the engine had started, the others were standing in the road, waving madly, and we were flying down the lane in the twilight, away from our home, and back to London, back to normality. I turned in my seat as we raced away, and watched them all, waving and smiling. They disappeared around the corner as the sky in front of us changed, becoming indigo, then an inky blue. We sat in happy silence as Tom let the roof down, feeling the rush of warm summer air on our arms and faces.

Going into work on the Monday after a big weekend is always strange, but much more so when during that stage you have undergone a sea change. By Monday morning I was feeling better, but I still had a vaguely weird feeling, not exactly a headache, but the sensation that a headache might start at any moment.

Being on the top floor, my flat is always sunny and bright in summer. I woke early on Monday morning, before six, and did unlikely things like squeezing myself some fresh orange juice and putting my shoes back in their boxes. I even labelled them. I ironed all my summer clothes, which had lain in a crumpled pile since last September, finding something therapeutically about the smooth crunch of the steam and metal on fabric.

It was already hot when I left for work and it was a relief to come out of the Tube, stuffy even at eight thirty, and turn into the cool, shadowy streets behind Oxford Circus. There weren’t many people about. As I crossed the road I walked through a shaft of sunlight and shivered in the sudden flash of heat. It felt as if the pavements were warming up, the city was shedding its usual Edwardian grey feeling and turning
Bolognese, Sevillian, Parisian. The baker was opening, and in the little French bistro a waiter was tying his apron round his waist as he stood in the doorway with his face to the sun. Across the road someone was rolling up the blinds in Luigi’s and Luigi was putting a blackboard out on the street, with the legend ‘Special Summer Salads’ chalked in red and green. I waved at him, and clattered up the tiled stairs that led to Monumental’s front door, leaning against the swipecard lock to let myself into the air-conditioned lobby.

‘Woah!’ Ash said, as he slid into my room. ‘Eow! It’s Lady Elizabeth of the grand stately home! Good morning, Your Highness. Can I get you some emeralds while the ghastly film crew runs amok in your beautiful house?’

‘Shut up, Ash,’ I said automatically, depositing my bag on my keyboard. ‘Did you know about it?’

‘No idea,’ Ash said, handing me a coffee (we took it in turns to go to Prêt each morning). ‘Only found out on Friday. So did Lily. It’s not my project, is it?’

I crouched under my desk to turn on my computer.

‘So,’ Ash continued, sitting down in my chair, ‘you live in some big mansion, then?’

‘No, I bloody don’t,’ I said.

‘Liar,’ he said. ‘I always thought you were a nice normal girl, and now I find out you’re some posh bird with a butler and a swimming-pool.’

‘I am none of those things,’ I said. ‘I mean, I don’t have a butler or a swimming-pool. It’s just an old house. And we don’t have to sell it now.’

‘That’s great,’ said Ash. ‘Really pleased for you, ma’am. We should go out for drinks tonight to celebrate.’

‘I’m meeting Georgy, I can’t,’ I said.

‘I know,’ Ash said. ‘I saw her on Saturday.’

‘No!’ I said, impressed. ‘I thought she’d threatened to call the police if you carried on bothering her?’

‘I wore her down,’ Ash said.

I looked out at the children in the playground below my window: they were running around yelling in the sunshine, and I reflected on how blokes always get the women they want by chasing them until they give in. I’m always amazed that so many men – usually the ugly ones – are convinced they could pull Claudia Schiffer if they were given the chance, while someone gorgeous, like my friend Victoria, is always convinced blokes don’t fancy her. It rarely happens the other way round.

‘You and Georgy, eh?’ I said. ‘Well, that’s great.’

‘It
is
,’ Ash said. ‘This weekend, man. It was amazing. She…’ He was lost in a reverie.

I wasn’t in the mood to discuss the first flush of young love, so I changed the subject, while Ash played with his shirt cuffs, a memory-laden smile playing about his lips in a smug, annoying way.

‘So,’ he said finally, looking lasciviously at me, ‘how’s love’s young dream? And his brother?’

‘If you mean Miles and me, it’s all off,’ I said. I pushed him out of my chair, sat down and started scrolling through my inbox. ‘One hundred and four emails. How can I possibly have that many? I don’t even
know
a hundred and four people,’ I said, pressing the delete button smartly.

‘What do you mean, off?’ Ash said, sitting on my desk. ‘You and Miles have split up?’

‘Yup,’ I said, and carried on deleting.

‘Oh, Lizzy,’ Ash said, with feeling. ‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry. When did he do it? I mean, how did it happen?’

I stopped clicking. ‘Why are you assuming he dumped me?’ I said.

‘I didn’t. I just thought…’ Ash trailed off. ‘Well, good, if you ended it,’ he said firmly. ‘Or not. What happened? Spill the beans.’ He shuffled about on the end of the desk
to make himself comfortable, and settled in for the long haul.

‘Oh, God, I’ve been such an idiot,’ I said, getting ready to launch into the story. And then I stopped. Before I do this, I thought, I need to think it all through. The trouble with a big story that you have to retell many times is that after a while you reel it off so glibly you forget what actually happened. You lose the truth of it, the essence, somewhere along the line. It becomes The Story. All right, it was over, once and for all, but while I could keep what he’d said close to me I stood a chance some day of being able to rationalize it. I didn’t want it to become part of my past. I knew it was, but I wanted to keep it to myself for the moment.

Lily walked past, and looked briefly into the office, recalling me to my senses. ‘’Lo, Lizzy,’ she said. ‘I’m coming back in a minute. Great news about the house. We need to talk about
Dreams
when you’ve got a moment.’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘So?’ Ash pressed. ‘What happened?’

‘Who told you about it?’ I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

‘What?’ Ash was still caught in a moment.

‘About the house, I mean that
Mary Chartley
was being shot there.’

‘Oh.’ Ash nodded briefly. ‘Jaden.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘He called you?’

‘No,’ Ash said casually. ‘He’s here again. Oh, here he is.’

And into the sunlit room strolled the man himself, grinning from ear to ear and looking even more like a catalogue model than he usually did. I jumped up, ran over to him and flung my arms round him. I wanted to cry, but I settled for shouting, ‘Jaden! Jaden!’

Jaden is a great hugger. He held me tight, then pulled back and looked at me, smiling. ‘You look great, Lizzy,’ he said, kissing me again. He smelt of citrus and fresh laundry.

‘So do you,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here? This is such a lovely surprise.’

‘I’m over for some meetings about
Dreams Can Come True.
’

‘Oh,’ I said, trying not to show I was miffed to have known nothing about it.

‘It all happened on Thursday,’ Ash interjected, standing by the door to which he had slunk, smirking, as Jaden entered. ‘Paul doesn’t like the Iranian boy. He thinks he should be a cute Irish kid instead. Well, you’ve got lots to discuss, so I’ll leave you alone.’ He resumed slinking and slunk off. I could tell he was already thinking, in his simplistic, any-relationship-is-better-than-none way, Fantastic, that’s those two sorted. She’s warm for his form and he for hers.

‘No big deal,’ Jaden said. ‘He’ll change his mind back, I promise. Paul’s just been a nightmare since he got out of rehab. Keeps altering things for the sake of it. The yoga-instructor thing hit him real hard.’

‘Idiot,’ I muttered. ‘Get over it.’

‘Hey, Lizzy,’ Jaden said. ‘What’s this I’m getting from you?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘All back to normal. It’s nice to see you, it really is. I can’t believe it’s only been six weeks. It feels…well, it feels like ages.’

‘How’s that Miles guy?’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Actually, we split up. On Saturday.’

‘Seriously?’ Jaden said, his forehead puckering.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘He dumped you?’

‘No, he bloody did not,’ I said heatedly.

Jaden nodded. ‘So you’re single again?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I repeated.

Jaden looked at me as if he would say more. I tensed, waiting for the onslaught of milk-thistle tea recipes. Then he rocked on the balls of his feet. ‘What are you doing for lunch?’ he said, quietly.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘I’ll take you out. We can talk about the film and catch up. There’s things we need to discuss.’

Outside, the whistle for the playground blew. ‘That’d be lovely,’ I said. ‘Listen, Jaden, I’ve got loads to do…I’ll see you later, OK? Meet you outside at one?’

‘Sure,’ Jaden said, and he left with a smile as my phone rang.

‘Lizzy? Is it true? Have you and Miles split up?’

‘Hello, Georgy,’ I said, watching Jaden’s retreating form. ‘That was quick. You’ve spoken to Ash.’

‘Ash has nothing to do with this. I’ve just been talking to Tom. What happened?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said, sitting down again. ‘Hey, are you still on for this evening? We’ll talk about it then. And about you and Ash, Georgy? What are you doing?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Georgy said impatiently. ‘Are you OK, though? God, I’ve got to go. But look, before I do, Lizzy, another thing, v. quickly. I’ve got to try out our new hotel somewhere in Corfu. Dead posh. In about a month. Think you can swing a week’s holiday then? All expenses paid, you’d just have to get a flight.’

Sea. Sun. Drinks with little umbrellas. Lying around for a week in a luxury hotel. I said, ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Georgy said. ‘Come on, you’ll really be saving my bacon. It’s all booked for a week and I don’t want to have to go on my own.’

‘Someone else ditched you, have they?’ I asked resignedly. I know her so well.

‘I thought I was supposed to be asking you that.’ Georgy’s throaty cackle crackled over the phone.

‘Oi!’ I said, banging my fist on my desk. ‘I was not ditched! I ditched him!’

‘So what happened? Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. I’ve got to go! But, hey, how was the wedding?’

‘Great, it was great.’

‘Was the tulle OK in the end?’

‘Fine. The buckle on my shoe was a right pain.’

‘I
said
they’d be too tight.’

‘I know,’ I said grimly. ‘I should have listened.’

‘Yep,’ Georgy said, with sad satisfaction. ‘And the pants?’

‘You were right there too. They well showed through. I wore the blue ones instead. I think it was OK.’

‘Good, good. Listen to me next time. And Miles is history then? Well, I can’t say I’m—’

I could have carried on this conversation happily for the next couple of hours, but I became aware of a movement below my right shoulder. Lily was making ‘get off the phone’ gestures and rolling her eyes. ‘Got to go now, Georgy,’ I said regretfully.

‘See you later. And don’t worry, I’m about to call Ash and deliver the blow. He won’t be there, I promise.’

After dealing with Lily, who was incandescent with rage about Paul’s latest meddling, and comforting a sobbing Ash in the men’s loos, which took some explaining to Simon from IT who walked in on us there, the morning raced by and I was happily lost in the world of work again, the dramas, the emails, the gossip and the coffee machines. I had to tear myself away for lunch and run round the corner so I wasn’t late for Jaden. We went to Carluccio’s in Market Place and we sat outside and pretended to be Italian. I had a glass of wine. Jaden had an organic pineapple and orange juice.

There was something strange about sitting outside with Jaden in the summer heat. He felt like a part of my past, someone who existed only in the rainy days of last winter. ‘It’s great you’re having a holiday,’ he said, after I’d told him about Corfu with Georgy. ‘You need one. Some you-time.’

‘I can’t wait,’ I said. ‘Only four weeks to go. How about you?’

‘I’m taking a week off in late August. Hiking in the hills with some friends. Camping, doing a nature trail. Should be cool. If you’re over by then, you should come. What’s happening with that, by the way?’ he added casually.

‘Don’t know,’ I answered, equally casually. ‘I still want to go…for six months, maybe a year.’

Jaden popped a cherry tomato into his mouth. ‘In other words, you’re not planning on staying.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ I said, because in fact I wasn’t.

‘But you’re not. I can tell from your body language. Something else is up, isn’t it? It’s the cast of your shoulders. You’re like an open book.’

I remembered one summer at home, when I was about fourteen, Tom bought an old paperback at the Wareham fête called
Understanding Body Language.
We devoured it, and became obsessed with it over the next few weeks. When Mum or Kate told us to do the washing-up, we’d cross our arms to let them know we were aggressively opposed to the idea. When Mark Lenham, the boy from the next village whom everyone fancied, was sitting on the green at the same time as Jess and I, we lay down on our jumpers and pointed our feet subtly at him, to let him know we were subconsciously attracted to him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’ Jaden said. ‘Starting with the house. It’s a beautiful home, Lizzy. I really enjoyed going there. I’m just sorry I couldn’t tell you about it.’

‘Not at all,’ I replied, as the waiter arrived to clear away our plates. ‘You and Sophia Gunning are the heroes of the hour down my way.’

‘That is one talented girl,’ Jaden mused. ‘We’ve had a lot of very interesting conversations since then about this
Lady Mary
project. I think it’s going to be very special.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I scoffed. ‘You fancy her, you massive liar.’

‘I do not!’ Jaden exclaimed.

‘You bloody do,’ I said, laughing as he blushed.

Jaden caught my hands. ‘I’m going to go a little crazy and have a coffee. And so are you. Why don’t you tell me about this weekend? I think you’re fine, Lizzy. You look better than I’ve seen you for ages. Perhaps being single finally agrees with you.’

So I told him everything. About Miles, and how blind and stupid I’d been. About home, and having to deal with packing up and getting ready to leave. About the Caldwells, and Chin, her brilliant last-minute save. About Miles and David, and how fucked-up Miles really was, about what he’d done, about the wedding. I’d forgotten how fascinated Jaden was by my family, and now he’d seen the house he had a context for it all so it was easy to tell him everything and he was a great listener.