When Good Friends Go Bad (23 page)

'Linda Petroski?' Jen felt her voice rising with anger as she forced a laugh. 'Linda Petroski, that bottle-blonde, big-bosomed gossip-chops who told us she went to Florida for her holidays and slept with Michael Jackson when everyone knew she was at a caravan site in Cheltenham with her cousin? Linda Petroski, the biggest lying slut in Ashport? She was always a dirty fat fibber.'

Too late she heard the sound of flushing water and watched the door to the last stall open.

'Jen? Jen Bedlow?' Linda Petroski emerged, giving her a welcoming smile. Linda Petroski, boobs now drooped, bleached hair now thinned, and scrawny beyond belief. 'I thought I heard your voice.'

'Linda?' Jen gulped, seeing Meg turn her back, shoulders shaking with laughter. 'How
are
you? You know, you've hardly changed at all!'

Ten past eleven and Georgina was sitting on a chair at the far end of the school gym, shoes kicked off, half listening to the results of the Guess Who quiz, when she saw Jennifer and Nutmeg, arm in arm, looking like they'd imbibed a few and giggling like they were both still fifteen.

Seeing Georgie's miserable expression, Nutmeg nudged her in a cheer-up sort of way. 'Was that Mr Panser I saw you with? Looked like you were hitting it off.'

'Looks can be deceiving,' Georgina said flatly. She'd gone to thank him for the way he treated her after the Yvonne Spitz fight and . . . 'He didn't remember me at all.' She lowered her eyes and stared hard at the floor.

'But that's good, surely?' Jennifer sounded confused. 'He's probably thrown by your transformation. Because you look so good now.'

'You mean I didn't look
so good
then?' Georgina raised her eyes to meet her friend's, and suddenly memories long suppressed came charging back. Her sweaty armpits, double chin, trying to run around the playing fields or vault the wooden horse that right now stood in the corner of the gym taunting her. Chubby Carrington, first to be ridiculed, last to have a boyfriend. Oh yes, how true was that song, love really was meant for beauty queens at seventeen. 'Go on then, say it, Jennifer. Because I'm not the big fat cow, lardy legs, buxom buttocks you all, they all, remember me as?'

'No, no of course not.' Georgina caught Jennifer looking to Nutmeg for support.

'You always had a beautiful face,' Nutmeg tried to reassure her. 'And that great olive skin. I was
so
jealous of that, babe.'

Too late. Fat tears rolled down Georgina's cheeks. She could still hear her mother's disdainful voice.
'You're not going to eat that, are you, darling?' 'No dessert for Georgina, she's on a diet.'
The heavy resignation in
'Let's see if they have that in a larger size, shall we?'

And now her head was crowded with memories of the shouts and taunts that had haunted her days here.

'Warning, warning. Georgie Porgie approaching pool. Watch out girls, tidal wave coming.'

'Heard Chubby Carrington met her soulmate at the zoo. In the hippo pond.'

'How do you know if Jumbo George is hiding under your bed? Because your nose is touching the ceiling.'

'Georgina. What's the matter?' She heard Jennifer's alarmed voice coming from far away. 'Meg, she's crying.'

Would she ever have survived her schooldays if it weren't for her friends? Especially Rowan. Her dad had let her use the small shed at the bottom of the garden as an art studio and Rowan was the only one she'd invite in. They indulged their love of art together, confiding in each other as they painted.

She told Rowan things she didn't even tell Jennifer because she was worried they'd be passed on to Nutmeg, not out of malice but because she couldn't help gossiping, she loved a good story, and Georgina didn't want the bright brash Nutmeg to know what a bowl of shaking jelly they were harbouring in their foursome. But Rowan was a great listener. Not trying to fix things or give advice, just nodding sagely as she applied paint to her canvas. She'd listen for hours as Georgina explained that no matter how hard she tried, her father acted as if she were invisible and her pretty slim tennis-obsessed mother as if she were a cross she had to bear, veering between impatience, irritation and thinly veiled contempt. The only family member who truly showed her affection was her brother Lance, the elder child revered by her parents, but he wasn't home enough to make a difference and she missed him terribly.

'Don't get upset.' Jennifer was shaking her, sounding desperate. 'Everything's OK, honest.'

'No, it's all right. I'm fine,' Georgina wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, feeling her sinuses clog. She rummaged in her handbag, came up devoid of tissues, swallowed and tried to concentrate on the big round clock whose hands had always seemed to stubbornly stick in the agony of gym class.

Jennifer's arm fastened around Georgina's shoulder and Nutmeg shoved what looked like a handful of lavatory paper into her hand.

'It's clean. Blow,' she instructed. 'You're not really upset about Pansy Panser not recognising you, surely? The dude's like older than Moses, he probably doesn't recognise his own face when he shaves.'

'It's not just . . .' Georgina sniffed. 'Of course it'd have been flattering if . . . but . . . oh I don't know, this whole night, it's rather anticlimactic, don't you think? We're still no closer to finding Rowan. We've tried everything. I've even emailed half the galleries in Wales. There's just no place left to look. We have to give up. Then what will happen to us? Will we still see each other? Is this it for our friendship?'

Nutmeg squatted on her heels and held her hand. 'Course not, kiddo.'

'No way,' Jennifer agreed, kissing her cheek. 'In fact, how about you and Meg come for dinner at my place? Say Wednesday? We can crack open some bottles too and celebrate my new-found freedom. And we're not stopping searching for Rowan yet.'

'Though we're running out of places to try.' Georgina dabbed at her mascara-streaked cheeks then blew her nose, suddenly transforming back to her usual tough, brisk self. No more foolishness, she thought. 'Don't worry, Jennifer, it's the drink talking, I always become emotional after too much wine. Dinner Wednesday sounds marvellous.'

'Great,' said Nutmeg, pulling her to her feet. 'Now let's get you to a restroom. You look like shit,
dahling.'

'Hi Jen. Meg. Yoohoo. Remember me?'

An hour had elapsed, Jen had enjoyed two more dances with Tom, downed at least three additional glasses of wine, and was now standing next to Meg squinting squiffily at the buxom matron approaching them.

'Yvonne Spitz,' Jen smiled, stepping meaningfully, and perhaps a bit too hard, given the amount she'd drunk, on Meg's toe. 'Yes, of course.'

The tart with no heart. All through school she'd made their lives a misery. From the first day in the playground, when she and her two troll friends had so intimidated Rowan, to every day after that, particularly targeting Georgina who was petrified of them and Jen who refused to suck up like everyone else.

'Look who it isn't,' she'd sneer, banging their locker doors closed just as they were reaching in to pull out their books, flanked on each side by her cronies, Linda Petroski and Maureen Reynolds.

'Taffy, the arty one.'

'You're forgetting the t,' Maureen would scream. 'Crazy as her mammy.'

'And Jumbo, the elephant girl, Jenny Wren, her trained monkey and dippy hippy Meg. I didn't know the lesbo circus was in town. Did anyone bring peanuts?'

And Linda and Maureen would laugh while Meg leaned against her locker, looking bored, Rowan went white, Georgina stared miserably at her sensible lace-up shoes and Jen clenched her fists in fury. Yvonne and her two accomplices had rushed into puberty at an age when their peers were still crayoning in the kiddies' menu at restaurants. They flaunted their extra height, muscle and mammary glands while Jen et al were still wearing vests and Princess knickers. The arrival of Yvonne in a classroom, slinging books on the desk with a thump, chewing gum and commenting rudely on the teacher's hair/clothes/ sexual orientation could make the most seasoned educator stammer in fear.

No one would have guessed, staring at the powdered and blue-eye-shadowed woman facing Jen and Meg, that this was the bully who'd sneered at Jen for living on a council estate, stolen their towels when they were in the showers and who'd eternally hung around by the bike sheds, hoping to catch one of them alone. Yvonne Spitz, the adult, looked like Lily Savage on a big night out. Over-made-up, puffy-faced and excessively twinkling with diamanté, she was wearing an expensive-looking strapless sequinned dress and had finished the look with piled-high-to-the-ceiling hair.

'Hey, did you hear Wendy Lugden's a priest now?' Yvonne addressed them both. 'What a hoot, eh, she was the school's biggest scrubber.'

Discretion won over Jen's desire to tell her she'd always thought Yvonne and Linda deserved to share Wendy's title.

'And how about you, Yvonne?' said Meg coolly. 'They let you out of the big house then?'

Yvonne laughed, missing entirely Meg's suggestion that she'd probably done jail time. 'Oh, we're still living in it. No, I'm divorced, divorced and divorced again. My latest beau is a top insurance salesman, took me to Thailand last year on an all-expenses first-class trip. And I've two wonderful children, a boy called Darren and a girl called Pearl. Want to see a photo?'

A plump-faced boy and a curly-haired red-faced girl were smiling inanely by a paddling pool, and Yvonne was in the background in a too-small garish striped bikini, her muffin-top spilling over the waistline.

'Sweet.' Meg made a face, unseen by Yvonne, and passed the photo over to Jen.

'And how's life treating you both?'

'Well, I'm—' Jen began.

'Hey, Meg, remember that Graham Furrow I went out with?' Yvonne interrupted.

'Sure, I do,' said Meg. 'He was—'

'Sexy? I know. Do you think he's here tonight?'

No, but someone
had
mentioned him. Jen saw her chance for revenge.

'You remember Phyllis Ifold?' Another poor sod Yvonne used to bully relentlessly.

'That weed? Yeah, why?' Her peppercorn eyes quickly scanned the hall.

'She's his wife.' Jen took a fortifying gulp from her paper cup and gave a sly wink to a surprised Meg.

'Graham Furrow married Phyllis Ifold? I don't believe it!'

'It was a shock to everyone,' said Jen. 'One minute Phyllis was a lank-haired, big-lipped sort of scruff-bag and then she started working for a fashion mag and became all glamorous. Isn't that right, Meg?'

'Graham was totally besotted,' agreed Meg, catching on.

'How did you find all this out?' Yvonne looked from one to the other, her expression aghast.

'Doreen Mansfield,' Jen informed her. 'She spent half an hour rabbiting on how Phyllis and Graham honeymooned in Mnemba.'

'Mnemba?'

'North-east tip of Zanzibar.'

'And they have four blond-haired, blue-eyed, delightful children,' elaborated, Meg as Jen pretended to concentrate very hard on the bottom of her glass.

'God!'

'Though now she produces blockbuster films,' added Meg. 'They have a swimming pool, large open-plan house and a clear view of the Hollywood sign, so Doreen says.'

'Christ!' Yvonne's face drained of colour. 'You'd never imagine, would you?'

'You never would, Yvonne.' Jen nodded her head. 'You truly never would.'

Meg turned her back, her shoulders shaking.

Yvonne moodily swirled her glass of punch.

'Next you'll be telling me Georgina Carrington's a supermodel. Think she's still a chubby-chops?' She leant forward conspiratorially, earning Jen's enmity all over again.

'See for yourself,' said Jen, beckoning Georgie from across the room.

Yvonne stared transfixed as Georgina swanned over, all trace of the evening's earlier blues wiped away. She looked incredible in her emerald-green taffeta dress, the plunging neckline very Sophia Loren, her plum lipstick emphasising the Italian curve of her mouth. For a moment Jen experienced an unaccustomed pang of envy. Who would have thought that out of all of them, Georgina would have turned into such a beauty?

'Georgina? Georgina Carrington?' Words failed Yvonne.

Georgina glanced down her nose with a patrician air worthy of a Roman empress.

'Yvonne. I hardly recognised you. Nice dress.'

Yvonne preened, smoothing it with her hands. 'It ought to be. I paid a fortune for it. Giordani, you know.'

Georgina took a studied sip of wine before she spoke.

'I beg to differ.'

'Sorry?' Yvonne looked radically startled, much like the time in third year Jen had completely lost it and run at her, pulling hair and biting. She'd been well and truly beaten up in return, of course, but Jen had staggered away happy in the knowledge she'd left Yvonne with a black eye and bleeding lip.

'It's a cheap imitation, darling.' Georgina's accent had never sounded so posh. 'Hong Kong knock-off. We had rather a problem with those. Thought we'd rounded them all up but apparently not.'

Georgina's enormous multicarat diamond flashed as she flicked back her hair with one hand and stalked off to find Max.

'Of all the nerve!' Yvonne stared after her. 'What would she know about designer clothes?'

'A lot, I imagine,' Jen answered. 'Georgina
is
Giordani. Georgina
Giordani
Carrington. Designer, owner, the whole shebang.'

'We came here in her company limo,' added Meg. 'That's her chauffeur, Max, she's talking to now. We should probably get going soon.'

At that moment, the look on Yvonne's face was worth the disappointment of not finding Rowan.

Heading over to Georgina, Jen spotted Doreen Mansfield. 'You've heard from Phyllis and she's a famous film producer, living in Beverly Hills married to that sexy Graham Furrow, pass it on . . .' she whispered.

'No she's not. I told you earlier, she works in Tesco, Carlisle.'

'That's not what I told Yvonne Spitz,' Jen said, winking.

'You are awful, Jen Bedlow,' Doreen sniggered.

Jen caught up with Georgina and Meg, radiant in their triumph.

'Elephants never forget, darling,' Georgina said, grinning at Jen.

'Never mess with a monkey,' Jen replied.

They glanced at Meg, knowing what she was about to say.

'Hippies rule!' they shrieked together, throwing their arms around each other and bracing the cold outside, where Max and the car awaited.