Читать книгу Caught in the Act - Gemma Fox - Страница 6

‘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.’

‘All those false promises and false hopes you trotted out to keep me hanging on?’ she said.

He visibly bristled. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly, George. I’m not totally stupid. I always knew that you would never leave Judy for me.’

He looked at her in astonishment. ‘re ally?’ he said. He sounded genuinely amazed.

She laughed. ‘Of course. Don’t sound so surprised. Hopeless, impossible, doomed love is a wonderfully dramatic thing—at least for a while. I was young and it all seemed terribly romantic.’

‘So what happened?’

Callista took a long pull on her drink. ‘Honestly?’

He nodded.

‘I grew up.’

‘Good God. How terribly pragmatic of you,’ he said.

Callista stroked his hand. ‘Yes, that’s right. Now eat your pie; you’ll feel a lot better.’

‘But I’ve pined for you for…’ George said. ‘If I’m honest I have pined for you for the last twenty years.’ He looked pained and sounded quite cross now.

‘You silly man,’ Callista said kindly, pulling the knife and fork from his pocket and shaking out his napkin.

‘I’ve always suspected that Judy knew my heart wasn’t altogether in it. All those years—’ he shook his head—‘all those dreams wasted.’

Callista topped up her gin with the last of the tonic, and when it was obvious that she didn’t plan to comment, George continued, ‘And how about you? How has life been with you?’

Callista smiled. ‘Me? Oh, I’m fine. We’ve been doing a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream this year and our school has been selected for funding from Europe to improve the drama facilities, which is re ally exciting. We’ve put a bid in for a drama studio and—’

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ he said, cutting her short. ‘Didn’t you ever miss me?’ It was obvious from the tone he was hoping that she had pined for him just a little.

Callista stared at him. How could she possibly tell him that she hadn’t thought about him for years? ‘You re ally did love me, didn’t you?’ she said in a low, even voice.

George nodded.

Callista set her hand down over his, wondering what on earth she could say. ‘George, I am re ally sorry. If I’d known I might have been more determined to get you, made more of a fuss, fought a little harder, but I thought that you were just toying with me, that I was just a game. I thought maybe—maybe it was something you made a habit of. You know, new female teacher, straight out of college. Easy pickings.’

He winced.

Callista sighed. ‘Then again, if I’d known how you felt it would have been far more painful for both of us, wouldn’t it? After I left Belvedere I went up to North Yorkshire, to a lovely school. I married a solicitor called Laurence—I was made head of department five years ago. We’ve got two daughters, Emma and Charlotte, they’re fifteen and seventeen. We’ve got a nice house, a dog—a little summer place in France. We’re very happy. I’m very happy.’ She paused, seeing the pain on George’s face. ‘Oh, George, I thought that it was just an affair.’

He pursed his lips, quite obviously struggling to keep his emotions under control. ‘You were the love of my life, Callista,’ he murmured. ‘I have never forgotten you. Never a day goes past when I don’t think about you and how it might have been if I had been brave enough, strong enough, to walk away from my marriage, from Judy.’ His bottom lip had started to tremble furiously. ‘Oh, Callista, I’m so terribly sorry,’ he sniffled.

‘George, please don’t. How is Judy?’

‘Oh, she’s well. Well, I assume she is well; we barely speak at all these days. She has her friends, her interests, the choir and the reading group, and I have mine.’ He paused. ‘It’s been a lot trickier since I retired.’

The former Miss Callista Haze stared at George Bearman and wondered what on earth life might have been like if they had ended up together. How odd it was that she had had no idea how George felt about her, or was it that over the years she had become a fantasy that he had clung to, to keep him going inside a failing marriage? A magic might-have-been that had only just slipped through his fingers and helped him to sleep at nights.

‘So,’ he said with forced joviality, ‘as you say, all water under the bridge now. Why don’t you tell me all about this Laurence chap and your girls?’

Callista took a deep breath wondering how much she could tell George without breaking his already battered heart, when a woman walking past the table caught her eye and as recognition dawned she stopped and turned.

‘Miss Haze?’

‘Yes,’ said Callista, grateful for the interruption.

Carol grinned as she realised that Mr Bearman was there too, tucked up alongside Miss Haze, cradling a pint of bitter and the remains of a late lunch.

The two of them were sitting at a quiet table at the back of the Master’s Arms, apparently deep in conversation. Miss Haze had a copy of Macbeth open in front of her. Even from where she was standing, Carol could see that the margins and every available glimmer of white space had been filled with tiny pencilled annotations around the main script; some appeared to have been overwritten.

‘How very nice to see you,’ said Miss Haze, sounding very slightly uncertain who she was talking to.

‘Carol Hastings—well, at least I used to be Carol Hastings.’ Carol held out a hand in greeting. ‘I’m here for the reunion as well.’

‘Oh, of course,’ said Miss Haze. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t recognise you, Carol, but sometimes these days the names just vanish into the ether. I was trying very hard not to call you Lady Macbeth.’ She smiled, her handshake strong and warm and confident. ‘You know I often thought that you could have gone on to a career on the stage if you had wanted to.’

Carol grinned. ‘That’s very nice of you to say so, but if I’m honest I think I prefer to eat,’ Carol said.

‘Well, there is that,’ Miss Haze laughed, while Mr Bearman, a little stiffly, added, ‘How very pragmatic.’ His handshake was cool and dry, his skin like old vellum.

Carol smiled. ‘You’re early too.’ She couldn’t help wondering if they had turned up together. Maybe they were a couple, married now; maybe they had got together after all.

Miss Haze nodded. ‘Actually I haven’t been here very long. The woman in reception at Burbeck House suggested I come down here. Apparently their kitchen doesn’t open until later.’ Her smiled broadened. ‘I did wonder whether she might be on commission.’ Miss Haze glanced down at her watch. ‘Actually, I was just about to head back when—’ she glanced towards Mr Bearman—‘when George here showed up.’

Carol smiled; it seemed odd to think of Mr Bearman as having a first name but it had solved the couple question.

Mr Bearman beamed warmly in Miss Haze’s direction. ‘Just like the good old days, back on the road again, eh, Callista?’ And catching hold of her hand he lifted it and pressed it to his lips. Miss Haze blushed scarlet.

Diplomatically Carol looked away and said hastily, ‘There are a few of us in the front bar, if you would like to come and join us?’

Even after all these years it felt very odd talking to the teachers as if they were humans. Carol, who had been on her way to the loo when she spotted the pair of them, made a concerted effort to quell the little ripples of anxiety, which included the almost overwhelming feeling that she had forgotten to hand in a vital piece of homework and that by standing so close to them in a social setting she had broken an invisible inviolable rule about the relationship between teachers and pupils.

Across the table Mr Bearman smiled. ‘Thank you, Carol, that’s very kind, but I think we’ll probably stay here and catch up, won’t we? We haven’t seen each other in…how long is it exactly, Callista?’

‘Rather more years than I care to remember,’ she said casually. Carol noticed that Miss Haze had extricated her hand from his. ‘And besides, I’m sure we’d only cramp your style. You can be a lot more raucous without us there. And, as I said, I’m just going to finish my drink and then be off up.’

Mr Bearman nodded. ‘Excellent idea.’

Callista Haze smiled coolly.

‘It is re ally nice to see you both again. Diana’s up there meeting and greeting people—presumably she’s asked you to direct the read through?’ asked Carol, pointing at Miss Haze’s script open on the table.

‘Not exactly, although we were invited to. Mind you, Diana did add that we weren’t to feel under any pressure,’ said Mr Bearman.

Miss Haze laughed. ‘I think what George is trying to say is, try stopping us.’

Mr Bearman swung round and beamed at her. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

Alongside him Callista looked heavenwards.

‘God, you’ll never guess who I’ve just seen,’ said Carol, slipping back into her seat. Everyone looked up expectantly from the table, which was now covered with the fallout from their long late lunch. During the course of the meal there had been other people filing into the pub, saying hello and grinning madly as recognition dawned and friendships rekindled; the whole place was buzzing with conversation and half-familiar faces.

Netty pouted before slipping a final chip, haemorrhaging tomato sauce, into her mouth, and said, deadpan, ‘I thought Diana said that Gareth wasn’t getting here until later this evening.’

Carol decided to ignore her. ‘Miss Haze and Mr Bearman, snuggled up over there in the snug.’ She toyed momentarily with the idea of sharing the hand-kissing incident and then decided to leave it out on the grounds that she was trying to maintain some air of maturity.

‘Honestly, I used to have the hots for her something dreadful,’ said Adie unexpectedly, pulling a lusty face and making smoochy sexy noises. ‘Double Drama, Friday afternoons—I’d got a permanent hard on. I had to get my mum to buy me a longer jumper. Can you remember she used to wear those little black ski pant things?’

‘Capri pants,’ corrected Netty, picking through the remains of Jan’s garlic mushrooms.

‘Very Audrey Hepburn. God, it was absolute agony,’ Adie said in a wistful voice, gazing off unfocused into the middle distance.

‘re ally?’ said Carol in amazement. ‘You had the hots for Miss Haze?’

‘Absolutely, yes,’ he groaned.

She stared at him: apparently the struggle to stop slipping back into the agonies of adolescence was hers and hers alone.

Adie blushed. ‘Well, just a little bit. Do you remember those black leather trousers she had? They were like a red rag to a bull as well. Little white angora sweater, those trousers, highheeled boots—you’d have had to have been made of stone or been dead not to have thought the whole outfit was incredibly horny. I thought it was all so cute…’

Carol didn’t say a word.

‘Maybe it was a leather thing, although you didn’t know about that then,’ Netty said.

Jan sniffed. ‘Lots of things you didn’t know then.’

Carol looked at her. ‘What’s with you two? Twenty years and you’re still bitching? How about we declare a truce this weekend?’

Jan waved her words away. ‘What, and spoil all our fun? Besides, Adie likes that kind of thing, don’t you?’

Adie grinned and then growled playfully.

‘I think we should be heading back to the hacienda,’ said Carol, glancing at her watch; hadn’t Miss Haze said that she was going up to the house too? They all looked at her. ‘Well, Diana is there all on her own,’ she added weakly. ‘And I’d promised to help—and everyone else should be there soon.’

‘Yes, sirree, Mother Teresa,’ said Jan. ‘And maybe Gareth’s showed up already. Don’t want you missing him now, do we?’

Carol reddened.

‘See,’ said Adie triumphantly. ‘I told you that Jan’s a cow. I’m not being singled out for any special treatment. It’s just that I’m just an easy target. She may still look like butter wouldn’t melt—but beneath that serene composed chic exterior beats the heart of Lucretia Borgia. I bet she enjoyed a bit of interior decoration as a way of unwinding between all the poisoning and torturing.’

‘Did Lucretia Borgia torture people? I always thought she was a straight-down-the-line poisoner—bit of a one-trick pony, re ally,’ said Jan conversationally, as if being compared to Lucretia Borgia was something that happened every day of her life.

‘I see you more as Cruella de Vil,’ said Netty. ‘I watched that film and thought: finally somewhere Jan can put her talents to good use. Although I suppose Adie is the closest thing we’ve got to a poor defenceless animal.’

Jan, deadpan, said, ‘Nah, I’ve never liked spots. I think I’d prefer something with a little tabby in it, or maybe tortoiseshell.’

Everyone winced and without a word got to their feet.

Tongues loosened by alcohol and food and a sense of relief that things hadn’t changed so very much after all, the four of them headed slowly back, laughing, teasing, still easy and connected up after all these years, meandering through the village, then in through the gates in Burbeck House’s kitchen gardens. Although they could hardly say they’d caught up, Carol thought—it felt more like they had just scratched the surface.

‘So what about you, Netty?’ asked Carol. They were walking side by side, Carol relishing the sound of their feet crunching over the fine gravel, the afternoon sun warming her face. It was a glorious day. There was a sprinkler set up in one corner of the walled garden and where the water arced, rainbows filled the air as millions of tiny droplets refracted the sunlight. It was one of those perfect moments that would linger in the memory.

Ahead of them Adie and Jan were talking, laughing; Carol laid down the images like good wine. Espaliered fruit trees hung on tight to the old brick walls, creating a rich green backdrop to row after row of beautifully laid out vegetable plots, herb gardens and asparagus beds. Just past an old-style wrought-iron greenhouse, figs and peaches and grapevines settled back against a row of pan-tiled sheds and drank in the heat and light. You didn’t have to be any kind of gardener to appreciate the tranquillity or beauty of Burbeck House’s kitchen garden.

‘What have you been up to?’ Adie said, swinging round and walking backwards. ‘We need to get the history all sorted before we get lost in the mêlée—so far we’re not doing very well at all. You either ‘fess up faster than that or I’m going to have to come bunk down with you lot after all.’

Netty lit up another cigarette and blew out a blast of smoke. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll hurry. I’ve got four hairdresser’s shops and beauty salons—all with nail parlours now.’ She extended her hands to show off a set of perfectly manicured undoubtedly fake talons. ‘Two ex-husbands, a daughter called Kirsten, who hates me, and a toy boy called Paul, who thinks the sun shines out of—well, all of me, to hear the way he goes on. Kirsten has a real problem with him.’

Jan perked up. ‘Which is?’

‘That he doesn’t fancy her.’

‘That’ll do it,’ said Adie, nodding.

‘And how old is he?’ asked Carol.

‘Twenty-seven next birthday,’ Netty said, almost defiantly.

‘Very nice if you can get it,’ said Adie, with a grin.

‘What about you then, golden boy? You’ve been very quiet so far,’ said Jan.

‘Only because I couldn’t get a bloody word in edgeways,’ he said, smiling still.

‘Well, now’s your moment,’ Jan fired straight back. ‘I mean, I know all about you but I’m sure your fans want to hear all the sordid details.’

He pulled a face. ‘There’s not a lot to tell, re ally. I was hoping that we’d hear all about you first.’

‘What, so you’re hoping for a big build-up, were you?’ laughed Jan.

Adie shook his head. ‘No, I was being gentlemanly.’

‘OK,’ said Jan briskly, as if her words and potted biography would clear the decks for his. ‘Well, I’m single.’ She flicked her long hair back over her shoulder as if defying anyone to comment. ‘I’ve got a Fine Art degree and an MA in textile design and had planned to teach but changed horses after graduation and now I design fabrics, do some styling for magazines—occasionally get some interior design work—and I lecture as well. I’ve got a re ally nice little place in Highgate.’ She paused. ‘That’s about it, re ally. I travel a lot, work, love my job—well, jobs. It’s a kind of patchwork of things that all tie in.’

‘It doesn’t sound like very much for twenty years,’ complained Netty, lighting up another cigarette. ‘Are these the U-certificate edited highlights? What about all the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, broken hearts, mad passions, significant others?’

Jan waved the ideas away, a row of bangles on her wrist tinkling like sleigh bells. ‘Sometimes, occasionally kind of, but it’s been a now-and-then thing. To be honest, I travel so much and am so busy that I don’t have the time. I kept thinking some day, one day—but it just hasn’t happened.’

‘So far,’ said Adie.

Netty pulled a face, her expression matched by Carol’s.

Ignoring Adie, Carol said, ‘How can you say that you don’t have the time? I don’t understand. How can you not have time for people?’

Jan bristled. ‘I do have time for people,’ she protested. ‘I just don’t have time for the sort you wake up with in the morning. I lived with people and I went out with guys at college. And then about ten years ago I was part of a group that set up workshops in India and more recently in Africa. They’re both run cooperatively and they print and export fabric. It has re ally taken off and that takes up a lot of my time and energy, and to be honest I never seem to have the time for all that, you know, bunny-slippers and kissy-face stuff. I’ve got two Burmese cats called Lucifer and Diablo, and yes, before you say anything, yes, they are my surrogate children and yes, I do spoil them. And that’s about it re ally.’

‘Sounds a bit dull,’ Netty growled. ‘I like a man in my life. I’ve always enjoyed the exquisite pain that only a re ally bad relationship can bring.’

Jan grinned. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time in India and the Far East, sourcing silk and fabrics, and trust me, when it comes to pain, there’s nothing beats amoebic dysentery.’

Netty snorted.

‘Right,’ said Jan, with barely a pause for breath, ‘now then, Mr Can’t-get-a-Word-in-Edgeways boy. Your shout. Off you go. Let’s have it.’

They all looked at Adie, who held up his hands in surrender. ‘OK, I’m not fighting it, I’ll come quietly. I went to uni straight from school. Got a pretty shitty degree and then I didn’t re ally know what I wanted to do so I went travelling and did all sorts of stuff. I went to Australia, Bali; worked in bars, played guitar, grew my hair, smoked a lot of dope.’ He laughed. ‘And I suppose I finally grew up. While I was in Thailand I met someone, we travelled together for a couple of years and then when we came back we decided to try and give it a go and we’ve been together ever since—I suppose that must be nearly fifteen years or so now.’

‘Someone?’ asked Jan pointedly.

Adie nodded. ‘Yup. We bought a re ally nice place in Tunbridge Wells. I own a shop—I sell clothes—and…’

Carol was aware that they were all hanging on his every word now.

‘And you’re happy?’ said Netty suspiciously.

He grinned. ‘Blissfully, and before you make any kind of sarky remark about it, no one is more surprised than me.’

Jan made a funny little noise in the back of her throat that might have been disbelief but could equally well have been disgust.

‘re ally?’ said Carol.

He nodded. ‘Yes, re ally. My partner is a GP and I can feel all sorts of middle-aged angst creeping up on me. I’ve started writing letters to the broadsheets complaining about young people, falling moral standards and litter in the street.’

‘Oh my God, you’ve grown up to be Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells,’ said Carol with a giggle.

He grinned. ‘Not exactly. Actually, I’ve grown up to be Gay of Tunbridge Wells. My partner, Mike, said that if I get any more conservative he’s going to buy me driving gloves and an Argyll sweater for Christmas.’

Carol looked at him. There was a brief moment when the waves parted, and then the sea closed back over the gap with no great sense of revelation, nor anything unexpected being revealed, just an acceptance of what had—at some level—always been obvious.

‘How was it at the pub?’ Diana was in the dining room, hunched over a box of what looked like Christmas decorations, her whereabouts signposted from the main hall by a number of cards and home-made banners, that read: ‘BELVEDERE SCHOOL REUNION—THIS WAY’ in a confident bold italic hand that suggested they had been written by someone with a lot of experience at impromptu crowd direction.

‘Great, you should have come. We ate, we drank, we were merry, but Carol here had a fit of conscience and decided it was too cruel to leave you with all the work, and actually she is most probably right. Here, give me that bunting,’ said Adie. Grabbing one end, he clambered up onto a stepladder. ‘Have you got any drawing pins?’

‘Well, of course I have,’ Diana said, sounding terribly affronted.

Carol laughed; as if Diana would be the kind of event planner who would arrive without every eventuality covered. It felt so good to be back with them all; why had they left it so long before meeting up? So many years…too many years.

‘Why didn’t you ask us to help you with all this? We wouldn’t have minded,’ said Netty, pulling out a huge bag of balloons and a thing that looked like a cardboard bicycle pump from one of the boxes. ‘Do these things actually work?’ she said to no one in particular, as she tipped the balloons out in a heap onto the table and then pumped the tube thing furiously into mid-air.

‘No, but they make a great noise if you put your finger over the end,’ said Adie from the top of the stepladder. ‘Like a big wet fart.’

‘Oh well, that’s re ally helpful,’ growled Netty.

‘Here,’ said Jan, ‘let me,’ and started to stretch the balloons vigorously with all the zeal of a woman on a mission.

Diana seemed a bit stunned by their manic activity. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Come off it, you can’t do it all on your own,’ Carol snorted. ‘And besides, you asked me to pitch in, I seem to remember.’

But before she could say anything else, Adie said, ‘Yeah, Di, lighten up. We’re all more than happy to muck in, aren’t we, folks?’

Everyone looked at him and pulled faces and groaned jokingly. Adie scowled, but unperturbed, unrolled a great string of flags that spelled out welcome in a dozen different languages.

Carol took hold of the cord of the flags and pulled it across the room, wondering how likely it was that she could convince them that any enquiry about who else had arrived since they had been down the pub was purely casual. Just as she was about to speak Jan threw down the balloon she had been torturing and snapped, ‘You’re always so fucking flippant, aren’t you, Adie? Mr Quickwit. So sure of yourself.’

Everyone looked at her; he hadn’t said anything for the best part of two minutes.

Adie was stunned. ‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ he said gently.

Jan flipped a stray hand across her face as if swatting away a fly, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Nothing,’ she growled crossly. ‘Nothing at bloody all. I’m just pissed off with you always assuming you’re master of ceremonies, Mr I’m so bloody funny.’

Carol stared at her.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Adie began, looking bemused.

Jan sighed. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

‘Hello, anyone home?’ called a loud male voice from out in the hallway, diverting everyone’s attention away from Jan. Seconds later a vaguely familiar face appeared round the door and then there was another; two more of the backstage crew appeared in the doorway as Diana headed off to greet the first two, and then there was another and another.

Callista Haze and George Bearman were amongst the flurry of newcomers, and all at once it seemed as if there was a roomful of people, the round of hellos and whoops taking the attention away from Jan, who picked up another balloon.

‘You sure you’re all right?’ Carol said in an undertone. ‘I mean, we all know how frustrating balloon-blowing can be.’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Jan sniffed back the tears. ‘Don’t mind me.’