The Reunion, page 3
‘You’re what?’ Despite the bad connection, the concern in Helen’s voice comes through clear as a bell.
‘Henry’s parents have got a place in Tuscany.’ I bite my lip. I was so caught up in the excitement of the plan, I didn’t really stop to think about Helen’s reaction. Or the fact that I’m abandoning our plans to spend the summer together. ‘We’re going to Interrail our way there.’
Now it’s my turn to shriek as Henry abandons Lyla and scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. ‘Put me down, you idiot. I’m going to drop the phone.’
I can see a couple of girls further towards the library looking over at me enviously. Henry’s hair is even blonder in the sun and he’s tanned already, even though we haven’t been away yet. When they see me notice them, they look away.
‘You better not drop that phone,’ Lyla warns, picking tufts of grass out of her tight vest top. ‘Or you’ll be buying me a new one.’
I grip the phone tighter. This model is the very latest Nokia; it’s even got a camera that takes decent pictures on it. There’s no way I’ve got the budget to replace it.
‘What’s going on over there, babe?’ Helen’s voice is still in my ear. ‘I can’t really hear you. It sounds mental. I would have thought you’d be at King’s Cross by now.’
‘Yeah, about that…’ I look down at the ground. I was looking forward to spending the summer at Helen’s new place in Canary Wharf. She’s been up to visit a couple of times, but this would have been the first time we’d have spent any length of time together since Mum died. And I know she’d made plans for us. I feel guilty about letting her down.
‘Look, why don’t you just give me a call when you arrive, and we’ll do lunch? The newsroom’s pretty crazy today but I can sneak out for a sandwich. This line’s bad. Two seconds ago, it sounded like you said you were going to Europe.’
‘I am.’ I raise my voice so I’m practically shouting again. I beat my fists against Henry’s back to make him put me down. When he does, they all frown as though I’m the one disturbing the peace. I stick my tongue out at them and turn away.
‘Now, I’m confused. Give me a sec. I’ll close my office door.’ I hear the squeak of Helen getting out of her chair and the clink of a glass door shutting. ‘Okay, shoot. You’re doing what?’
‘I’m going to Europe with some friends from uni. We’re going to Interrail.’ Something stops me adding that we’re going to stay at Henry’s parents’ house. If she didn’t hear it the first time, I don’t need to tell her about it now. Helen’s a bit funny about inherited wealth; she thinks it’s part of the patriarchy.
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me and Henry. And Lyla and Will are going to come along as well.’
‘Quite the double date.’
‘It’s not like that.’ Am I imagining the disapproval in Helen’s voice because I feel guilty? ‘Lyla and Will aren’t a couple…’
‘She wishes,’ Will calls from where he’s now balancing on a low wall. The porters should be telling him to get off it, but I can see them laughing at him through the windows of the porters’ lodge. Lyla makes vomiting faces and then immediately pulls her face back into line as a group of rowers walking past wave at her from across the quad. Henry starts running his hand up and down my bare arm. ‘Everything okay?’ he asks, sotto voce. I lean against him and mouth, ‘It will be.’
‘We got last-minute tickets to leave today. Is that okay?’ I telegraph his concern to Helen. I know she’s not my parent; I don’t need her permission. But it is just the two of us now and I don’t want to upset her. ‘I’m sorry I’m not coming to see you.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Helen scoffs. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got loads on. Have you got the cash to cover it? I don’t want you to run through your student loan. Do you need me to sub you?’
Typical Helen. Even when I’m blowing her off, she’s offering to cover my costs. I tell myself I’ll make it up to her by going to visit her as soon as I get back.
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. We got a really good deal,’ I say quickly. I don’t want her to know that Henry’s covering my tickets with the money his parents gave him for getting a first in his summer exams. Or that we’re staying rent-free at his parents’ place. To be honest, I wasn’t that comfortable with it myself. Being shouted drinks in the bar and cinema tickets is one thing; having a holiday is quite another. But without Henry paying for me, there was no way I could go. And he was really sweet about it.
‘And it’s just the four of you?’
‘Yeah. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing.’ She hesitates. ‘It’s just… quite an intense grouping.’
‘How do you mean?’ I take a step away from Henry and the others. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what Helen says and I don’t want them overhearing. They already tease me about how much I report back to her. Will gave me a copy of the book My Sister’s Keeper for Christmas and he does a Nazi salute and calls ‘Hel Hitler’ every time she comes up to visit. Luckily, she thinks he’s funny.
‘You just want to be a bit careful.’
‘Careful how?’
‘Look, I know you’re infatuated with this guy, babe, but you’ve got to remember that makes you vulnerable. They’re a fast crowd, they don’t have the same concerns that we do. I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘I’m not going to get hurt.’ I scowl like a toddler getting a telling off. Henry and I have been dating for almost two years. As far as I know, Helen’s never had even a sniff of a serious relationship. And she’s hated men ever since Dad left. She doesn’t get it.
‘Fine.’ For someone who swears they don’t want kids, Helen’s got the martyred maternal sigh down to a tee. ‘I’m only saying it because I care.’
‘I know.’ I look back across the grass at where the other three are standing. Will is tapping his foot exaggeratedly and pointing at his wrist as if there’s not a second to waste. Lyla’s playing with her hair, pulling wavy sections of it over her shoulder and tugging them until they’re straight. Henry’s throwing cashew nuts in the air. The salt on them makes them sparkle in the sunlight as he catches them in his mouth. He doesn’t miss a single one. Without this phone conversation, I’d be standing over there in the sunshine with them. I feel suddenly resentful of Helen and then ashamed for feeling that way. ‘Look, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m sure you will be.’ Helen sounds a bit more placatory now she’s offloaded all her concerns on to me. ‘But it’s my job to worry about you.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about. Anyway, you’re always telling me I need to be more decisive.’
She ignores the dig. ‘How about I lob a bit of money into your account anyway, just to see you through? Make sure you’ve got enough to bring me back a present.’
‘You don’t have to.’ Already I’m breathing a sigh of relief. Money from Helen means I won’t be quite so dependent on the others.
‘I want to.’
‘I promise I’ll pay you back when I’m a hot-shot lawyer.’
‘You better. So, whereabouts are you going?’
‘Loads of places,’ I fudge. Again, I don’t want to admit that we’re going to Henry’s place. Or that I haven’t a clue where we’re stopping on the way. This plan only sprung up a couple of nights ago, after Henry and Will had got back from a particularly epic Odysseans bender. All I had to do was say yes and Henry was making calls and booking tickets. I didn’t even realise the other two were coming until Lyla mentioned it at slops yesterday. I thought it was a romantic getaway. But the four of us makes it an adventure. One last hurrah before our final year. I can already tell that Will’s exuberance is going to get us into scrapes that Henry’s wallet and his charm will have to get us out of. And that Lyla’s going to flirt with every man in sight, single or otherwise. We’ll be making memories. ‘Look, I should probably get going.’
‘Sure. Don’t let me keep you. Just remember you can call me any time. Use a payphone and reverse the charges if you’re worried about your phone bill.’
I look at the bright pink handset in my hand guiltily. My phone doesn’t have any credit – that’s why I’m using Lyla’s. I’ll have to top it up on the way to the station.
‘I’ll top your phone up for you if you like,’ Helen volunteers. I can hear the smile in her voice. Sometimes it’s scary how well she knows me.
‘Thanks, Hels.’ I look back at the group. Will’s doing handstands, his rugby shirt rucked up over his tanned torso, while Henry and Lyla applaud. One of the first-year Odysseans has brought over a bottle of Moët for them and they’re drinking straight from it. The crowd of students sitting outside the porters’ lodge can’t take their eyes off them. I don’t know whether it’s the champagne or the aura around them. They all look so sure life’s going to go their way. If I wasn’t a part of their group, I’d want to be. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to…’
‘I know, I know. You’ve got to go. Just remember what I said and be careful, babe. Take care of yourself.’
‘I will.’ I hang up with a frown.
I know she only worries because she cares but some of what she said has dented my good mood a bit. She came out of Cambridge with a first; her university experience was very different to mine. If I hadn’t met Henry, I might have followed her path. But with them in my life, it’s so much more. I’m still maintaining the good grades and the bright future I’ve promised myself but I’m wringing joy out of every moment. Just because they don’t have to worry about money doesn’t mean I can’t trust them. Will’s got an overdraft, too. He’s not that different to me. I jam Lyla’s phone into the pocket of my shorts and rejoin the group, grabbing the Moët from Henry. I take a big swig, relaxing as the bubbles hit the back of my throat.
‘All sorted?’ Lyla smiles at me sympathetically. She called home about half an hour ago and although her mum’s concerns were different from Helen’s – where would she sleep, did she have enough luggage, was she travelling first class – she copped an earful too.
‘Sorted.’
Will flips himself into standing position.
‘I think I liked you better before, when I couldn’t see your face,’ I tease.
He gives me the finger.
‘This is going to be so fun.’ Lyla links arms with me. ‘Think of all the shopping potential.’
‘You better put your dad’s Amex on standby,’ I joke. ‘Italy doesn’t know what’s going to hit it.’
‘It’s not just the fashion,’ she says dreamily. ‘Think of the bars and the restaurants. The food… I heard Florence’s got like thirty Michelin-star restaurants. Is that near where your place is, Henry?’
He nods while necking champagne and ends up having to spit a mouthful on to the floor. ‘This is going flat,’ he says. ‘We should get another before we go.’
‘And we can stay home and cook too,’ I add hastily, thinking of my overdraft. I’d planned to do some temping while I stayed at Helen’s but that’s obviously not going to happen now. ‘I bet the ingredients will be amazing.’
‘I’m not going on holiday to cook,’ Lyla sneers.
‘Who cares?’ Will interrupts. ‘We’re going to Europe!’
‘Yeah!’ Henry gets to his feet and smacks his hands against his chinos. He puts on a fake ‘frat boy’ American accent. ‘We’re going to Europe, baby.’
He and Will high-five and then he slings an arm around me, tucking me into his chest. His hand’s the size of my entire bicep. I detach from Lyla and snuggle closer into him, into the nook between his bicep and his pec that he calls my ‘safe space’. I breathe in the familiar scent of Allure aftershave. Sometimes being this close to him feels like a drug. I’m sure we’ll get plenty of time to ourselves; Henry’s pictures make the villa look huge. Tennis court, swimming pool; we may as well be staying in a five-star hotel. I make myself look out at Will and Lyla, giving them each a wide grin to include them.
‘The big question is…’ I let the words linger. ‘Will we have time to get smashed before we go?’
I take the champagne bottle back from Henry and put it to my lips like I’m raising a salute. There’s more than half left. I don’t stop swallowing until I’ve finished the entire thing.
‘Now we can get another,’ I say, the sounds of their laughter ringing in my ears. This trip’s going to be perfect. Helen doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
Four
Now 17.00
7 hours to go
Nick slides his arms around my waist suggestively as soon as we get into the room. I know I should reciprocate but my brain’s already spinning like a tumble dryer, picking at the details of tonight. I can’t afford to get anything wrong.
‘Freedom!’ he croons in my ear, twisting away from me to do a Robbie Williams-style shimmy as he deposits both our suitcases in the hall of the suite. ‘One whole night without any mounds of ironing, umpteen help-with-homework requests or having to referee over who gets the remote.’
He’s so demob happy that it would feel churlish to point out that by the time he gets back from the office the homework has been supervised, the battles refereed and the ironing done. Helen calls me Mrs Stepford but it’s easy to be dismissive of household chores when you don’t have a family. She’s been on at me to restart my career and now the kids are getting older, I can finally start thinking about it. I’m not moving quickly enough for her, though; she blames Nick. She thinks it suits him to have me at home. But she’s my big sister; it’s her job to think my husband’s not good enough for me. Nick is as hands-on a parent as his job (and the extensive travel it involves) allows. Given that same job, which pays the mortgage on our townhouse in Dulwich Village, the private school fees and kits us out with two holidays a year, is now under the threat of redundancy and his investment portfolio (whatever that is) is affording us the same standard of living, I should be grateful.
It would also puncture his libido, which might not be a bad thing, given how bloated I feel. I felt so nauseous in the car that I scoffed two M&S roast chicken sandwiches and a packet of crisps from the services on the M11 on the way up. These days, sex feels a bit like the way people talk about the gym. You know you should be doing it more often and that you always feel better for it afterwards but there are other things you’d rather be doing. Tiff says I should be scheduling it in like a workout, if I feel like that. ‘Role play you’re doing it with a hot gym instructor if that’s what it takes to get you off,’ she shrieked halfway through a bottle of Pinot Grigio when I raised the topic. I’d blushed and changed the subject. I’d like to be the type of empowered Sex and the City-style woman who takes ownership of her sex life and shares all the gory details with her girlfriends, but I’ve been burned by that before. Besides, Tiff’s single. No kids. She thinks getting in the mood is as simple as playing the right song. She doesn’t get that there are always a hundred other things I should be doing instead rattling around in my head. Especially lately.
‘Come on, Em, we’re away.’ He lifts up my hair and starts kissing the back of my neck.
‘Do you think Artie and Xander will be okay?’ I wriggle away. ‘With everything going on…’
‘Mum’s more than capable. She brought yours truly up, didn’t she?’ He mock preens. ‘And we’re going to be gone for a single night. Speaking of which, let’s make the most of it.’
‘I know, I just worry about Artie. I can’t believe Tamara could turn on her like that.’
He strokes a hand along my cheek then trails his fingers down my neck. ‘It’s because she’s so pretty. Like her mama.’
‘But they were such good friends. I don’t understand how she could become such a cow.’
Although maybe I do. At one point I thought I trusted Lyla with my life, but she was pretty quick to flush our friendship down the drain when it suited her.
‘She’s probably always secretly resented her for being such a star. It’s a pretty unequal friendship.’
Was that what happened with Lyla? I think of all the secrets we shared, the good times we had, all of them now stained by my loathing of her. She was always richer and more confident than me. Was our friendship unequal from the beginning? Or is it just easier for me to think like that?
‘Artie will be fine,’ says Nick dismissively. ‘Do her good not to have us mollycoddling her for a night.’
‘You mean me.’ I pull my mind back from my past problems to the present. Nick’s much better at switching off from the twins than I am. He’s prodigiously proud of them but he doesn’t let their dramas affect him the way I do because he has a separate identity. With all the time I spend volunteering in the classroom and heading up the PTA, the fundraising panel and the ‘green team’ sustainability committee, I feel like I’m just as much a part of the school as they are.
‘I mean you could use a break. Those two are a handful, and then there’s your… school commitments. You need a rest.’
‘You’re right.’ Nick always says school commitments because he says ‘volunteer’ doesn’t begin to describe everything I actually do for my two-day-a-week voluntary role at the school, particularly when I’m better qualified than some of the teachers. It’s sweet, even if it’s not true. ‘I’ll give Luci a call later anyway to check in.’
‘If you must.’ Nick bends his head to my neck. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Just let me unpack us and get things a bit sorted.’ I detach myself. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
One excuse too many. He makes a frustrated sound at the back of his throat and goes over to the bed. He lifts the TV remote from its cradle on the bedside table and throws himself on to the huge four-poster. It’s all pared-back dark wood and white cotton. I can almost feel the high thread count from here. It’s a bed built for sex and as I bend down and unzip the first suitcase, it feels like Nick and the bed are both staring reproachfully at me.
