Jess’s head was hurting and she didn’t want to hear any more about hamburger flavourings. If Matt couldn’t cope with everyone laughing then it was his problem – she didn’t want to know. Matt was lying on the bed, snug in his blue towelling robe. He’d propped up the big square pillows and was comfortably reclined with his arms wrapped across his chest, reminding Jess of a child snuggled safe beneath a scruffy but treasured security blanket. Jess was taking her time getting ready for bed: the headache made her move slowly. Even brushing her teeth had been a tentative operation for fear of the buzz from the electric toothbrush pushing the pain up another notch of intensity. She opened her underwear drawer and rustled around looking for a forgotten packet of aspirins. ‘I don’t want Anadin Extra because of the caffeine. Any of that and I’ll never get to sleep,’ she murmured.
‘I don’t understand what went wrong with the chilli,’ Matt was saying.
Jess grinned at him. ‘You nearly killed poor Angie. How much did you put in?’
‘Only a couple of tablespoons. It’s what it said in the recipe, two or three tablespoons. If anything it was a bit less.’
Jess finally unearthed a torn-off bit of foil bubble containing a couple of Nurofen and swallowed them down with the last of a large glass of water. Probably she was simply dehydrated – too much wine, too much talking and then too much taking Angie across the road to home and dealing with her panic attack brought on by the unexpectedly savage chilli-flavoured burger. This had involved full-scale gasping, clutching at throat and chest, breathing dramatically into a Sainsbury bag due to lack of recommended brown paper ones and then another glass of wine, on Jess’s part just to be neighbourly and on Angie’s as a calmer. Emily and Luke had ignored their mother’s choking and gasping, becoming immediately absorbed in a TV programme about wolves.
Right now, something occurred to Jess. ‘How was tablespoon written?’
‘Tsp of course. How else?’ He was giving her that look, the one where he was telling her she was quite obviously the idiot of the two of them and not even to consider that he might be.
Jess laughed. ‘Ah well that’s it then. That means teaspoons. You must have put in about four times the amount you were supposed to.’
Matt slumped further down on the bed, folding his arms even tighter and frowning.
‘Jesus I can’t do a fucking thing right. I wasn’t supposed to nick anyone else’s recipe in the first place. The whole idea was to be original. Ben and Micky will think I’m a right case.’
‘Of course you’re not. Anyway don’t tell them, just say you were experimenting.’ Jess lay down next to him, slid her hand under his robe and stroked his warm chest. Matt sighed but still looked miserable so she moved her hand further down and slithered across to nuzzle at his neck. He surely couldn’t, she thought, really care that much: it was a mistake anyone could make.
‘No don’t.’ Matt took hold of her marauding hand and pushed it back at her, like a petulant infant refusing a placatory toy. ‘I’ll probably only do that wrong as well.’
‘You never have before.’ Jess stood up and headed for the bathroom for more water. ‘Come on Matt, stop sulking. Really the burgers didn’t matter. It was funny, everyone coughing and trying to be polite. Didn’t you think so? Just a little bit? Where’s your sense of humour?’
‘I’m saving it for something funny. That OK with you?’
Sarcasm didn’t really merit a reply, Jess considered as she ran water into the glass. She leaned back against the warm towel on the rail and looked at herself in the long mirror. She was wearing her favourite nightwear – a pale purple silk nightdress, quite short, strappy like the kind of summer dresses that only suited slender women under thirty-five. After that, something seemed to go wrong with the upper arms. Perhaps she shouldn’t be wearing this now, not even just for sleeping. Probably she ought to swaddle herself in all-enveloping winceyette, if such a thing still existed. When the children had been young she’d gone for the Laura Ashley dairymaid look in nightwear, only to have Matt grumbling that he couldn’t actually fancy someone who looked as if they were about to run through the fields cooing at the sheep.
Experimentally, Jess waved at herself as if seeing her reflection off on a journey to see what happened to her arms. A woman at the gym had said she had ‘bye-bye arms’ and explained that when she waved at anyone, her upper arms waved all by themselves as well. Not much of Jess’s flesh flapped around. She was still reasonably firm in the triceps area. ‘And so I should be,’ she thought, prodding at the skin which she’d prefer to be a bit more dewy-textured, less desiccated. ‘All those hours sweating with the weights at the gym …’
‘If I say I’m sorry, will you come and get into bed with me?’ Matt called. He had his penitent-little-boy voice on. It wasn’t appealing, not in a sexy sense anyway. She thought of her mother and the ‘never say no’ advice. Was it worth risking that it might be true? Or was it perfectly reasonable of her not to have sex if she didn’t fancy it?
‘OK,’ she said, returning to Matt and climbing into bed. ‘That boy, Tom, he seemed to enjoy himself, didn’t he?’ she said. Matt stood up and took off his robe, flinging it in the direction of the door where it collapsed in a heap and did not, as Matt had probably hoped, hang itself neatly on the hook like the hat James Bond always flung into Miss Moneypenny’s office.
‘He didn’t give a toss about the chilli. And he loved the chicken kebabs – he was very complimentary. He’s a polite lad, one to be encouraged. Old George likes him too.’
‘Mmm,’ Jess agreed. ‘He doesn’t actually look as if he often gets a proper meal. I get the feeling he lives on junk food and handouts. He makes me want to take care of him, feed him up a bit.’
‘Like a stray cat?’
‘Probably. Maybe I’m just feeling the lack of Oliver around the house. And Natasha seems happy enough. Though I hope she’s not …’
‘She’s only fifteen, Jess, and not daft.’
‘No, I know. But fifteen’s like eighteen used to be now. There’s no point assuming she’s not even curious about sex. I bet the boy is.’
‘No, I suppose not. At the moment though, I’m the one who’s feeling curious about it. Like am I going to get it? I mean I do hope so …’
He switched off the light and snuggled up to her, feeling his way under the purple nightdress and stroking a finger along her inner thigh. The headache was already fading and Jess wondered about what her mother had left out from the advice: there was an unmentioned (and unmentionable in those days probably) ‘because’ element. ‘Never say no, because your body is like an old television set, everything works fine after a bit of a warm-up session …’
Donald the cat hurtled up the stairs miaowing as if a Rottweiler was chasing him. He raced into the attic bedroom and leapt onto the bed, shaking his rain-soaked fur all over Jess’s face.
‘Ugh! Donald get off!’ She pushed him away and he sat beside the bed looking offended and making a start on washing his wet paws. ‘You’ve made muddy footprints all over the bed,’ she told him, leaning down to stroke his ears. He rubbed his face against her hand, purring happily. Cats have definite smiles sometimes, she thought as she watched him. Sometimes, overcome by the bliss of being petted, Donald even dribbled, though she was under no real illusion that he had come to see her for any other reason than that he considered it was time for her to get up and fill his food bowl. She slid out of bed and pulled on her robe, a white waffle-textured cotton one that was never quite warm enough on chill mornings, and padded out of the room and down the stairs. It was already after nine o’clock. She rarely slept that late, even at weekends. There was no sign of life from the girls’ rooms, but that was perfectly normal for a Saturday morning. Whoever had said that teenagers grow in their sleep was probably right – the girls were already quite tall and, given the choice, would happily linger in bed, Walkmans clamped to their ears till they reached six feet four.
Jess collected the newspaper from the mat by the front door and went back to the kitchen. The rain was making a million tiny rivers intermingle as they trickled down the conservatory windows. As she peered through the glass, Jess could just make out a selection of empty wine bottles on the table outside – the clearing up had been abandoned after everyone in the family had brought in a couple of token items and decided it was getting too cold and dark to bother continuing with it. Her best chopping board was out there too, and a plate with a few slices of tomato being slowly marinaded in rainwater. She wondered what had happened to Paula. After Angie’s choking session and Jess taking her home, Eddy had said he’d get Paula a cab and then led her out into the night.
‘We were lucky it didn’t rain like this last night, weren’t we?’ She made conversation with the cat as she picked out a sachet of his favourite duck-flavoured food from the cupboard. Donald plaited his ecstatic body around her legs, trying to hurry her up.
‘OK, wait a minute sweetie!’ She put the foul-smelling dish on the floor and the cat pushed his face into his breakfast.
‘No magic word? No “thank you”?’ she teased him as she went to switch on the kettle.
‘Are you talking to the cat?’ Zoe stood in the doorway in an oversized striped tee shirt with her long pale legs looking frailly thin, like seedlings that haven’t had enough light.
‘Of course I am!’ Jess told her, getting another mug out of the cupboard for Zoe. ‘Did nobody tell you it’s bad manners not to talk to the people you’re feeding?’
‘Yeah, people,’ Zoe mocked. ‘He’s not people.’
‘I’ve heard you talking to him.’ Jess poured boiling water into her favourite teapot: it was pink and had large bold strawberries painted on it. She always felt it was a good one to use when summer was slow getting started, as if it would encourage the weather to ripen the fruit.
Zoe picked up the newspaper and started rummaging through the various sections in search of something with cartoons. ‘I talk to him when I’m telling him off, making him stop sleeping on my clothes, leaving fur and stuff.’
‘You could try putting them away,’ Jess suggested tentatively. It was too early in the day for the ‘when are you going to tidy your room’ routine.
Zoe ignored her, becoming absorbed in the rock-music pages and an interview with Simplicity whose CD she was currently playing to wear-out point.
‘Er, you’re up early for a Saturday,’ Jess commented.
‘Going shopping with Emily. We want to get out early before all the good stuff goes.’
‘Oh, you’ve come into money have you?’ Jess smiled at her. It would be only fair to let her have a bit extra on top of her allowance, after the Selfridge’s expedition with Natasha.
‘No, but Emily has. She hasn’t spent any, well hardly any, of her whole last term’s allowance and she wants me to help her blow it all on clothes. Don’t suppose much will fit her though.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’ The tea was ready now but Zoe had sat down at the table and was looking serious. She was also chewing at the skin on the edge of her thumb, a sure sign she had something on her mind. Jess sat down opposite her and poured tea for the two of them. Matthew would just have to wait and have it cold or stewed.
Zoe shrugged and looked shifty. ‘Like she’s so skinny? Didn’t you see, last night?’
‘You’re quite thin yourself,’ Jess prompted.
‘Yeah but I eat, she never does, or if she does she sicks it up again. That’s the difference.’ Zoe stood up and picked up her tea, walking quickly towards the door. ‘I’m going to have a bath and get ready.’ From halfway up the stairs she called down, ‘Tash wants to come too, she’s meeting Claire so she might like some tea as well.’
‘OK, room service on the way,’ Jess called back.
Zoe hadn’t needed to say any more. Both she and Jess knew that. Jess had seen the performance over the hamburger the night before – she should have recognized that classic sign of an eating disorder, the meticulous delaying/avoidance ritual with food when in company. She wondered if Angie knew that Emily wasn’t eating. It was unlikely: anorexics were devious, highly skilled at convincing themselves and those around them that nothing was wrong. Angie might not even notice if Emily had lost weight, even if she hadn’t seen her for a few weeks, for dress-disguise was another starver’s trick. She watched as the cat, full at last, clattered out through the cat flap and huddled on the step, reluctant to go out into the rain. Animals never starve themselves unless they’re dying, she thought, wondering if that was as near proof as you could get that anorexia was a mental, not a chemical problem.
She poured tea for Natasha and Matthew and walked up the stairs. The bathroom door was closed and from the other side of the door she could hear the water running and a DJ on Zoe’s radio being unnaturally exuberant. Jess tapped lightly on Natasha’s door and went in. The blind was down and in the semi-dark there was a mildly musty scent and a hazardous heap of discarded clothes and shoes on the floor between Jess and the bed.
‘Morning Tash, tea for you.’ She picked her way through the obstacles and approached the bed, then her heart lurched with sudden shock as the naked top halves of not one but two figures reared up from the duvet. There was a weird snapshot moment as her eyes gradually captured the sight and her brain slowly and painfully registered that Natasha had Tom in bed with her.
‘Shit,’ was all Tom said.
Natasha rallied some instant defiance. ‘We weren’t doing anything!’ she protested at a level that neared a shriek.
‘How the hell did you get in?’ Jess slammed the mug of tea down on the little chest of drawers beside the bed before her trembling hands dropped it. She took a step back to distance herself from the two of them, stumbling on a shoe. ‘We double-locked all the doors before we went to bed!’
‘Er … sorry, we, um …’ Tom gave a quick giveaway glance towards the window. Jess followed the look and noticed that Natasha’s normally cluttered desktop was completely clear. All her school files, her unfinished homework, pen tray, stack of paper were piled up under the desk.
‘You climbed in? Like a sneaky thief in the night? How dare you? Natasha is fifteen! I want you to get out right now! Fast! And by the front door! Don’t you ever, ever come back.’ Her voice had risen almost to a scream. She slammed out of the room, shaking, and crashed into Matthew, who was coming down the attic stairs to investigate the noise.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ He took her hand and led her back up to their room, sitting her on the bed carefully as if she was injured.
Jess, sobbing, pointed out of the door. ‘That boy, Tom – he’s in bed with Natasha. He climbed in through her window!’
Matt, unforgivably, chuckled. ‘Oh very Romeo and Juliet,’ he said.
Jess glared at him. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? Natasha and that boy are in her bed, neither of them apparently with a stitch on and all you can do is laugh?’
Matthew recomposed his face. ‘Sorry, but well, as you said, fifteen is the new eighteen. And at least she’s on the premises, not in the back of some car down a dark alley.’
‘I don’t believe you’re saying this.’ Jess felt genuinely puzzled. ‘Are you saying it’s OK? We had that boy in the house as a guest, fed him, felt sorry for him, all that, and this is what he does, he climbs in through the window and sleeps with our daughter?’
‘Now you’re overreacting. You’re making too much of a drama out of it. Sure, it was a shock. And for double sure it mustn’t happen again. But …’
Jess got up and went into the bathroom to run the shower. She felt the need to be covered in soap, to wash away last night’s sex that now just made her feel sick, picturing Natasha with Tom.
‘I can’t think where “but” comes in,’ she said. ‘You might not feel betrayed, by both of them, but I do.’ She shut the door, and, unusually, locked it. From the other side of the door, just before she turned the taps on to ‘full’ and drowned out both thoughts and words, she heard him say, ‘Oh, it’s all about you is it?’
Zoe stayed in the bath till the water went cold. She hardly dared move. So they knew now. Once she’d thought that might be a relief but it wasn’t at all. The good thing, the end of her having to keep their lousy secret, was ruined by her mother’s anger. She’d heard how much hurt there was in her voice. Natasha had wounded their mum by having Tom in just as much as if she’d punched her in the stomach. Mum being a bit cross about stuff she was well used to – but only the usual small things like not getting up early enough for school in the mornings and having to race around, or not putting stuff away in the kitchen. It occurred to her that this wasn’t at all a house where there were regular major rows. Sometimes girls at school came in in the mornings and sat around in the cloakroom saying things like ‘Jesus you should have heard the olds last night!’ gathering an enthralled crowd as they described earth-shattering quarrels, doors slamming, plates being broken. Sometimes they’d cry and tell about divorce or a parent who’d packed their bags and walked out.
Zoe had marvelled at the tempestuous atmospheres some of her friends lived in, had even wondered if it would be fun to exist in the brittle air of high drama like a soap opera full of disasters. It was probably why she hadn’t resisted all that much when Emily had dragged her into the non-pregnancy thing. Once or twice she’d even longed for something a bit more lively to happen than the contented day-to-day existence her family seemed to plod along with. When her dad had lost his job, then she’d had something to tell them at school but no-one was very interested. When they’d asked if that meant there’d been a big row and would they be broke and have to move house, all she’d been able to do was shrug and admit that so far, no, nothing had changed. No-one had asked about it again. It really was just like television: only the worst that could happen was of interest to anyone.
Scared of the noise it would make, Zoe pulled the plug and let the water go. She shivered as she climbed out. The skin on her fingers was all puckery from being in the water too long. A girl at school had told her that dead bodies found in rivers or the sea look like that all over and she’d had dreams about that, about skin so wrinkled it resembled the texture of a pale brain. She dried herself slowly and thoroughly, delaying the moment when she’d have to come out and join in with the family. It might have been Tash who’d done the bad thing, but she was sure to cop for some of the fallout, even if it was just in terms of a horrible atmosphere. She stroked some of Natasha’s favourite coconut body lotion over her legs and then sloshed an overgenerous amount into her palms to anoint the rest of her body: Tash owed her for keeping the secret, and for being so stupid as to let Tom oversleep. The loss of a bit of body lotion was only a teeny part of what she deserved.
Natasha slammed around her room looking for the right things to wear, opening and shutting drawers and her wardrobe too fast and furiously to be able to concentrate properly. Her mum had gone well over the top and the horrible thing was that deep inside she didn’t really blame her. She felt angry with everyone. She felt like crying. She probably wouldn’t see Tom again – he’d be out there looking for someone else with a comfortable bed and a more reliable alarm clock. The battery had gone on hers, she’d realized as soon as Tom had given her that accusing look and pointed to the clock. No lights had showed on it. It just sat there, dead, almost asking her to hurl it out of the window.
She was hungry. It would take a lot of nerve to go down and face her mother over the kitchen table but she was going to have to do it or she’d collapse. She couldn’t understand how people like Emily could go without food; she couldn’t even sulk her way past breakfast. At last, dressed in suitably sober grey trousers and a comfortingly warm hooded black top, she quietly opened her door and looked out. There was no sound from up in the attic, which was bad news and meant both her parents had to be downstairs. Zoe’s door was closed, but Natasha realized it was unfair to expect her to back her up, be on her side and do whatever it took to defend her. Zoe was just a kid. She hadn’t wanted to know about her and Tom and Natasha hadn’t wanted to tell her. She hadn’t been showing off or anything, it was just that sliding a big sash window up and down and helping Tom climb in was quite noisy and with her alarm going off every morning before seven, Zoe would have been sure to suspect something.
One thing was definite, she thought as she tried to creep down to the kitchen without the stairs creaking, if Oliver had still been at home she wouldn’t even have thought about letting Tom in to sleep with her. Oliver was so much the bloody Perfect Son, he’d probably have beaten Tom up for molesting his little sister. And of course, he’d never do anything like break into someone’s house and share a girl’s bed. But then he didn’t need to: he had a perfectly good, warm, comfortable bed of his own. He didn’t have to sleep in a broken-down car. Natasha looked out of the window, down towards the railway. She half-expected, certainly fully hoped, that Tom would be there, watching from the edge of the line and waiting to send her some sort of signal that he was thinking about her. There was no sign of him. Of course it was raining, the kind of day when no-one in their right mind would hang about outside if they didn’t have to. It would have made her feel better though, to know he cared enough to make sure she was OK.
Matthew and Jess were sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. For a second Natasha thought that perhaps it was all over, the outburst upstairs, the ordering Tom out of the house was all there was going to be to it. Her parents looked so normal, just sitting there, reading about Saturday stuff in the paper. As quietly and unobtrusively as she could Natasha made her way into the kitchen, almost sliding, catlike, along the units.
‘It’s all right, you’re allowed food you know,’ Jess said to her over the top of the Times magazine. ‘There’s some bread cut if you want toast.’ Natasha mumbled, ‘Thanks,’ and went to put bread into the toaster. She really wanted Alpen, but felt that refusing the offered toast might be construed as impudent, challenging. Her mother was still looking cross and sort of miserable as well. Natasha felt bad. She’d rather, on balance, her mum had just walloped her. Anything would be better than this wounded look.
‘Do you want more tea?’ she asked, filling the kettle.
‘Not for me,’ Jess said.
‘Oh, yeah, thanks I will.’ Matt smiled at Natasha who almost cried with relief. Her dad still loved her. Her dad didn’t think she was the worst, most wicked person on earth.
She took the toast to the table and sat down as far away from her mother as she could. She could hear the toast crunching into the room’s silence. Now the food was in her mouth it was hard to swallow it, as if there was already a lump of something blocking the way. She couldn’t bear Jess not speaking. It was way too soon to hope that everything was all right, but she needed very much to get things going that way.
‘Mum?’ Jess looked up and waited. It was impossible to read anything in her expression. Her eyes looked all dead, as if she didn’t recognize her.
‘I’m really sorry, Mum,’ Natasha began. Any other words she’d been hoping to say trailed away as big tears started to tumble down her cheeks. Miserably, she went on chewing her toast.
‘Sorry? Yes I expect you are, now you’ve been caught.’ It wasn’t going to be easy. This had never happened before. In this house you apologized and it was all over – there was a kind of rule about not bearing grudges. But her mum looked hard and cold as if she’d run out of patience and forgiveness for ever. Surely she couldn’t have used it all up on this one thing?
Natasha felt a flash of anger; after all what else could she say? Some of her usual spirit rallied itself. ‘Look, Tom hasn’t got anywhere to, like, live. It’s still cold at night. How would you like it if it was Oliver out there living in a car? Wouldn’t you want someone to take him in?’ Her voice was rising now and Matt flashed her a warning look which she ignored. ‘I mean, I did ask you if he could stay in Oliver’s room but you said no!’
‘Oh so it’s all my fault is it? My fault that you, under age, are letting a complete stranger climb over the conservatory roof and into the house and then sleeping with him?’
‘Jess, can’t we talk about this later? Tash’s upset,’ Matt ventured, putting an arm round the girl and pulling her against him.
‘I wasn’t sleeping with him! Not like that …’ Natasha wailed. ‘Not like that! And now I might not see him ever again!’
‘I don’t care whether it’s “like that” or not,’ Jess said coldly. ‘And as for seeing him again, well you’re right there, you won’t be. You’re grounded till I decide I can trust you again.’
‘What? That’s not fair!’
‘Well it’s not unfair,’ Matt said. ‘You must admit you can’t expect just to get clean away with this kind of thing.’
‘Oh you’re just like Mum!’ Natasha roared, getting up and stamping out of the kitchen. At the door she turned back and smirked defiantly at her parents, throwing them one last bone to chew on. ‘Why don’t you ground Zoe too, while you’re at it? She knew all about it!’
Zoe, hanging about outside the door hoping the battle level would fall enough for her to feel safe to get some breakfast, heard her sister shop her to her parents.
‘You spiteful cow! I wish I had bloody told them now,’ she hissed at Natasha as she hurtled past her towards the stairs. ‘Don’t ever ask me to cover up for you again.’