The disastrous and unproductive TheBest audition at the Lowry centre in Manchester didn’t put Lexia off from her dream of being the next Holly Valance. The guy who’d listened to her had been so impressed. ‘Wow, simply, wow!’ Wasn’t that what he’d said when he’d heard her sing? Didn’t he say that, if she’d only been seventeen, she’d be going straight through to the rounds in front of Steve Silverton and Kika Everton, the judges who could make or break the dreams of those whose only ambition was to win the next series? To be the next new star everyone would be talking about?
So, rather than admit defeat and return her thoughts to school and her GCSEs, the trip to Manchester only made Lexia more determined. She was good – no, she was really good – and if it meant exercising a little patience, she would use the time until the following year when she would be seventeen to practise until she was perfect and then, then she would take the singing world by storm. Lexia knew she would allow nothing, absolutely nothing, to stand in the way of her fulfilling what she knew was her right, her destiny even. She smiled into the darkness of her chilly bedroom while she floated off to sleep, hugging her hot water bottle to her slim body at the very idea that her destiny was already set in stone.
And then there was Damian. He was so lovely, so grown up and knew about everything. Nothing like the lads at school with their pink-porridge-acned faces, their cheese-and-onion breath and their constant bra-pinging as they bumped into her along the corridors of Westenbury Comp.
Lexia was starting to spend more and more time down at the Ambassador Club, meeting Damian once she’d legged it out of school and off into town, telling Pandora she’d given up the idea of TheBest and was working hard, revising down in the public library for her mock exams coming up in January. Pleased that Lexia appeared to have given up the ridiculous idea of becoming the next superstar, Pandora had bought her a pile of revision guides from WHSmith and even sat down with her to go over her exam timetable, suggesting how to break up her revision time into digestible chunks for each subject. Lexia had gone along with it, had even enjoyed colouring in the timetable with different, vibrant colours, but the minute Pandora left to return home to Richard, she would fling the books to one side and either sit with her Mum and watch Coronation Street and Eastenders or, more often, brave the cold of the attic, singing and practising, over and over again, with the sole aim of being ready, once she was seventeen, of winning TheBest.
Lexia’s sixteenth birthday, just before Christmas, coincided with Pandora’s proud declaration that she was twelve weeks’ pregnant and, now that any danger of miscarriage was much reduced – Pandora had read every book, magazine and article about early pregnancy – felt able to tell the world of an imminent heir not only for herself and Richard but, just as importantly, for Boothroyd, Boothroyd and Dyson.
On hearing the wonderful news that the Boothroyd line was to be continued – Richard was the only male of four siblings – Richard’s father, William Boothroyd, insisted he and Richard’s mother take their only son and his wife for a celebratory meal, and of course, Lexia and Helen must join them too, especially as it was Lexia’s birthday as well. A double celebration in fact.
‘Do I have to come with you?’ Lexia moaned. ‘I really don’t want to – it’ll be boring.’ She was hoping Damian would come up with an alternative – maybe take her out for a pizza or something – but so far, despite massive hints that it was her birthday weekend coming up and there was that fabulous new pizza place that all the girls at school had already been to and were constantly talking about, Damian hadn’t yet suggested any birthday treat. ‘I don’t want to go either,’ Helen said, almost crossly, when Pandora issued the invitation one teatime, a couple of days before the proposed event at The Four Fields, Midhope’s most expensive and prestigious restaurant. ‘Not without your father,’ she added, turning back to the early evening quiz show on TV. Helen stared at the screen and then appeared to visibly brighten, swivelling round to face Pandora once again. ‘Ring him, Pandora. Ring your daddy and tell him about the new baby and that William insists, absolutely insists that, as the other grandfather, he must be there too.’
‘Dad’s still away, Mum,’ Pandora said as gently as she could. ‘He’s promoting his new book in America.’
‘And is the Russian trollop with him?’ Helen’s eyes had filled with unshed tears as she pitifully searched Pandora’s face for the truth.
‘No, Mum, I don’t believe she is,’ Pandora returned soothingly. ‘Now, come on, Mum, you and Lexia need to be ready for 6.30 p.m. on Friday evening when Richard and I come and pick you both up. We’re going to the Four Fields. You’ll like that, won’t you? Hmm?’
Pandora frowned slightly as she opened the door to the sitting room on the Friday evening and saw Helen and Lexia ready and waiting for her. ‘It’s really cold out there, Mum. Do you think you’re going to be warm enough?’ Dressed in a vibrant yellow, sleeveless satin dress she’d had since her early singing days, Helen would, Pandora knew, be the complete antithesis to Bee-Bee Boothroyd who thought it de rigueur not to venture out, even to the dustbin, without being properly dressed in one of her selection of Aberdeen pastel cashmere cardigans and pearls, and with face fully Max-Factored and mouth filled in with her favourite coral lipstick. Actually, Pandora thought as she eyed the stain on the right shoulder of Helen’s decidedly grubby dress, she’d take bets that Barbara Boothroyd wouldn’t even know where her dustbin was kept, in that huge, manicured garden of theirs.
And what the hell was Lexia wearing too? ‘Lexia, we’re going to the Four Fields…’ Pandora tutted crossly, taking in the low-rise velour boot-cut trousers sporting the lettering ‘juicy’ on her left buttock. A strange-looking off-the shoulder peasant top completed the, to Pandora’s jaundiced eye, unfinished, even primitive, ensemble. ‘Where’ve you got those trousers from?’
Lexia wasn’t about to tell Pandora the truth: Damian had given them to her. It was a shame they’d not come with the store’s carrier bag or receipt, as she’d have liked to change the colour but, hey-ho, he’d bought them for her and must really love her.
‘Could you just pull those trousers up a bit? You’re showing all your midriff…’ Pandora paused. ‘And your pants are on show too, for heaven’s sake.’
‘They’re meant to be.’ Lexia raised her eyes to the heavens and, pulling on her black thong, did the same with her underwear. ‘Look, do I have to come with you?’
‘It’s your birthday, Lexia. And Richard and I are celebrating… you know, our baby…’
‘Can’t think of anything worse,’ Lexia said, yawning as only a sixteen-year-old can yawn. ‘All those sleepless nights you’re going to be in for. And dirty nappies.’
‘Well, can you at least brush your hair?’
Lexia looked genuinely put out. ‘I have.’
‘I wish your daddy was here,’ Helen said, wrapping her arms round herself. ‘Did you ring him, Pandora…?’
‘God, give me strength,’ Pandora snapped. ‘Will the pair of you get your coats and get into the car? William and Bee-Bee will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to.’
*
Lexia, beneath the assumed boredom and bravado, was still quite painfully shy in the company of adults, particularly adults like Pandora’s mother-in-law who, it seemed, was intent on looking down her – rather long – nose at both Lexia and her mum. William and Bee-Bee (bloody silly made-up name, Lexia thought crossly) were waiting in the bar of The Four Fields but while William was already stuck into his whiskey and cigars and being hail-fellow-well-met with his golf cronies who regularly met up there on a Friday evening, Bee-Bee was looking decidedly sour-faced.
‘Ah, at last, you’re here,’ she said tartly, air-kissing each of them in turn. ‘We’re going to lose the table if we don’t sit down soon.’
‘Oh, we’re fine,’ William laughed, patting Pandora’s abdomen. ‘Now, how’s my grandson? I hope you’re looking after him, Pandora? He’s going to be running the Boothroyd company one day, you know.’ He turned to Helen. ‘Helen, how lovely to see you. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever. We don’t seem to have seen you since last Christmas. Now what will you have to drink? Gin and tonic…?’
‘Mum, do you think you should? You know…?’ Pandora was smiling, but Lexia knew she was worried, concerned that alcohol didn’t mix well with Helen’s medication. Actually, alcohol didn’t mix well with Helen, period, regardless of any medication.
Bee-Bee raised a knowing eyebrow but William laughed off Pandora’s concerns. ‘We need a drink,’ he boomed, ‘to celebrate the new little Boothroyd. And it’s your birthday, Lexia. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, hey?’ He laughed, planting a wet kiss on Lexia’s cheek while simultaneously patting the ‘Juicy’ on her bum. (Well, she wouldn’t say that, exactly Lexia thought to herself, thinking of what she’d done with Damian.) ‘Champagne, I reckon.’ He turned to the barman. ‘Bob, can we have a bottle of that champagne we had at Bee-Bee’s birthday do? I’m going to be a grandad again, but this one’s going to be a proper little Boothroyd. He’ll have the Boothroyd name. Have you thought about names, Richard?’
‘Not yet, Dad. Long way to go yet.’
‘Well, you don’t want any of these modern names – you know, like Damian or Jason or Justin. You want a nice solid Yorkshire name that’ll go with Boothroyd.’ He paused to draw on his cigar, blowing the smoke in Pandora’s direction. ‘Benjamin,’ he went on, thinking aloud. ‘Or George. Or…’ He laughed. ‘There’s always William, after his granddad.’
Pandora smiled, obviously torn between embarrassment at all the attention, and pride that she, Pandora, was the chosen one to carry on Richard’s family name started back in the late 1700s when one Josiah Boothroyd had upped from his weaver’s cottage in the Pennine hills beyond Colnefirth and, taking advantage of the plentiful supply of moorland grazing for sheep together with the soft water needed to raise a good lather to rid the fleeces of lanolin, began manufacturing the beautiful woollen cloth that had made Boothroyd an internationally recognised name. ‘I really like the name Hugo.’ Pandora smiled shyly, placing a protective hand to her middle.
‘Hugo.’ William paused to consider. ‘Yes, I like that. Here’s to Hugo Boothroyd. Good choice, Pandora.’
Hugo? Lexia stared at Pandora. What a bloody awful old-fashioned name. And wasn’t there a car called a Hugo? Yugo? What was wrong with Dylan or Ethan? ‘Maybe it’ll be a girl?’ Lexia spoke for the first time. ‘You know, a 50 per cent chance?’ She coloured slightly as she tried to work out if she’d got the maths right; she’d never understood percentages. ‘And with us all being girls, and Richard having three sisters,’ she went on boldly, ‘well, I bet the chances of it being a girl are 70–80 per cent.’ There, that would show Pandora she’d been studying those maths revision books.
‘Shall we eat?’ Bee-Bee looked put out at Lexia’s interrupting William and taking over the conversation. ‘I think it might be a little cooler in the restaurant,’ she added looking pointedly at the bare flesh on show from both Lexia and Helen. ‘Have you two brought some little cover-up with you?’
The evening seemed interminable to Lexia, William Boothroyd becoming more red-faced and garrulous in direct proportion to the amount of red wine he was downing. Lexia had been encouraged both by William and Helen – ‘you’ll need to acquire a taste for it, darling, once you become famous’ – to have some of the champagne to celebrate her birthday, and she’d already drunk a couple of rather large glasses, enjoying the bubbles if not the actual taste. She wished she was down at the Ambassador Club with Damian, and wondered if there was any way she could go on there, afterwards. Her mum would probably have let her get a taxi into town if she said she’d arranged to meet some friends from school later to celebrate her birthday, especially as Helen was also getting stuck into the champagne despite Pandora’s attempts at keeping the second bottle away from her. But there was no way Pandora would allow it, considering it bad-mannered to leave the meal and saying she was far too young to be wandering the streets of Midhope. Without her coat and with her pants on show.
The champagne was making Lexia feel slightly woozy and, as she placed her knife and fork together correctly after some strange but rather interesting starter she couldn’t quite make out the contents of, she realised Bee-Bee was discussing arrangements for Christmas with Helen.
‘And will Patrick be around on Christmas day? You know, to see his daughters?’
‘A daughter’s for life, not just for Christmas,’ Lexia said flippantly, as everyone around the table turned to stare.
‘Yes, well…’ Pandora glared at Lexia and, obviously forgetting she was pregnant, poured herself a glass of wine and took a rather long sip before realising what she’d done and hastily shoving it down the table towards Richard.
The champagne was making Lexia’s mouth say things she knew it shouldn’t. ‘I think Daddy will be far too busy on Christmas day to think about his old family, especially with…’ She shouldn’t be saying this, Lexia knew. She needed to shut up. She took a huge gulp of champagne. Actually, she was getting to quite like the taste after all. She giggled as the bubbles burst up her nose.
‘Especially with…?’ Bee-Bee smiled at Lexia and cocked her head encouragingly to one side.
Lexia stared at Pandora’s mother-in-law, fascinated by the crimson lipstick that had bled into both corners of her mouth. ‘You know, with the new baby and everything…’ Shut up, Lexia, stop your mouth talking!
‘Oh, have you been in touch with Daddy, Pandora?’ Helen turned a flushed face to her second daughter, her pupils, Lexia noted, huge in her beautiful brown eyes. ‘He knows about the baby?’
‘Not that baby.’ Lexia frowned. ‘You know, his baby.’ Lexia reached for her glass, bringing it up to her mouth in order to stop any more of these words she knew she shouldn’t be saying, actually spilling out.
‘His baby?’ Bee-Bee Boothroyd was insistent. ‘Your father has a new baby?’
‘Anyone for pudding?’ Richard said in some desperation.
‘Pudding?’ William frowned. ‘I’ve not had my steak and ale pie yet.’ He looked at the table in some confusion ‘Or have I…?’
‘Daddy’s got a new baby, Lexia?’ Helen was wringing her napkin feverishly between her long, pale fingers so that Lexia, as she watched in fascination, couldn’t quite make out where her mum’s white skin became the starched white material.
‘Well, not yet,’ Lexia said, feeling very dizzy. ‘And obviously it’s not Dad who’s going to have it. That would be daft, wouldn’t it?’
‘So, is it Daddy’s friend? Is she having a baby?’ Bee-Bee’s tone was solicitous, but her face, as she moved those bleeding crimson lips once more towards Lexia, was eager, excited.
The Joker, that’s it, Lexia thought. That’s who Pandora’s mother-in-law reminded her of. You know, Batman’s friend. Or was he his enemy? ‘Well, if you can call Anichka, the Russian pole dancer, a friend. I’d say she’s more of an enemy, wouldn’t you? Going off with our dad and getting herself pregnant, for heaven’s sake.’
Pandora had gone quite white, obviously terrified of meeting Helen’s eyes. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got this silly story from, Lexia. You can’t have spoken to Daddy – he’s in America…’ She paused, running her fingers through her blonde bob, glaring at Lexia.
‘Oh yes, I know that,’ Lexia hiccupped, draining her glass as she did so. ‘He’s with some lesbians or something.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lexia,’ Pandora hissed.
‘I spoke on the phone to the Russian Trollop and she told me… actually, I’m sorry, I need the loo, I feel a bit funny…’
Lexia stood, pushing back her chair and, as a white-faced Helen also stood, holding onto the starched tablecloth and screaming hysterically, ‘no, no, no,’ she vomited profusely, but very neatly, over Bee-Bee Boothroyd’s black patent kitten heels.
*
That had been the start of Helen Sutherland’s descent into the black hole from which, this time, she was unable to pull herself. While William and Bee-Bee had stayed to finish the celebratory dinner, Richard had taken charge, bundling a shocked Pandora, hysterical Helen and weeping Lexia towards the car park. He’d wanted to call a taxi to get them all home but Pandora, practical as ever, had refused.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she snapped. ‘I’m perfectly OK to drive. There’s a Tesco carrier in the boot, Richard. Make sure Lexia has her head in it – I’ve just had this car valeted.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything,’ Lexia wept from the depths of the plastic bag. Pandora had instructed her to take the passenger seat in the front of the car in order that Richard could sit in the back with a shivering Helen, his jacket around her bare arms and shoulders. ‘The champagne made me do it.’
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart.’ Richard tried to be jolly while his huge bear-like arms held Helen in an effort to stop her trembling. ‘We all threw up with too much alcohol when we were your age.’
‘I most certainly didn’t,’ Pandora snapped. ‘How could you have been so stupid, Lexia? Just look what you’ve done to Mum now. And you actually spoke to Anichka? On the phone? When? And why didn’t you tell me she was pregnant?’
As a low guttural moan came from deep inside Helen’s throat, Richard snapped, ‘Stop it, Pandora. Enough. We’ll talk about it once we’ve got your mum home and into bed.’
Both Pandora and Lexia turned slightly in surprise. This was a first, Richard telling Pandora what to do. Pandora bit back a retort and, grim-faced, concentrated on driving her motley crew of passengers back home.
Back at the house, Pandora took charge once more, bustling round with hot water bottles, glasses of water and a bucket placed strategically by Lexia’s bed. Helen was helped out of the yellow satin dress, made to take her medication and put to bed still weeping.
‘I can’t leave you here like this, with Mum,’ Pandora said tiredly to Lexia. All she wanted was her own bed, but Helen’s cries of ‘I just want to die,’ terrified the pair of them.
‘I’m sorry, Pandora, but Mum had to know some time that the pole dancer was pregnant,’ Lexia wept.
‘But did you have to tell her in a posh restaurant, in front of everyone, when William hadn’t even been served his steak pie? You should have told me, Lexia, and I’d have known what was best to do. Ariadne should be here…’ Pandora closed her eyes against the enormity of being in charge of it all. ‘She’s the eldest. She needs to come back home and sort everything out. Juno too. I don’t see why you and I have to bear the brunt of all this. Do you know, Lexia, I’m never going to speak to Dad again after what he’s done to Mum.’
Pandora opened her eyes, saw that her little sister had fallen into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep and, sighing, went to check that her old bed in the small bedroom at the back of the house was made up.