Fifteen

“I knew it would happen!” Amy paced up and down Ruth’s bedroom, hopping over the litter of clothes. “I saw it coming the minute I saw that woman. I could’ve written the bloody script if they’d asked me!”

“Sit down, Amy. It’s like watching a tennis match!”

“But nobody ever does ask me. They go right ahead and do whatever they want. I’m tacked on the end of their plans like a donkey’s tail. Splitting up your family and going to live in Italy? Take Amy along for the ride. Getting married again? Let’s ask Amy to be maid of honour . . .”

“So what did you say?”

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. The minute Dad had told me, Dora came banging on the door. Tyler hurtled through it like the soppiest dog in the universe and there was me puking into the sink. Dad told Dora his news –”

“You’re wearing the carpet to shreds!”

“And then told Dora I’d agreed. God, it’s unbelievable. Don’t I have any say?”

“You can hardly refuse, can you? It’s not as if Hannah’s a chain-smoking alcoholic nutter about to gobble up her fourth husband.”

“But that’s exactly it. She’s got it all, hasn’t she? She’s clever and young and beautiful . . . And to crown it all, she’s got my dad!”

“Look, if you don’t sit down now, I’ll open the window and you can chuck yourself out of it.”

Amy stopped in her tracks. “What? . . . Oh, all right. Shove over.”

There was a moment’s silence. Ruth seized her opportunity.

“If you saw it coming, it’s hardly a surprise.”

“But the speed!”

“Maybe they’ve got their reasons. Marrying Hannah’s got to be better than skulking out of bedrooms in the middle of the night.” Ruth glanced at Amy’s flushed cheeks. “There’s gossip in the village.”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

“It’s twitchy net-curtain stuff . . . Mum told me.”

“What are they saying?”

“Tut, tut! Two doctors, same practice, is it ethical? Total garbage. But everyone saw them together at your party. They obviously meant to make it public.”

“You don’t understand.” Amy clenched her arms round her body, rocked backwards and forwards. “Hannah will be moving in. Into our house . . . my house.”

“Where else?”

“Last night, she came for supper. She’d unpacked, had a shower, all frightfully efficient. There she was, sitting in Mum’s chair, reeking of lily-of-the-valley, looking like the cat who’s drunk a barrel of cream.”

“She has just got engaged!”

“And there’s me like the biggest gooseberry . . . She’s spent a whole week with Dad. I haven’t seen him for ages. I don’t get a chance to talk to him for more than three minutes.”

“You got away with your week in Florence without him finding out. You should be pleased his attention’s elsewhere.”

Amy shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. It sure is that, I can tell you.”

“And yours should be too. We’ve got exam results on Thursday. And a new term soon.” Ruth stood up, stretched her long arms above her head. “Forget your dad and Hannah. Let them get married. Look stunning and be a good little maid of honour.”

“It’s all right for you!”

“Don’t forget there’ll be other people at the wedding you really want to see.” Ruth grinned down at Amy’s miserable face. “That brother of yours will be coming back from Rome with a certain special someone in tow.”

Amy sniffed. “Yeah, maybe . . .”

“No maybe about it. And he’ll be there for you.”

Amy and Ruth stood in the school crush, opening their envelopes.

“I got straight As,” Amy said. The letters jumped up and down in front of her eyes.

Ruth gave her a bear hug. “I got three As, three Bs and two Cs. Thank God you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to play the violin.”

Amy shoved the envelope into her skirt pocket, feeling relieved but hardly full of joy. “Dad’ll be pleased.”

“Course, he will, Amy. He’ll be thrilled.”

“I suppose. If I can get a word in edgeways.”

“How d’you mean?”

“Ever had wedding plans shoved down your throat morning, noon and night?”

“Can’t say I have. I thought it was going to be a small family thing?”

“That was bad enough. But it’s grown. It’s getting totally out of hand.”

“Have you heard from Chris?”

“Not yet. Dad caught me waiting for the postman this morning. Asked what I was doing.”

Ruth flung an arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Eddie and me and some of the gang . . . we’re driving into Guildford tonight to celebrate our results.”

Amy wasn’t listening. “I’ve read those sonnets so often I know them all by heart.”

“Why don’t you come with us? Bit of clubbing might cheer you up.”

“What, tonight?”

“Come over to mine at eight-thirty. Wear that red dress again. You look gorgeous in it.”

Amy stood on one leg, held on to Ruth’s shoulder, shook a stone out of her trainer.

“You know what? That’s the best offer I’ve had all week.”

“Hi, sweetheart!” Dad pokes his nose round the kitchen door. “That smells wonderful.”

He vanishes.

I’m not going to mention my results. I’ll just wait and see whether he remembers.

She carries two plates of pasta into the dining room and dumps them on the table. “Supper’s ready.”

“Brilliant!” Dad stops hovering in the hall. He jumps about in the doorway, his hands behind his back. “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“Great.” Pause. “Do you want to see something very special?”

Amy blushes with pleasure. “Sure.”

Perhaps he’s remembered and bought me a present. Tickets for something . . . A West End show . . . A weekend in London as a treat for his brilliant daughter.

Dad’s hands reappear from behind his back. One of them is holding a small black velvet box. He holds it out to her. “Take a look at this.”

Amy gasps. “Is it for me?”

Dad looks sheepish. “Not exactly, sweetheart . . . It’s for Hannah.”

Amy opens the box. The sapphire winks up at her, crystal cool, sophisticated, nestling in a circle of perfect diamonds.

“It’s her engagement –”

Amy grits her teeth. “I can see what it is.”

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

“Stunning.”

The box snaps its teeth at her fingers. She gives it back to Dad.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No, it’s really lovely. Congrat–” The room begins to spin like a child’s top.

“Amy? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine . . . Sorry . . . Got something in my eye.”

At the bottom of the stairs, she turns. “I’m not all that hungry. I’m going out with Ruth tonight . . . It’s getting a bit late, so I’d better go and change.”

Amy ran up the stairs two at a time before Dad could follow.

As she reached the landing, the phone rang. She froze. It might be Julian. It might even be Chris. Before she could decide what to do, Dad had answered.

Amy crouched at the top of the stairs, motionless. She held tight to the slippery wood of the banister. A blob of tomato sauce had stained her jeans. It looked like blood and smelt almost as bad.

“Frances? How kind of you to . . . No, it was sweet of you to see Hannah and me this morning. I know how busy you . . . You have? . . . That’s wonderful . . . Saturday 8th September at noon . . . Perfect . . . It’s engraved on my heart . . . Hannah will be thrilled. I’ll tell her tonight . . . You’re a star, Frances . . . Thank you so much.”

Click. Pause. Dad jabbed at the phone.

“Good evening. I wonder if I could speak to Julian Grant? . . . Julian . . . Is he? . . . Could I leave a message? . . . Could you ask him to telephone his father as soon as possible? . . . No, it’s not bad news . . . It’s the best . . . But it’s most important I speak to him tonight . . . Tell him to ring me any time, it doesn’t matter how late . . . Thank you . . . Good night.”

Amy released the banister. She dashed into the bathroom and locked the door. She turned on the radio and all the taps, full blast.

In Guildford, the Wizard throbs with noise. It thunders out into the street, which rocks with the sound.

Ruth and Eddie and the gang, dragging Amy with them, have slunk quickly through the door saying they are all “eighteen, going on nineteen”. Amy feels ninety-eight. The doorman is dealing with a drunk and hardly notices.

Someone hands her a tall glass of something cold. Fresh and potent, like cider. Amy drinks it fast, to give her confidence.

Someone else asks her to dance. In the crush of bodies it’s almost impossible to move. Her partner has a Mohican haircut. He’s dyed the crest a bright pink to match his shirt, which flops undone to his waist. He has wide, coal-black, spaced-out eyes.

After a while he disappears into the crowd and Amy cannot see him.

She dances on her own.

The beat of the music thunders in her ears. The strobe lights flash around her, turning her red dress into an inky black, a lime green, a luminous orange. Her hair tumbles to her shoulders.

When the track ends, someone else pushes another drink into her hands. This one has a great kick. It tastes like honey and orange and aniseed and gin and caffeine rolled into one glorious sickly combination.

It slides, thick and fiery, down her throat.

She shoots on to the dance floor again, by herself. This time it doesn’t seem so crowded. In fact, it seems as if nobody else is dancing, only her. Though lots of people are watching. Their eyes, when she happens to glimpse them, wink at her under the lights like that sapphire in its bed of diamonds.

She kicks off her shoes and dances on. Her dress slips from one shoulder but it doesn’t matter. It simply gives her more freedom to move. Much more . . .

She flings out her arms, twirls this way, that way. Nobody else is dancing now, nobody at all . . . Only her . . .

“Amy, this is Ruth. Can you hear me?”

“What? . . . Where?”

“You’re in Eddie’s car and you’ve been a bit sick.”

Amy tries to lift her head. She changes her mind. It’s not a good idea at all to move any bit of her, anywhere.

“We’re going to try to get you out of the car and into Terra Firma without waking your dad . . . Amy, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Amy says. Her dress seems to be sticking to her legs. “I can hear you.” She opens her eyes. Again, this is not a good idea. She can’t see anything and they feel much better closed.

“OK . . . Eddie’s going to carry you.”

Voices mutter somewhere in the distance.

A car door slams.

Bang.

Like the clap of thunder.

Then everything once again goes a blissfully deep sooty black.