Away for the Weekend (29 page)

“You’re late,” she says, her eyes on Delila. “Go and sit down.”

Delila, who’d expected more resistance, scuttles forward with relief.

But when Beth starts to wobble after her, Professor Gryck puts out a hand to stop her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Though Beth, of course, would have preferred to tiptoe to her seat without attracting the professor’s attention, she doesn’t yet realize that there’s a problem.

“I’m going to sit down.”

“Sit down?” Professor Gryck looks at her as if she said she was going to get her camel. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Professor Gryck.” Beth moves her head forward and smiles. “Professor Gryck, it’s me. Beth. Beth Beeby.”

“I know who you are.” Arms folded, mouth set, Professor Gryck has become an immovable force. “But you’re not coming in here looking like that.”

Beth blinks. “I’m not?”

“No, you’re not.” She leans forward to speak directly into Beth’s ear. “I have worked very hard for this day, young lady, and neither you nor anyone else is going to ruin it for me.”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” says Beth, with remarkable calm and reasonableness considering the morning she’s had already. “I just want to take part.”

“You listen to me.” Professor Gryck’s words hit the air like hail hitting the ground. “This is a literary consortium, not an audition for some Hollywood movie. I will not have it cheapened and debased by the likes of you.”

“Me?” If only Professor Gryck were as reasonable as Beth. “But that’s ridiculous. I’m
me
. I’m exactly the same person I was when you met me.”

“No, you’re not. Then you were a serious, sensible young woman. Now, you’re a … a party girl.”

“No, I’m not. I’m one of the finalists. You can’t keep me out.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t know who you are. You are not the girl whose photo is in our brochure. If I asked any of the others to pick Beth Beeby out of a line-up, they wouldn’t pick you, believe me.”

“Delila would.”

“That’s one out of twenty.” None too gently, Professor Gryck takes hold of Beth and propels her into the hall. “Let me assure you that if you try to get back in here, I’ll call security and have you forcibly removed.” She turns to the young woman from the hotel who’s been given the job of keeping out latecomers. “Did you hear that? If I see this girl inside again, you’ll find yourself working in a motel in Nebraska.” With which pronouncement, the leading authority on the Norse sagas steps back into the auditorium and shuts the door behind her.

“She’s bluffing.”

These words so exactly echo Beth’s own thoughts, that for a second she thinks that she spoke them out loud. And then she realizes that it’s the hotel clerk who spoke them out loud, though she doesn’t realize that this is not the same clerk who let her and Delila in only minutes before.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s bluffing. She can’t have you forcibly removed.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No way. And I have no intention of keeping you out. But I think you should ditch those shoes before you hurt yourself.” Remedios, who beat Otto sixteen rounds at jan-ken-pon to be the one to sit in on the writers’ event, goes over to the door and cracks it open. “She has her back to us,” she whispers. “Come on.”

Two days ago, an invitation like this would have sent Beth running back to her room. Now, however, she merely nods and, holding the offending shoes, quickly follows the young woman inside. They’ve already slipped into two miraculously empty seats at the back, slouching so they can’t be seen behind the heads of the people in front of them, when Professor Gryck takes the stage.

“Firstly, I have to say that it is an honour for me to welcome you all to the First Annual Tomorrow’s Writers Today Symposium on behalf of our generous sponsors…”

Remedios closes her eyes. “Wake me up when it gets interesting,” she whispers.

The man at the door of the Grace Kelly Room (an actor who’s played a CIA agent in several forgotten movies and was very good in the role) lets Gabriela in with a puzzled smile but with no argument. She does, after all, have a ticket, and she is with someone who isn’t dressed like a pilgrim and obviously belongs. “Enjoy yourselves,” he says, looking at Lucinda, and winks.

Nonetheless, it’s just as well that Taffeta Mackenzie, though also good at multitasking, is not at all skilled at astral projection and can only be in one place at a time. At the moment, that place is in the makeshift “dressing room” off the service corridor where the models are getting ready for the show.

At last, Gabriela has her wish: even dressed as Beth, people are looking at her. Though with curiosity, not envy, of course.
Who is that girl?
their eyes say.
What on Earth is she doing here?
Ignoring the looks, she and Lucinda hurry inside, choosing seats at the back next to a young man impeccably dressed in a retro-eighties way (bespoke, hand-stitched pinstripe suit set off by a plain navy T-shirt and sandals), who shows no surprise at the unlikely sight that is Gabriela but nods and smiles. Lucinda, unaware that she has seen this very handsome young man before, nudges Gabriela. They both smile back.

The lights dim. Taffeta slips into a seat at the front, next to the runway, surrounded by journalists and photographers.
So far, so good
, thinks Gabriela. By the time Taffeta sees Gabriela, the graduate show will be well underway – or possibly even over. This is a comforting thought. They may get through the entire collection and be ready to announce the winner of the contest by the time Taffeta spots her. What’s Taffeta going to do then? She can’t throw Gabriela out. Not in front of all these people. Not if she’s the winner. Gabriela leans back in her seat to enjoy the show.

As we all know only too well by now, things don’t always go the way they’re planned. Which makes this day pretty special, because, at both of the events taking place at The Hotel Xanadu, everything sails along like a sloop with a good wind on a calm sea. No one falls on the runway; no one stumbles over his or her words. The distinguished writers and academics give short speeches about the role of books in the twenty-first century and how much they enjoyed judging the competition, and only two people doze through these speeches, one of whom is Remedios. Likewise, the designs on show are faultlessly presented and modelled, and greeted with “oh”s and “ah”s and bursts of applause. The work, the tears, the worries and tantrums were all worth it. Feelings of pride and triumph fill the air.

And then – finally – the moments that everyone’s been waiting for arrive.

In the Cary Grant Conference Hall, Professor Gryck introduces her surprise guest, who will present the winners and call them to the stage to receive their prizes and read their work.

“It is my great honour and pleasure,” says Professor Gryck, “to welcome a writer who needs no introduction to any serious reader of contemporary literature. JC Ferryman is one of the most respected, influential and admired writers of the last forty years…”

Beth gives Remedios a nudge. “It’s starting to get interesting,” she whispers, as Professor Gryck continues in her praise – detailing into how many languages JC Ferryman’s work has been translated, how many universities and colleges teach it and how many awards it has won. “They’re about to announce the winners.”

In the Grace Kelly Room, the graduate show has ended and, as the presenter prepares for the showing of the clothes made by the finalists in The City of Angels College of Fashion and Design’s annual contest, Taffeta Mackenzie scans the room to see where everyone’s sitting.

“Holy Mother,” she mutters, when her eyes fall on Lucinda and the girl sitting beside her. Having been a model herself, Taffeta is a master of disguise, who can change her look at the drop of a false nail. Despite the clothes, the hair and the glasses, she recognizes Gabriela immediately. “What in the name of haute couture is she doing?” Maybe Gabriela Menz is having a breakdown. She’s certainly been acting as if she’s having a breakdown. Some people can’t hack this business, that’s all there is to it. Or maybe she’s been hired by a rival to sabotage Taffeta Mackenzie and her school. The duplicitous witch.

Smiling as if life is nothing but good news, Taffeta unobtrusively leaves her seat.

But she isn’t smiling as she comes up behind Gabriela; she looks as if she’s about to spit pins. Leaning over her she says, very clearly and far from softly, enunciating every syllable, “Get out of here, Miss Menz. Get out of here right now.”

Gabriela, Lucinda and even Otto have been watching the show with trance-like attention and never saw Taffeta leave her seat. Startled, the three of them turn.

“Did you hear me, Miss Menz?” Taffeta demands. “I want you to get out of this room this very minute.”

“What?” says Gabriela

“You heard me. I’ve had all of you I’m going to take. I don’t know if you think you’re being funny or if you’re wilfully trying to humiliate me or what, but I am not going to let you ruin this day for me.”

“But what about my dress?” Gabriela looks from Taffeta Mackenzie’s angry face to the runway. “Bring on Tomorrow” has begun to play; the show is about to start. “Why should I leave?”

“Why?” Taffeta glares down at her.
My God, she’s actually wearing tights!
“Because you look like you have as much interest in fashion as a raccoon, that’s why. You standing up there and taking credit for the angel dress would be like a monkey getting up and taking credit for Dior’s spring collection.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Gabriela protests. “The angel dress is my design. What does it matter what I’m wearing?”

“Out.” Taffeta nods towards the man standing at the entrance as though he’s waiting for an emergency. “Or I’ll have you thrown out.”

The fact that Otto doesn’t believe in the kind of interference practised by Remedios doesn’t mean that he doesn’t believe in any interference at all.

He leans across Lucinda to say to Gabriela, “Stay right where you are. You’re not going anywhere, except up to the runway to receive your prize.”

Taffeta’s head appears over Gabriela’s shoulder. “And who in God’s name are
you
?”

“Ah…” says Otto. “That’s it, precisely.”

JC Ferryman walks slowly onto the stage, leaning on a walking stick topped with a silver ball. He wears a rumpled suit that he bought twenty years ago for occasions such as this, and he is the other member of the audience who found it hard to stay awake during the speeches. Much to Professor Gryck’s disappointment, he wastes no time giving a speech of his own, but mumbles a few words of greeting and rips open the first envelope.

“In third place…” A small smile flickers across his face “…is Ms Elizabeth Beeby.” In the wings, Professor Gryck gives a gasp of surprise. Beth has been such an annoyance that she forgot that she might actually win something. JC Ferryman glances at the front row. “For her short story, A—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Professor Gryck lands beside the great writer so suddenly that he teeters. She puts one hand over the mic. “Mea culpa, I should have said that I’m afraid Ms Beeby isn’t able to be with us this morning.”

JC Ferryman looks almost disappointed. “She’s not here?”

Professor Gryck shakes her head. Sadly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Yes, I am! Here I am! I’m right here!”

Though she doesn’t actually remember leaving her seat, Beth is walking down the centre aisle, sure and steady in her stockinged feet. And suddenly, though she has no idea how, she knows for certain that JC Ferryman is Joe. Joe, the man who sprained his ankle. The man Delila and Gabriela helped home.

“Look at her!” hisses Professor Gryck. “That is not Beth Beeby.”

Delila hears her. “Yes, it is!” She is on her feet. “Joe!” she calls. “Joe, it’s me, Delila. Don’t you remember me and Beth?”

“Of course I remember you,” he says, but he is squinting at the figure marching towards him, looking confused. “What have you done to your hair? You look a little different…”

“Joe!” Beth waves. “Joe! I see the peas worked.”

And JC Ferryman, whose reputation as a curmudgeon is perhaps slightly exaggerated, smiles. “Like a regular miracle,” he says.

Things go back to normal – more or less

There
have been several historic firsts in the lives of Beth Beeby and Gabriela Menz in the last few days, and now here is another one. On Monday morning, they walk to school together. There’s nothing like shaving someone else’s legs and dressing someone else’s body to forge a bond.

“It still seems like some kind of dream, doesn’t it?” says Gabriela as they mooch along.

“I know what you mean,” says Beth. “I was sitting on the couch with my mother last night and it was so normal I thought I must’ve hallucinated the whole weekend.”

“Me, too.” Gabriela laughs. “Even this morning. There were a couple of seconds when I woke up when I really thought I had been dreaming.” Till she checked in the mirror and saw that her hair was still short and brown.

“But it did happen.” Beth sighs. “And we’ll never know why.” They’ve been over the events of the weekend several times – at the airport, on the plane and over the phone late into the night – but there is, of course, no reasonable explanation. Not in this world. “I guess we should just be grateful that everything turned out OK.”

“Better than OK.” Despite the fact that she looked as if she belonged to some weird religious cult, Gabriela and her angel dress received a standing ovation at the fashion show. They loved her design. And they loved her. She was different; unique; a breath of extraordinarily fresh air. As one journalist put it: “If you think fashion is a dog that chases its own tail, you haven’t met Gabriela Menz”. “It was like a miracle. Taffeta was really going to kick me out, but that guy sitting next to us just looked at her and she totally backed down. It was awesome. Like he had magic powers. And now she thinks I’m the best thing since the electric sewing machine.”

“The miracle was that you and Delila rescued JC Ferryman when he hurt his ankle,” says Beth. “That was the miracle.” Who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t. It’s certainly unlikely that Professor Gryck would have had a change of heart about Beth if it hadn’t been for him. “He only came because of you two.” It seems that Mr Ferryman, who in spite of twisting his ankle had had a more enjoyable afternoon than usual, didn’t feel he could leave two such spirited young writers to the ponderous care of his sister-in-law, Professor Gryck. “And then there’s that woman who snuck me back in. I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve without her.”