Barely Yours (17 page)

What do you mean
you still haven’t told him?!?” Brian exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in utter exasperation.

“I know, I know!” I sigh. “But it just never seemed like the right time, I don’t know why. I’m such an idiot, I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.”

“But ...” says Brian, looking puzzled. “It’s, well, it’s already
October
. Which means ...”

“Yes!” I shout. “You don’t have to say it. I
know
. Which means my visa’s already expired, right? I’m now an illegal immigrant. What a freaking joke.”

We’re walking through Regent’s park, takeaway coffees in hand, but suddenly my mental exhaustion becomes physical and I just need to sit down. I quickly head to the nearest bench and flop into it. Brian sits down next to me, and for a few moments we stay there in silence, staring gloomily into the distance.

After what seems like the longest moment, Brian puts his hand on my shoulder and says gently, “But really, this is getting serious. What are you gonna do, Chrissie?”

“I don’t
know
,” I sigh, using all my remaining willpower just to fight back the tears. “Will keeps talking about how much he wants me to see the world. The other day, he was even talking about a trip to Rome. He says he wants to take me there so much. But I just can’t bring myself to say that if I leave the country, I’ll never get back in.”

“There must be ways round it all,” Brian says, trying his hardest to stay optimistic. “You wouldn’t be the first girl to marry their boyfriend for a visa. Hell,
I’ll
even marry you if you want!”

“It’s too late for all that now,” I mutter. “That might have worked before – before I’d overstayed my welcome. But now? Now it’s simply too late. My only remaining options are to get out of here, pronto, or to sit around and wait for the authorities to catch up with me and kick me out.”

Brian shakes his head.

“There’s still a third option, you know,” he says gently.

“What d’you mean?” I ask.

“Just tell him! If he could pull strings before, I’m sure he could still now?”

“Oh, it’s too late,” I sigh. “I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything. And it’s not just
him
. It’s Tabby too. She’s really important to me, and I know how disorientating it would be for her to have me just disappear from her life, just like her mother. And now that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. And when it does, Will will never forgive me. Tabby’s so precious to him.”

We pause for a moment, watching the people go past – the joggers, the dog walkers, the mothers with prams, all in their own happy worlds, and I feel a pang of jealousy at the fact that
they
don’t have to leave this beautiful country.

“But the worst thing is,” I continue, “it seems like Will is getting more and more serious every day. Only last night, he invited me to spend the weekend with him and Tabby at his parent’s castle
in Yorkshire.”

At this, Brian spits his coffee out.

“Castle?” he practically shouts. “His parents have a fucking
castle
? That is just insane.”

“I know, I know,” I agree. “Actually, it’s not as fancy as it sounds. Will assures me that it’s only a small castle. And although it’s been in the family for a few generations, it’s not as if they’re lord or lady or anything. They bought it at a knock down price, a couple of hundred years ago, from some Baronet who couldn’t afford the maintenance. Will promises me that they aren’t titled gentry, just your average regular mega rich billionaires.”

We both laugh, and I’m relieved that, for the moment at least, things seem a little lighter.

“You’ve got to promise me you’re going to go,” Brian says. “Because if you are gonna get kicked out of the country, you may as well spend one of your remaining weekends in a bloody
castle
first.”

“Yeah,” I say, “with his mom, who clearly hates me.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” he grimaces. “The evil mother. My advice would just be to try and keep out of her way. If Will has invited you to their home, he’s showing them that he’s serious about you. This is an important step. And maybe she’ll turn out to be nice after all?”

“Oh god, Bri,” I say. “How have I landed myself in such a mess? I’m about to get kicked out of the country – forced away from the man I’m falling head over heels in love with, but it’s not like I can ever be with him
anyway
because we’re just so
different
. I mean, while we’re playing house in Chelsea, it’s not something I’ve ever really thought about, but if we’re gonna be together, I’m never going to fit in with his friends, his family, his whole social circle. It’s just never gonna work.”

“For a start, you need to stop being so negative,” Brian says, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. “You’ve found something truly incredible, Chrissie, something worth fighting for. And trust me, love will find a way. I just know it will.”

§

If you’d told me twelve months ago that I’d be arriving at a castle in a helicopter, I’d have told you to shut the hell up. The helicopter was an extra surprise from Will – for me, and for Tabby of course. She’s
so
excited, I mean, she was excited enough just to be given her own Dora the Explorer suitcase for the weekend. And she’s been chattering happily and excitedly the whole journey. But this is just the icing on the cake.

Will looks so handsome sitting there in the helicopter and the three of us grin at each other happily, unable to talk over the deafening whirr of the engine, the breath-taking view of the castle and grounds sprawling out below us. In what feels like no time at all, the journey’s over and we’re coming in to land on the helipad just outside the castle. I know that Will said it was just a small castle, but come on. This place is
huge
.

Will tells me we’re in Yorkshire – the north of England. And out of the window of the helicopter, I watch the scenery turn rugged. It’s so beautiful here, and also kind of remote. The castle itself is set amongst green hills and moorland; it’s built from a kind of yellow stone and it looks magnificent. If this is a
small
castle then what on earth does a big one look like?!

A portly butler with salt and pepper hair and a chubby friendly face meets us at the helipad and happily takes our bags. “Ah, Mister Cavendish! So good to see you!” he exclaims in a broad Yorkshire accent.

With Tabby on one side and me on the other, Will takes both our hands and leads us up the gravel path, towards the huge front entrance.

Okay, here goes nothing,
I think.

§

After we’re shown to our rooms, we take tea in the drawing room, and I don’t know whether I’m just being paranoid, but sitting here with Mr and Mrs Cavendish and Tabby over a typical English afternoon tea, I quickly get the impression that Mrs Cavendish – or
Joan
– is trying her hardest to treat me not as Will’s girlfriend, but merely as the nanny.

Even if I’m just being paranoid about
that
, she’s certainly trying her best to freeze me out of the conversation. She’s not asked me a single question so far, and all the talk is about friends of the family, and one person in particular. Mrs Cavendish just
won’t
stop harping on about someone called Jemima Brentworth. Jemima, so we’re told, earned her MBA from Harvard, has spent a year travelling, and is now back in the UK, where she’s just set up her own charity. Jemima is remarkable. And Jemima – so Mrs Cavendish makes sure to remind us – Jemima
remembers
Will, and she’d simply
love
to catch up. Will should certainly call her up, now they’re both in London.

I squirm awkwardly in my seat, folding my arms across my chest, glad I’m wearing long sleeves today so that she can’t make any more catty comments about my tattoo. To be honest, the way I’m feeling right now I wish I could simply disappear completely, and I bet Mrs Cavendish wishes I’d disappear in a poof of smoke, too.

Meanwhile, Mr Cavendish, generally the quiet type, must sense my discomfort, because he gently asks what
my
major was.

And I’m about to tell him, but just at that very moment Mrs Cavendish butts in to announce in a shrill voice, “Oh, Christina! If I’m not mistaken, Tabitha looks like she needs to go to the toilet. Why don’t you take her? It’s just down the corridor, second door on the left, thank you ever so.”

Okay, well, I guess that’s me told
, I think.

But to be honest, I need out of this damn room, anyway.

“Come on,” I say cheerfully to Tabby, “let’s go to the ladies, shall we?”

So hand in hand we walk off to the bathrooms, and while Tabby’s using the toilet, I stand by the mirror, staring at my reflection. I’ve got another twenty-four hours here. I’ve just got to get through my time in this castle without strangling Mrs Cavendish, or hurling one of her heirloom vases at her.

I take a few moments to splash some cold water on my face, then make sure Tabby washes her hands.

“Come on, rascal,” I say as we head back again. “Let’s go and see grandma!”

“Chrissie,” Tabby sighs. “I’m
bored
. I want to go out and play. Will you come out and play with me? Please?”

“Oh honey,” I say with a sympathetic smile, “I understand. And if you can keep a secret, I’m a little bored, too. But we just need to finish our tea first, and then I promise we’ll be allowed out to play. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says.

And then, hand in hand, we head back down the corridor, and into the lion’s den.

§

Later that evening, after Tabby’s gone to bed, we’re back in our rooms, freshening up for dinner.

“How are you finding all this?” Will says, gesturing around the room.

I know he means the splendour and decadence of the castle, but it’s not that I want to talk about.

“The castle?” I say. “It’s incredible. Of course it is. It’s like a fairy tale. I can’t believe you grew up here.”

“Actually,” he replies, “I didn’t really
grow up
here. We lived mostly in the house in London when I was a boy. This was more of a holiday home.”

“Okay,” I say. “Even crazier. I can’t believe somewhere this big isn’t the only house your family owns.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re right. I guess it is slightly obscene.”

“But anyway,” I add gently, “I don’t think your mother is too thrilled about me being here.”

“Really?” he says, looking concerned. “Whatever makes you say that?”

I sigh and shrug my shoulders. Because the thing is, Mrs Cavendish is being so shrewd, she actually hasn’t done anything obvious yet, except undermine me in tiny, clever little ways. I bet she was the chief mean girl, back in her school days.

“It’s not that she’s said anything or done anything,” I try to explain. “I just get the feeling that she’s decided to pretend I’m just here as Tabby’s nanny, and really, you should be going out with that Jemima Whatever-Her-Name-Is.”

He comes over and draws me into a hug, kissing me reassuringly on the neck.

“I know my mother can be a cold fish at times,” he says, starting to nibble on my ear. “But
please
don’t let her get to you. And I know what you mean. She likes to test people; to check that they’re worthy of her. She’s just making sure you’re good enough for her precious only son. And can you blame her?”

“No,” I sigh, pulling away from his kiss, too worked up to let myself go. “I guess I can’t.”

“When my parents get to know you, I know that they’ll come to adore you just as much as I do,” he promises. “And in the meantime, stop worrying. You look amazing, and I want you to enjoy the food tonight. The caterers have prepared a meal using the finest local produce, and if you liked partridge, I think you’re going to
love
the venison that’s on the menu tonight.”