Barely Yours (18 page)

“Okay,” I say, taking his hand and trying to put on a brand new positive attitude. “Let’s do this.”

We walk along the seemingly endless corridor and down the huge flight of stairs and then finally we arrive at the enormous, sumptuous dining room. But while it looks amazing, it’s not exactly the most friendly place to be. For a start it’s freezing, despite the roaring fire in the corner. I guess when they built this place, central heating hadn’t been invented. And on top of that, the table is absolutely
enormous
. It could fit a whole army for dinner, but instead it’s laid for the four of us, set out in the corner – thankfully the corner nearest the fire.

Mr and Mrs Cavendish are already seated, expecting us, which makes the whole evening feel even more like some god awful job interview – or perhaps some test I have to pass.

Test. That’s right. Will
said
she likes to test people! Well, one thing about me? I’m really hot at exams. I’ve
never
failed a test in my life, and I’m not about to start now. So as I approach the table, I take a deep breath, and tell myself that I’m gonna ace this one, no matter what.

“Good evening, what a wonderful room this is,” I begin, forcing myself to sound really positive and upbeat. “You are so lucky to have such a beautiful home.”

“Thank you,” says Joan, tightly. “Of course, it’s been in the family for generations.” It’s immediately clear that this comment is off-hand and simply intended to shut down conversation.

“Are you enjoying the Fordham Suite,” chimes in Rupert, Will’s dad. “We were going to put you in the bedroom Will had as a boy, but his mother insists on it being kept as a shrine to his childhood. The place is still chock full of toys, so it seemed more appropriate for young Tabitha to have that room.

Will smiles sheepishly. “Come on, dad. You know it’s not just mum.”

He turns to me to explain.

“I must admit that I, too, am loathe to get rid of my childhood train set. And it’s a good thing, too. There’s also masses of Lego there, and Tabitha goes crazy for the stuff!”

No sooner do we take our seats at the table than Mr Cavendish offers me a glass of wine.

“Oh, no thank you,” I smile back politely. “None for me.”

“Come on!” says Rupert. “Don’t be a prude! Just because Will is an old bore who doesn’t drink, doesn’t mean that you can’t have one!”

“No really, I’m fine,” I reply.

After our talk in Brighton, I know that Will doesn’t mind if I have a drink. But on this occasion, I figure it’s probably best to keep my wits about me.

“Ah, food,
finally,
” snaps Joan, as the waiter enters with a trolley of plates.

And am I just being paranoid, or does she completely change the subject every time I’m talking? Although I
am
glad that dinner is here. Anything to distract us from this awkward situation.

Will’s right. The venison
is
wonderful. Despite the fact that I seem to be being completely ignored, I once again attempt a charm offensive on the group. “Joan,” I say, again in my bright, happy voice. “This venison is delicious! Is it locally sourced?”

“Of course,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Caught on the estate. I know it’s not the factory farmed mass produced food that you’re probably used to in America, is it?”

I’m so taken aback, I don’t say anything.

“I mean the food out there is simply shocking,” she continues on. “Isn’t it, Rupert darling? Do you remember when we went to Florida? It was practically impossible to find a fresh vegetable. Everywhere you looked, just processed nonsense. Giant hamburgers and pizzas and hot dogs. I thought I was going to come down with
scurvy
by the time we left. And the portion sizes! Good lord! I mean, it was just ridiculous. No wonder you’re all so obese!”

I’m completely and utterly shocked. So as not to appear mute, I simply say quietly, with my head hung in embarrassment, “I’m not from Florida.”

Say something Will
, I inwardly urge, but he doesn’t. He remains silent.

“Actually, Rupert?” I say. “I think I will have that glass of wine, after all.”

“Good girl,” Rupert chuckles as he pours me a rather
large
glass of burgundy.

Now, I’m not usually a red wine drinker, but it’s very appealing this evening. It works beautifully with the venison, and it’s also taking the sting off Joan’s harsh words. Before I know it, I’ve drained the glass.

“A top up, my dear?” says Rupert, and I nod, consigning myself to failure.

Guess it looks like I won’t be passing Joan’s test any time soon. The odds are stacked against me, and I may as well just give up and enjoy this wine. It is, after all, delicious.

So in that rather miserable fashion, I manage to get through the rest of the meal. I guess the wine has helped calm me down, but if I’m honest, I think it’s made me a little sulky, too. Because by now, even Will has noticed my silence and is making attempts to draw me into the conversation.

But it’s too late for that. My stupid sulky drunk brain is blaming
him
for his mother’s behaviour, and I start acting like a teenager, answering his questions with a
hmm
, or a
yes
, or a
no
– nothing more. Soon the conversation turns to Tabitha’s education.

“Indeed,” Will says, “as you know she’s on the list for several excellent pre-prep schools in London and I told you that we’d decided to send her to Queens Crescent Girls. It’s an excellent school, the best in London.”

Joan sighs. “Yes, darling. I know. The best in
London
. But I wish you would reconsider St Swithun’s. After all, it’s the best in the
country
.”

“Yes mother,” he groans, “but it’s in Winchester. And I told you, no boarding schools. My mind is absolutely made up on that one.”

“But what about
your
future,” she says. “It’s all very well, the past few years, taking time off work to look after Tabitha, but if it carries on, your business will suffer. You simply can’t give Tabitha the care and attention she needs in London. The headmistress of St Swithun’s is a very good friend of mine, and she assures me that they have excellent pastoral care, particularly for poor young girls in Tabitha’s position, without a mother in their lives.”

“Please mother,” Will says, as I drain yet
another
glass and silently watch the situation unfold. That’s
three
large glasses of burgundy now, and I’m feeling more than a little woozy.  “No more talk of boarding school,” he continues. “Tabitha is and will continue to be perfectly well cared for at home, with me, where she belongs. Besides,” he adds, putting his hand on mine in an attempt to draw me into the conversation, “Tabitha has Christina now. And as you can see, they’re devoted to each other.”

“But surely this isn’t a permanent arrangement?” spits out Joan.

And there is no mistaking the venom in her voice. Will is shocked into silence, and I smile bitterly to myself at the irony of the situation. It’s like she
knows
that I’m gonna have to leave any day now.

“I guess it isn’t,” I blurt out.

Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have said that. That’s the alcohol talking.

“Well, there you are then,” says Joan, smiling at me for the first time since I got here, pleased that I’ve confirmed that I’m not sticking around.

“Why don’t we change the subject?” says Will quietly.

“Good idea,” Rupert finally pipes up, and begins a long anecdote about the village postman, who’s wife ran away with the publican.

§

This evening has turned out
so much worse than I could’ve ever imagined. But eventually, thankfully, finally, it’s all over, and we’re heading up the stairs and shutting the door to our room. With a sigh of relief, we’re finally alone, and I fling myself dramatically on the bed.

“Jesus
Christ
,” I say. “That has to be the single worst meal of my life.”

Will understandably looks hurt. “Oh, come on,” he says. “It wasn’t really
that
bad, was it?”

I’ve said my piece, but I must be drunk and spoiling for a fight now, because without thinking I snap back at him, “Not that bad?
Excuse
me? Were we even in the same
room
?”

At this he looks wounded, taken aback, and I don’t blame him. I’m being vicious and nasty. I want to stop, but the anger I’ve been holding in all weekend, plus the wine, are a pretty heady cocktail, and once I’ve started I just can’t seem to stop myself.

“Now then,” Will says gently, more gently than I deserve. “That’s not quite fair.”

And that’s all I need before I’m off on a full-blown hissy fit. “Not
fair
?” I snap. “Not fair? I’ll tell you about not fair. Not fair is being made to feel like nothing but the hired help for an entire afternoon, followed by an evening of total humiliation, where your mother ignores me at best, or at worst insults me and my entire fucking country. The only thing I did
right
all evening was telling her I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Okay,” says Will, the color rising in his cheeks. Because suddenly it seems like he wants to argue too. “Can you tell me exactly what that was about anyway? I thought we were very clear at the very beginning of this arrangement that Tabby needed
permanent
care in her life. What do you mean that you’re not going to be sticking around?”

“Because this isn’t going to work, is it?” I shout, hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes now. “This whole weekend has been a total fucking disaster. And there’s just no way it’s ever going to work between us, Will.”

I can feel the tears beginning to overwhelm me. And I’m about to blurt everything out – my whole stupid mess – but even like this, I can’t quite bring myself to confess it to him.

“In fact,” I say, “I don’t see why I should even stick around here tonight.”

And with that, I jump up from the bed and dash to the wardrobe, grabbing my things and stuffing them into my suitcase. In a mad whirl of tears, I collect everything and then run into the bathroom to fetch my toiletries. I suddenly feel like I can’t stay here a moment longer.

But Will runs into the bathroom after me. “What’re you
doing
?” he urges. “Calm down. Stop it,
please
. We have to talk.”

“Get out,” I hiss back, pushing him away with both hands. “Can’t a girl have some privacy in the bathroom. This place is just too much.”

“I mean it, Chrissie, what is going on? Why are you being like this? We need to talk.”

“Get out, get out, get out,” I sob, trying my hardest now to push him out of the bathroom, pummelling his chest with my fists.

“Enough,” he cries. “Stop this.”

He grabs my hands and looks deep into my eyes.

“What’s gotten into you? This is absolutely crazy.”

I gaze up into his big, dark eyes. They’re so kind. So full of love, of hurt, of pain and confusion and concern, and I feel myself crumble, throwing myself into his embrace, and beginning to weep quietly.

“Your mother,” I sob. “She’s made me feel like dirt, all weekend. And I don’t give a shit about her and how she treats me – I don’t mind, I can handle that. But you never
once
stood up for me, Will. And that really hurts. It hurts so much.”

Will grasps me tight, clutching me urgently to his chest.

“I know,” he sighs, stroking my hair. “I know and I’m so sorry, Chrissie. I’m really angry with her, if you want to know the truth. I know more than anyone how cold and heartless she can be. The shadow of it dominated my whole fucking childhood. And I’ve tried so hard to keep her bad influence away from Tabby. But even so, I didn’t want to believe that she could be so nasty to you, too. But of course, I saw it. And I’m going to put a stop to this. I’m going to speak to her first thing, I promise. Oh darling, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

And with that he gathers me up in a passionate embrace and before I even know what’s happening we’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing madly, falling onto the bed, the intensity of our argument now transformed into pure, white hot lust.

“I want you so bad, Will,” I moan, my hands in his hair, my legs wrapped tight around him, as I write beneath him, desperate to feel him inside me,
right fucking now
.

“God, I want you to Chrissie,” he replies, the heat of his breath dancing against my bare skin, every part of me aflame, my rock hard nipples grazing against the broad musculature of his chest. “But ...”

“What is it?” I say, as he pulls a little away from me, his hands fumbling around in the pockets of his discarded suit pants.

“Damn it,” he curses beneath his breath, eyes casting desperately around the room.