I Remember You (12 page)

‘Mrs Mortmain?’ a nervous voice called, distant in the hallway. ‘Hello, are you there?’

‘Right!’ said Tess under her breath, as the old woman disappeared from sight. ‘How lovely! So glad she’s coming!’

She looked up and around the cavernous classroom which had been the drawing room when the Mortmains were in residence, lit in diamond patterns by the leaded windows. She picked up her stack of books and walked to the door.

On her way she walked past something and then stopped. It was her own reflection, caught in an old, mildewy mirror by the door, and she stared at herself in dismay. Tess was not particularly fascinated by beauty preparations, the mystery of the hair salon, or a new breakthrough in nail technology, but she used to like it well enough. When she lived in London, Tess had loved going into department stores, trying on silly make-up she wasn’t going to buy, and having the occasional splurge—when her teacher’s salary would let her, that is. By the time she was thirty, she’d realized what she could wear (hourglass-shaped tops, belts, denim skirts and leggings) and what she couldn’t wear (maxi-dresses, anything smocky or flowing was particularly cruel to her). She had a style, based on the fact that the junior maths teacher at Fair View had once,
once
, fleetingly said in the pub that she looked like Audrey Tautou. She had slept with him, obviously.

How had it come to this, that she didn’t even recognize herself in a mirror? Sure, it was nice that she didn’t have to make an effort now she was here in Langford, but was it really that good for her? Perhaps it was as a direct result of living with Francesca. She deliberately wasn’t like Francesca. ‘Look at the new Bayswater!’ Francesca had shouted on Monday evening, poring over a copy of
Elle
. ‘Oh, my God, I love it, don’t you?’

Tess had been balancing fondant fancies into a pyramid shape on the cake stand. ‘What on earth is a Bayswater?’

Francesca looked at her as if she were a lunatic. ‘Bag. A Mulberry bag. Are you mad?’

‘Yes, I’m totally mad,’ Tess said. ‘I’m insane, for not knowing what a Bayswater is. Look, have a fondant fancy,’ she said, advancing into the sitting room, gingerly balancing the cake stand.

Francesca watched her progress with something like dismay. She closed
Elle
and shook her head. ‘Look at you. You really need a night out, Tess.’

Tess didn’t agree. It was stupid, all of that obsession with clothes and facials and body lotions that smelt nice. She’d moved here to get away from all of that. It was silly and it got in the way of other things: being a real person, having thoughts in your head, caring about things like the water meadows. But then, Tess thought confusedly, Francesca did both. But Francesca was also pretty mad herself. She shook her head and shivered again, in the cold room, walking out into the hallway. She didn’t like Langford Hall, never had done. There was something oppressively Gothic about it. Perhaps Jane Austen had got the inspiration for
Northanger Abbey
there. Oh, no, it wasn’t built until 1846 and she died in 1817. Perhaps she should go and check the dates in the museum. It’d be nice, she could pop into the Tea Shoppe afterwards, they did a lovely Eccles cake. And she needed some suntan lotion for her trip to Rome. Factor 45, best be on the safe side—and insoles for her shoes, the chemist next door did a nice range…

Tess checked herself. Good God, Francesca was right. She did need a night out. A haircut, and a night out.

‘What do you mean, you’re not coming?’

‘I mean, I’m not coming. End of discussion.’

Tess could hear Adam clearing his throat. ‘Francesca,’ he said, quietly. ‘But we—I—’

‘Look,’ Francesca’s voice was harsh. ‘I don’t see the point of me coming for this one night just so we can pretend everything’s wonderful, when it’s not and it hasn’t been for days now. Weeks, even!’

‘It’s fine, you’re just—’

‘Don’t patronize me, Adam,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who’s making it like—’ her voice cracked, and out in the sitting room, Tess winced. She got up, and went into the kitchen, clearing the remnants of lunch away. She wished she couldn’t hear. She was sick of hearing it.

‘I know this week’s been difficult—’ she could hear Adam saying impatiently. ‘I know you’ve been working really hard on the appeal as well, but Francesca, it’s supposed to be fun, a night out, come on—’

‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ Francesca shouted. ‘That’s why I’m not coming. Do you seriously,
seriously
think you and I are simply going to forget that we’ve barely said a nice word to each other for two weeks and—’ she put on a fake cockney
accent—‘set off for a jolly night out in London town? Get real, Adam. I can barely stand to look at you, let alone…’

Her voice trailed off.

‘That’s it, then?’ Adam said. He was calm now. He opened the bedroom door; in the kitchen, from where she could see the stairs opposite Francesca’s bedroom, Tess jumped back, guiltily, as if she were eavesdropping. She looked at her watch in agony—they were going to miss the train if they didn’t leave now, come on…She put her hand to her mouth, in anxiety, and then said, ‘Adam—Francesca—we really need to go.’

She’d said that five minutes ago, and this is what had prompted the conversation currently taking place. She picked up her bag and went to the door, and she heard the murmur of hissed conversation, before the bedroom door slammed and Adam came running down the stairs, his face white, and his brown eyes black.

‘Are we going?’ he said, curtly, as if she were the one holding him up. Tess stared at him; he was fierce, his features set; she didn’t recognize him.

‘Yep,’ she said, holding up her bag. ‘Um—Francesca—’

‘No,’ he said, holding the door open for her. ‘She’s not coming. It’s—yeah. Right, got everything?’

‘Yes,’ Tess said.

He grabbed her back, almost as if by force, and set off down the road, marching so fast she had to run to keep up with him. ‘We’re late.’

‘Yes, I know we are,’ said Tess. ‘But we’ll make it at this rate, if we march very fast like Roman soldiers and don’t enjoy ourselves
at all
—Adam, are you OK?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Adam. ‘It’s just—it’s over with me and her. Yeah.’ He stopped. ‘I have to say, I’m pretty relieved.’ Tess’s mouth dropped open, and he turned to her and smiled, tightly. Seeing the expression on her face, his softened. ‘Sorry.’

‘No,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm, knowing how
upset he must be. ‘I’m sorry.’ She stopped. ‘Look, do you want to just—’

‘No, way,’ he said. He took her arm. ‘It’s my birthday night out on the tiles. We might have to revise a few of the plans, but we can still go ahead with the original one, eh?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. She squeezed his arm, and there was silence as they walked briskly, turning right behind Leda House towards the station.

‘She said I was a loser,’ Adam said morosely, after a couple of minutes. ‘She said I was pathetic.’

‘Oh,’ said Tess. She didn’t know why, but she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. He turned to say something else, and caught her expression.

‘Are you
laughing
?’ he said, in disbelief.

‘No—not much—not at all,’ Tess said. ‘It’s just—I don’t know.’

‘What the fuck!’ Adam said, striding on ahead.

‘Sorry,’ said Tess, trying not to smile, and catching up with him. ‘It’s just the way you said it, Adman. You
sounded
like a bit of a loser. Just a little bit.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ Adam said, turning to her. ‘It’s fine from you. It’s fine when you tell me I’m being a complete dick. But it’s not fine from her.’

‘Why?’ asked Tess, trotting to keep up with him. They were approaching the station.

‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. Oh, man,’ he said. ‘I’m so stupid. Why did I—’

‘Why did you what?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing, doesn’t matter now.’ He sighed.

‘Well,’ said Tess, as he jabbed the buttons on the ticket machine with the ferocity of one trying to defuse a nuclear bomb, ‘well—this is going to be a super-fun night, isn’t it.’

But actually, it was. Though the odds were stacked against it, it was one of those nights. It just was. They arrived up in
Waterloo as the evening sun was streaming through the great glass case of the station concourse; they stood beneath the clock for a moment, getting their bearings.

‘Is it strange being back?’ Adam said.

‘Yep,’ she answered him.

Adam dodged out of the way, to avoid a couple barrelling through them, dragging some huge suitcases. He stepped smartly back beside her, and she thought how strange it was to see him in the city, this bustling, heated metropolis, where there were more people here at the station than probably lived in the whole of Langford. She looked at him anxiously, but he didn’t seem to be on the verge of a yokel-related panic attack.

He turned to her and said, ‘So, what shall we do?’ He shook his head. ‘London, eh? Can’t remember the last time I was up here.’

Coming up for five months in a small country town and Tess realized she still thought of herself as a Londoner enough to find it unbelievable that someone couldn’t remember the last time they were here. How did people live, who weren’t used to living among all this? Didn’t they find everything else small by comparison? She caught herself, and realized how silly it was to still think that way. She remembered how unhappy she’d been, how London had been this place of cold grey streets and piss-stinking alleyways, long dark nights and constant rain.

Not now, not in early summer, not this night with Adam by her side. She patted his arm. ‘What shall we do? You’re joking, aren’t you? We’re not tourists, we’re locals. Well, I am. Well, I was. You need a plan if you’re going to have a good time here. No sense in going out without research. First rule: have a plan.’

‘And do you have a plan?’ Adam asked, opening his eyes wide. ‘God, I hope you do. We could just go and find that pub, of course.’

He said this nonchalantly, like he wasn’t bothered either way.

‘We’re NOT doing that,’ said Tess. ‘It’s your birthday evening plan. OK. Check it out.’ She held out a piece of paper, and they bent over it together.

1. Drinks: Lamb and Flag, Covent Garden
   
2. Dinner: Great Queen Street, Longacre
   
3. Afterwards: The French House? Karaoke?
   
4. After that: Beaujolais? The Phoenix?
   
5. After that: Bar Italia.
   

Adam looked up, slightly horrified. ‘T, I’m not doing karaoke.’

‘It’s just a plan,’ she told him. ‘It’s subject to change. Don’t worry…’ She pulled her hair out from her coat.

‘Where’s the Lamb and Flag?’

‘Covent Garden. It’s really old. Like, bits of it are Tudor old. It’s great.’ She looked up. ‘Especially if the weather’s nice, we can stand outside, it’s always pretty crowded. OK?’

‘Sounds great,’ said Adam, relieved.

‘Right!’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I like your new hair, by the way,’ Adam said, as they walked through the station. ‘It’s nice.’

The previous day, Tess had finally gone to Fringe Benefits on the high street, for a cut and blow-dry. She smiled almost shyly at Adam.

‘Thanks!’ she said. ‘It’s part of the new me, I’m sure you’ve noticed.’

‘I have, actually,’ he said, much to her surprise. ‘You’ve smartened up a bit. It suits you. Not so scruffy looking.’

‘Er, right,’ Tess said, leading him towards the exit for the South Bank. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘No worries,’ Adam said. And then he added, with all the charm of men, ‘It must be weird for you, living with someone like Francesca. She’s so gorgeous all the time.’

‘Well, exactly,’ said Tess, as they walked through the tunnel that led up to Hungerford Bridge. ‘I got used to walking around with a bag on my head, you know, because she’s so gorgeous like you say. It’s just easier that way. For me and other people.’

Adam looked at her. ‘Oh, sorry. I only meant—’ He slapped his forehead. ‘I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it like that, I meant that she’s really—’ he searched for the words—‘really
obviously
gorgeous.’

They were climbing up the stairs to the bridge that crossed the Thames, and tourists, theatregoers, jugglers and homeless people were pushing past them. Tess stopped, shaking her head. ‘Do you listen to yourself sometimes?’ she said.

‘Er—why?’

‘Men!’ Tess shouted loudly, as people around them looked at her in alarm, and Adam took her elbow, hurrying her across the bridge. ‘You are incredible, you know that?’

‘What?’

‘Jesus, Adam!’ Tess said, the wind blowing her hair in her face. She wedged it firmly behind her ears. ‘Look, I know I’m not like—like, some ravishing beauty, like Claudia Schiffer, and I know Francesca is, but—give it a rest, will you? God, the way men think it’s fine to just say stuff like that!’ She gazed over to the other side of the river, growing nearer as they marched furiously in tandem.

‘I didn’t—’ Adam began, but Tess put her hand up to his mouth.

‘Sshh,’ she said. ‘Don’t say anything more, otherwise you’ll end up saying, “You’re quite attractive, for a troll,” and then I’ll have to leave.’

‘I wasn’t going to say that,’ said Adam. He paused. ‘Sorry, T.’

‘Fine,’ said Tess. They stopped, looking across at the city, as they walked through the air towards it. The river was grey and choppy; clouds scudded across the sky, and off to the west, behind the Houses of Parliament, a rose-pink sunset flecked out towards them. The city lay ahead of her, still light,
still full of possibility, and she hadn’t realized how good it would be to be back until that moment. She had left London nearly five months before, grey and tired of the rushing, selfish life she’d seen all around her, rejected by a man she’d thought she’d loved. Langford was her home now, she knew that, the pace, the friendliness, the people, the fact that she could go out in a shirt made of a sack and no one would think it was weird, or that she could get genuinely excited about plant pots, or cushion covers, or jam. She shook her head as one of the windows on the old Shell-Mex building winked at her in the setting sun. It was only now, really, she wondered if she might have left something behind here, too.

The Lamb and Flag was Adam’s kind of pub—no nonsense, good beer. But it was too crowded, and they clutched their drinks outside, wedged in a triangle between the wall, some Americans who’d just arrived in London and some Queen fans down from Hemel Hempstead who were about to go and watch
We Will Rock You
(and were very excited about it).

‘You’re always saying people in London aren’t friendly,’ Adam said as they squeezed their way past people in the tiny Dickensian passageway taking them out to Floral Street. ‘They were nice.’

‘They were American tourists, bruv,’ said Tess. ‘They actually used the word “Londontown”. And some people from Hemel Hempstead. Of course they were nice. They’re not from London. Sorry. Londontown.’

‘Oh,’ said Adam, smiling. ‘Sorry, sis.’

She smiled back at him, as they turned into Longacre.

Great Queen Street, just along from Longacre, was unadorned, crowded and friendly. ‘This isn’t full of tourists.’ Adam said, as they waited for their table. ‘And it’s—’ he looked a little relieved—it’s nice.’

Tess looked around the room. ‘No, you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s more—’

‘People you might want to talk to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, not stuck up, all poncey and posh and Londony la-di-dah.’

Tess nodded, looking over at Adam with his soft plaid shirt and slightly sticking-up hair, his eyes alight with pleasure as he gazed round the room. She’d forgotten how much more low-level glamorous people were in town, even somewhere like here, which wasn’t a ‘scene’ place. Girls in skinny jeans and stylish floral tops, necklaces dancing as they leaned forward to say hi to people, pushing their hair behind their ears. Men smiling, checking their hair in mirrors, adjusting ties, slapping each other on the back, hugging people. She thought of the Feathers, as she watched Adam’s gaze take it all in. Ron might be nursing a pint in the corner, that old guy who always seemed to have a sore patch on the back of his hand would be quietly hacking away by himself, a couple of anniversary couples sitting quietly in the back, and maybe Suggs and Mick chatting at the bar…She looked around the restaurant, full of tasteful colour, life and energy, and knew it was good to be back.

‘I booked a room at Claridge’s,’ Adam said, suddenly, into their silence.

‘What?’ Tess said.

‘That’s why I was so cross with her. I’ve got a room at Claridge’s. I didn’t know what to do about it.’ He turned to her and said quietly, ‘It was going to be a nice surprise for her.’

Her heart went out to him. ‘Claridge’s?’ He nodded. ‘Oh, Adam.’ She looked up at him. ‘You are so sweet.’ She didn’t know quite what to say, she loved them both, so she patted him on the back. ‘D’ you really think it’s over?’

‘Yes,’ he said sadly: ‘I really do.’

‘If she’d known—’ Tess reached out towards him. ‘She’d have—’

‘I told her about the hotel.’

‘You did?’

‘Yeah. She said—’ He trailed off.

‘Yes?’ she prompted him.

‘She said I needed to sort myself out, that I was a fraud.’ He said it quietly.

‘Well, that’s horrible,’ said Tess. ‘You’re not a fraud, anyway. You’re the least fraudulent person I know.’

He looked at her, a strange expression on his face. ‘I sometimes think you don’t know me very well.’

‘Come on!’ Tess said, laughing. ‘I know you better than anyone!’

Adam looked as if he was going to say something else, but instead he said, ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s over.’