In a Dark, Dark Wood (12 page)

She smiled, and I found myself smiling back.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Clare Cavendish and my hair is so long I can sit on it. I’m going to be Mary in the school play.’

‘I’m—’ I tried to answer. ‘I’m L-le—’

I’m Leonora, was what I was trying to say. But Clare only smiled.

‘Hi, Lee.’

‘Clare Cavendish.’ It was the class teacher, banging the rubber on the chalk board to get our attention. ‘Why is your hair not tied back?’

‘It gives me migraines.’ Clare turned her angelic, sunlit face towards the teacher. ‘My mum said I wasn’t to. I’ve got a note from the doctor.’

And that was Clare all over.

Was it really possible that she had a note from the doctor? Would any doctor in their right mind give a five-year-old a note allowing her to have loose hair?

But somehow it didn’t matter. Clare Cavendish had said it, and so it became true. She did become Mary in the school play. And I became Lee. Mousy, stammering Lee. Her best friend.

I never forgot Clare’s action that first day. She could have chosen anyone. She could have played the popularity card and sat with one of the girls with Barbie clips in their hair and Lelli Kelly shoes.

Instead she chose the one girl who was sitting silent, by herself, and she transformed me.

As Clare’s best friend I was always included in games, not condemned to wait, lonely but trying not to look it, at the side of the playground waiting for someone to ask me to play. I was invited to birthday parties because Clare wanted me there, and when it became known that Clare had come to my house for a playdate and had spoken approvingly of my swing and doll’s house, other girls began to accept my faltering invitations.

Five-year-olds can be incredibly cruel. They say things that no adult ever would – cutting comments about your looks, your family, the way you speak and smell, the clothes you wear. If someone spoke to you that way in an office they’d get the sack for workplace bullying, but at school it’s just the natural order of things. Every class has an unpopular scapegoat, the kid no one wants to sit with, the one blamed for everything and picked last in all the team games. And, perhaps just as inevitably, every class has a queen bee. If there was a queen bee in our class, then Clare was it, and without her friendship I might easily have become the scapegoat, sitting alone at that table for ever. Part of me, the frightened five-year-old inside my adult shell, will be forever grateful for that.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always easy being Clare’s friend. That searchlight beam of love and warmth could be withdrawn as quickly as it was bestowed. You might find yourself mocked and derided instead of defended. There were plenty of days I came home crying because of something Clare had said, or something Clare had done. But she was funny and generous, and her friendship was a lifeline I couldn’t do without, and somehow I always ended up forgiving her.

My mother, on the other hand, did not approve of Clare, for reasons I could never quite work out. It made no sense, because in many ways Clare resembled the daughter my mother was always trying to make me be – charming, loquacious, popular, not too academic. When secondary school came around my mother did not keep silent about her hopes that I would get into the local grammar and Clare would not. But she did. Clare was not a swot, no one could accuse her of that, but she was clever, and she could pull it out of the bag in exams.

Instead my mum went to the teacher and asked that we were put into different classes. So in lessons I found a new friend, a companion just as unlikely: spiky, amusing Nina with her skinny brown legs and large dark eyes. Nina was tall where I was short, she could run the 800 metres in 2 minutes 30, and she was funny, and not afraid of anyone. She was dangerous to be around, her sharp tongue making no distinction between friend and foe – you were as likely to be the butt of her wit as laughing at it. But I liked her. And in many ways, I felt safer with her than with Clare.

It made no difference, though. Outside lessons, Clare sought me out. We spent lunchtimes together. We bunked off and went to spend our allowance at Woolworths, on the CDs Clare liked and the sparkly nail polish we were forbidden to wear at school. We were caught only once, when we were fifteen. A heavy hand on the shoulder. Mr Bannington’s furious face looming over our shoulder. Threats of suspension, of telling our parents, of detention for the rest of our natural lives …

Clare just looked up at him, her blue eyes limpid with honesty. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bannington,’ she said, ‘but it’s Lee’s grandad’s birthday. You know, the one she lived with?’ She paused and gave him a significant look, inviting him to remember, to join the dots. ‘Lee was upset and couldn’t face lessons. I’m sorry if we did wrong.’

For a minute I gaped.
Was
it Grandad’s birthday? It was a year since he’d died. Had I really forgotten? Then sense returned, and with it anger. No, no of
course
it wasn’t. His birthday was in May. We were only in March.

Mr Bannington stood, chewing his moustache and frowning. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Well, under the circumstances … I cannot condone this, girls, if there were a fire alarm then lives could be put at risk looking for you. Do you understand? So please don’t make a habit of it. But under the circumstances, we will say no more about it. This once.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Bannington.’ Clare’s head drooped, chastened, deflated. ‘I was just trying to be a good friend. It’s been hard for Lee, you know?’

And Mr Bannington coughed a choked-up cough, gave one short, sharp nod, turned on his heel and left.

I was so angry I couldn’t speak on the way back to school. How dare she. How
dare
she.

At the school gate she laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Lee, look, I hope you don’t mind, I just couldn’t think what else to say. You know? I was the one that persuaded you to bunk, I thought it was my responsibility to get us out of the mess.’

My face was stiff. I tried to imagine what my mother would have said if I were suspended, and how Clare had got us both off the hook. I thought about May, and how I was going to have to go through the day – the real day – of my grandad’s birthday without mentioning that fact, or referring to it ever again.

‘Thanks,’ I said, in a hard, unnatural voice that did not stammer, that did not sound like me.

Clare only smiled, and I felt her sunshine warmth. ‘You’re welcome.’

And I felt myself thaw, and smile back, almost in spite of myself.

After all, Clare had only been trying to be a good friend.

‘No.’

‘Flo—’

‘You’re not leaving.’

Melanie stood for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, as if trying to think of something to say. At last she gave a snort of disbelieving laughter.

‘And yet apparently … I am.’ She slung her bag on her shoulder and tried to push past Flo towards the door.

‘No!’ Flo shouted. There was an edge of hysteria to her voice. ‘I won’t let you ruin it!’

‘Flo, stop being such a basket case!’ Melanie snapped back. ‘I know – I know this is important to you, but look at yourself! Clare doesn’t give a flying fuck whether I’m here or not. You’ve got this picture in your head of how things should be and you can’t
force
people to go along with it. Get a grip!’

‘You—’ Flo stabbed with her finger at Melanie ‘—you are a bad friend. And a
bad person
.’

‘I’m not a bad friend,’ Melanie sounded very tired all of a sudden. ‘I’m just a parent. My life doesn’t revolve around Clare bloody Cavendish. Now please, get out of my way.’

She pushed past Flo’s outstretched arms towards the hallway, and looked up.

‘Clare! You’re up.’

‘What’s going on?’

Clare was coming down the stairs in a crumpled linen wrap. The sun was shining down from the window behind her head, illuminating her hair like a halo.

‘I heard shouting. What’s going on?’ she repeated.

‘I’m going.’ Melanie walked a few steps up, gave her a brisk kiss, and then hitched her bag further up her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t ready to leave Ben, and the situation with the phone is just making it worse—’

‘What situation with the phone?’

‘The landline’s down,’ Melanie said. ‘But it’s not that. Not really. I’m just … I want to be back home. I shouldn’t have come. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course not.’ Clare yawned and brushed hair out of her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly. If you’re miserable then go. I’ll see you at the wedding anyway.’

‘Yeah.’ Melanie gave a nod. Then she leaned forwards, with a quick glance over her shoulder at Flo, and said in a low voice, ‘Look, Clare, help her to get a grip, yeah? It’s not … it’s not healthy. For anyone.’

And then she opened the door, slammed it behind her, and the last we heard was the grate of her car tyres as she bumped down the rutted driveway to the lane.

Flo began to cry, heavily and snottily. For a moment I stood, wondering what I should – could – do. Then Clare came down the rest of the stairs, yawning, took Flo’s arm, and led her into the kitchen. I heard the bubble of the kettle beneath Flo’s gulping, retching tears, and Clare’s soothing voice.

‘You saved my life,’ Flo gasped between sobs. ‘How am I supposed to forget that?’

‘Honey,’ I heard Clare say. There was a kind of loving exasperation in her voice. ‘How many times—’

I retreated upstairs, backwards, keeping my steps light and silent, and then at the landing I turned and fled. I knew I was being a coward, but I couldn’t help it.

The door to the bedroom I shared with Nina was closed, and I was just about to turn the handle and barge in, when I heard Nina’s voice from inside, filled with an uncharacteristic yearning softness.

‘… miss you too. God, I wish I were home with you. Are you in bed?’ Long pause. ‘You’re breaking up. Yeah, the reception’s awful, I tried to phone you last night but there was nothing. I’ve only got half a bar now.’ Another pause. ‘No, just some bloke called Tom. He’s OK. Oh sweetheart, Jess, I love you—’

I coughed. I didn’t want to burst in on the middle of her conversation. Nina doesn’t let her guard down often and when she does, she doesn’t like it to be seen. I know that from experience.

‘… wish I were snuggled up with you. I’m missing you so much. It’s the back of beyond up here – nothing but trees and hills. I’m half-tempted to leave but I don’t think Nora—’

I coughed again, louder, and rattled the handle, and she broke off and called, ‘Hello?’

I opened the door and she grinned.

‘Oh, Nora’s just come in. We’re sharing a room. What? It’s breaking up again.’ Pause. ‘Ha – don’t worry, definitely not! Yeah, I’ll tell her. OK, I’d better go. I can hardly hear you. I love you too. Bye. Love you.’ She hung up and smiled up at me from the pile of pillows. ‘Jess says hi.’

‘Oh, glad you got through to her. Is she all right?’ I love Jess. She is small and round and comfortable with a smile that lights up a room and no snark about her at all – the exact opposite of Nina in fact. They’re the perfect couple.

‘Yeah, she’s fine. Missing me. Natch.’ Nina stretched until her joints popped, and then sighed. ‘God, I wish she was here. Or I wasn’t. One of the two.’

‘Well, there’s a vacancy. We’re one down.’

‘What?’

‘Melanie, she’s gone. The landline’s down and it was the last straw.’

‘Christ, you’re kidding? It’s like Agatha Effing Christie and the Ten Little Eskimos.’

‘Indians.’

‘What?’

‘Ten Little Indians. In the book.’

‘It was Eskimos.’

‘It bloody wasn’t.’ I sat down on the bed. ‘It was the N-word, actually, if you’re going for the original, then Indians, then soldiers when they decided that offing ethnic minorities was maybe a bit strange. It was never Eskimos.’

‘Well, whatever.’ Nina dismissed the Eskimos with a wave of her hand. ‘Is there any coffee down there?’

‘Nope. Just tea, remember?’ I reached for a jumper, pulled it over my head and smoothed my hair. ‘Clare doesn’t drink coffee, so neither do we.’

‘Oh, God, fucking Flo and the satellite of love. How’s she taking Melanie’s departure?’

‘Hmm. Listen, and you might be able to …’ I trailed off, and we both heard the unmistakeable sound of heavy sobs coming up from the kitchen. Nina rolled her eyes.

‘She is unhinged. I really mean that. She was weird when they were at university – have you noticed how she copies what Clare wears? She used to do that back then too. But now …’

‘I don’t think she’s unhinged.’ I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Clare’s a powerful personality – if you’re not very confident …’ I stopped, struggling to put into words the feeling that I’d always had – that my own personality was a space, a vacuum that someone like Clare could rush into to fill. It was something that I knew Nina would never understand – with all her faults, lack of personality is not one of them. She lay there, eyeing me speculatively from the pillow and then shrugged.

‘Clare’s
perfect
, do you know what I mean?’ I said at last. ‘It’s easy to want that for yourself, and feel like imitation is the way to get it.’

‘Maybe.’ Nina sat up, pulling her skimpy vest top straight. ‘I still think Flo’s a few cherries short of a trifle. But whatever. Look, I’ve been meaning to say, I really am sorry about last night. I had no idea it was such a sore spot for you. But seriously, why did you come if you still feel like that about it all?’

I pulled on my jeans and then stood, chewing my lip, thinking over what I had and hadn’t told Nina. It’s always my instinct to keep my cards close to my chest, I don’t know why. I dislike giving people, even friends, the smallest hold over me. I’ve always been a private person, and that tendency has grown since I started to live alone and work alone. But I knew, too, that tendency could send me as crazy as Flo in my own way – if I let it.

‘I came because—’ I took a breath, and then forced myself on ‘—because I had no idea that Clare was marrying James.’

‘
What
?’ Nina swung her legs out of bed and looked at me. I gave a tremulous shrug. Put like that, it did sound … kind of pathetic. ‘What, are you serious? So Clare, like, lured you here to spring that shit on you?’