The Forgotten Girl (20 page)

He walked away without looking back.

I sat on the bench for a while longer. I was shaking a bit because I realised I'd hurt him very badly, and I was nervous that he'd meant it when he said he wouldn't keep my secret. But I realised what I mostly felt was relief. Sometimes I worried that I was a horrible person because I knew Billy was right. We could have had a good life. But I had been right too – it wouldn't have been good enough for me and I wouldn't have made him happy in the end.

The boys had given up their Beatles impressions and were playing football instead. One of them ran over close to where I sat to pick up the ball.

He grinned at me, and raised my spirits a tiny bit.

‘Dump him, did you?' he said.

I laughed.

‘Sort of.'

He nodded.

‘Best thing,' he said, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes and fixing me with a serious look. ‘Just have fun.'

He booted the ball over to his friends and ran off.

‘Oh don't worry,' I said to myself. ‘I'm going to.'

Chapter 31

I sat in the park, feeling a strange mixture of exhilaration and dread. I did really like Billy and I hadn't meant to upset him. I thought about catching up with him and asking if he really meant he would tell Dad about my double life. Surely not? He knew what Dad was like, didn't he? Upset as he was, he wouldn't cause me harm. Would he?

It started to rain so I got up and headed for home, wishing I was wearing the PVC coat I'd pinched from the fashion cupboard at work, instead of my sensible mac. By the time I reached our front door I was drenched. I glanced at the shed wondering if I should rescue tomorrow's clothes that I'd already stashed there – the roof wasn't very watertight. Deciding I'd rather not risk arriving at the office wearing a knee-length skirt, I pulled my hold-all out and went inside.

‘Nancy?' Dad called from the lounge as I shut the door behind me. I froze. I'd not been expecting him to be home yet. Had Billy caught up with him already?

Trembling, I threw my bag into the cupboard under the stairs and went to find him.

Dad was in his usual chair, watching Z-Cars, a glass of whisky in his hand.

‘Turn that down, Nancy,' he said. I felt another lurch of fear. What did he want? I went to the telly and turned it down, then I sat on the sofa waiting.

‘Did you have your dinner?' I asked.

‘Yes, very nice,' he said. I wondered if he even remembered what he'd eaten.

I took a breath.

‘Have you seen Billy?' I asked.

Dad frowned.

‘Thought you were with him,' he said. He laughed – a sound I rarely heard any more. ‘Have you lost him?'

I forced myself to smile.

‘No,' I said. ‘Just thought he might have called round.'

Dad obviously wasn't interested. He cleared his throat.

‘I've been nominated for small businessman of the year,' he said.

‘That's good,' I said, thrown for a second at how differently this conversation was going than how I'd expected. ‘Congratulations.'

Dad picked up a bunch of papers from the arm of his chair.

‘I've got to fill in this form,' he said. ‘I've got to be honest with you, Nancy, I can't make head nor tail of it.'

He handed it to me and I scanned it. Lots of questions about his role in the community and his approach to business – nothing too tricky.

I looked up at Dad.

‘Will you do it for me?' he asked. ‘Type it up all nice on your typewriter.'

Now wasn't the time to remind him my typewriter was ‘in for repair' at Suze's place. Instead I grinned, giddy with relief that he hadn't spoken to Billy or found out that my job in insurance was nothing of the sort.

‘Why don't we do it together now,' I said. ‘I'll jot down all your answers and I can type it up in my lunchbreak from work tomorrow.'

It was the longest Dad and I had spent together for years. We went through his form and came up with some pretty good answers for every question. Dad may have been a bully but there was no doubting his business sense, that was for sure.

‘You've got a way with words,' he said approvingly, as he read through our final draft of question four. ‘It's all those magazines you read.'

I nodded.

‘I like writing,' I said.

Dad looked at me.

‘You and your brother, you've both got brains,' he said. ‘Of course my father was a clever man.'

I said nothing. My granddad had died when I was little and I didn't have a lot of memories of him, but I did remember spending most of our visits to my grandparents' house hiding behind Mum's legs because he was so grumpy and unpleasant.

‘You're wasted in insurance,' Dad said. ‘You should be a writer.'

I stared at him, open-mouthed. Had he really said that? I wondered what he'd do if I said,
actually Dad, that's exactly what I am
.

Dad slapped his hand on the arm of his chair as though he'd just told a terribly funny joke.

‘A writer,' he repeated, laughing. ‘That's a good one. My daughter, a writer.'

I forced myself to smile.

‘Dad,' I said, thinking now was as good a time as any. ‘I split up with Billy. The wedding's off.'

Bracing myself, I waited for him to get angry. Instead, though, he shrugged.

‘His uncle's annoyed because he wasn't nominated for the award,' Dad said. ‘Twit.'

‘So you don't mind?' I said, unable to believe my luck.

‘What, that you're not marrying that twit's nephew?' Dad said. ‘Not at all. And it'll save me a few bob, too, won't it? If I don't have to fork out for the wedding.'

‘It will,' I said. ‘So let's do question five, shall we?'

We carried on answering the questions together until we'd done the whole form. Dad didn't mention Billy again, so I didn't bring him up either. I hoped he and Billy's uncle would continue their feud – it would certainly make life easier for me.

And maybe, I thought, as I got into bed that night, maybe life was going to get easier now. Billy was dealt with – relatively painlessly as well. And Dad was actually being nice to me. Perhaps if the job on Mode worked out, I could tell him the truth about where I worked. If I was moving in with Suze anyway, it wouldn't matter if it took a while for him to get used to the idea of me writing for a mag and not working in the shop with him.

I fell asleep while I was imagining bringing George home with me for Sunday lunch. Dad would shake his hand and not even make one single rude comment about the length of his hair or the narrowness of his trousers. And I'd show him the latest issue of Mode, he'd flick through it and exclaim at how many features I'd written.

‘I'm so proud of you, Nancy,' he'd say. ‘You've really made something of yourself.'

But of course, life never works out as you planned, does it?

Chapter 32

2016

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. There was someone in my flat. I could hear them rattling around in the kitchen.

I sat up, realising my head hurt, and with another shock, remembered I wasn't in my flat – I was at Damo's. Oh what had we done? I remembered us drinking each other under the table, and then staggering through the cobbled Soho streets looking for a cab. And I remembered Damo telling me I couldn't go home alone in the state I was in, and saying I could stay at his. And then I remembered nothing.

Gingerly, I put my hand out and felt the other side of the bed. Empty. Dizzy with relief – and hangover – I peered under the duvet and saw I was wearing all my underwear, one sock, and an Iron Maiden t-shirt that was definitely not mine but which hung halfway down my thighs and which was undoubtedly not sexy.

There was a grunt from the side of the bed and I glanced down to see Damo – at least I assumed it was Damo – huddled in a sleeping bag, with just the very top of his head poking out. He'd obviously slept on the floor. And the noises I'd heard were clearly his flatmate.

It was Saturday so I didn't have to go to work but I did have to get out of there. I couldn't face an awkward morning-after conversation with Damo – not with my head pounding the way it was.

I slid out of bed, gathered my clothes, and headed for the bathroom hoping I wouldn't come face to face with Damo's flatmate, whoever he was.

I showered in four seconds flat, then put on my clothes and brushed my teeth with my finger. I couldn't do much with my hair so I just twisted it up. I had sunglasses in my bag, so I'd wear those home and hopefully they'd disguise my bloodshot eyes.

Hoping Damo was still asleep and his flatmate was still busy in the kitchen, I unlocked the door, slunk out of the bathroom and came face to face with a goddess. She was about six foot tall, legs up to my armpits, wavy long sunkissed blonde hair, and a broad perfect smile. And she was holding a cup of coffee.

‘Oh shit,' she said, in an Aussie accent. ‘I thought you were Damo. I made him this.'

I gave her a weak smile.

‘He's asleep,' I said. ‘I was just leaving.'

She held out the coffee.

‘Want this?' she said. ‘I've already got one.'

I weighed up my need for coffee against my desire to be out of that flat. Coffee won. I gave the goddess a grateful grin and took the mug.

‘Thanks,' I said.

‘Come in the kitchen,' she said, turning round and walking down the hall. She was wearing a vest top and some battered old running shorts – I didn't know if she'd been running or if that was her pyjamas but I did know she looked astonishing in such a horrible outfit. The short shorts showed off her tanned, slim, well-muscled legs and the vest flattered her broad shoulders.

‘I'm so pleased Damo's met someone,' she said as she sat at the small kitchen table. ‘He's a miserable bugger when he's single.'

‘Known him long?' I said, wondering who she was.

‘Not really,' she said. ‘Bout a year. He's friends with my sister's husband's buddy from uni. So when he needed a place in London, Vally – that's my sister – said he should contact me, because Sylv – that was my old flatmate – had just moved out and I needed someone to share the rent. Vally likes him being here because she says he keeps me out of trouble, but we're really boring most of the time. Vally just thinks I have this incredible life because I'm in London and she's back home with a husband and a baby…'

She paused for breath and I drained my coffee.

‘Another one?' she said.

I nodded and she poured some more into my mug.

‘So where did you meet Damo?' she asked.

‘Work,' I muttered. ‘Few years ago.'

‘Not this new job?' the goddess asked. ‘That's a shame, I'm dying to find out more about this Fearne he's working with.'

I froze, coffee cup halfway to my lips, but thankfully she didn't seem to want an answer.

‘She's the reason I'm glad he's met you,' she continued. ‘She totally broke his heart. Abandoned him on a round-the-world trip. Just sneaked out one night when he was asleep and went home.'

I fought the urge to tell her it wasn't quite like that – that we hadn't started our round-the-world trip when I bailed – but I settled for just arranging my face into a shocked expression.

‘Scottie – that's Vally's husband – he said that Mike – that's his mate from uni – says that Damo never really got over Fearne. And then he comes to London and starts a new job and things start going well. He starts dating and he loves his job and it's all great.'

She swigged her coffee.

‘And then, he bumps into Fearne and it all goes to shit.'

I sat up a bit straighter.

‘How so? I said, sounding terribly English and uptight.

‘Oh she calls and he goes running,' the goddess said, stretching her legs out onto one of the other kitchen chairs. ‘He had a great job, but she asked him to quit so he could work with her – and it sounds like it's a dead-end project if you ask me, not that I know much about magazines because I work for a bank, but you can normally get a feel of something, don't you think?'

Stunned by the way this conversation was going, I could only nod.

‘Anyway, he quits his job, he spends every waking hour working with Fearne, and you just know that spending all this time with her has rekindled his feelings for her. It's a bloody disaster, that's what it is. So that's why I was so pleased that he'd brought you home.'

I stared at her and she made a face.

‘Oh shit,' she said. ‘I've said too much, haven't I? I always talk too much. Vally's always saying to me, “Madison, you talk too much” and she's right, even though I'd never tell her that. Have I put you off him? Please don't run off. He's such a nice guy and he really deserves a nice girl.'

‘I have to go,' I said. ‘Thanks for the coffee. Tell Damo I'll call him later.'

‘You will?' she said, her beautiful face breaking into a broad smile. ‘Oh thank god.'

She followed me down the hall towards the front door and opened it to let me out.

‘Thanks,' I said, still a bit shell-shocked by everything she'd said. ‘It was nice to meet you.'

‘Nice to meet you too,' she called as I walked down the path. ‘Oh, what's your name?'

I paused by the garden gate, which was hanging off one hinge, and thought about lying, but my head hurt and I was too tired to be creative.

‘My name?' I said.

Madison nodded.

‘It's Fearne,' I said.

Madison's eyes widened in horror and I felt a bit bad.

‘Sorry,' I said, meaning it. ‘Tell Damo I'll call.'

Chapter 33

1966

I walked to work the next day like I was walking on air. My eyeliner had gone just right, despite the train coming to a juddery halt as I started to apply it. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and for once, my fringe had stayed heavy and straight instead of kinking. The sun was shining, which was enough to put anyone in a good mood after weeks of rain and spring was in the air – about time as we were well into April now. I was wearing a black pinafore dress over a thin white polo neck sweater and I felt sassy and stylish. I was meeting George for lunch and I was going to tell him I'd broken up with Billy. Life was good.