The Girls (9 page)

‘Come on then.’ She brought the giant rabbit up on to her lap and moved over so that Pip could sit next to her. ‘There you are.’ She smiled.

The rabbit didn’t look at Pip. It seemed to be on a permanent mission to observe its environment in minute detail. ‘You can take him for a walk if you like,’ she said.

Pip beamed and nodded.

‘There you go.’ She passed Pip the leads to the harness.

‘Why is he so big?’ she asked.

Rhea smiled, the fine white skin of her face folding into a lattice of Fortuny pleats. ‘He is a Giant Flemish Rabbit. They say they are bred from Labradors.’ She shook her head and laughed. ‘But I don’t believe that. I think they just kept breeding very big rabbits together until one day they produced one the size of a dog. And then they thought: Aha! Look how big this rabbit is! It must be related to a dog! But look at him. There’s no dog there. Look at his perfect little bunny bobtail!’

The rabbit tugged at the lead and Rhea smiled and said, ‘Go!’

Pip walked him into the Secret Garden. He lolloped and sniffed and twitched and jumped. He found some leaves that he liked the look of and began to nibble but Pip pulled him away, in case they were not the sort of leaves he should be eating. Then she walked him around the paths between the Secret Garden and the Rose Garden. A small boy watched her in disbelief and then ran to tell his mother that he’d just seen a really giant rabbit. She saw Fern sitting alone in the Rose Garden. She was reading a book, with earphones in, using her spare hand to pass the weird piece of silk back and forth across her top lip. She glanced up briefly at Pip with her big, damp eyes and then she looked away again. Pip paused, not sure if she should say hello or be friendly in some way. But then Fergus tugged again at the lead and she took him back to Rhea.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ she asked.

‘Yes. He tried to eat some leaves but I didn’t let him in case they were poisonous.’

‘Good girl,’ Rhea said. ‘How old are you?’

‘I’ll be twelve in a couple of weeks.’

She nodded. ‘And have you been living here long?’

‘Since January. Six months.’

‘Have you made many friends?’

‘Sort of.’

‘The sisters?’

‘Yes. And someone else called Tyler. And a boy called Dylan.’

‘Beautiful Dylan.’ Rhea smiled. ‘Very popular boy.’

‘He’s kind.’

‘Yes,’ said Rhea. ‘He is a kind boy. He looks after his brother very well.’

‘Robbie?’

‘Yes. Robbie. Poor soul.’

‘What’s the matter with Robbie?’

Rhea cupped her hand over Fergus’s head and left it there. The rabbit went completely still. ‘Ah, well, no one really knows. I don’t think his poor mother even knows. Just one of those things. Her husband was an old man – sixty, I think, when Robbie was born – and a very, very heavy drinker. Not that I would want to blame him for what went wrong. He was a perfectly nice man. But it does make you wonder …’

Pip wasn’t sure what it made you wonder about but nodded anyway.

‘Anyway, Dylan’s mum, Fiona, she couldn’t cope after Robbie’s dad died, it was all too hard, so she put Robbie into a nice place just outside London when he was about ten. And then suddenly Fiona is pregnant at forty-five and nobody knows who the father is and then there is this beautiful, beautiful little boy and still nobody knows who the father is. Nobody asks and she tells no one.’

‘Where does Dylan live?’

‘Up there.’ The lady pointed at three tiny windows in the attic floor of the same house that the sisters lived in.

‘And where does Tyler live?’

‘She lives there.’ She pointed at the mansion block in the easternmost corner. ‘Her mother is a social worker so she gets the nice big flat for the good rent.’

‘And where do you live?’

‘I live just here.’ Rhea turned and pointed at the mansion block behind her. ‘That one on the second floor with the balcony with all the flowers. I was a nurse, you see, so I too get the nice big flat for the good rent.’

Pip nodded and stroked the rabbit from its crown to its haunches. She didn’t really understand about the big flats and the good rents. But she was enjoying talking to Rhea, who seemed to know everything about everyone and was able to answer all of the questions she’d been too shy to ask the children in the gang.

‘Who was Phoebe Rednough?’

Rhea glanced at her quizzically.

‘Sorry,’ said Pip. ‘I think I pronounced it wrong. The girl whose name is on the bench in the Rose Garden?’

‘Ah, Feebee Redknow.’

‘Rainbow?’

‘No,’ said the lady, patting Pip’s knee, ‘although that would have been a very suitable name for her. No. Her name was pronounced Redknow.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘Yes. Yes. Everyone knew Phoebe. She was an adorable girl. A bit wild, but adorable. So cheeky, very clever. Very pretty. Everything sort of revolved around her.’

Pip felt vaguely jealous of this dead girl. She sounded like everything she would like to be.

‘There was a gang of children then too of course, there’s always a gang on this garden. There were all the Howes boys – you know, Leo and his two brothers. And there was Phoebe’s little sister, Cecelia, you know, Tyler’s mum—’

‘Tyler’s mum?’

‘Yes. Phoebe would have been Tyler’s aunty if she was still alive.’

‘Oh,’ said Pip. Phoebe Rednough felt suddenly brought to life. ‘What happened to her? To Phoebe?’

‘Well, when she was fifteen years old she was found dead in the garden.’ Rhea shrugged. ‘I saw her from my balcony, covered in the morning dew, her hair all spread about, like Ophelia. Nobody ever really knew what happened. Drugs. Alcohol. Some kind of accidental overdose.
Inconclusive
. They had to bury her without ever knowing the truth. And of course the gossips went into overdrive.’ She stopped and looked at Pip from the corners of her eyes. ‘Is this too grown-up for you?’

Pip shook her head.

‘Well, Phoebe was linked to two of the Howes boys at the time of her death. She’d been going out with Patrick, who was the same age as her, for a few months. They were love’s young dream, Romeo and Juliet. But then, according to various gossips, the older brother had been involved with her too.’

‘Which one?’

‘Leo. You know.’ She nodded towards the centre of the crescent. ‘That man over there with all the daughters. He was a good three years older than her. An adult!’ She threw her arms out from her sides, then tugged at the edge of her pink scarf. ‘He said he was not involved with her. Who knows if he was telling the truth? Only Phoebe knows what really happened that summer, and that poor child is dead.’

‘Do you like him?’ Pip asked. She drew in her breath, feeling she’d asked an important question.

‘Leo?’

She nodded.

‘Oh, I don’t know him all that well,’ she said. ‘But I knew his father. Gordon.’ She pronounced it as two words. Gore. Don. ‘And if his son is anything like him then …’ She rolled her eyes theatrically in their sockets. ‘Well, then, God save his soul.’ Rhea looked at Pip thoughtfully and said, ‘What about you? Do
you
like Leo?’

Pip smiled shyly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think so.’

Rhea picked up her rabbit and tucked him under arm. ‘Trust your instincts,’ she said. ‘You’ll find they’re nearly always right.’

Dear Daddy,

So much to tell you, I don’t know where to start. First of all we’ve been invited for dinner at the sisters’ house. Mum and I really don’t want to go but Grace really does so we’re going to go and Mum and I will come back early. I think it’s going to be so weird. Mum’s not really ready for that kind of thing, she’s still all thin and nervous after what happened and she hasn’t really been out anywhere since we moved in here. Anyway, the really exciting thing happened yesterday. I went into the garden to find the old lady with the rabbit and she was there and she told me loads of stuff about the people on the garden. And I asked her about the girl on the bench, Phoebe Rednough, and she told me that Phoebe was found dead in the garden one morning and no one ever knew why!! She said there was drugs and alcohol but that it was all a mystery! And she also said that Phoebe was going out with Leo’s (the sisters’ dad) little brother when she died but also people thought she might have been going out with Leo too even though he was three years older than her! And also that Phoebe is Tyler’s mum’s sister! So the girl on the bench is actually Tyler’s aunt.

I just can’t believe that a girl could die and be buried and nobody knows why or what happened? I tried to get Grace excited about it but she was just, like, leave me alone, I’m trying to do my homework. And I won’t tell Mum because she wouldn’t get it. She doesn’t get much these days. She’s in her own little world really. I feel like I’m the only person in this family who’s normal. The only one who’s the same as they were before the thing with the house. If you were here you could help me find out about Phoebe. It’s the sort of thing you’d be really good at. Maybe you could even have made a documentary about it. You could have called it
The Secrets of the Garden
. Or
Whatever Happened to Phoebe Rednough?
Maybe it would have won an award …

I thought I saw you today. When I was coming home from school. I saw a man who looked just like you. Except much thinner. With shorter hair. And a beard. He looked at me and I looked at him and I almost called out your name, but I managed to stop myself.

I love you, Daddy, and I miss you every minute of every day.

Be really good and maybe they’ll let you come home?

Your Pipsqueak xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nine

Clare was trying to dress for dinner at the Howeses. She’d had to buy all her clothes from new after the fire. It had seemed mildly exciting at the time, the sort of experience her teenage self would have dreamed about: a five-hundred-pound budget and a whole new wardrobe. In reality it had been stressful and unsuccessful. Nothing really went with anything else plus she’d bought everything in a size eight and was currently closer to a size six and now it was June and everything was either too big or too warm.

She knocked at the door of the girls’ room. ‘Girls, can I come in?’

Pip opened the door.

‘I haven’t got anything to wear. Would you mind if I had a quick look through your wardrobes?’

‘I know what would look
great
on you,’ said Pip. ‘Hold on.’ She rifled through the wardrobe and pulled out a black lawn playsuit with wide shoulder straps and a drawstring waist. She held it up against Clare and appraised the effect. ‘You know, I think it might actually be too big for you. But try it on anyway. You look lovely in black.’

Clare eyed the playsuit uncertainly. It was warm out, but possibly not quite warm enough for such a tiny thing. As if reading her mind Pip reached back into the wardrobe and pulled out a small black cardigan with a sequinned collar. ‘There,’ she said passing it to her. ‘Try it on.’

Clare smiled and took the outfit to the full-length mirror behind the door where she was startled to see Grace sitting cross-legged on the floor, applying make-up. And not just her usual special-occasion coat of mascara, but lipstick, eye shadow and wings of black eyeliner too.

‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Grace, that’s an awful lot of make-up.’

Grace shrugged.

‘No, seriously, Grace. You’re not even thirteen yet.’

‘I’ll be thirteen next month.’

‘But that’s not the point. Even thirteen is too young for that amount of make-up.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says every mother of a twelve-year-old girl!’

‘That’s not true. How do you even know that’s true?’

‘More to the point, Grace, we’re only going across the garden for supper with another family. I could maybe understand if I was taking us out to the Savoy. Who are you making yourself up for?’

‘Nobody,’ she snapped. ‘For myself.’

‘But there won’t even be any boys there.’

‘What has this got to do with boys? I don’t dress for boys, Mum. I dress for me. And given that this is the first time in, like,
six months
that we’ve been invited anywhere – you know, like even
left the house
, can you blame me for wanting to look nice?’

Clare breathed in. She had barely seen Grace this week. Every day after school she would change out of her uniform and head straight out into the garden. She didn’t even come in for tea half the time. Clare would have to keep things warm for her under tea towels and tin foil or occasionally just admit defeat (‘I am not eating cold risotto!) and give her a bowl of cereal. Most of the time she was on the benches at the top of the garden. Other times she’d disappear entirely and Clare would text her, plaintively:
Where are you
?
At girls’ house
, would come the reply. And finally she would appear in the back doorway at seven, eight o’clock, smelling of fresh air and indifference.

‘Fine,’ said Clare, ‘but you do not need make-up. And frankly, you look ten times better without it.’

She stepped into the black playsuit that belonged to her eleven-year-old daughter. It fell off her. She took it off, looped it back on to its hanger and handed it to Pip. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put my jeans on, I think.’

At the door she turned to look again at Grace. She was angrily applying a second coat of mascara. She looked brittle and bizarre. Behind her, Pip shrugged, an adult gesture as if to say:
What can you do?
Clare shrugged back and headed to her bedroom where she sat down heavily on the edge of her bed and let her head drop on to her hands. There was something wrong with the shape and texture of her world. While her children grew bigger and stronger, outgrowing clothes and shoes, outgrowing their own mother, she was shrinking to the size of a doll. While they spread their wings, found new friends, new places to spend their time, new ways to look, she was turning into a recluse.