Topspin (3 page)

She left home in the wake of her children. Sheba’s chatter and Malik’s measured responses gradually faded as they rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Morning, Angie.” Her neighbor Billy emerged from his door, grinning appreciatively as his eyes roved over her body. “How you doing?”

Angela smiled back. She knew Billy fancied her, and she’d used that partiality on more than one occasion when she needed things done around the place. But he wasn’t for her. He was too young, and there simply wasn’t anything there from her point of view. No spark, no sexual chemistry—to say nothing of the fact that he’d be no match for Sheba when she was in a bolshie mood, which was most of the time.

“I’m good, thanks, Billy, but late as always.” They walked toward their respective vehicles, a dilapidated Vauxhall in Angela’s case and a van emblazoned with a plumber’s credentials in Billy’s. “You’re obviously running late as well,” she said. “You’re usually long gone by now.”

“Had a bit of a late night, didn’t I, so couldn’t get out of bed.” He scratched his head, causing his hair to stand on end and stay that way. “No good to anyone if I can’t hold a spanner, am I now.”

“You’ll get the push.”

“Nah, no worries.” He winked at her. “The gaff where we’re working now, the lady likes me.” Billy was a good-looking kid, well able to take advantage of what the idle rich females in the wealthier regions of the Island had to offer. “She wouldn’t want to see me go. What would she do for entertainment then?”

Angela climbed into her car, still laughing as she waved goodbye to Billy. She drove the short distance to the floating bridge and sat in line, drumming her fingers as she waited for it to trundle across the river. It was taking its own sweet time today, but traffic on the river was always heavier in the summer.

“One of these days I
will
get to live on the other side of the river,” she muttered to herself. “Especially if Jack likes what he sees today.”

East and West Cowes—one town separated by so much more than a narrow stretch of river. West Cowes was the headquarters of British yachting, frequented by royalty, its exclusivity reflected in its property prices. East Cowes, although much improved and now boasting a marina of its own, was still the poor relation, better known as the industrial end of town and home to the factory which produced the first hovercraft.

The chain bridge finally arrived, and ten minutes later Angela drove up the immaculate gravel driveway to the Porchfield Golf and Country Club. She still half expected to be asked what she was doing there. She’d scrimped and saved in order to find the extortionate membership fee but considered it to be a prudent investment. Not all the wealthy denizens of the Island had their membership applications accepted. The class-conscious committee concerned themselves with a great deal more than mere sporting prowess. Angela, aware that she didn’t stand a chance of being accepted on merit, had made it her business to bump into the main man on the membership committee, doing what had to be done in order to win his support.

Needs must, and all that.

Angela made a point of hiding her rusty car in the furthest corner of the car park, well away from the shiny Mercs and Beamers occupying the spaces closest to the posh entrance. It wouldn’t do to let the side down and give the golfers further cause to resent the tennis members. She hauled her kit from the boot. She
was
a member and that was all that mattered. Against all the odds she’d pulled it off, and how she’d managed to do so wasn’t the issue. She was one of the in crowd in a happening club where she confidently expected to meet a wealthy man capable of taking care of her and her family for the rest of her days.

And she
had
met him. She’d be playing tennis with him all morning. Angela was tired of waiting for him to make his move. Today she planned to go on the offensive.

The Brady household was running late. Stella sighed as her husband Ed, a stickler for punctuality, bawled out Leah, their fifteen-year-old daughter, for oversleeping.

“Come on, Leah,” he yelled at the bathroom door. “What’re you doing in there? Get a bloody move on! It’s tennis tournament day and yer mum’s got to run you to school before we go to the club.”

“She needn’t bother,” Leah said, emerging from the bathroom, stick-thin and already as tall as her diminutive father. “I said I’d meet Malik and Sheba on the corner and we’ll get the bus together.”

“I don’t know why you hang out with those two. They ain’t our type.”

“And what sort of type would that be, Dad?” Leah asked with exaggerated patience. “We’re not exactly royalty. We come from bloody Essex, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Don’t effing-well swear! We’ve bettered ourselves through my hard work, so you can have the things I didn’t. I don’t want you getting too pally with the Shahs. They ain’t got prospects. You ought to mix with people like Chris Porterhouse.”

“Chris doesn’t go to our school, so he’s not really part of our scene. Anyway, Malik’s got all the prospects I’ll ever need.” Leah wandered into the kitchen and kissed Stella. “Morning, Mum.”

“Morning, love.” Stella, always quick to come to her daughter’s defense in her frequent spats with her father, instinctively took her side, even though she knew she’d be made to pay for it later. “Chris goes to the fee-paying Catholic place.”

“I pay fees where you go. It costs me a bleeding arm and leg.”

“Well then, Malik and Sheba’s mum must pay fees too, so that makes them okay.”

“Wonder where she gets the money,” Stella mused.

Ed snorted but kept his opinions to himself.

“Your breakfast’s ready, darling,” Stella said.

“Thanks, Mum, but I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat, sweetheart. You’re much too thin.”

“Sheba says it’s impossible to be too thin.”

Stella wrinkled her brow but refrained from putting her daughter straight. Sheba was universally popular and had recently delighted Leah by taking a liking to her. She saw how much Sheba’s friendship had benefited Leah’s fragile self-esteem. Leah had inherited her father’s features, a visual bone of contention every time she looked in the mirror, which did little to improve her rocky relationship with him. Her thin, mousy blonde hair, small eyes, and too-large nose were a constant source of despair. Stella disagreed, but Leah was convinced none of the boys would look twice at her. Sheba showed her how to disguise her defects with makeup, but Stella wasn’t sure whether that had made things better or merely reinforced Leah’s negative self-image.

Ed moved to the patio when his mobile rang and stood there, shouting into it. “I don’t care how you do it. In fact I don’t want to know. Just get them out. If they can’t pay the rent then they can’t stay in the flat. That’s the way the fucking world works.” He listened and then exploded again. “I don’t give a bleeding toss about their hard luck story. Get them out, and call me back when it’s done.” He snapped his phone shut and muttered something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots. “Come on, Stella, get a move on. We’ll be late for tennis. And just remember what I said about playing Jack and Angela. She’s got a weak backhand, so for God’s sake exploit it! And whatever you do, don’t return Jack’s serve onto his forehand.”

“Sure, darling. I know how to play them.”

“Leah?” Ed’s expression was appalled as he looked at his daughter as though seeing her for the first time that morning. “You can’t go to school in a skirt that short.”

“Don’t be stupid, Dad,” she said, contempt in her voice as she shouldered her backpack and headed for the door. “All the girls wear short skirts.” She giggled. “So would some of the boys, given half the chance. Bye, Mum, have a good game.”

“She’s out of fucking control!” Ed delivered a stinging blow to the side of Stella’s face. “And it’s your fault for indulging her. I’d never have dared speak to my father like that.”

Stella, clutching her burning cheek, knew better than to answer her husband back. Business was going badly, and as usual he was taking it out on her. She bottled up the loathing she now felt for the man who’d literally swept her off her feet twenty years ago, dazzling a love-starved teenager with money and sophistication beyond her understanding. Stella had been too young to recognize the cruel nature behind the congenial façade. She had long since come to hate the father of her beloved child with as much passion as she’d once loved him.

Stella locked herself in the bathroom and permitted the tears to roll down her face.
Soon,
she reminded herself, bitterness and steely determination corroding her insides.
Soon I’ll find a way to take Leah and get away from him forever.

But in the meantime, for Leah’s sake, she’d play the part of the devoted wife and mother, and never let Ed penetrate the defenses she’d constructed round her most vulnerable places in order to withstand this dictatorship which went by the name of marriage.

When she emerged from the bathroom Ed was already in the car, the engine running, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He moved off before she’d even closed her door, scowling as always and impatiently sounding his horn at the traffic stalled in front of him.

Ed hated living in East Cowes. Although their abode was in a more salubrious area than Angela’s, it was still on the wrong side of the river. He’d planned to live across on the other side when they’d moved here, but a few ill-advised investments meant he could no longer afford West Cowes prices. But having told all and sundry they were moving to Cowes, Ed wouldn’t back down. Unless and until he could afford an address on a par with Jack’s, here they would stay, pretending they preferred the comparative peace and quiet of East Cowes.

Stella was uncomfortably aware of the resentment eating away at her husband, fueling his jealousy and antipathy toward Jack. Knowing how vindictive Ed could be, she had a horrible feeling that it was all going to end badly.

They were now in danger of being late for the tournament, but Stella didn’t bother suggesting that they use the floating bridge. The mere mention of it would only remind Ed of the distance that separated him from his ambitions and further darken his mood. He pretended the bridge didn’t exist and took the long way round through Newport, a drive which Stella usually enjoyed. It took them past the entrance to Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s Island retreat. The landmark had been meticulously maintained, right down to the pornographic frescos adorning the walls of Prince Albert’s bathroom, and was now a major tourist attraction during the summer months.

But far from taking pleasure in the scenery, today the convoluted route only served to remind Stella of the equally long road ahead for her and Leah if they were ever going to be free of her husband’s relentless clutches.

Chapter Two

A H
IGH
-P
ITCHED
B
LAST
C
AUSED
J
ACK
to dump a set-winning volley into the bottom of the net.

“Shit!” He scowled in the direction of the whistle-blower. “Why did she have to do that at that precise moment?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Angela joined him at the net and bestowed a kiss on his sweat-stained cheek in lieu of the more traditional handshake.

“I’m sure she does it on purpose just to put me off. She’s always got to have the last bloody word.”

“Or the last whistle.” Angela giggled. “But don’t worry, we still didn’t lose.”

“Bad luck!” Ed trotted up to the net, smiling as though he’d just won the lottery. “That makes it an honorable draw, I believe.” He spoke in an irritatingly loud voice which defied his best efforts at refinement and still smacked of the Thames estuary. Jack was in no position to sit in judgment when it came to questionable roots. Even so, he curled his lip derisively and crushed Ed’s outstretched hand hard enough to make him wince.

Ed, undeterred by a few bruised fingers, was irritatingly smug as Stella joined him at the net. Win or lose, Stella was always full of enthusiasm. Game for anything. Visions of her as a schoolgirl charging up and down a hockey field on a freezing Saturday morning, knees blue with cold but still indefatigably cheerful, filtered through Jack’s mind. The image amused him and he winked at her, his bad mood lifting.