The Dare, page 5
‘Would it be the end of the world if you didn’t get offered a partnership? I mean, there’s plenty of time for all that, isn’t there? And what’s wrong with being a salaried GP?’
‘Nothing really. Regular hours. None of the hassles of management.’ He laughs at the face I’m pulling. ‘Yeah, yeah, I can see what you’re thinking. But I want more input into the running of the practice. Anyway, it’s what I’ve always wanted at this stage of my career.’
I stand up and put my arms around his waist, rest my head against his shoulder. I love the fact that he’s so ambitious, so driven. Although a small, selfish part of me can’t help wondering how much less of him I’ll see if he becomes a partner. Having more responsibility and more money is all well and good, but that comes at a price. I dread to think how much his workload will increase if he ends up getting this partnership.
‘Have you invited Gloria to the party?’
‘Of course. I’ve invited all the partners and their other halves. I’ve even invited Smethers, my arch-rival.’ He chuckles, but I know he’s only half joking. Andrew Smethers is his main competition for the partnership position. ‘You wait till you meet his wife. She’s had so much work done on her face she looks like an anaesthetized fish.’
I laugh along with him, but, honestly, the closer we get to this bloody party, the more I’m dreading it. What are Ross’s colleagues going to think when they meet me? The girlfriend who doesn’t even have a job. I wish I’d never agreed to the idea in the first place.
‘So how many from the surgery did you invite?’
‘Everyone, of course.’
I take a step back. ‘Everyone? Oh my God, Ross! How many is that?’
‘Don’t worry. They won’t all come. I could hardly invite some and not others. News spreads faster than norovirus in that place.’
His fingers stroke the back of my neck. ‘It’s such a pity all your friends live so far away.’
I nod. He makes it sound like there are loads of them, but after my parents and I moved to Dovercourt to make a fresh start most of the girls at my new school had already formed their friendship groups. I made friends eventually, still see a few of them from time to time, still talk on the phone with them every now and again. But Callie’s teaching English in Spain now and only comes back a few times a year, and Becca’s based in Carlisle. I can hardly expect them to trek all the way to London for a housewarming party. I’m going to have to make some new friends. People who live round here. Like that girl I met at the open day. I should have taken her number, suggested we meet up.
‘Lizzie? Are you okay?’
I stare at him in confusion. Why is he giving me that strange look?
‘Sweetheart, I think you’ve just had a partial. You were staring past me.’
I try not to look as crestfallen as I feel. I haven’t had one of those in ages – at least, I don’t think I have – and although they’re relatively harmless, I still feel unnerved when they’re pointed out to me.
He gives me a hug. ‘Don’t look so worried, darling. It was only a tiny one.’
‘But what if I start getting more? What if the big ones come back, too?’
Ross steps back and assumes his ‘I’m a doctor so listen to me’ face. ‘Worrying about the possibility of something happening is pointless. It’s not as if you have any control over it, so you might as well not worry.’
I roll my eyes. He can be maddeningly logical at times, and though I know what he says makes sense, it’s not what I want to hear right now. I want him to put his arms round me and tell me that it won’t come back. Not ever. Which is, of course, the one thing he won’t say. Because he’s a doctor, and no self-respecting doctor ever makes a promise they can’t keep. Even to his fiancée. To be fair, I probably wouldn’t believe him even if he did say that.
‘That, if you don’t mind me saying, is a typical male response.’
He pretends to look upset. ‘Are you saying I’m a typical male? And there was me, thinking I was special.’
I give him a playful push, but later, when he’s spread his papers all over the dining-room table and I’m on my own again in the study, the anxiety returns. Maybe Ross did tell me he was going to be late the other night and I missed it because of a partial. I think I’ve underestimated how much stress this Elodie Stevens story has triggered, not to mention sorting through that wretched box and all the memories it’s dredged up.
I’m worried about other things, too. Things I can’t tell him because I can’t put them into words but which seem to be gathering around me. Nameless, shapeless fears rising to the surface once more.
‘One day we’ll have babies of our own,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a list of possible names.’
She brushed an ant from her leg and flicked it across the patio.
‘Did you know that an ant can lift twenty times its own body weight?’ I said.
She rolled her eyes and I felt my cheeks redden. Why on earth was I talking about ants? If I wasn’t careful, she’d find someone else to hang out with. I used to think that that bad thing we’d done would bind us together for ever, but lately, I wasn’t so sure.
I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
12
It’s the night of the housewarming party and the guests should be arriving any time now. The last three weeks have flown by. The spring weather has been glorious – it’s been the tenth-warmest March on record. There haven’t been any more of those strange phone calls, thank goodness, and the papers have at last moved on from the Elodie Stevens story. Plus, I’ve unpacked the last of the boxes and filled in the application form for Greenwich University. The only fly in the ointment is the non-appearance of my period.
I think of the impulse purchase I made in Boots yesterday, the pregnancy test that’s still tucked at the bottom of my handbag. We had sex without a condom a few weeks ago and it’s been playing on my mind, along with everything else. Ross withdrew in time, I’m sure he did, but still, I’m usually as regular as clockwork.
I don’t want a baby. I mean, I do, one day. I’d love to be a mother. But not yet, not when my options are finally opening up. It’s been wonderful these last two years. Not having any major seizures. Falling in love with Ross. Living a normal life at last. Something I never dared believe would happen.
I’m not pregnant, I can’t be. I’m just a few days late, that’s all.
Ross points the remote at the stereo in the living room and the mellow tones of John Legend singing ‘All of Me’ float out of the speakers. We slow-dance, my head resting against his chest.
‘The house looks incredible,’ he says. ‘I feel bad that you’ve had to do everything on your own. You’ve worked so hard.’
‘It does. You should. And I have,’ I say, enjoying the moment of closeness and gazing over his shoulder at the fairy lights strung around the mirror over the fireplace. I really panicked this morning when he had to go out on two emergency calls. But somehow, I’ve accomplished every task on my list, and most of the ones on his. It took me ages to get those lights looking right, and what with all the candles twinkling away, the living room now has the feel of a magical grotto. Housewarming. It’s an apt name. The house does indeed feel warmer. Must be all those candles.
When the doorbell goes, we spring apart and into action – Ross to the front door and me into the kitchen to start cutting the bread. I feel awkward all of a sudden, wooden and unnatural, as if I’ve forgotten how to do something as simple as walk into my own kitchen. By the time Ross reappears with a well-dressed couple in their late thirties bearing wine and flowers, I’ve managed to drop one end of a baguette into the washing-up bowl. I whisk it out, hoping they haven’t noticed.
‘Darling, this is Andrew Smethers and his wife, Trina.’
Wow. Ross was right about the cosmetic surgery, but it’s been very well done. She looks amazing and nothing whatsoever like an ‘anaesthetized fish’. I make a note to tell him off for being so mean.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I say.
Trina Smethers leans forwards and kisses me on both cheeks. It’s much more of a city thing, all this kissing. I’m gradually getting used to it. Next to Trina, I feel big and awkward, although we’re probably the same dress size. I brace myself for the small talk and the inevitable question about what I do for a living. What can I say that won’t make me sound like a sad relic from the 1950s?
As it happens, I don’t have to say anything because she gives me the loveliest smile, thanks me for inviting them, and steps aside so that her husband can take his turn at greeting me. I know Ross is a little wary of Andrew Smethers, what with them both vying for the same partnership position, but he seems really nice, and so does his wife.
The doorbell rings again. And so it begins. The voices, the laughter, the music. The popping of corks and the clinking of glasses. It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, now that it’s happening, I’m rather enjoying it. I thought I’d feel like a single guest at my own party, that it would remind me of all those dreadful school discos I used to go to, skulking in corners while everyone else had a good time, praying I wouldn’t embarrass myself by having a seizure.
Ross is on his third beer already, and I’m sure he had a cigarette in the garden earlier, even though he’s meant to have given up. For all his laid-back approach to the preparations, I can see how important it is to him that this party is a success. He beckons me over to where he’s standing, with a rather funky-looking older woman with a purple streak in her grey hair.
‘Lizzie, this is June, our highly efficient practice manager. Soon to be retiring, more’s the pity.’
I shake the hand June offers me. So there are still people in London who don’t do the kissy-kissy thing. Thank heavens for that.
‘Ross tells me you’re applying to Greenwich University,’ she says. ‘I went there back in the early nineties when it was still Thames Poly. Made some of my best friends there.’ She gives a wistful smile. ‘Oh, to be a student again.’
June introduces me to Lucy and Becky, the two receptionists, and for a moment I’m almost tempted to go for that job Ross was on about. If I do a part-time degree, maybe I could manage a couple of mornings a week at the surgery. It’ll depend on the times of the lectures, of course.
‘You look utterly gorgeous in that dress,’ Ross whispers in my ear. At last, he’s starting to relax. I’m so glad I agreed to this party. Getting to know all his colleagues like this makes me feel part of his world. I don’t even mind when his old medical-school chums turn up with enough alcohol to keep them going till next weekend. Their noisy exuberance and big, beery hugs make everyone relax and start laughing.
By ten thirty, even the rather staid Gloria Williams and her professorial-looking husband are flinging themselves around to Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-eyed Girl’ like a couple of loved-up hippies.
I’m surprised when the doorbell goes, because I thought anyone who was going to come would be here by now, and though it’s fun and I’m having a good time, I’m really tired after all that anticipation and preparation. I’ve been rather hoping people might start drifting away in half an hour or so, and that it’ll just be Ross’s hard-core medical chums left and I’ll be able to go up to bed and leave them to it.
‘Don’t panic, darling. It’s probably just the police!’ laughs Ross, squeezing past me to the front door. ‘Anyone want another drink, by the way?’ he calls back into the room as he goes.
‘I’d love some more red wine,’ Gloria says. She looks at me apologetically. ‘Poor Lizzie, you’ve only just sat down. I’ll go and help myself, shall I?’
I leap to my feet. ‘No, don’t worry. You stay here and enjoy yourself.’
As I head back to the kitchen, I glance down the hall and see Ross helping someone off with their coat. If people are going to start arriving at this time of night, God only knows when it will end. Still, the party is a success. That’s the main thing. Even if it takes us all of tomorrow to get the house back to normal.
Someone has left the back door ajar and the smell of cigarettes wafts in. I close it softly. Then I find a tray and put the open bottle of red wine and some more glasses on to it, just in case anyone else fancies one. Like me, for instance. Perhaps tonight I should take a risk and have a drink at my own party. Besides, one small glass of red won’t do me any harm.
I lift the tray carefully and go back towards the living room. But as I approach the front door I stop dead, breath frozen in my lungs. The tray arcs into the air, then crashes to the floor, reverberating like a cymbal. An explosion of glass and red wine sprays upwards and outwards, bursting on to the pale grey walls. A small cheer erupts from the living room. Then all external noise recedes.
Ross stares at me, his face twisted in confusion and shock. He steps towards me, the distant sound of glass crunching under his feet. Faces etched with concern cluster in the hallway. I’m aware of them on the periphery of my senses, but all my attention is focussed on the woman standing before me, the woman unwinding a scarf from her neck.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. How can this be? How can Alice’s sister be standing in my hallway?
13
Then: Before
Thursday, 19 July 2007
Mum comes into the kitchen with a basket full of dirty laundry.
‘How lovely that the sun’s shining on the first day of your school holidays,’ she says, beaming at me. ‘I think it’s a sign, don’t you? A sign that we’re going to have the best summer ever.’ She plonks the basket on the floor in front of the washing machine. ‘Who was that you were phoning?’
‘Alice. We’re going on our walk.’
There’s a noticeable pause before Mum speaks again. ‘Why don’t you ever ask Elizabeth Staunton over to play?’ she says.
I give a long, dramatic sigh. Does she really think I still play?
‘Because all she ever wants to do is talk about Justin Timberlake and, anyway, I prefer being with Alice. Just because you’re friends with Elizabeth’s mum doesn’t mean I have to be friends with her daughter.’
Mum opens the door of the washing machine and starts bundling the clothes inside. ‘No, of course it doesn’t. But Elizabeth’s a really nice girl, and surely you’ve got more shared interests with her than you have with Alice Dawson.’
I don’t like the way she says Alice’s name, her surname in particular. The way she spits it out as if it’s something unpleasant on her tongue.
‘What, like being forced to practise the piano by our mums?’
She straightens up and gives me a pointed look. ‘Don’t be silly, Lizzie. I don’t force you to play the piano. I thought you liked it.’
‘I used to. Before all the theory exams.’
‘Elizabeth is very good at music theory. She could help you.’
‘Mu-um! I don’t want Elizabeth Staunton to help me with my music theory, thank you very much. Anyway, what’ve you got against Alice? Isn’t she posh enough for you, or is it because her mum and dad don’t go to church?’
Dad chooses this very moment to come into the kitchen from the garden. ‘Lizzie! Don’t talk to your mother like that! It’s very rude.’
‘Well, I’m sick of being told who I can and can’t be friends with.’
Mum gives an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not telling you you can’t be friends with her. I just think you need to widen your circle, that’s all.’
Half an hour later, I’m still sulking about this conversation when I see Alice appear at the foot of our driveway. She’s wearing her sister’s denim jacket again, the one with the embroidered flowers on the sleeves. And there’s something different about her hair. She’s put it up. I’d like to put mine up like that, but it’s not long enough. Mum likes me to keep it short because it’s ‘easier to manage’. Except it’s not. It just sticks out at weird angles and looks stupid and ugly.
I grab the bottle of diluted orange squash I prepared earlier, plus the four flapjacks I’ve swiped from the cake box and wrapped in tinfoil.
‘Bye, Mum, see you later.’
‘Bye, darling,’ she calls out from the kitchen. ‘Do be careful, won’t you? Don’t talk to any strangers.’
Mum would be even more worried if she knew about The Walk and how isolated it is. She thinks we just wander down to the local park.
It takes us roughly quarter of an hour to reach the turn-off that leads to Tippet Lane and the public footpath. Our favourite ponies are out in the field today and we stop to stroke their noses and feed them handfuls of long grass on our open hands. Alice seems quieter than normal. As if there’s something on her mind. I don’t like to ask her what it is in case it’s something to do with her mum’s depression. It usually is. Although she doesn’t look sad exactly, just … mysterious.
I pass her a flapjack and tell her about Mum wanting me to spend more time with Elizabeth Staunton.
Alice pulls a face. ‘Isn’t her dad a vicar or something?’
‘No, he’s a lay preacher.’
Alice makes a little snorting noise. ‘Whatever that is.’
‘It’s someone who occasionally leads the service but who isn’t a formally ordained cleric.’
Now Alice is giggling. ‘God, Lizzie, you sound like Mrs Bentham.’
I nudge her in the ribs with my elbow. ‘I do not.’
Mrs Bentham is our annoying religious studies teacher. She wears the most hideous open-toed sandals, the sort of thing my dad wears on the beach, and her breath always smells of garlic. But before long, I’m giggling, too, and for the next few minutes I impersonate Mrs Bentham for Alice’s amusement, even down to breathing out gusts of imaginary garlic breath in her face as I tell her off for being a disruptive influence.
‘I bet that’s why your mum wants you to spend more time with Churchy Staunton,’ Alice says. ‘Because she thinks I’m a disruptive influence.’
She fiddles around with the bulldog clip at the back of her head. Strands of hair have escaped and are falling down her neck, but it looks nice. Sexy. I hope she doesn’t start wearing it like that all the time.
