The Girls (15 page)

‘I know. I know.’ Adele nodded understandingly. Cece was a social worker. In other words she had a real job, a proper job. And she was a single mother. Adele could never hope to compete in a who’s-got-the-least-free-time battle with her. And neither would she want to.

‘How are the girls?’

‘They’re fine,’ she said. ‘Great in fact. Although we’ve still got the dreaded Gordon staying with us. Making inappropriate comments left, right and centre.’

‘Urgh. Gordon. Christ, I forgot he was here. How’s his rancid foot?’

‘Gone. We’re just waiting for the prosthetic. Could be a while.’

Cece winced. ‘And you’re playing nurse, I suppose?’

‘To a certain extent. He has people coming in to deal with the foot itself.’

‘Or the remains of the foot?’

Adele couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Yes. The remains of the foot. And Leo’s been taking as much time off work as he can. But yes, essentially I’m caring for him.’

‘And teaching your three girls.’

‘Yes, and teaching the girls.’

‘God.’ Cece shook her head wonderingly. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’ There was no irony in her tone and Adele was struck by how often women undervalued their own efforts whilst being endlessly impressed by those of their peers.

‘Oh, by the way …’ Adele laughed nervously. ‘Such a funny thing. You know I’ve been editing Rhea’s memoirs and –
ha
– she mentions something that happened that summer, the summer you lost your sister. Something between you and Leo.
Ha!
And I honestly had no idea that you and he had …’

‘Oh God.
That
.’ Cece put her hand to her mouth. ‘How embarrassing. You know, I think I’ve actually edited that out of my psyche. I made such a total tit of myself.’

Adele laughed as though she were in on the joke.

‘Poor Leo,’ Cece continued. ‘I decided that he was
it
. You know. The sun and the moon and the universe. And I basically stalked the poor guy until he caved. And, God, you know nothing happened, right? He just let me hang out with him. Let me be his pretend girlfriend. I mean – I was only thirteen or something ridiculous. There was no way anything untoward was going to happen. I mean,
obviously
.’ She stopped and put her face to the air as if feeling for the direction of the wind then turned back to Adele. ‘Did you talk about it with Leo?’

Adele nodded.

‘What did he say? Did he even remember it?’

‘Yes. He remembered it. And he said what you said. That it was just a bit of fun. A bit of harmless snogging.’

‘Oh.
God
.’ Cece dropped her face into her hands. ‘Did he tell you that? I didn’t think … I’m surprised. It was a bit weird, really, when you think about it. I was so young. He was virtually a man. But at the time – I mean, you know what that garden’s like. Things happen in that garden differently to how they happen in the real world. Different rules apply. And when you’re thirteen, I don’t know, you just can’t wait for it all, can you? You want it all to start
now
.’

Adele smiled tightly. She thought of thirteen-yearold Fern, thirteen-year-old Tyler, almost-thirteen-year-old Grace. With their breasts and their waists and their attitudes. Did they want it all to start
now
?

‘Did your mother know?’ she asked.

‘God no. She was up in arms enough about Phoebe. Thought Phoebe was out of control and I was the least of her worries. Not’ – she clasped Adele’s forearm – ‘that there was technically anything to worry about. Five minutes of nothing. That’s all it was. But I don’t think she’d have liked it. I don’t suppose
I’d
like it, if it was Tyler.’ She smiled wanly. ‘Anyway’ – she glanced beyond Adele at the shops ahead – ‘I’d better get on. But, I meant to ask: what did you make of the new neighbour? What was her name? Clare.’

‘She seems perfectly nice, I suppose. A bit quiet. A bit cagey.’

‘Did you find out about the dad thing? Was I right? Christ, I was burning to ask her.’ She stopped as the inappropriateness of her choice of words dawned upon her. Then she laughed. ‘Excuse the pun. But I so wanted to ask her. Did anything come out that I missed?’

‘No. Nothing at all. She didn’t mention the father. Nobody asked. And according to the girls, Grace said he’s dead. I don’t suppose she’d say that unless it was either true or more palatable than the truth.’

‘Poor girls,’ said Cece vaguely. ‘If it
was
their dad who did that to their house, they must be so fucked up.’

They both shook their heads sadly and then Cece straightened and said, ‘Right, really must get on. I’ve got a date tonight. Have to get my eyebrows done. And a wax. But, look, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, what with Gordon the octopus and everything, but would it be OK if I sent Tyler down to yours? Just until I get home? I won’t be late. Elevenish?’

Adele smiled and swallowed a sigh. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘No problem.’ And there it was. Classic Cece. No doubt if she hadn’t bumped into Adele in the street she’d just have sent Tyler down anyway, on some kind of flimsy pretext. Either that or left Tyler alone for the evening. Phoebe’s unexplained death had left so many bruises and scars on her family and as the younger sister she’d had to carry most of her hurt in the small soft core of herself. Tyler had been the result of some kind of mistake, never quite explained, and she’d never really worked out how to mother her properly. Thought parenting was something you could opt in and out of, depending on your mood.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Absolutely. In fact’ – a thought occurred to her – ‘our new tent arrived this week. Maybe I’ll put it up and let the kids muck around out there this evening. Invite some of the other children. The weather’s meant to be good. What do you think?’

Cece shrugged. ‘Sounds good to me,’ she said, as, of course, she would. And then she squeezed Adele to her, told her she was a star and disappeared up the Finchley Road leaving behind her a backdraught of unhappiness.

Tyler arrived at seven o’clock with Dylan in tow. Grace arrived shortly afterwards. Gordon sat in his wheelchair in the living room tutting at each arrival.

‘Mrs H.,’ he called to her in the kitchen, ‘can’t you put a lock on this door? This house is filling up with waifs and strays.’

‘I invited them, Gordon,’ she called back, ‘we’re doing a campfire.’

‘Oh good Christ. What on earth for?’ He appeared at her side a moment later. ‘Hook me up to Skype, will you? I want to talk to my wife. And get away from all those bloody teenagers.’

Adele looked up at him from the laptop. She’d been researching something for a project she and the girls were working on for their history module. She thought about protesting but couldn’t find the resolve. ‘Fine,’ she said, bringing up Skype and clicking on Affie’s number. She pushed her chair out of the way and helped Gordon negotiate his wheelchair into the space.

‘Any chance of a glass of red?’ he asked, tapping his fingertips impatiently against the tabletop as he waited for Affie to answer. ‘And maybe a square or two of that posh chocolate you’ve been hiding from me.’

Adele rolled her eyes. The posh chocolate was an attempt to control Gordon’s appetite for cheap sugar. Leo had bought it for him and was rationing it out, square by square. ‘If he’s going to insist on eating sugar, at least let it be good-quality sugar,’ he’d said.

She snapped off two squares, poured him a small glass of Pinot Noir and set both in front of him. He growled at her by way of thanks and then Affie’s face appeared on the screen. She looked tired. And displeased.

‘Gordon, you look thin.’

Gordon turned from the screen and beamed at Adele. ‘There’ – he laughed, pointing at Affie on the screen – ‘did you hear that, Mrs H.?
Affie
,’ he yelled at the screen, ‘look at this!’ He showed his wife the two squares of chocolate. ‘Look what they give me here. They call this a “snack”. They keep telling me I’m too fat! And trying to starve me!’

Adele groaned, took some bowls from a low cupboard and filled them with crisps she’d bought specially. Then she took them into the living room and laid them in front of the children.

It alarmed her slightly, the sheer size of all these children. It felt like only yesterday that her flat had been filled with small, muddy-footed children, running in and out, leaving a trail of toys and leaves and crumbs in their wake. Now those small children were static, adult-sized, seething with unspoken thoughts and warped emotions. They pounced on the crisps, as though they’d not been fed in days,
thank you, Adele, thank you very much.
So polite; all those years of being reminded and cajoled into please-and-thank-yous by their parents finally paying dividends.

Adele sat at a remove, not wanting to be in the kitchen with Gordon yet not feeling quite like she belonged in here either. There was something heavy and peculiar in the atmosphere. Tyler was sitting, as she usually did, curled into Dylan on the sofa. Catkin sat cross-legged on the floor, a piece of schoolwork on the floor at her feet, a pen in her hand, her ears plugged with buds attached to an iPod. Fern and Grace sat side by side, slightly awkwardly, as though they didn’t know each other. Willow sat on the window ledge, feet kicking back and forth against the radiator,
bangbangbang
, chatting stream-of-consciousness style to Tyler and Dylan about something someone had said about someone else that someone else had said to her that was just so
shocking
, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening every few words to better communicate the horror of the thing.

‘What happened to your arms, Tyler?’ asked Adele, noticing a pattern of fine red scratches over both her forearms.

Tyler touched her arms, protectively. ‘Oh. God. Nothing. Just did it getting a football out of the blackberry bushes for some kid.’ She shrugged and smiled.

‘Looks sore,’ said Adele.

‘It’s fine. It’s healing.’

Adele nodded but kept her gaze on Tyler. She didn’t look quite right. Despite being something of a tomboy, she’d always been strangely meticulous about her appearance – couldn’t bear to have a rip in her jeans or a tangle in her hair. Adele had put this down to the influence of her mother, who despite – in her opinion – being a high-functioning alcoholic and heavy recreational drug-user, always looked immaculate. But Tyler looked slightly dog-eared today: her hair needed a wash; her Converse were grey with a frayed hole on one side. Her skin looked dry. And then there were those scratches on her arms.

There was a slam as Leo arrived at the front door. The dog scrambled to his feet, Willow darted to the hallway, everyone turned expectantly to look towards the door and then he walked in and the whole atmosphere lifted. Tyler’s face lit up as it always did when she saw Leo. She’d adopted Leo as her surrogate father from a young age and because she didn’t have to live with him, she still saw him with a golden, childish lack of objectivity.

Within moments of his arrival all the children were out in the garden loudly collaborating to get the tent up. Max wandered across and joined in. Smaller children, curious and wide-eyed, stood and watched from the sidelines. Neighbours came over to chat. Catkin wheeled Gordon out and he sat, his half-empty wine glass clutched in his fist, passing a running commentary on the foolhardiness of all involved. It was a day short of the equinox, and the sun sat high in the evening sky. It would not grow dark for hours. Leo brought out chilled wine in a thermal sleeve and a stack of plastic cups, offering it round to all the adults. Up above, Rhea sat on her balcony, her rabbit on her lap, a glass of wine in her own hand, large sunglasses obscuring her small-featured face, the sun glinting off her golden chains and oversized earrings. She held her glass aloft to Adele’s and called something down that Adele couldn’t hear above the din of conversation. Adele raised her glass up to Rhea and smiled and felt that swell of joy she always felt at this time of the year when the garden came back to life. She hadn’t eaten since midday and the icy wine hit her senses like an intravenous shot of pleasure. If, quite against all of Adele’s naturally held beliefs, it turned out that there was an afterlife, she strongly suspected that in heaven it would always be a Friday night. Any Friday night would do, even a grey wet one at the fag-end of January, but this Friday night in particular, with the prospect of another three hours of daylight, a low night-time temperature of eighteen degrees, the weekend lying ahead of them, her children engaged and happy with their friends and the early softening effects of a good white wine,
this
Friday night would be a good one to live over and over again, in perpetuity.

Adele cupped her eyes against the sun as a figure approached. She’d thought at first that it was a child. Then realised it was Clare, in a summer dress, her short hair held off her face with a thin black band. She held up a welcoming hand and Clare walked towards her.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Clare!’

‘Hi,’ Clare said.

Adele tipped her glass towards the tent. ‘What do you think of our monster tent?’

Clare appraised it. ‘Very nice,’ she said.

Leo got to his feet as she approached. ‘Clare,’ he said, ‘hi. Can I interest you in glass of wine?’

‘Yes. Thank you. Just a small one.’

‘There you go.’ He handed her a cup. ‘Cheers.’

Clare sat down on the grass next to Adele and sipped her wine. ‘Can never get used to how different it looks from over here,’ she said, surveying the sweep of garden.

‘I know,’ said Leo. ‘That’s the magic of the garden, the way it was laid out to give so many different aspects. Your side was designed to feel like a country hamlet, you know, all the little paths and nooks and crannies. Whereas this side was meant to be sweeping and grandiose.’

‘Looking down on the little people?’ Clare suggested drily.

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Like the old estates with the big house at the crown and the workers somewhere at the bottom. Except of course this is central London and we’re all equal now.’ He laughed.

They all turned to look at the tent, which was currently bulging with outlined parts of children’s bodies; shrieks of mirth and over-excitement emanating from within. ‘So nice to see them all actually playing,’ said Adele. ‘Instead of just sitting about.’