Thinking of You (25 page)

“Seven pints of Blackthorn, four white wines, and five Bacardi Breezers.” Having shoved his way through the crowd to the bar, Spider-Man added in a friendly fashion, “You all right?”

Jem looked up. Oh yes, she was just tickety-boo. The beer pumps were playing up tonight and best bitter was splattered across the front of her white shirt. It was also dripping from her elbows, a sensation she hated. But Spider-Man was the first member of the costume party crew to say anything remotely friendly to her tonight, so she forced herself to smile.

“Great, thanks. Dry white?”

Spider-Man, aka Darren, grinned and said triumphantly, “I'd prefer wet.”

Hilarious. When it came to razor-sharp ripostes, Darren was no Jonathan Ross. Then again, at least he'd been invited to Alex and Karen's party tonight, which was more than she had been. Jem got on with the business in hand, flipping the tops off the Breezers. All week she'd been hearing people chatting excitedly between lectures and tutorials about Alex and Karen's costume party, deciding what they were going to wear. Everyone was going apart from her and Rupert, who had announced that he'd rather sieve his intestines through a colander.

Jem began pouring the Blackthorn into pint glasses, the familiar sense of abandonment nestling in her stomach. Earlier this evening Rupert had made love to her and she'd felt wonderful, special, the luckiest girl in Bristol. Then afterward, he had showered and changed and driven up to Cheltenham for the bachelor party of an old school friend's brother, absently kissing her good-bye and telling her he'd be back sometime tomorrow.

Déjà vu. First Scotland, then Rome, and now this.

Which left her, yet again, feeling like Macaulay Culkin in
Home
Alone
. Except the way things were going, she'd welcome a couple of burglars into the flat with open arms. At least they'd be company.

There was a burst of laughter from the crowd a short distance from the bar. Involuntarily glancing up from the cider pump, Jem saw Davy and Lucy dressed as a pair of New York gangsters in sharp suits and fedoras. Once upon a time Davy had been the ignored one, the geeky outsider. Now, unbelievably, Lucy had moved in with him and was busy dragging him by the scruff of his neck out of his shell. They were living with Davy's mother—how sad was that?—yet, weirdly, appeared to be having a good time. Davy was beginning to be more generally accepted; somehow he was no longer regarded as the nerd on the sidelines. Lucy's friendship had imbued him with cool. Jem had to admit he looked good tonight; gangster-style suited him. And it went without saying that it suited Lucy, who looked spectacular whatever she wore.

Neither of them had so much as glanced in her direction. She might as well be invisible for all the attention anyone else was paying her. Ugh, and now cider was dripping onto her jeans.

“Last orders,” bellowed the landlord, clanging the bell at ten to eleven.

Jem finished lining up the wines, the ciders, and the Breezers. She totaled the bill and took Spider-Man's credit card, ready to slot it into the machine.

“So you'll be finishing soon,” Darren said bouncily, his mask pushed up to his forehead and his manner jovial.

“As soon as everyone's gone.”

“Are you coming along to the party, then?”

Was it Jem's imagination or did the pub suddenly go a few decibels quieter? Either Clint Eastwood had just walked in, or Spider-Man had said the Wrong Thing.

She shook her head. “Um, no.”

Darren, not the brightest spark in the firework box, was oblivious to his faux pas. “Why not?”

Because nobody wants me there. Everyone hates me, haven't you noticed? Jem didn't say this out loud. She hurriedly pushed the credit card reader across the bar and said, “I'm fine. Just put your PIN in, please.”

“But that's daft if you're not doing anything else! Hey, Alex.” Darren turned and grabbed Alex by the shoulder. “I've just been telling Jem, she should come along to the party, yeah?”

Jem felt hot and sick. Alex was looking embarrassed now while the rest of them were nudging each other and smirking, loving every minute.

“Er… the thing is, it's a costume party,” Alex mumbled.

“And I have to get home,” Jem blurted out, hideously aware of Davy and Lucy watching from a safe distance as the scene was played out for their entertainment. “But… um, thanks anyway.”

Thanks for not inviting me to your party, Alex, and thanks to you too, Darren, for so efficiently drawing this fact to the attention of everyone in this pub.

It'd probably be front page news in tomorrow's
Evening
Post
.

Ceris Morgan, whom Jem had never much liked and who she knew for a fact fancied Rupert, was dressed as a French maid. Unable to resist joining in, she adjusted her saucily low-cut top and said in a singsong voice, “We wouldn't be rich enough. Jem isn't interested in parties thrown by boring old
ordinary
people anymore. She's got Rupert.”

Witch. Jem was sorely tempted to retort that Ceris too might stand a chance with someone like Rupert if only she didn't have fat ankles and a silly, horsy face.

She'd have done it too if it wouldn't have meant being sacked on the spot.

***

“Six pints of Blackthorn, four glasses of white wine, three Bloody Marys, and two Bacardi Breezers,” said Alex, flushed with triumph at having made it back to the pub. “Oh, and fifteen packets of cheese and onion crisps.”

It was Sunday lunchtime, and the bedraggled survivors of last night's party, still in costume, were all set to carry on. By the sound of things it had been a resounding success. Jem, who hadn't heard from Rupert, silently bent down and began pulling packets of crisps from the box under the counter. At least Davy and Lucy weren't here, which would only have made things more stressful.

Sadly, Ceris was.

“Alex, I don't want cheese and onion! Get me ready salted.” Her voice was louder than anyone else's and ear-splittingly shrill.

“Did you hear that?” said Alex, peering over the bar. Jem murmured, “I think the whole of Clifton heard it.”

“And I don't want white wine on its own. God, my brain, I'm just soooo dehydrated.” Clutching her head for dramatic effect Ceris shrieked, “Make mine a spritzer.”

Jem straightened back up.

“Ooh, what a night. You missed out big-time.” Ceris lit a Silk Cut and blew smoke through her horsy nostrils across the bar. “You really should have come along to the… oops, I forgot! You weren't invited!”

Flushing, Alex the peacemaker said hastily, “It's not that Jem wasn't invited. She just didn't have anything to wear.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Ceris smirked. “She could have come as a two-faced bitch; that wouldn't have needed any dressing up.”

Splooooooosh
went the fountain of soda water as Jem's finger squeezed the trigger on the mixer gun. Heavens, how had that happened?

“Aaaarrrgh!” Ceris let out a screech as piercing as nails down a blackboard, her maid's uniform instantly drenched. Now that she'd started, Jem discovered she didn't want to stop. Ceris was a spiteful bully who reveled in belittling others and deserved to be taken down a peg or two. And how better to do it than with a drenching? Feeling empowered and better already, Jem carried on aiming the gun at Ceris until every inch of her was dripping with bubbly, ice-cold soda water. An unexpected but welcome bonus was realizing that other people were stifling laughter, acknowledging that this was no more than Ceris deserved.

Jem smiled because last night she had heroically resisted the urge to insult her and now she was glad she had. This was way more fun.

“Stop it, STOP IT,” screamed Ceris, mascara sliding down her face as she struggled to dodge out of reach.

“No.” Jem was enjoying herself; this was better than the water-shooting gallery at the fair.

“Will someone stop her? She's gone mad! It's
cold
…”

“And you have fat ankles.” For good measure Jem added cheerily, “And a face like a horse.”

Oh well, if a job was worth losing, it was worth losing well.

“Put the gun down.” The pub landlord's big hands closed over Jem's, prying her away from her new favorite toy.

“You complete bitch!” Spitting with rage and shaking soda water out of her hair, Ceris bellowed, “My dad's a lawyer; he's going to sue you!”

“No, he isn't.” The landlord fixed Ceris with a look of weary distaste. “You're loud and you're drunk.” Then he turned to Jem. “And you're fired.”

At least she wasn't being ignored anymore; the whole pub was, by this time, agog.

“Great,” said Jem, wiping her wet hands on a bar towel. “I've always wanted to go out with a splash.”

***

Who cared anyway? There were a million other pubs in Bristol. Although she was beginning to wonder if she wanted to do bar work anymore, what with the way it messed up her social life. As Jem trudged back to the flat, it occurred to her that she could always take out another loan and just enjoy herself instead. Then she and Rupert would be able to see more of each other and he wouldn't go away so much. Wasn't that a better idea? Loads of people did it and didn't waste time worrying about being in debt. You just paid off what you owed at some stage in the distant future when it was more convenient. When you thought about it, a bigger loan made so much more sense.

Turning into Pembroke Road, Jem's heart leaped at the sight of Rupert's car parked outside the flat. Oh thank God, he was back. Her pace quickened. Rupert would roar with laughter when she told him what had happened and he'd tell her she'd done exactly the right thing. Best of all he would put his arms around her and make her feel loved, which after the last couple of days was exactly what she needed. To be cosseted and told she wasn't the worst person in the world.

She hadn't even told him yet about being called into her tutor's office on Friday afternoon, the shame had been too great. Except there was no need to be ashamed in front of Rupert—he'd find that funny too.

Jem ran up the steps, fitted her key into the lock, and pushed open the front door.

“Rupert!” Too bad if he was sleeping; she'd wake him up. Right now she needed him too badly to care.

But he wasn't asleep; she could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Just the thought of Rupert naked, lathering his tanned body with shower gel, produced a fizz of adrenaline and brought a smile to Jem's face. She kicked off one boot and stealthily tested the door handle in case Rupert had changed the habit of a lifetime and locked it. No, he hadn't. She levered off the second boot and peeled off her less than alluring purple socks. She'd never had sex in a shower before.

But Rupert had.

It seemed, in fact, he was doing it right now.

Jem froze on the threshold of the overheated bathroom as she saw too many arms and legs through the misted-up frosted glass of the shower cubicle. Intermixed with the roar of the water, she now heard groans and murmured words uttered by a female. Next, even worse, came Rupert's voice going, “Oh yes… oh yes…”

Oh
no.
Please no. Don't let this be real.

But they were getting louder now and body parts—a tanned buttock here, a splayed hand there—were pressing up against the glass. Before anything more conclusive could happen—having to witness that would truly be the ultimate insult—Jem raced over to the sink and turned the hot tap on full blast.

It did the trick, like hurling a bucket of water over a couple of fighting dogs. Now she knew the true meaning of “cooling their ardor.”

“Fuck it,” yelled Rupert as the water in the shower ran from steaming hot to stone cold in two seconds flat. “
Fucking
plumbing.”

“
Waaaah
,” screeched a female voice, frantically scrabbling to slide open the shower door. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

Jem grabbed the navy towels hung over the brass rail and bundled them into her arms. Moving back to the door she whipped out the key in the lock on the bathroom side and waited for Rupert and his companion to emerge from the cubicle.

“WAAAAAHHH.” Having stumbled out and seen Jem standing there in the doorway, Caro let out an ear-splitting scream and stepped back, cannoning clumsily into Rupert.

Caro.

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Rupert looked over at Jem and exhaled. “You're supposed to be at work.”

“Sorry to spoil your afternoon.” The words were spilling out of Jem's mouth automatically. “I thought I'd come home early and surprise you. And guess what? I did.” She turned to Caro. “Did Rupert tell you we're together now?”

“No.” Exotic Caro smiled slightly. “He just said he'd been shagging you.”

Caro had always had an intimidating, supercilious air about her. When you thought about it, so did Rupert.

“OK,” said Jem.

“Look, I'm sorry.” Moving toward her, Rupert held out a hand for the towels.

Jem took another step back. This was turning into quite some afternoon. “Actually, I don't think you are. But never mind.” Her tone conversational, she added, “You will be.”

Still clutching the collection of towels, she slammed the door shut and used the key to lock it.

From inside the bathroom, Rupert shouted, “Jem, don't be stupid.”

“I'm not.” Wiggling the key between her thumb and forefinger, Jem thought for a moment then said, “I've
been
stupid, but I'm over that now.”

Was her plan too harsh? No, of course it wasn't.

Ten minutes later she banged on the bathroom door and sang out, “Right, I'm off. The key's in the kitchen bin. Don't you two catch cold now. Bye!”

 

“Jem?” When Ginny opened the front door at ten o'clock that night she thought she was hallucinating.

“Oh, Mum.” Jem's face was white, stained with tears, a picture of grief as she stumbled into Ginny's arms.

“Sweetheart, what's going on? What's happened?” Over the top of her daughter's blond head Ginny saw a taxi at the gate and a barrel-chested taxi driver coming up the path.

“OK, love?” The taxi driver had a kind face. “There you go, you're safe home now.” He looked apologetically at Ginny. “She was crying when I picked her up from the station. Hasn't got any money on her. It's fourteen pounds fifty.”

Nodding, numb with fear, Ginny somehow managed to disentangle herself and fetch her purse from the kitchen. Twenty pounds later she closed the front door and held Jem again while she shuddered and wept.

Please
don't let her be pregnant.

“Is it Rupert?” she said gently some time later when Jem had reached the messy, sniffing, over-the-worst-of-it phase.

“Y-yes.” Jem nodded, then miserably shook her head. “W-well, no. He's only part of it.”

“OK, sweetheart, you're here now. Don't you worry. Whatever it is, we'll sort it out.”

Jem wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “No need. I've already sorted it out.”

Had she murdered him? “What do you mean?”

“It's all over. I'm not going back. Not ever.”

Something about the flat tone of Jem's voice caused the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck to prickle in alarm. Had she really murdered Rupert?

“Jem, you have to tell me what happened.” Would she turn in her own daughter? Call the police? Or would she protect her, lie for her, whisk her off to Argentina for a life on the run from the authorities?

Yes, Ginny knew this was what she'd do. Nobody deserved to go to prison for murdering Rupert.

“Oh, Mum, it's all been so horrible. Rupert's been seeing someone else. I caught him with her today. It's Caro, his old girlfriend. You met her that time you called in.”

“I remember.” Ginny hadn't liked Caro either. “What did you do?”

Jem told her. When it became apparent that she hadn't left the two of them dead, Ginny hugged her harder than ever. “Oh, darling, you'll get over him in no time. Everything's going to be fine. How will he get out of the bathroom?”

“Through the window, I suppose. He'll have to climb down the drainpipe naked and ring someone else's doorbell to be let back in.” She paused and wiped her nose. “Shame not to catch it on a camcorder.”

Even the feeblest of jokes was surely a good sign. Ginny stroked Jem's hair and handed her a clean tissue. “You just wait; when you get back, everyone'll be on your side. All your friends will rally round and—oh Jem, don't cry; when they hear what you did, they'll love you for it.”

“They won't, they won't.” Sobbing again, Jem rocked with misery against her.

“They will!”

“They won't because I'm not going back. Because I don't have any f-friends, Mum. Everyone hates me… they
do
…”

“Oh, now that's not true! What about Lucy?”

“Hates me.” The words were muffled by Ginny's mauve lambs-wool cardigan. “She was seeing Rupert as well. When he chose me, she moved out.”

Oh Lord. So much she hadn't known, so much Jem had been keeping from her. Determined not to give up, Ginny said, “Well, there's Davy.”

“Ha, he hates me too. And he's best friends with Lucy now. That's where she moved to when she left the flat.” Pulling her messy face away from Ginny's shoulder, Jem said, “I don't have anywhere to live anymore. I lost my job in the pub today. And on Friday my course tutor called me into his office and gave me this big long lecture on how disappointed he is with me because I've been falling behind with my work. He thinks I'm going to fail my exams. And he's right, I am going to fail them, so what's the point of taking them? I was so worried about it yesterday,” Jem raced on, “I didn't know what to do, but now that everything else has happened I don't have to worry anymore. Because I've made up my mind: I'm not going back. There's no point, because I hate it there. I just don't want to be in Bristol anymore.”

“Sweetheart, you can't—”

“Mum, I
can
.” Nodding vigorously, Jem clutched Ginny's arms. “I gave university a try and it didn't work out. So that's it. I've decided. I'm going to do what makes me happy instead.”

Backpacking across Australia? Lap dancing in Thailand? Faintly Ginny said, “Which is?”

“I'm going to get a job.” Jem's grip tightened around her elbows, her eyes shining as she managed a watery smile. “Right here in Portsilver. And I'm going to move back in with you.”

***

“Excuse me? I don't want to be a nuisance.” The elderly female customer on table four tentatively touched Ginny's arm as she passed. “But, um, do you think I could have my credit card back?”

Oh God.

“What are you looking for?” Finn found her two minutes later, rifling through a pile of menus and the sheaf of credit card slips.

“Mrs. Black's credit card.” Feverishly, Ginny began rummaging through the contents of the wastepaper basket. “She gave it to me and now it's gone. I've lost it.”

“First rule of stealing credit cards,” Finn observed. “Try not to let the rightful owner see who stole it.”

“What did I
do
with the damn thing?” In desperation Ginny peered into the bowl of white roses on the bar.

“Panic over.” Having opened the till, Finn held up the missing Visa card. “In with the tenners.”

Ginny fanned herself vigorously. “Sorry, brain's gone AWOL.”

“I'd already noticed.”

Damn, so he'd spotted her earlier, trying to serve dessert to the party at table eleven waiting for their starters.

“They didn't mind.” Defensively, she said, “They laughed about it.”

“I know they did. It's not a criticism. I'm just saying you're a bit distracted.”

“A lot distracted.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Yes please.” Ginny nodded, grateful for the offer. Her brain was in such a muddle she badly needed an impartial opinion from someone she could trust.

“Look, it's ten past two. Can you hang in there until three? What's so funny?” said Finn.

“Whenever anyone tells me to hang in there, I feel like an orangutan dangling from a branch.”

He gestured around the busy restaurant. “Well, try not to dangle from any branches in here. When everyone's gone we'll have a proper chat, OK?”

***

“I don't know what to do,” Ginny concluded an hour later. They were sitting at one of the tables by the window, drinking espressos. She had told Finn everything. “I'm torn. I was so devastated when Jem left home… in one way this is a dream come true. I can't think of anything nicer than having her home with me again. But I want what's best for Jem and I'm not sure that's it. Bloody Rupert Derris-Beck,” she said angrily. “Up until this thing happened with him she was loving university. And I don't want to force her to go back, but I don't want her to feel like a failure either. What if she leaves and regrets it for the rest of her life?”

Finn, having paused for a moment, resumed stirring sugar into his coffee. “She can take a degree when she's eighty-five. There's no age limit.”

“I know, I know there isn't. But she'd like to do it now, if only everything else hadn't gone wrong. She's always been so happy and popular. Losing her friends has knocked her for six and she just feels so alone. It breaks my heart, it really does.” Through the window Ginny saw Tamsin emerge from the flat with Mae on her hip.

“OK, this is only my opinion but Jem's almost finished her first year. Exams are coming up and it seems a shame not to take them,” said Finn. “Then at least she's got the whole of the summer break to decide what to do.”

Ginny experienced a rush of gratitude; he was being so kind. “That's what I think too.”

“If she fails the exams, she can always resit them.” Glancing across the courtyard as Tamsin and Mae disappeared inside the antiques center, Finn continued, “But you never know, she might still pass first time. And after that, it's up to her. She can find another flat to share, make new friends, carry on with the course. Or stay down here with you. Or she might decide to try something completely different, take some time out and go traveling. Like Dan did.” He pointed through the window at the green-painted van trundling over the gravel. “He spent two years going round the world after finishing his PhD. Said it was an unforgettable experience. You could ask him to have a chat with Jem.”

“Dan has a PhD? In what?”

“Astrophysics.”

Blimey. Ginny watched as Dan, lugging crates of fruit and veg out of the back of the van, loped off in the direction of the kitchen. She'd never known that about him. And he'd ended up as a delivery driver, so what did that tell you about astrophysics?

“Did you go to university?”

Amused, Finn shook his head. “Too busy working for a firm of auctioneers, learning about antiques before setting up my own business.”

Ginny sighed. And he'd ended up doing all right for himself. “I still don't know what to do about Jem.”

“What does her dad say?”

Tuh, Ginny had phoned Gavin this morning and he'd been no use either. “That it's up to Jem.”

“Cheer up. Everything'll sort itself out.” Finn's gaze softened, distracting her for a couple of seconds with the kind of thoughts she didn't allow herself to think anymore. “Give her a few days to work things through.”

“That's the other thing Gavin said. I just wish—”

“Aaaarrrrgh!” The ear-splitting scream jolted both of them; in a split second Finn was out of his seat. Through the window Ginny saw Tamsin racing across the gravel in her tiny skirt and spindly high heels, to where Mae was sitting behind Dan's van being cautiously investigated by Stiller.

“Get away from her, you BEAST,” Tamsin yelled as Stiller interestedly sniffed Mae's face. Swooping down like a bony eagle, she scooped Mae up into her arms. Stiller, disappointed at having lost his new playmate, waggled his tail and licked hopefully at Mae's dangling feet.

“UGH! NO!
Filthy
animal! Are you out of your
mind
?” Tamsin roared at Reg as he rounded the corner of the restaurant. “Letting a dog run loose to attack an innocent
baby
?”

Poor Dan turned white with horror, searching for signs of blood.

Finn was out of the door now with Ginny inches behind him. “OK, calm down, nobody's been attacked.”

“But they could have been,” screeched Tamsin, long hair swinging as she inspected Mae for signs of injury. “That monster could have done anything!”

Gibbering with terror, Dan stammered, “I'm s-sorry, I didn't know, oh God I'm so sorry, I had no
idea
…”

“Dan, it's all right.” Finn took control of the situation, gesturing with his palms down that Dan wasn't to get upset. “What I want to know is how Mae came to be on her own out here.” He looked at Tamsin, who immediately tightened her grip on Mae and went on the defensive.

“Oh, so this is my fault, is it? I put my daughter down for two seconds because she didn't want to be carried. All I did was say hi to Tom and ask how things were going. The next moment I looked down and Mae had crawled out of the shop. In two
seconds
,” Tamsin declared vehemently, holding her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart for added emphasis. “You know how fast she can scoot along when she wants to.”

“I do,” Finn nodded. “But not fast enough to get away if a car had driven into the courtyard.”

Tamsin's voice grew shriller still. “I was listening out for cars! My God, do you think I want my baby to be run over? If I'd heard an engine, I'd have been there. But to let a dog loose is just… irresponsible.”

Poor Stiller, alarmed by all the shouting, had by this time backed away and pressed himself against Dan's corduroy trouser legs. Blissfully unaware of the kerfuffle she had caused, Mae clapped her hands together and burbled, “Dogga-dogga-bleuwwwww.”

“OK, let's calm down.” Finn was clearly keen to avoid a slanging match. “Mae's fine, nothing happened.”

“Nothing
happened
? God, she reeks! Smell her,” Tamsin ordered. “That bloody dog slobbered all over my baby—and it's not even a pedigree!”

Dan and Stiller were by now both quivering with shame. Rushing to their defense Ginny said, “Tamsin, Stiller's the sweetest, gentlest dog you could ever meet. I promise you, he wouldn't hurt anyone. Mae would never come to any harm with him.” Her tone was placating, meant to make Tamsin feel better, but Tamsin was by this time beyond reassurance.

“No harm? Are you serious? A stinking filthy dog crawling with germs licks my daughter's face and you think that's
safe
?” Her eyes wide, she said hysterically, “My God, and I thought you were a competent mother! If that's how you feel I won't be asking you to babysit again.”

Excellent, thought Ginny, because I wouldn't do it anyway.

And by the way, Finn deserves
so
much better than you.