‘No, but it does make him a great place to start.’ Caro grinned. ‘Which is why we need to get you spruced up for your big night out.’
Chapter Nine
April had to admit it, there were times when she could have strangled her mother, and shopping this Saturday was one of them. She had lost count of the occasions she had closed her eyes and imagined Silvia stepping into an open lift shaft or walking out in front of a speeding truck. She wasn’t proud of having such thoughts, but then she figured it didn’t make her a homicidal maniac, just a normal teenager.
Not that you could be a normal teenager with parents like mine,
she thought as she watched her mother mixing with the Saturday shoppers on the ground floor of Selfridges. One parent had never outgrown Scooby Doo and spent all his spare time chasing UFOs and zombies; the other had never outgrown Barbie and spent all her time trying to have the best outfit/car/princess/castle.
‘Oh, now
this
is just fabulous,’ said Silvia, holding up a huge turquoise confection with puff sleeves and a silver net overskirt.
‘Mum, I’m not five. I don’t want to look like the Little Mermaid. And the dress code is
black.
’
‘But it’s Moschino, darling. Cheap and chic?’
April shook her head firmly. ‘I want a classic little black dress, nothing too showy. I want to look nice, not weird.’
‘But it’s the only label I can find here,’ said Silvia, looking around with distaste. ‘Can’t we go up to the designer floor?’
‘No, Mum,’ said April. ‘We can’t afford designer dresses any more, remember?’
Silvia sighed. ‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered. She picked up a pink miniskirt, looking over at April hopefully, but April pulled a face.
‘
Black
, Mother.’
Silvia sighed again. ‘But black is so unflattering on your complexion, darling.’
‘Mum. It’s a Halloween party, remember? Witches and vampires?’
‘Your father’s favourite time of year.’ Silvia reluctantly resumed her search. ‘Ah, now I think this fits your somewhat limited requirements. And it’s on sale too.’
She pulled a dress from the rack with a flourish. It was black, shimmery and looked very expensive.
‘Okay, I’ll try it on,’ said April in a sulky voice, but she could already tell that it was going to be perfect. Looking in the changing room mirror minutes later, she could see her mother had chosen well; it was a classic little black dress - fashionable, not frumpy and not too revealing, stopping just above the knee, but still sexy. She had to admit, with her hair up and some gothy make-up, she would look sensational. Her mother had come up trumps. Not that she was going to admit that to her.
‘Oh yes,’ said Silvia, peeking around the curtain. ‘The boys will be queuing up.’
‘Mum!’ protested April, but Silvia just chuckled.
‘Right, Ms Conservative,’ she said, grabbing April’s hand. ‘Let’s see if we can spice this up with some drop-dead heels.’
Laden down with bags, April struggled into the taxi.
‘I don’t see why we had to get a cab,’ she grumbled as she flopped into the seat. ‘It’s only a two-minute walk to the Tube.’ She had no particular desire to fight through the crowds with her shopping, especially as it was beginning to rain, but it annoyed her the way her mother casually wasted money when her father was obviously struggling to make ends meet.
‘Well, my feet are killing me,’ said Silvia, as the cab slipped into rush-hour traffic. She pulled off a shoe and rubbed her toes, sighing dramatically. ‘Besides,’ she added, with a sideways glance, ‘I wanted to talk to you before we get there.’
April rolled her eyes. Not the ‘don’t take drugs, don’t get pregnant’ lecture again; she had to put up with it every time she went to a party or out on a date. Not
that
that happened very often. It was bad enough that she had to hear words like ‘condoms’ and ‘spliffs’ coming from her mother’s mouth - especially considering Silvia behaved like a sulky teenager herself most of the time - but today’s timing was particularly bad. To her surprise, April had enjoyed having a day out with her mother and she didn’t want any misplaced ‘counselling’ ruining their bonding session. They had gone to Nails Inc. for pedicures and manicures, then to Carluccios for lunch - April loved their wild-mushroom risotto more than anything - and then on a mammoth shopping spree from Marble Arch to Piccadilly. Most of all, though, April had loved seeing her mother back to her old fun-loving caution-to-the-wind self. Their time in Edinburgh had made her spiky and moody, but back in the capital she seemed to come to life again. So one of Silvia’s toe-curling ‘advice’ sessions was the last thing she needed right now, especially after Miss Holden’s talking-to.
Lord save me from hopeless, well-meaning adults,
she thought.
‘Now darling, I know you’re sixteen—’ Silvia began.
‘Mum, please, I’m old enough—’ protested April, but Silvia held up a hand.
‘Yes, I know, and that’s why I’m telling you this. You’ve got your father’s mind, God knows, but sometimes you don’t understand everything that goes on between adults.’
Uh-oh, this isn’t the
‘
don’t drink vodka Red Bulls’ lecture
, thought April with a lurch.
They’re not getting divorced after all, are they?
Silvia took a deep breath and looked out through the window. ‘You know your father and I haven’t been getting on so well lately,’ she said quietly, ‘and I wanted to tell you that none of it is your fault.’
I never thought it was
! thought April indignantly.
‘Couples can sometimes go through difficult patches now and then and ... things happen. But we’ve made a fresh start by coming down here, the new job and your new school, the new house.’
She looked over at her daughter and April was appalled to see that Silvia had tears in her eyes.
‘Don’t worry, baby. Everything will be fine,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It
has
to be.’
April didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as if her mother was cold and unemotional, far from it. She periodically threw huge temper tantrums when April’s dad wouldn’t give in to her demands and she would often go into long dramatic sulks over rows or imagined slights. But the genuine, adult emotion she seemed to be displaying here was alien to April. She’d never seen her mother cry before. Scream and yell, yes. Bucket-loads of crocodile tears as she wailed that ‘no one cared’, plenty of that. But this? April was at a loss. Should she offer reassuring advice? A warm sisterly hug? But before April could do anything, her mother banged her fist against the window.
‘Damn that man!’ she whispered. ‘Damn him.’ Then she shook her head, reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. ‘Don’t worry about me, darling,’ she said briskly, leaning over to pat April’s leg. ‘I must have had one too many Manhattans at lunch, that’s all. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this when we see Grandpa.’
Ah, so that’s what this is all about,
April realised, her sympathy for her mother’s plight rapidly drying up. Silvia didn’t want Grandpa Thomas knowing that she and William were having marital difficulties. April’s grandfather was an imposing man, originally a Romanian immigrant who had made a fortune by unspecified means in the sixties and now lived in a huge house in Covent Garden, which was dark and full of strange ornate furniture and exotic smells. To April, as a little girl, Grandpa Thomas had always seemed like the ogre in the fairy tales with his wild white hair and crazy eyebrows, but as she had grown older she had begun to understand that his ways were those of the Old Country, where family and tradition were of huge importance. Not that it had stopped him changing the family name and doing his best to hide his accent and background as he clambered up the social ladder. In private, however, Thomas never tired of reminding them that their family were Eastern royally—although he was always vague on the specifics. He also never tired of hinting that Silvia’s behaviour had always fallen short of the princess he’d wanted her to be. April guessed that marrying a lowly writer, William Dunne, had been Silvia’s greatest act of rebellion and thus any suggestion that their union might now be shaky would only light her grandfather’s already short fuse. But she still resented being asked to cover for her mother. She looked out of the window, watching fat raindrops swim down the glass.
‘It’s not like I’m going to bring it up, is it?’ said April. ‘And considering we haven’t seen him in six months, I expect we can find something else to talk about. I know Grandpa can be a bit insensitive at times, but I can’t even imagine him asking what the atmosphere’s like at home.’
‘I know, darling,’ said Silvia, a pleading note in her voice, ‘but you know how easily upset your grandpa can be, especially when it comes to your dad, so let’s try and keep this nice and light, shall we? It’s been ages since we’ve seen him, just the two of us, so let’s just enjoy it.’
April looked at her mother. Like every other teenager in the country she was used to seeing her parents as ‘Her Parents’, people who did nothing except gripe about the tidiness of your room and moan about your supposed ‘attitude’. It was rare you got to peek behind the curtain to see the real person, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she was seeing. Her mother looked different; older, tired. April knew she was being manipulated, but it was hard to resist when her mother had let her guard down so much.
‘Okay, I won’t say anything.’ April sighed as the cab pulled up outside her grandfather’s house. ‘But can you try not to argue about Dad for once, please?’
Her mother tried to smile, but fell some way short. ‘I’ll try, darling,’ she said, ‘I’ll try.’
Even in his old age, Thomas Hamilton was still intimidating. At six foot four he was a huge bear of a man, with a big head and hands like tennis racquets. His house was equally impressive, with a pillared entrance hall floored with black and white marble. A sweeping staircase led up to dozens of bedrooms and bathrooms. It was unfathomable to April that anyone could live in a house so big, especially in the centre of London where a Portaloo cost a king’s ransom. But despite all the splendour, April was shocked to see that Grandpa Thomas had aged in the six months since she had last seen him - his back was more bowed, his face more lined - but he still towered over Silvia as he bent to kiss the top of her head.
‘Poppa,’ she said, brushing him away. ‘Don’t, please.’
‘What? I can’t even kiss my only daughter now?’ he said, spreading his huge arms in a gesture of outrage. ‘Has it become a crime to love my family?’
‘Of course not, Daddy,’ said Silvia, ‘just don’t ... fuss so.’
‘Can I help it if I’m happy to see my best girls? You never phone, you don’t visit ...’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Silvia testily, putting her bags onto a leather chesterfield sofa. ‘We’re here now, aren’t we?’
Thomas shrugged and shifted his attention to April. ‘Ah, my princess!’ he boomed, effortlessly scooping April up like a grizzly bear grabbing a fish. He squeezed her until she thought her eyes were going to pop.
‘Hi, Grandpa,’ she gasped.
‘Too grown-up to give your grandfather a kiss?’ he said.
‘Of course not, Gramps,’ said April, kissing his leathery cheek.
‘That’s better. Now let me have a look at you,’ he said, stepping back to inspect her. ‘Ah, you have my good looks, Princess.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re growing into a fine woman, just like your mum, huh?’
‘Poppa, you’re embarrassing her,’ scolded Silvia, although April could see she had enjoyed the compliment.
‘Embarrass you?’ he roared, squeezing April’s cheeks with his paw. ‘Why should my girls be embarrassed that they’re beautiful?’
A thin, familiar figure in a dark suit appeared at Thomas’s elbow. ‘Afternoon tea is served, sir,’ he announced in a subdued voice.
‘Ah! Thank you, Stanton,’ replied Thomas, turning and putting his arms around the two women’s shoulders. ‘Shall we have some cake?’
He led them through the wide entrance hall and under an archway into the drawing room. It was just as remarkable as the rest of the house, with a high ceiling, elaborate plaster mouldings and a carved mahogany fireplace, above which hung a huge portrait of a man looking remarkably like Thomas, only he had a moustache and was sitting proudly astride a rearing horse. Her grandfather caught April looking at the painting as they sat down in armchairs arranged around an elegant walnut table formally laid with crisp linen and polished silver.