The Nothing Girl (2 page)

It came out in a rush. ‘Like me?’

‘Yes. You know we love you, Jenny. Your uncle and I, your cousins Christopher and Francesca, we’re your family. We know how difficult it is for you to – relate – to others. We tell people you’re quiet and shy, but it’s more than that. You know it is. We, your uncle and I, were quite horrified of course. There was no way we could ever let you go to a place like that. So your uncle spoke to them and they agreed, eventually, that if we could provide a quiet and secure environment for you, then that would suffice and you could continue to live with us. And it’s worked very well. You’ve remained quietly at home, gone to a normal school, and lived a normal life. But that’s the deal, Jenny. You have to live with us … I’m so sorry, my dear, but you must see it’s for the best. You continue to live here, no stress, no pressure. You can have a lovely life as long as you stay here with us. You wouldn’t like the alternative at all. So you see, we can’t let you go to college. I’m so sorry.’

Behind me, Thomas said in a voice I’d never heard from him before. ‘
It’s very important that you stay calm. Pick up the leaflets, take your time, and sort them neatly. Put the large ones on the bottom and the smaller ones on the top. Do it now, please.
’

So I did. I was accustomed to being told what to do. I watched my hands carefully sorting the college stuff and concentrating on my breathing.

Aunt Julia hurried on. ‘I’m glad you’re taking this so well, Jenny. It just goes to show how well you function when you have a secure home environment behind you.’

I still said nothing, gently placing them on the coffee table.

‘I will speak to your uncle when he comes home tonight. I hope this hasn’t been too much of a shock for you.’

I sat back. The log jam of words and emotions began to subside. I looked at Aunt Julia, threw her a wobbly smile, and nodded.

‘I knew you’d understand. And I really don’t think student life is for you, my dear. It can be very boisterous at times. You would find it very alarming. You know how shy you are.’

I nodded again. ‘Now, you pop back to your room and I’ll ask Mrs Finch to bring you up a nice cup of tea.’

Thomas and I trailed back to my room. I was frightened and trembling. I sat on my bed and rocked backwards and forwards. There was something the matter with me. I wasn’t normal. They’d been going to put me in a home. They still might.

Three things came out of that particular conversation. Uncle Richard came to see me that evening with a suggestion that I study with the Open University. He spoke so kindly that I burst into tears again. He said it was a shame to waste such good exam results; that study suited me; that I was a clever little girl. He would get some course details for me to have a look through.

I stopped crying, gulped, and nodded.

‘And, Jenny, if you’re going to study on-line then you’re going to need a really nice computer. Would you permit your aunt and I to give you a … a… “good exam results” present? Would you like a new laptop?’

I nodded again.

He smiled, ‘And, of course, you’re going to need somewhere to study. Come with me a minute.’

We walked along the landing, opened the door, and climbed the attic stairs. There was a large attic, lit by three dormer windows. The floor was boarded and because it was part of Aunt Julia’s domain and subject to her rules, there was no clutter and little dust. A few flattened cardboard boxes lay in one corner and that was it.

Thomas had followed us up. ‘
Oh yes,
’ he said enthusiastically, wandering across to look out of the window. ‘
We could really do something with this. Bed here, bookshelves all across that wall, desk or table under the window, TV over there, rugs, artwork, the works. And your own bathroom in that corner over there.
’

‘What?’ I said, in my head. ‘They’ll never do all that.’

‘
They’re feeling guilty. Go for it while you can. I suspect you’ll be spending a lot of time in here.
’

So I did. With Thomas prompting me from behind, I pretended I was Francesca and asked for everything I could think of. Neither Uncle Richard nor Aunt Julia argued or haggled. I got everything I wanted. A wonderful space, warm and full of light. Plenty of room for my books, a big table at which to work. I chose my favourite colours – no one argued. I thought I might get some grief from Aunt Julia who believed in the God of Colour Co-ordination but I had my own way in everything. Six months later, I had my own little palace.

Thomas was right, however. We spent a lot of time in my room. Fifteen years later and I was sick of the sight of it, so when Russell Checkland asked me to marry him, I said yes.

You can blame Thomas. I did.

I was alone in the house when the doorbell rang. Aunt Julia and Francesca were shopping. Even Mrs Finch was out.

‘
Well, answer it,
’ said Thomas, not moving from in front of the TV.

‘Why me?’

‘
I’m a horse. I don’t answer front doors.
’

I sighed theatrically. ‘Tell me what happens.’

I puttered anxiously downstairs and was relieved to see it was only Daniel Palmer, Francesca’s fiancé.

‘Good evening,’ he said cheerfully, stepping through the door. ‘You do right to stay in out of all this rain, Jenny.’ Which was nice of him because I hadn’t actually been asked on the shopping expedition. Or even known about it. ‘Is Francesca back yet? I was supposed to pick her up ten minutes ago. Is she here?’

I shook my head and gestured him through to the lounge. He wandered in, still chatting amiably, shaking the rain out of his greying hair and wiping his wet face on his sleeve. His thick coat made him look bulkier than he was, although he wasn’t by any means fat. He wasn’t actually that much older than Franny, although his deeply lined face and quiet manner made him appear so. And, I suspect, associating with Francesca on a regular basis was enough to age anyone prematurely. I liked Daniel Palmer. He actually talked
to
me and usually phrased his questions with yes/no options for reply.

And now the time has come to talk about that eternally interesting triangle: Daniel Palmer, Russell Checkland, and FrancescaKingdom.

I knew Russell from childhood. He, Francesca, and I were much of an age. Christopher was three years older and had his own set of equally unpleasant friends, so we never saw much of him. Actually, I didn’t see much of Russell and Francesca either, but sometimes they allowed me to tag along for nearly ten minutes before they lost me.

Francesca was a pretty child who grew into a stunningly attractive woman. She has an enormous amount of dark red hair that curls exuberantly around her head, green eyes, and flawless, milk-white skin. She’s tall, effortlessly slender, and graceful. She’s got the brains of a teapot, but no one really cares, least of all Francesca. She’s got all she needs to get by.

And get by she does. Not surprisingly, someone told her she could be a supermodel so that’s what she decided she would be. She and Aunt Julia went up to London, engaged a stupendously expensive photographer, and sent her shots round to modelling agencies. She was, not surprisingly, picked up by the best and went off to make her fortune.

In London she again met Russell, who had been studying art, whose paintings were attracting considerable attention from those who mattered, and who was in London to make
his
fortune. It was, apparently, love at first sight and the rising young model with the promising future hooked up with the rising young artist with the promising future and they moved in together.

They were London’s golden couple. One or other or both of them were always in the papers. It was a fairy-tale romance – he was tall too, he too had dark red hair, although his hung down over his forehead in what everyone assumed was a romantic poet-ish look. If ever two people had everything going for them it was those two. Their lives were stuffed with all the fame, fortune, prospects, and excitement that my own life lacked. I followed their doings in newspapers and magazines, never dreaming that one day I’d be part of the story.

Anyway, it was all going really well for them and then Francesca was offered a part in a new TV series. Some time ago a magazine had done a piece on her and her eccentricities – never wearing any colour but black, white, or green (this was sheer affectation; she looked stunning in every colour) and praising her unusual Renaissance-style beauty. This was seen by producer Daniel Palmer, who was looking for an actress to play a small part in his new TV series about the Borgias. That Francesca had no experience of acting seemed to bother no one, and actually all she had to do was look sinister, or mysterious, or lustful (often in that order, but sometime simultaneously) and occasionally utter a few words. The series was a huge hit. As was Francesca.

Russell meanwhile, looking for a centrepiece for his new show, hit on the idea of painting Franny in one of her Renaissance frocks. Arguably, it was the best thing he’d done to date. A besotted Daniel Palmer snapped it up. And Francesca as well.

Francesca, who had decided her future now lay with acting rather than modelling and possibly seeing Daniel as an easy way in, allowed herself to be snapped up. They disappeared over the horizon in a cloud of happiness and, in her case, ambition, and Russell Checkland woke one morning to find himself alone.

He took it badly. I don’t know the details, I don’t think anyone does. Twelve months later his deeply disapproving father yanked him back to Frogmorton, the dilapidated family home, paid his many debts, sobered him up, and packed him off into the army. Russell put up no sort of fight and allowed himself to be packed off.

There was no news of him for a couple of years, while Francesca’s acting career was not quite the glittering success she hoped for either. She spent a lot of time at home. Aunt Julia said she was resting.

Then, suddenly, Russell Checkland was back, discharged from the army. He’d thumped someone: an NCO I think. I thought that was what the army was all about, but apparently you can’t do that sort of thing if you’re an officer.

So he was back in disgrace, and his father died three months later. Rumour said the two events were not unconnected. Daniel Palmer had to go abroad for a few months and Russell and Francesca were spotted eyeing each other hungrily one evening at a secluded pub out near Whittington.

Rushford enthusiastically resumed gossiping about its two favourite gossipees and now that Daniel had just returned, everyone was waiting to see what would happen next.

I think Aunt Julia, in a refined and tasteful manner of course, and without raising her voice in any way, was tearing her hair out. What Daniel Palmer was thinking was anybody’s guess.

Exciting, isn’t it?

So, here was the apparently wronged fiancé sitting on Aunt Julia’s couch, waiting for Francesca, who genuinely was out shopping with her mother. I was wondering what to do when Thomas strolled in.

‘
They all lived happily ever after,
’ he said, and it took me a minute to realise he was talking about the film and not the real-life drama currently being played out all over Rushford. ‘
Aren’t you going to offer him some tea?
’

Daniel declined, much to my relief.

I got a tiny nudge in the small of my back. ‘
And make an effort.
’

Focus, breathe, and speak. ‘… Are you working on … anything … interesting at the moment?’

He waited while I got that out.

‘Yes, I’m thinking about the Tudors. There’s always plenty of material there. Do you think something about Elizabeth would go down well?’

I nodded.

‘She’s been done to death, of course. I’d need a fresh approach and I haven’t really had the time recently to get my head around it. It’s still on my “ideas” pile at the moment. What do you think?’

I nodded.

‘
No,
’ said Thomas. ‘
Find something to focus on, take two breaths, and speak again. You can do it.
’

I focused on the rose-patterned cushion, tracing the design with my eyes and edited my thoughts. ‘Focus on relationship … between Elizabeth and Mary. Introduce each episode … as a game of chess. Elizabeth … red queen. Mary white. Each queen introduces characters taking … part. Outlines plot. First … piece moves. Fade to normal action. At the … end … go back to chessboard and show new state of play in game … including all the dead … bodies or taken pieces lying on the board.’

I stopped, exhausted.

‘
Well done
,’ said Thomas. ‘
The sentences were a bit choppy, but otherwise not bad.
’

Daniel Palmer was smiling at me. ‘That’s an interesting concept. There’s a lot going on in your head, isn’t there? I’ll give it some thought.’

‘What’s an interesting concept?’ said Francesca, coming through the door laden with shopping bags. He jumped up to greet her and I forgot all about it.

‘Oh, how nice for you,’ she said mockingly, ‘Jenny’s been chatting to you.’

Did I forget to mention she’s a bit of a cow as well?

‘Yes, she’s been keeping me very well entertained.’ He was such a nice man. ‘In fact, I nearly forgot my other reason for coming today.’

He pulled two envelopes from his pocket. ‘Invitations to our post-Christmas bash.’

‘Oh, how lovely,’ said Aunt Julia, bustling in. ‘I do enjoy your parties, Daniel.’

‘One for you and Richard, and one for Jenny.’

I took the envelope as if it was solid gold.

Aunt Julia noticed me for the first time.

‘I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t see you there.’

I was sitting, large as life, on the couch. I saw a TV programme once, where a young girl was ignored by everyone around her and eventually faded away. I looked down to check if I was still visible and then opened the envelope and read the invitation.

‘Now, Daniel, you know Jenny doesn’t go to parties. Sometimes they’re a little too much for her.’

‘Well, it’s very kind of you to imply our parties are that lively, Julia, but it’s just drinks and nibbles at our house. No dancing girls, no gambling, and certainly nothing to frighten the horses.’

I opened my mouth to decline politely.