This Is All (44 page)

Back in the kitchen. Ms M. ladling soup into white bowls. She took one look and said, ‘Trouble?’

‘Not sure.’

I sat down. A spoon and a paper napkin for each of us. Chunks of brown bread in a basket.

She placed a bowl of soup in front of me. Carrot, green and

It was Izumi who suggested a nose stud. She said it would suit me and I’d be able to wear it or not and change it for another whenever I wanted. And a nose stud was definitely not usually
me
.

Izumi came along to lend moral support and advise me on the choice of stud. The piercing hurt more than I’d expected, but I was glad because it made the experience more special and significant. I chose a stud with a very small diamond set in its little head, which gave it sparkle. Izumi thought it looked pretty, though she would have preferred a chunkier statement. Doris (I hadn’t consulted her beforehand) approved. To Dad it was just another teenage fad. But I didn’t really mind what they thought. I tended the hole carefully, making sure it didn’t get infected while it healed. And time and again during the next few days I examined my face in the mirror from every possible angle. I decided my stud was a definite improvement. It was discreet, not shouting for attention, but added a subtle highlight to my features. I was proud of it, I liked knowing it was there and kept touching it with my finger, I liked people noticing it and observing their reactions, which were mostly favourable. And of course I couldn’t wait to show it off to Will.

The day he returned I decided to wait and see how long it took him to notice. As soon as he came through the door we clamped ourselves together, more limpet-like than ever after our week apart. But quite soon, as usual, his hands were stroking my hair, and his fingers began to trace the contours of my face as we kissed, and one finger snagged on the sharp diamond of the stud, and stopped, and flickered at it, thinking perhaps that it was a piece of grit, but couldn’t remove it. He pulled his head back and inspected what his finger had found.

I hadn’t for a second expected his reaction. He let go, took a step back, and with a look of revulsion, as if he’d seen a festering corpse, he said, ‘What’s this?’

yellow courgette, swede, celery, onion, all cut quite small, the size of the nail on my little finger. (What did Mrs Blacklin want? And why was it urgent?) Peas, tomatoes. (Why had Will given her my number? His
mother!
) I wasn’t hungry all of a sudden.

I picked up my spoon and stroked my soup.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘Mrs Blacklin. Wants to see me. Urgent, she said.’

‘Needn’t be bad news.’

‘She’s never done anything like that before. Will gave her my number. Why would he do that?’

‘How well do you know her?’

‘Not that well. I’ve been to Will’s quite often, but she wasn’t there most times. She runs a dress shop.’

‘Madame Gigi’s. Very smart.’

‘Not exactly my style.’

‘Nor mine.’

‘I’ve had a few meals. A bit formal. You know, everything properly laid out and you have to be on your best behaviour.’

‘But she’s always been nice to you?’

‘Yes. But
nice
nice. You know? Put on. We’ve never really talked. I’m not that keen on her, to be honest. She totally adores Will. But who doesn’t?’

‘She is his mother, after all.’

‘Always calls him William. Looks down her nose when I call him Will.’

We exchanged complicit smiles.

Ms M. said, ‘I’ve met her at parents’ evenings. Very organised. Very bossy. Very formidable. Wouldn’t want to cross her.’

‘That’s what worries me.’

‘Have you done anything that would?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Well then! Maybe she wants to offer you a job. Part-time sales assistant at Madame Gigi’s. Right up your street.’

‘Does moddom have any other bright ideas?’

I said with hope against doubt, ‘You like it?’

He said, ‘I
hate
it.’

Tears of course arrived at the gates.

He said, ‘
Why?
’

I tried to explain, stumbling over my words, and in the face of his disapproval, unconvinced by my own reasons.

‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ I concluded. ‘It’s not
that
important, is it?’

He looked more puzzled now than repelled.

‘I can take it out,’ I said, burbling on as you do when someone is angry and silent. ‘I can change it for one you do like. Why does it matter, Will, why does it matter so much?’

He drew a breath and said, ‘We didn’t talk about it.’

‘No. No, we didn’t. I didn’t think of it till after you’d gone.’

‘But every day. On the phone.’

‘I know! I
know!
It’s just – I didn’t think of it being about us. About you and me. I’ve told you. I was just doing something for myself. And I thought you’d like it anyway. And I wanted it to be a surprise.’

‘You’ve succeeded.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’

‘It’s not about that. It’s about
not asking me
.’

We were in the hall at Doris’s, at the bottom of the stairs, where we’d stood in comic disarray the day of the facials. I couldn’t help remembering, and glanced again at the mirror, as I had that day, and this time saw pathetic confusion.

Little C took over.

‘Why should I ask you?’ she mewled. ‘Why shouldn’t I do something just for myself? I don’t have to ask you for
permission
to do
everything
I do. It’s only a
little
thing. Do you ask me about
everything
you do?’

Will didn’t reply, didn’t blink, just stared. Little C wanted to hit him.

‘Yes. That you should let me read some of your mopes.’

I gave her a pert look.

‘I’ll think about it.’

She reached across the table, laid her hand over mine, and smiling, said:

‘Come out and climb the garden path,

Luriana Lurilee.

The China rose is all abloom

And buzzing with the yellow bee.

We’ll swing you on a cedar bough,

Luriana Lurilee.

I wonder if it seems to you,

Luriana Lurilee,

That all the lives we ever lived

And all the lives to be

Are full of trees and changing leaves,

Luriana Lurilee.’

Which put a silence on us. I didn’t know what to do or what to say.

Her hand matched mine almost exactly in size and shape.

Ms M. said, ‘A forgotten Victorian poet. Charles Elton by name. When you read
To the Lighthouse
you’ll find it quoted there. Don’t know why it came to mind just now. Must mean something, I suppose …
And all the lives to be Are full of trees and changing leaves
… I think that’s it.’

She took her hand away and went on eating her soup.

As I watched her, the strange feeling came over me that we were the same age and the same kind, she my age and I hers, not teacher and pupil, but just two people who were drawn together as friends because they were similar and oddities and not typical of other people. I knew then – I mean I said it to myself at the time – that deep down we recognized each other, and were similar souls. And there welled up in me again such a strong liking for her that it brought with it a desire to give her something, as you do to mark a friendship

Big C tried to take over but over-did both the emphasis and the volume.

‘
Speak to me!
’

Will took a step back as if I really had hit him.

And said with withering disappointment, ‘I thought we were different.’

I didn’t need to ask what he meant.

We’d always said, from the time we first got together and talked seriously about ourselves, that we liked each other so much because we were different from most (all, actually) of the people we knew of our own age – not to mention grown-ups. And we wanted our friendship – Will would never use any other word, never say ‘our love’ – to be different too. We weren’t sure what the difference would be. We’d work it out as we went along, Will said. He was such a logical person – which irritated me at times when I felt playful and wanted him to be irrational and silly – but he was also flexible and open and adaptable. He believed that nothing, nothing at all, was fixed and unchanging. He believed, as I did and still do, that everything grows, everything changes, everything develops, and that everything in the entire universe, as Will put it, is organic.

It wasn’t that we wanted to be different from other people just for the sake of it. We were different because we
were
different. And we were different in the same ways. By now, I needn’t tell you this. So you see, I didn’t need to ask what he meant. And the tears flooded my eyes because of the terrible accusation implied in his words and in his voice: that I had failed him in a pact we had never actually sworn, always to tell each other everything and to try and please each other in even the smallest ways. We’d not sworn this, because it hadn’t seemed necessary.

I was so upset I couldn’t face him.

‘Go!’ I said. ‘Please go. I’ll call. Em you. Whatever.’

He left without another word and closer to tears than I’d

when it’s begun. And I knew there was only one gift I could give her that was important enough to me and special enough to her to be appropriate.

‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll show you some mopes.’

She didn’t look up. Just nodded. And said as matter-of-fact as can be, ‘Merci, mon ami.’

After that, we gossiped about school and the magazine and clothes. And after lunch we sat in Ms Martin’s front room and read till it was time for me to leave to meet Mrs Blacklin. So that I could get started on
To the Lighthouse
Ms M. loaned me her copy. I can’t say I took to it at once, but kept going because I wanted to please her. (Since then, it’s become one of my favourite books.)

I gave myself plenty of time to cycle to Jenny’s, not wanting to be late, and feeling antsy about whatever it was Mrs Blacklin wanted to say. I was five minutes early, but of course she was already there.

‘Did I drag you away from anything?’ she said as soon as I sat down. ‘Didn’t spoil your plans, I hope? Sorry if I have. But it
is
important. Order whatever you like. Is tea enough? No cake or anything? I won’t beat about the bush. You’re an intelligent girl, Cordelia, and I know you wouldn’t want me to. It’s about William. Or William and you really. You’re William’s first girlfriend. His first
proper
girlfriend, I mean. He was a late developer in that department, judging by the goings-on of most young people these days. And to tell the truth, for a while I was a little worried that he might not be interested in girls at all. But then you came on the scene, and we were very glad, his father and I, when you and William became friends. We both like you tremendously. Really. I’m not just flattering you. And you and William have been good for each other. Well – mostly. You did get a little too wrapped up in each other for a while, as you know, which is quite understandable at your age. The first time and all that. And it

seen him before. Knowing me as well as he did by now, he knew that I needed time on my own to think about what had gone wrong between us.

It took the rest of the day. At first, I was angry. How dare he dictate what I could and could not do! When that storm had blown over, I bustled round, tidying and rearranging and throwing things out, while telling myself I’d had enough of him, let him go, be done with him, he doesn’t really love me, I can do better without him, he restricts me, wants to tie me up, tie me down, make me his
creature
, his
slave
. But that resistance didn’t last long. And then I flopped onto my bed and another bout of tears flowed at the thought of losing him. When the well was dry again, I put on the CD of ancient Japanese music that Izumi had given me and that always calmed, and lay on my back, and tried to be logical about what had happened.

After a while I drifted into sleep. And as so often happens to me at such times, it was as if my meditation had continued while I was unconscious, because when I woke, though I felt drained, my mind was clear, I knew what I thought, and needed to write it down before it was lost in the mish-mash of everyday life. This time, I wrote my thoughts as a ‘full dress’ email to Will. (When we wanted to email something serious to each other we wrote in what we called ‘full dress’ English, which meant proper spelling and punctuation and not emailese.) This is what I wrote:

Will: I’m sorry.

That’s the first thing I want to say.

And now I want to explain what happened and why I think it happened. Please try to understand.

When you left straight after exams, I was a bit upset, because I so much wanted us to celebrate this important event in our lives. After you had gone I just felt I
had
to do something to mark the occasion.

did distract you both from your school work. But we sorted that little problem out, didn’t we. And since then things have gone along swimmingly. You helped each other with your exams, and your mutual interest in music has been a plus as well. But I won’t hide from you that I’ve been a little worried sometimes that you might be going too far – in
other directions
. But you’re both very sensible and William assured me you were taking proper precautions, so I didn’t say anything. You know how parents worry about that sort of thing. I expect your father is the same about you. – Are you sure you wouldn’t like some cake? It’s very nice. Home made. No? Well, to get to the point. – The difficulty is, Cordelia, as I say, your friendship with William has mostly been a good thing for both of you. But not to mince matters, it’s now become a problem. You know that his father and I wanted him to go to Cambridge. In my opinion, he should have pursued his music professionally. He’s so talented in that department, I’m sure you agree. And it would be so nice to have a son who’s a professional musician among all of us business people. I’d be so proud of him. But he was determined to go to this tree college place, which is no more than a training school for forest workers if you ask me, not prestigious or academic. In the end we felt we had to let him have his way. You know what he’s like. Stubborn when he wants to be. Just like his father. The whole sorry business was making him unhappy. All of us in fact. So to keep the peace I gave in. I haven’t said so to him, but once he’s there, I hope he’ll realise it isn’t really what he wants, that it isn’t right for him. And then I hope he’ll treat it as a useful gap year, and go on to Cambridge and take up music or at least study the subject of trees properly. Or do both, he’s quite clever enough to do both. And a year out might do him good. More experience before he goes to university. Anyway, just in case he does change his mind, you know how much he admires that book on trees he’s always reading? It’s written by a Fellow at a