A Desirable Residence (30 page)

‘Come on, Ginny!’ said Duncan. ‘Brace up! Piers is fine.’

‘But it’s such a bad omen,’ persisted Ginny.

‘Bullshit!’ said Duncan robustly. ‘It could have been a lot worse. What if he’d spilled coffee over himself in the waiting-room at the television studios?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ began Ginny. She stopped. Alice knew what she was thinking.
But he didn’t spill the coffee over himself, did he?

‘Ginny, I’m really sorry,’ she said tremulously. ‘I don’t know how it happened.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Ginny, relenting slightly. ‘It was just an accident. Accidents happen.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Piers is going to miss his train if he doesn’t hurry up,’ she said fretfully.

‘I thought he was catching the eleven o’clock?’ said Alice without thinking.

‘Yes, well, he decided to catch the earlier one, didn’t he?’ said Ginny shortly. She sighed. ‘Look, Alice, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It’s just . . .’ She swallowed, and pushed a hand through her hair. ‘This is quite an important day for us.’ Alice nodded mutely, and looked miserably at the coffee still puddling on the table, dripping down onto Piers’s chair and the wooden floor. Should she offer to clear it up? Might she not then knock something else over? She felt as though her own hands and limbs were no longer to be trusted.

‘Look, Ginny,’ said Duncan gently, ‘why don’t you go upstairs and sort Piers out, and Alice can help me clear this lot up. What about it?’ For a few moments, Ginny sat immobile, staring blankly at the table. Then she seemed to shake herself, and looked up.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and see if Piers has got another shirt he can wear.’ Without looking at Alice, she abruptly stood up, and left the kitchen.

Alice watched her go, then promptly, and to her great shame, burst into tears.

‘Oh Alice,’ said Duncan. ‘Don’t do that. We’ve got enough surplus liquid in this kitchen already.’ Alice’s sobs increased. ‘Look,’ he said, sitting down next to her, and putting an arm round her shoulders, ‘Ginny’s just ratty this morning. Don’t take any notice of her. You couldn’t help it.’

‘I’m so stupid,’ sobbed Alice. ‘I’ve ruined it all for Piers.’

‘No you haven’t,’ said Duncan. He thought for a minute. ‘It was probably just what he needed, to take his mind off things,’ he added.

‘You’re just saying that,’ shuddered Alice, but with a note of hope in her voice.

‘I’m not,’ said Duncan. ‘Anyway, Piers is tough as old boots. You don’t need to worry about him. Now, if you’d spilled a pot of coffee over me, it would have been a different story, I can tell you!’ His voice rose on an indignant note, and Alice gave a half-giggle, in spite of herself.

‘That’s right,’ said Duncan. ‘Now, what I think you should do is go to school.’ Alice looked up woefully.

‘But what about the kitchen?’ she said.

‘I’ll clear up the kitchen,’ said Duncan, putting on his actor’s voice, ‘with my super-speed extra power Mr Clean-Fast. Did I tell you I got a commercial, by the way?’ he added. ‘Filming next month. Lots of dosh.’

‘No,’ said Alice, momentarily diverted. ‘That’s really good! What for?’

‘Tooth powder,’ said Duncan. ‘I play a tooth.’

‘Wow!’ Alice giggled, and pushed her hair back. She rubbed her face with her sleeve, and gave a huge sniff.

‘Good girl,’ said Duncan approvingly. He picked up her school bag and handed it to her.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we’ll see you later on at the party. Come nice and early.’

‘Ginny was going to do my make-up,’ said Alice, in a woebegone voice. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll want to do it now.’

‘Of course she will,’ said Duncan. ‘But if she’s too busy,’ he added diplomatically, ‘I’ll do it.’

‘You?’ Alice looked at him sceptically. ‘Can you do make-up?’

‘Can I do make-up?’ echoed Duncan indignantly, shooing her out of the kitchen door. ‘Can I do make-up? What on earth do you think I went to drama school for?’

Anthea spent breakfast standing up, sitting down, making slices of toast and cutting them into smaller and smaller pieces till they disintegrated. She was watched by a resigned Hannah, who followed her about the kitchen with a jay-cloth, an unconcerned Daniel and Andrew, and an amused Marcus. When Hannah had chivvied the boys off to get ready for school, she turned agonized eyes on Marcus.

‘Do you think we could phone them up?’

‘No,’ said Marcus cheerfully. ‘I don’t. They said they’d contact the school.’

‘I know.’ Anthea put her nail anxiously to her mouth, began to bite it, then thought better of it. ‘They’re having the meeting this morning,’ she said slowly, as though trying to memorize lines. ‘They’ll make a decision by lunchtime.’

‘Unless they can’t decide,’ suggested Marcus. ‘Or unless they decide not to give any scholarships this year.’ Anthea shot him a look of annoyance.

‘Then they’ll phone the school.’

‘And then the school will phone us,’ said Marcus. ‘There’s nothing we can do until then.’

‘But you know what these organizations are like,’ said Anthea desperately. ‘Last year it was days before anyone heard.’ She pulled her dressing-gown comfortingly around her. ‘There must be some way we can find out sooner.’

‘We’re not even sure the meeting’s today,’ said Marcus soothingly. ‘I really don’t think there’s any point worrying about it.’

‘Mr Chambers told me the meeting was definitely today,’ said Anthea crossly. ‘He knows about these things. He’s a friend of the headmaster of Bourne.’ A strange look passed her face. ‘Of course!’ she exclaimed suddenly.

‘What?’ said Marcus. He looked at her suspiciously.

‘We’ll get Mr Chambers to phone up the headmaster this afternoon and ask.’

‘No we won’t!’ said Marcus. ‘We can’t ask him to do a thing like that!’

‘Why not?’ Anthea stuck her chin out at him. ‘He’ll be just as concerned to know as we are.’ She picked up the cordless phone and began to jab at the buttons.

‘I don’t want to hear this,’ said Marcus. ‘I’m going to clean my teeth.’ He stood up, and shook his newspaper at Anthea. ‘He won’t do it. I can tell you that now.’

But when he came back down into the kitchen, holding his briefcase and ready to go to work, Anthea was simpering down the phone.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’ She put down the receiver and smirked at Marcus.

‘Did he agree to it?’ said Marcus in amazement.

‘Yes,’ said Anthea triumphantly. ‘I knew he would. He said if we want to pop round after work, he should have got through to Bourne by then.’

‘Do we both have to go?’ said Marcus grudgingly.

‘Yes,’ said Anthea. ‘And then we’ll go on to the party. Apparently Mr Chambers and his wife are going to it, too. I said we could take them.’ She raised innocent eyes to Marcus. ‘The Prentices’ party. You remember.’ Marcus scowled.

‘Why don’t we just forget the party?’ he said impulsively. ‘Why don’t we go out to dinner instead? Either way. To celebrate or commiserate.’

‘Oh no!’ said Anthea. ‘I’ve arranged my appointment at the hairdresser’s now. And I’ve bought a new dress. We can’t not go. And anyway, it’ll be fun.’ She wrinkled her nose at Marcus. ‘Why don’t you want to go?’

‘Oh, I do,’ said Marcus quickly. ‘I do. It’ll be tremendous fun.’ He picked up his briefcase and gave Anthea a warmer-than-usual kiss. He would be very glad, he thought darkly, when the day was over, and everything had been settled. One way or the other.

Piers arrived at the television studios five minutes early for his appointment. Usually he would have been at least fifteen minutes early, but today he liked to think he could be a bit more relaxed. He smiled disarmingly at the girl on reception, and gave her his name self-deprecatingly, as though he were already an established member of the cast; a well-known figure at the studios.
This time in a couple of months
, he thought, then, out of habit, stopped himself. But he couldn’t stop his heart jumping a little as the girl nodded a couple of times on the phone, then beamed at Piers and said, ‘Alan Tinker will be out presently.’

When Alan appeared, he greeted Piers like an old friend.

‘Great to see you, Piers. Marvellous.’ He swept Piers through a pair of double doors and down a corridor and into a waiting-room. ‘Be back in a second. Explain everything then. Help yourself to coffee. Ciao for now!’ He winked at Piers, then disappeared out of the door. Piers flashed him a smile, turned around, and froze. Sitting on a plushy chair in the corner, sipping at a polystyrene cup, was a young man. He was tall and dark, and wearing smart-casual clothes together with an elaborate air of confidence. He looked, Piers realized with a shock, not unlike Ian Everitt.

‘Hi there,’ he said, in a voice which could only belong to an actor. Piers felt his heart begin to thud. What was going on?

The door opened, and Alan Tinker ushered another young man in. He was tall, and dark, and wearing a blue shirt just like the one Alice had spilled coffee over.

‘Bear with me,’ said Alan Tinker, addressing the three of them cheerfully.

‘You’re all here now, but we’ve just got a bit more setting-up to do. I’ll be two ticks.’ And he disappeared again.

‘Hello there,’ said the third man nervously. ‘Are you here to audition for Rupert in
Summer Street
?’

‘Aren’t we all?’ said the man in the corner. ‘Bloody cheek, I call it. I thought I was the only one up for it. That bastard practically said the part was mine. I couldn’t believe it when he said there were three of us.’

‘Me too,’ said the man at the door in fervent tones. ‘I thought I’d got the job weeks ago.’ He looked at Piers. Then he looked back at the man in the corner. ‘Gosh,’ he exclaimed, walking into the room. ‘Don’t we all look similar?’

>At six o’clock, Ginny heard the sound of the key in the front door lock. She rushed to the top of the stairs, her head half full of heated rollers, in time to see Piers enter the house, not with the triumphant swagger of success, but quietly; almost deferentially. A disastrous pounding began in her chest.

‘Well?’ she almost shouted. Piers looked up at her and gave an eloquent shrug. ‘What? They still haven’t told you?’

‘They’re going to phone tonight,’ said Piers. ‘At least, that’s what they said.’

Ginny stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I need a drink,’ said Piers. ‘Is there any gin?’

‘In the kitchen,’ said Ginny. She looked at her watch. ‘Shit. I’ve still got to do my hair.’

She nevertheless followed Piers anxiously into the kitchen, watching him as he poured out a large gin and tonic; shaking her head when he offered her some. He cracked a couple of ice-cubes into the glass, then took a large swig. He took another. Then he wiped his mouth.

‘Bastards,’ he said.

‘What?’ A painful stab of panic went through Ginny’s chest. She stared at Piers, nervously twisting a stray strand of hair round and round in her fingers. ‘What did they do?’

‘It wasn’t just me auditioning,’ said Piers.

‘What?’

‘There were three of us. We had to go on one after another. They wanted to be able to compare us easily, they said.’ Piers’s voice held mocking scorn. Ginny looked at him blankly.

‘I thought it was just you.’

‘So did I. So did the others.’ Ginny’s heart began to thud.

‘And what were the others like?’ she asked, trying not to sound too urgent.

‘One of them looked a bit like Ian Everitt. He was called Sean something. The other one was a bit of a wimp. Fresh out of drama school, I think.’

‘Did you see them auditioning?’

‘No, thank God. At least we didn’t have to watch each other.’ But then at least you’d know what the others were like, thought Ginny impatiently.

‘And then what happened?’

‘Well, it was a bit strange. We’d all done our bits, and we were sitting in the waiting-room.’ Piers took a final swig, and poured himself another drink. He cast his mind back to the scene; the unbearable tension between the three of them; the false smiles and idle, distracting pieces of gossip.

‘And then,’ he said, ‘Alan Tinker came in, and asked Sean to come back and do another little bit. And he told me and the other bloke to go.’ A dead weight dropped to the bottom of Ginny’s stomach. ‘But then he said,’ added Piers, ‘that we mustn’t read anything into it. And that they’d let us all know this evening.’ He scowled, and took another huge gulp of gin. Alan Tinker’s voice floated back into his mind.
Now, don’t get alarmed, you two. Don’t think this means we’re rejecting you
. And he’d smiled at them both. Had he smiled especially hard at Piers? Piers couldn’t tell.

‘Oh God.’ Ginny sank into a chair. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would they have wanted to see the other guy again?’

‘I don’t know.’ Piers looked at her with dark, unhappy eyes. ‘I asked myself that all the way home. Were they just bullshitting me? Have they given it to him?’

‘Well, if they have,’ said Ginny indignantly, ‘why couldn’t they have just told you on the spot?’

‘God knows. The bastards. Oh Christ!’ Suddenly he crashed his glass down on the table. ‘This fucking audition’s been hanging over me for months. I just want to fucking well know!’ Ginny looked at her watch.

‘Did they say when they’d phone?’ Piers shook his head.

‘Of course they didn’t,’ he said sarcastically. Ginny looked at his taut face.

‘What do you really think?’ she said carefully. It almost killed her to say it. ‘Do you think they gave it to the other guy?’ Piers shrugged. He didn’t want to think about it.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I really don’t know.’ He looked up at Ginny and forced himself to smile. ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘I’d better start getting ready for the party, I suppose.’ Ginny smiled back and took his hand. Inside her, a heavy misery battled with a piercing, desperate hope. It was unbearable. She felt drawn-in, unable to face the outside world. What’s the point of having this stupid party? she thought. What’s the point of it all now?

Liz had told Alice at tea-time that if she liked, she would do her hair and make-up for her. And Alice, who felt rather unwilling to go back and face Ginny after the coffee episode, had eventually agreed. Now she sat on her mother’s bed, feeling the soft brushes and pencils tickling her face, telling herself that if it looked too gross she could always put loads of black eyeliner on top. Her mother seemed in a really good mood. She had opened a bottle of wine for them to drink while they got ready, and she was humming, and kept telling Alice she was going to look stunning.