Caught in the Act (19 page)

She didn't resist as he slipped his arm around her and held her close up against him, nor did she fight or protest when she felt Gareth's other hand slide oh-so-stealthily to rest casually,
lightly between her knees. But it did have an effect; Carol was instantly wide awake.

She held her breath, wondering whether to pretend to be asleep or to wake and move away. What would she do if his fingers moved higher? What happened if he moved at all? But as it was, before Carol could make up her mind, the bus lumbered into the hostel car park and, yawning and aching, everyone clambered down and went in search of their beds. Gareth moved, stretched and got to his feet. As they parted by the hostel steps, he pulled her close and brushed his lips across hers.

‘Night night,' he purred. ‘Sweet dreams.'

There was a lot of whooping from people close by. Carol felt her face colour.

The sensation of Gareth's body so close to hers and that hand setting so easily on her thigh lingered. Even the idea of it made something warm and dark and very ancient quiver in the pit of her stomach.

‘Well done, everybody. It's going to be a fantastic tour if you keep this standard up,' said Miss Haze, following them up to the dormitory. ‘I'll go and see if we can rustle up some hot chocolate and biscuits from somewhere.'

The door to the dormitory swung open
behind them. ‘Oh, there you are, Miss Haze. I tried to catch you when we got off the coach. I think Fiona may be getting a migraine,' said her mother accusingly. She was carrying an empty hot-water bottle and smelling salts. ‘It's the pressure. I do worry about her; she puts so much of herself into the part. It's a good thing that I came along; I've got no idea how you would have dealt with it without me. It's going to be a long night. I would appreciate it if the rest of you would keep the noise down.'

All the girls in the dormitory stared at Fiona's mother, though no one dared to speak.

‘Thank you,' said Miss Haze icily. She watched Fiona's mother withdraw and then said, ‘Well done everyone—I'll go and sort out the hot chocolate. Assuming Fiona makes its through the night, we've got another long day tomorrow.'

Carol headed off towards her bunk, the imprint of Gareth's fingers on her leg burning like a stigma.

‘Carol?'

Carol looked up in surprise, expecting to see herself surrounded by teenage versions of her friends. Instead Diana was rattling a tin in her direction.

‘Do you want to put the others in as well?'

Carol blinked to focus her thoughts as well as her eyes. ‘What?' She could still feel the heat of Gareth's touch.

Oblivious, Diana handed her the little tin full of glass-headed map pins. ‘I thought if we did red for performances, green for side trips and cultural visits…They're all marked and numbered.' She pointed to the map.

Carol nodded. There was a list of the numbers pinned alongside.

‘Are you all right?' asked Diana anxiously.

‘Yeah, I'm fine. I think I'm just coming down with a nasty case of nostalgia. I keep remembering things about what we did and where we went—and who said what to who, all in wide screen, Dolby sound, full Technicolor.'

Diana grinned. ‘I think we all are. It's contagious. I'll ask Netty to pick us up a bottle of Baileys and some wine from the offie, or how about some brandy and vodka, so she can whip up one of her patent snowballs?'

Carol laughed. ‘Good plan, although this time tell her to remember the advocaat.'

‘The only answer is anaesthetic,' said Diana firmly, picking up a pile of photographs. ‘And lots of it.'

‘That's my girl, welcome back,' smiled Carol.

Diana sniffed. ‘I don't know what you mean. I've never been away,' she said. ‘I was just semiretired.'

Carol skewered their journey north with a trail of brightly coloured pins. ‘Remember the bottle of Scotch we had on the last tour disco? We should have got one for tonight.'

‘What, and throw up and feel lousy tomorrow during the performance?'

‘Well, it worked last time—and we don't have to go mad.' Carol thought for a few moments and then grinned. ‘Actually, maybe we do. Maybe it is just what we all need.'

‘Who is going mad?' said Netty, heading out towards them, eyeing up the display.

‘I was just saying we should re ally get a bottle of Scotch for tonight.'

Netty held her hand out. ‘Are you paying or are we planning to have a whip-round like last time?'

‘Actually,' said Diana looking thoughtful, ‘I think last time we paid for the Scotch with my winnings from thrashing Duncan's lot at poker.'

Netty grinned. ‘Anyone got a pack of cards?'

The stagehands from the school reunion helped to carry in the speakers for the guy doing the Saturday evening disco. He arrived to set up just after teatime and well before dinner, and was called Dave. He had a bleached blond mullet, a nasty fake tan, badly capped teeth and said ‘groovy' a lot. He was wearing a turquoise-blue sequinned dinner jacket and Cuban heels. The entire crew dwarfed him by at least a foot. Some by a foot and a half.

Rehearsals over for the day, Diana and Carol stood by the double doors into the main hall, watching the guys trail through with the disco gear, a string of ants with beer bellies, all wearing tour T-shirts and jeans.

‘He is absolutely perfect,' hissed Carol under her breath as Dave scuttled by them, carrying what looked suspiciously like a smoke machine. ‘Adie's going to love this. Do you think he's got a mirror ball?'

‘Who, Dave? I can't imagine him travelling anywhere without one, can you? Do you think I should go down and invite the preachers to join us later?' said Diana. ‘I do appreciate that they've been keeping a low profile until now but it's going to get pretty noisy later on.' She nodded towards the corridor opposite the one that led into their wing of Burbeck House. At the entrance was a nicely varnished wooden arrow-shaped sign on a stick that read ‘All Christian Delegates This Way'.

It made it seem like their corridor led to perdition.

‘You're the one married to a vicar, Di—how do Christians feel about Black Sabbath?'

Diana glanced at Dave the DJ as he pattered past again, this time bearing a box of vinyl marked, ‘Golden Oldies—M-R' in thick marker pen.

‘Hedley likes everything from Led Zeppelin to Vivaldi—but Dave doesn't look much like a rocker to me—he's more of your Bucks Fizz
kind of boy. On the phone he told me that he was middle-of-the-road.'

Carol laughed as he waved coyly from behind the mixing desk. ‘Are we talking sexually or musically?'

Diana pulled her oh-very-funny face, and then went on, ‘He strikes me as someone keener on Dollar and doing the Time Warp, maybe a bit of Slade mixed in to round the evening off, when everyone gets warmed up.'

Carol lifted her eyebrows. ‘Come on. Get real. That isn't going to happen. The stagehands will never let him get away with that sort of stuff. Look at them—they were head-bangers to a man. Don't you remember the mosh pit down the front at the end-of-tour disco? Battlehardened roadies. I seem to remember that they were stage diving into the crowd at one point. Well, at least onto each other—well, at least he was.' Carol pointed to one of the crew as he lurched past them with a set of disco lights balanced precariously on one shoulder.

Diana stared at them. ‘Yes, I know that, but they're all grown-ups now. Colin's a chartered accountant, Peter's in IT and Robin runs his own transport company. Alan's gone bald, for God's sake. No, I'm sure it will be fine.'

As he slid the last of the speakers onto the stage, one of the crew turned round and, back arched, face contorted into a pained grimace, burst into a great flurry of air guitar while da-da-da-ing Deep Purple's, ‘Smoke on the Water'. His performance was met by a wild, whooping, screeching round of applause from the rest of the gang.

‘OK, on second thoughts,' said Diana, ‘I better go and invite the Christians. I'd rather have them here from the start than walking in on us halfway through to complain about the noise.'

‘And the stage diving,' added Carol as Diana headed off down the corridor. ‘Although, you never know, perhaps they'd like to join in. I'll see you upstairs in a few minutes. I need to get these clothes off.'

‘Is that an invitation?' said a familiar voice.

Carol swung round and laughed. ‘Hi, I wondered where you'd got to. Are you following me around, by any chance?'

‘No, of course not, I just happened to be walking around looking for you and
voilà
, there you are,' said Gareth. He leaned forward and kissed her. ‘How's it going?'

‘You were looking for me?' she said, stepping back.

‘Yep, it's a fair cop, I own up.' He held up his hands in surrender. ‘I was. Look, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours but I'm not the enemy. I just wondered if you fancied a walk before dinner?'

Carol tried out a disapproving face to see how it felt. ‘A walk down by the lake with a blanket?' she said. He grinned. ‘How come you'd got a blanket? Seems a little bit presumptuous.'

‘What can I say? I was a Boy Scout: be prepared.' The grin held. ‘But no, not down to the lake, unless of course you particularly want to. I was thinking we could talk some more, maybe grab a quick drink.' He glanced down at his watch. ‘There's three-quarters of an hour or so before we eat.'

Carol shook her head. ‘Sorry, I'd love to but I need to have a shower and get changed.'

He looked crestfallen. ‘There's plenty of time,' he said.

Carol hesitated just long enough for Gareth to offer her his hand.

‘Ten minutes,' she said, as he led her out into the garden, ‘and then I have to get ready. I need to take a run-up at it these days.'

‘You look great,' he said.

Carol narrowed her eyes. ‘Ten minutes.'

‘OK, cross my heart,' he said. And then, when they had fallen into step side by side, hand in hand, Gareth said, ‘So tell me about your life—tell me about what you do, your business. I never re ally had you down as a gardener. But Diana told me that you're very successful.'

‘Didn't we have this conversation last night?' Carol said.

He laughed. ‘Maybe, but I want to know everything about you, all of it—what you think, what you do, what makes you tick.'

‘We've got ten minutes,' Carol growled.

‘Talk faster.'

She giggled.

‘We haven't got time for levity,' he said, pretending to be cross. And as they walked Carol began to tell him about herself all over again, and as she did he made her laugh and listened and asked good questions and she remembered what it was that once upon a time had made her love him. Love him? The word reared up unexpectedly and hit her like a body blow, stopping her dead in her tracks. All those years ago it wasn't just lust; Carol realised she had re ally loved him.

‘I have to go and get ready,' she said, pulling her hand out of his.

‘What's the matter? Are you all right?'

Carol nodded, not trusting herself to meet Gareth's eye. ‘We've had a lot more than ten minutes, I have to go. I'll see you later.'

‘Sure,' he began, but before he could say anything else Carol had scurried away, feeling like Cinderella running away from the ball. She tried not to think about love, just about having a shower, getting ready, and getting through until Sunday.

Her heart was beating frantically as she got to the top of the stairs that led into the dormitory. Wasn't this exactly what she had come to Burbeck House to find out? That she loved him and that he still loved her?

At the top of the stairs Carol turned back: Gareth was still there in the hall below, watching her, and as their eyes met Carol felt her heart lurch. Damn, damn, damn.

Netty's dress for Saturday evening was a tasteful little number in silver lamé with an ecru feather trim—come to that, so was Adie's, although his was a bomber jacket over black T-shirt and jeans. It struck Carol that there
had to have been some collusion—how psychic did you need to be to come up with matching party frocks? Maybe the pair of them were planning on going to the disco as the ugly sisters.

Coming out of the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe, towelling her hair dry, Carol caught the pair of them doing a very impressive synchronised stereo twirl across the nasty yellow carpet. She smiled, remembering that first time around—thanks to Adie's diligent tuition in his mum's front room—they had all learned to jive, which had gone down a storm on tour.

‘I didn't know you could still do that or get those,' said Carol, running her fingers over glittering fish scales of sequins on the lapels of Adie's jacket.

He tapped his nose conspiratorially. ‘It's not what you know, it's who you know,' he said.

Netty pulled a face. ‘You are so bloody gullible. He bought it in Barnado's.'

Adie pouted. ‘Spoilsport; come on, let's go down and eat; I'm starving. Where did Jan get to?'

‘I think she already went downstairs,' said Netty, shimmying across the floor and pulling
a carrier bag that clinked cheerily out from under her bed. Adie did the same.

‘Is she all right?' asked Carol. ‘She seemed a bit off with everyone.'

Netty shrugged. ‘Oh come on, she's always a bit off with everybody; it's what Jan does best—although I think we're all knackered. I don't know about you but I can't stand the pace these days. I'll have a word with her when we get downstairs. Just don't be long,' she added over her shoulder as they headed back downstairs. ‘And I hope you've brought something quiet and understated to wear. We don't want her showing us up, do we, Adie?'

At which point Diana burst in. ‘Bloody Christians,' she said, red-faced, hair all awry and cardigan flapping as Adie leaped out of her way. ‘I couldn't believe it. One sniff of a disco and they were like something possessed. It's dreadful down there. Complete and utter bedlam.' Angrily she toed off her shoes and began pulling her cardigan off over her head, grabbing a towel from the bed, as she headed off to the showers.

‘What do you mean? Have they complained?' said Carol, as Diana started to unbutton her shirt.

‘Complained? Good God, no, there's about a dozen of them in the hall, pawing their way through Dave's record collection, looking for special requests, even as we speak. The Bay City Rollers were the last things I heard being discussed when I left. It's going to be pandemonium tonight,' she said grimly.

‘You're very welcome to stay,' said Leonora, clearing away the supper things into the dishwasher.

On the far side of the kitchen table Jasmine shook her head.

‘I'd better be getting back home.' She started to gather her things together, her handbag and cigarettes, her cardigan.

Watching her, Leonora was torn between longing to be alone and wanting Jasmine to stay. How crazy was that?

‘Are you angry with me?' Jasmine said quietly.

Leonora looked at her, eyes bright with tears. ‘No, oh, I don't know. I don't know what I feel. It's like I've woken up in someone else's life.'

Jasmine paled. ‘I didn't know about you.'

‘I believe you,' said Leonora. ‘I just don't
believe him. How could he?' The control she had been holding tight to was quickly ebbing away.

‘You'll be all right, won't you, though?' said Jasmine. ‘If I go?'

Leonora nodded, sniffing to hold back the tidal wave of tears. ‘You'll be here tomorrow?' she asked. ‘To go and see Gareth? You don't have to if you don't want to. I'd quite understand. It's not going to be easy.'

Jasmine turned to face her, pale-faced and instantly angry. ‘What, and let him get away with it? I want to see the look on his face, in his eyes, when he sees the pair of us.'

There was an iciness in her voice that Leonora almost envied, and for a few moments Leonora wondered if it would feel better if she wanted retribution or had a need for revenge rather than an explanation. ‘I just wanted to make sure,' she said.

‘Yes, I want to be there. I'll see you tomorrow then,' said Jasmine, heading for the door. ‘Thanks for the food…' She paused as if unsure what to say, ‘…and everything.'

Leonora nodded and the two women looked at each other. There were re ally no words to express what they felt, nor how big the thing
was that they shared. Unsure quite how to end it, Leonora hugged Jasmine awkwardly and when all at once they were done, Jasmine pulled back and looked Leonora up and down as if fixing her in her mind, smiled a bleak little smile and then she turned, opened the front door and was gone.

Leonora stood for a long while in the hall, listening to the house cooling down after the heat of the day, listening to her thoughts, and then went back into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. The clock ticked, the tap dripped, the house seemed so very empty.

As if she could sense the tension in the air, Maisie began to mewl softly in her pram. Leonora was relieved. At least now there was something else for her to do and to occupy her mind other than Gareth and Jasmine and the baby they had made and how it was she had never guessed, never known that he was playing away, or how it was that she had never seen any of this coming.

Anger and grief and loss and fear threatened to overwhelm her. Leonora picked Maisie up and carried her through into the sitting room. Outside, beyond the bay window, the sunlight was turning to old gold, the warm
light softening the day into evening. Leonora curled herself up in one of the big armchairs by the hearth and snuggled Maisie close. The baby cooed with pleasure and then hungrily brushed up against her, nuzzling for milk.

Leonora settled down to feed her. Whatever Gareth did there was nothing he could say or do that could ever rob her of her joy of this, the smell and soft touch of a baby against her breast and suddenly—in amongst everything else—she felt sad for him. Whatever Gareth said to her, whatever he promised, she would never trust him again. He had lost all the things that they shared and that he had once wanted. There was no way he could ever get them back. He had thrown them all away—her, Jasmine, Patrick and Maisie, and the baby Jasmine was carrying—and Leonora knew then with a peculiar sense of clarity and assurance that whatever else happened she and the children would be fine. It might take a while but they would be all right.

‘And now for all you groovy funk-filled rockers out there, that great Status Quo classic “Rocking all over the World”.'