Strings Attached (5 page)

She kissed him back, tasting the lager on his tongue, enjoying the way he was holding her so hard against the kitchen unit. She suddenly felt so completely out of control.

And then she could hear voices heading their way. He pulled away, as quickly as he had grabbed her
,
returning to his position across the kitchen. It was seconds before Michael burst in, waving his hands excitedly.

‘Ah here you are Quinn! Roger’s phoned,
again
! Was concerned you weren’t back at the hotel. I am your personal escort and the car is waiting. Let’s not dilly
-
dally,’ Michael spoke, opening the door to the function room.

‘I was just talking to Miss Fraser about the catering. I wanted her to tell me what her secret is,’ Quinn said his eyes locking with hers.

‘That is completely unethical! I hope he wasn’t trying too hard with the charm offensive. He’s such a naughty boy! Anyhow, we will find out the extent of George’s talents over the next few nights. She’s catering all the after-shows here. If you approve of course,’ Michael spoke.

‘Oh I approve, wholeheartedly. In fact I can’t wait,’ Quinn answered, smiling at her.

George had been struck dumb by his kiss. She was unable to speak or move or even breathe. She just kept looking at him, unable to believe what had just happened between them. Perhaps she was out of touch, maybe this was what happened to all caterers when they provided food for a rock star’s after-show party. Maybe it was after-show party etiquette.

‘Right, so, tally forth Quinn! It’s another big day tomorrow. See you tomorrow night George, don’t forget a foray of lamb,’ Michael spoke, smacking his lips together.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Quinn said the satisfied smile still lingering on his mouth.

‘Goodnight,’ George managed to reply stiffly.

And with Michael leading the way they were gone.

As soon as the door swung closed and she could hear them making their way up the corridor, she let out a long, slow breath. What the Hell had just happened? She turned and caught sight of her reflection in the window. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were sparkling; for a second she didn’t look exhausted.

Subconsciously she put her hand to the ring on the chain around her neck and held it in her fingers. She felt giddy and excited. She almost felt like a teenager again.

He was still shaking when he got to the car. He sat down on the white leather seats of the limousine and stared at his trembling fingers.

‘A marvellous party tonight, marvellous! The catering was a delight don’t you think?’ Michael said, joining him on the back seat.

‘Yeah,’ he answered, coupling his hands together and having no idea what to do with them.

‘I never thought I’d be saying that in Basingstoke. Life is full of little surprises,’ Michael said with a titter.

‘Yeah, it is,’ Quinn agreed.

Four

It was almost 9.00am when George got to her parents’ house the next morning. She’d got in from
the Hexagon
at just before 4.00am but hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been on a high, completely wired. She had still been able to feel Quinn’s lips on hers and it bothered her. It bothered her because it had been reckless behaviour, behaviour that was no longer in her make up. It also bothered her because she’d enjoyed it so much. He had kissed her and she had been powerless to stop him. She hadn’t wanted to stop him. She’d been out of control for the first time in a long time and that worried her too. That was the person she used to be, not the George she was now. That George had been boxed up and put away long ago.

She stood outside her parents’ house, looking at the twee net curtains in the window, the perfect borders edging the beds filled with rose bushes and winter pansies. She approached the door, acknowledging the welcome doormat and the bell that chimed ‘Greensleeves’ and
the
‘
William Tell Overture’ on alternate days. She paused, her hand hovering over the button. She didn’t want to go in. She wanted to just get in the van and get back to work. She was busy, they had Archie’s party and then she had to produce something amazing with lamb for Quinn Blake’s after-show. She had received a voicemail from Michael earlier agreeing two thousand pounds for each show. She would be able to afford a new van by the end of the week.

She had the spare van keys with her in her bag; she didn’t need to go in. But then she thought about Adam. He was probably in there being smothered. Her mother feeding him up with fatty meats drenched in gravy, her father trying to get him to take an interest in golf. The cat, Lesley, farting all the time and her mother trying to cover it up with lavender room fragrance spray. That was her strongest memory from childhood, the scent of cat farts mixed with stew and lavender. It wasn’t the greatest of recollections.

She breathed in deeply and then pressed the bell as hard as she could. It was ‘Greensleeves’ today and the song had almost played out before her mother opened the door. She was smiling initially, probably thinking it was a neighbour or someone from the town magazine committee, but when she saw who it was the smile was replaced with a look of indifference.

Her hair looked like it had been shampooed and set that very morning and she was wearing an apron tied around her middle, which covered the majority of a nylon A-line skirt. She had always looked like a cover model for
Woman’s Weekly
and nothing ever changed, not in this house.

‘Brian, it’s Georgina,’ Heather called to her husband.

That was it. That was the greeting she received after not seeing either of them for at least two months. She had been busy, she hadn’t returned a few of her mother’s phone calls, they had stopped calling round, she had stopped calling round. And here they were.

Heather opened the door a little wider to allow George to enter and she stepped in just as Lesley appeared in the hallway, lifted her tail and
filled the narrow space
with the pungent stench of cat arse.

Automatically, George reached for the lavender spray, which was positioned in various locations around the house and gave it a good few pumps.

‘Hello Georgina. Got time to watch a bit of golf? It’s the Masters,’ Brian called from the living room.

‘Sorry Dad, really busy today. I just came for the van keys,’ George called back.

She put her head around the living room door and there was her dad, his head shining like a snooker ball, his favourite maroon sweatshirt on. He was sat on the floral sofa they’d bought in Courts circa 1984, remote control in one hand, his ‘I love Nick Faldo’ mug in the other, watching the golf on S
ky Sports. Sky was the only new
fangled appliance they had in the house, that and the forty two inch LCD television he had bought with a big premium bond win. He didn’t even look over to her.

Heather led the way through to the kitchen, pulled the van keys from the hook on the wall and put them down onto the worktop in front of George.

‘Is Adam in?’ George asked hopefully.

‘He’s in bed. I don’t know what you were thinking of, keeping him out until the early hours working,’ Heather said as she turned her back on George and stirred a vat of something on the hob.

‘He offered to help and I will pay him, more than the going rate,’ George replied.

‘You take advantage of that boy’s good nature,’ Heather continued.

‘He was happy to work. Ask him if you don’t believe me.’

‘He’s too polite to say no to people, you know that,’ Heather said sternly.

‘I want to see him,’ George said, heading towards the kitchen door and the stairs.

‘I’ve told you, he’s asleep. Now take the keys and get that heap of a van off the front drive. Mrs Weeks can’t abide cluttered drives. She phoned the council last week because number nine’s plastics and cardboard bin was overflowing. I don’t want to give her any cause to call about this house,’ Heather spoke.

‘Is he staying all weekend? I’d like him to work again tonight,’ George said and with a sigh she picked up the van keys, moving them from hand to hand.

‘He should rest. He has exams coming up and he needs to practice his piano. I have Mrs Rowland coming round this afternoon,’ Heather said.

Mrs Rowland was half French and half psycho. She was a piano obsessive with half moon glasses and her hair tied tight in a bun. She had attempted to teach George how to play too, until
George
realised hanging out with her friends after school was
preferable to Mozart and practis
ing scales. She took the month’s grounding for not wanting to continue with lessons, knowing that after that month she was free. She felt for Adam having to endure an afternoon of ‘you are not hitting the phrasing with enough passion
-
FROM THE TOP.’.

‘George! Hey,’ Adam greeted, entering the kitchen and smiling at her.

‘Hey Adam. Thanks for helping last night, I was just coming to collect the van,’ George said.

‘I’m not sure it’s running right you know. I’m pretty sure it has an oil leak. I could take a look if you like. GCSE mechanics might not be able to solve all the issues, but I could give it a go,’ he offered kindly.

‘I said it didn’t look roadworthy,’ Heather commented.

‘That’s OK, don’t worry. I’m hoping to buy a new one next week. I’ve been asked to cater the rest of the after-show parties for Quinn Blake’s concerts at
the Hexagon
. It
’
s big money,’ George told him.

‘Wow! That’s amazing isn’t it Mum? I’m staying till Monday; do you want me to help out?’ Adam asked.

‘Well, I
...
’ George began not daring to look at her mother.

She could imagine the expression. The disdainful look, the thin, tight
-
lipped mouth, as if she had just suggested Adam become a rent boy.

‘Adam, you need to revise and Mrs Rowland is coming round this afternoon remember? We were lucky to get her at short notice,’ Heather reminded.

‘Yeah I know but Ge
orge won’t need me until ten
-
ish; Mrs Rowland will be here at two and gone by four
. She likes to get to Waitrose just when they start reducing the stuff from the deli counter,’ Adam responded with a grin.

‘Listen, your uni stuff has to come first though. Are you behind?’ George enquired.

‘No! I’m straight A’s George; you know that. Tell her Mum,’ Adam urged.

‘But straight A’s have to be worked at,’ Heather responded, glaring at George again.

‘Look, I’ll be fine. I’m sure Marisa can rustle up an extra friend or two,’ George said, heading for the door.

‘No, I want the gig. I could do with the cash, guitar strings and sheet music don’t come cheap and, I want to see Quinn again. He’s a cool guy; he gave me some good advice last night and I showed him some hand exercises to help with his shredding,’ Adam told her.

At the mention of his name George was transported back to the kitchen of
the Hexagon
, the weight of his body against hers, the urgency of his kiss.

‘
I’ll meet you there, ten-ish
,’ Adam promised, walking her to the door.

‘OK, but listen, don’t rub Mum up the wrong way. Clean out Lesley’s litter tray for her or something,’ George suggested.

‘Will do. See you later Sis,’ Adam spoke as George opened the front door.

‘Bye. Bye Dad,’ George called.

‘Oh bye love. Try and catch some of the tournament if you can, Tiger Woods is blowing everyone away,’ Brian called back.

‘So I’ve heard,’ George remarked.

Five

When George got home she dumped the van outside and raced indoors. She hated her mother. She always made her feel inadequate, always tried to shut her out of family life. So many years had passed since she had taken on the black sheep role. She had hoped one day she could shrug the stigmatic fleece off, or at least have been allowed to have it highlighted. But no, it seemed she was still paying for her actions all those years ago.

Up in her bedroom she rifled through the back of the wardrobe for a faded green wallet file. It was all she had to remind her of the family they used to be.

But if she was honest there weren’t many photos of happy times before Adam was born. There was a photo of George at her fifth birthday party, almost setting light to her fringe as she blew out the candles on her cake. In that photo her mother was actually smiling in the background and clapping her hands with glee. There were a couple of others pre-Adam, George and her dad eating ice creams on a day out at the farm, her mother pushing her on a swing and a photo of the three of them standing to attention next to a Busby at Buckingham Palace.