The Ivy Lessons (3 page)

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘You’ll see.’

She leads me towards the bright lights of the Apple Store, its white interior glowing with tablets, laptops and computers.

‘I thought this would make you happy,’ says Jen, squeezing my arm.

I’ve always been a bit of a cyber geek, and love computers and gadgets. Not that I’ve ever been able to afford many of them, but I’ve always enjoyed helping Jen chose a new mobile phone or computer.

Inside the store, I approach a line of white laptops, all as thin as a paper notepad.

An assistant in an Apple t-shirt comes to stand beside me.

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Are you interested in a laptop?’

‘That’s an understatement,’ I say, running a hand over a perfectly smooth Apple logo on a
bright
white laptop case.

‘What’s your budget like?’

‘Um ... well, I guess ... I suppose I don’t have a budget.’

‘Oh. Well, we have credit plans –’

‘No. I mean ...’ I feel my cheeks going red. ‘Price doesn’t matter.’ I feel embarrassed, like I’m showing off. ‘At least, not today.’

He looks at me curiously,
no doubt wondering how a twenty-
something girl, in scruffy converse and a bobbled sweatshirt can afford to say that price doesn’t matter.

‘Well, is there any model that takes your interest?’

I move along to the newest Mac laptop. It’s as light as a paperback novel, with a battery that lasts all day. It’s so weird to
be heading towards the highest-
priced item, rather than the lowest. Usually, I scan prices to find the cheapest thing. It doesn’t matter where I am – a restaurant, cafe or department store. I’m hardwired to look for the lowest price. It’s hard to break the programming.

‘She’ll take this one,’ says Jen, following my gaze. ‘It’s the best one, right?’

‘I would say so,’ says the assistant. ‘It literally just came out last week. There have been waiting lists for it, but we restocked today and we’ve got two left.’

He goes to a back room and returns with a smooth, flat white box. ‘Here it is.’

‘If she’s buying at full price, what else can you throw in
?
’ says Jen, her eyes sharp.

The man swallows. ‘Well. I suppose ... a laptop case?’

‘What else?’ says Jen, tap
p
ing her foot.

‘And some virus software.’

‘And one of those ... what are they called? Mice? Is that what you’d call them all together?’ says Jen.

‘You want a mouse with it?’ the assistant asks.

‘Yes. Add a mouse and we’ll shake hands.’

The man looks uneasy, but he’d be pretty stupid to argue with Jen in barter mode, and I think he knows it.

‘Deal,’ he says.

‘Great!’ Jen leads me to the till.

We leave the store with me clutching my laptop like a new baby. I love it, I love it, I love it.

Jen sees the grin on my face, and puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘This has been the best day.’

Chapter 7

When Jen drops me off
at
my annex, I see Dad in the doorway of the cottage, waving at us. He comes to the car window.

‘Christ almighty. Another shopping trip, Jen? How much did this little lot set your dad back?’

Jen looks at me, and we share a quiet understanding that neither of us will tell him just yet that all the shopping is mine. Dad gets really anxious about money. If I were to tell him I’d just been given a huge cheque for clothing and university supplies, he’d want me to put it in a bank account and buy a few pieces from a charity shop. Which is very sensible, and exactly what I’d usually do. But I’m glad Jen forced me to live a little.

‘Would you girls like a cup of tea?’

I glance at the cottage, trying to work out if Genoveva is home. It sounds bad, but sometimes I avoid goi
ng in if she’s there
because she’s always bossing me around. If it’s just my dad and Samuel, then that’s fine. I’d never admit to Dad I feel that way. It would break his heart if he thought we weren’t all best buddies.

‘Is Genoveva home?’ Jen asks, always straight to the point.

Dad scratches his hair absentmindedly. It’s black and grey now, and totally bald at the back. Genoveva has bought him this hair thickening stuff he puts on sometimes, that turns his scalp black. He’s been bald since he was in his early twenties. It never bothered my mum. I know the other taxi drivers tease him about it sometimes, but he can put up with teasing.

‘She’s taken Samuel to have his photo taken with a friend of hers,’ Dad says.

‘Didn’t know she had any friends,’ Jen whispers.

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ I tell Dad. ‘But don’t worry. You look tired. I’ll make it.’ My dad is the sort of person who makes a mess. He doesn’t mean to, but I know if he makes tea, they’ll
be hot water and sugar over the counter, and it’s me who’ll end up either clearing it up, or he’ll get snapped at by Genoveva.

‘Thanks, but I have to get on home,’ says Jen, turning to me. ‘Can I have your opinion about some of these clothes before I leave?’ Her eye twitches, and I know she wants to talk to me alone.

When Dad goes inside, she says: ‘Do you think he’ll be upset?’

‘I don’t know.’ I pull curls of my hair down, and feel them ping back up again. ‘I mean, it was always on the cards that I’d move out this year, but I don’t think he’d expect me to go so far away. I think they’ve sort of come to rely on me for childcare and that sort of thing.’

‘He’ll cope,’ says Jen. ‘They both will.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘And once I’m out of the annex, they can rent it and make a bit of money. So the sooner the better, really.’

‘Exactly,’ says Jen. She takes my shoulder. ‘You will tell him today, won’t you? I don’t want you putting it off, then changing your mind about
the
college.’

‘I will.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It’ll be hard, but I’ll do it.’

‘Good. Your dad’s a soppy old so and so, but I think he’ll take the news just fine. You’ll see.’

She starts the engine and drives away.

I go into the house, and hear the kettle rumbling.

‘Dad?’

‘Do you want one of your camomile jobbies?’ Dad asks.

‘You sit down. I’ll do it,’ I say, going to the cupboard and taking out mugs. There’s no need to ask Dad what he wants – it’s always tea, made exactly the same way. Very white with two sugars.

‘You always make it better than I do anyway,’ says Dad, smiling and taking a seat at the dining table. The cottage is old, but Dad took out a lot of walls when he first bought the place, and everything is open plan. The kitchen and dining area open right out into the living space, and there are black wooden beams running along the ceiling. It’s three times the size of my annex and always warm and cosy.

I’d never tell Dad, but the annex gets freezing at night and my bed sheets always feel damp.

‘Soph – I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but is there something on your mind?’

‘What makes you say that?’ I say, a spoon of sugar hovering over his mug.

‘It’s just ... you seem a bit distracted.’

‘Oh.’ This is the perfect opening to tell him. But for some reason, I just drop the sugar into the tea and start to stir.

‘How are things with Genoveva?’

Dad laughs. ‘Oh, you know. She likes a row now and then. Nothing different than any other couple, I expect.’

Mum
and Dad never used to row. They were both so agreeable, there was nothing to row about.

‘But you’re okay? Generally?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes,’ says Dad, staring out the window. ‘Generally okay. I wish I could let you stay in the annex for as long as you liked, but -’

‘Dad. Come on. Not this again. It’s fine. You’ve got Genoveva and the new baby to look after now. You need the rent from that place. I’m a grown up. I’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t deserve to have a daughter as good as you,’ Dad says, taking his mug of tea from me. ‘There are some custard creams in the tin.’

‘Thanks.’ I love custard creams, but right now I don’t feel like eating. ‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath and let it out. ‘I do have something to tell you.’

Dad puts his mug on the table.

‘Are you okay, Soph? Is there anything you need help with?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Nothing at all. But I have news for you.’

‘Oh?’ Dad tries to smile.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s great news really, in one way.’

‘Well. Let’s hear it.’

‘I’ve been offered a fully funded place on a post-graduate course.’

‘That’s fantastic news, Soph,’ says Dad. ‘Really, really fantastic.’ He breathes out. ‘Oh, that’s such a weight off my mind. I’ve been having sleepless nights, thinking about how you’re going to get a job in a village as small as this one. Without a car, and all that. I wish I could buy you a car, but – Soph, do you need to stay in the annex a while longer, then?’

‘No.’

‘So where are you going to live? Your university doesn’t have any accommodation for post-graduate students, does it?’

‘The place isn’t at my university,’ I say. ‘It’s at a college in London.’ I look into my tea, and see a grey teabag bobbing in brown water. ‘I just applied on a whim, actually. It was my tutor’s idea. I didn’t take it seriously at all. I never thought for a moment I’d be accepted.’

Dad nods sadly. ‘London’s a little too far for you to come back at weekends, isn’t it?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s only a few hours away. I can come back all the time.’

‘It sounds like you’ve already decided to accept, then,’ says Dad, with a gentle smile.

‘I have. At least, I think I have. It’s an amazing opportunity. Thousands of people applied. And I’m pretty sure Jen will kill me if I don’t take it.’ I smile.

‘She’s a good friend to you, that Jen.’ Dad takes a sip of tea. ‘Don’t worry about me, Soph. I don’t want you worrying about me at all. You go and enjoy yourself. Tell me about this college.’

‘It’s called Ivy College,’ I say. ‘It’s owned by a famous actor. Marc Blackwell. He teaches some of the classes.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’ Dad clicks his fingers. ‘From that film ... what was it ... the wheelchair one. He plays a basketball player in a wheelchair.’

‘
The Windows of My Mind
,’ I fill in. ‘He won an Oscar for that part.’

‘So is he in a wheelchair, then?’

I smile. ‘No, Dad, he’s an actor. He was just playing the role.
He’s able bodied. So able bodied, in fact, that t
hey wanted him to do James Bond a few years back, but he turned it down.’

‘James Bond!’ Dad eyes light up. ‘You’re going to be taught by James Bond?’

‘If he hadn’t turned the part down.’

Dad puts down his tea and throws his arms around me. ‘I’m so proud of you, petal,’ he says. ‘Truly
. You’re the best daughter any d
ad could hope for. You go know ‘em dead at this place.’

Chapter 8

It’s the night before I’m due to leave for London, and Jen has invited me around for what she’s calling ‘the last supper’. She has some news for me, apparently. Some good news. And also hot chocolate, brandy, marshmallows and popcorn. Hopefully she’ll serve the popcorn separately, but with Jen you never know.

I buzz her intercom five times – our secret signal – and she releases the door mechanism to her apartment block. I call her apartment the big brother house, because there are cameras everywhere. She lives in one of those brand new glass and metal blocks that are built like fortresses.

When Jen left sixth form, she didn’t bother with university. Instead, she got a well-paying job in PR, and moved into this place. Her dad was furious, but Jen is always her own person. Her plan is to have her own PR agency one day.

I tried to grow some things on Jen’s glass balcony so she’d have something of a garden, but they all died. Jen has many talents, but she’s not green fingered.

I’m a little sad as I reach Jen’s blonde-wood front door. The thought of leaving her makes me feel homesick. We’ve known each other long enough to practically be sisters, and shared everything. First sips of cider in the park, first crushes, first kisses, first boyfriends ... everything.

Before I even knock on the door, she pulls it open.

‘Soph! Have I got news for you.’ She drags me inside. ‘Oh! You brought wine. Goody. Shall we have it as our starter?’

We both giggle.

Her apartment is huge, with a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the lounge. Big glass windows look out over our local park, and Jen says that’s better than having a real garden. If it’s not hers, she can’t kill it.

Jen opens the wine with a pop, and nods towards the coffee table, where there is a pile of DVDs. ‘Can you guess what my news is?’

‘Something about Marc Blackwell,’ I say slowly.