Caught in the Act (23 page)

Odd. Odder still when she realised it was Fiona's bunk. Carol paused. Fiona? The name formed again in the achy tangle of barbed wire behind her eyes. It wasn't like Fiona to break the rules, or curfew and go missing—unless, of course, she was in sick bay or having a nasty attack of something somewhere. Carol smiled; not that she had noticed a sick bay and the bathroom had definitely been empty. It occurred to Carol that she hadn't seen Fiona at the disco and had been too tired and far, far too drunk to notice if Fiona had been there when she and Diana had come upstairs at the end of the evening.

The window rattled in its frame and then rattled again, more violently this time as the wind careened recklessly around the old building.

Before she climbed back into bed Carol padded across and pulled the sash closed to stop the noise and as she did, glanced across into the gardens below. There in the moonlight was Fiona—well, at least it looked like Fiona—picking her way tentatively across the
dew-heavy moonlit lawn, all wrapped up in a blanket or maybe it was a robe.

That was very odd. Carol narrowed her eyes, trying hard to focus. Fiona wasn't exactly at home in the great outdoors, being allergic to most of it and terrified of the rest of it. Carol stared, wondering if perhaps Fiona was sleepwalking, or maybe Carol was dreaming. Peering into the gloom, she considered calling out and then she saw that Fiona was not alone, or at least she thought she did. As Fiona reached the shrubbery Carol could have sworn that a man stepped out of the shadows and, to her amazement, took hold of Fiona's hand and pulled her towards him.

Carol stared, not quite believing what she had seen. The lawn was empty now. There was no sign of a movement, the only sound a welltimed Hammer House of Horror movie owl hooting somewhere close by. And a single trail of footprints through the dew.

Carol tried hard to focus, squinting to see into the deep shadows until her headache began to complain. Was Fiona all right? Should she go and investigate? As the thought formed the first heavy raindrops of a summer storm breaking began to pitter-patter down onto the
windowsill and fire escape, the noise as raucous as gravel being shaken around in a biscuit tin.

Carol considered the idea for a moment or two more. Who on earth was Fiona with? She paused, trying to replay an image that was a millisecond long and picked out in monochrome against a raft of shadows. Fiona hadn't looked as if she was being threatened or anything. Carol was too tired and too drunk to concentrate any longer and so she turned and clambered back into bed. Strangely, despite the driving rain and the clatter of thunder, she was asleep in seconds.

Fiona looked up into Gareth's eyes.

‘So are you feeling better now?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes, you were right, a sleep did me the world of good. I thought I was getting one of my migraines.' She giggled. ‘Mummy is always saying that I need someone to take care of me. How was the disco?'

‘You didn't miss very much.' Gareth stroked the hair back off her face. ‘Are you warm enough?'

Fiona pointedly curled up against him. ‘Yes, thank you.'

‘I've missed you,' he said softly. ‘I didn't realise quite how much until I saw you last night.'

‘re ally?' She pulled back a little to look up at him.

‘re ally. And I'm so impressed—you've done so well for yourself, when I saw you on TV I couldn't believe my eyes. Mind you, I always knew that you'd got talent.'

Fiona preened. ‘You're just saying that. Was it
Casualty
?'

Gareth nodded. ‘Yes, yes, it was.'

‘I was
so
lucky to get that part, although it wasn't my first TV credit. I was in—oh God, it's starting to rain.' She peered up angrily at the sky. ‘I think I re ally ought to be getting back. I don't want to catch cold and my hair goes frizzy if it gets damp.' She pulled her dressing gown up over her head.

‘You know what I think?' said Gareth, not letting go. ‘I think that you worry way too much, sweetie. Relax. We've got plenty of time. I was hoping that we could start over.' As he spoke he guided her under the cover of the hedge. ‘Why don't we go back inside? I've found this wonderfully snug little place—out of the way, very private.' He smiled
wolfishly. ‘Very, very private. Just like before. Remember?'

‘re ally?' said Fiona.

Gareth nodded and, taking her hand, set off back towards the hall. He laughed. ‘Relax. There's no rush. I've been thinking—once we leave here, I'm between contracts at the moment so I've got some time on my hands. I've just moved out of my last place. I'm a free agent.' He paused. ‘I'd re ally like to see you; we can start all over again.'

‘Again?' Fiona repeated.

He nodded and tipped her face up to his. She bit her lip as he peered into her eyes.

‘Come on, Fiona. You know that this is what you want. You were so good, so perfect,' he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair, hands sliding up under her pyjama top. ‘And I've missed you so very much. We've got all the time in the world now. And it will be all right this time around. We were meant for each other, you know that, don't you? We've got as much time as we need. It will be so good, so right.'

Fiona giggled.

‘Carol? Wake up. Come on, come on. We're late.'

Reptile-like, Carol slowly opened one eye, very reluctantly, despite the urgency in the voice and the vigorous shoulder-shaking, and licked her lips. She had been dreaming that she and the rest of the cast and crew had been asked to do a read-through in the Sahara Desert and they had forgotten to lay on any catering. It hadn't been that hot but God, she was parched. Outside, in the real world beyond the nice cosy darkness of her eyelids, the daylight was horribly bright. She looked across at her torturer. Diana was peering at her anxiously.

‘Come on, get up.'

‘Bugger off.'

‘No, I won't bugger off. Did anyone ever tell you, you are incredibly grumpy in the morning? Come on, get your arse in gear. We're late. The alarm clock didn't go off.' Diana was wrapped up in a pink dressing gown and winceyette nightie. There were bears on the nightie.

‘People brought alarm clocks?' said Carol incredulously, trying to ignore the nasty taste in her mouth and Diana's nasty taste in nightwear.

Diana nodded. ‘Absolutely. Well, I'm sure
there must be some people who did, people who are well organised. I heard at least two yesterday morning.'

‘People who are anally retentive and much in need of psychiatric help,' moaned Carol, pulling the bedclothes up over her head to cut out the sunlight. It was so nice to be back in the dark. She rolled over.

‘Very possibly but apparently even the anally retentive couldn't get it together last night because none of them seems to have gone off.'

Carol didn't ask whether she meant the people or the clocks.

‘Anyway, if you remember, we're late.'

‘Late?'

‘That's right,' said Diana. ‘The alarm clock didn't go off.'

‘So you said. Exactly how late are we?'

‘Ten minutes past breakfast and counting. You have to get up. They do this re ally big fryup on a Sunday. It's a traditional thing. It's lovely. All freshly cooked and locally grown.'

Carol's stomach did a nasty little lurching two-step fandango of complaint. ‘I'm not re ally up to breakfast,' she said, swallowing hard.

‘Oh, of course you are, don't be so silly. I think you should make the effort. It's going
to be a long day and besides, they do great bacon and eggs here.'

‘Bugger off,' Carol growled.

Diana laughed. ‘Baked beans, big juicy sausage, fried slice, nice black pudding…'

‘You are a complete and utter cow,' said Carol, admitting defeat and throwing the bedcovers back. ‘How come you aren't all horribly hung over and haggard this morning? I feel like shit.'

Diana shrugged. ‘I don't know why re ally, maybe it's living a wholesome life and having the constitution of an ox. I feel great, although I have to say you don't look exactly a hundred per cent,' she added philosophically.

Carol groaned and crawled to the edge of the bunk. Not looking a hundred per cent was a very loose-knit and benign description for the hangover from hell.

She closed her eyes, lay belly down on the thin mattress and swung her legs over the side. Carol paused, every muscle straining. It was a long drop down to the carpet and one she re ally needed to brace herself for.

The first thing Carol noticed when she was safely on the floor was that the bedroom window was now wide open and that down
the grey beary wall and across the nasty yellow carpet was a trail of muddy footprints, which led rather pointedly to Fiona's bed, alongside which was a pair of grass-covered, earth-spattered slippers. Tucked up in bed, Fiona was still sound asleep under her padded purple blackout mask.

Adie—looking all tousled and lovely in his black silk jim-jams, followed Carol's gaze. ‘Before you ask, Madam managed to get herself locked out last night somehow, apparently. There she was in the wee small hours wailing like a banshee and banging on the window, all frantic and fussed and damp, said she had one of her heads and couldn't sleep. I'm surprised that you didn't hear her. She made enough bloody row to wake the dead.'

Carol made an effort to sift through the rather fragmented memories of the previous night and kept coming up with the same picture. Fiona and a man, meeting in the moonlight. But then again maybe she had imagined it? Maybe she heard Fiona's voice in her sleep and dreamed the whole thing. It occurred to Carol that she genuinely didn't know whether it had been a dream or not.

‘Was she on her own?' Carol asked.

Adie nodded. ‘Well, she was when she was banging on the window, why?'

Carol shook her head and then instantly regretted it. Something that had to be her brain had broken loose and was rolling around inside her skull like a giant spiky stainless-steel marble.

‘Do you think we ought to wake her up? It's going to be a long day. It would be a shame for Fiona to miss breakfast, although she looks so lovely and peaceful lying there, doesn't she?' said Diana, without an iota of sarcasm. By the window Fiona was lying on her back, mask on, curlers in, with her mouth open, snoring softly, a thin trail of drool running down over her cheek, tethering her to the pillow. Carol was glad that she was the one who was awake and not the one being watched. Fiona snorted and rolled over.

‘Yeah, you're right. I think we should wake her up. It wouldn't be the same without her, would it?' Adie said, in an almost identical tone.

Carol thought about it for a moment or two. What would Snow White be without the evil stepmother, or Cinderella without an ugly sister or two? Grudgingly Carol realised that he was right. Fiona did add a certain indefinable something to the proceedings.

And then Adie grinned. ‘Mind you, I'm not waking her up. She was a complete cow yesterday when she came to and found no one had laid on a tray with a pot of Earl Grey and hot buttered toast for her. Apparently Mummy would have been horrified.' And with that he got up, picked up his wash bag and robe and headed out towards the boys' dormitory.

‘Well, thanks a bunch,' Diana called after his retreating back, rolling up her sleeves manfully.

He grinned. ‘You already owe me one.' Adie tapped the side of his nose. ‘Don't ask any questions, just grab a woman and follow me, remember?'

Diana reddened furiously.

Carol stared at her. ‘What was that about?'

‘Nothing important. It's a conga thing,' said Diana, sounding huffy.

Carol shook her head. ‘Sorry I asked.'

Adie had no sooner gone than Jan appeared from the girls' bathroom, all washed and dressed, her hair brushed, makeup done, all buffed, puffed and ready for the off. She looked great—better than great; she looked stunning.

Carol groaned. ‘What is it with you lot? Did you take some sort of magic potion first thing or was I the only one drinking last night?'

Jan smiled beatifically. ‘No, not at all,' she said. ‘I got totally hammered.'

Carol stared at her; something had changed. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Yes, of course I'm OK. I just said I was,' she snapped. ‘There's just no pleasing some people. You're awful, Carol. You were horrible to me when I felt down in the dumps and now you're doing the same thing when I'm feeling better.'

‘No, no, I'm not,' Carol protested, and then she hesitated for an instant. ‘Oh, all right, so maybe I am, but I'm glad that you're happier. You seemed so sad last night.' There was no easy way to say this. ‘I'm just surprised, that's all. It seemed kind of insoluble—you know, the thing we were talking about.' She hedged around, waiting to see Jan's reaction.

Jan's happy face didn't falter for an instant. ‘Well, there's no need to be surprised. Adie and I had a re ally long talk last night. We sorted lots of things out. It's stuff we've talked about before—but never quite came to any firm decision. Until now.' The smile still held. Carol stared at her while trying to figure out what the hell Adie could have said that had cured goodness only knew how many years
of pain, rejection and love without hope.

‘That's nice, I'm glad,' she said cautiously.

Jan carried on smiling. ‘Yes, me too. And relieved as well, and we've made some concrete plans for the future. Finally.'

Carol stared at her. ‘Finally? The future? Your future?'

Jan nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, that's right.'

‘But he's gay, Jan,' Carol protested in a low voice. ‘You're not going to convert him.'

Jan laughed. ‘Oh, for goodness' sake, I do know that; I don't need to be told. But I love him very much and I think I always will. And I realised—well, we both realised—that we've always loved each other, it's just not in the usual boy-girl sort of way. The Greeks probably had a word for it.'