Gypsy Wedding (16 page)

‘But it wasn’t true.’

‘No, and it can’t ever be true, not if I want to keep Liam.’

‘So?’

‘So I can’t be seen talking to him.’

‘But no one from your family would know.’

‘
I’d
know.’

‘So what?’ Kelly felt she was losing the plot. ‘He’s just a mate. Chatting to him is no different from chatting to me.’

But Vicky couldn’t admit, even to herself, that chatting to Jordan wasn’t a bit like chatting to Kelly. For a start, after she’d spent time chatting to Kelly she didn’t constantly find her thoughts straying back to her – which is what always seemed to happen with Jordan. And when she chatted to Kelly her insides didn’t turn cartwheels.

They hadn’t seen a sign of Chloe when Kelly dropped Vicky off at the textiles room, much to Vicky’s relief.

‘I’ll meet you back here at twelve thirty,’ said Kelly as she turned to go.

Feeling a lot less nervous now she was on her own territory and in a place where Chloe wasn’t going to appear, Vicky opened the door and walked inside. Instantly the four girls already gathered there stopped talking. An awkward silence followed. Vicky just knew they’d been talking about her.

‘Carry on, don’t mind me,’ she said pointedly as she put her bag and carrier containing her work on the side, where she always left her stuff. Behind her she heard scuffling and some quiet thuds. She turned round to find her classmates were all, equally pointedly, shoving their handbags and kit into the lockers provided. In the weeks that Vicky had been at the college she had never once seen anyone use the lockers. With a sick feeling she knew exactly what had brought this on.

‘So you’ve heard,’ she said defiantly. ‘Word gets around fast, doesn’t it?’

The four girls looked uncomfortable but didn’t reply.

‘You think I’m going to steal your stuff, don’t you? Obviously, because I’m a gypsy it means that I’m a lying, thieving piece of scum, doesn’t it? Even though you thought I was okay until this morning.’

‘Maybe,’ admitted Leah, who had, on a previous occasion, borrowed Vicky’s notes when she’d lost her own and who, until this moment, Vicky had considered a friend.

‘So how much of your stuff went missing when you knew nothing about me?’

‘None,’ Leah conceded.

‘So what’s the difference now?’ The answer was silence. ‘Suit yourselves,’ said Vicky, her head held high.
You’re not to cry
, she told herself sternly.
They’re not worth it
. But inside she felt as if she’d just been knifed.

When Mrs Mead, their textiles teacher, entered she made a swift appraisal of the room. On one side, all alone, sat Vicky looking proud and defiant but upset; on the other side of the room sat the other ten girls in her group. She sighed. She’d known that Vicky’s background, which she’d been aware of since she’d seen Vicky’s application form and its give-away address, was bound to come out sooner or later, but she’d fervently hoped it would be later rather than sooner. And if she was honest with herself, she’d had huge doubts as to the girl’s suitability for her course – that was, until she’d seen Vicky’s incredible talent and instinct for the subject.

So now, did she say anything, or ignore the situation? This was a first for Mrs Mead, never having taught an Irish traveller before, and would saying something make the situation better or worse? She decided, on balance, not to make an issue of things and carried on with her lesson on the use of the felting machine as if nothing had happened. She demonstrated how it could be used for distressing fabrics, meshing them together or punching strips of one fabric into another to make random and unusual textures.

‘Right, Vicky,’ she said when she’d finished going through the various possibilities, ‘why don’t you have a go on the machine and see what you can produce.’

On cue the other girls chuntered about it being unfair that she should have first go but Mrs Mead silenced them with a sharp stare and told them to get on with their work on fabric collages.

‘It isn’t as if any of you is so far ahead with your work that you can afford to waste any time chatting, either.’

The other girls took the hint and silence fell over the classroom, punctuated only by the whirr of some of the sewing machines and the snip of scissors.

At the end of the long morning session Vicky was packing up her work when Mrs Mead signalled to her that she’d like her to stay behind.
Great
, thought Vicky,
she’s heard too and is about to tell me she doesn’t want to teach a pikey
.

‘What’s going on, Vicky?’ Mrs Mead said as soon as the heavy fire door had closed behind the last of the other girls.

‘I don’t know what you mean, miss.’

‘Don’t treat me like an idiot.’

‘I’m not.’

Mrs Mead raised her eyebrows. ‘Is this about where you live?’

Vicky nodded.

‘So they’ve found out.’

Vicky nodded again.

‘Which is why you didn’t come to college yesterday.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m glad you changed your mind.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Of course, they’re jealous of you, which also doesn’t help. You’re far and away the best student in the class. I suppose they feel that with all their so-called advantages it should be the other way round.’

‘Maybe,’ Vicky conceded.

‘You mustn’t let them grind you down. You mustn’t even think about dropping out just because of some stupid attitude towards you.’

‘It’s easy for you to say.’

‘I agree. I’ve never had to deal with anything of the sort and I have no idea what it’s like for you. All I can say is that you mustn’t let them win.’

‘That’s what Kelly said.’

‘Kelly? Is she a traveller too?’

‘No, she my best mate since school. She’s doing beauty therapy. She told me to come back today.’

‘Then you should listen to Kelly. She’s dead right. And if you’ve got an ally here things should be easier, shouldn’t they?’

‘Dunno. If people want to make life difficult they totally can, even if you have a couple of mates.’

The door to the classroom creaked open.

‘Talk of the devil,’ said Vicky.

‘Kelly?’ asked Mrs Mead.

‘You all right, Vick?’ asked Kelly.

‘Fine. Mrs Mead’s just giving me a pep talk.’

Mrs Mead laughed. ‘A talk Vicky probably doesn’t need with a good friend like you to gee her up.’

‘Thanks. Sorry to interrupt but I promised Vicky I’d come and get her and when I saw all the other girls go off for lunch I wondered if everything was all right. I was afraid she might’ve given up and gone home early.’

‘No,’ said Vicky. ‘What do you take me for – some sort of coward?’

‘Never,’ said Mrs Mead and Kelly in unison.

Vicky was still smiling at the faith her tutor and her best mate had in her when she entered the canteen for lunch. The smile was wiped off her face, though, when the hubbub of chatter and the clatter of cutlery and crockery diminished, silence fell and all the faces turned to look at her. If Kelly hadn’t been standing right behind her and blocking her escape route she would have turned and fled.

‘Chin up,’ whispered Kelly. ‘Don’t let them win.’

But Vicky was frozen with fear and embarrassment.

‘Hi, girls,’ said Jordan, standing up at a table across the room. ‘Join me?’

A murmur ran round the room. Kelly gave Vicky a sharp shove in the small of her back, propelling her forward.

‘We can’t,’ squeaked Vicky over her shoulder to Kelly. ‘What about Chloe?’

‘She’s not here.’ Kelly caught hold of Vicky’s arm and dragged her into the canteen. After a couple of steps Vicky shook her off. If she was going to face these people down she needed to do it on her own. Yes, it was great to have Kelly there but this was a battle she had to fight herself.

She slid into a seat beside Jordan. ‘You like living dangerously or something?’

‘Not really,’ he replied as Kelly sat down opposite the pair of them.

‘So what’ll Chloe say when she hears about this?’

‘Hears about what?’

‘Come off it, Jordan, don’t play dumb,’ said Vicky. ‘Chloe hates me, she thinks I fancy you and she’s the one who’s told everyone I’m a pikey.’

‘So?’

‘
So
?’

‘It doesn’t change who you are, the person a lot of people liked until yesterday. Remember, you aren’t the only one who has ever been discriminated against. Think what it was like for my dad when he was growing up and the shit he had to cope with. You can hide your background but he couldn’t hide his skin colour. Compared to him, I reckon you’ve got it easy.’

‘Yeah, well …’ Vicky couldn’t argue against that. ‘But whatever you say, they don’t like me now.’

‘It’ll blow over.’

‘Maybe. In the meantime I need to get some food.’ Vicky and Kelly stood up and went over to the serving counter to get their lunch. The noise in the canteen had returned to normal levels, although Vicky was conscious of glances being cast in her direction now and again.

‘Come on, Kelly,’ she said, stuffing the baguette she’d just paid for in her bag. ‘Let’s go and eat somewhere else.’

‘What’s wrong with sitting with Jordan?’

Vicky shook her head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I
can’t
. Not after everything.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Kelly. ‘He wants to look after you too, you know.’

Vicky knew that it should be Liam who was her knight in shining armour, not Jordan. But Liam couldn’t protect her at college.

As the autumn term drifted towards Christmas, Vicky wasn’t sure if she was getting used to the cuts and taunts or whether they were getting less frequent. Either way, the attitude of her fellow students bothered her less. Her work in the textiles department continued to be outstanding and she managed to finish the third of the seven bridesmaids’ dresses. But best of all was that Chloe seemed to have given up her own personal hate campaign, now choosing to totally ignore Vicky. If, thought Vicky, Chloe reckoned she’d be upset by this treatment, she couldn’t be more wrong. Frankly, as far as Vicky was concerned, being ignored by Chloe was a huge bonus. But as the days ticked past Vicky was increasingly conscious that her wedding day was getting ever closer.

‘I’ve fixed for you to see the dressmaker on Saturday,’ Mary-Rose said when Vicky returned from college one evening.

‘Saturday?’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Vicky.

‘You have decided how you want your dress now, haven’t you?’

Vicky nodded vigorously, although she’d only given the matter the most basic of thoughts: lots of petticoats, white or cream, obviously, and a train. She’d been telling her mother for weeks, months now, that she had an idea of what she wanted but it was an out-and-out lie. Truth was, she didn’t really have a clue. She went to her room and was glad to see that Shania wasn’t there already. Dumping her college bags on the bed she extracted her sketchbook and sat down. What exactly did she want to look like on her wedding day? The phrase ‘fairy-tale princess’ popped into her head. Well, duh? What else did any traveller girl want to look like? Except that Vicky wanted her dress to be not just about the big skirt and the frills. She wanted something else, something original, something classy, something … more.

She began to sketch out some ideas. No, that wouldn’t do. She ripped out the page and crumpled it up. She tried again. No. And again. No. Vicky sighed and sucked the end of her pencil. She got up and went through into the living area. Under one of the bunks was a drawer which contained Shania’s stash of wedding magazines. Unlike her big sister, Shania had been obsessing about her big day since she’d been about ten. Vicky hauled out a couple and returned to her room. Idly she flicked the pages, trying to get some sort of inspiration that would satisfy her mother’s idea of an ideal traveller’s wedding dress and her own ideas about style and individuality.

The door crashed open and Vicky jumped, guiltily trying to hide the magazine – she didn’t really want to give her sister the satisfaction of being able to crow – but Shania was too quick for her.

‘Hallelujah,’ said her little sister, grabbing the magazine out of Vicky’s hands and brandishing it. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re finally going ahead and doing something about your blooming wedding.’

‘Well, yes, but as I’ve managed to make three bridesmaids’ dresses already I don’t think I can be accused of slacking.’

‘Says you, but I know you’re just dragging your heels.’

‘Jeez, give over, Shan. I’ve heard it all before and, for your information, I’m going as fast as I can.’

‘What’s this?’ Shania lit upon one of the crumpled balls of paper.

‘Nothing. Gimme.’ Vicky lunged to rescue it.

But it was too late. Shania had already jumped forward and scooped it off the floor before her sister could get to it. Whirling away she smoothed it out. ‘Gross,’ she said. ‘You’re not really thinking of wearing this to your wedding.’