Losing You (15 page)

She really could trust Melissa, every bit as much as she could Donna, and the same would go for her, if ever either of them needed her to keep something secret for them. Of course Donna knew everything about what was happening, because she was a part of it, which was utterly brilliant, and it was a real shame she couldn’t come this weekend.

Remembering the mobile phone Granny Berry had found down her sofa, she felt her heart twist with relief and panic all over again. She could have had so much explaining to do about that if the battery hadn’t gone flat. Luckily it had, and so now everyone could breathe again. Donna had been in a worse state than anyone until it had finally turned up, which was so sweet of her, because it really wasn’t her fault that the phone had been lost.

Taking her precious journal from her bag Lauren opened it to the last entry, and felt delicious frissons of excitement thrilling all the way through her as she read it. By the time she’d finished she was breathless and flushed and so exhilarated she wanted to laugh, or call Donna, or do something utterly rash, she just couldn’t think what. Keeping a journal was one of the best things ever, especially when she had so much amazing stuff to write in it. She’d started off shyly at first, but now she never held back, putting down every tiny little detail of what was happening to her, and Donna, with an explicitness that made them tremble and laugh and feel shocked at themselves all over again every time they read it.

After noting the date, she began to describe how she was feeling right now, drawing on lines from her favourite poets and lyricists, even setting some of it to music in her head. What an incredible ballad it would make, full of hope and anticipation, heavy with innuendo and hidden promise.

She was still writing in her neat, girlish hand when the
train finally pulled into Temple Meads station – ten minutes later than scheduled, which had allowed her ten more minutes to record everything that was making her so unbelievably happy. Of course, she should have been studying really, but she was pretty well up on the Romantics by now, mainly thanks to Mr Leesom who was so absolutely amazingly brilliant the way he read and explained some of the most beautiful poetry ever written. She needed to finish her essay this weekend though, then perhaps her mum would go through and correct it, because she was fantastic at editing essays into shape no matter what they were about.

Quickly packing her journal away, she grabbed her bag, laptop and guitar case ready to jump down on to the platform, then almost dropped them in the struggle to get to her mobile as it started to ring.

‘Hey Mum, I’m here,’ she cried cheerily. ‘The train’s a bit late.’

‘I know,’ Emma responded drily. ‘I’m at the front of the station in the short-term parking.’

‘Be there in less than two,’ Lauren promised, and ringing off she hastily joined the crowds surging towards the exit.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she beamed, throwing her bag into the boot of her own car and getting into the passenger side. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘No problem,’ Emma assured her, giving her a hug. Then, laughing as Lauren kept hold of her in a more bruising embrace, ‘It’s lovely to see you too. Do you want to drive, or shall I?’

‘You can now you’re there,’ Lauren replied, finally letting her go. ‘Is it still going all right?’

‘It seems to be. I’ll put some petrol in for you on the way back, because I’ve used it a couple of times this week.’

‘Oh, no worries. Or actually, I’d better make sure I’ve got some because I’m the designated driver tonight.’

Starting up the engine, Emma felt a surge of contentment as her world tilted back on kilter. She’d missed Lauren far more than she was going to admit, at least to Lauren. ‘So have you decided where you’re going yet?’ she asked. ‘The
last I heard it was between a club and a party and a concert.’

Turning to look out of the window, Lauren said, ‘Oh, probably a club, I think, unless it’s changed again.’

‘How many of you are going?’

‘Uh, four. Me, Melissa, Lucy and Charlotte.’

Emma frowned. ‘I remember Lucy, but have I met Charlotte?’

‘I expect so, at some point. She goes to the same school as Melissa and Lucy. She’s really cool. Oh, who’s this?’ she exclaimed as her mobile bleeped with a text. ‘Just Donna,’ she murmured, taking a moment to read it. ‘I’ll give her a ring when we get home. So, any news about the job?’

Groaning as her insides turned over, Emma said, ‘No. I told you, they’re not getting back to anyone until sometime next week. In the meantime, I’m trying to forget all about it.’

Lauren cast her a comically knowing look. ‘I bet you’re doing really well at that,’ she teased.

Narrowing her eyes as she tried not to laugh, Emma steered the car out on to the main Bath road to head towards home.

‘You know, you’re definitely going to get it,’ Lauren informed her decisively. ‘I’ve got this feeling and I’ll bet anything I’m not wrong.’ She laughed delightedly, as the sheer joy of being alive came over her in fabulous waves. ‘You know, I can hardly believe it’s been nearly two whole weeks since I last saw you,’ she declared. ‘It seems ages. I’ve really missed you.’

Loving how uninhibited she was with her feelings, Emma said, ‘The house has been very quiet without you, apart from all the pensioner rave-ups and raucous get-togethers with Polly, of course. I take it you’ve heard about her new business partner.’

Lauren had. ‘Melissa says he’s really fit for a bloke his age. Have you seen him?’

‘Not yet, but between us I think Polly’s quite keen. Being Polly though, she thinks she’s not good enough for him, which is ...’

‘... like only totally insane,’ Lauren protested. ‘She’s gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to have her.’

‘Exactly what I said.’

‘So do you reckon something might come of it?’

Catching the thread quickly, Emma said, ‘If you’re fishing for Melissa then my answer is, they’ve only met once so I think we might be getting a bit ahead of ourselves.’

‘And if I’m not fishing for Melissa?’

‘The answer’s the same. You’re an unstoppable pair of matchmakers, you two.’

‘And we know how to get results, so watch out!’ Lauren warned.

Though Emma glanced at her in amusement, she decided to let the subject drop, since she didn’t want to flatten Lauren’s spirits by warning her off playing Cupid for her mother. It was hardly important, anyway. ‘So how much homework do you have this weekend?’ she asked.

Lauren sighed as she shook out her hair. ‘Absolutely tons,’ she replied, ‘which is why it’s good I’m the driver tonight, because I so can’t be dealing with a hangover tomorrow. I’ve got to finish this essay about the Romantics by Monday or Mr Leesom will do his nut.’

Unable to imagine Mr Leesom doing anything so undignified, Emma said, ‘Do I get to have a look?’

‘Are you kidding? I’m counting on you to edit it, because I swear I’m up to seven thousand words already and it’s only supposed to be five. Anyway, are you going out tonight?’

Moving seamlessly with the change of subject, Emma said, ‘I’ve been thinking about it, but I’m still not sure. If I don’t, I could always be your chauffeur.’

Lauren bounced round in her seat to face her. ‘Mum, you are so the best mum in the whole wide world, but I am absolutely not going to let you do that. You’ve got to have a life. Where are you thinking of going?’

Emma grimaced. ‘To a quiz night at a pub in Wrington?’

Lauren laughed. ‘Well at least it’s not karaoke.’

‘God help me,’ Emma muttered. ‘You’re the only one with musical gifts in this family. You know, the trouble is, inside I still feel the same age as you, so I keep thinking I
should be going to wine bars and clubs, dancing and meeting fellas ...’

‘Mum, this is me you’re talking to.’

With a cry of laughter Emma said, ‘Time to grow up?’

‘Just a bit.’ Then, regarding her suspiciously, ‘Was that you just asking if you could come out with us tonight? I really love you, Mum, but please tell me I’m wrong.’

Braking to avoid the car in front, Emma confirmed, ‘You’re definitely wrong! No, we’ll leave it as it is, you do the clubbing and partying and I’ll do the Mum thing and quizzing. Now, we need to stop off at the supermarket, I’m afraid. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to pick up?’

‘Um ... definitely some Magnums, and bacon for breakfast tomorrow.’

‘You don’t care about my weight, do you?’

‘Nor should you. You’re totally gorgeous ... Oh, I just remembered, I need some more deodorant and toothpaste and mousse for my hair. Don’t worry, I’ve got money. Dad gave me some during the week, so I can easily pay. Not urgent though, because I haven’t totally run out yet.’

‘It’s all right, I can pay for it,’ Emma assured her. ‘So how did you get on babysitting last weekend? You’ve never mentioned it.’

Taking out her mobile again, Lauren said, ‘Oh, it was cool. No big deal, you know, the kids are sweet and Dad was, well, you know, Dad. I saw him on Wednesday too, when he gave me the money.’ She suddenly bounced round in her seat again. ‘Oh my God, wouldn’t it be cool if one of those golden angel people picked up our bill today? I think I might come in with you, just in case.’

Laughing, Emma said, ‘We know who’s behind it now. It came out during the week. I’m not sure you’ll have heard of him – Russell Lomax? He used to read the news quite a long time ago.’

Lauren was wrinkling her nose. ‘Not ringing a bell,’ she decided. ‘Anyway, good luck to him if that’s what he’s doing, because as far as I’m concerned it’s totally sick.’

Reminding herself that sick was yesterday’s fab, or
brilliant, or amazing, Emma pulled bravely into Sainsbury’s car park – as though she could afford to shop here all the time – and parked alongside a VW Golf which might, she decided, be her next car
if
she got the job.

And she probably would.

Chapter Eight

MUCH LATER IN
the day Emma was curled up on the sofa with her laptop resting on the arm as she read the all-important essay Lauren had finally finished and emailed across from her own computer. Though it was overwritten and a bit repetitive in places, she could actually feel Lauren’s passion behind the points and knew that whoever marked this, and it would almost certainly be Philip Leesom, wouldn’t fail to feel it too.

However, it had to be cut down to length, and as editing was an exercise Emma enjoyed, given her own love of the material she was working with it didn’t take long to complete it. Of course, she was biased, but after reading it through again, she couldn’t imagine anyone in Lauren’s class being able to deliver a more evocative and in many ways more sensuous piece. Her daughter had an ear for poetry that was probably unsurprising, considering her gift for music.
The masters’ words clearly sing off the page for you, much as adagios and allegros sing from your flute
. Emma remembered Philip Leesom noting that at the end of an essay Lauren had written a while back on the perceived influence of Keats’s works on Shelley.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Philip Leesom instilling passion for the Romantics in his students when he cut such a romantic figure himself. He was so unlike the rosy-nosed, pockmarked and plump Mr Fredericks, who’d taught A-level English at Emma’s school, that it could make her laugh to draw the comparison – and cringe to think of anyone developing a crush on the miserable old goat. How she’d enjoy sitting at the back of Philip Leesom’s class listening to the hypnotic cadence of his
soft Irish voice as he recited and reflected; interacted and inspired. She could almost hear his zeal, feel his physical responses, see the burning light in his eyes as he cried,
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau, Mock on, mock on, tis all in vain
. Or whispered thoughtfully, tenderly:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: do I wake or sleep?

Amused at the thought of the thrills he no doubt sent spiralling out around the room, driving all those poor teenage girls and their supercharged hormones to wild distraction, Emma set her computer aside and stretched out her aching legs.

She felt both glad and disappointed, she realised, that she hadn’t received any more emails from him since the one recommending the book whose long title had slipped her memory for the moment. As pleasing as it was to dream, she really didn’t need the complication of a romance, or a crush, while she was busy trying to get her life together, and she could certainly do without the bruising experience of rejection or ridicule when she found out she’d got it all wrong anyway.

All she wanted now was to rest her head against the sofa and listen for a while as Lauren began to play her flute again. There had been a lot of stop-start in the past half an hour, suggesting that many text messages were flying back and forth between Lauren and her friends, which was fine, but Emma sincerely hoped she was going to hear a full rendition of either ‘Summertime’, Lauren’s chosen jazz piece for her performance exam, or Debussy’s ‘Syrinx’, the classical piece, before she went back tomorrow.

An hour later, realising she’d managed to drop off for a while, Emma yawned pleasurably. Pulling her computer back on to her lap, she emailed across the edited version of Lauren’s essay and was about to pop upstairs to find out why everything had gone quiet, when Polly rang.

‘So have you changed your mind about tonight?’ Polly wanted to know. ‘Are you coming with us?’

Realising how churlish she’d sound if she didn’t, Emma stifled her reluctance and said, ‘OK, why not? Shall I pick you up, or will you come here?’

‘Tell you what, I’m told Lauren’s coming here at seven, so why don’t you get her to drop you and I’ll take over from there?’

‘Seven? That’s early for her.’

‘I think they’re all getting together at Lucy’s house, in town, before they go out,’ Polly explained. ‘Is it good to have her home?’

Melting into a smile, Emma said, ‘It’s wonderful, but don’t tell her I said so or it might sound like pressure.’

‘And we can’t have that, can we? Oh, before I go: we talked about this before Christmas, but haven’t mentioned it since, are you up for joining our book club?’