The Harder They Fall (13 page)

“I could do that, I suppose,” James said thoughtfully, “although I think your mother will be expecting you to come along.”

“I’ll pop in once I’m done shopping. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Perhaps you are right,” James hedged, thinking on his feet. “However, she did mention that she wanted to show you the, err, cake stand.”

“She did that last Monday. We were both there, remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” James confirmed with a nervous smile. Eleanor had finished eating now and was poking Toby’s arms into his coat. James sent Oliver to put on his shoes and soon they were in the car, heading towards the department store. The traffic was on their side for once, and Eleanor reached down to unclip her seatbelt as they approached the main entrance. James drove right past, his hands firmly clenched around the steering wheel.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “You were supposed to stop and let me out first!”

“Oops,” he said unconvincingly. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“In ten minutes? I don’t think so, James Brown. What are you up to?”

“Nothing at all,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn. He was a dreadful liar.

“Right, well, you’d best put your foot down, because I intend to be home as close to midday as possible.” Eleanor folded her arms and huffed.

“Are you cross, Enna?” Oliver piped up from the back seat.

“A little bit,” Eleanor said, staring out of the passenger window.

“Why?”

“Enough!” James said this so sternly that Eleanor immediately turned and faced the front. He glanced sideways at her, fighting the urge to smile. They turned into the road where her parents lived and he stopped the car. “If you take Oliver inside, I will bring Toby.” Eleanor glared at him, about to suggest that he should do it all himself, but by now she was intrigued to find out why it was so important that she came to see her mother, so she unfastened Oliver’s seatbelt and took his hand, waiting by the car for James to remove Toby and his chair from the back seat.

“You go on in,” James nodded to her. She looked down at Oliver and shrugged. He shrugged back and they went inside.

Her parents’ house had been the family home, and with seven children, it had needed to be far bigger than it was, for it always felt like it was bursting with people, especially as, over a period of a decade or so, they reached their teenage years, each going off to university and returning bigger and surlier than ever. Nowadays, with just Peter left to ‘fly the nest’, the house was only ever full for birthdays or other family functions. Next weekend, for instance, her brothers and sisters and their respective partners and children would all be crammed in somehow or other, and Mum would be in her element, although the same wouldn’t be true of her father. This morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and trying to ignore the noise coming from the back room. (This was once their bedroom, but now housed an old three piece suite and all her mum’s odds and ends associated with her pastimes as an avid knitter, seamstress, and cake maker, to name but a few.) Eleanor leaned down and kissed her dad on the head.

“Hello, love,” he greeted her, without looking up from the paper.

“Hi, Dad. What’s she up to?” Eleanor asked, nodding towards the back room.

“Erm, think she’s putting the final touches to your wedding dress.”

“Really? I thought she’d already done that.”

“Oh, well I don’t know then,” he said, shoving his chair back and going to fill the kettle, all without making eye contact, which was entirely in character. “You staying for a cuppa?”

“No, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush, but maybe when we come back for the boys?”

“All right, love,” he said. He’d filled the kettle right to the maximum line anyway (again, typical for him). The noise coming from the back room had diminished now to the hum of a local radio station, and Eleanor decided to go and find out what her mother was doing.

“She’ll be out in a minute,” her dad suggested, by way of a ‘do not disturb’ warning. Eleanor nodded her understanding and waited, although not patiently. James was taking his time too, and she was starting to feel quite irritated by the whole situation. The noise re-commenced and this time she recognised it as her mother’s sewing machine, going at full throttle. The front door opened and James appeared, carrying Toby in his chair, and a large white and blue bag. He smiled innocently and Eleanor flared her nostrils.

“Is anybody going to let me in on the big secret, or am I expected to just stand here, stewing in my own juices?” No response, other than a nervous cough from her dad.

“Mr. Davenport,” James greeted him, walking straight past her and into the kitchen. He set Toby’s chair down on the table and shook his soon to be father-in-law’s hand.

“James,” her dad said with a courteous nod. They’d been introduced by their first names, which James refused to use, and it was a formality Eleanor found extended to her address of his father also. Right now, she wasn’t feeling at all formal or polite, and let out a little shriek of frustration.

“Right. That’s it. I’m going in,” she declared, readying her hand around the door handle. Both James and her father gasped and she tutted. “Ridiculous men,” she muttered. As she pushed down, her mother did the same thing from the other side of the door and Eleanor jumped.

“Hi, Mum,” she smiled innocently.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

“Hard at it, I hear?”

“Oh, I’m all done now,” her mum replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll show you, if you like, although it’s not very exciting.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow in query and stepped past her mother into the room. Right in the centre of the floor stood the dressmaker’s dummy that this time last week was draped in her wedding dress. And now…

“Oh my…Mum? How…?”

“You can thank James,” her mother replied with a smile.

“And Josh,” James clarified.

“And your mother’s refusal to throw anything away,” her father added dolefully. Eleanor reached out and brushed her fingers across the deep blue fabric.

“This is brilliant,” was all she could find to say. She was having a problem taking it in. Here was an exact replica of her sixth form ball gown, right down to the intricately embroidered neckline. It could almost have been the original, apart from the somewhat curvier aspects of the cut. “This is truly brilliant,” she repeated.

“When you couldn’t find your dress yesterday,” James explained, “I phoned your mother to see if you had left it here.”

“No, I knew it was in the flat somewhere, I just couldn’t…” She circled the dummy and shook her head in wonder. “Mum. How did you do it? It’s the same fabric, the same design. It’s…”

“Brilliant?” her mother laughed. “It was a bit of a challenge, but I’ve quite enjoyed it. Shame you inherited my ability to lose stuff, though. I can’t find that lovely photo of you all at your ball anywhere, so James phoned Josh and he lent me his so I could copy the design. You remember how you wanted a full skirt, then changed your mind?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, sweetie, and it was a good thing you did, because I had so much fabric left over. I’ve given it a good wash, but you might need to spray it with perfume.”

Eleanor leaned close and sniffed. “Ew. Mothballs. Nice!”

“So there you are,” her dad said. The kettle had long since gone off the boil and he plodded back to the kitchen. “How about that cuppa?” he offered again.

“Go on then,” Eleanor said, smiling and still shaking her head. She put her arms around her mother and hugged her. “I love you, Mum. Thank you so, so much. You’re the best.”

Unfortunately, George wasn’t having quite so much luck finding a perfect replica of his tux, which he was really rather glad about. It wouldn’t do for a reasonably well-built man (his own fault, for always cooking what Josh liked to eat) in his late thirties (nothing he could do about that part) to be wearing pants so tight, and he’d hated the jacket when he was eighteen, never mind now. What wasn’t helping much was that he was still feeling anxious about going at all, although Kris had been very supportive when he’d emailed earlier to check they were still going together, and promised to steal all the limelight, not that he ever needed an excuse in this regard. George recalled how, at one point during their sixth form ball, Kris had taken to the dance floor, and he was an excellent dancer, but was really showing off, powered by too much vodka and a last chance to be himself, before he settled into life as Shaunna’s partner and Krissi’s stepdad. It was almost as if he were saying goodbye to his true identity, and in the intervening years, he had loved being both a father and a husband, not once regretting his decision to stand by Shaunna and her baby. But now he was back, he said, and ready to pick up where he left off, so George wasn’t to worry. Nobody would care anyway, not these days, and who was he to say that half the lads hadn’t turned out to be gay in the end?

“What about this one?” Sophie asked, waving a black jacket with red satin lining right in front of George’s face and bringing him back to the present.

“Nah. Too…”

“Come on, George! It can’t be that hard to choose, can it?”

“It really is, although I do like this one more than the last one. Maybe if the lining wasn’t so—red?”

Sophie muttered something under her breath and returned the jacket to the rail, then scragged the others along, glancing at each and dismissing it with a ‘no’, or a ‘definitely not’. George returned to staring into the mid-distance, pondering the viability of various excuses for not being able to make it to the party. A migraine maybe? He’d never had one in his life, so that wouldn’t be particularly convincing. A stomach bug, complete with a good bout of diarrhoea? “Sorry guys, but my mum’s not well and I need to go and stay over.” No, that was tempting fate. Perhaps a suddenly remembered trip to see long-lost family down south? Now, that might work, if he put aside the fact that he didn’t have any family, long-lost or otherwise, down south, up north, or anywhere else, for that matter. Well, there was Joe, but ‘family’ required more than DNA.

“A-ha!” Sophie said, finally, lifting the second to last jacket away from the others and inspecting it thoroughly before presenting it to her impossibly hard to please associate. “Is that ‘less red’ enough for you?”

George lifted the front flap and examined the grey lining. It was still very shiny, but not red, or blue, or, thankfully, pink.

“Well?” Sophie prompted. “And if you dare tell me it’s too grey I swear to God I’ll…”

“It’s fine,” George said quickly. “Let’s just find some trousers to go with it and get out of here.” He was usually a very enthusiastic shopper, but not today.

“Hallelujah!” she declared triumphantly. The trousers were the easy bit and five minutes later, they left the ‘vintage’ clothes shop with a full and authentic outfit. Now George just needed to find some shoes and get his hair trimmed, and they were done: all before lunchtime. Josh was working, so they decided to head back to the house for something to eat, seeing as they’d spent far too much time and money in the tea shop already this week. George made cheese sandwiches and took them through to the lounge, where Sophie was examining the décor.

“Sean’s got that wallpaper,” she said. “Best not tell Josh that though, I’m thinking.”

“I already did. He didn’t seem to care much, actually. Here.” He indicated to her to sit on the sofa and handed her a plate.

“They do seem to be getting along better these days,” she observed.

“Yeah. Just as well really.”

After that neither of them spoke for a while, both busily munching their lunch and thinking back to how awkward things had been during the first term of their course, with Josh and Sean always at loggerheads. Their impromptu Christmas night out seemed to have brought an end to hostilities for the most part; there were still the occasional snipes at each other, although nothing compared to how it had been.

Sophie finished eating first and leaned forward to put her plate on the table, in the process spotting the game on top of the games console.

“
Crash Team Racing
. I haven’t played that for years,” she said, kneeling down to retrieve the case.

“It’s one of our favourites,” George explained. “Always good for a bit of friendly competition.”

“Maybe we could get them to fight it out on this instead,” Sophie suggested. George laughed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. She still had the case in her hand, and he took it from her and turned on the console. “Come on then.”

“Yay!” she said excitedly. He passed her a controller. “What are we playing for?”

“Err, how about lunch next Thursday?”

“Why Thursday?”

“I’m at the prison on Monday and Tuesday, and then it’s James’s stag do, so I’ll be fit for nothing on Wednesday.”

“I thought you were giving up the prison.”

“I am, but I haven’t got round to it yet.”

“Just email them and tell them. I’m sure Sean and Josh will support your decision.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could do that,” George said thoughtfully. “All right then, lunch all next week. Except maybe not Wednesday. I’ll see how I feel.”

“Deal,” she said and perched on the edge of the sofa cushion. “I’m so going to kick your ass.”

“Ha! I don’t think so.”

George set up a new game and typed in their names, ready for the tournament to commence. The first two races went to Sophie, but soon they were level and stayed that way until it rested on the last race of the cup. Now things got really dirty, with them throwing everything they had at each other. As they came into the final straight, they were ‘neck and neck’ and crashing so often in their attempts to knock one another off the track that the rest of the characters had long since passed the finish line, but out of the pair of them it was Sophie who crossed first, by a fraction of a second. She leapt up from the sofa, punching the air in victory.

“Hardly a convincing win, was it?” George scoffed.

“Ooh! Someone’s a sore loser!” Sophie said, making an ‘L’ against her forehead with her thumb and index finger.

“Definitely a fluke. I say we go for best of three.”