Twenties Girl (14 page)

“Well!” Sadie bounces up to me and slides into the seat opposite.
“That
was interesting. Now you know where it all went wrong. I agree about the singing,” she adds. “You are rather tuneless.”

Doesn’t she have an ounce of sympathy?

“Well, thanks.” I keep my voice low and gaze morosely into my soup. “You know the worst thing? He never said any of this
stuff to my face. None of it! I could have fixed it! I would have fixed it.” I start crumbling a piece of bread into pieces. “If he’d just given me a chance—”

“Shall we go now?” She sounds bored.

“No! We haven’t finished!” I take a deep breath. “Go and ask him what he liked about me.”

“What he liked about you?” Sadie gives me a dubious look. “Are you sure there was anything?”

“Yes!” I hiss indignantly. “Of course there was! Go on!”

Sadie opens her mouth as though to speak—then shrugs and heads back across the restaurant. I push my earpiece in more firmly and dart a glance over at Josh. He’s sipping his wine and skewering olives with a metal pick while Marie talks.

“… three years is a long time.” I hear her lilting voice over the buzz and crackle. “And, yes, it was hard to finish, but he wasn’t right, and I’ve never regretted it or looked back. I guess what I’m trying to say is … relationships end, but you have to move forward.” She gulps her wine. “You know what I mean?”

Josh is nodding automatically, but I can tell he isn’t hearing a word. He has a bemused look on his face and keeps trying to edge his head away from Sadie, who’s yelling,
“What did you love about Lara? Say it! Say it!”

“I loved the way she had so much energy,” he says in a desperate rush. “And she was quirky. She always had some cute necklace on, or a pencil stuffed into her hair or something. … And she really
appreciated
stuff. You know, some girls, you do things for them and they just take it as their due, but she never did. She’s really sweet. Refreshing.”

“Are we talking about your ex-girlfriend again, by any chance?” There’s a steely edge to Marie’s voice, which makes even me wince. Josh seems to come to.

“Shit! Marie. I don’t know what’s got into me. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about her.” He rubs his brow, looking so freaked out I almost feel sorry for him.

“If you ask me, you’re still obsessed,” Marie says tightly.

“What?” Josh gives a shocked burst of laughter. “I’m not obsessed! I’m not even interested in her anymore!”

“So why are you telling me how great she was?” I watch, agog, as Marie throws down her napkin, pushes back her chair, and stands up. “Call me when you’re over her.”

“I am over her!” Josh exclaims angrily. “Jesus Christ! This is fucking ridiculous. I hadn’t
thought
about her until today.” He pushes back his chair, trying to get Marie’s full attention. “Listen to me, Marie. Lara and I had a relationship. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. And then it finished. End of.”

Marie is shaking her head.

“Which is why you bring her up in conversation every five minutes.”

“I
don’t
!
”
Josh almost yells in frustration, and a few people at nearby tables look up. “Not normally! I haven’t talked about her or thought about her for weeks! I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me today!”

“You need to sort yourself out,” Marie says, not unkindly. She picks up her bag. “See you, Josh.”

As she moves swiftly between the tables and out of the restaurant, Josh sinks back into his seat, looking shell-shocked. He looks even more gorgeous when he’s hassled than when he’s happy. Somehow I suppress an urge to run over and fling my arms around him and tell him he never wanted to be with such an uptight, toothpaste-ad girl, anyway.

“Are you satisfied now?” Sadie returns to my side. “You’ve ruined the path of true love. I thought that was against your creed.”

“That wasn’t true love.” I scowl at her.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know. Shut up.”

We both watch in silence as Josh pays his bill, reaches for his jacket, and gets up to leave. His jaw is tight and his easy saunter has gone, and I feel a flash of guilt. But I force myself to quell it.
I know I’m doing the right thing. Not just for me but for Josh. I can make it work between us, I
know
I can.

“Eat your lunch! Hurry up!” Sadie interrupts my reverie. “We need to go home now. You need to start getting ready.”

“For what?” I look at her, confused.

“For our date!”

Oh God. That.

“It’s nearly six hours away,” I point out. “And we’re only going for a drink. There’s no rush.”

“I used to take all day getting ready for parties.” She shoots me an accusing look. “This is my date. You’re representing me. You need to look divine.”

“I’ll look as divine as I can, OK?” I take a spoonful of soup.

“But you haven’t even chosen a frock!” Sadie is hopping with impatience. “It’s already two o’clock! We need to go home now. Now!”

For God’s sake.

“Fine. Whatever.” I push away my soup—it’s gone cold, anyway. “Let’s go.”

All the way home, I’m deep in thought. Josh is vulnerable. He’s confused. It’s the perfect time for me to rekindle our love. But I have to
use
what I’ve learned. I have to change myself.

I keep obsessively tracking back over everything he said, trying to remember every detail. And every time I reach one particular phrase, I squirm and wince.
It was fine, but it wasn’t great
.

It’s all blindingly clear now. Our relationship wasn’t great because he wasn’t honest with me. He didn’t tell me any of his little niggles. And they all built up in his head and that’s why he chucked me.

But it doesn’t matter—because now I know what the problems are, I can solve them! All of them! I’ve put together an action plan, and I’m going to start by tidying up my bathroom. As
soon as we get back to my flat, I stride in, full of optimism, to find Sadie heading me off.

“What are you going to wear tonight?” she demands. “Show me.”

“Later.” I try to get past her.

“Not later! Now! Now!”

For God’s sake.

“All right!” I head into my bedroom and wrench open the little curtain that hides my wardrobe. “What about … this.” At random, I pull out a maxiskirt and my new limited-edition corset top from Topshop. “And some wedge sandals, maybe.”

“Stays?”
Sadie looks as though I’m brandishing a pig’s corpse. “And a long skirt?”

“It’s the maxi look, OK? It’s really fashionable, actually. And these aren’t stays, it’s a corset top.”

Sadie touches my corset top with a shudder. “My mother tried to make me wear stays to my aunt’s wedding,” she says. “I threw them on the fire, so she shut me in my room and told the servants not to let me out.”

“Really?” I feel a spark of interest in spite of myself. “So you missed the wedding?”

“I climbed out the window, took the motor, drove to London, and had my hair shingled,” she says proudly. “When my mother saw it, she went to bed for two days.”

“Wow.” I put the clothes down on the bed and look at Sadie properly. “You were a real rebel. Were you always doing things like that?”

“I did rather torture my parents. But they were so stifling. So
Victorian
. The whole house was like a museum.” She shudders. “My father disapproved of the phonograph, the Charleston, cocktails
… everything
. He thought girls should spend their time arranging flowers and doing needlework. Like my sister, Virginia.”

“You mean … Granny?” Now I’m fascinated to hear more.
I only have hazy memories of Granny, as a gray-haired lady who liked gardening. I can’t even imagine her as a girl. “What was she like?”

“Horribly virtuous.” Sadie makes a face.
“She
wore stays. Even after the whole world had stopped wearing them, Virginia laced herself in and put her hair up and arranged the flowers in church every week. She was the dullest girl in Archbury. And then she married the dullest man in Archbury. My parents were overjoyed.”

“What’s Archbury?”

“Where we lived. A village in Hertfordshire.”

This is ringing bells in my mind.
Archbury
. I know I’ve heard it—

“Hang on!” I say suddenly. “Archbury House. The house that burned down in the 1960s. Was that your house?”

It’s all coming back to me now. Years ago Dad told me about the old family home, Archbury House, and even showed me a black-and-white photo dating from the 1800s. He said that he and Uncle Bill had spent summers there when they were little boys and then moved in when their grandparents died. It was a wonderful place, all old corridors and huge cellars and a great big grand staircase. But after the fire, the land was sold off and a development of new houses was built in its place.

“Yes. Virginia was living there with her family by then. In fact, she caused the fire. She left a candle alight.” There’s a moment’s silence before Sadie adds with an acidic edge, “Not so perfect after all.”

“We drove through the village once,” I volunteer. “We saw the new houses. They looked OK.”

Sadie doesn’t seem to hear me. “I lost all my things,” she says distantly. “All the things I was keeping there while I was abroad. All destroyed.”

“That’s awful,” I say, feeling inadequate.

“What does it matter?” She suddenly seems to come to and
gives me a brittle smile. “Who cares?” She whirls away, toward the wardrobe, and points imperiously. “Get out your clothes. I need to see them all.”

“Whatever.” I grab an armful of hangers and dump them on the bed. “So, tell me about your husband. What was he like?”

Sadie considers for a moment. “He wore a scarlet waistcoat at our wedding. Other than that, I remember very little about him.”

“That’s it? A waistcoat?”

“And he had a mustache,” she adds.

“I don’t get you.” I throw another armful of clothes onto the bed. “How could you marry someone you didn’t love?”

“Because it was my only way to escape,” says Sadie, as though it’s obvious. “I’d had the most terrible row with my parents. My father had stopped my allowance, the vicar called every second day, I was locked in my room every night—”

“What had you done?” I say, avid with curiosity. “Had you been arrested again?”

“It … doesn’t matter,” says Sadie after a slight pause. She turns away from my gaze and stares out of the window. “I had to leave. Marriage seemed as good a way as any. My parents had already found a suitable young man. And, believe me, they were hardly lining up in droves in those days.”

“Oh, well, I know about that,” I say, rolling my eyes in sympathy. “There are
no
single men in London. None. It’s a well-known fact.”

I look up to see Sadie gazing at me with a kind of blank incomprehension.

“We lost all ours in the war,” she says.

“Oh. Of course.” I swallow. “The war.”

World War I. I hadn’t quite put that together.

“The ones who survived weren’t the same boys they’d been. They were wounded. Broken to bits. Or full of guilt because they’d survived …” A shadow passes across her face. “My older brother was killed, you know. Edwin. He was nineteen. My parents never really got over it.”

I stare at her, appalled. I had a great-uncle Edwin who was killed in World War I? Why don’t I
know
this stuff?

“What was he like?” I ask timidly. “Edwin?”

“He was … funny.” Her mouth twists as though she wants to smile but can’t let herself. “He made me laugh. He made my parents more bearable. He made
everything
more bearable.”

The room is quiet, save for the tinny sound of the TV upstairs. Sadie’s face is immobile, transfixed with memories or thoughts. She almost seems in a trance.

“But even if there weren’t many men around,” I venture, “did you have to settle? Did you have to marry some random guy? What about waiting for the right guy? What about love?”

“‘What about love!’” she mimics me mockingly, snapping out of her reverie. “‘What about love!’ Goodness, you play a monotonous tune.” She surveys the mound of clothes on the bed. “Lay them out so I can see properly. I’ll choose your dress for this evening. And it
won’t
be a ghastly long skirt to the ground.”

Obviously the reminiscing is over.

“OK.” I start spreading my clothes out on the bed. “You choose.”

“And I’m in charge of your hairstyle and makeup,” Sadie adds firmly. “I’m in charge of everything.”

“Fine,” I say patiently.

As I head back to the bathroom, my head is full of Sadie’s stories. I’ve never been into family trees or history. But somehow this is all quite fascinating. Maybe I’ll get Dad to dig out a few photos of the old family house. He’ll love that.

I close the door and survey my pots of creams and cosmetics, all balanced on the counter around the basin. Hmm. Perhaps Josh had a point. Maybe I don’t need apricot scrub and oatmeal scrub and sea salt scrub. I mean, how scrubbed should skin be, anyway?

Half an hour later I’ve got everything organized into rows and have assembled a whole carrier bag of ancient, half-empty pots to chuck out. Already my action plan is under way! If Josh saw this bathroom, he’d be so impressed! I almost feel like taking a picture of it and sending him a text. Feeling delighted with myself, I duck my head back into my bedroom, but Sadie’s not there.

“Sadie?” I call, but there’s no reply. I hope she’s OK. It was obviously hard for her, remembering her brother. Maybe she needed a quiet moment alone.

I put the bag of pots next to the back door to deal with later and make myself a cup of tea. Next on my list is to find that photography book he was talking about. It must still be around here somewhere. Maybe under the sofa…

“I’ve found it!” Sadie’s excited voice springing out of nowhere nearly makes me knock my head on the coffee table.

“Don’t do that!” I sit up and reach for my cup of tea. “Listen, Sadie, I just want to say … are you OK? Do you want to talk? I know things can’t have been easy—”

“You’re right, it wasn’t easy,” she says crisply. “Your wardrobe is very deficient.”

“I didn’t mean clothes! I meant
feelings.”
I give her an understanding look. “You’ve been through a lot, it must have affected you. …”