Just Like the Other Girls(7)

‘You do too much for her,’ he says gently. ‘You look done in. I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘She’s hired a new companion. Young, impossibly pretty …’

He clicks the kettle on and reaches for the teabags. ‘What’s happened to Jemima?’

How many times? He’s got the memory of a bloody goldfish. Still, his bad memory has its uses, she thinks, as she watches him slop hot water over the worktop as he pours it into the mugs. ‘Ed. Wipe that off, will you? It’ll rot the wood.’

He grabs a white tea-towel and Kathryn closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. It’s best not to look. She’ll sort it out when he’s left the room.

‘You all right, love? Headache again?’

Yes, you, she wants to say, you’re the headache, but doesn’t. She knows her irritability is down to her mother and that she would be taking it out on Ed, which is unfair. She gets the cloth and wipes up after him while he watches with a faintly bemused expression.

‘Go and sit down,’ he urges, after she’s finished. He hands her the mug of tea. He’s put too much milk into it but she takes it anyway and perches at the kitchen table, kicking her shoes off. She has a blister on her little toe. ‘Jemima left. Remember? Before Christmas. She’d only been working for Mother since October. Didn’t even last three months.’

Ed pulls out a chair opposite her and sits down heavily. She smiles to herself. Ed is the proverbial bull in a china shop. The smell of lasagne starts to fill the kitchen and makes Kathryn’s stomach rumble. She hasn’t eaten anything for hours. ‘Well, your mother’s not easy.’

She knows that. Why does he have to say it? He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. He’s being kind, she reminds herself. That’s the lovely thing about Ed. He’s always on her side. No matter what.

And then the little voice she tries to repress pipes up inside her head.

But would he be so loyal if he knew what you’ve done?





3





Una

My hand rests on the wrought-iron gate, suitcase at my feet, and I stare up at the house, my feelings oscillating between anticipation and fear. Now that the snow and ice have melted away, the house looks more beautiful, more regal than it did the first time I saw it, backlit by wintry sunlight and a cloudless sky. It’s still cold, freezing in fact, and I’m wrapped up warm in my scarf and gloves, but right now I can almost imagine it’s spring.

‘Are you coming in or what?’

A male voice startles me. And that’s when I notice him. He’s almost hidden by the large evergreen bush in the front garden, his head just peeping over the top. He’s handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way, with olive skin and light eyes. He is wearing a grey woollen beanie, with dark curls peeking out of the sides. He’s grinning at me. ‘Were you talking to yourself?’

‘Um …’ Oh, my God, was I thinking out loud? Courtney’s always laughing at me for doing that. My whole face is burning. ‘It’s my first day. I’m a little nervous.’

He climbs down from his ladder. He’s really tall, with broad shoulders, and looks a few years older than me. ‘Well, you’d better hurry up then, the old lady doesn’t like shirkers.’

‘I’m not a shirker, I’m …’ But his eyes are twinkling. He’s just teasing me. I push the gate open and he strides over to me to help with my case.

When we reach the front door he thrusts a gloved hand in my direction. ‘I’m Lewis by the way.’

‘Hi, Lewis By The Way. I’m Una.’

A languid grin spreads across his face. ‘I hope to see you around. Una.’

And then the door opens and Kathryn is staring at me disapprovingly, as though she’s caught us in a compromising position.

‘You’re late,’ she says, even though it’s exactly nine o’clock, the time Elspeth asked me to arrive. ‘And haven’t you things to be getting on with?’ She fires this question at Lewis. ‘The greenhouse needs emptying.’ He flashes her an apologetic smile and lopes away.

I step into the house. I was hoping Kathryn wouldn’t be here today. Doesn’t she have a job to go to? I wonder if this is what it’s going to be like working for Elspeth, her grumpy, disapproving daughter looking over my shoulder all day. It will be worse than Surly Cynthia – and I hadn’t thought anyone could be that bad. Even Randy Roger, with his leers and suggestive remarks, didn’t compare. I suddenly yearn for my old life: my flat with Courtney, the job I’ve had for the past four years. The familiarity of it all. I feel like I did on that rainy school trip to Wales in Year 6 when I wanted to be at home with Mum, huddled in front of the TV, dunking Digestives in our mugs of tea instead of hiking across fields and sharing a room with five other homesick girls.

Kathryn’s face softens, as if she’s sensed my distress. ‘I’ll show you to your room and give you half an hour or so to settle in. Then you can come and see Mother. I’ll need to head to work for ten a.m. Is that okay?’

Mother. It sounds so formal.

‘I … Yes, that’s great.’ I lug my case up two flights of stairs to the top of the house, in what I imagine was once the servants’ quarters. When we get to the top there is a small landing and one door. She opens it and says, ‘This is your room.’