Beneath the Skin(34)
Lifting her mobile, Antonia sighs. She usually responds to Sophie’s messages straight away; she’s not entirely sure why she hasn’t this time.
Sophie answers almost immediately. ‘Toni! Well, it’s about bloody time,’ she says heatedly. ‘Where have you been all week?’
‘Here and there,’ Antonia replies, surprising herself by not instantly telling Sophie about every intricate detail of her day with Olivia. ‘How about you? What’ve you been up to?’
Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Antonia props her bare feet on the edge of the coffee table, her mind wandering. She enjoyed her time with Olivia yesterday and she doesn’t want Sophie to belittle it somehow, to call Olivia ‘mumsy’ or ‘boring’, which is the last thing she actually is. Besides, she increasingly feels the need to keep some aspects of her life apart from Sophie and it’s slightly liberating to feel that she isn’t completely in her friend’s pocket. Not like at school when she was taunted regularly by other girls from her estate who were once her friends. ‘Sophie’s shadow, Sophie’s pathetic little shadow. Watch out or we might say boo!’
‘Well, as it happens, you’ve got a lot to answer for, Toni here and there,’ Sophie replies. ‘You were ignoring me, so I telephoned Mum.’
Antonia pulls down her feet and sits up straight. ‘Really? Did you apologise?’
‘No. What have I got to apologise about?’
Antonia wants to laugh. Sophie’s so thick-skinned, or at least pretends to be. But then so is Sophie’s mum, the one person who sees her daughter for what she is, a ‘selfish spoilt madam’, as Norma bluntly puts it, even in front of Sophie’s friends. Which is why the two of them haven’t been on speaking terms for several months. The final spat was in the presence of Antonia and another of Sophie’s friends one afternoon in the garden. It was toe-curling, both mother and daughter having clearly forgotten the visitors were there.
‘Why are you drinking wine when the rest of us are drinking coffee?’ Norma had demanded. ‘You’re drinking too much, Sophie. It’s bad for your health and no one likes a drunk. Sort yourself out before Sami sees you for what you are.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Sophie retorted, her voice too loud and slightly slurred. ‘What am I then?’
‘A person who manipulates everyone who loves them,’ Norma replied firmly, as though it were a well-rehearsed comment.
‘What’s that got to do with the price of wine? Oh, I get it, you’re still peeved because Dad always loved me more than you. You’re pissed off with me because he left home as soon as I did. Well, that’s not my fault. Did it never occur to you that he couldn’t stand living with you any longer?’
Even Norma couldn’t mask the hurt. ‘Don’t contact me unless you’re ready to apologise,’ was all she said as she left, leaving Antonia and the friend wide-eyed and wondering how they would skulk out of Sophie’s townhouse garden without catching the tail end of her wrath.
‘But I did say that I missed her, which is true,’ Sophie now continues down the line. ‘Then she said, “I suppose that’s the closest I’ll get to an apology.” The cheek of it! But at least we’re officially friends again. And I’ve missed you too, Toni. What time can you come over and give me some TLC? I have chocolate and mango. You know you love mango.’
Antonia smiles on the other end of the phone. ‘A person who manipulates.’ Norma knows her daughter well. She’s tempted to see Sophie, but not tonight; she doesn’t want to bump into Sami.
‘Not tonight, Soph, I’m tired. But I’ll be over tomorrow, as I promised.’
‘You’d better be. Sami’s neglecting me, so you’ll have to be as sweet as ever.’
Sweet, Antonia thinks as she ends the call. She carefully peels back the damp flannel and inspects the neat slash at the top of her arm. The beads of seeping blood have finally given up. Sweet? I’ve no idea who that person is, she thinks to herself.
‘How are things going, Rupe?’ David asks.
Although only a few weeks have passed, Rupert looks considerably taller than the last time they met, but he’s still spider-thin. He’s slumped full length on the worn leather Chesterfield sofa in Charlie’s chilly lounge with his long legs dressed in torn jeans, not dissimilar to those David wore on ‘dress-down’ days at school. David supposes that Rupert is staring vacantly into space, the remote control having been confiscated by Charlie, but he can’t be sure because Rupert’s fringe is so long that he can’t see his eyes.
‘Come on, Rupe, don’t look so miserable. It’s your old Uncle Dave. I’m hardly going to give you an ear bashing, am I?’
‘Ear bashing? Is that a twentieth-century expression or something?’
But Rupert is smiling. He hitches up his legs, pulls his fringe behind one ear and makes eye contact with David. ‘They’re just so irritating. Both of them. They don’t get anything.’
David stiffens for a moment, bracing himself for the inevitable, ‘I wish they were dead.’
The reply is clear in his mind, but he wonders whether he’s able to voice the words: ‘Appreciate what you’ve got, Rupert. My parents were dead when I was your age. Coming to see me on a leave-out at school. Only they never arrived.’