Untouchable Things Read online

  The boy pulled his chin away and scowled at the table.

  “Now, darling, don’t be like that. You know how your father has to keep certain people sweet. And you’re so good at it. Lord Ashburn nearly wet his pants over that Keats number – Ode to a Skylark, was it? He said later – ”

  “Nightingale.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It was Ode to a Nightingale.”

  “Of course it was. He said – ”

  “Shelley wrote Skylark.”

  She sighed and reached out a hand. “Come on, darling, don’t be like this about it. You know you love to perform. Look, I’ll tell you what, I’ll just take your father his coffee up and then we can have breakfast together before I go out. How does that sound?”

  He swallowed down stupid, pointless tears. “Okay.” He knew what they were going to do upstairs. She’d come down later with flamy patches all over the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders. He looked up as she wafted towards the door. “Mama?”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “Don’t be too long.”

  Scene 10

  So you saw your boyfriend the next day?

  Yes. Is this relevant? It’s just I’m running a little late.

  There’s no quick way to do this, Miss Laurence. I’m sure you appreciate we need to be thorough, given the circumstances.

  Yes, of course. I’m afraid I just need to use the toilet first.

  Jason was late. Not just a couple of minutes late – half an hour. Rebecca felt the glow of her eleven hours sleep start to flicker. She’d been standing outside the station so long peering into small black cars she probably looked like a prostitute. This was punishment. And, of course, she was really the late one – not just a day late, but two now. The wind whipped her hair across her face and burned the ends of her fingers. He’d made his point. Another five minutes… was that him? She held her hair away from her eyes and saw his face, fixed on the road. With barely a click of eye contact between them she got into the car and slammed the door.

  “Where have you been? It’s bloody freezing out there.” She leaned over and cranked the heater up to max, holding her hands over the vent.

  Silence. Just the hiss-hushing of the fan. “What’s the matter?” She glanced over at bloodshot eyes and stubble. “Blimey, you look rough.”

  He stared ahead. “Thanks. You don’t, though. Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, must have been one of those twenty-four-hour things. I was in a right state yesterday.”

  He reached out his left hand and she thought he’d put it on her knee. Instead he turned the fan down and put his hand back on the wheel. Neither of them spoke as he turned the car this way and that. Outside his front door she recoiled from the stale beer breath she would usually have teased him about.

  He brought two mugs of coffee to his room. Instant, in another deliberate gesture of neglect. Fuck, she’d even bought him a cafetiere so she didn’t have to suffer Nescafé every weekend. No sign of creepy Carl. For the first time she wished his weirdo housemate was around to puncture the black cloud of silence that hung over them. She spotted the CD she’d left there last time. Jagged Little Pill. It would do.

  He raised his eyebrows at her choice of music but said nothing. One of them had to bridge the gap. “So, big night last night?”

  He shrugged. “Just a few pints with Tony and the boys from work.”

  She took a breath. “Are you going to say why you’re pissed off with me?”

  He shrank from her directness, looked out of the window.

  “Well, this is going to be a fun weekend.”

  He swivelled then, turned his eyes like weapons on her. “Weekend? More like a few hours.”

  Bugger. She’d walked straight into that one. “Sorry, I meant… come on, it’s hardly my fault. Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself, anyway.”

  He stared at her. “So, how was the audition?”

  “Audition? Oh, the meeting with George Harrow.” She wasn’t quick enough. “Yeah, you know, nothing definite but he’ll consider me for future things.” Her excuse for not going over on Friday night sounded dubious enough without the clambering heat working its way up to her face.

  “Why was your phone turned off afterwards?”

  “Was it? I don’t know – for God’s sake, it’s like the inquisition.” Her voice was climbing higher in pitch to Alanis Morrisette’s.

  “That’s because you’re hiding things from me.” Jason’s voice rose too, not higher but louder. He hit the side of the desk with his palm. “Tell me the truth, Becky. And turn that ranting banshee off.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth into an outraged O. “That ranting banshee is one of the best-selling artists in the world.” She was possibly dealing with things in the wrong order. Jason grabbed the remote control and jabbed the stop button. The room was suddenly quiet.

  “I notice you haven’t answered my other question. Tell me what you were doing on Friday night. I’m not stupid, Rebecca.”

  “Well, that’s debatable.” She muttered it under her breath but Jason sprang up and grabbed her arm. For a split second she was frightened; then he dropped it scathingly and turned away.

  “Just tell me. Is it him? Seth? Are you having an affair?” He faced her again.

  “What? Are you mad? Of course I’m not.” She grasped the ammunition he’d just handed her, gratefully hauling herself back to the high ground. “Oh, I see. That’s what you think of me, is it? Thanks a lot.”

  “I just needed to know.” Jason’s voice was softer. “I just don’t know where you are and what you’re doing any more.”

  “You’re my boyfriend, not my bodyguard. You have to trust me. Which you clearly don’t.”

  “Your story about the weekend just didn’t seem to ring true.”

  Rebecca sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, if you must know I went out after the audition and had a few drinks and then felt really ill yesterday, which was definitely more than just a hangover.”

  He was staring at her again. “Why didn’t you tell me you went out on Friday?”

  “Because I knew I’d get the bloody inquisition.”

  “Who were you out with?”

  She laughed humourlessly. “Oh, here we go. Thumbscrew time. I was out with the Friday Group people.”

  His turn to laugh. “What a surprise.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She was on her feet, suddenly screaming. “I am absolutely sick of this shit. Either you start trusting me and let me live my life, or…”

  “Or what?” They looked at each other from opposite sides of the room.

  “Or this just isn’t going to work.” They held eye contact for another second before Rebecca turned away. She was panting, suddenly out of breath.

  “Is that what you want? Is this what you’ve been trying to do? Break up with me?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “No, of course not. But it’s not really working right now, is it?” She felt unexpectedly exhilarated, buoyed with adrenaline, hovering on the brink of something momentous. Whether she jumped was up to her.

  You broke up, I take it?

  She caught a taxi to the station. Jason had his back to her as she left, shoulders hunched as if crying. She wanted to cry too, connect with him for one last time, but there was nothing inside her. On the train she stared out of the window, slumped and vacant as a rag doll. Two and a half years. She tried to summon the appropriate emotion, any emotion. Halfway home her phone buzzed in her pocket and she steeled herself for his pleas or accusations.

  Are we still on for tonight? Do you like mushrooms?

  The smile that spread across her face brought the appropriate emotion at last. Relief.

  Scene 11

  So, Miss Laurence, you broke up with your boyfriend and ran straight to Mr Gardner?

  I didn’t run. Walked briskly, perhaps. Jogged up the odd escalator. He was waiting on the concourse. Of course I was touched. People don’t pick each other
up from the station in London.

  An hour later she was sitting on Seth’s sofa, legs curled under her, clutching a cup of rum-laced tea (for shock) and once again unable to deliver the tears that the scene might seem to call for. Seth was being a sweetheart, declared himself her agony uncle for the day, and put an eclectic selection of nibbles on the coffee table – Bombay Mix to Belgian truffles – to tempt her into eating. She had a troubling suspicion that she was enjoying herself more than might be appropriate. Conversation looped and glided like a dance, gradually opening out until they were sharing things from long ago. Or, as Rebecca realised later, she was. She hadn’t talked about her first boyfriend, Jack Chisholm, in a long time. It must be the rum.

  “I thought I was the bee’s knees, as my mum said. Drainpipe jeans, green eyeshadow and an older boyfriend with a souped-up Ford Capri. God, imagine. Mum and Dad were out of their minds – I’d always been their little princess. And when they found a cigarette in my coat pocket, well Mum definitely cried.”

  “So the little princess tumbled off her pedestal?”

  “In style. I didn’t even have time to enjoy it before Chis dumped me for Felicity Mitchell, a scrawny cow in the Upper Sixth.” She smiled but Seth was looking at her intently.

  “Not funny at the time, I bet. What happened?”

  She took a gulp of tea and raised her eyebrows. “I guess I had some sort of nervous breakdown. Went a bit gothy and flunked my O-Levels.”

  “Not part of the script.”

  “Not exactly.” He took her hand and she was glad to feel tears not far away. It would be odd to look too composed today. “I suppose I was used to being treated like a princess, Mum was over forty when she had me and they’d almost given up on having kids. There was another one, another baby at the same time, but it died.”

  His eyes widened, drawing her in. “So you should have been one of twins?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two of you?” He shook his head. “The mind boggles – in a very, very good way. Excuse the cliché of the male libido.”

  She laughed, squirmed away from his gaze. He took her hand and it was as if she was looking down on herself, waiting for his next move.

  “But seriously.” His voice had changed and she jolted as she found his eyes. “Do you feel it – inside? An emptiness? Something missing?” His eyes tugged on hers, dragging them down, down into their murky green depths.

  “Yes.” It came out as a whisper. It was true, she had always known it, but no one had said it to her before. She had never formed those words in her own head.

  He put a finger under her chin. “Then that’s another thing we share.” They stared at each other and she waited for him to pull her to him but he spoke again. “I’ve heard that losing a twin can feel like an amputated limb.”

  She flinched and pulled back her hand, an instinct to protect herself. His words had triggered vibrations at the edge of her mind, a white noise that muted her thoughts and was somehow familiar. She looked up at him and found his eyes, searching still, and though she opened her mouth she knew no sound would come. A silent appeal… but what was she asking for? Seconds passed. Then, abruptly, he broke eye contact and reached for the cigarette box.

  “Better get you some food in a minute.”

  For an instant she was in free fall, trying to adjust to the sudden shift in tone. Her fingers twisted at her hair, at the implicit question that still hung between them.

  “I don’t know about that – I mean it’s not like I ever knew her. Well, not properly. Consciously.” She wasn’t even sure if he was listening now, intent on lighting a cigarette. She stumbled on. “There is that feeling, though, of something… absent.” But she’d lost his interest, needed to lighten things up. “And I had a certain relationship with my parents that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I wasn’t spoilt but – hey!”

  Seth had turned and was grinning mischievously. The sands had shifted again. She smiled too. “I wasn’t. But I guess they gave me whatever they could, and made me believe I could achieve what I wanted.”

  He exhaled smoke. “And now you find yourself stranded in adulthood with an inordinate sense of entitlement.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant and it didn’t sound altogether complimentary. He read her expression and reached to squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. I don’t think it’s possible to be an interesting or successful person without it. And you, my dear, are both of those.”

  Her smile hovered uncertainly as he released her hand. She thought how much smoking suited him.

  “So how did the teenage Rebecca get herself back on track?”

  She took a breath to focus. “Packed off to stay with goody-goody cousin Annabelle for the summer who turned out to be a complete party animal. Spent the summer surfing, playing volleyball and having a fling with a cute local lad, got back refreshed and ready to knuckle down for A-Levels.”

  Seth smiled. “Return of Alpha Daughter. I like it. And drama school after that?”

  “Actually a year skiing in Val D’Isère. It was amazing – one of the best years of my life.” Memories glowed on her face.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, everything. The people, the skiing, being outdoors all the time. God, I got a tan for the first and only time in my life.” They both laughed. “Then Newcastle Uni, then Guildhall.”

  “Had you always wanted to act?”

  He’d never asked her so many questions. It was sweet, he was clearly trying to take her mind off recent events. And succeeding.

  “I don’t know about always, but even as a child I used to put these performances on with my teddies and dolls. And when I was older I was always performing for Mum and Dad’s friends, you know little ballet routines or songs. In fact, I wanted to be a ballerina before I got too tall. What is it?”

  She watched his expression wipe clean. “Nothing. I can picture it well, little Rebecca enchanting all and sundry in a pink tutu. You must have been a beautiful child.”

  His eyes brushed over her and the child in her blushed. Then the woman. “I don’t know about that. I used to be teased horribly about my freckles at school, all the usual ginger gags.” Rebecca Freckle-bum. It was one of the main reasons she’d got a stage name, to get away from Featherstone and its associations. But she was hardly going to tell him that.

  He rested his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and looked at her with an intensity that reminded her of their first meeting. “I’ve never understood that. A true redhead is something extraordinary, like a rare bird, something you don’t see very often. Look at this.” He lifted a handful of her hair. “It’s exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  He mussed her hair round his fingers. “But beauty like this can make you seem a little aloof, unapproachable. I expect the local urchins were secretly besotted by you. And terrified.”

  She laughed and he dropped her hair.

  “My mother was a redhead.”

  Rebecca nearly stopped breathing. He had never mentioned her before. “Was she?”

  “She was so beautiful. Perhaps as beautiful as you.” Rebecca tucked that one away for later because she needed to focus on his words. “Perhaps too beautiful. I don’t think she ever saw herself as my mother. I had a nanny for that.”

  He picked up his cigarette box and ran his thumb across the embossed lid. “This was hers, you know.”

  It was the first time he’d let her look at it properly. She followed the movement of his thumb towards the initials JG, carved in the corner. He ran his thumbnail under them slowly. “Julia Gardner.”

  Rebecca let out a breath. “You must miss her.”

  He said nothing, running his thumb over and over the initials as if to erase them. Then he turned to her, smiling. “I had very ambitious parents, Rebecca.”

  “Ambitious?”

  “Money, status, power, you name it. Most of the time I was packed off to school so I didn’t get in the way.”<
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  He spoke lightly but the loneliness was almost tangible. She reached out her hand but he was already sitting forward to stub out his cigarette.

  “Now, how’s your appetite coming along, Ms Laurence?”

  She reeled at the quick change of subject. “Um, I don’t know really. I’m fine for now.”

  “How about I serve up in half an hour?” He got to his feet.

  “Sure.” He wasn’t going to say more. As Rebecca followed him into the kitchen she felt as though an opportunity had slipped through her fingers.

  She tried to steer the subject back to him over dinner but never quite managed it. They drank two bottles of wine before the inevitable whisky appeared – tasters from several bottles, Seth having decided to educate her into the intricacies of single malt. She pulled her face at the peaty ones but fell for a golden, honey-edged liquor that turned out to be the most expensive of the lot. She felt swollen with blurry emotion, punch-drunk from a day she couldn’t yet process.

  “Can I have one of those?” Seth was lighting up again. Sod it, there was no Jason now to lecture her.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s wise? No point in throwing the bathwater out with the boyfriend.”

  She laughed. “Maybe you’re right.” She straightened. “I should probably go home.”

  “Soon. Let’s have some music first.”

  He pulled her to her feet and she didn’t resist him – she couldn’t, wasn’t steady enough – and it was easier to lean into him and sway gently and then rest her head too and close her eyes. He was murmuring into the top of her head, something about the smell of her hair, and now his fingers were delving in, bringing handfuls to his face. In a second she would lift her eyes and discover what it was like to kiss him.

  The phone trilled sharply, piercing the moment. Neither of them moved as the answering machine whirred up and a man’s voice, drunk, berated Seth for being out and said he was missing him. The machine cut him off. Rebecca pushed back, keeping her eyes averted, and sat heavily on the sofa. Seth turned the music down and sat next to her.