Chapter 13
‘Jess, you were absolutely fabulous out there on the pitch. You must join us. We need you.’ Serena made her way to where I was sitting with the others at a couple of tables in The Dog and Duck at the edge of Upper Merton village green, slopping lager onto both hands as she walked and talked.
‘I have a little girl to look after,’ I said, reaching to take the half pint glass of shandy from her.
‘What about your husband?’ Carole Traynor had joined us and was immediately a part of the conversation. ‘Didn’t you end up with Dean Wotsisname?’ She frowned, obviously trying to remember. ‘Dean Butterworth? Isn’t he around to babysit?’
‘No longer with him,’ I said. ‘Again.’
‘What d’you mean “again”?’ Both Carole and Serena leaned forward in my direction once I’d moved up to allow them to sit down.
‘We’ve been on and off for years. I let him come back only a few weeks ago, really for my daughter, Lola’s sake, but he was immediately up to his usual tricks…’
‘What is he, a magician? A conjuror? A whizz with a pack of cards?’ Serena laughed.
‘Stop it, Serena,’ Carole ordered, as if she were a bolshy adolescent once more and back at Beddingfield Comp.
‘Sorry, Miss.’ Serena grinned.
‘Jess is upset, can’t you see?’
I attempted a smile. ‘I’m not actually upset about Dean at all.
’ I realised I was telling the truth, not glossing over how I felt regarding this recalcitrant husband of mine.
‘I’m relieved he’s gone, but it’s having to face the flak and fall out from my daughter who thinks the sun shines out of her dad’s backside.
’ I sighed, relieved to actually have someone to offload on to for once.
I remembered vividly how Carole Moorhouse had sat with me in the PE changing rooms at Beddingfield Comp when I was a first year.
How I’d cried when Jayden had gone off yet again, with a woman in Denmark this time, leaving Mum distraught once more.
‘The thing is,’ I went on, ‘I appear to be permanently upset with my life these days. Everything’s changing and I don’t seem to be able to cope with it all. ’
‘You always did fret and worry,’ Carole said kindly, patting my hand.
‘You liked to portray yourself as one of the hard nuts – especially when you were with this one’ – the woman took a long drink from her glass, elbowing Serena pointedly as she did so – ‘but deep down you weren’t.
Used to get yourself into a bit of a state if you’d forgotten your games kit or, and I got this, when your dad had gone off again or your mum was back in hospital. ’
‘You remember that?’ I smiled.
‘Come on, how could I forget I used to teach Jayden Allen’s daughters?
I’ve dined out on that fact for years. Not that he was the best of fathers.
He might have been a brilliant reggae artist – still is – but he was never meant to settle down in a sweet cosy Yorkshire village and raise three daughters.
I was still at Beddingfield High when your little sister Sorrel started.
Now she was gifted. A dancer, wasn’t she? ’
I nodded. ‘She starts at the Susan Yates Theatre School in London after Easter.’
Carole whistled. ‘Woah! Really? Goodness, such talented girls. And you could have gone far, you know, if you hadn’t thrown it all in for one boy, Jess.
Dean Butterworth. Ha! I remember him at school as well.
Thought a lot of himself even at twelve.
Mind you, he had the looks, I’ll grant you.
I think every girl in that school was after him. ’
‘The women still are.’ I attempted a smile. ‘Or at least he reckons they are.’
‘So, how old is your little girl?’ Carole asked. ‘I seem to remember you ended up pregnant soon after you did your A levels. That was a total waste of your talent as well. The staff always used to talk about how bright you were, particularly in maths and the sciences.’
‘What about me?’ Serena grinned. ‘What did they say about me?’
‘You don’t want to know, Serena! So,’ Carole went on, shaking her head in the other’s direction before turning back to me. ‘Your little girl must be at high school herself now. Not really little any more, surely?’
‘She starts at Beddingfield High in September.’
‘Your daughter’s eleven? You can’t leave her for a couple of hours once or twice a week to come and play hockey with us? Or, now that the nights are so much lighter, bring her down with you? Is your sister – Robyn, isn’t it – around at all? Or your mum? Or Dean Butterworth himself?’
Serena elbowed me. ‘Carole’s as tenacious now – more so, I reckon – than she was when we were at school. She’s determined to have you.’
‘Absolutely I am.’ Carole sniffed, draining her glass. ‘So, Robyn? What’s she up to these days? Off to London was always her dream from what I remember.’
I laughed. ‘Long story, but she’s actually teaching herself.’
‘Really?’
‘And at St Mede’s!’
‘No!’ Both Carole and Serena spoke as one.
‘Blimey,’ Carole went on. ‘Well, she won’t be there much longer if George Sattar and the rest of the Sattars get their way with the place.
’Bout time it was pulled down; been sinking for years…
’ She paused. ‘Goodness, I’d have had Robyn performing in the West End or somewhere…
Not ending up back here like we all seem to have done.
Mind you, I reckon there’s worse places to end up. ’
‘Again, long story regarding Robyn.’ I smiled. ‘I’ll fill you in one day.’
‘Right,’ Carole said, standing up and looking at her watch. ‘How about it, Jess? Practices on a Thursday evening? We really could do with you there.’
‘Yes.’ Whether it was the unused-to lager shandy or a simple need to sort myself out, I wasn’t sure, but yes, I was going to do it. ‘OK, count me in.’ I smiled, pulling a face. ‘I’ve actually been given a couple of free passes to the new gym in Beddingfield – I’ll try and get a bit fitter…’
‘From George? I saw you talking to him once you went off,’ Carole said as she pulled on her jacket. ‘He’s always down at the gym; the Sattars have probably got shares in it. D’you know him?’
‘What was he doing down at the hockey pitch?’ I asked, ignoring the question regarding my relationship with George.
‘George? Well, for a start he’s the star player of Upper Merton football team. Of course, it’s not tennis…’
‘What’s not tennis?’ I frowned.
‘Oh, sorry, I thought you did know him. You must have known about the tennis?’
‘What tennis?’
‘Not a Wimbledon fan then?’ Carole looked askance.
‘No, not really. I prefer team games to individual ones.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jess!’ Serena now put in. ‘George Sattar was seeded one of Britain’s hopefuls for the Wimbledon Gentleman’s Singles.’
‘George Sattar was?’ I stared.
‘Years ago?’ Carole tutted. ‘As a junior he was winning everything around the world in the Junior ITF championships…’
‘ITF?’ I frowned.
Both Carole and Serena tutted in unison now. ‘International Tennis Federation,’ Carole almost spluttered. ‘Where’ve you been, Jess?’
At home, baking and wondering what and who my husband was up to, I thought. Instead, I said, ‘My mum never mentioned that.’
‘Your mum? What’s your mum got to do with it?’ Serena gave me a look.
‘She’s about to marry George’s brother.’
The two women stared. Eventually, Serena said, ‘Which one?’
I actually laughed at that. ‘Kamran, the eldest. I don’t think the other two are available.’
‘Your mother first marries Jayden Allen and now is about to marry Kamran Sattar with all that that entails?’ Serena’s jaw actually dropped. ‘He’s got his own jet, you know.’
‘Jayden never actually married Mum,’ I pointed out. ‘And, as far as I know, Kamran’s plane isn’t actually a jet. But yes, he’s flown her over to Montmartre to his relative’s restaurant a couple of times.’
‘Wow!’ Carole breathed. ‘Mind you, from what I remember of your mum, the couple of times I met her to discuss your sporting prowess at school, she was absolutely stunning. Slight, beautiful almond-shaped eyes? Some Asian heritage there? And Robyn and Sorrel were gearing up to be just as stunning from what I remember.’
I nodded, torn as I always was at pride at being the daughter and sister of three beautiful women, but tempered with the realisation that I would never, in a million years, be up on that pedestal of grace, talent and beauty upon which the other females in my family were already so well placed.
‘So, come on then, Jess.’ Carole was back in bossy teacher mode. ‘No excuses! We’ll see you next Thursday. Six thirty sharp. Hockey socks and boots and full gear. And don’t tell me your old hockey stick isn’t up in the loft somewhere!’
‘And if not, she’ll have you in detention.’ Serena grinned as Carole walked away. ‘Right, one for the road?’
* * *
‘OK, Jess, tell me more about George Sattar.’ Serena was straight in there as soon as I returned from the bar with more drinks.
‘George? Why?’ I frowned. ‘I’ve only met him twice and, on both occasions, I found him quite obnoxious.
I mean, what was he doing watching us play hockey this evening?
I could understand it more if he was in his sports gear, but to just stand there in his pinstriped suit and overcoat?
He was like some character from a TV drama: you know, the brains behind an OCG.
All the low-down criminal characters doing the dirty work, but there’s always a man with a manicure and a designer suit who runs the operation, but can’t be touched. ’
‘Blimey, you always did have a fertile imagination.’ Serena laughed. ‘You were convinced Mr Mosby was a paedophile.’
‘Mr Mosby?’ I frowned. ‘Oh, the boys’ games’ teacher at Beddingfield Comp? Little man with a grey combover and always jiggling about with something in his tracksuit-bottom pockets?’
‘Probably his keys.’ Serena laughed again.
‘And the rest! He was always hanging around the girls’ changing room, eyeing up the girls’ chests in our too-tight cream Aertex.’