Chapter 4
4
It was almost 9.00a.m. when George got to her parents’ house the next morning. She’d got in from the Hexagon at just before 4.00a.m. but hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been on a high, completely wired. She had still been able to feel Quinn’s lips on hers and it bothered her. It bothered her because it had been reckless behaviour, behaviour that was no longer in her make up. It also bothered her because she’d enjoyed it so much. He had kissed her and she had been powerless to stop him. She hadn’t wanted to stop him. She’d been out of control for the first time in a long time and that worried her too. That was the person she used to be, not the George she was now. That George had been boxed up and put away long ago.
She stood outside her parents’ house, looking at the twee net curtains in the window, the perfect borders edging the beds filled with rose bushes and winter pansies. She approached the door, acknowledging the welcome doormat and the bell that chimed ‘Greensleeves’ and the ‘William Tell Overture’ on alternate days. She paused, her hand hovering over the button. She didn’t want to go in. She wanted to just get in the van and get back to work. She was busy; they had Archie’s party and then she had to produce something amazing with lamb for Quinn Blake’s after-show. She had received a voicemail from Michael earlier agreeing two thousand pounds for each show. She would be able to afford a new van by the end of the week.
She had the spare van keys with her in her bag; she didn’t need to go in. But then she thought about Adam. He was probably in there being smothered. Her mother feeding him up with fatty meats drenched in gravy, her father trying to get him to take an interest in golf. The cat, Lesley, farting all the time and her mother trying to cover it up with lavender room fragrance spray. That was her strongest memory from childhood: the scent of cat farts mixed with stew and lavender. It wasn’t the greatest of recollections.
She breathed in deeply and then pressed the bell as hard as she could. It was ‘Greensleeves’ today and the song had almost played out before her mother opened the door. She was smiling initially, probably thinking it was a neighbour or someone from the town magazine committee, but when she saw who it was, the smile was replaced with a look of indifference.
Her hair looked like it had been shampooed and set that very morning and she was wearing an apron tied around her middle, which covered the majority of a nylon, A-line skirt. She had always looked like a cover model for Woman’s Weekly and nothing ever changed, not in this house.
‘Brian, it’s Georgina,’ Heather called to her husband.
That was it. That was the greeting she received after not seeing either of them for at least two months. She had been busy, she hadn’t returned a few of her mother’s phone calls, they had stopped calling round, she had stopped calling round. And here they were.
Heather opened the door a little wider to allow George to enter and she stepped in just as Lesley appeared in the hallway, lifted her tail and filled the narrow space with the pungent stench of cat arse .
Automatically, George reached for the lavender spray, which was positioned in various locations around the house, and gave it a good few pumps.
‘Hello, Georgina. Got time to watch a bit of golf? It’s the Masters,’ Brian called from the living room.
‘Sorry Dad, really busy today. I just came for the van keys,’ George called back.
She put her head around the living-room door and there was her dad, his head shining like a snooker ball, his favourite maroon sweatshirt on. He was sat on the floral sofa they’d bought in Courts circa 1984, remote control in one hand, his I love Nick Faldo mug in the other, watching the golf on Sky Sports. Sky was the only newfangled appliance they had in the house – that and the forty-two-inch LCD television he had bought with a big premium bond win. He didn’t even look over to her.
Heather led the way through to the kitchen, pulled the van keys from the hook on the wall and put them down onto the worktop in front of George.
‘Is Adam in?’ George asked hopefully.
‘He’s in bed. I don’t know what you were thinking of, keeping him out until the early hours working,’ Heather said as she turned her back on George and stirred a vat of something on the hob.
‘He offered to help and I will pay him, more than the going rate,’ George replied.
‘You take advantage of that boy’s good nature,’ Heather continued.
‘He was happy to work. Ask him if you don’t believe me.’
‘He’s too polite to say no to people; you know that,’ Heather said sternly.
‘I want to see him,’ George said, heading towards the kitchen door and the stairs.
‘I’ve told you, he’s asleep. Now take the keys and get that heap of a van off the front drive. Mrs Weeks can’t abide cluttered drives. She phoned the council last week because number nine’s plastics and cardboard bin was overflowing. I don’t want to give her any cause to call about this house,’ Heather spoke.
‘Is he staying all weekend? I’d like him to work again tonight,’ George said and with a sigh, she picked up the van keys, moving them from hand to hand.
‘He should rest. He has exams coming up and he needs to practice his piano. I have Mrs Rowland coming round this afternoon,’ Heather said.
Mrs Rowland was half French and half psycho. She was a piano obsessive, with half-moon glasses and her hair tied tight in a bun. She had attempted to teach George how to play too, until George realised hanging out with her friends after school was preferable to Mozart and practising scales. She took the month’s grounding for not wanting to continue with lessons, knowing that after that month, she was free. She felt for Adam having to endure an afternoon of, ‘You are not hitting the phrasing with enough passion – FROM THE TOP.’
‘George! Hey,’ Adam greeted, entering the kitchen and smiling at her.
‘Hey, Adam. Thanks for helping last night. I was just coming to collect the van,’ George said.
‘I’m not sure it’s running right, you know. I’m pretty sure it has an oil leak. I could take a look if you like. GCSE mechanics might not be able to solve all the issues, but I could give it a go,’ he offered kindly.
‘I said it didn’t look roadworthy,’ Heather commented.
‘That’s OK, don’t worry. I’m hoping to buy a new one next week. I’ve been asked to cater the rest of the after-show parties for Quinn Blake’s concerts at the Hexagon. It’s big money,’ George told him.
‘Wow! That’s amazing, isn’t it, Mum? I’m staying till Monday; do you want me to help out?’ Adam asked.
‘Well, I…’ George began, not daring to look at her mother .
She could imagine the expression. The disdainful look, the thin, tight-lipped mouth, as if she had just suggested Adam become a rent boy.
‘Adam, you need to revise and Mrs Rowland is coming round this afternoon, remember? We were lucky to get her at short notice,’ Heather reminded.
‘Yeah, I know, but George won’t need me until ten-ish; Mrs Rowland will be here at two and gone by four. She likes to get to Waitrose just when they start reducing the stuff from the deli counter,’ Adam responded with a grin.
‘Listen, your uni stuff has to come first, though. Are you behind?’ George enquired.
‘No! I’m straight A’s, George; you know that. Tell her, Mum,’ Adam urged.
‘But straight A’s have to be worked at,’ Heather responded, glaring at George again.
‘Look, I’ll be fine. I’m sure Marisa can rustle up an extra friend or two,’ George said, heading for the door.
‘No, I want the gig. I could do with the cash; guitar strings and sheet music don’t come cheap and I want to see Quinn again. He’s a cool guy; he gave me some good advice last night and I showed him some hand exercises to help with his shredding,’ Adam told her.
At the mention of his name, George was transported back to the kitchen of the Hexagon: the weight of his body against hers, the urgency of his kiss.
‘I’ll meet you there, ten-ish,’ Adam promised, walking her to the door.
‘OK, but listen, don’t rub Mum up the wrong way. Clean out Lesley’s litter tray for her or something,’ George suggested.
‘Will do. See you later, sis,’ Adam spoke as George opened the front door.
‘Bye. Bye, Dad,’ George called .
‘Oh, bye love. Try and catch some of the tournament if you can. Tiger Woods is blowing everyone away,’ Brian called back.
‘So I’ve heard,’ George remarked.