Caught in the Act. Gemma Fox
Haze?’
Callista Haze looked up from a battered copy of Macbeth and her thoughts. Although it took her a moment or two to focus on the face she would have known that voice anywhere. George Bearman, former head of Drama and English at Belvedere High School, stood beside the pub table, looking down at her and smiling nervously.
George, it seemed, was not quite so certain that he’d got the right person. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ he asked.
She laughed. ‘Of course it is, George. Who on earth did you think it was? How many women looking like me do you think there are going to be at this reunion?’
‘I just wanted to check. Actually, I was thinking how very little you’d changed,’ he said quickly, colouring up to crimson.
‘Been watching me long, have you?’ she asked, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
George’s colour deepened. ‘Good God, no, of course not. Well, all right, maybe a few minutes, if that,’ he blustered. ‘I was up at the bar and I couldn’t help noticing. You look wonderful, actually. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’ He indicated the seat alongside hers. He was cradling a pint of beer, a packet of crisps and a pie on a plate. Tucked into his top pocket were a knife and fork wrapped in a checked napkin.
‘No, not at all,’ said Callista, half-rising to greet him.
George set down his drink and makeshift lunch and then, catching hold of her elbows, pulled her towards him and kissed her clumsily on each cheek. He smelled of pipe smoke and shaving cream, his skin all rough and ruddy against hers.
‘Have you been up to the hall yet? I dropped my bags off. They said their dining room and some sort of little café place they run was closed until later and recommended the pub; thought I’d come and grab a pint and a bite before the off.’ George paused, suddenly all dewy-eyed. ‘I’m gabbling, aren’t I? It’s just that it’s been so many years. You know, I didn’t think that I would ever see you again. Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve been trying to imagine what it would feel like, you know, to meet up again after all this time,’ he said.
‘And how does it feel?’ Callista asked, her expression held very firmly in neutral.
George considered for a moment or two, lips pursed, face set and then he said, ‘Rather odd, actually. I felt quite nervous driving down—but it’s good—a little unnerving—but it is wonderful to see you again. I wondered whether you might have changed—I mean, one never knows. But you look re ally, re ally…’
Callista could see him struggling to find the right word. ‘Wonderful?’ she teased.
‘Yes, exactly, wonderful,’ he said.
As George settled himself into the seat alongside her, Callista prodded the slice of lemon down into her gin and tonic and said nothing. After all, what was there to say? Hadn’t they said it all before a long, long time ago? Her silence was a sharp contrast to the sounds of the pub around them.
‘So,’ said George, a little self-consciously, ‘how’s life been with you?’
‘Well, come on then, who’s going to go first?’ asked Adie, unpacking the round of drinks from the tray. ‘Truth or consequences,’ he continued, handing Jan a glass of white wine, whilst looking at the bemused faces around the table.
On the way down to the pub they had agreed to try to keep all the catching-up on what had happened to who and when and why until everyone was settled down and could listen properly. It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone had found it hard not to break into spontaneous reminiscing during the walk, but now they were all settled and ready, it seemed that no one wanted to be the first to start.
‘Oh, come on, for God’s sake, we’re all ears. Netty, come on—‘fess up,’ Adie said, taking a pull on his pint.
Netty shook her head. ‘Good God, no, not me. At least not until I’ve eaten. Let somebody else go first. I can only cope with my sordid past after a couple of stiff drinks and on a full stomach. How about our leading lady?’ Everyone turned to look at Carol. ‘Come on, off you go, petal. You’ve got as long as you need on your specialist subject, Carol Hastings,’ said Netty, doing a very passable impression of John Humphrys. ‘What I did with the last twenty years of my life, starting now.’
‘Oh no, not me,’ Carol protested, waving the words away, but Adie and Netty were insistent.
‘Stop being so bloody coy. Someone’s got to go first or we’ll be here all day.’
‘Why me?’
‘Why not?’ said Adie. ‘C’mon.’
Carol sighed. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything. All the usual stuff. What you do, if you’re married. And if so, how many times. Are you happy?’ offered Netty.
‘Where you live.’ Jan.
‘Whether you’ve got kids, a dog, a cat, a goldfish.’ Adie.
‘And any strange personal habits, peculiar hobbies or bizarre sexual practices.’ Netty.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Adie, enthusiastically. ‘C’mon.’
‘The trouble is it’s all surface. I can tell you what I’ve done but that doesn’t tell you anything about who I am or what I feel or what I’m like,’ said Carol, wriggling uncomfortably under their gaze.
Netty groaned theatrically. ‘Oh my God, you grew up to be a therapist, didn’t you?’
‘No, I—’ began Carol, but not quite fast enough.
‘We know who you are,’ said Adie encouragingly. ‘Or at least we knew who you were when we were at Belvedere, and you don’t seem to have changed that much. There’s a whole leopard-and-spot thing here that I don’t plan to go in to.’
‘No, I think she has changed,’ said Netty, waving a crisp in her direction. ‘Counselling, God preserve us—probably reads ink blots and facilitates group hugs with her inner child,’ she growled angrily.
Jan nodded in agreement as Carol, giggling, inhaled her shandy, and protested, ‘No, no, look, I’m not a counsellor. I’m a gardener—and before you start on about that, there’s no need to go the whole Charlie Dimmock, Netty. Trust me, if I’d have realised that taking my bra off was a good career move I’d have done it years ago.’
‘You think anyone would have noticed?’ asked Jan, deadpan. Netty choked.
‘Oh, me-ow,’ hissed Adie, slapping Jan playfully and indicated to an imaginary waiter. ‘Saucer of milk, this table, please. The thing is, we need something to go on, Carol. We need the facts, the dirt, the details. The whole enchilada. So, spill it.’
‘This feels like a job interview,’ said Carol, pulling a face.
‘Not for any job you’d ever want,’ said Adie.
‘You’d never get a job in my place with those shoes or that outfit—Cat boots, a rugby shirt and jeans—what were you thinking?’ said Netty.
‘What’s wrong with them? They’re comfortable to drive in,’ protested Carol, not at all offended.
‘You could have made an effort.’
‘I did,’ said Carol with a grin.
‘Come on, behave,’ growled Adie. ‘You look great. So, Carol, after three—two, three—and away.’
She paused for an instant, trying to collect her thoughts, painfully aware of how quickly the years had gone by. It didn’t seem so very long ago that they had been out buying their first booze together.
Diana, heading up to the counter in an offie near the station, because with her hair up she looked twenty if she was a day, clutching the money from combined Saturday jobs for a bottle of vodka. Adie, arm in arm between Jan and Netty, walking down Bridge Street to catch