Caught in the Act. Gemma Fox
I saw myself ending up, but then again how many of us do do what we planned? I wanted to do something creative but I didn’t re ally know what.’ Carol held up her hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘Life has a way of taking you out on your blind side.’
‘Married, are you?
‘I’ll give you your due, Diana, straight to the heart of the matter, no messing,’ said Carol, miming an arrow flight.
‘Years of practice, a class of twenty-nine under-fives demands nerves of steel and a single-mindedness you can only dream of. So, are you married? You were married, weren’t you?’
‘Once upon a time, in a universe far far away.’
Diana’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘So you’re not married to Raf? You know, this is so bad. At one time we used to know what the other one was thinking; can you remember we used to end up buying the same things?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Carol laughed. ‘Even when we didn’t go shopping together.’
‘Remember when we turned up at the fifth-form school disco—’
‘Oh God, yes—in those dresses. The blue ones with ribbons?’
‘The same dresses.’
‘And those awful sandals—the dress I could understand but the shoes…Bloody hell.’
They laughed and then there was a moment’s pause, a second of reflection when Carol sensed how much had happened since the blue dresses with ribbons and how much they had missed of each other’s life.
‘Weren’t you married to—what was his name? I can’t remember why I didn’t come to your wedding,’ said Diana.
‘Probably because I didn’t invite you—or anyone else, come to that. We got the cleaner and a woman working in the office to be witnesses. I was very pregnant and—’
‘I kept thinking that I re ally ought to ring when whats-his-name didn’t feature on the Christmas cards any more,’ Diana interrupted, her face folded into a concertina of concentration; but then Diana had always been a world famous face puller. It was nice to see that marrying a vicar hadn’t got in the way of her gurning. ‘Oh, come on, you’re enjoying this,’ she said crossly. ‘What the hell was his name? I’m trying hard over here; help me out.’
‘What, when it’s so much fun seeing you struggle? Let me have a look at the photos while you’re thinking about it.’
Diana snatched the album back. ‘Jack,’ she said with glee. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Yes. Very good. Now give them here, like a good girl.’
Diana held the photos away from her. She always had had bloody long arms. It was very tempting to jump on her, at which point Carol had to remind herself that they weren’t thirteen any more.
‘Jack French. I remember now—and he was a gardener too? Right?’ said Diana with delight.
Carol slumped back onto the chair, admitting defeat, and nodded. ‘Occasionally, when he wasn’t trying to drink himself to death, screw the YTS girls or lie about how much money we owed. Fortunately, I’m divorced now. By contrast, life since Jack is wonderful, peaceful—pure bliss.’ Her voice lifted to emphasise the sheer joy of it.
Diana was watching her face. ‘And did God call you—you know, like the whole voices in the head, road to Damascus thing?’
Carol grinned; Diana was still sharp as glass.
‘You still got the wart?’
Diana nodded vigorously. ‘Of course I’ve got the wart, it goes without saying. Actually I was thinking about bringing it with me. It’s in my earring box, preserved for posterity in cling film and talc.’
‘Maybe we ought to get something a little more salubrious for it. A reliquary; you should be up on that kind of stuff: an ornate ebony casket for the toenail of St Kevin the Just.’
‘Wrong mob; we’re Low Church, less incense and stained glass, more jumble sales and cheery gatherings around the kitchen table, and besides, my jewellery box is salubrious. Hedley gave it to me as a wedding present. It’s rosewood, I think. Belonged to his mother.’ There was a long slow silence and then Diana said, her expression softening, ‘You know, it’s so good to see you again. I thought you might have gone and grown up. It’s been hard maintaining the whole born-to-boogie ethos all on your own.’
Carol snorted. ‘Born to boogie? When were either of us ever born to boogie, Di? You’re a vicar’s wife, for God’s sake.’
Diana laughed and finally handed Carol the photo album. ‘But I wasn’t always a vicar’s wife, was I?’
‘No, I suppose not. Do you still play cards?’
Diana reddened. ‘Not for money. Hedley asked me to stop after I cleaned up at his preordination party.’
Carol giggled. ‘Nine-card brag, poker. It was like going around with the Maverick. I remember you used to cut a deck with one hand.’
‘Oh, I can still do that,’ Diana said casually. ‘I’ve won enough matches at our annual Christmas whist drive to burn down half Europe.’
Carol smiled. ‘OK, well maybe things aren’t as bad as they look.’ She opened the first album.
The photograph was a long shot of the entire school taken the first year that she and Diana had gone up from primary school, when they had first found each other and Netty and Jan—three witches and Lady Macbeth in waiting. The picture was taken on the neatly manicured lawn outside the main school entrance, by the pond. Unexpectedly Carol found a lump in her throat. Bloody hell, was this what happened when you got old? Neat nostalgia.
She swallowed down hard as Diana said, ‘I got them out of the loft when I joined Oldschooltie—just for old times’ sake. I wonder how everyone is now.’
‘Look at these,’ said Carol, peering at the rows of faces. ‘God, I haven’t thought about her—oh, look, Mrs Devine, the PE teacher—and Mr Bailey.’
‘I was thinking on the drive over here—it would be great to see everyone again. What about if we tried to organise a reunion? I mean how hard can it be? People do it all the time. It would be great.’
Carol, halfway through a mouthful of Baileys, spluttered. ‘Are you sure great’s the word you’re looking for, Diana? I can understand what you mean but it would be loads of work and not everyone grew up to be a vicar, you know. What about Sandy Lewis? You remember?’
‘Who could forget?’
‘Potential axe-murdering psychopath if ever I met one. Do you remember when he burned the cricket pavilion down? Caught red-handed, petrol can, matches, swore blind he hadn’t done it.’
‘He probably won’t come. I doubt they can get Oldschooltie.com in Broadmoor; and besides, he’s an extreme example and you know it.’
‘How about Harry Longman? Put away for fraud? Kate Lynwood, shoplifting and passing dud cheques…’ She pointed out the faces in the picture.
‘All right—don’t be so negative, so not everyone turned out a saint,’ said Diana, ‘but they’re not all nutters and conmen either. I was thinking school reunion here, not Britain’s most wanted. Once I started seeing all those names on the register at Oldschooltie curiosity got the better of me. And then I fished out the photos—and since then I keep wondering what they’re all up to, what they look like, how they’re all doing.’
‘You always were so nosy,’ Carol said. ‘Don’t mind me. Actually, it does sound like a nice idea. What had you got in mind? Invite people from our year?’
Diana pulled a thinking face. ‘I don’t know. I’ve only re ally just thought about it. We could start there. Would you pitch in?’
‘Pitch