The Rise and Fall of the Wonder Girls. Sarah May

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СКАЧАТЬ get it repair-ed. Look, I know you don’t care.’ He paused, but Rachel didn’t respond to this. ‘But the shoe’s beyond repair and—for me anyway—that’s frustrating. I walk home in a perfect pair of shoes and by the next morning—mysteriously—they’re completely ruined.’ He paused again. ‘And that’s frustrating.’

      Rachel continued to remain silent. She wasn’t being obtuse, she just had no idea what she was meant to say—how to respond without aggravating him further, which she was bound to do. With an effort, she leant suddenly forward, aiming clumsily for his cheek, and missing as Nathan turned to meet her kiss. Her lips bounced uncomfortably off the side edge of his chin and she mumbled ‘sorry’—aware that it was last night she was apologising for…for having fallen asleep when he wanted to make love to her.

      Nathan calmed down as soon as her misjudged lips touched his face. The shoe was forgotten. ‘Okay, well—I’d better be off,’ he said, sounding almost cheerful now, and even managing a small smile.

      Rachel watched him walk down the drive in his beige CIA Mac, nodding at Vicky Henderson who was backed up against the red brick wall that separated number two Park Avenue from number four. He got to the gate post, which was fast becoming obscured in bamboo, stepped in a puddle, cursed, shook his foot, then crossed the road, narrowly avoiding the bus going into town that nobody ever used because everybody in Burwood owned a car. Even the elderly shunned using their bus passes in favour of battery operated mobility aids.

      By the time Nathan got to the junction with Hurst Road, he was wearing the tight smile he wore most of the time for his dealings with the world: a quietly overbearing, sarcastic smile that the majority of people were unwilling to probe behind.

      Nathan Dent was the product of an over-hygienic childhood; the recipient of a slow, trickling paternal and maternal love, so you couldn’t blame him really—for his smile. You couldn’t blame him for the other legacies either—the propensity to dress like he sold audiovisual equipment in Currys, and the habit of scrubbing at his hands and nails with a toothbrush when they got dirty. His childhood had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a capacity for measuring himself out—both professionally and personally—in careful, dispassionate doses. Marrying Rachel, in fact, was the most ambitious thing he had ever done in his life. It was also, importantly, the only time he’d ever not been in control of himself. He turned down Hurst Road and across the park to the offices of Pinnacle Insurance where he sat in a booth and protected the world against itself.

      ‘You okay?’ Vicky asked Rachel, embarrassed. She had to say something—she’d been standing there the whole time and was still backed up against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with brick and bamboo.

      Rachel smiled at her—confused by the question.

      ‘You?’

      Vicky nodded.

      ‘You don’t look it.’

      ‘A bit fluey—that’s all.’

      ‘What’s your temperature?’

      ‘My temperature?’

      ‘You look like you’ve got a temperature—you didn’t take a reading?’

      Vicky shook her head—did the Hendersons even have a thermometer?—too close to tears to speak. Ruth’s mum always had this effect on her. She remembered the time she’d been upset and Rachel had hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She couldn’t remember what it was she’d been upset about, but she remembered Rachel’s warmth.

      It was strange—number two Park Avenue was full of family photographs…hanging on walls, sitting in frames, secreted in albums, and yet Vicky had virtually no memory of ever having been held or embraced by Sylvia. At number four Park Avenue, there were no photographs and yet Rachel was forever hugging Ruth—it was one of the things that struck Vicky most when she first got to know the Dents. Mother and daughter did other things as well as hugging: swapped books, had manicures, make-overs…even spent entire days in spas together…things that baffled Vicky, who spent most of the time drowning under matricidal urges.

      Ruth appeared then at the front door.

      ‘You want me to lock this?’ she called out to Rachel.

      ‘Go ahead.’

      ‘What was all that about?’

      ‘When?’

      ‘Out here—just now. I heard dad shouting.’

      Rachel shrugged and opened the driver’s door.

      ‘You girls sure you don’t want lift to school? I’m going straight past there.’

      ‘We’re fine,’ Ruth said.

      ‘Last chance?’

      ‘We’re fine, mum.’

      ‘Okay—’ Shaking her head, she took out the sunglasses she wore whatever the weather from the glove compartment. Then, putting the car into gear, accelerated hard so that pebbles from the drive sprayed up against the body of the car and caused scratches that would at some future date be detected by Nathan, who would expect a full explanation including the use of pronouns as well as the definite and indefinite article.

       11

      Left on the drive, Vicky and Ruth checked to see what the other one was wearing. The style the sixth form at Burwood Girls’ went for was nineteen-twenties shot through with eighties Gothic—retro silk dresses in pastel shades over black tights with pumps gone to seed and lots of costume jewellery: Goth flappers.

      They were both appropriately dressed.

      ‘We’re going round the long way,’ Vicky announced.

      ‘But, Vick, we’re already running late.’

      ‘I want to check in on Sutton.’

      ‘Sutton?’ Vicky rounded on her. ‘Oh, Sutton—yeah, okay.’

      ‘Are you feeling alright?’

      Ruth nodded, preoccupied, and they started to walk.

      The long way took them on the route past Mr Sutton’s new house on Dardanelle Drive and sometimes they got a sighting of him leaving for work on his bike. At the beginning of the Michaelmas term he and Ms Webster had moved in together and Vicky had to get the new address out of the files in Mrs Harris’s PA’s office.

      ‘Your dad’s a total fuck up,’ Vicky said as the Audi disappeared out of sight into the fog, Rachel waving enthusiastically. ‘And your mum’s so nice, I mean—how did it happen?’

      Ruth shrugged. ‘Nathan’s okay. I know how he comes across, but—’

      ‘What?’

      ‘He’s always been pretty good to us.’

      ‘Shit, listen to yourself, Ruth. Save me the passion.’

      ‘Passion’s what he’s up against, Vick. She СКАЧАТЬ