The Rise and Fall of the Wonder Girls. Sarah May

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      ‘What did he say?’ Vicky was beginning to lose patience.

      Saskia was about to mention his reference to her tattoo when she decided not to. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Sas—’ Vicky insisted.

      ‘He went to South Africa—on holiday.’

      ‘South Africa?’

      Saskia sighed, her hands dropping to her sides. ‘With Ms Webster.’

      ‘Webster?’ Vicky screamed, the screams echoing across the fields. ‘No—fucking—way. Are you sure?’

      ‘She was standing right here in front of me, Vick. They were wearing matching clothes.’

      ‘Like—how matching?’

      ‘Yellow polo shirts, shorts and Birkenstocks.’

      ‘That is so depressing. How come we didn’t know anything about this? How did she get to him?’

      ‘End of last term,’ Ruth said.

      Vicky turned on her. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

      ‘I don’t know that—I’m just guessing. Staff drinks and stuff.’

      ‘Staff drinks and stuff? They went to South Africa together, Ruth—they’re practically married.’ She paused. ‘Webster. Why didn’t I see this coming?’

      ‘Webster’s okay,’ Ruth ventured then paused. ‘Isn’t she?’

      ‘Webster’s not okay, Ruth. She’s like the wrong side of healthy, like too healthy, like under all that lycra she wears she’s got no genitals or something.’

      Nobody said anything.

      Saskia’s hand remained over the temporary scorpion tattoo as they trailed slowly over to the weighing-in hut, expecting to find Grace there—only to be told by the boy in the ice cream van that she’d already gone.

      ‘She had to leave early—something about a puncture. I offered to take her home in the van, but—’ His eyes moved curiously over all three of them as Vicky emptied her raspberries into Ruth’s already full container and stepped away from the hut, crushing the ones that fell beneath her sandals. She stood, bored and dizzy, aware of the ice cream boy’s eyes on her, but too overwhelmed by the thought of Mr Sutton and Ms Webster to react.

      The ice cream boy stared at the red spots in the dust and tried hard to think of something to say. He was still trying as the girls walked back up the field towards Tom’s car.

      ‘Webster’s totally wrong for Sutton,’ Vicky started up again then broke off, staring into Saskia’s punnet. ‘Why did you pick redcurrants?’

      Saskia stared at the redcurrants, trying to remember.

      ‘I wanted to paint them. Remember that triptych I did of the rotting quince?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I was thinking about doing another one with redcurrants.’

      ‘Morbid.’

      ‘It’s only fruit.’

      They got to the top of the field where Tom was sitting in the sandpit, banging on an old plastic cup with a lolly stick and making a child with blond curls laugh.

      ‘Looks like I’ve got to go, little man,’ he said when the girls arrived. ‘See you around.’

      Vicky glanced at the toddler without interest as Tom handed him the plastic cup and stick and watched him try to reproduce the sound he’d been making.

      ‘Did you manage to meet up with Grace?’ Tom asked as they got back in the car.

      ‘No—she already left—had a puncture or something. We’ll probably catch up with her on the road. Can we get some windows down?’

       5

      They caught up with Grace about a mile down the lane where it left the fields and sank into forest.

      Tom slowed the car when he saw her up ahead on the opposite side of the lane, pushing her bike.

      ‘Isn’t that your bike?’ Vicky said, staring.

      ‘I sold it.’ Tom threw the rest of the joint he was smoking out the window.

      ‘When?’

      ‘Last summer.’

      ‘To Grace?’

      ‘You know I did.’

      They pulled up alongside her.

      Vicky leant out the back of the car and gave a slow, exaggerated wave.

      ‘You should have said,’ Tom called out.

      ‘About what?’ Grace called back.

      ‘Needing a lift.’

      ‘I don’t need a lift.’ She smiled at him.

      Saskia and Vicky were leaning out the car, waving.

      ‘You’ve got a puncture.’

      ‘I know, but I didn’t want to leave the bike.’

      ‘Come on, get in,’ Tom said, ‘I’ll put the bike on the roof rack.’

      Without waiting for a response, he drove past her and carried on for a couple of hundred yards, until he got to a passing place where he pulled in, got out the car and jogged back to where Grace was.

      ‘There’s some rope—’ he called back to Vicky, who was hanging out the window still, watching him ‘—in the boot.’

      She pulled her arms and head back into the car and let her head flop against the back seat.

      ‘Are you getting the rope out the boot?’ Ruth asked.

      ‘No—I’m too depressed about Sutton and Webster.’

      ‘I’ll get it.’ Ruth got out of the car, stretching herself. She poked at the junk in the boot, looking for the rope.

      Through the open hatchback, she saw Vicky climb between the two front seats and get into the driver’s. The next minute, Vicky started the car up and put it into gear. It jolted forward then stalled, the boot flapping.

      Tom broke into a run back towards the car as the engine started up again and a basketball rolled out of the back onto the lane.

      Saskia got quickly out of the car and joined Ruth as the engine started to grate.

      ‘Vicky!’ СКАЧАТЬ