‘Really?’ Chrissie asks in surprise.
Esther nods, aware that she’s exaggerating slightly. But what if she’s not? Nothing would surprise her now.
‘You mean, you’re worried that you’re going to feel paraded in public?’
‘Exactly,’ Esther says, aware of a twinge of guilt now. Her dad would never ‘parade’ her. He’s the kindest man you could imagine and sometimes she thinks he’s the only one who actually takes time to listen to her, whereas with her mum it’s all, ‘Oh, is that right, darling? Great! Lovely! Sorry, gotta dash!’ It was her dad who’d realised she was good at history, that she had a keen interest in it. Amanda, who taught it, was one of the few decent teachers at her school. Her dad had encouraged her to work extra hard, to put her all into it and get good grades. Even though he hadn’t been keen for her to go to Willow Vale – withits optional lessons – he’d listened while she’d begged and pleaded, and after weeks and weeks of this (God, he hadn’t made it easy) he’d eventually said yes, okay, if she was absolutely sure it was the right place for her.
Her mum, of course, had said, ‘Fine, darling!’ right away. Which was great. But in a way, Esther had liked it that her dad had put her through all that, because it meant he really cared.
Then came the reality show set at her school and filmed over a whole term. Amazingly, she was chosen by the production team as one of the main pupils to be in it. God knows why because she was really ordinary then. Quite shy, even. She hadn’t yet grown into herself. It goes without saying that her dad wasreally, reallyconcerned about how it would affect ‘her education’ (because back then everything was about her education) and whether – although he didn’t put it this way – they’d make her look like a twat.
‘The thing about you, James,’ her mum had argued, ‘is that you automatically see all the dangers and the things that could go terribly wrong.’
They’d ground him down, she supposes now. Esther feels slightly ashamed of that now because, even though he was unsure about it, he was still supportive. He just kept saying, ‘If there’s anything you feel even slightly uncomfortable about, you must let me know.’ Whereas her mum was all, ‘Go for it! Make sure you stand out! Who knows where this is going to take you?’
Chrissie twiddles the cluster of thin metallic bangles around her tiny wrist. She’s wearing a crinkly patterned top, flowing wide-legged trousers and leather sandals with gold embellishments – the kind Esther’s dad would be appalled at for having no structural support. ‘Is there a way that you can go to the lunch, but still feel in control?’ she asks.
Esther thinks about this for a moment. ‘Miles could come too. Then I’d feel less outnumbered …’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Chrissie says, smiling.
Esther looks at her. She hadn’t thought of that before now. But obviously, it’s the ideal solution. ‘Yeah. But Dad can’t stand him. He’s made no secret of that. I mean, he refused point-blank to let him come to Corsica with us—’
‘He wouldn’t be outwardly rude to him, though?’ Chrissie cuts in.
‘No, no, he’d never do that,’ Esther says firmly.
‘Well, it sounds like a good compromise. And hopefully your dad’ll be fine about that.’ Chrissie pats her hand. ‘You’re being brave, Esther. It takes courage to stand up for what you want, especially when someone has a big personality like that.’
Does her dad have a big personality? She wouldn’t put it like that exactly. He just gets on with his life, doing difficult stuff she has no idea how he copes with – like removing a tumour from a hamster’s ear.
Way back in July, when she’d called him to say she wouldn’t be going to Corsica after all – not if Miles couldn’t go too – he hadn’t even yelled at her. She’d been braced for an angry outburst but, weirdly, he’d sounded relieved but also upset. ‘Right. Okay,’ he’d said distractedly. What about the hundreds of pounds he’d spent on her flight and hotel room? She’d almost wished he had yelled at her – then she’d have felt less terrible. But her dad’s not a yeller. He’s a reasoner, if that’s a word.
‘For God’s sake, James, d’you have to be soreasonable?’ she’s heard her mum say more than once. So her kind, sensible,reasonabledad was probably just relieved she wasn’t dead.
It’s Miles who has the ‘big personality’, she reflects now. Miles who came home recently making a massive fussbecause someone had had the cheek to come up to the DJ booth and ask him to play a request. ‘Do I look like a fucking wedding DJ?’ he’d barked, pouring himself a massive tumbler of red wine. ‘Do I look like I’ve gotDancing Queen?’
Session over, Esther heads back to the flat deciding that this time – unlike with Corsica – she won’t ask her dad whether Miles can come along too. He’ll just jump into the car when her dad comes to pick her up.
That way there’ll be no argument. All she needs to do now is get Miles to agree to come.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ESTHER
Esther doesn’t care that Miles is older than her. Age is just a number – and sometimes she thinks she’s more mature than he is. The only time it feels a bit weird and uncomfortable is when he’s with a bunch of similar-aged friends, and they’re dancing.
That, she finds difficult. She’s not saying they shouldn’t be allowed to have fun, or that there should be a law against anyone dancing above the age of, say, thirty-two. But she’d rather not be forced to see them thrusting their hips and ‘throwing shapes’ in public. Right now, on a Saturday night in an overheated club, she has an urge to be somewhere else – in another building or even another continent to ensure that she won’t have to see them with her own eyes.
The spectacle is reminding Esther of the less inhibited teachers at Willow Vale, her old school, all leaping up for a ‘boogie’ or ‘bop’ at the end-of-year party, as Amanda, her history teacher, used to call it. That’s not good, is it, that the sight of her boyfriend flinging himself about on the floor reminds her of teachers dancing?
Esther liked Amanda a lot. Now she’s a bit older she realises how clever she was, to bring the lives of people who’d lived hundreds – or even thousands – of years ago to life, and make it all so fascinating. She was abrilliantteacher. But if she’d wanted to dance, Esther wished she’d done it in private at home. She can picture it now, the shambolic blend of feet shuffling, Nineties arm waving and Dave (head of maths) throwing his head back and pointing up at the stained polystyrene ceiling tiles as he shouted, ‘Acieeeed!’
While no one’s done that tonight (although there’s still time), Esther has spotted Andi slowly pirouetting while hugging himself. Then Kevin stumbled, clutching at his dodgy hip – or maybe it was an experimental dance move? As her stomach started to churn and she decided she couldn’t watch anymore, Esther slunk away to the bar.
Now a couple of Miles’s friends have tracked her down. ‘What’s wrong, Est?’ Kevin shouts, spraying saliva in her face. ‘Don’t you like the music?’
‘It’s all right. I’m just a bit tired,’ she replies, at which he laughs loudly.
