He was in good hands. He was being taken care of.
Tony, her very best friend.
Ashleigh
The taxi was overly warm. Ashleigh wound down the window, enjoying the cold blast of night air on her face. There was something about being so dressed up, so sparkly, that put her in mind of Christmas and all good things.
‘I hope they like me.’ She spoke her words out into the dark as the car zipped along.
‘How can they not?’ Archie lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in a steady stream.
‘Do you really call them Elaine and Dickie?’ She turned to face him.
‘It’s their names. What else am I going to call them?’
‘Mmmn.’ She didn’t have an answer, not wanting to offer ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’, aware of how pedestrian it sounded. Trying to imagine callinghermum and dad Ruthie and Dennis – they’d laugh and tell her not to be so daft, for sure.
‘Anywhere here is great, thanks.’ Archie tapped the back of the front seat.
The taxi stopped and he paid the cabbie.
Conscious of their lateness, the two now tripped along the cobbled street and made their way to the wine bar with a view out over the river. The steamed-up windows were edged with fairy lights, and as he opened the door, the roar of greeting was almost deafening. He was popular and loved, this boy of hers. She followed him, his hand behind his back, holding hers, leading her in from the cold. Doing her best to smother her nerves with thoughts of how she had looked in the full-length mirror, she concentrated on that, and the fact that he loved her!
‘There he is! How good of you to show up!’ A man’s voice – Dickie, she presumed – boomed at the sight of them. He stood among Archie’s friends, at ease, as if he’d known them all forever.
‘Dickie! You old fart!’ Archie laughed loudly at his father, who sported a soft jersey tied over his shoulders, the arms draped over his navy-and-white checked shirt. He looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht, his worn Sebagos doing nothing to temper this. The man came forward and enveloped the boy in a brief, crushing hug, before shoving a glass of bubbles into his hand.
Guy rushed over and stared at her. ‘Wowsers! You scrub up well, Brett!’
‘Thanks. You too.’
It was true, they wore evening dress well, these boys who were accustomed to bespoke suits, well-cut shirts, and good shoes.
‘Gigi!’ Archie slapped his mate on the arm, before pulling her towards his parents, who stood back to back, a few feet between them. Dickie stared at them; his mother, however, was engaged in conversation. Ashleigh took the opportunity to study her.
Elaine Fitch was thin, so thin, with a grace and elegance that came with such a build, hair swept up in a loose chignon to show off her delicate neck; willowy arms languid inside the sleeves of her ivory silk blouse, the hem of which was tucked into a velvet tight-fitting skirt that stopped on her knee. Black tights showed off her endless legs and on her feet were the most darling pair of soft black pumps with the telltale double C Chanel logo on the front.
When Ashleigh sawhermother after any time away, Ruthie almost bubbled over with excitement. Irritatingly running her hand over Ashleigh’s face, touching her hair, holding her close, staring into her face, and kissing her as she spoke. It was therefore with interest that she stared at Elaine, who with a glass of champagne in her hand, smiled once in her son’s general direction, and let her eyes sweep over Ashleigh’s frock, but didn’t break from the chat she was having with Bruno, a boy who was on Archie’s course and who had gone to Stowe.
Archie leaned in and whispered to his father.
‘Oh, fuck right off!’ Dickie shouted from under his bushy moustache. ‘She is not your girlfriend. She is way too pretty for you, you mangey reprobate!’
It was then she tuned in, and realised Archie’s dad had sworn in jest and that they were talking about her. And no one was shocked, and no one gasped, as if your dad saying the F word loudly in public to your friends was the most ordinary thing in the world. She couldn’t imagine how her parents would react if they heard this.
‘Let me look at her!’ His dad put on gold-rimmed spectacles that had been secreted inside the front pocket of his shirt. She noticed then he wore the same signet ring as Archie. ‘My God!’ Dickie smiled approvingly, revealing teeth that would only benefit from a trip to a dentist. ‘She is exquisite! If I were you, I’d get her bed, fed, and wed quick as you can!’
Ashleigh laughed then, because everyone was laughing, and it felt rude not to. It was conflicting, to be so considered and commented upon, as if she were a broodmare or a new hound. It was insulting, yet it sounded a lot like approval, and for that she was ridiculously thankful. Besides, Archie had already told her that his father had no harm in him, and she believed him.
‘For God’s sake, Pa!’ Archie shook his head despairingly and winked at her, confirming it was all in jest. A pantomime, no more.
In that moment she was glad Remy was not with her, knowing she wouldn’t have laughed, and guessing that by the time her sister would have finished speaking out, Dickie wouldn’t be laughing either, and that might just ruin everything.
Ashleigh watched Elaine Fitch, as she finally, having listened intently to Bruno drone on about his parents’ ski chalet in Les Deux Alpes, gently dismissed him by placing her hand on his forearm and gracefully stepping to one side.
Dickie was still holding court with Archie and the rest of the boys, who were all hanging on to his every word. As their volumeincreased, more bottles of champagne were duly deposited into silver buckets full of iced water. She wondered if they were ever going to get to the ball. Not that she wasn’t having a good time, she was, but the more people who saw her frock, the better. The more people who saw her and Archie together, a couple to be envied, the better, because to be envied meant she was worthy of envy; it meant she wasn’t a fraud, but was one of the girls who was winning, winning in her own right.
‘You must be Ashleigh.’ Archie’s mother let her gaze sweep her head to toe. Only yesterday, this kind of scrutiny would have had the power to erode her confidence, like taking an axe to the vines of self-assurance that wrapped her and kept her upright. But this was not yesterday, this was today, when a boy like Archibald Oxton Fitch had told her that he loved her! More than that, he had woven words into poetry, the power of which made her feel almost invincible! She was under his skin and inside his bones.
