Day.’
‘But I thought you were Jewish,’ said Rose to Sophie.
‘We have always done Christmas,’ said Sophie. ‘When Daddy was alive …’ She went silent, biting her lips, her eyes filling.
‘And Sylvia here is going with Julia to Julia’s friend,’ said Andrew.
‘And I,’ said Frances, ‘propose to ignore Christmas altogether.’
‘But, Frances,’ said Sophie, ‘that’s awful, you can’t.’
‘Not awful. Wonderful,’ said Frances. ‘And now, Geoffrey, don’t you think you should go home for Christmas? You really should, you know.’
Geoffrey’s polite face, ever attentive to what might be expected of him, smiled agreement. ‘Yes, Frances. I know. You are right. I will go home. And my grandmother is dying,’ he added, in the same tone.
‘Then, I’ll go home too,’ said Daniel. His red hair flamed, and his face went even redder, as he said, ‘I’ll come and visit you, then.’
‘As you like,’ said Geoffrey revealing by this ungraciousness that perhaps he had been looking forward to a Daniel-free hols.
‘James,’ said Frances, ‘please go home.’
‘Are you throwing me out?’ he said, good-humouredly. ‘I don’t blame you. Have I outstayed my welcome?’
‘For now, yes,’ said Frances, who was by nature unable to throw anyone out permanently. ‘But what about school, James? Aren’t you going to finish school?’
‘Of course he is,’ said Andrew, revealing that admonitions must have occurred. His four years seniority gave him the right. ‘It’s ridiculous, James,’ he went on, talking direct to James. ‘You’ve only got a year to go to A-levels. It won’t kill you.’
‘You don’t know my school,’ said James, but desperation had entered the equation. ‘If you did …’
‘Anyone can suffer for a year,’ said Andrew. ‘Or even three. Or four,’ he said, glancing guiltily at his mother: he was making revelations.
‘Okay,’ said James. ‘I will. But …’ and here he looked at Frances, ‘without the liberating airs of Frances’s house I don’t think I could survive.’
‘You can visit,’ said Frances. ‘There’s always weekends.’
There were left now Rose and the dark horse Jill, the always well-brushed, well-washed, polite, blonde girl, who hardly ever spoke, but listened, how she did listen.
‘I’m not going home,’ said Rose. ‘I won’t go.’
Frances said, ‘You do realise that your parents could sue me for alienating your affections – well, that kind of thing.’
‘They don’t care about me,’ declared Rose. ‘They don’t give a fuck.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Andrew. ‘You may not like them but they certainly care about you. They wrote to me. They seem to think I am a good influence.’
‘That’s a joke,’ said Rose.
The hinterlands behind this tiny exchange were acknowledged as glances were exchanged among the others.
‘I said I am not going,’ said Rose. She was darting trapped glances around at them all: they might have been her enemies.
‘Listen, Rose,’ said Frances, with the intention of keeping her dislike of the girl out of her voice, ‘Liberty Hall is closing down over Christmas.’ She had not specified for how long.
‘I can stay in the basement flat, can’t I? I won’t be in the way.’
‘And how are you going to …’ but Frances stopped.
Andrew had an allowance and he had been giving money to Rose. ‘She could claim that I treated her badly,’ said Andrew. ‘Well, she does complain, she tells everyone how I wronged her. Like the wicked squire and the milkmaid. The trouble was, she was all for me, but I wasn’t for her.’ Frances had thought, Or all for the glamorous Eton boy and his connections? Andrew had said, ‘I think that coming here was what did it. It was such a revelation to her. It’s a pretty limited set-up – her parents are very nice …’
‘And are you – and Julia – going to keep her indefinitely?’
‘No,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ve said, enough. After all, she’s done very well out of a kiss or two in the moonlight. ‘
But now they were faced with a guest who would not leave.
Rose looked as if she were being threatened with imprisonment, with torture. An animal in a too small cage could look like that, glaring out, glaring around.
It was all out of proportion, ridiculous … Frances persisted, though the girl’s violence was making her own heart beat, ‘Rose, just go home for Christmas, that’s all. Just do that. They must be worried sick about you. And you have to talk to them about school …’ At this Rose exploded up out of the chair, and said, ‘Oh, shit, it just needed that …’ and she ran out of the room, howling, tears scattering. They listened to her thud down the stairs to the basement flat.
‘Well,’ said Geoffrey gracefully, ‘what a carry-on.’
Sylvia said, ‘But her school must be horrible if she hates it so much.’ She had agreed to go back to school, while she lived here, ‘with Julia,’ as she put it. And she had said yes, she would stick it out and study to be a doctor.
What was burning Rose up, consuming her with the acid of envy, was that Sylvia – ‘And she isn’t even related, she’s just Johnny’s stepchild’ – was in this house, as a right, and that Julia was paying for her. It seemed Rose believed that justice would make Julia pay for her, Rose, to go to a progressive school, and keep her here for as long as she liked.
Colin had said to her, ‘Do you think my grandmother’s made of money? It’s a lot for her to take on Sylvia. She’s already paying for me and for Andrew.’
‘It isn’t fair,’ had been Rose’s answer. ‘I don’t see why she should have everything.’
There now remained Jill, who had not said a word. Finding them all looking at her, she said, ‘I’m not going home. But I’ll go to my cousin in Exeter for Christmas.’
Next morning Frances found Jill in the kitchen, boiling a kettle for tea. Since there was plenty of everything in the basement kitchen, this might mean Jill had hoped for a chat.
‘Let’s sit down and have tea,’ said Frances, and sat down.
Jill joined her, at the end of the table. This was obviously not going to be like an encounter with Rose. The girl was watching Frances, not with hostility, but was sad, serious, and sat holding her arms around herself, as if she were cold.
Frances said, ‘Jill, you do see that I am in an impossible position with your parents.’
The
