Caught in the Act Read online

  Carol would have known her anywhere. ‘My God, you look amazing,’ Carol said, holding her at arm’s length. ‘How come you haven’t got any wrinkles?’

  ‘What can I tell you? Healthy living and a clean conscience,’ Diana said, doing a little mock twirl.

  ‘That’ll be the day. Did you manage to find us OK?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Your directions were re ally good—so some things have changed for the better. It’s re ally great to see you.’ Diana, grinning, pulled her close and hugged her tight, all the while watched over by her son, who was sitting in the back of the car, surrounded by great piles of camping gear.

  He looked about twelve, and as he clambered out of the car he appeared to be made entirely of elbows, knees and teeth. Carol guessed he was probably the spitting image of his father, all wild, wiry, hamster-coloured hair and pale creamy skin. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember his name.

  ‘This is Dylan,’ said Diana, waving him closer and digging Carol out of a hole.

  The boy solemnly held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said in a high-pitched voice totally at odds with the fact that he had to be at least six foot tall.

  ‘Nice to meet you too. My boys are upstairs. Come on in and I’ll introduce you. I hope you’re hungry,’ Carol said. ‘We’ve got loads to eat. Do you want to bring your stuff in?’

  Dylan considered for a few moments and then said, ‘Probably not. We got soaked; everything smells disgusting.’

  Carol nodded. ‘OK—well, we can find you some things if you’re stuck.’ Although probably not trousers, she thought ruefully.

  ‘So come on then,’ said Diana, grabbing a huge canvas bag and locking the car. ‘Let’s hear it all. All the goss, all the history, every last bit of juicy scandal…’

  Carol laughed. ‘You haven’t changed, have you?’

  Diana shook her head. ‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, following Carol inside.

  ‘I thought you’d be all sweetness and light.’

  ‘You’ve got a very naïve view of life as a vicar’s wife. I thought I was bad enough.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say you’ve been anywhere near bad enough, by the looks of you,’ Carol said cheerfully. ‘I bought champagne—or would you rather have tea?’

  Diana lifted an eyebrow. ‘Both. Oh, while we’re on the subject of re ally bad, I’ve brought all the old school photos with me. I think my mum bought every single one they ever took.’ She put the canvas bag down on the table and started ferreting around in it. ‘Some of them are truly dire—’

  ‘If I see one New Romantics haircut or anything involving spray-on glitter or shoulder pads, you’re out of here.’

  ‘See, I told you I’m not all good—appearances can be deceptive,’ said Diana, producing the albums with a triumphant grin, and then she paused and looked around the cosy kitchen. ‘Gosh, it’s lovely in here. I’m so hungry, and that smells wonderful.’

  Carol looked at her. ‘Gosh?’

  Diana waved the word away. ‘Sorry, too many years helping with Brownies. Took me God knows how long to wean myself of the f-word—and various b-words once Hedley was ordained—which leaves me with things like, oh gosh and, well goodness me. I only use oh God when I’m out.’

  ‘Bloody hell, not much of a choice, is it?’

  Diana shrugged as Carol took the champagne out of the fridge. ‘You have to be philosophical about it. It could be worse—we could be staunch tee-total Methodists.’

  It felt as if they had never been apart. Carol took Dylan upstairs to meet the mob, and then thumbed the cork out of the bottle of champagne and poured it while Diana sat at the table. Dressed in a cream blouse, smart navyblue skirt and jacket ensemble, sensible shoes and a haircut that made her look like a cross between a social worker and—well—a vicar’s wife, re ally, Diana looked to Carol as if she was dressing up in her mum’s clothes, or maybe an adult version of their old school uniform.

  She topped up Diana’s glass with champagne and lifted it in a toast. ‘Here’s to old friends.’

  Diana tapped the side of the glass with her own. ‘Less of the old,’ she growled.

  ‘I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I was just thinking the same on the way here. Tell me about you and what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘No, first of all tell me what it’s like being married to a vicar—every year I’ve seen it on the Christmas cards and thought who in God’s name called your husband Hedley.’

  ‘I was hoping we were going to talk about you first,’ Diana protested.

  ‘re ally?’ Carol feigned innocence until Diana shrugged and conceded defeat.

  ‘OK, but it is your turn next. Hedley’s a family name—his great-great-granddad or someone started it. It’s been passed down from generation to generation to the first-born, which has been a boy since the dawn of time the way Hedley tells it—but fortunately, thank God, our first baby turned out to be a girl.’

  ‘Oh, I remember,’ said Carol, sliding the plates onto the table. ‘You sent me a card. Pink patchwork flopsy bunnies in a basket.’

  Diana nodded. ‘That’s right. By the time we got to number four I couldn’t afford the bloody stamps, let alone find time to write the cards. Anyway, we called our eldest Abigail and then after that we had Lucy and Harriet. So when Dylan came along, as we had circumnavigated the whole first-born son thing, we agreed to give him Hedley as a second name. Although I think Hedley’s dad was a little disappointed.’

  ‘Who came up with Dylan, then?’

  Diana raised her eyebrows, but before she could reply Carol jumped in, ‘It had to be Hedley—don’t tell me he was a Magic Roundabout fan?’ almost choking with laughter on her drink.

  Diana’s expression confirmed what Carol already knew. ‘Dylan Thomas?—Not Bob Dylan?’

  ‘You are still a complete and utter cow, aren’t you?’ Diana said after a few seconds. ‘Yes, of course it was Hedley.’ She lowered her voice although the boys were upstairs playing on the computer and well out of earshot. ‘You get used to it after a while—and it could have been worse: his first choice was Ethelred.’

  ‘No?’ Carol stared at her open-mouthed. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

  Diana waved Carol’s expression away. ‘Do I look like the kind of woman who would joke about something like Ethelred? What would you have done?’

  ‘Left him,’ hissed Carol.

  Diana grinned and shook her head.

  ‘Grabbed “Dylan” with both hands?’

  Two hours, a re ally good lunch and a bottle of champagne later they were still at the table, sitting amongst the debris. The boys had gone back upstairs and Carol had broken out a bottle of Baileys.

  ‘…And the other thing is I’ve always wanted to ask a vicar—and you’re as close as I’m likely to get—did God call him? You know, like the whole voices in the head, road to Damascus thing.’

  Diana shrugged as she opened the first of the stack of photo albums. ‘Oh, bloody hell I don’t know.’

  ‘I see your swearing is coming on nicely. So, go on then—was Hedley called?’

  Diana looked her over. ‘You know, you haven’t changed at all, have you?’ she said, helping herself to a handful of After Eight mints. ‘I’ve genuinely got no idea. You can ask Hedley, if you like. He’s very keen to meet you and the boys.’

  ‘If I were married to him I would have had to have asked him by now.’

  Diana shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I re ally want to know. Hedley is so rational about everything else. How would you feel if the man in your life was doing something because the voices in his head had told him to do it?’

  Carol considered the idea and then nodded. ‘Fair point.’ She turned the conversation. ‘I can’t get over how little you’ve changed.’

  ‘You still look the same too. OK maybe a bit wrinklier, but not much—the good thing about getting older is that your eyesight goes too.’

  ‘I don’t feel any different,’ said Car
ol, topping up their glasses. ‘We just know more. Did you go into teaching? I feel kind of embarrassed that I don’t remember any of this stuff—how did we drift so far apart?’

  Diana sighed. ‘I know exactly what you mean. The time goes so quickly. Other things come and fill the gap. I taught till I had the kids and then I went back part time when Dylan started school. I don’t think I could handle full time—now, how about you?’

  ‘How long have you got?’ said Carol, taking a pull on her drink—a gesture that would have looked altogether tougher and more hard bitten and worldly if the glass didn’t have a cocktail umbrella in it and she wasn’t sipping it through an extra thick milkshake straw.

  ‘Well, we’ve got half a bottle of Baileys left—do you think that is going to be enough?’

  Carol, still sucking, shrugged. ‘Once that’s done all I’ve got left is a bottle of advocaat until Raf shows up. I suppose I could always try and make us a Snowball. Do you remember when Netty Davies made those ones with vodka as well as brandy? God, I don’t think I’ve ever been so drunk in my life. Maybe I should try and make a couple for old times’ sake?’

  ‘I told Hedley that you were a bad influence.’

  ‘For God’s sake, a bottle of champagne and two glasses of Baileys is hardly bad. Now come on, let me have a look at the photos,’ she said, settling herself down so that they were side by side.

  Diana held the album closed, tight to her chest. ‘No, not yet. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been doing it with.’ She gazed around, as if she might be able to encompass the whole of Carol’s life with a look. ‘So tell me what you’ve been up to? And who’s Raf?’

  ‘I haven’t been up to anything wildly exciting,’ said Carol dismissively, trying to make a grab for the album, but Diana was way too quick for her.

  ‘OK, so you’re still nosy but defensive. How about we start with the easy questions? What do you do? Do you work?’

  ‘Good God, yes, I’ve got my own company. We design, build and maintain gardens. They did a double-page spread on us in the Mail on Sunday last year.’

  ‘See, that didn’t hurt, now did it? Garden design? Very trendy,’ said Diana appreciatively, her speech very slightly slurred now.

  ‘Not when I first started doing it, it wasn’t, and we’re not re ally at the trendy end of the market. I’ve got commercial greenhouses and a team of gardeners who do maintenance for the council now that the work is all out to tender. We do some private gardens, but mostly it’s lots of corporate stuff. It’s—er…’

  ‘Trendy?’

  Carol laughed. ‘I was going to say bloody hard work but I suppose trendy will cover some of it, if you insist. And I love it.’

  ‘You’re not telling me you do the digging with those fingernails?’

  Carol looked at her hands. ‘I did once upon a time and I still can. I just wear gloves. The practical side isn’t exactly rocket science, just good old-fashioned hard work but it’s great and I love the creative side of it—seeing the projects come together and get more beautiful over time. I’ll show you the garden later—it’s my other baby. It wasn’t quite where I saw myself ending up, but then again how many of us do do what we planned? I wanted to do something creative but I didn’t re ally know what.’ Carol held up her hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘Life has a way of taking you out on your blind side.’

  ‘Married, are you?

  ‘I’ll give you your due, Diana, straight to the heart of the matter, no messing,’ said Carol, miming an arrow flight.

  ‘Years of practice, a class of twenty-nine under-fives demands nerves of steel and a single-mindedness you can only dream of. So, are you married? You were married, weren’t you?’

  ‘Once upon a time, in a universe far far away.’

  Diana’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘So you’re not married to Raf? You know, this is so bad. At one time we used to know what the other one was thinking; can you remember we used to end up buying the same things?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Carol laughed. ‘Even when we didn’t go shopping together.’

  ‘Remember when we turned up at the fifth-form school disco—’

  ‘Oh God, yes—in those dresses. The blue ones with ribbons?’

  ‘The same dresses.’

  ‘And those awful sandals—the dress I could understand but the shoes…Bloody hell.’

  They laughed and then there was a moment’s pause, a second of reflection when Carol sensed how much had happened since the blue dresses with ribbons and how much they had missed of each other’s life.

  ‘Weren’t you married to—what was his name? I can’t remember why I didn’t come to your wedding,’ said Diana.

  ‘Probably because I didn’t invite you—or anyone else, come to that. We got the cleaner and a woman working in the office to be witnesses. I was very pregnant and—’

  ‘I kept thinking that I re ally ought to ring when whats-his-name didn’t feature on the Christmas cards any more,’ Diana interrupted, her face folded into a concertina of concentration; but then Diana had always been a world famous face puller. It was nice to see that marrying a vicar hadn’t got in the way of her gurning. ‘Oh, come on, you’re enjoying this,’ she said crossly. ‘What the hell was his name? I’m trying hard over here; help me out.’

  ‘What, when it’s so much fun seeing you struggle? Let me have a look at the photos while you’re thinking about it.’

  Diana snatched the album back. ‘Jack,’ she said with glee. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes. Very good. Now give them here, like a good girl.’

  Diana held the photos away from her. She always had had bloody long arms. It was very tempting to jump on her, at which point Carol had to remind herself that they weren’t thirteen any more.

  ‘Jack French. I remember now—and he was a gardener too? Right?’ said Diana with delight.

  Carol slumped back onto the chair, admitting defeat, and nodded. ‘Occasionally, when he wasn’t trying to drink himself to death, screw the YTS girls or lie about how much money we owed. Fortunately, I’m divorced now. By contrast, life since Jack is wonderful, peaceful—pure bliss.’ Her voice lifted to emphasise the sheer joy of it.

  Diana was watching her face. ‘And did God call you—you know, like the whole voices in the head, road to Damascus thing?’

  Carol grinned; Diana was still sharp as glass.

  ‘You still got the wart?’

  Diana nodded vigorously. ‘Of course I’ve got the wart, it goes without saying. Actually I was thinking about bringing it with me. It’s in my earring box, preserved for posterity in cling film and talc.’

  ‘Maybe we ought to get something a little more salubrious for it. A reliquary; you should be up on that kind of stuff: an ornate ebony casket for the toenail of St Kevin the Just.’

  ‘Wrong mob; we’re Low Church, less incense and stained glass, more jumble sales and cheery gatherings around the kitchen table, and besides, my jewellery box is salubrious. Hedley gave it to me as a wedding present. It’s rosewood, I think. Belonged to his mother.’ There was a long slow silence and then Diana said, her expression softening, ‘You know, it’s so good to see you again. I thought you might have gone and grown up. It’s been hard maintaining the whole born-to-boogie ethos all on your own.’

  Carol snorted. ‘Born to boogie? When were either of us ever born to boogie, Di? You’re a vicar’s wife, for God’s sake.’

  Diana laughed and finally handed Carol the photo album. ‘But I wasn’t always a vicar’s wife, was I?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Do you still play cards?’

  Diana reddened. ‘Not for money. Hedley asked me to stop after I cleaned up at his preordination party.’

  Carol giggled. ‘Nine-card brag, poker. It was like going around with the Maverick. I remember you used to cut a deck with one hand.’

  ‘Oh, I can still do that,’ Diana said casually. ‘I’ve won enough matches at our annual Christmas whist drive to bur
n down half Europe.’

  Carol smiled. ‘OK, well maybe things aren’t as bad as they look.’ She opened the first album.

  The photograph was a long shot of the entire school taken the first year that she and Diana had gone up from primary school, when they had first found each other and Netty and Jan—three witches and Lady Macbeth in waiting. The picture was taken on the neatly manicured lawn outside the main school entrance, by the pond. Unexpectedly Carol found a lump in her throat. Bloody hell, was this what happened when you got old? Neat nostalgia.

  She swallowed down hard as Diana said, ‘I got them out of the loft when I joined Oldschooltie—just for old times’ sake. I wonder how everyone is now.’

  ‘Look at these,’ said Carol, peering at the rows of faces. ‘God, I haven’t thought about her—oh, look, Mrs Devine, the PE teacher—and Mr Bailey.’

  ‘I was thinking on the drive over here—it would be great to see everyone again. What about if we tried to organise a reunion? I mean how hard can it be? People do it all the time. It would be great.’

  Carol, halfway through a mouthful of Baileys, spluttered. ‘Are you sure great’s the word you’re looking for, Diana? I can understand what you mean but it would be loads of work and not everyone grew up to be a vicar, you know. What about Sandy Lewis? You remember?’

  ‘Who could forget?’

  ‘Potential axe-murdering psychopath if ever I met one. Do you remember when he burned the cricket pavilion down? Caught red-handed, petrol can, matches, swore blind he hadn’t done it.’

  ‘He probably won’t come. I doubt they can get Oldschooltie.com in Broadmoor; and besides, he’s an extreme example and you know it.’

  ‘How about Harry Longman? Put away for fraud? Kate Lynwood, shoplifting and passing dud cheques…’ She pointed out the faces in the picture.

  ‘All right—don’t be so negative, so not everyone turned out a saint,’ said Diana, ‘but they’re not all nutters and conmen either. I was thinking school reunion here, not Britain’s most wanted. Once I started seeing all those names on the register at Oldschooltie curiosity got the better of me. And then I fished out the photos—and since then I keep wondering what they’re all up to, what they look like, how they’re all doing.’