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‘It’s very quiet. Have the children run away?’ asked Charlie, as she filled the kettle.
‘Last time I looked they were trying to put clothes on Wriggly for a fashion show.’
‘Not again! Ted, can you stop them, please? Last time he went outside wearing a teddy bear’s Arsenal kit he peed all over it. See if you can interest them in playing something outside with Uncle Felix.’
‘I can try,’ said Ted as he stood up and shrugged at Felix.
‘Best thing to happen to an Arsenal kit,’ chuckled Felix.
‘Arsenal fan,’ said Ted, pointing at Charlie, and he idly swatted at a fly as it flew past.
‘Argh!’ shouted Charlie as the fly flew near her face. She grabbed a tea towel and started wildly thrashing it around her head. ‘Did I get it?’
‘No, it’s gone out of the window. Thank goodness it wasn’t a spider!’ Felix laughed.
‘Spiders I can cope with,’ said Charlie, shuddering as she shut the window. ‘Tea?’
‘Coffee please.’
Felix stood awkwardly by the table, and when the silence got too much he got a yo-yo out of his pocket and started to expertly spin it. Charlie raised her eyebrows but didn’t want to show him that she was impressed with his yo-yo skills, as it didn’t exactly automatically qualify him as a capable guardian.
‘Where do you live now?’ asked Charlie as she passed Felix his coffee and he flicked up the yo-yo and returned it to his pocket.
‘Oh, I’m staying in a hotel for a bit while I’m here. I can give you the details if you like.’
The fact that he had sidestepped the question did not go unnoticed. ‘No, it’s okay. Where’s home?’
‘I’m a bit… nomadic. How’s the job-hunting going?’
‘What the …’ Charlie was wrong-footed by the question and the sound of the tribe hurtling down the stairs thankfully drowned out her other words. Led by Ted the children all ignored Felix and ran shouting and hollering into the garden. Felix stared open-mouthed after them.
‘Are they always like that?’
‘They’re children; it’s what children do. Sure they’re playing up a bit to their new audience, that’s you by the way, but it’s to be expected. What do you mean job-hunting?’
‘I thought…’
‘You thought wrong. Have you met with Ruth yet?’
Felix’s attention was now outside as he saw the shady figures darting in different directions. ‘Yeah, we’re trying to work something out.’
Charlie was getting increasingly frustrated with everyone’s lack of communication. ‘Who is going to talk to the children about that? Don’t you think they should be included in any big decisions?’
Felix briefly looked away from the window. ‘No, not really. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of choices.’
‘Ruth or you, is that it?’ She couldn’t help but think, ‘The devil and the deep-blue eyed…’ But her thoughts abruptly trailed off and he was speaking again.
‘Ruth is keen to be the trustee but I’d like her to do a bit more than just look after the finances.’
‘Good luck trying to persuade Ruth,’ laughed Charlie and Felix turned to stare at her.
‘I can be very persuasive,’ he said with a beaming smile. It was the first time Charlie had seen him look happy. His previous frowns couldn’t exactly make him look ugly, but a smile like that lit up his whole face.
The noise from the garden reached a crescendo.
‘Do you not think you should check on them?’ asked Felix, straining to look out of the window, but with the garden raised higher than the kitchen it was hard to see.
Charlie could feel the annoyance rising within her. ‘They’re fine.’
‘I think someone should go and take a look.’
‘Be my guest,’ said Charlie, leaning back against the worktop and mentally rearranging her ‘Kipper List’.
He glared at her, roughly put down his coffee mug and walked outside and up the steps to the garden.
Charlie smiled to herself, sipped her coffee and waited. There was a brief pause in the noise before the screaming erupted again. Charlie got the kitchen roll out of the cupboard and picked up a damp cloth. She counted to three and, right on cue, Felix stumbled down the steps and tumbled into the kitchen as mud pellets showered down on him. He quickly shut the door behind him and leant against it like a scene from the Wild West as a banshee-like Millie hurled a large mud pie at the doors, hitting the glass with a tremendous thump, making Felix jump and turn round. Millie stuck out her tongue at Felix and stomped back up to the garden, where the rest of the tribe were whooping in celebration.
Felix took a deep breath and turned to face Charlie. Mud dripped from his once blonde hair and trickled off his chin. ‘They’re feral!’
Charlie couldn’t contain her grin any longer. ‘They’re great, aren’t they?’ she said handing him the cloth and kitchen roll.
Felix looked decidedly rattled as he wiped himself down. ‘Was that some elaborate initiation ceremony?’
Charlie thought for a moment. ‘They hosed me down when I first came. So, yeah, I guess it’s their way of welcoming you.’
‘Ruth said they were out of control but I hadn’t realised it was this bad.’
Charlie felt a flash of anger rampage over her. ‘Children are not meant to be CONTROLLED, especially not kids that have had their world turned arse-up!’
Felix shook his head and a lump of mud plopped onto the floor. ‘They could kill each other,’ he said, snatching some kitchen roll and smearing the mud into his once-white rugby shirt. Charlie’s temper hitched up a notch.
‘You’re such a drama queen! They’re only playing. Have a sense of humour, will you? Nobody’s going to get killed by mud.’
Felix looked even more irritated as he appeared to realise the uselessness of his rubbing. ‘Have you any idea how much bacteria is probably in this?’ he said, showing her the muddied kitchen roll.
‘Nope, but seeing as they play in it a lot, I’m guessing they must be immune. I do hope you don’t catch anything deadly,’ she said with a smirk.
Felix glared at her. ‘I need a shower.’
‘You can’t have one here,’ Charlie said, without thinking. After all, it was his brother’s house, he had every right to use the facilities, but right now this was Charlie’s territory and he was the invader.
Colour rose in Felix’s cheeks and he screwed up the used kitchen roll and threw it, with force, into the bin, making the muscles under his rugby shirt show up. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said as he headed for the front door, leaving a trail of muddy footprints. Charlie threw an imaginary kipper at the back of his head.
Chapter Four (#ulink_530999ac-7b04-57e7-90d1-f26b9e76524b)
Charlie was feeling a little sweaty as she walked out of Green Park tube station and into the warm summer sunshine. She walked along Piccadilly, trying to flap air up her t-shirt to cool herself down. It was the first time Charlie had left all of the children since their parents had died and thoughts of how they were getting on filled her head.
She thought about the first time she had been here with Helen Cobley. All the years she’d lived in and around London she’d never seen the Ritz Hotel or encountered the wonders of Fortnum and Mason’s food hall or the delights of the small exclusive shops in the Burlington Arcade. She made a last-minute decision to go to Ladurée and treat the children to macarons before she met up with Fleur. The Burlington Arcade was barely out of her way and the bizarre little shop swathed in molten gold never failed to make Charlie smile – and she needed to smile right now.
With her treasure of macarons swinging gently at her side, Charlie walked down Old Bond Street and quickened her pace when she spotted Fleur pacing up and down outside the exclusive bridal shop. Fleur’s parents were super-wealthy thanks to her mother’s family money and her father’s very successful business, so this wedding was going to be the no-expense-spared variety. Charlie gave a friendly wave and Fleur stamped her foot and beckoned her closer, like a New York policewoman directing traffic.
‘You’re late, Charlie!’
Charlie glanced at her watch. ‘Three minutes!’
‘They don’t like it when you’re late,’ said Fleur, turning her back on Charlie and leading the way under the scalloped canopy and inside.
‘They don’t like me, whatever time I’m here,’ mumbled Charlie as the door triggered a disturbingly elongated buzzing noise to announce their arrival.
An overly made-up young woman appeared instantly. ‘Good Morning, Miss Van Benton, final fitting for the last of the bridesmaids,’ she said, her eyes flicking to the clock.
‘Yes, I’m sorry we’re late,’ said Fleur, with an involuntary nod towards Charlie. ‘Three minutes!’ mouthed Charlie. It seemed a funny little shop to Charlie; three wedding dresses were displayed on one wall, next to a giant arched mirror. Cream high-backed chairs, a matching chaise longue and low glass tables were strewn with designer brochures but still failed to make the place look welcoming.
‘I understand,’ said the shop assistant briskly. ‘Shall we get along?’
Charlie followed them out of the sparse room, through a narrow corridor and into a fitting room decorated like a French palace. Charlie went to place her Ladurée bag on the chaise longue, this time in a shade of deep purple, but the glare of the shop assistant made her think better of it, so at the last second relegated it to a place on the floor. The shop assistant, who Charlie remembered was called Amber, proceeded to undo probably the longest zip in the world. Charlie followed it all the way to the top of the specialist dress carrier. Instantly the insipid flesh-coloured dress poured out like something out of a horror film. It was a colour that Fleur had spent the last two months insisting was ‘peaches and cream’. Charlie swallowed hard, trying to dispel the terror she knew was written all over her face and quickly checked that Fleur wasn’t watching her. It was worse than she’d remembered.
Fleur was clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Isn’t it simply divine?’ she said, stepping closer to it and slowly reaching out a tentative hand to touch it. Charlie couldn’t be less impressed if she tried but this was Fleur’s special day and she wanted it to be perfect for her. But this dress was pushing their long friendship to the limits.
‘It’s…’ Charlie frantically searched her tired brain for the right word and settled on the closest she could find, ‘special,’ she said.
‘Oh, you’re right. It is. Isn’t it?’ this time Fleur turned to Amber, who had now unleashed the full awfulness of the dress. Amber nodded earnestly and Charlie rolled her eyes and wondered how much you had to be paid to be that convincing to deluded strangers.
‘Do you need help getting dressed?’ offered Amber.
‘No thanks, I’ve managed all right for twenty-odd years, I think I’ll be okay,’ Charlie was aware of the dagger glances Fleur was hurling in her direction, so she quickly added, ‘but that was really kind of you to offer. Thank you.’
Amber studied Charlie’s trainers. ‘I’ll bring you some suitable heels to try on with it. That way you get the full effect,’ said Amber. ‘What size?’
‘Eight and half,’ said Charlie, but quickly altered it as a result of the look of revulsion on Amber’s face, ‘Eight is fine. Thanks.’ Amber gave a practised neutral smile and left the room.
Charlie was very pleased with herself as she had remembered to wear her best matching underwear in a soft cream. This was a big improvement on her slightly grey sports bra and her red Mickey Mouse pants that she had worn to the first fitting without having properly thought it through.
‘Before I forget, here’s your hair piece for the wedding,’ Fleur said, handing her a cord-strung bag.
‘Right. Why do I need that again?’ asked Charlie, running a hand through her mass of dark hair.
‘We’re all having seriously big up–dos, so you’ll need it. Trust me,’ said Fleur with a giggle. Charlie peered into the bag and eyed what looked like something that had been run over many times.
‘Great,’ said Charlie, using up the last of her fake enthusiasm.
Fleur hopped about excitedly while Charlie turned herself into the sugar puke fairy. Charlie stared forlornly at herself in the giant mirror. It was difficult to tell where the dress ended and where Charlie started. The only bit that obviously wasn’t Charlie was the obscene number of layers in the skirt. If it got too much on the day she could always smuggle all four of the children out underneath it, she thought.
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Fleur.
How fabulous you will look compared to me in this, I look like a negative of Barbie, but what she actually said was, ‘How lovely we’ll all look.’
‘You should have seen Tilly in hers. She looked totally stunning. I’m not standing too close to her!’ squealed Fleur.
Tilly was another of Fleur’s bridesmaids and her best friend from the very posh private school they had both attended. Tilly had an olive complexion and neat straight caramel hair so stood a fighting chance in the dress, unlike Charlie with her pale skin and mop of unruly black curls – she looked beyond anaemic in the dress.
Amber announced her presence and came back in. She handed Charlie some sling-back pinpoint high heels for her to balance on and proceeded to stalk around her like a wolf surveying its prey. ‘Have you lost weight?’ she asked with a disbelieving look.
‘Might have done. Don’t know. I don’t weigh myself regularly.’ Come to think of it, Charlie had noticed that she’d had to do up the belt on her jeans another notch. Amber fussed around the waist and shoulders and tutted to herself. She grabbed a handful of dress at the back and nearly pulled Charlie off the silly little pin heels.
‘Steady on!’ said Charlie, resisting the urge to clout Amber.
‘Sorry. But look at this, it’s all excess,’ she indicated the mass of material in her fist.
‘You really should have let us know if you were dieting. This will have to be altered.’ Charlie started to protest, but Fleur was already wincing with embarrassment so she stopped and shrugged instead. At a guess the stress of everything must have impacted her weight.
‘Can you do it in time for the wedding?’ asked Fleur in a small voice and Charlie instantly felt for her. This wedding mattered so much to her. Charlie couldn’t imagine getting that caught up in something. It wasn’t healthy, but she sympathised with Fleur all the same. Amber was sucking in air though her teeth like a car mechanic shortly before they tell you that your car is terminally ill.
‘We’ll do our best, but it is a very busy time of year.’
‘We need to know a definite yes or no,’ said Charlie firmly.
‘I should think so,’ offered Amber, but seeing the glint in Charlie’s eye she added, ‘Yes. Of course Miss Van Benton, we won’t let you down.’
Fleur started to breathe properly again. Amber fussed some more and used the thinly veiled excuse of marking where alterations were needed, to stick pins in Charlie. When she’d finished she gave Charlie a last once-over. ‘I take it you’ll be getting rid of those t-shirt tan lines with a spray tan? Otherwise it will detract from the dress.’
It was all Charlie could do not to batter her with the Ladurée macarons, but they simply weren’t heavy enough to do a proper job.
‘I bought macarons,’ said Charlie, placing the bag on the table and suddenly commanding the full attention of every child. The children oohed and aahed as they opened the large box and studied the intensely coloured contents. Ted grabbed a pistachio green macaroon, stuffed it in whole and slid off the sofa. He gave Charlie a nudge and she followed him out of the room and downstairs into the kitchen.
Ted slumped against the wall and casually crossed his legs. He glanced at Charlie through his fringe. I must take these children to a hairdresser, she thought.
‘Thought you should know that Elle was crying again,’ said Ted, his voice flat.
‘Right, what did you do?’
He shrugged. ‘Just hugged her and fed her ice-cream.’
‘Good call,’ said Charlie with a smile.
‘And Granddad Roger rang and someone called Jonathan too, but he mumbled a lot.’
‘Right, thanks,’ said Charlie, as a thought struck her. Perhaps Roger could be the guardian? He was family and, unlike Ruth, he liked Charlie. Perhaps Roger was the answer to their problems and she started to think about how she could broach this with him, the solicitors and Social Services.
A bundle of screams came flying down the stairs with Wriggly in the lead. He appeared to be wearing a pink tutu and he was carrying something black and hairy in his mouth. Charlie’s first thought was that it was a rat, but she quickly dismissed it as she’d never seen a longhaired rat and Wriggly simply wasn’t that brave. That stupid, perhaps, but certainly not that brave. As he came past Charlie’s feet she grabbed him and he went into wriggle overdrive.
‘Charlie we couldn’t stop him, honest,’ said Eleanor breathlessly.
‘What is it?’ said Charlie, trying to part Wriggly from the mass of black. ‘It’s my hair piece for the wedding!’ she said, as realisation dawned and she gave one more tug to free most of it from Wriggly’s jaw. He started frantically trying to spit out the stray pieces that had been left behind. Charlie put the dog down and surveyed the hairpiece. It was now a ball of knotted hair.
‘Oh God, I’ll look like a budget Amy Winehouse impersonator!’
‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!’ chanted Millie happily.
