Jenna sent her mum a text that morning. When was it that we went to the Lake District?
A moment later a reply came. Summer holidays, about five years ago. You were ten. Why?
Nothing. Just couldn’t remember.
Did you water the cactus by the back path? It’s not rained and they’re damp?
No. And it has rained. The day before yesterday. Remember?
They feel damper than they should. They feel freshly watered.
Why would someone water our cacti?
Exactly! I know! It’s so crazy! These people! What will they think of next!
‘Who are you texting?’ said Bess.
‘Mum.’
‘Ah,’ Bess said, nodding with gentle understanding. ‘She OK?’
‘Freaking out about someone watering the cactus.’
Bess shrugged and sighed. ‘Your poor mum,’ she said.
Bess was the only person apart from Dad and Ethan who knew the truth about Jenna’s mum. Being Bess she had no idea what to say or do about it. But that was fine. At least Jenna could be open with her without fear of judgement or consequence.
She opened up Chrome on her phone and typed in Lake District 2011 Tom Fitzwilliam. All that came up was article after article about Mr Fitzwilliam’s illustrious career: the schools he’d been parachuted into, the changes he’d wrought, the miracles he’d delivered. There were numerous photos of him outside numerous school gates looking masterful and imposing. But there was nothing related to him being in the Lake District five and a half years earlier.
‘Aah!’ said Bess, leaning over and peering at the screen of Jenna’s phone. ‘Is the old Mr Fitzwilliam magic starting to rub off on you too by any chance?’
Jenna pulled her phone away from Bess’s gaze. ‘Fuck off,’ she said, appalled. ‘No! I just remembered something about him. He was on a coach trip with me once, when I was small. And something happened. And I was just wondering about it. That’s all.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Bess stroked her chin sceptically. ‘Right.’
‘Christ, Bess. I do not fancy Mr Fitzwilliam, all right? I think Mr Fitzwilliam is fucking gross.’
‘Hmmmm.’
‘And what was going on last night with you, anyway? What were you doing in the lads’ room?’
‘I wasn’t in the lads’ room,’ Bess replied with a superior tilt of her chin.
‘What?’
‘Well, I mean, I was in the lads’ room to start with and Mr Fitzwilliam did find me hiding under the bed but then we just sort of chatted for a while.’
Jenna sat up straight and stared at her friend incredulously. ‘Chatted for a while?’
‘Yeah. Just like on a sofa, on the landing.’
‘I don’t understand. What were you doing chatting on a sofa on the landing?’
‘I dunno. He started asking me about how I was enjoying my first time out of the country and then we walked past this sofa and we both just sort of sat down. And chatted.’
‘What were you chatting about?’
‘Just stuff. All the countries he’s been to, countries he thought I’d enjoy. He told me about his gap year and going inter-railing with his mates – we should totally do that by the way – and I don’t know, just things like that.’
‘How long were you chatting for? On the landing?’
‘Ten minutes or so. And then he was like, Oh shit, look at the time, we need to get you back to your room before Miss Mangan finds you out of your room.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me last night?’
Bess shrugged. ‘You didn’t ask. You were all just like I’m going to sleep now and huffy.’
‘I was not huffy.’
‘Yeah you were.’
‘I so wasn’t! I was just tired. Been up since bloody five in the morning.’ Jenna glanced at her friend. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?’ she said. ‘Him doing that?’
‘Doing what? Talking to me? Why’s that strange?’
‘I dunno. He’s, like, fifty; you’re fifteen. It was bedtime. He should have just brought you straight back. It’s fucking weird.’
‘Are you a bit jealous by any chance, Jenna Tripp?’
‘Fuck off!’ Jenna picked up a cushion and shoved it at Bess. Bess laughed and bashed it back towards her. Then there was the terrible sound of a smartphone hitting a tiled floor and they both stiffened and looked at each other before peering over the edge of the bed.
Jenna leaned down to pick up her phone and held it to the light to check for damage. ‘Bollocks,’ she said, ‘bollocks.’ There was a chip in the corner of the screen. She fingered the chip gently. She’d only had the phone a few weeks.
Bess looked at her and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Then Jenna thought of tiny Bess sitting on sofa on a landing with Mr Fitzwilliam chatting about his childhood holidays and she felt a terrible stab of concern. Her beautiful, hopeless, vulnerable friend.
‘That’s OK,’ she said, pulling Bess towards her for a hug, smelling the familiar tang of her scalp through her soft blond hair. ‘It’s only a phone.’
That night after dinner Jenna made sure she stayed close to Bess. Lottie, Ruby and Tiana came to their room and they mucked around on Snapchat and made prank calls to the boys and laughed like they might die of it until 11.15 p.m. when the other three dutifully made their way back to their bedroom on the floor above. Jenna could hear Miss Mangan coming down the corridor, the clicks and whispers of her visits to other rooms. She changed into her pyjamas and brushed her teeth, removed her make-up and squeezed a spot. As Bess slipped into the bathroom after her she heard a gentle rap at the door. She pulled it open expecting to see the pinched, anxious face of Miss Mangan. Instead she was confronted with the looming presence of Mr Fitzwilliam.
She folded her arms across her chest, aware of the fact that she was braless under her vest top. ‘Oh.’
‘Good evening, Jenna. Just thought I’d better check in on Bess. I didn’t find her hiding under any beds on the boys’ floor so I’m just making sure she’s with you?’
‘She is,’ she replied. ‘She’s in the bathroom.’
Mr Fitzwilliam looked at the bathroom door and then back at Jenna. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Totally. She’s getting ready for bed. She’s been in here all night with me.’
‘Bess!’
Jenna jumped slightly at the sound of Mr Fitzwilliam calling over her shoulder.
‘Hm?’ came a muffled reply.
Mr Fitzwilliam smiled down at Jenna as though he had been somehow vindicated. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’ And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him just as Bess emerged from the bathroom, her toothbrush clenched between her teeth and a towel wrapped around her body. ‘Washat Mishter Fitshwillum?’ she asked through her toothbrush, her eyes wide.
‘Yeah. Checking up on you. He’s gone now.’
Bess pouted and went back in the bathroom to spit out her toothpaste and returned a moment later, smiling. ‘See,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he just the sweetest, loveliest man in the world. Isn’t he, like, everything?’
