Chapter Nine
April had to admit
it, there were times when she could have strangled her mother, and
shopping this Saturday was one of them. She had lost count of the
occasions she had closed her eyes and imagined Silvia stepping into
an open lift shaft or walking out in front of a speeding truck. She
wasn’t proud of having such thoughts, but then she figured it
didn’t make her a homicidal maniac, just a normal teenager.
Not that you could be a normal teenager with
parents like mine, she thought as she watched her mother
mixing with the Saturday shoppers on the ground floor of
Selfridges. One parent had never outgrown Scooby Doo and spent all
his spare time chasing UFOs and zombies; the other had never
outgrown Barbie and spent all her time trying to have the best
outfit/car/princess/castle.
‘Oh, now this is just fabulous,’ said Silvia, holding up a
huge turquoise confection with puff sleeves and a silver net
overskirt.
‘Mum, I’m not five. I
don’t want to look like the Little Mermaid. And the dress code is
black.’
‘But it’s Moschino,
darling. Cheap and chic?’
April shook her head
firmly. ‘I want a classic little black dress, nothing too showy. I
want to look nice, not weird.’
‘But it’s the only
label I can find here,’ said Silvia, looking around with distaste.
‘Can’t we go up to the designer floor?’
‘No, Mum,’ said
April. ‘We can’t afford designer dresses any more,
remember?’
Silvia sighed. ‘Don’t
remind me,’ she muttered. She picked up a pink miniskirt, looking
over at April hopefully, but April pulled a face.
‘Black, Mother.’
Silvia sighed again.
‘But black is so unflattering on your complexion,
darling.’
‘Mum. It’s a
Halloween party, remember? Witches and vampires?’
‘Your father’s
favourite time of year.’ Silvia reluctantly resumed her search.
‘Ah, now I think this fits your somewhat limited requirements. And
it’s on sale too.’
She pulled a dress
from the rack with a flourish. It was black, shimmery and looked
very expensive.
‘Okay, I’ll try it
on,’ said April in a sulky voice, but she could already tell that
it was going to be perfect. Looking in the changing room mirror
minutes later, she could see her mother had chosen well; it was a
classic little black dress - fashionable, not frumpy and not too
revealing, stopping just above the knee, but still sexy. She had to
admit, with her hair up and some gothy make-up, she would look
sensational. Her mother had come up trumps. Not that she was going
to admit that to her.
‘Oh yes,’ said
Silvia, peeking around the curtain. ‘The boys will be queuing
up.’
‘Mum!’ protested
April, but Silvia just chuckled.
‘Right, Ms
Conservative,’ she said, grabbing April’s hand. ‘Let’s see if we
can spice this up with some drop-dead heels.’
Laden down with bags,
April struggled into the taxi.
‘I don’t see why we
had to get a cab,’ she grumbled as she flopped into the seat. ‘It’s
only a two-minute walk to the Tube.’ She had no particular desire
to fight through the crowds with her shopping, especially as it was
beginning to rain, but it annoyed her the way her mother casually
wasted money when her father was obviously struggling to make ends
meet.
‘Well, my feet are
killing me,’ said Silvia, as the cab slipped into rush-hour
traffic. She pulled off a shoe and rubbed her toes, sighing
dramatically. ‘Besides,’ she added, with a sideways glance, ‘I
wanted to talk to you before we get there.’
April rolled her
eyes. Not the ‘don’t take drugs, don’t get pregnant’ lecture again;
she had to put up with it every time she went to a party or out on
a date. Not that that happened very
often. It was bad enough that she had to hear words like ‘condoms’
and ‘spliffs’ coming from her mother’s mouth - especially
considering Silvia behaved like a sulky teenager herself most of
the time - but today’s timing was particularly bad. To her
surprise, April had enjoyed having a day out with her mother and
she didn’t want any misplaced ‘counselling’ ruining their bonding
session. They had gone to Nails Inc. for pedicures and manicures,
then to Carluccios for lunch - April loved their wild-mushroom
risotto more than anything - and then on a mammoth shopping spree
from Marble Arch to Piccadilly. Most of all, though, April had
loved seeing her mother back to her old fun-loving
caution-to-the-wind self. Their time in Edinburgh had made her
spiky and moody, but back in the capital she seemed to come to life
again. So one of Silvia’s toe-curling ‘advice’ sessions was the
last thing she needed right now, especially after Miss Holden’s
talking-to. Lord save me from hopeless,
well-meaning adults, she thought.
‘Now darling, I know
you’re sixteen—’ Silvia began.
‘Mum, please, I’m old
enough—’ protested April, but Silvia held up a hand.
‘Yes, I know, and
that’s why I’m telling you this. You’ve got your father’s mind, God
knows, but sometimes you don’t understand everything that goes on
between adults.’
Uh-oh, this isn’t the ‘don’t
drink vodka Red Bulls’ lecture, thought April with a lurch.
They’re not getting divorced after all, are
they?
Silvia took a deep
breath and looked out through the window. ‘You know your father and
I haven’t been getting on so well lately,’ she said quietly, ‘and I
wanted to tell you that none of it is your fault.’
I never thought it was! thought April
indignantly.
‘Couples can
sometimes go through difficult patches now and then and … things
happen. But we’ve made a fresh start by coming down here, the new
job and your new school, the new house.’
She looked over at
her daughter and April was appalled to see that Silvia had tears in
her eyes.
‘Don’t worry, baby.
Everything will be fine,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It
has to be.’
April didn’t know
what to do. It wasn’t as if her mother was cold and unemotional,
far from it. She periodically threw huge temper tantrums when
April’s dad wouldn’t give in to her demands and she would often go
into long dramatic sulks over rows or imagined slights. But the
genuine, adult emotion she seemed to be displaying here was alien
to April. She’d never seen her mother cry before. Scream and yell,
yes. Bucket-loads of crocodile tears as she wailed that ‘no one
cared’, plenty of that. But this? April was at a loss. Should she
offer reassuring advice? A warm sisterly hug? But before April
could do anything, her mother banged her fist against the
window.
‘Damn that man!’ she
whispered. ‘Damn him.’ Then she shook her head, reached into her
Prada bag and pulled out a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. ‘Don’t
worry about me, darling,’ she said briskly, leaning over to pat
April’s leg. ‘I must have had one too many Manhattans at lunch,
that’s all. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of
this when we see Grandpa.’
Ah, so that’s what this is all about, April
realised, her sympathy for her mother’s plight rapidly drying up.
Silvia didn’t want Grandpa Thomas knowing that she and William were
having marital difficulties. April’s grandfather was an imposing
man, originally a Romanian immigrant who had made a fortune by
unspecified means in the sixties and now lived in a huge house in
Covent Garden, which was dark and full of strange ornate furniture
and exotic smells. To April, as a little girl, Grandpa Thomas had
always seemed like the ogre in the fairy tales with his wild white
hair and crazy eyebrows, but as she had grown older she had begun
to understand that his ways were those of the Old Country, where
family and tradition were of huge importance. Not that it had
stopped him changing the family name and doing his best to hide his
accent and background as he clambered up the social ladder. In
private, however, Thomas never tired of reminding them that their
family were Eastern royally—although he was always vague on the
specifics. He also never tired of hinting that Silvia’s behaviour
had always fallen short of the princess he’d wanted her to be.
April guessed that marrying a lowly writer, William Dunne, had been
Silvia’s greatest act of rebellion and thus any suggestion that
their union might now be shaky would only light her grandfather’s
already short fuse. But she still resented being asked to cover for
her mother. She looked out of the window, watching fat raindrops
swim down the glass.
‘It’s not like I’m
going to bring it up, is it?’ said April. ‘And considering we
haven’t seen him in six months, I expect we can find something else
to talk about. I know Grandpa can be a bit insensitive at times,
but I can’t even imagine him asking what the atmosphere’s like at
home.’
‘I know, darling,’
said Silvia, a pleading note in her voice, ‘but you know how easily
upset your grandpa can be, especially when it comes to your dad, so
let’s try and keep this nice and light, shall we? It’s been ages
since we’ve seen him, just the two of us, so let’s just enjoy
it.’
April looked at her
mother. Like every other teenager in the country she was used to
seeing her parents as ‘Her Parents’, people who did nothing except
gripe about the tidiness of your room and moan about your supposed
‘attitude’. It was rare you got to peek behind the curtain to see
the real person, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she was seeing.
Her mother looked different; older, tired. April knew she was being
manipulated, but it was hard to resist when her mother had let her
guard down so much.
‘Okay, I won’t say
anything.’ April sighed as the cab pulled up outside her
grandfather’s house. ‘But can you try not to argue about Dad for
once, please?’
Her mother tried to
smile, but fell some way short. ‘I’ll try, darling,’ she said,
‘I’ll try.’
Even in his old age,
Thomas Hamilton was still intimidating. At six foot four he was a
huge bear of a man, with a big head and hands like tennis racquets.
His house was equally impressive, with a pillared entrance hall
floored with black and white marble. A sweeping staircase led up to
dozens of bedrooms and bathrooms. It was unfathomable to April that
anyone could live in a house so big, especially in the centre of
London where a Portaloo cost a king’s ransom. But despite all the
splendour, April was shocked to see that Grandpa Thomas had aged in
the six months since she had last seen him - his back was more
bowed, his face more lined - but he still towered over Silvia as he
bent to kiss the top of her head.
‘Poppa,’ she said,
brushing him away. ‘Don’t, please.’
‘What? I can’t even
kiss my only daughter now?’ he said, spreading his huge arms in a
gesture of outrage. ‘Has it become a crime to love my
family?’
‘Of course not,
Daddy,’ said Silvia, ‘just don’t … fuss so.’
‘Can I help it if I’m
happy to see my best girls? You never phone, you don’t visit
…’
‘Okay, okay,’ said
Silvia testily, putting her bags onto a leather chesterfield sofa.
‘We’re here now, aren’t we?’
Thomas shrugged and
shifted his attention to April. ‘Ah, my princess!’ he boomed,
effortlessly scooping April up like a grizzly bear grabbing a fish.
He squeezed her until she thought her eyes were going to
pop.
‘Hi, Grandpa,’ she
gasped.
‘Too grown-up to give
your grandfather a kiss?’ he said.
‘Of course not,
Gramps,’ said April, kissing his leathery cheek.
‘That’s better. Now
let me have a look at you,’ he said, stepping back to inspect her.
‘Ah, you have my good looks, Princess.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re
growing into a fine woman, just like your mum, huh?’
‘Poppa, you’re
embarrassing her,’ scolded Silvia, although April could see she had
enjoyed the compliment.
‘Embarrass you?’ he
roared, squeezing April’s cheeks with his paw. ‘Why should my girls
be embarrassed that they’re beautiful?’
A thin, familiar
figure in a dark suit appeared at Thomas’s elbow. ‘Afternoon tea is
served, sir,’ he announced in a subdued voice.
‘Ah! Thank you,
Stanton,’ replied Thomas, turning and putting his arms around the
two women’s shoulders. ‘Shall we have some cake?’
He led them through
the wide entrance hall and under an archway into the drawing room.
It was just as remarkable as the rest of the house, with a high
ceiling, elaborate plaster mouldings and a carved mahogany
fireplace, above which hung a huge portrait of a man looking
remarkably like Thomas, only he had a moustache and was sitting
proudly astride a rearing horse. Her grandfather caught April
looking at the painting as they sat down in armchairs arranged
around an elegant walnut table formally laid with crisp linen and
polished silver.
‘Do you remember you
were always frightened of that picture as a girl?’ Thomas laughed.
‘You would hide under the table and squeak, “Grandpa, he’s looking
at me.”’
‘Well, who can blame
her?’ said Silvia. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘Horrible? Nonsense!’
cried Thomas. ‘It’s magnificent!’
‘I always thought he
was a villain from a fairy tale,’ said April. ‘Like the wicked
uncle who captures the princess and tries to take over the
kingdom.’
Thomas roared with
laughter and reached over to squeeze April’s hand affectionately.
‘That is your ancestor, Princess, a very great man. He was known as
the Black Prince.’
‘Poppa, don’t start
with all this again,’ said Silvia irritably.
‘Why not? She should
know her lineage - how else can she learn who she is? Especially
now you live so close to your ancestors.’
Silvia shot her
father a look, but Thomas ignored her and turned to
April.
‘I thought you knew
our family has a vault in Highgate Cemetery?’
‘No way!’ said April,
almost choking in surprise. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this
before?’
‘I thought your
mother would have told you. You have a great-uncle and two cousins
there,’ said Thomas proudly. ‘That branch of the family came to
London many years ago. I wanted to bury your grandmother there, God
rest her soul, but it wasn’t to be.’
‘Why not? What
happened to Grandma?’ asked April. Her father’s parents were both
dead and neither of her parents ever talked about their extended
families, so she was very sketchy regarding her relatives. April
noticed that look pass between her mother and grandfather
again.
‘Your grandmother
went back to the Old Country,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s what she
wanted—’
‘Not now, Daddy,’
interrupted Silvia. ‘Perhaps when April is older—’
Thomas frowned. ‘Why
do you always do this, Silvia? It’s always “when she is older”,
“she won’t understand”. I think you underestimate my princess.
She’s a strong woman, like all Hamilton women.’
They stared at each
other for a moment. April looked from her mother to her
grandfather.
‘What? What is it?’
she asked. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘It’s nothing,
darling,’ said Silvia, with a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘Just
some stupid myths and superstition.’
Her grandfather
looked as if he was about to say something, then looked away and
shook his head.
‘So this Black
Prince,’ asked April, intrigued now, ‘who was he?’
‘He was a visionary
and a revolutionary,’ said Thomas proudly, puffing out his chest.
‘his family owes him a debt we can never repay. We would be mere
peasants begging for scraps were it not for your
great-great-grandfather’s bravery—’
‘Poppa!’ said Silvia
with force. April had seen that look on her mother’s face before.
It was the ‘don’t mess with me’ look she got when she had made up
her mind about something. Only April’s father dared to defy her
when she looked that fierce - and he had the scars to show for
it.
‘Yes, yes, perhaps
you’re right,’ said Thomas, smiling at April indulgently and
reaching out to stroke her face. ‘Maybe I’ll save the history
lesson for another time. Ah, here come the
florentines.’
They ate and drank in
silence for a while, listening to the rain rattling against the
windows. The weather had been getting steadily worse over the past
few days and now it sounded like a storm was building.
‘A toast, I think,’
said Thomas, tapping a silver spoon against his teacup. ‘To my
dearest daughters and to family.’
They raised their
cups and the mood lightened.
‘So,’ said Thomas,
smiling at April, ‘I hear you’re going to a party?’
April glanced at her
mother before answering. ‘Yes, a girl from my new school has
invited me to her Halloween party.’
‘Well, that’s good!’
said Thomas with pleasure. ‘Making friends already, it’s important
to have friends.’
‘It’s at a very big
house in Highgate, Poppa,’ said Silvia. ‘April’s friend comes from
a very wealthy family.’
‘Mum,’ said April,
reprovingly, ‘like that’s important.’
‘Well, I certainly
wouldn’t be letting you out on a Sunday night if I didn’t think
they were the right sort of people.’
‘Mum!’ said April,
exasperated. ‘ “The right sort of people”?’
‘No, your mother’s
right, Princess,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s good to have wealth. Don’t be
afraid of money, it’s a good thing. Only those who have never known
poverty think money isn’t important.’
‘But I’m not going to
the party because Davina’s dad’s rich,’ protested April. ‘Anyway,
it’s not even Davina’s party, it’s at Milo’s house. Some of us
aren’t so shallow as to judge people only on their money,’ she
added, looking pointedly at her mother.
‘But maybe you’ll
meet a nice rich boy there?’ said Thomas with a sly
smile.
‘Grandpa, we’re not
all boy-crazy, you know.’
‘Well, if you’re
anything like your mother …’ he teased.
‘Poppa!’
‘Oh yes, all the boys
came running when my Silvia walked by, I can tell you.’ Thomas
smiled proudly. ‘She was the most beautiful girl in London back
then. Still is.’
‘Please, Poppa,’ said
Silvia, smiling despite herself.
‘No, tell me more,’
said April, glad to have the attention deflected away from her and
her non-existent boyfriends. ‘I’ve never heard what Mum was like
when she was my age.’
‘A wildcat!’ cried
Thomas. ‘She would sneak out of the school window to go to all
these stylish parties in Chelsea, meeting all these boys from Eton
and Harrow. She thinks I don’t know, but the headmaster told me
everything.’
April was pleased to
see her mother blush: another first.
‘She was exactly the
same at university, running around with the lord of this or the
marquis of that. There was even an American she was very sweet on.
Texas oil heir, isn’t that right, Silvie?’
‘Rhett’s
family—’
‘Rhett!’ April
laughed. ‘He wasn’t really called Rhett, was he?’
‘His mother was a big
fan of Gone with the Wind,’ said Silvia
defensively. ‘And it wasn’t just oil, they had interests in
electronics too.’
April found herself
in fits of giggles, partly because of the mental image of her
mother cast as Scarlett O’Hara, partly from the pleasure of seeing
Silvia squirm as her dirty laundry was aired.
‘Your mother was even
engaged to a sultan at one point.’ Thomas grinned
mischievously.
‘He wasn’t a sultan.’
Silvia sniffed. ‘He was an emir, and we were never officially
engaged. I think he was far more committed to his polo ponies than
he was to me!’
They all cracked up
with laughter at this, and it finally broke the ice. April watched
with pleasure as her mother relaxed fully for the first time in a
long while. The banter between her and her father as he raked over
Silvia’s old boyfriends and transgressions was warm and filled with
genuine affection; a loving father and daughter reminiscing about
the good old days. While she was happy to see them bond, it was
tinged with sadness. April could vividly remember a time, not so
very long ago, when this was exactly the way her parents had
behaved towards each other; teasing and joking, enjoying the
companionship and affection. How had it all changed? Why had it all
become so tense and difficult? How could two people who loved one
another become such a raw irritation to each other so
quickly?
‘Of course, your
mother was never much good at picking the right man,’ her
grandfather was saying.
There was an abrupt
frosty silence. April could suddenly hear the rain drumming on the
windows and the traffic on the wet roads outside.
Brilliant, thought
April, a sinking feeling in her stomach. When
it was all going so well.
There was a long
pause from the other side of the table before Silvia
spoke.
‘And what is that
supposed to mean, exactly?’ she asked quietly. To the untrained ear
it was a simple enquiry, but to someone well versed in years of
inter-family combat, it was a question loaded with
history.
Thomas ignored his
daughter and turned to April. ‘Your mum could have had her pick of
the men in London. A billionaire, a prime minister, maybe even a
real prince, but no. She married someone who writes about dragons
and mermaids.’
‘Grandpa, please,’
said April, her eyes wide and pleading. ‘Don’t go through this
again.’
‘No, I’d like to hear
it,’ snapped Silvia. ‘It’s always interesting to have someone tell
me how I should have lived my life, especially when their own life
has been so blameless.’
‘What?’ asked Thomas
innocently. ‘So I’m not allowed to discuss my own daughter’s life?
I suppose I’m only your father, who fed you and clothed
you—’
‘Oh, here we go,’
said Silvia, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘The same old
story, again and again.’
‘Didn’t I give you
the best education money can buy?’ he asked, colour coming into his
face. ‘Didn’t I buy you a flat on the King’s Road and give you a
sports car, keep your wardrobe full of all those boutique dresses?
And how do you repay me? By marrying some loser!’
‘A loser? A LOSER?’
yelled Silvia, slamming her hand down on the table so hard the bone
china rattled. ‘That’s what you call my husband, the father of my
child? How dare you?’
‘I dare because I am
your father, because I care about what happens to
you.’
‘It’s a little late
for that now, isn’t it, Poppa? A little late to be worrying about
“what happens” to me? Like you didn’t have it all mapped out from
the very start.’
Thomas glanced across
at April. ‘Silvia …’ he said, his voice quivering with fury.
‘There’s no need to—’
‘Oh but I think there
is,’ hissed Silvia. ‘I think there’s every reason. You were the one
who wanted to tell your granddaughter about her heritage,’ she
said, contemptuously gesturing at the glowering portrait above the
fire. ‘Well, why don’t you tell her, if you’re so proud of
everything you’ve done? If my husband is such a bum and you’re such
a fine upstanding member of the human race, let’s hear it. Let’s
tell her everything.’
April had never seen
her mother more furious. She was leaning over the table now,
glaring at her father. He was returning her gaze with defiance and
she could see his shoulders quivering with anger. They were like a
pair of dogs straining on the ends of their chains, desperate to
tear at each other’s throats. Thomas looked away
first.
‘This isn’t the
time,’ he said quietly.
‘That’s what I
thought,’ said Silvia.
‘Please!’ said April.
‘I don’t know what you’re arguing about, but I hate to see you both
like this. We were all having such a nice time - why do you always
have to spoil it?’
‘See?’ said Silvia.
‘You’ve upset her now. You’re always the same, like a bull in a
china shop with people’s feelings.’
‘No, Mum,’ said
April, turning on her mother, ‘it’s not just Grandpa. You’re as bad
as each other, always picking at the same bloody scab, whatever the
hell it is.’
‘But,
honey—’
‘No, don’t “honey”
me, not this time.’ April threw her napkin down and pushed her
chair back. ‘I asked you to be nice to Gramps today, but no, that
was too much to ask, wasn’t it?’
‘Darling, your mum’s
a passionate woman,’ said Thomas. ‘She was only—’
April turned to her
grandfather. ‘And you’re just as bad. You always have to say
something about Dad, don’t you? Even though you know it upsets Mum
and upsets me. Well, you’re both right about something - I am old
enough to see that you’re behaving like a pair of children. And I’m
old enough to get a taxi home by myself. I’ll leave you to discuss
whatever it is you can’t bear to tell me. I’m sure it’s
fascinating, but I think I can live without knowing.’
‘But, Princess,
honey—’
‘Forget it, Grandpa,’
she said, turning to leave, then swung back around. ‘And don’t call
me Princess. From now on I’m April. Don’t forget it.’