‘So come on.’ Victoria refashioned her hair into a bun, capturing the long tendrils that had in their usual manner worked their way loose from her hairband. ‘What did you do that made eighteen so great?’
‘What did I do?’ Prim fixed her eyes on the middle distance. ‘What didn’t I do? I flirted with inappropriate boys, swam braless in my underslip – very daring at the time – and then danced in front of a bonfire until I dried off with a very large mimosa in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I was quite magnificent.’
It was Victoria’s turn to smile. She loved the woman’s lack of modesty, in every sense. Staring at her gran’s profile, she took in the sharp edges of her cheekbones, which always seemed dotted with the apple-red hue of health; the thick wave of grey hair that still, despite her age, sat alluringly over one eye, giving her an almost starlet quality; the large, baguette-cut emerald that was never from her finger; and her good teeth. Yes, Victoria could imagine that Mrs Primrose Cutter-Rotherstone had indeed been magnificent.
Once she had gone full chip.
‘How inappropriate, exactly?’ Victoria was curious. Boys had to her always been an enigma. An alluring enigma, but an enigma nonetheless. Shaking her head, she erased the face of Flynn, the boy in her chemistry set who filled her daydreams and on occasion her night-time musings too. The chances of anything actually happening with him were slim. They had been in the same class for the best part of five years and had exchanged only six sentences, which were indelibly etched in her mind.
Flynn: ‘What did he say?’
‘I think he said three parts water.’
Flynn: ‘Can I borrow your ruler?’
‘Yes, it’s in my pencil case – help yourself, I’ve got another one.’
Flynn: ‘I forgot to time it, how much longer?’
‘Fourteen minutes.’
‘Well,’ Prim began, but was quickly interrupted by the front doorbell.
‘Daksha!’ they chimed.
‘You put the kettle on, I’ll get the door,’ Prim instructed as she lumbered from her chair. This was how they did most things, as a team.
You wash the dishes . . . I’ll dry.
You strip the bed . . . I’ll pop the sheets in the machine.
You make the toast . . . I’ll fetch the tea.
It was a nice way to live.
Victoria filled the kettle and popped it on to boil before rushing into the hallway; the cool interior of the old house was a wonderful relief for her sweat-covered skin and her eyes were glad of a break from the sun’s glare.
‘Come in, Daksha dear, how are you?’ Her gran opened the solid oak front door wide and stood back in the square hallway, where anaglypta paper bearing an ornate fleur-de-lys pattern inside raised squares had covered the ceiling for as long as Victoria could remember. When needed, Bernard-the-handyman, as Prim referred to him, climbed up on the stepladder and pasted any edges or corners that had lifted. It was currently painted the palest shade of Indian gold.
‘Good, thanks, Prim. How’s Gerald?’
She knew her friend was fascinated by the blossoming love between these two very elderly people, finding it a little hard to fathom. Victoria had explained to her that they might be old, but probably felt the same on the inside as they had when they were young.
‘Oh, Gerald is an absolute poppet; we are planning a trip to Wales to go on the fastest zip wire in the world – should be fun! The only thing I am dreading is having to wear a standard issue jumpsuit, so very unflattering, but I’m thinking if I go double on the pearls and put on an extra coat of red lipstick, I can counteract the horror somewhat.’
‘Can you stop talking about it, please, Prim!’ Victoria held up her palm, feeling a little queasy at the thought of the height and speed; conquering her fear was something she thought she might try during her trip away, maybe.
Victoria watched her friend as she stepped over the threshold and, as she always did, cast her eye over the walls crowded with paintings, samplers, decorated plates and various artworks that Prim favoured, some of which she knew had been around since Victoria’s great-grandparents first bought Rosebank in 1907. She and Daksha had joked that the house and its particular fussy décor had been in and out of fashion at least ten times, proving the old adage that everything came back around eventually.
With the abundance of space and the special lake in which she often took a dip when the mood took her and the air temperature allowed, she had loved growing up here. However, the older she got, the more concerned she was about what might lurk beneath the murky surface, and she lamented the complete abandonment with which she used to jump in and swim to the middle while Prim and Grandpa clapped her on, encouraging her adventure.
She also heard the way Daksha enunciated her greeting, as if keen to revel in the privilege of being allowed to call this elderly lady by her first name, like they were mates. It made her laugh, but then Daksha did that, made her laugh, a lot; just the sight of her was enough to brighten the dullest of days.
‘Are you excited about your travels? I know Victoria is, but a little worried about the money side of it, I’d say.’
‘I’m not, actually,’ she called from the middle of the stairs, where she now perched and buckled up the straps of her rather bulky brown leather sandals. ‘I’ve planned really well. I even have a spreadsheet!’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Daksha offered the aside to Prim, who laughed.
Victoria ignored them. ‘And as long as I don’t lose my job, I will be fine to leave for the great adventure in March, as planned.’
‘You are disgustingly disciplined.’ Daksha fired her a look from behind her heavy-framed glasses, part hidden by her blunt-cut fringe. ‘I’m doing my best to save, but then shoes and shiny things seem to call to me and I can’t resist. I have the willpower of a gnat.’ She patted her podgy tum, as if proof were needed.
‘Don’t worry, dear, there’s still plenty of time to save, plus I am sure that Dr Joshi wouldn’t let you travel without adequate funds. He really is a wonder.’
Both girls suppressed a giggle. The high regard in which Prim held Daksha’s father, who also happened to be her GP, was no secret.
‘Hope so.’ Daksha pulled a face at her mate. ‘Although my parents aren’t nearly as cool as you, Prim. There’s no way they would have let me reject going to university.’
‘Oh darling, I don’t think I have ever been cool!’ Prim’s face flushed with obvious joy, despite her denial.
Victoria felt a flash of sympathy for her friend, who she knew struggled to keep her mum and dad happy; wonderful as they were, their standards were high. And notwithstanding the sometimes unattainable demands placed upon her, there was much Victoria envied about Daksha’s life. She might have the upper hand academically and live with the very cool Prim, but Victoria knew she would have swapped it in a heartbeat – not Prim, of course, but the situation. How she would have loved to have the large family around her that Daksha enjoyed: a mum, a dad, two brothers, one sister and, of course, Nani, who spoke little but seemed to notice much.
It was one of her regular fantasies, to see Prim, Grandpa, Sarah and Marcus all seated at the table for Sunday lunch, swapping stories they had read in the weekend papers and laughing, laughing and laughing some more because life was so damn good! Victoria swallowed the bloom of guilt at the acknowledgement that maybe Prim was not always enough. She knew her gran was a rare being, encouraging her to use her brain and make her own way, agreeing that a fancy scroll and three years’ worth of debt would not help her achieve her goals. Although what those goals were exactly was yet to be determined. But that, Prim assured her, was all part of the adventure, and she was confident that a year of travelling and stepping outside of the postcode would help Victoria find something she wanted to pursue.