I already do that enough for all of us, thanks.
By the time we make it through the front door and I kick it shut behind us, Mira has not only covered her astrological profile in minute detail, she’s moved on to wondering aloud whether the “high-profile” guest Mrs Tilney announced would be checking into the top-floor suite in a couple of days is Tommy Knight – currently Mira’s favourite actor, and filming in Wells.
“Doubtful. Hopwood isn’t exactly his style, is it?” I mutter, shoving Felix’s muddy boots out of the way as we walk into the kitchen. Charlie’s in the middle of setting the table as Felix pulls plates out of the dresser, passing them to him. They both look over as we come in, Mira still daydreaming out loud about what would happen if Tommy Knight walked into the lobby and saw her standing there…
“What, after he asked you to take his bags up to his room?” I laugh. Mira ignores me, instead dropping down into one of the chairs around the battered wooden dining table.
“Nice to see you, Mira. You staying to eat?” Felix asks.
Mira stifles a yawn, then grins at him sheepishly. “It’s okay if I do? My housemate ate everything in the fridge again,” she adds sadly.
“Of course – you’re always welcome.” Felix hands another plate to Charlie, his fingers gently touching my brother’s.
“How’s that project of yours going?” Charlie says.
I shrug. “It’s not my project. But it’s going.”
“What’s it about?”
“Houses.”
“Houses?”
“Yep.”
“Any specific kind of houses? Or just…houses as a concept?”
“Old houses. It’s very Downton.”
Charlie laughs. “Really?” He looks pointedly at Felix.
“I just spent the last two hours looking up and listing every single National Trust house within a twenty-mile radius, just in case there’s something at one of them that might, maybe, possibly help. Do you know how many of those there are?”
“Quite a lot, I imagine.”
“It’s more. However many you imagine, it’s more.”
“And what was all that for?” Charlie pulls a couple of bowls out of the fridge and slides them along the table.
“It’s something to do with a soldier who died in the First World War. This guest – Hal – his grandfather told him this story that his grandfather told him, about some guy who fell in love with a maid, but he was killed in the war.” I scoop a tiny tomato out of the bowl closest to me.
“Flora!” Charlie takes a seat, reaching across the table to smack the back of my hand with a serving spoon. “No fingers.”
“Sorry.”
Felix clears his throat, slipping into his own chair. “Which houses are you looking at?”
“All of them. All.” I sigh. He waits. “Umm, fine.” I picture the list I ended up with, sitting on the library table alongside the map with a big red circle on it, and my phone’s browser with a million internet tabs open. “Apart from here? There’s Kingsway Manor Hall, Hillwood, Fallowmill House…”
“Wouldn’t be Fallowmill.” Felix shakes his head. “I do a bit of freelance tree work for them, and I can tell you that place has its own story. Gives me the creeps. They’ve got an archive there, though – might be worth a visit.”
Charlie swallows a mouthful of potato salad. “And it’s definitely not Kingsway,” he adds, tapping his fork against his plate. “They’re a Thankful.”
“A Thankful?” I stare at him blankly.
“All the men who went off to fight in the war came home alive, so it was designated a Thankful Village. There’s only about fifty of them in the country – it’s on the village sign, right under the name.”
“That’s what that means?” I realize how stupid I sound even as I’m saying it, but it doesn’t stop me. “I just thought they were, you know, generally grateful for stuff.” Next to me, Mira chokes on a piece of cucumber. I kick her ankle under the table.
“Flora.” Charlie fixes me with a stern look from the far side of Felix. “Honestly.”
“What? I always figured they were just…nice. And I suppose everybody knows that, do they?”
There’s a chorus of non-committal noises from around the table.
“Fine, then.” I stare down at my plate, feeling my cheeks burn in the silence that descends – one broken only by cutlery on plates and chewing. After a while Charlie picks up his bottle of beer. “Well,” he says, taking a swig, “I think it sounds fascinating.”
“You do?”
He has stopped looking so amused and is studiously peeling the label off his beer bottle – very much avoiding my eye. “It’s good to hear you talking about it. This is exactly the kind of thing you’d have been into a couple of years ago.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Are you?” He glances at me across the table.
Suddenly Mira yawns again, loudly – then clamps her hand over her mouth and looks around with eyes that are almost as wide as her jaws were a second ago.
“All right.” I drop my fork on my plate and fold my arms. “What’s up with you? And don’t –” I unfold my arms again and point a finger at her – “tell me that you had a rough shift, or you didn’t sleep well or whatever. The truth.”
I refold my arms. It makes me look serious.
Does it? Yes. Yes, I’m sure it does.
Different emotions flicker across her face. Embarrassment, guilt…and finally, something that looks a bit like acceptance. She shrugs. “Okay. I’ve been studying. For a course.” Her eyes lock onto a scratch on the table and don’t budge. “I was going to tell you.”
“A course? What course?”
“Textiles. I was waiting for the right time, but…” She hesitates, and her voice drops. “I want to apply to UWE. Next year. For their fashion course.”
It feels like someone has pulled my chair out from underneath me. The University of the West of England is in Bristol. Mira wants to leave Hopwood?
Why didn’t she say something?
How long has she been planning it?
What will I do if she goes?
Who will I talk to?
“Oh.” The letter. That’s what it was about. She told me it was junk mail.
I know I’m supposed to say something more. Something positive, something encouraging. The part of my brain that Sanjay trained – the bit that tries to keep tabs on the rest of me – kicks the inside of my skull and tells me to sort myself out…But the rest of it – the bit that wants to react, to feel, not sit down and calmly discuss things – that’s the bit in control.
Does my mood match the moment? Is this the right response?
Well, yes. Mira’s leaving. She’s just said she is. She’s leaving me here. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want to be my friend any more.
Is this a balanced reaction?
Did I do something wrong? Is this because Mira doesn’t want to be around me any more?
IS THIS A BALANCED REACTION?
Charlie’s eyes flick over to Felix, his lips pressed tightly together. Mira, it dawns on me, is still talking. I haven’t heard a word since she said she was going to apply to UWE.