‘No, not really,’ he said, smiling warmly at her. ‘We’ve had different childhoods but it doesn’t mean we can’t move in the same circles now.’
‘Oh, get off. My social life consists of going down the canal bank with my mates and a bottle of White Lightning.’ She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t mentioned this. ‘At least, it used to. Not any more. I don’t really knock around with them these days. Stay in with my dad and watch Hollyoaks on telly now.’
Ross was silent for a moment, regarding her over the top of his waxed coffee cup as if trying to read her thoughts.
‘There’s a party on Saturday,’ he said slowly. ‘Someone from school. Would you like to come?’
‘What, from your rich kids’ school? Won’t I show you up?’
Kayley laughed, half horrified and half excited by the idea.
‘Absolutely not,’ insisted Ross. ‘You’re a good person and a good laugh. That’s all they’ll be interested in. Go on, say yes. I’ll pick you up.’
‘No,’ said Kayley quickly, not wanting Ross to see where she lived. ‘I’ll meet you somewhere. Is it in Bledburn?’
‘Yeah, Harville Hall. Do you know it?’
Her jaw dropped.
Two days later, she stood outside the McDonald’s on Bledburn High Street, wearing an outfit she hoped wouldn’t disgrace her in the company of aristocrats.
Ross laughed when he pulled up in his car and stuck his head out of the window, and she nearly turned and walked away.
‘Since when do you wear pearls?’ he said, opening the car door for her.
‘They aren’t real,’ she said. ‘They’re plastic. I borrowed them off my auntie.’
‘Kayley, this isn’t a dinner party. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. Most of the girls will be in jeans.’
Her face fell. ‘You could have said!’
‘Oh, don’t worry. You look lovely. Get in, then.’
Kayley hadn’t been near Harville Hall since the last gala. She had been a very tiny girl then. She knew that lots of estate kids liked to trespass in the overgrown back garden, but she had never joined in. Truth to tell, she found the place a bit creepy and thought it was probably haunted.
But she was too old for that kind of fantasy now, and she followed Ross through the rusting front gate into a place that had fallen into very obvious neglect.
At the gala, the gardens had been smart and colourful and the façade of the house splendid, its pale grey stone seeming to shine down on her four-year-old’s gaze. The jolly tiddly-pom of the brass band blared from the rear of the building and everywhere were people, holding plastic cups of beer, playing games at the different stalls and marquees. It had felt like a wonderland.
Not so much now, with the grey stone falling away and the g
arden wild with brambles.
But the front door was wide open, and a cluster of people sat on the front steps, drinking out of champagne bottles.
‘Yo, Ross,’ called one man in an Abercrombie hoodie. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘Nice dress,’ said a girl in the group, giving the others a droll look.
Kayley bristled. They were taking the piss out of her. The dress had cost thirty-five quid at Florence and Fred, and she wasn’t about to take any crap from some stuck-up bitch with a rich daddy.
‘Thanks, lend it you if you want,’ she said belligerently, giving the girl a hard stare.
‘That’s all right,’ said the girl, but she appeared to have been neutralised, no longer rolling her eyes at the rest of the group.
‘I see Ross has gone native,’ she heard one of them say as they walked on through the open door.
‘Ignore them,’ muttered Ross. ‘I always do.’