‘Now, remember, I’m doing your father a favour, I don’t want you here. Got that?’ She took a slurp of tea. ‘And why he wants you here, I have no idea.’

Anna didn’t say anything, just pushed her shoulders back a bit further.

‘To my mind, you’re a jumped-up, spoilt brat who’s caused more harm than good. But, I’ll tolerate you. As long as there’s none of your London crap, or—’ She picked up a Gingernut, ‘Any of that attitude.’

‘I’m not sixteen any more, Mrs Beedle.’ Anna said with a half sneer, her hand on her hip.

Mrs Beedle’s lip quivered in a mocking smile. ‘That’s exactly the attitude I’m referring to.’ She dunked her biscuit into her tea and sucked some of the liquid off it, before saying, ‘So what can you do?’

Anna thought back to the Opera House. She was very good at mingling at parties, casually introducing people, she could calm down an over-wrought star with aplomb, she could conjure a masterful quote out of thin air for any production, she could throw a pragmatic response into a heated meeting. And her desk was impeccable, perfect, spotless. A place for everything and everything in its place, her mother would say. ‘I’m very organised,’ she said in the end.

Mrs Beedle snorted. Then, clicking her fingers in a gesture that meant for Anna to follow, she pulled back the curtain behind her to reveal Anna’s worst nightmare. A stockroom filled with stacks and stacks of crap, piled sky-high like the legacy of a dead hoarder.

Anna swallowed. She had imagined spending most of the day sitting behind the desk reading Grazia. ‘What do I do with it?’

‘You organise it.’ Mrs Beedle laughed, backing out so that Anna was left alone in the damp-smelling dumping ground and settling herself down in the big orange armchair next to the desk, a thin marmalade cat appearing and twirling through her legs. ‘I’ve been meaning to do it for yonks.’

Anna opened her mouth to say something, but Mrs Beedle cut her off. ‘You know, I think I might actually enjoy this more than I thought I would.’

There had been a time, Anna thought two hours later, as she carefully plucked another horsebrass from a random assortment box and put it into the cardboard box on the shelf she had marked, BRASS, that she had had an assistant to do all this type of manual work in her life. In fact, she’d had two. One of them, Kim, she’d rather forget. She had given her her first break and, in return, the ungrateful brat had stolen her contact book and then promptly resigned and was now clawing her way up the ballet world while Anna was holding what looked like a Mexican death skull between finger and thumb.

Anna had had people to move boxes and post parcels and send emails to the people she’d rather avoid. Her status had defined her. Had made her who she was. She liked the fact she had her own office with her name on the plaque on the door. She liked the fact people came in to ask her advice or crept in in tears and shut the door to bitch about some mean old cow in another department. She liked the signature on the bottom of her email and the fact that she didn’t follow most of her Twitter followers back.

She patted the beads of sweat from her face with a folded piece of tissue she’d got from the bathroom and blew her hair out of her eyes. The room had heated up like a furnace and she felt like a rotisserie chicken slowly browning.

She had been somebody. And it didn’t matter that at about three o’clock, most days, she had stood in a cubicle in the toilets holding a Kleenex to her eyes after catching a glimpse of the dancers rehearsing and thinking, That should have been me. Before blowing her nose, telling herself that this was just life, this is what happens, this feeling is weakness and you’re not weak Anna Whitehall. Then calling up Seb, all bright-eyed and smiling voice, asking if he wanted to go for cocktails after work, her treat.

Anna lifted up another brass object: a revolting frame shaped like a horse-shoe, and thought of her old air-conditioning unit, her ergonomically designed chair, the fresh-cut flowers in her office, her snug new season pencil skirt and a crippling pair of beautiful stilettos.

She wanted to grab her old boss by the shoulders and shout, Look at me, now! Look what you’ve made me become, you stupid idiot! Why did you have to scale down the PR department? Why?

‘Everything all right back there?’ Mrs Beedle had pulled back the curtain and was watching Anna as her lips moved during her silent tirade. The cat was curled up under Mrs Beedle’s arm, nestled on the plump outline of her hip. A wry smile was twitching the woman’s lip as she said, ‘Christ, you still stand in third position.’ She shook her head.’ Well I never, you’ll be doing pliés in here next.’

Anna, who hadn’t noticed how she was standing, moved immediately and leant up against the stack behind her.

‘Haven’t got far, have you?’ Mrs Beedle peered at her work.

Anna frowned. ‘I thought I’d done quite a lot. Look. I have boxes for all the different items. Here‒’ She waved her hand along one of the lines of shelves. ‘China, figurines, brasses, decorative plates, medals…’

‘Maybe.’ Mrs Beedle said with a shrug. ‘I’m going for lunch and, as it’s so quiet, I’m going to shut the shop and make a couple of deliveries. I’ll be back, what? Three-thirty? Four?’

‘What should I do?’ Anna asked, her forehead beading with sweat, her shorts dusty, her fingers rough with dirt, her Shellac chipping.

‘Just carry on as you are. No point stopping now,’ Mrs Beedle said and backed out, shaking her head at the marmalade cat. ‘She has a lot to learn about work this one, doesn’t she? A lot to learn. Always the little princess.’

Chapter Three

‘That’s it, I fucking hate it here.’ Anna was sitting opposite Seb in the King’s Head. She could feel the dirt and scum from the shop nestling into her pores.

The pub was as she remembered. Flock wallpaper in red velvet and gold, and a deep-maroon carpet worn threadbare by the end of the bar where the regulars stood. The bar top was dark mahogany, shiny under the low glass lamps and dappled with patches of split beer. Silver tankards hung from hooks around the lip of the bar top, swinging below the spirits that were mostly different types of whiskey. One side of the room was booth seats, and a smattering of round wooden tables. At the back was a dining room that had placemats with hunting scenes or ducks flying.

‘Here, drink this, it’ll make you feel better.’ Seb put a glass of yellow wine down in front of her.

She held it up between finger and thumb, inspected the colour and said, ‘I very much doubt it.’

Seb tried to hide a smirk. ‘It can’t have been that bad.’

‘I don’t think I can talk about it.’ She sighed, taking a sip. Then, unable not to, said, ‘She made me clear out the stockroom. Urgh, look at this, sing-along piano tonight.’ She picked up a flier that was resting between the mustard and tomato ketchup bottle on their table.

Seb took a sip of his pint and read over the list of songs. ‘Knees Up Mother Brown. It’s like the good old days.’

Anna took another sip and winced. ‘I did a really bad job.’

Seb glanced up. ‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t want to do it.’

‘Anna.’ His brow creased. ‘You kind of need this job. We seriously don’t have any money and if you want a wedding…’

‘Sebastian.’ She leant forward. ‘I get six pounds fifty an hour. Whether I have this job or not, it’s not going to cover a wedding. No, I have to get back to London, I have to do some serious looking.’

‘Come on. You know there’s nothing out there at the moment, and the commute will really cost.’ He traced the beads of condensation down his glass. ‘You’re just going to have to get on with it.’

‘What if I can’t?’ she said, and he sighed like he was exasperated with her. The sound took her by surprise, she’d never heard it before. This wasn’t the way their relationship worked. Seb adored her. That was their dynamic. It had been since the moment she had walked out of Pret a Manger with her sushi and can of Yoga Bunny and he had walked straight into her, fresh from his interview at Whitechapel Boys’ School, fumbled his briefcase and said, ‘Wow, god, Anna Whitehall. Didn’t expect to bump into you of all people. Wow.’

Really all she wanted now was for him to hate being back as much as she did.

As the fan in the corner of the pub whirred away like it might take off, circulating the stale beer-soaked air, they sat in silence for a second. Murmurs of laughter drifted in from the tables outside the front that Anna hadn’t wanted to sit at in case she got bitten by mosquitoes.

‘So how was your day?’ she said in the end.

Seb held his hands out wide, ‘Now she asks!’ he said with a smile. He was good at changing the atmosphere, at not holding a grudge. His aim in life was for everyone to get along, not like Anna who could cling onto a grudge like nobody’s business. But, as usual, she felt herself get sucked into the lines that crinkled around his eyes as he smiled and winked at her across the table.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Did you save any poor, badly educated children?’

Seb was back in Nettleton to make a difference. To give back. To do for the new Nettleton generation what their teachers had done for him. Anna could barely remember a teacher, let alone anything good they’d done for her. She could vaguely summon a memory of being whacked with a lacrosse stick accidentally on purpose by Mrs McNamara for calling her a lesbian. And the satisfaction she’d felt when she’d handed her a note from her ballet teacher exempting her from all school sport because it clashed with her training and the development of her flexibility.

‘I made a huge impression,’ Seb joked. ‘And young minds across the village are rejoicing that I have arrived as head of year.’

A female voice cut in next to them, ‘I’m sure they are, Seb, no doubt about it.’

‘Jackie, hey, how are you? Come and join us.’ Seb edged along his bench seat so Jackie could sit down.

‘Anna.’ Jackie said by way of greeting, with a distinct lack of emotion.

‘Jackie.’ Anna replied with similar flatness. Their relationship was as such that they’d spent much of their youth circling each other, snogging each other’s boyfriends and generally pissing each other off without ever fully acknowledging their mutual dislike.

‘So how are you?’ Jackie ran her tongue along her lips, then grinned, ‘Never made it to New York, then?’

‘No,’ Anna winced a smile, cocking her head to one side and then saying sweetly, ‘I see you didn’t either. Ever make it out of Nettleton?’

Jackie shrugged. ‘Everything I need is here.’

Anna blew out a breath in disbelief.

‘Whereas you...I mean, what was it we were meant to see? Your name in lights at the Lincoln Center? Wasn’t that always the dream?’

Anna pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘I grew too tall to be a dancer.’

Jackie sat back and crossed her legs. ‘Shame.’

As the air between them hummed, Seb clapped his hands and said, ‘So, what does everyone want to drink?’

As Jackie said she’d die for a gin and tonic, Anna hitched her bag onto her shoulder, stood up and said, ‘I’ll get them.’ Just to get away from the table.

She stood, tapping her nails on the bar. Her name in lights at the Lincoln Center. It was like a jolt. New York, Lincoln Center. Her mum had said, holding up an advert listing the New York City Ballet’s winter programming in the paper. If I hadn’t got pregnant, that’s where I would have been. Imagine being on that stage. Anna, that’s the pinnacle.

When she heard laughter behind her, Anna swung round thinking that it must be about her, but saw instead a couple in the corner enjoying a shared joke. She blew out a breath and tried to relax. But she was like an animal on high alert, poised and ready. At her table Seb and Jackie were looking at something on Jackie’s phone and giggling. Anna found herself envying Seb’s effortless charm, the ease with which he slipped back into relationships. The way he could be so instantly, unguardedly, involved. Not that she’d ever admit it.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked as she pushed the tray of drinks onto the table.

‘Jackie is educating me on the world of Internet dating.’ Seb laughed.

‘It’s nothing,’ Jackie waved a hand, ‘Just Tinder.’

Anna nodded, not sure what she was talking about but, rather than ask, pretended that she wasn’t really that interested. She felt herself doing it on purpose, fitting into the role Jackie expected.

‘The website. No?’ Jackie said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic, as Anna obviously hadn’t been able to hide her blankness as well as she thought. ‘Well I suppose you wouldn’t know, not being single. It’s meant to be the closest thing to dating in the normal world.’ Jackie went on, leaning her elbows on the table, ‘You know, you rate people on what they look like, it’d be right up your street, Anna.’

Anna narrowed her eyes.

‘Look—’ Seb leant forward, Jackie’s phone in his hand. ‘If you like them, you swipe them into the Yes pile and if you don’t, you swipe them into the No. Isn’t it amazing? I just can’t believe it exists. It’s so ruthless, like some sort of horrible conveyor belt of desperation.’

‘Thank you very much, Seb.’ Jackie sat back.

‘I didn’t mean you. I meant them.’

Forgetting her act for a moment, Anna inched her head closer, fascinated, as she watched men appear on screen and Seb swipe them into the No pile as easily as swatting flies.

‘Hang on,’ Jackie snatched it off him. ‘Don’t waste my bounty,’ she laughed.

Seb leant over her shoulder and said, ‘I mean, look at this guy.’ He stabbed the shadowy profile picture on the screen, ‘Why put that picture up? Why wear a hat and a scarf and take it in the dark? All it does is say I’m fat and or ugly. Surely that’s an immediate no from everyone, because fat, ugly people know the trick because they’d do it themselves, and everyone imagines if they were fat and ugly that’s what they would do. He’s a fool.’

Jackie laughed and swiped the shadowy image away.

‘He’s quite nice though.’ Anna edged closer as a picture of a snowboarder popped up, all tanned, chiselled cheekbones and crazy bleached hair.

‘Never fall for the snowboarders or surfers. Believe me, without the get-up they’re all pretty average and all they talk about is how great they are.’

‘I take it you’ve been on quite a lot of dates.’

Jackie shrugged. ‘A fair few. Before this it was eHarmony and Match. I’ve done them all.’

Seb crossed his arms over his chest and sat back against the wooden slates of the booth, ‘It’s interesting isn’t it, the idea of being paired by a computer?’

‘I wonder if you two went on something like eHarmony,’ Jackie said without looking up from her swiping, ‘whether they’d match you.’

‘I doubt it,’ Seb guffawed.

Anna tried not to show her shock. ‘You don’t think?’ she asked, as neutrally as she could.

‘Oh come on. You’re always going on about how different we are,’ he laughed, taking a sip of his pint.

Anna felt her mouth half open, saw Jackie glance up with a wicked look in her eye.

‘Well you are!’ Seb said, as if he knew suddenly that he’d said the wrong thing. A slight look of worry on his face.

‘Yes.’ Anna nodded. ‘Yep, I am. Yeah, they’d probably never match us,’ she said casually and sat back with her wine, her legs crossed, trying to set her face into a relaxed expression.

Seb looked away from her, back to the phone screen and she felt a chill over her skin despite the stifling humidity. This was a man who used to look at her like she was made of gold, who saw a goodness in her that she barely saw herself, who saw the softness beneath the plating.

She suddenly felt like her dusting of glamour was wearing off.

‘Actually, Anna‒’ Jackie said, handing her phone to Seb. ‘I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘A favour?’ Anna felt herself stiffen.

Seb paused momentarily and glanced up.

‘Well it’s just,’ Jackie licked her lips and Anna wondered if she was nervous. Wondered how long she’d been sitting there, laughing and joking, building up to asking whatever it was she was going to ask. ‘There’s this, this dance group. In the village. They’re only little ‒ you know, eight to sixteen. No one’s older than sixteen. And well, they always perform in the summer shows and they put on little routines and stuff and everyone really loves it. Well, they’ve been working towards a Britain’s Got Talent audition.’

Anna snorted in disbelief at the idea of wanting to go on some hideous ITV show like BGT.

‘They’re really excited. I mean, really excited. And I know they’re not the best but well, the whole village is kind of behind them.’

They never got behind me, Anna thought with a feeling not dissimilar to jealousy.

She could tell Seb was listening despite feigning disinterest.

‘Anyway,’ Jackie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘They’ve been working super, super hard and well, Mrs Swanson’s au pair was teaching them but her visa ran out a fortnight ago and she hadn’t told anyone, so now, well, she left on Wednesday. There’s um, no one to help them.’

‘I see.’ Anna did a quick nod, rolling her shoulders back. No way, she thought, no way in God’s own earth, Jackie, no way. Keep going, but this is never going to happen.

Someone wedged the front doors open and the sounds from outside got louder, the laughter and chatting, but the heat stayed where it was, like a wobbling great blancmange.

‘You could do it,’ Seb said, jumping into the silence, unable to keep his trap shut.

‘I don’t think I could, Seb,’ Anna glared at him.

‘Well yeah, I mean that was exactly what I was going to ask. You see, it’s been me and Mrs McNamara—’

‘She’s still there?’

Jackie nodded.

Anna blew out a breath of disbelief. ‘It’s like time literally stood still here.’

‘Neither of us are particularly good dancers. I mean, I can hold my own at a party but you know, I don’t exactly know enough to teach them and well, we all know McNamara’s not exactly a lithe mover. I just don’t want to let the kids down.’

‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Anna tried to find something to distract herself, and rummaged in her bag for her lip gloss. Anna didn’t dance. Anna hadn’t danced in ten years. She hadn’t set foot on a stage, hadn’t warmed up, hadn’t looked out at the glare of the spotlight or felt the hard floor beneath her feet. Anna’s name had never been in lights. ‘God, it’s so hot. Why does it have to be so goddamn hot?’ She could feel Seb watching her.

‘Some of them aren’t the best kids and it’s really good seeing them involved in something—’

‘Jackie, I’m really sorry,’ Anna cut her off. ‘God, it’s just insufferably hot.’ She pulled her top away from her stomach, ‘I’m not going to do it. It’s just a definite no.’

‘Could you just think about it? We’d pay you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head again, reaching for the sing-along song sheet to fan herself with. ‘All the money in the world and I wouldn’t do it.’

‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ she heard Seb add and shot him a look. ‘Actually,’ he said, sitting back with a grin on his face, ‘You’d be bloody awful teaching kids.’

She narrowed her eyes. He raised a brow. While half of her could sniff out his attempts at reverse psychology in an instant, the other half felt like he was deliberately being mean. Like this was almost her punishment ‒ for hating Nettleton, for spending all their money, for not trying hard enough.

‘It’s OK.’ Jackie shook her head, picking up her gin and tonic and taking a sip. ‘I just thought I’d ask.’

Anna rubbed her forehead and felt the heat prickle over her body. Jackie looked away, pretending to glance at the menu chalked up on the blackboard. The fan whirred on above the din of chat in the bar, a low hum beating out the seconds of their silence. Anna watched a fruit fly land in a spilt drop of her white wine and was about to lift her glass to squash it when Seb almost leapt from his seat.

‘Holy shit!’ he shouted.

‘What?’ Both Jackie and Anna said at the same time, equally desperate for some distraction after the dance snub.

‘It’s Smelly Doug.’

Jackie pulled the screen her way. ‘God, it is as well. And look, he has a Porsche, he’s photographed himself leaning against it. Oh no.’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’ Anna said, confused.

Jackie took another sip of her drink. ‘You know, Smelly Doug. Never washed his hair, trousers too short, huge rucksack...?’

Anna only had a vague recollection. ‘Was he in the year below us?’ Everything to do with school, pre-London, pre-The English Ballet Company School, was a bit of a blur. All she could remember was coming back for a few summers to stay with her dad and despising every minute of it.

‘This is fascinating,’ Seb said, as he clicked to look at more photos. ‘There’s one of him in Egypt. Doing that point at the top of the Pyramids.’

‘You should go on a date with him, Jackie.’ Seb nodded at her over the rim of his pint.

‘No way.’ Jackie shook her head.

‘Go on. It’d be a social experiment. Catch up, see what he’s up to. Find out how he could afford a Porsche. It’s a fact-finding mission. I’m putting him in your Yeses.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Jackie laughed. Anna watched them, feeling stupid for feeling left out.

‘Too late.’ Seb sat back, smug, and Jackie snatched the phone back, incredulous.

As Seb went to take a final gulp of his drink, his eyes dancing with triumph, Anna toyed with a coaster, pretending not to envy their laughter.

Then a shadow fell across the table. And Anna heard a familiar voice drawl, ‘Seb, darling, I thought you were going to pop round as soon as you arrived.’ Hilary, Seb’s mother, was standing at the end of their table, feigning her disgruntlement with a dramatic wave of her hand. But when she then pressed her palm over her creped cleavage, the pearls looped round her neck bunched up and caught on the buttons of her cream silk blouse, causing her to turn to Seb’s father, Roger, for help disentangling herself.

Seb glanced between the two of them, ‘Sorry, Mum, yes we were going to pop round. Arrived late last night though.’

‘Hi, Hilary. Hi, Roger.’ Anna stood up as much as the table would allow against her legs.

‘Hello, Anne.’ Hilary said, not looking up from her tangled pearls.

Anna rolled her eyes internally; she knew she called her the wrong name deliberately. Every time she met Seb’s parents, they made her feel like she wasn’t good enough for their son. Like he’d trailed his hand in the Nettleton mud one day and pulled out Anna. The list of problems was endless. Her parents’ divorce, their messy break-up, her father’s job, her mother being Spanish, like her immigrant blood would pollute the famous Davenport gene pool. They must rue the day their lost, London-shell-shocked son had bumped into Anna Whitehall on her lunch break in Covent Garden. They must look back and wonder why they didn’t do their weekend orienteering round London rather than the Hampshire countryside. That way Seb would have been savvy and street-wise, not like a lame duck ready and waiting for her fox-like claws to swipe him away. And now, of course, despite getting their precious youngest son back under Nettleton lock and key, the reason behind it had been her fault. Her inability to keep her job. Her fault he left his position at the elite Whitechapel Boys’ School. Nothing to do with him hating fucking Whitechapel, all the boys who just put their iPhone headphones in during lessons and said things like, ‘My father pays your salary, Sir. Which kind of means he owns you, doesn’t it? He paid for that suit you’re wearing.’

‘So what’s happening with this wedding, then? It’s very unusual, this limbo,’ Hilary sighed. ‘Postponed? Everyone’s been ringing me up, asking what it means. People like to be able to make plans, Anne. They have to book hotels. You must understand.’

Anna nodded. ‘We are sorting it, Hilary.’

‘Well that’s all very well for you to say, but it doesn’t look like you are. As far as I can see, you have a dress and a hotel that’s gone into receivership. And when people ask me what’s going on I simply don’t know. I know you’ve lost money, but what about what we gave you?’

Anna could feel herself getting hotter again. Wanting to shoo Jackie away so she didn’t witness her humiliation at the hands of Hilary and Roger.

When she’d told Seb how much she’d paid and, as a result, how much she’d lost, the main point he’d kept repeating was: just don’t let my mum and dad know.

‘It’s young people and the value of money, Hilly.’ Roger mused. ‘I just can’t believe you didn’t pay for it on a credit card. Everyone knows you pay on credit cards. Instant insurance.’

Anna swallowed. The credit cards she’d kept free to pay off the rest of it, month by month, to syphon off from the salary that she no longer had. ‘I’ve applied to the administrator, I’m doing everything I can.’

Roger snorted. ‘As if that will do anything at all. You won’t see a penny. You’re just a generation who thought they could have, have, have. I blame Labour. All you Guardian readers thinking that the world owes you another pair of shoes. What’s that woman in that ghastly programme?’

‘Sexy in the City,’ Hilary sighed.

‘Yes, just like that. Well, it’s come back to bite you.’ Roger tapped a cigarette out of a silver case that he always carried in the top pocket of his shirt, put it between his lips but didn’t light it, just sucked on the raw tobacco.

Jackie at least had the decency to absorb herself in her phone, Anna noticed, as Hilary leant a hand on the table and said, ‘You need to sort it, Anne. Can’t fail at your first job as a wife. That wouldn’t do at all.’

Tell them to stop, Seb, she thought as they carried on. Tell them to stop.

But he said nothing, just looked at his glass.

The conversation swirled on around her until she heard Jackie say, ‘I know, I’ve been trying to persuade her to put her phenomenal talent to use back here in Nettleton. Razzmatazz are heading towards a big Britain’s Got Talent audition.’

‘And Anna‒’ Hilary frowned, ‘You’re not doing it?’

‘I just‒’ Anna made a face, glanced at Jackie and thought, you sly cow.

‘You really should, Anna. I would have thought you’d jump at the chance of extra money. Seb, what do you think?’

Tell them that you think it’s a terrible idea. Tell them something because you know, more than anything, I don’t want to dance.

Seb licked his lower lip and said, ‘I think it’s Anna’s decision.’