is sleeping in the spare room. And she is making lists. Wandering round the house at night, scribbling guesstimates of their furniture. Sitting in her closet, wondering what designer consignments will get, and whether she can talk them into taking fifteen percent rather than their usual forty.
Nothing they have is really worth anything. Not in the grand scheme of things. Keith isn’t working, and thinks it’s unlikely he will find another job for a while, and Charlie’s business is fun, but doesn’t even begin to fund their lifestyle, not to mention that flowers are a luxury that people can now ill afford.
If they are lucky, they may be able to scrabble together a hundred thousand from selling their possessions. A hundred thousand, which will last them a while, once their children are out of school.
Oh God. Highfield Academy. There is always the possibility of financial aid. With a huge swallow, Charlie picks up the phone and dials the familiar number of the academy.
“Hi, this is Charlie Warren. I’d like to make an appointment to see the headmaster.”
Tracy tries telling Kit she doesn’t have time to meet them, but Charlie arrives and won’t take no for an answer.
“We miss you and we’re not accepting no.” Charlie plants herself in front of the desk in Tracy’s office and refuses to move. “You’re coming upstairs to the smoothie bar even if we have to drag you ourselves.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Charlie puts her hands on her hips. “Try me.”
“Okay, okay!” Tracy throws her hands up in submission. “I’m coming.”
Kit glances at Charlie, who shrugs, for although Tracy is coming, there is little joy in her voice, and little energy in her step as she trudges up the stairs in front of them.
“So what’s going on?” Charlie goes first. “We’re worried about you.”
“Worried about me? I’m fine. Why are you worried about me?”
“Because you’ve barely spoken to me since that night we went out for dinner with Alice and Harry, and Kit says you’ve barely spoken to her, and we’re worried about you.”
Kit reaches over and places a gentle hand on her arm. “We love you, Tracy. That’s why we’re here. We’re your friends, and if there’s something bad happening in your life, we want to help.”
“Let me tell you, there are bad things happening in my life, and right now I’m looking for all the help I can get; and as embarrassed as I am, I’m not afraid to accept it.” Charlie swallows. “And you shouldn’t be either.”
Tracy is aghast. “What kind of things?”
“Let’s just say the current financial crisis is affecting me deeply.”
“How deeply?”
Charlie shrugs, as if it is something inconsequential. “There’s nothing left. That’s why Keith was so antsy when you were asking him for money. Turns out—tada!—we haven’t got any.”
“Are you serious? ”
“I wish to God I was joking, but no. Sadly, I am serious.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Sell the house, sell everything I have, pull the kids out of the private schools unless they agree to grant us financial aid, and either move in with my parents in New Jersey, or, God forbid, although it’s looking more likely, move in with Keith’s parents here in Highfield.”
“But you hate Keith’s parents,” Kit says.
“I know. Everything else I can just about deal with but that may push me over the edge.”
Tracy merely sits, looking at her openmouthed. “Oh my God,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s only money.” Charlie feigns an insouciance she doesn’t feel, scared that if she reveals her true fears, she will start crying and will never be able to stop.
“Oh Charlie,” she says. “I’ve been so selfish.”
“No, you haven’t. I’m fine. And anyway, we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you. What’s going on with you?”
“I’ve just been working hard.” Tracy recovers her composure. “The holiday season is starting and it seems to be a crazy time of year. I just haven’t stopped, but I realize I’ve been a really bad friend. I’m sorry.” She looks first at Charlie then at Kit.
“So you really are okay?” Kit asks, dubiously, for Charlie was right: Tracy does look pretty terrible, and that’s definitely a black eye.
“This?” Tracy touches her eye. “A rogue closet door in my house, can you stand it? Everyone thinks I’ve been secretly beaten up by someone.”