Rich and Mad Read online

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  First published in the United Kingdom by Egmont UK Limited, 2009

  First published in the United States of America by Egmont USA, 2010

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © William Nicholson, 2009

  All rights reserved

  www.egmontusa.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Nicholson, William.

  Rich and Mad / William Nicholson. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  “First published in the United Kingdom by Egmont UK Limited, 2009.” Summary: Seventeen-year-olds Maddy Fisher and Rich Ross yearn for love, and after their first attempts at relationships go awry, they find one another and form a deep bond that can only be expressed one way.

  eISBN: 978-1-60684-183-9 [1. Love—Fiction. 2. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Family life—England—Fiction. 5. Abused women—Fiction. 6. Sex—Fiction. 7. England—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.N5548Ric 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010011317

  CPSIA tracking label information:

  Random House Production · 1745 Broadway · New York, NY 10019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  v3.1

  Permissions

  Lyrics from “A Bushel and a Peck” © 1950 by Frank Loesser, used with permission from MPL Communications Ltd.

  Excerpts from Hay Fever by Noël Coward © NC Aventales AG 1925, used with permission from Methuen Drama, an imprint of A&C Black Publishers Ltd.

  Lyrics from “I Am a Rock” and “The Boxer” © 1965 and 1968 Paul Simon, used with permission from the Publisher: Paul Simon Music.

  Excerpts from “Ignorance” taken from Collected Poems by Philip Larkin © the Estate of Philip Larkin 1988, used with permission from Faber and Faber Ltd.

  Excerpts from The Art of Loving © 1956 Erich Fromm, copyright renewed 1984 by Annis Fromm, used with permission from HarperCollins Publishers.

  Lyrics from “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” words and music by Brian Wilson, Tony Asher and Mike Love; copyright © 1966 IRVING MUSIC, INC.; copyright renewed; all rights reserved; used with permission from Hal Leonard Corporation.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Permissions

  Chapter 1 A meeting in the camel shop

  Chapter 2 Just another loser bitch whore

  Chapter 3 A deep meaningful conversation

  Chapter 4 The boy with the sex manual

  Chapter 5 Rich’s impossible dream

  Chapter 6 Flirting with Joe

  Chapter 7 Fear of rejection

  Chapter 8 Maddy the go-between

  Chapter 9 The sex lives of teenagers

  Chapter 10 Amy the bunny

  Chapter 11 Love is a decision

  Chapter 12 Looking forward to everything else

  Chapter 13 Rich writes Grace a letter

  Chapter 14 Maddy sees the doctor

  Chapter 15 Gay loser freak

  Chapter 16 Lies about Leo

  Chapter 17 Only a bit of fun

  Chapter 18 Rich goes to war

  Chapter 19 Eating yum-yums

  Chapter 20 The losers club

  Chapter 21 Mr. Pico’s secret

  Chapter 22 Maddy has monster thoughts

  Chapter 23 Gran’s eightieth birthday party

  Chapter 24 A father’s love

  Chapter 25 The moreness of things

  Chapter 26 All at once the feelings

  Chapter 27 Imo in tears

  Chapter 28 Rich in love

  Chapter 29 Joe brings news

  Chapter 30 Grace’s story

  Chapter 31 The big question

  Chapter 32 Reconciliations

  Chapter 33 The first time

  About the Author

  1

  A meeting in the camel shop

  “I’ve decided to fall in love,” said Maddy Fisher.

  Cath nodded to show she was listening, but did not look up from her magazine.

  “I’m seriously serious. I’m too young to get married but I’m too old to be single. I need love.”

  “And sex,” said Cath.

  “Well, yes. But I’m not talking about a quick grope at a party. I’m talking about can’t-eat can’t-sleep crazy in love.”

  “Any idea who?” said Cath.

  “Not a single clue.”

  Outside the old coaching inn, on the broad grass verge beside the main road, there stood a large wooden camel. The camel was painted gold and wore a curious smirk on its face. The inn was now a shop; more than a shop, an emporium, crammed with furniture imported from India and the Far East. It was called Caravanserai. But all those who stopped to explore its warren of exotic rooms knew it as the camel shop.

  Late one Wednesday afternoon in September, on the last day of the summer holidays, only three browsers remained as closing time approached: an elegant middle-aged woman and two very good-looking young men, her sons. The woman was intent on a display case of silver and coral necklaces. The older and more handsome of her two sons was sprawled in a teak planter’s chair, his long legs stretched out and his eyes closed. The younger son wandered off to explore on his own.

  Up a flight of broad stairs hung with winking mirrors framed in fruitwood, through the high-windowed front room crammed with lacquered Ming Dynasty wedding cabinets, he made his aimless way at last to a back room that was given over to a display of cushions, textiles, and rugs. He stood in the doorway and gazed into the cave of colors. A central skylight made of stained glass streamed crimsons and purples and golds onto bolts of glittering fabric. Beds of Indonesian bangsat wood draped in rainbow weaves crowded against chaise lounges inlaid with patterns of rosewood acacia, on which plump cushions were piled in bright profusion. The room was a nest for an oriental princess.

  It was also Maddy Fisher’s special place.

  Unseen at first by the visitor, Maddy was curled up on the bed, screened by a curtain of mirror-fabric. She heard the approaching footsteps and frowned in irritation, quietly closing the laptop that lay on the bed beside her. She remained still, breathing softly. Few browsing shoppers went beyond the doorway.

  But now she heard the footsteps advance into the room. Round the edge of the curtain a face appeared, saw her, and smiled a quizzical smile. With the smile went a twist of the mouth, a drawing together of the eyebrows, and a look of such amused surprise that it was as if he’d spoken aloud. Here’s a bit of fun.

  What he actually said was, “Maddy Fisher!”

  Maddy blushed, and at once hoped that the colored light from the lantern covered her shame. She knew him. The surprise was that he remembered her name.

  He was Joe Finnigan, one year her senior, at the top of the school. Long and lanky, with his humorous face and wild hair, he somehow managed to combine all the most attractive qualities in a boy without being male-model pretty. He wasn’t the cleverest in his year, or the most athletic, but he was the most desired. You only had to look at Joe to feel that it would be an honor to attract his attention.

  Maddy was honored.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “I live here,” replied Maddy.

  “What, in this room?”

  “In the house, at the back. This is my parents’ business.”

  “Oh, I see. What a great business.”

  He never asked what she was doing hiding in a
curtained bed with a laptop. Instead he fixed her with his eyes, allowing the lingering remains of his smile to tell her that he liked what he saw.

  His elder brother now entered the room.

  “Here you are,” he said with a yawn.

  “Look at this, Leo.” Joe Finnigan waved one hand round the multicolored space. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

  Leo Finnigan was a few years older than Joe and looked like a more perfect version of him. He was strikingly good-looking, his dark eyes set in pale, perfect skin. He did not gaze round the room. He looked at Maddy.

  “Hello!” he said. “Is that for sale?”

  “Behave yourself,” said Joe.

  “I’d pay top dollar.”

  Joe Finnigan grinned at Maddy.

  “My bad brother Leo. Just ignore him.”

  “Hi,” said Maddy.

  Leo sat down on the bed close enough to brush against her feet.

  “I suppose you’re jailbait,” he said. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “Leo,” said Joe. “Control yourself.”

  “I’m seventeen,” said Maddy. As soon as she said it she regretted it. She hated being treated like a child, but only children felt it necessary to announce their age.

  “Maddy’s family owns the place,” said Joe. “It’s a real Aladdin’s cave, isn’t it?”

  “Everyone says that,” said Maddy.

  “Have to do better than that, Joe,” said Leo.

  Joe laughed an easy laugh and met Maddy’s eyes with a smile.

  “Oh, I don’t claim to be more original than everyone else. Come along, Leo. Mum’ll be waiting for us.”

  “I’ll catch you up.”

  “No way am I leaving you alone here.”

  Leo groaned and rose to his feet. “Spoilsport.”

  He turned and shambled towards the stairs.

  “Don’t mind him,” Joe said to Maddy. “He’s still drunk from last night. You have a great place here.”

  “Have you bought anything?”

  “Not me. My mother’s downstairs ordering wagon-loads of junk for Leo’s flat. Sorry, not junk. Ethnic furniture.”

  “Call it what you like so long as you buy it.”

  “Leo’s not remotely interested. He’d just as soon live in empty rooms.”

  He turned to go. In the doorway he paused and looked back.

  “So what’s the camel called?”

  “Cyril.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is.”

  He left her alone.

  As soon as he was gone Maddy began to chastise herself for the things she had said and not said. Joe Finnigan had never spoken to her before in her life. Now he would go away with the impression that she was eccentric, rude, and immature. The truth was she had been taken entirely by surprise. Joe had formed no part of her mental world before. He existed on another plane, altogether out of her reach.

  In her mind she explored the picture he had left behind, still fresh and sharp: his quirky smile, his bright eyes. What had he been wearing? Some kind of greenish jacket, black T-shirt, jeans.

  The way he laughed. It made everything feel easy.

  The shop was closing. Maddy could hear the clicking of light switches as Ellen, the assistant manager, made her way from room to room. Maddy jumped off the bed, smoothed the cloths and cushions she had been lying on, and headed out with her laptop in her arms.

  As she descended the stairs she tracked her reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls. The light on the stairs came from a single narrow window before her, which had the effect of making her reflection look flatteringly moody. She flicked back her long brownish hair, trying to catch a glimpse of herself as others saw her. Big brown eyes, oval face, a mouth that seemed to her to be too small. A few stubborn spots, mostly on her forehead where her hair hid them. Tall figure, nothing much in the way of breasts. Good legs. Pretty enough, was the verdict she usually accorded herself. Not as pretty as her older sister, Imo, of course. Imo was the beauty of the family. But boys noticed Maddy. Joe Finnigan’s brother Leo had virtually made a pass at her. What had Joe thought about that?

  There was something scary about Leo, but on the whole Maddy was pleased by his attention. It helped her to believe something that she found hard to believe about herself: that she was sexy.

  2

  Just another loser bitch whore

  Behind the coaching inn, across a yard, stood a deep-roofed building that had once been the inn’s stables. The old brick walls were almost completely covered by Virginia creeper, its leaves just beginning to turn the burned red of autumn. This was Maddy’s family home. The front door opened directly into a long low-ceilinged kitchen, which filled most of the ground floor. At one end, steep stairs rose to attic bedrooms. At the other end, several sagging armchairs stood round a small television.

  Maddy found the kitchen empty. This was good news and bad news. She had taken a vow not to eat between meals, but when there was no one to see, it was as if she wasn’t doing it.

  She put a slice of bread in to toast and got out the butter and the lemon curd. To distract herself from what she was doing she turned on the TV. It was the six o’clock news. Someone was forecasting that the economy was heading into recession. A businessman had shot his wife and daughter dead and burned his own house down. Scientists were warning that pre-packed salads give you food poisoning. A man had been murdered for asking some other men to stop smoking.

  Why are they telling me this? What am I supposed to do about it? Feel bad?

  The toast popped. Maddy laid on the butter and the lemon curd with generous knife strokes.

  Am I allowed to be happy in this sick world of ours? Or here’s a tougher one: am I allowed to be unhappy? I may not be starving to death in a brothel but I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve had my times crying in bed at night. Can’t I be one of the world’s suffering victims too?

  The news rolled relentlessly on. Houses being repossessed. Families standing by stacks of sad old furniture in the street. Wagon-loads of junk.

  The toast and lemon curd seemed to have gone. She had no memory of having eaten it. She put a second slice in the toaster. No point in breaking a vow if you don’t enjoy it.

  Actually when you come right down to it what does it matter if I’m happy or unhappy? It’s not as if my life has any meaning. I mean, I want it to go on. You can’t help that, you just do. But from the point of view of the rest of the world I might as well not exist. I’m just one more pointless creature taking up space and resources on an overcrowded planet.

  Just another loser bitch whore, as Cath would say.

  The toast popped.

  Her sister, Imo, came into the kitchen as Maddy was once more lathering on the lemon curd.

  “Jesus, Maddy. How can you eat that stuff?”

  “I like it,” said Maddy.

  “Have you any idea how many calories there are in every bite?”

  “I don’t care.”

  All Maddy’s life Imo had been thin as a pole. She looked stunning in whatever she wore. Imo was three years older, and ever since Maddy could remember she had wanted to be like her, but she had given up long ago trying to be that thin. Her body simply refused to go there.

  “Imo,” said Maddy, “doesn’t it ever strike you that your life has no useful purpose and you’re pretty much a waste of space in the universe?”

  “No.” Imo picked up Maddy’s knife and ran one finger along the blade. Then she licked the lemon curd off her finger. “Oh my God!” she said. “That is so disgusting.”

  “Not just you,” said Maddy. “Everyone. I mean, maybe the things we do just don’t matter. Maybe our life is just pointless.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.” She licked more lemon curd off the knife. “Really, Maddy, it’s not fair of you. You know I’ve got no powers of resistance.”

  “Pointless to everyone else, then.”

  “My life isn’t pointless to everyone else. Alex minds about what I do. I wish he
wouldn’t mind quite so much, actually.”

  Alex was Imo’s boyfriend.

  “Is that enough to give your life a point? Alex minding?”

  “Not really. Not Alex. But the right guy’ll come along one day. You know what, Mad?” Imo pointed one finger glistening with lick. “You need a boyfriend.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  Imo pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and tilted her head towards it as if into a private space.

  “Hi,” she said. “Talking about you.”

  She moved slowly backwards, retreating to her own room, no longer fully present in her body. Phones did that to you. Maddy didn’t mind. She was no different.

  Of course she needed a boyfriend. But it wasn’t that simple. Maddy wasn’t gorgeous like Imo, or like her friend Grace; but nor was she desperate. In her own way she was quite proud. She didn’t want just any boyfriend, for the sake of appearances, the way you might want a designer top. She wanted a boy to love.

  The difficulty was the boys she had grown up with, the boys in her year at school, were simply not up to the job. Undersized, badly dressed, noisy, and stupid, there wasn’t a single one about whom she could summon up the smallest tremor of excitement. And falling in love, if nothing else, had to be exciting.

  Maddy and Cath and Grace often puzzled over this conundrum. How was it that at sixteen and seventeen some of the girls were truly stylish, while the boys still thought it was funny to make fart noises?

  “Girls grow up faster than boys,” said Grace. “It’s well known.”

  “But why?”

  “Because girls have to get ready to be mothers.”

  “So? Boys have to get ready to be fathers.”

  “Being a father isn’t such a big deal as being a mother.”

  “Says who?”

  “Well, you may or may not have noticed, Maddy, but in all the one-parent families, the one parent is the mother.”

  Grace had always had this way of making pronouncements as though what she said was divine law. She’d been the same since they first met, at the age of five: Grace so perfectly formed that Maddy had idolized her from the start. It wasn’t just her adorable appearance—it was her precocious composure. Grace was never flustered, never in a hurry, never had a hair out of place. In more recent years Maddy had grown apart from Grace in many ways, but neither of them had ever admitted it to the other. They had a history together. They were best friends by default.