Paullina Simons: Tully

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Flamingo an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1995

Copyright © Paullina Simons 1994

Cover design by Jane Waterhouse and HarperCollins Design Studio

Cover image © plainpicture/Boris Leist

Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780006490012

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2012 ISBN: 9780007386864

Version: 2018-05-23

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

To Alla and Yuri Handler,

my mother and father

Strait is the gate

and narrow is the way

That leads unto Life

And few there be that find it

St Matthew 7:14

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

I Jennifer Lynn Mandolini

ONE Three Friends

TWO The Party

THREE Robin

FOUR Winter

FIVE Jennifer

II Railroad Days

SIX A House of Little Illusion

SEVEN Jeremy

EIGHT Hedda Makker

NINE Robin and Jeremy

TEN A Postcard from Home

III The House on Texas Street

ELEVEN Back Home

TWELVE Wichita

THIRTEEN Infancy

FOURTEEN Lake Vaquero

FIFTEEN Painting the House

IV Natalie Anne Makker

SIXTEEN Jenny October 1986

SEVENTEEN California

EIGHTEEN Mother

NINETEEN Husband and Wife

TWENTY Tully

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Ah Life,

I would have been a pleasant thing to have

About the house when I was grown

If thou hadst left my little joys alone!

Edna St Vincent Millay

Mama’s gonna make all of your nightmares come true

Mama’s gonna put all of her fears into you

Roger Waters

September 28, 1978

One warm September afternoon, Tully, Jennifer, and Julie sat around a kitchen table in a house on a street named Sunset Court.

‘Tully, go home,’ said Jennifer Mandolini. ‘I don’t want you at my party looking like this.’ She pointed to Tully’s face.

Tully Makker ignored her, busy stirring the French onion dip she made rarely but well. ‘One more taste and I’m out of here,’ she said. But the Mandolini kitchen smelled of apple strudel, while at home the kitchen smelled nothing like apple strudel. Tully was sitting at the table with her feet up on Julie’s lap, and Tully was comfortable.

Jennifer reached over and took the dip away from Tully. ‘One more taste and there’ll be nothing left.’

Tully watched her put the dip on the kitchen counter and sighed. Jen was right. It really was time to go.

Turning back to Tully, Jennifer added almost apologetically, ‘We’ll have nothing for the guests, right, Jule?’

‘Right, Jen,’ agreed Julie Martinez, sipping her Coke.

Tully reluctantly got up from the table, strolled over to the kitchen counter, and picked up her onion dip. ‘Jennifer, they’re going to be much too busy dancing with you to have dip,’ she said, running her finger around the rim of the bowl. She began to hum ‘Hotel California.’

Jennifer wrested the bowl away. ‘Makker, it’s five o’clock!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve got a two-mile walk home,’ she said, getting Glad Wrap and covering the dip, ‘and a two-mile walk back. And I don’t have wheels yet to cart your ass around.’ She put the dip in the fridge. ‘Get the hell out of here. Go put your face on.’ And then to Julie, ‘Julie, why won’t she leave?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Julie. ‘She’s never liked it here before.’

‘Girls, girls,’ said Tully. ‘You can leave me alone now, I’m on my way.’ Tully did not go, however; quite the opposite: she walked back to the table, sat down, and put her feet up on a chair.

Jennifer perched down next to her. ‘Go,’ Jennifer said, but gentler. ‘I don’t want you to be late, that’s all.’

Tully didn’t move. ‘And it’s only three miles there and back.’

‘Get out of here,’ repeated Jennifer, sighing with exasperation.

Tully reached around Jennifer for the tube of Pringles. It had been a good Saturday afternoon. Quiet. Fun. Warm.

‘Listen, Mandolini,’ Tully said, handing Jennifer a potato chip. ‘You still haven’t told me how many people are going to be here tonight.’

‘Thirty,’ replied Jennifer, taking the chip, getting up, and opening the kitchen door. ‘And I did tell you.’

‘Thirty,’ echoed Julie cheerfully. ‘Half of them football players.’

Licking the salt off her lips, Tully eyed Jennifer. ‘Oh, Jen?’ she said. ‘By the way, how is cheerleading?’

‘Good, okay, thank you for asking,’ said Jennifer, standing by the door.

The breeze felt good on Tully’s arms. ‘Ahh,’ she intoned, glancing meaningfully at Julie but trying to keep a poker face. ‘Ever get to talk to any of the football players?’

‘Not often,’ said Jennifer, walking over to the sink. ‘Every once in a while they come around and shout obscenities at us.’ Tully stared at Jennifer’s back.

‘So you don’t talk to any football players in particular?’

‘No, not really,’ said Jennifer, carefully ripping off a paper towel and wetting it.

Julie cleared her throat and said, ‘Jen, isn’t your locker right next to a guy who looks just like a football player?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jennifer, not turning around. ‘I guess.’ And she began to wipe up the counter in earnest, with her back to the kitchen table.

Tully and Julie exchanged a look.

‘Yeah,’ said Tully, getting up and walking over to Jennifer. ‘I do recall seeing you talk to some guy who wears those sexy football jerseys with a number on the back. What’s his number, Jule?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Julie.

‘Maybe sixty-nine?’ offered Tully, trying to peek at Jennifer’s face.

Jennifer didn’t answer, just pushed Tully away with her wet hand.