by Jane Green
‘No. Sorry. I just came by to pick up a coat and say hi to my dad. Is he here?’
‘He’s very busy,’ Beth says. ‘He’s working on a deadline for an article to coincide with the launch of the new book. You know how he is when he’s working, he hates to be disturbed.’
Clemmie laughs in disbelief. ‘Right.’ Then peers at Beth, who does not smile. ‘Are you actually serious? Are you telling me my own father won’t see me because he’s busy writing?’
Beth smiles this time. ‘I know. Crazy, right? But you know how he is.’
‘Yes. I know how he is,’ Clemmie says slowly. ‘And he loves when I visit. Is he in the house?’
‘He’s in the city today,’ Beth says smoothly. ‘I think he’s working at the New York Public Library. He says every now and then it helps for him to change it up.’
‘Really?’ Clemmie doesn’t recall him ever saying anything like that before. ‘How odd. Beth? Is he okay? That doesn’t sound like him at all.’
Beth flashes a bright smile. ‘Everything’s great!’ she says. ‘You know, you can always give me a call before you come up. That way we know if he’s here or not. I know he’ll be sorry he missed you, and if you call next time we can make sure he’s here.’
Clemmie blinks at her. There is something . . . proprietary about Beth suddenly. Her mother’s words echo in her ears. Could she possibly be right?
‘Great idea,’ Clemmie says. ‘I’ll just quickly go and grab my coat.’
‘Want me to come?’ Beth says.
‘I’ll only be a second,’ lies Clemmie. ‘I have to dash straight back home. Luke has a concert tonight and the traffic’s hell.’
‘Luke has a concert? Why didn’t you tell us? We would have loved to come!’
‘Us?’ Clemmie raises an eyebrow.
‘Your dad.’ Beth laughs. ‘He hates going anywhere alone, so he tries to force me to go with him to lots of the events these days.’
Clemmie just nods, walking out of the barn, knowing that something is definitely not right.
Of course she can’t just grab her coat and leave. Of course she goes straight upstairs to her parents’ room and opens the door, feeling sick and scared as she pushes it open, her eyes scanning the room for evidence.
It looks much as it always has. The same clock on her father’s side, the same pile of manuscripts and books. On her mother’s side a pile of books, but that is no proof that Beth is there – the books could have been left behind by her mother.
She pulls open the drawer. Nothing that is recognizably anyone’s, and it isn’t until she reaches the bathroom that she knows her mother is right. Makeup is dotted on the vanity unit, a lipstick, Beth’s lipstick, still with its cap off. Her mother’s brushes lie haphazardly on the table, having just been used, her robe thrown over the back of the chair, still damp from this morning’s shower.
‘Fuck,’ Clemmie whistles, turning as she hears footsteps.
‘I thought you were just going to get your coat and leave,’ says Beth from the doorway.
‘I thought you were just my father’s assistant, not his lover,’ says Clemmie. ‘I thought you’d have the decency to leave my mother’s things alone.’
‘If your mother were well,’ says Beth evenly, ‘I wouldn’t be here. You should be grateful someone is looking after your father.’
‘Grateful? Are you fucking kidding me?’ snorts Clemmie, pushing past Beth and pausing at the top of the stairs. ‘You have just proved my mother entirely sane and absolutely right about you. She said you had orchestrated everything, including making her appear crazy. She said you would do anything to get her out so you could get your hands on my father.’
‘Really?’ Beth’s voice is light, as if they are making polite small talk, a smile on her face. ‘I wouldn’t trust anything that comes out of your mother’s mouth. Poor thing,’ she says, turning and going back into the bedroom, closing the door with a sharp, but firm, click.
Clemmie reverses out of the driveway blind with rage. Beth’s smug face, her voice saying ‘poor thing’ echoing around and around her mind. She drives up the road, then pulls over, digging her mobile phone out from her pocket and calling her mother. The phone isn’t answered, it goes straight to voicemail.
Over and over, she calls. Over and over, she gets voicemail.
Thirty-five
Grace dozes on and off throughout the flight. Her excitement at seeing Clemmie again is tempered by a pang of loss at leaving Patrick.
She didn’t expect to feel this, hadn’t expected to be so emotional at having to leave. It was more than that, she told herself, it was that she didn’t know when she would see him again.
‘We’ll phone,’ he whispered into her ear as they hugged goodbye at the airport. ‘I’ll email you every day. Maybe not every day, but at least once a month.’
Grace had laughed into his shoulder, pulling back to look him in the eye.
‘I love you,’ she said, turning away, swallowing the lump in her throat.
‘I’ve always loved you,’ he said, kissing her one last time before turning and walking away.
Her thoughts on the plane ride have been jumbled between Clemmie and Patrick, excitement and pain, no movie able to distract her from her circular, incessant thinking.
Sybil is standing in arrivals, her face in a wide smile of joy as she spots Grace, leaping forward to fling her arms around her, take her case, babbling at how wonderful Grace looks.
‘Look at you! Look at you!’ She keeps stopping in her tracks and turning to look at her friend. ‘Oh, Grace! How I’ve missed you! Nothing has been the same since you’ve been gone.’
They drive along the Van Wyck, Sybil talking and talking, asking questions, then interrupting Grace’s answers to tell her something else she has suddenly thought of.
‘So?’ Sybil asks finally. ‘I’ll drop you at Clemmie’s, go and do the errands in the city I need to do, then we’ll go home. How does that sound?’
‘Perfect.’
There is, finally, a comfortable silence, broken after a few minutes by Sybil looking slyly at Grace: ‘Don’t you want to tell me more about Patrick?’
Grace arranges her features into an expression of nonchalance. ‘What about Patrick?’ Don’t blush! thinks Grace. Not now. For God’s sake, don’t blush. Nobody knows about Patrick, and Grace is convinced that is for the best. She takes a deep breath and wills herself to stay calm. ‘What about him?’
‘Wasn’t there something going on between you?’
‘What on earth would make you think that?’ Grace feigns surprise. ‘We’re very old friends,’ Grace says lightly. ‘He’s like a brother to me.’
‘But he’s in love with you, isn’t he? At least that’s what it sounded like from your emails.’
‘I don’t think so,’ tries Grace, who doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself. ‘He did always have a crush on me when we were young,’ Grace deflects. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me he still did, but maybe you’re right.’
‘So, nothing happened in England between the two of you?’
Grace thinks back to her time with Patrick, feels a flutter of lust and loss that is instantly discombobulating.
‘Nothing happened,’ she lies smoothly, swiftly changing the subject. ‘Syb, there is something I want to ask, and I wanted to ask you face to face. I need you to tell me what Beth was saying about me. I know you don’t want to tell me, but now that I’m here, I really need to know what I’m dealing with.’
Sybil turns to look at her friend. ‘What’s the point?’ she says. ‘It’s only going to hurt you.’
‘I need to know, Syb. It won’t hurt me, I promise.’
‘I’m sure you already know most of this. She said you were crazy. That’s basically the brunt of it. She told the board at Harmont House, and it seems anyone else who would listen, that you’re bipolar and she and Ted tried to have you committed, but you escaped. That you had these unbelievable tantrums and rages, that she and Ted were terri
fied of you, that never has there been such a discrepancy between a public image and the private person.’
‘Wow.’ Grace shakes her head. ‘She really did a number on me.’
‘She did. Have you come back to get revenge?’
Grace laughs. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s revenge that I want, but I do know I need to get things resolved. I just don’t have any idea how.’
Thirty-six
‘Mum!’ Clemmie rocks in her mother’s arms, hands clasped tightly behind her mother’s back, squeezing her mother as the two of them stand wrapped so close, it looks as if they will never let each other go.
‘Clemmie,’ croons Grace, smelling her daughter’s hair, feeling it soft on her cheek. ‘My baby girl. My love.’
Clemmie steps back to look deep into Grace’s eyes before clasping her again, releasing her only after Luke clears his throat.
‘Hello, Mrs Chapman.’ He steps forward. ‘You probably don’t remember me, but we met once at a gala.’
‘Of course I remember you!’ Grace laughs, putting her arms out and giving him a loose, easy hug. ‘Not to mention that I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as if I know you.’
‘I’m glad you’re home. Clemmie has missed you a lot.’
‘She knows,’ Clemmie says, putting her arm through Grace’s. ‘Can I show you the apartment?’ Grace moves with her past the foyer.
‘I’ve been desperate to see what it’s like. Oh, Clemmie!’ Grace takes in the French doors that separate the living room from the bedroom, the breezy white curtains at the window, the white flokati rugs on the floor. ‘It’s so stylish! And cosy! I love it!’
‘I know! Right?’ Clemmie proudly brings her mother in, showing her the tiny black-and-white-tiled bathroom, the galley kitchen that, Clemmie proudly says, has actually been cooked in!
‘A New Yorker who cooks!’ Luke says. ‘Wonders will never cease.’
‘I am my mother’s daughter.’ Clemmie smiles. ‘Everything I learned, I learned from her.’
‘You’re a lucky fellow, that’s all I can say,’ says Grace as they go into the living room and sit down in front of a tray of fresh lemonade and chocolate chip cookies Clemmie has prepared.
‘You look amazing,’ Clemmie says, curling up on the sofa next to her mother, taking her mother’s hand and playing with her Russian wedding ring, the ring Grace has always worn on the third finger of her right hand. She looks into her mother’s eyes. ‘You look like you again. Only . . . happier.’
Grace laughs. ‘I feel like me again. It was a rough time, having that misdiagnosis, then feeling like I truly was going nuts. I’m glad it’s all over. I’m glad I’m back to almost feeling like myself.’
‘Almost?’
‘I don’t feel the same as I did before,’ Grace says. ‘It might just be timing, that my body still has to adjust to having been pounded by those heavy-duty drugs, but I have a feeling I won’t ever go back to being exactly who I was before. I can’t even explain it. Some of it is probably a good thing.’
‘I had no idea,’ says Clemmie.
‘I know,’ says Grace. ‘Neither did I. I thought my entire life was coming apart, but I think I just realized that sometimes the thing you think is going to ruin your life is the thing that saves you.’
‘The thing you think is going to ruin your life being Beth?’ Clemmie’s eyes flash.
‘It’s not just Beth. It’s the whole bipolar thing . . .’ Grace takes a deep breath. ‘Clemmie, I’ve never told you this, or your father, but part of the reason this was so awful was that my mother was bipolar. She was what was then called a manic depressive, and the one fear I have always had was that I would somehow turn out to be like her.’ Grace looks down at her hands to see they are shaking. For over twenty years she has been terrified her husband or her daughter might find out, and now that she has just confessed, she realizes it is as if a huge black cloud has finally lifted from her shoulders.
Clemmie just stares at her.
‘There are very few people who know. Your father doesn’t know. I’ve always carried such tremendous shame about it, I tried to keep it a secret. And of course, when that diagnosis was given to me, it was as if my greatest fear was coming true – that I would end up like my mother.
‘And I think that’s why, even though I was so certain he was wrong, but it’s why I thought he might be right. My mother never accepted treatment. She was an alcoholic, and mentally ill, and it killed her. I thought that if it was true – and I know there is a genetic component, which is why I was so scared – but if it was true, I could have a different outcome if I was treated. But I don’t have it, Clemmie. You know that, don’t you? I never had it.’ Grace is smiling now, unable to believe the levity she feels from having confessed. What is it that they say, she thinks, about you being only as sick as your secrets? I should have done this years ago, she thinks. What was I so frightened of?
Clemmie nods. ‘I didn’t know what to believe,’ she says. ‘Dad was so clear that you were ill, but nothing I read about bipolar sounded like you. Yes, you were obviously depressed, but there was no mania, no grandiosity, none of the things that signify the duality of it. And now that I’ve really seen what’s going on with Beth, I know she’s behind it all. You weren’t crazy. You were right all along. About everything. It’s a nightmare. She’s a nightmare . . .’ Clemmie’s words rush out of her. ‘She’s completely taken over everything and she’s distancing Dad from everyone, even me, and she’s spending all your money and I can’t believe any of us believed her. We have to stop her, Mum. We have to do something. Dad is totally miserable, but he doesn’t know how to get out of it. His book comes out next week, and normally he’s doing tons of interviews, but it’s been really quiet, and I think he’s nervous.’
‘Have the magazine reviews come out?’
Clemmie winces. ‘A couple. And they were terrible. “A shadow of his former self,” they said. “Weak, and insubstantial.” He’s pretty devastated, and now we’re dreading the Times review. And you heard he fired Molly? Beth is apparently now acting as his agent. It’s going from bad to worse.’
Grace shakes her head. ‘There was a lot banking on this book,’ she says quietly. ‘Publishing is not what it was. His agent confided that the publisher wouldn’t do another deal if this book doesn’t do well. I’m sorry. I’m sorry things are going badly.’ She looks up at Clemmie. ‘This must be so hard for him.’
‘What are we going to do?’ says Clemmie. ‘We have to do something.’
‘Let me call Molly,’ says Grace, any trace of jet lag disappearing. ‘Maybe she has some insight. I can tell Sybil to go home and I’ll get a car there later. Let’s see what we can find out.’
Molly Sullivan is, has always been, larger than life. A bleached blonde, always in some variation of a red jacket, dripping with gold jewellery, she has a heart as big as the ocean, is regularly caricatured on the literary blogs, represents some of the biggest names in the business, is both feared and admired, in equal part, by the publishers she deals with on a daily basis, and is unreservedly adored by all her authors.
‘No one has ever left me,’ she is fond of saying, and it is true; her loyalty and love for her authors is unquestionable, her ability as a dealmaker unparalleled. She represents few of the younger authors – they want to be represented by someone sexier, younger, someone with their pulse on social media – but the old guard loves her, know they can rely on her to always have their backs.
Her office is in the centre of town and Grace nervously enters the office she used to know so well.
‘Grace!’ Molly flings her arms around Grace, holding her at arm’s length before pulling her in to squeeze her so tightly, Grace actually struggles for breath.
‘Gracie!’ murmurs Molly again, and when she pulls back, Grace can see the genuine emotion in her eyes. Molly may have represented Ted, but she came to know the whole family, came to love everyone as much as she had once loved Ted.
‘You lo
ok wonderful!’ Molly says, clearly surprised.
‘You expected me to be a raging crazy mess?’ Grace asks, a smile hovering at the edges of her lips.
‘Well, yes. I rather did. That’s what that Beth would have me believe. You do know that, Grace, yes? I’m not telling you something you don’t already know, because, dear God, I would never want to hurt you.’
‘It’s okay, Molly. I know. Clemmie told me everything today. Beth is a very smart girl who is incredibly devious. I have this feeling she orchestrated everything from the beginning, but of course I can’t know that for sure until I try and figure out why.’
‘Oh, I’ll tell you why,’ sniffs Molly. ‘She’s an evil golddigger. I knew it the first time I met her. She spent the whole time pretending to be deeply concerned about you, explaining how ill you were, and I just found myself sitting there thinking, Grace? Grace has a mental illness? Surely I would have known that, sometime over the almost twenty years I have known you. Surely there would have been some hint if that were true.’
‘And Ted said nothing.’
Molly purses her lips. ‘It’s very clear to all of us who know Ted that he is completely under her spell. Now we think he’s just terrified of her, but he has made his bed and will just have to lie in it. Apparently she’s talking to anyone who will listen about how they’re planning on self-publishing, with her as the editor. It’s all a complete disaster. Do you know, he didn’t even have the guts to fire me? She did it! Can you imagine? After all these years together, everything we’ve been through, I get a phone call from her one afternoon telling me she – this nothing – is taking over as his agent. Can you imagine? Not to mention that this book is just not ready. It needs a huge amount of work. The publisher tried to tell him, apparently, but Beth has “edited” it, and Ted refused to listen. When I told him, I got fired. I don’t know if you’ve seen the early reviews, but they’re terrible. Grace, his career is just heading down the tubes with this girl.’ Tears of rage fill Molly’s eyes. ‘And I . . . I’m so hurt, Grace. So hurt! They’re going to be there tonight and honestly, I haven’t seen him since all of this happened, and I’m dreading it.’