‘Before I tell you, you have to know that everything is OK.’
Max’s brow furrowed, her big brown eyes suddenly apprehensive. Lucy looked frightened.
‘A while back I found a lump in my breast.’ Marj heard her voice like it was suspended, her words hanging like a wisp of cigarette smoke in the air. Suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. She knew she had to speak quickly, tell them everything. She had to make them see everything was going to be fine.
‘I had a biopsy and it was breast cancer…’
Max’s eyes had filled with tears. Her chin was shaking uncontrollably as she fought with everything she had not to cry. Lucy looked uncomprehending.
‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted to have the operation first. I hope you understand. I didn’t want you to worry until I knew more… Anyway, I had the lump removed – they call it a lumpectomy. A mastectomy is when you have the breast off. It was as good news as I could have hoped for. I’d caught it early and it was a slow-developing grade of cancer. It hadn’t spread to my lymph nodes – you have them under your arms. The doctor said that was crucial to knowing the cancer hadn’t moved on elsewhere around my body. He was hopeful – more than hopeful – he’d removed it all.’
Marj hated watching Max and Lucy battle to take this in, to grasp what she was saying.
‘I’m having a little treatment, radiotherapy, at Ninewells Hospital when I go back to Dundee. But that’s more of a precaution, to make sure I’ve got all the… all the…’
‘Cancer?’ Lucy asked, quietly.
Yes, cancer. Marj nodded. No matter how simply she put it to the girls, no matter how bright a picture she tried to paint, there was no getting away from that word. When Marj had first heard it in the doctor’s surgery she felt like she had been given a death sentence. She had grown up in an era when the ‘C word’ was whispered over garden fences.
When she was a little girl, Marj remembered her own mum telling her friend in a hushed tone that one of the neighbours, Vera, had the ‘C word’, as though, if she actually said the word, it might spread. Marj never saw Vera again. That’s the way it seemed to be with anyone who got the ‘C word’.
‘It’s not like it used to be,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘The doctor was even able to tell me the chances of it coming back. And you know what? After the radio-therapy there’s a ninety per cent chance it will never return.’
‘Really? That sounds good,’ Max whispered, straining to speak. Somehow, she had managed to keep in her tears. She could cry later, she told herself, not in front of Marj, who needed to see in her face that things were going to be OK.
‘Well, let’s put it this way, Max. Ninety per cent in an exam would be a top-band A grade, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So, my chances of being OK are top-band grade A. The doctor even recorded what he said to me after the op so I could play it back whenever I needed reassurance.’
‘Dad? How’s Dad?’ Max asked.
‘Oh your dad is the best man in the world. He’s been my best friend through it all; he made me feel more beautiful than ever. He wanted to come and see you, but I thought I’d like to tell you myself, have a little bit of girl time.’
Max gave a lopsided smile of reassurance and it melted Marj’s heart.
Lucy was on her feet. She was crying; she couldn’t help it. She put her arms around her mother and hugged her as tightly as she could. The distinctive floral smell of Paris perfume hit Lucy, its familiarity filling her with happiness and sadness at once.
‘You should have told us,’ she whispered.
‘Sorry,’ Marj said into her daughter’s soft hair.
Lucy pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘It’s OK, I understand why you didn’t.’
Max tapped Lucy on the shoulder. ‘Room for a little one?’ she asked.
Lucy stepped back, keeping one arm around Marj and putting the other around her sister. The three women stood there, holding each other, in the sitting room of the Kensington flat. At first they cried but eventually they smiled.
Marj was right. Everything was going to be alright.
MARJ MAKES HER MOVE
Marj had seen the pain in Lucy’s eyes when she talked about Hartley. Lucy had thought the world of him. Knowing that he believed she had set up the photographer was tearing her apart.
After her weekend in London, Marj had Monday to herself while the girls went to work, then she caught a train to Dundee. She found getting the train a real treat; six hours of reading newspapers and books and watching the beautiful countryside whizz by was bliss.
Marj had done a little research on Hartley on the girls’ computer in the flat. Google. Such a wonderful invention. She had written the address for the Balmyle Foundation in her Filofax and planned her tube journey there.
She remembered Lucy telling her how Hartley spent Mondays at the Foundation, planning the week ahead.
Marj was a great believer in looking your best at all times. While other mums had encouraged their daughters to cover up and lay off the make-up, she had told Lucy and Max there was no shame in making the most of what you had. A little bit of lipstick could transform a tired face; a bright little dress was so much more cheerful and feminine than a baggy jumper. Now more than ever, Marj was of the belief that life was for living and making the most of what you had.
She wore a jade-green cashmere V-necked jumper and black-linen trousers from the Per Una range at M&S and Russell and Bromley tan-leather loafers. There was no point tottering up and down those huge tube escalators in perilous heels, after all. They matched her lovely Prada bag, which Lucy had given her last year.
A designer had gifted it to her as a ‘thank you’ for a piece she had written about their new collection. Lucy had more than enough bags, she told her mum. Marj hadn’t banked on the reaction her new accessory would get on her yoga night out – the girls had touched and admired it as though it was a celebrity. Nowhere sold Prada in Dundee.
Money had been tight when the girls were young. Fergal was a proud man and insisted Peter’s money was for Lucy’s education but that he would provide for their family. And he had. He had worked hard to build a reputation as a reliable and talented carpenter, working for a medium-sized local firm in his twenties before setting up on his own. Marj had put her all into keeping the books and marketing the company. Now Summers Carpentry was an established name in Dundee. They had a workshop in the west end of the city just off the Perth Road, showcasing the beautiful wooden furniture he had lovingly carved. And he employed a small team of workers to take on jobs – from carving tables and chairs for a new quirky restaurant to commissions from the council.
All that hard work had paid off. More importantly, the Summers family were as close as ever.
Marj’s hair was newly washed and fell naturally round her heart-shaped face. She wore a little make-up – Stila tinted moisturizer, a lick of mascara, a hint of cream blush and a light plummy lip gloss.
‘Hello, I wonder if you can help. I am interested in donating money to the Foundation.’ At Hartley’s offices just off the Kings Road, Marj addressed the young receptionist brightly.
The girl had a trendy lopsided fringe; her hair was coloured purple, her nails neon green.
‘Of course,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Would you mind taking a seat?’
Marj smiled and sat on one of two pink sofas. She took in the beautiful smell of the white lilies that were speckled with pink, fully open and spilling out of a huge vase. She picked up a brochure and recognized one of the faces on the front as the receptionist’s, although she had orange hair in the picture.
Shona, 19, came to the Foundation 18 months ago seeking help for her drug addiction, which had led her to a life of crime. After successfully completing a rehab programme she has been clean for over a year and now works here at the Foundation.
Marj looked up and saw Hartley in front of her, smiling and offering his hand. She recognized him from her Google search.
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‘Hello, I’m Hartley,’ he said pleasantly. Not announcing his title or surname, Marj considered, said a great deal about Hartley.
‘Hello, Hartley. I’m Marj. Very pleased to meet you too.’ She smiled back at him.
‘Please, let me show you through to my office,’ Hartley said, holding open a door at the side of the reception area.
Marj sat opposite Hartley on a soft dark-green leather armchair. The room was small and welcoming, the scent of a large bunch of red roses filling the air.
‘So, Shona tells me you have been thinking about getting involved with the Foundation. That’s wonderful news. Can I get you a tea, or coffee, perhaps?’
Marj couldn’t help but like Hartley. He was incredibly well spoken, almost comically. He seemed so open and warm.
‘Oh no, I’m fine, thank you.’
He smiled back at Marj as a silence descended upon them, neither sure how to continue. To think that just a few days ago she had been Googling Hartley’s name to find his Foundation’s address. And now she was sitting here in front of him. She just had to tell Hartley the truth. He might think she was a meddling mother, but it was a chance she was willing to take. She was here for Lucy.
‘So, how did you hear about the Foundation?’
‘My daughter.’
‘Oh really? Has she worked with us? I know most of the people involved here. What’s her name?’
‘Hartley, my daughter is Lucy Summers.’
DON’T LUKE BACK IN ANGER
Try as she might, Max couldn’t stop thinking about Luke. She had thrown herself into work and partying in the weeks since Marj’s visit, but still he consumed her thoughts. He must think her awful, ignoring his texts and calls. As much as it hurt, Max knew she couldn’t talk to him. Cutting him out was her way of coping. But she hated to think of how confused and hurt he must have felt. She hadn’t heard from him for at least a fortnight so guessed he must have got the message. Poor Luke. Jesus, all Max really wanted to do was see him and experience that wonderful high again.
Marj’s news had been such a blow. She had made everything sound so positive but Max couldn’t escape the realization that her mother had been through something quite terrifying. She was very close to Marj, as was Lucy, and couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her. She couldn’t wait to spend time with her family in Scotland over Christmas. But for now she had to clear her head; she needed a new project.
There was only one thing for it. She had to remove herself from London, and she could think of nowhere better to go than the city that never slept. She resolved to fit in a trip before Christmas.
For the past three years Max had worked in New York in April, covering Scotland Week for the paper. As she was a ‘sweaty sock’ or Jock, as the English guys in the office fondly called her, she would be best for the job – and what a job it was. The Scottish government set up a series of events like the Scotland parade down Fifth Avenue, with clans gathering in a march.
Last year Max had interviewed Sir Sean Connery in his hotel room before the annual Dressed to Kilt fashion show and, for the first time, had been star-struck. Even in his seventies, he had more presence in his pinkie than Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise put together. When he sat down wearing his kilt, with his legs placed wide apart, Max asked him if he was a true Scotsman, and had melted when he raised one eyebrow just like when he played James Bond in Dr No.
‘Yesh, Max, of coursh I’m a true Shcotsman,’ he had told her in that shexy voice.
She might not meet Sir Sean this time round, but the Big Apple would be just the ticket.
CLARISSA’S BACK
Lucy smiled as she read the invitation that had arrived in the post. She had almost forgotten about the Hogmanay Ball. Her heart had pounded when she first saw it – could it be from Hartley? Reading an accompanying handwritten note, she felt sad and happy at once. It was not from Hartley – how silly of her to even imagine it would have been. It was from Clarissa. Lucy was touched. After not hearing from Clarissa since her Friday-night supper, she’d assumed her friend had ditched her.
As her mobile rang, she saw Clarissa’s name on the screen.
‘I was just thinking of you.’
‘Lucy, darling. Did you get my invitation?’
‘Just got it. Thanks so much.’
‘Listen,’ Clarissa’s tone was urgent, breathless, ‘you must have thought I’d abandoned you. I’ve just heard all the news. Are you OK?’
‘Where have you been? Mars?’ Of all people, Lucy was sure Clarissa would have known every ounce of gossip.
‘Almost,’ Clarissa said. ‘I was trying to keep it a secret – surprise everyone, but you have to know. Otherwise you’ll think me a terrible friend.’
Lucy was intrigued.
‘I’ve been to Thailand. You know that famous spa – the one the stars swear by?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, I booked in for a three-month course. Boot camp, if you like. The full works, Lucy – colonic, leeches, you name it. I’m getting married next summer and I didn’t fancy looking like Nelly the Elephant for the big day. I feel like a new woman. I’m a size 10 for the first time since I was ten. I’m terrified I’ll put it all back on, though, so I’ve booked in with a personal trainer and nutritionist to keep me on track.’ Lucy could hear Clarissa inhale, coming up for breath in her excitement. ‘So, they insist on total escapism and that means no phones. It was bliss. But I come home and hear what you’ve been up to, young lady. My, my, I want to hear every single detail… Oh God, I don’t mean that – not with what happened with Hartley. That sounds awful. But Kirk, I mean… Oh. My. God.’
Lucy laughed. She had forgotten how fond she was of Clarissa.
‘I promise I will tell you everything.’ She paused. ‘I was worried you had thought the worst and, well, you know…’
‘Banished you from being my friend? Oh please.’ Clarissa bellowed, ‘It takes more than that to get rid of me.’
Lucy was happy to have Clarissa back in her life.
‘Oh darling, before you go, will you come to the ball?’
Lucy frowned. ‘Clarissa, I’m not sure. It’s so sweet of you but… well…’
‘It’s Hartley’s ball and you’re scared of bumping into him?’
‘Well, yes. I mean, not scared exactly…’
‘You don’t want him to think you are chasing him?’
Lucy had to admit it was the first thing that crossed her mind when she thought about accepting the invitation. He must already think of her as a calculating man-eater; why else would she go to his ball if not to see him? And coming face to face with him again would be so painful.
As if reading her mind, Clarissa cut in. ‘Listen, you are my guest. I would like you to be on my table. My friend is on the committee this year. I’d be going even if the Earl of Balmyle did not exist. It’s nothing to do with him, Lucy. It’s a fabulous way to see in the New Year and help raise money for a good cause. I will not take no for an answer.’
Lucy smiled. ‘OK, OK.’
‘But, Lucy? One more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Obviously, Hartley will be there so you must look even more fabulous than normal.’
Lucy must be a distant memory to Hartley now. She had seen him photographed leaving a charity auction at Christie’s with Bridget the other day. Genevieve had relished placing the photo, in a magazine, inches in front of her as she sat at her desk.
‘Dearie me, Lucy, that must hurt. No?’ she had whimpered.
Lucy didn’t have the patience to pretend. ‘A bit,’ she replied, flatly.
Genevieve looked flustered, surprised by Lucy’s honesty.
‘I’ll tell you what hurts, Gen Gen.’ It was Carlos, sweeping her aside as he stood behind Lucy and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘What hurts is the fact you look like Ugly Betty in those Versace heels and knee-high socks. Kate Moss might pull it off, but not you, girlfriend.’
With a dismissive hand he brushed
Genevieve away like a pesky fly while Lucy lowered her head to her desk, trying not to laugh.
Muttering something about how Bridget was wearing the new Stella coat in orange and it looked great on her, Genevieve teetered back to her own desk, as self-conscious now as she had been self-assured just moments before.
The girls in the office had crammed around Lucy’s desk on the Monday after the story had broken about her and Kirk.
Penny, the fashion desk PA, was so excited her glasses (small, rectangular, red Prada to match her Versace red jeans and Aquascutum blazer) steamed up as she elbowed through the little crowd to the front of Lucy’s desk. Sophie, who had grown her hair a little longer and bleached it again, gave up all pretence of work for the morning to badger Lucy with questions, her normal facial expression of serious fashionista replaced by a giddy excitement.
Genevieve had sat quietly at her desk throughout, doing her very best to look busy. After drumming her fingers impatiently on her mouse pad all morning, while the girls crowded round Lucy, she snapped, telling them they were paid to put a magazine together, not gossip about who’d pulled whom.
‘She’s jealous of everything about you, Lucy,’ Carlos told Lucy matter-of-factly, when he arrived later that day. ‘The way you look, the way you dress, your popularity with the other girls. And now you’re centre of attention for pulling the man she has as her screen saver? Ooooo, she’s angry and jealous.’
Now Genevieve was away on a three-week holiday in the Bahamas. The general rule was that no one could take off more than two weeks at a time but, as she told anyone who would listen, she was the boss and so stressed out she needed some ‘me time’. Word had it in the office she’d gone by herself on a freebie from a luxury holiday company. One of the girls had overheard her on the phone promising a write-up in the travel section and asking if the flights could be upgraded to first class. It was odd, Lucy thought, given that they had a travel editor, Liza, who dealt with all such features. She offered writers trips to spas or to tropical locations in return for writing about them in her pages. When lots of editorial staff applied for a plum trip, she pulled a name out of a hat to be fair.
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