Scandalous

by Martel Maxwell

  ‘Really. All the magazines are full of this oral-sex stuff. I’m sure we didn’t have it in our day,’ she told her daughters, who couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Oh I’m as open-minded as the rest but I’m not so sure he’s right for you, Lucy. You can get over many things in a relationship, but that sight in his hotel room? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Me neither, Mum,’ Lucy agreed.

  After Christmas dinner, Marj told Lucy she had visited Hartley – she couldn’t keep it from her any longer.

  Lucy felt a pang of emotion as her mum told her what she’d done and admitted she was terrified Lucy’d think her a meddling old fool.

  Lucy shook her head. ‘Not at all, Mum. If the last few months have taught me anything, it’s to cherish the people who will stick by you, no matter what. You were only trying to help.’

  Marj smiled and squeezed Lucy’s hand. She had seen the flicker of hope in her daughter’s eyes when she told her how Hartley had reacted, how he looked as though he would cry and how he admitted he felt ashamed at believing she could have betrayed him.

  ‘Mum, I wish he’d believed me too. I don’t know if I could ever be with him, knowing what he was prepared to think of me. But, well, Bridget did a good job setting me up – anyone would have come to the same conclusion.’

  Fergal had come to join ‘his girls’ as he loved to call them for mince pies round the roaring fire.

  Their mother had looked a little tearful as she waved them off at Dundee airport. But she had Fergal, who, Max and Lucy agreed, was even more adoring of his wife than they could ever remember.

  They had laughed as Marj told them that, before she knew if she’d need a mastectomy or chemo, he had assured her he’d love if she were bald or had five breasts or one. But everything was going to be OK.

  Now the sisters were back in their Kensington flat. With the Hogmanay Ball just two nights away, Max was trying on her gown. She had always admired on Lucy a stunning Dior number in deep-purple velvet and her sister had offered to have it taken up a few inches for her. Max may have been a little more petite in frame than Lucy but the fabric clung to her as though it was made to fit.

  The high peep-toes she had found in Karen Millen were exactly the same colour and Lucy told her they looked like this season’s Gucci.

  ‘I love it,’ she squealed while parading for Lucy.

  Lucy had her eye on a YSL gown that had been used for a shoot for the mag last month. A designer at the fashion house had promised she could borrow it for the ball.

  As Lucy began to explain what it looked like, their intercom buzzed. Lucy smiled as she heard Clarissa’s voice. She couldn’t wait to see her – it had been an age.

  Lucy opened the door and was greeted with a flurry of air kisses.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, Clarissa, where’s the rest of you? You’re… so… slim. You look amazing.’

  ‘Ha! Tell me again,’ Clarissa roared, twirling in front of Lucy. ‘To hell with humility, I’ll never tire of hearing those words.’

  Lucy was astonished. No wonder the A-listers queued to stay at the Thai spa. Clarissa was half the woman she remembered; her wobbly tum and bum had vanished. She could be no more than a size 10. And she looked healthy, her small waist accentuating still-womanly breasts and hips.

  Max teetered over in her gown. ‘Hello, I’m Max, Lucy’s sister.’

  ‘Wow. You look divine,’ Clarissa told Max, taking her in. ‘That dress is to die for… and the gorgeous gene clearly runs in the family.’

  Max blushed as she took Clarissa’s coat.

  Sitting beside Lucy on the sofa, Clarissa was waving her hands excitedly. ‘So, you like the new body? I tell you, I don’t think it will last too long. I’ve already given in to a cream cake or two.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘You look amazing. And speaking of things we shouldn’t have, would you like a glass of Prosecco? It’s nearly New Year, after all.’

  ‘Oooo, yes, please.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Max shouted through from her bedroom, where she was changing into her jeans and a T-shirt. She’d get it, so the friends could catch up.

  ‘Anyway,’ Clarissa told Lucy, ‘as I say, I don’t think I can keep it off for long. That’s part of the reason Clive and I have decided to get married sooner than planned – on Valentine’s Day. What do you think? Of course, it’s not just about me not looking like Nelly the Elephant; it will be so romantic too. But I might as well make the most of being slim. If we wait until summer I’ll no doubt be the size of a house.’

  Clarissa relished watching Lucy’s expression. ‘That’s wonderful! Valentine’s Day is perfect.’

  ‘You can come?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lucy smiled.

  Clarissa beamed, thanking Max as she gave them both a flute.

  ‘Mmm, lovely,’ Clarissa said as the sweet honey bubbles spread over her tongue. ‘I tell you, this near-starvation thing does the trick but, my God, it’s dull. This tastes like nectar.’

  The girls clinked glasses, with Max leading the toast: ‘To us.’

  Clarissa suddenly looked serious and turned to Lucy. ‘Now, what of your love life, young lady? Kirk Kelner? Should I be buying a hat for your Hollywood wedding?’

  Lucy grimaced. ‘Not quite.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Max, why don’t you tell Clarissa what happened? You tell it so well.’

  Max clasped her hands. This was a story she would never tire of telling. And as she built up to the bit where Lucy caught him with the blonde bobbing up and down, Clarissa’s facial expressions were a picture.

  ‘Noooo! Really?’

  ‘Really,’ Lucy and Max chorused.

  It took Clarissa a while to recover before reassuring Lucy that film star or not, she could do better. Clarissa looked trendier than normal. Clearly, she’d had to buy clothes in a smaller size and had opted for a new style at the same time. She wore dark denim high-waisted jeans and a crisp Anne Fontaine white wrap-around shirt. There was still something of the thrown-together look about her, but that was part of Clarissa’s charm.

  Lucy noted the absence of Hartley’s name in the conversation. Perhaps Clarissa had heard he was back with Bridget and didn’t want to hurt her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lucy told her. ‘I read the magazines. I know Hartley’s back with his ex.’

  ‘God! That vile excuse for a woman we met at Ascot. How could he?’ Clarissa boomed.

  Lucy looked into her glass, then caught Max’s eye. She could mask her feelings from most people but not Max. Max knew Lucy was still hurting. And Clarissa had sensed how much Lucy had liked Hartley at her supper. Lucy had been dating him for only a few weeks, but her face came to life when she talked about Hartley and that had touched Clarissa.

  Clarissa didn’t have the heart to tell Lucy the latest gossip – that Bridget might be pregnant. She had heard the news through a friend of Dorcas King, who said she’d been with Bridget when she bought a pregnancy test. Clarissa was sure her friend had told her because she knew she had become friends with Lucy and Hartley when they were an item. Hartley had seemed so lovely – warm and unaffected. Why would he ever be with Bridget after Lucy?

  It would do no good to tell Lucy the news, which might not even be true. God, if it was, poor Lucy. No matter how brave a face Lucy put on it, Clarissa could see her friend was in pain.

  ‘Anyway,’ Clarissa said brightly. ‘Enough of men. Are you looking forward to the ball? It’s only two nights away. And Max, you’re coming too? With Lucy’s brother Luke?’

  Max nodded, aware how odd it sounded.

  ‘My, my, it’s hard to keep up with you two,’ Clarissa said, draining her glass.

  THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN’

  Lucy woke on New Year’s Eve with a strange feeling. Her stomach was tight with anticipation, a mix of nerves and excitement about the ball that evening.

  What would it be like to see Hartley again? In spite of herself, her heart had leaped when Marj told her how sad he’d looked when
she spoke to him. But things had changed. He had moved on; that much was clear. God only knew what he thought about her and Kirk.

  Lucy had realized Kirk wasn’t exactly boyfriend material that night in his hotel room. Her doubts had been reinforced a few days later when the News of the World splashed on ‘Kelner’s Five In A Bed Orgy’. Two of the girls, one nineteen, the other twenty-three, had revealed all about their ‘sordid night of passion with the insatiable star’.

  Lucy didn’t feel jealous, not even disappointed. It simply confirmed her suspicions.

  Carlos had partied with him until five o’clock the night she had left them at Home House. He told her how Kirk had disappeared to the toilets at regular intervals and come back with his eyes wilder, his jaw more clenched each time. Kirk had been charming to Carlos all night, complimenting his outfit and asking for his number so he might call to arrange lunch. Fuck, he was ridiculously gorgeous, Carlos thought as he looked up into Kirk’s flawless face. His long eyelashes that curled upwards around his sky-blue eyes, his smooth bronzed skin, that strong jaw… The dream of every straight woman and gay man. It wasn’t like Carlos to get star-struck – that’s why he was so good at what he did, telling A-listers exactly how they’d fucked up and why he was the man to bail them out. But who wouldn’t meet their ultimate wet dream and be a little flummoxed? Thanks to Lucy, he wasn’t too in awe, though; he just couldn’t get the image of a bottle-blonde with bad roots bobbing up and down, Kirk’s trousers round his ankles. And that ridiculous visual picture somehow made him human. Still Adonis, but flawed nonetheless.

  Kirk had made a big play of telling Carlos he was ready to settle down with the right woman and how much he thought of Lucy. It wasn’t lost on Carlos that many straight men were aware the best way to a girl’s heart was through her gay best friend. But by the time Carlos left, Kirk was stroking Takira Freshwater’s thigh.

  Lucy hoped she could keep in touch with Kirk and be friends because she enjoyed his company. But she wasn’t convinced Kirk was a friendship-only kind of guy. He had sent her beautiful white roses the morning after. Lucy had smiled as she read the card: ‘Lots of love, Kirk… the guy who hopefully didn’t blow it.’

  Lucy texted to thank him but was sure they both knew deep down that blown it was exactly what he’d done.

  Onwards and upwards, as Max would say. Tonight would be fun. She hadn’t spent New Year’s Eve with Max for a few years, with Max usually heading to Scotland to party with Suzie while Lucy stayed in London with Amy or other friends from university.

  Even better, Luke would be there too. If only she could shake the nerves she had at the thought of seeing Hartley… He probably wouldn’t even notice her; he’d be too busy organizing things and fawning over Bridget.

  Lucy had received a call the night before to say the YSL dress had been delivered to her office. She had also received another call, from her editor’s PA, asking if she could pop in for a chat with the editor and managing editor. The two big bosses. The PA assured Lucy there was nothing to worry about. But still, being summoned on New Year’s Eve, when most of the staff were enjoying a few days off, was most unusual. Granted, there was no such thing as a two-week holiday over the festive period when it came to magazines and periodicals. They still had to get their regular edition out. But the executives usually took New Year’s Eve off, and stayed off until the third or fourth of January.

  Lucy told Sarah, the PA, that midday was fine. She had to go in to pick up the gown in any case. She had booked an appointment with her favourite hairdresser, Taylor, just off Kensington High Street, for 2 p.m., having decided that pinning her hair back would best complement the dress.

  As Lucy applied a coat of mascara and mint lip balm, she cringed when she recalled the night before.

  She had arranged to meet up with Amy for a drink at Dover Street Wine Bar. Amy looked a fright – full of the winter flu, her nose red and eyes puffy. Amy told her she’d been determined not to cancel because they hadn’t seen each other since she’d left her with Kirk at the Met. They’d texted here and there but nothing made up for hearing all the juicy details face to face. Amy’s face was a picture when Lucy told her the blow-job story, which she now felt she’d told a hundred times. In her shock, Amy launched into a coughing fit, spluttering and gasping for air. When she had regained her composure, Lucy insisted she go home. As lovely as it was to see her friend, she was clearly in need of a good night’s sleep.

  Lucy had made her way back to the flat. She’d expected to be out for the night, not home by nine. On the plus side, a night watching TV in her pyjamas with Max beckoned.

  She wasn’t quite prepared for the scene that greeted her upon entering the flat: Luke and Max, half undressed on the sofa. As they hadn’t heard her come in, they were on the way to becoming fully undressed.

  Lucy considered slipping out again unnoticed but as she shifted on her feet Luke, who was on top, saw her over the sofa and froze.

  ‘Shit. Lucy. Hi.’

  Max craned her neck up and smiled. ‘Oh, sis. Hi.’

  Lucy covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Don’t worry. I didn’t see a thing.’ The back of the sofa would have hidden them… but the mirror on the opposite wall reflected everything. Her brother and sister at it on the sofa would be for ever burned on her retinas.

  ‘Sorry, Luce. I thought you were out for the night?’ Max was hastily pulling her jumper on and sitting upright on the sofa, while Luke stood up. His jeans were around his ankles with only his boxers protecting his modesty. He was shuffling towards his T-shirt, which had been abandoned at the other side of the room. Then – wallop – he tripped over his jeans and thudded to the floor.

  Lucy caught Max’s eye and both sisters laughed.

  Catching her breath, Max managed: ‘Sorry, Luce, this must be really weird for you.’

  It was. Max and Luke. Lucy was still trying to get her head round it. But she knew one thing for sure. She’d never seen Max so happy. And that made everything more than OK.

  As Luke got to his feet, he was laughing too.

  Lucy blushed now, as she remembered. She had to admit that it was hilarious as well as embarrassing.

  Max, of course, had gone out of her way to make sure everything felt as normal as possible and insisted she fixed a bite to eat for them all.

  ‘Well, cheese on toast – as far as my culinary skills go, I’m afraid, Luke. Lucy got the domestic-goddess genes.’

  Luke smiled back at Max. He’d hardly stopped smiling since New York. Max was unlike any girl he’d met before. A little whirlwind of fun – and yet at times he saw a quieter side, one that was reflective about what was happening between them. He longed to find out what she was thinking during those moments. Her expression told him it was something similar to what was going through his own head: was this really happening? The speed and intensity of it all seemed surreal, but wonderful.

  As they sat round the table, Lucy marvelled at how natural Luke and Max were as a couple. It felt as though the three of them had been eating toasties together on winter nights for years.

  In the back of Lucy’s mind had been the fact Luke and Max had been ripping each other’s clothes off less than an hour before, so she politely excused herself to bed.

  When Luke’s mobile rang, Max kissed him on the cheek, whispering, ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ and knocked on Lucy’s door.

  ‘Luce, I’m worried. I can’t stop thinking how you must be freaking out – your sister getting it on with your brother.’

  Lucy took her little sister in her arms and held her close. ‘No,’ she said into her sweet-smelling hair. ‘Two of the people I love most in the world are making each other happy. That’s wonderful.’

  Max pulled away and looked at Lucy. She could tell she meant it.

  ‘Thanks, Luce. Love you.’

  MOTHER’S RUIN

  When Max returned to the sitting room, she could tell from Luke’s expression that something was wrong. He looked perplexed, maybe a little ang
ry.

  ‘What’s up?’

  His mind was somewhere else as he turned his head to Max.

  ‘Sorry… what?’

  ‘What’s wrong? You look kind of…’

  Luke shook his head and looked at the floor. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Patting the sofa beside him, he asked Max to sit down.

  Not a good sign, Max thought. Jeez, she knew things were going too well. She felt a rising sense of panic. What was wrong?

  Putting a hand on Max’s knee and turning his body towards her, Luke’s face became softer as he seemed to take her in.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he told her, his brow furrowing with new concern. ‘No one’s died. It’s just… well, my mum.’

  ‘God, is she OK?’

  Luke let out a laugh. ‘Oh she’s fine. The thing is, I told her about us the other night. Actually, I told the whole family – Dad and Ben too. I knew they’d be fine. So long as I’m happy, they’re happy. Dad admitted it was a bit weird, but it’s not like we’re related. And he’d been quite taken with you that day at the golf club.’

  Taken with her? That was far more than Max could have hoped for; she had just prayed she didn’t come over as some raving alcoholic stop-out.

  Luke was serious again. ‘But my mum… well, she hit the roof.’ Luke took Max’s hand. ‘She said some awful things – to me, my dad – things she should never have said and that can never be taken back.’

  Whatever Patricia had said had clearly hurt Luke, who looked wounded at the memory of her words. The situation was unexpected for everyone concerned but what a turn of events for Patricia. Lucy had often confided to Max how uncomfortable she felt in her company. She made no effort to conceal her displeasure that she had to have anything to do with Lucy, seeing her as an inconvenient reminder of Peter’s adultery all these years ago.

  While Peter, Ben and Luke were warm and kind, Patricia sounded like a bit of a snob, whenever possible letting Lucy know she looked down on her family in Scotland. Patricia never actually said it, but she didn’t have to, Lucy had said.