by Frances Pye
“Luck. I prefer planning ahead.”
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll all be fine.” Mara was convinced of it. Nothing could go wrong on such a wonderful day.
“A bit of worrying would do you no harm. What the hell are you so happy about?”
Mara pulled in her wide grin and tried to look appropriately concerned. But it was difficult for her. Earlier that day, George Moore had called to make a deal. He and Dorothy would agree to share the girls. To cancel the court case. To forget about Mara’s disreputable past. And she was over the moon about it. However, she couldn’t tell Lily without explaining about her history. “Nothing.”
“Hmm. Funny nothing.” Lily peered out of the window of the cab. “I hate waiting.”
“It won’t be long.”
“Somehow it’s worse when it’s quiet like this. At least if people were passing by there’d be hope every now and then.” The warehouse was in a deserted cul-de-sac, surrounded by disused office buildings and more warehouses, each awaiting their turn with loft developers. “Do you think he’ll think it’s odd, there being no one coming to the party? We should have had people waiting to walk along as soon as he appeared. To make him think they’re guests too.”
“Wouldn’t that have been very difficult to arrange?”
“Probably. Fuck, it’s ten to. This was a terrible idea. Why the hell doesn’t he come?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he has. Look, there, at the end of the street.” Mara pointed at a tall figure standing under an orange streetlight, peering at a piece of paper in his hand. Presumably the invitation.
“It’s him. It’s him. Mara, he’s here.” Lily bounced up and down on the cab seat, her arms flailing around. “He’s here. He’s here.”
“Ow. That hurt.” Lily’s hand had banged into Mara’s cheek.
“Sorry, sorry.” Lily tried to smooth the pain away.
“It’s okay. Nothing broken. But he’ll see us if we don’t hide pretty quick.”
“It’s dark. We asked the driver to turn out the lights, remember? Surely he won’t be able to see inside.”
“He might. We ought to get out of the way, just in case, don’t you think?”
“Okay.” Lily hunkered down. “I’d better call Jules.” She pulled out her mobile and pressed the green button. “He’s here. About fifty yards away. You and Claire need to hide.”
And as Lily and Mara peeked out from behind the front partition, the man strolled up to the warehouse and went inside.
SEAN ACCEPTED a glass of champagne from a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl behind the trestle-table bar, waved away a tray with tiny potatoes stuffed with sour cream and caviar, and looked around the room. He was surprised to see so few people; he’d imagined a launch like this would have attracted many, many more than the ten or so he could see hanging around. Maybe they were all in other parts of the building. Or maybe he was early. No matter, he was here now and it did give him a chance to look around without being crowded out. He took a brochure and price list from a young guy who appeared to be the agent in charge of sales and prepared to wander.
“SHE’S HERE.” Mara saw Terry, tightly wrapped up against the January cold in her deep-red velvet cloak, turning the corner into the street.
“Quick, out. Act as if you haven’t seen her.” And the two friends got out, unhurriedly, as if they were just arriving. Lily stood by the front window, paying the driver. Then she turned and pretended to spot Terry. She squealed and ran toward her, followed by Mara. First Lily, then Mara enveloped Terry in a huge hug.
“God, I’ve missed you lot.”
“You’ve missed us? You’ve missed us? How do you think we’ve felt?”
“Mild hankering?”
“Well, I did get a vague sort of twinge three weeks ago last Friday. But I’m better now.” Lily grinned. Then she took a closer look at Terry and her smile died. “You’ve lost weight. A lot of weight.”
“All that pining for my friends. Put me off my food, didn’t it? Most successful diet I’ve ever been on. Look, cheekbones.” Terry didn’t want to mention the real reason her clothes were hanging off her. Sooner or later, they’d have to talk about Sean, but she’d prefer it was later. Much later. “Where’s Jules?”
“Inside. Organizing the party.” Lily was shocked by the sight of her friend. In two months, she had lost that rounded, pretty, smiley look and become almost cadaverous. Terry might have liked the idea of being able to see her bones but Lily hated it. Her friend didn’t look like herself anymore. She was drawn, pale, gaunt. Three words Lily had never thought she would be able to apply to Terry. She longed to chide her and then feed her, but it was clear Terry wanted to leave it alone. So Lily kept quiet. After all, if everything went well tonight, she’d soon start eating properly. “Perhaps we ought to go in and find her.”
“Yeah, let’s. I could do with a glass of wine.”
“Me too, babe.” And the three women set off across the road, toward the warehouse.
“So where are we going later?”
“It’s a surprise. Jules’s party first.”
JULES AND Claire were hiding in a small, empty storeroom off the main ground floor when Lily burst in.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs. Just about to go into the show flat in the penthouse.”
“Good. Who’s there with him?”
“One of yours. I think she said Mandy. Short reddish hair. Nice figure. Anyway, she seems bright, she keeps texting updates to us.”
Jules’s phone beeped at her. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked down at the display. “He’s in the bedroom. Out on the terrace, looking at the view.”
“Right. Perfect timing. Claire, tell her to keep him there if he tries to leave. Any way she can. We’re on our way.”
THE LIFT stopped at the penthouse. Lily and Mara got out, followed by Terry and Jules.
“But I don’t want to see the flat. I want to have a drink with you lot. I haven’t seen you for months.”
“Course you do,” soothed Lily.
“It’s just nicer up here.”
“Yeah. Quieter.”
“And there’s a wonderful view of the City from the terrace.”
Jules and Mara fell back a bit. Lily steered Terry into the flat, past the high-tech kitchen and open-plan living room, and then ushered her into the bedroom. Which was empty. Apart from a familiar figure leaning against the far balustrade of the brightly lit terrace.
Terry recognized him immediately. Even though he was thirty feet away, even though he had his back to her, even though he wasn’t wearing anything she remembered, she knew it was him. Just the way he was leaning against the railing, the tilt of his head, the shape of his body, told her instantly. She stared at him in hope and fear, unable to move, to walk forward, to say anything in case he disappeared.
Behind her, the door whispered shut. A key turned in the lock. Terry’s paralysis was over. She spun around and tugged on the handle. But the door wouldn’t open. She’d been locked in. No, they’d been. Set up by Lily and the others. She didn’t know whether to bless or curse her friends for their interference. She was desperate to see Sean, to talk to him, to explain, but she also wanted to run, scared of his reaction, scared that he was still as angry with her as he had been the last time they’d met.
SEAN WASN’T an envious man. But he envied the Chicago Construction Company their possession of this property. Particularly now that he’d seen what they were doing with it. Oh, it was all right, he supposed, lots of people would love the apartments they bought here, but to his mind they were overdesigned, their windows not original, their old wood floorboards often replaced. The only things that made them lofts were the pillars—in some cases, just one to a room—and the brick walls. If he had done it…But he hadn’t. And there was no point in getting upset—it wouldn’t change anything. It never did.
He shrugged his shoulders. Time to go home to the boys. He took one last look at the truly unbelievable vie
w of St. Paul’s, floodlit against the night sky, and turned around to leave. And saw Terry standing at the door, staring, big-eyed, at him.
It had been a hard struggle, controlling his need to see her, to talk to her. But it had been a struggle he’d believed he was winning. Oh, he still missed her, still thought about her fifty, a hundred times a day. But each time he found himself remembering their day out looking at London or the conversations they had had about Paul or their night together, he forced himself to put those memories aside and instead lingered on the way he’d felt the moment he’d first read the newspaper or how angry he’d been when he’d seen her at the bus station. Trying to inoculate himself against her, to destroy the good memories by replaying the bad.
As he stood there, looking at her too-thin face, her stunned expression, the tears glistening in her eyes, he realized that he had been fooling himself. All the vaccinations had been useless. He was no more immune to her now than he had been the night they’d gone to bed together. He found himself fighting the urge to grab her and take her straight to the conveniently placed show bed.
Terry kept her eyes fixed on Sean’s face, hoping against hope that he would say something. Would relax his grim expression, ease his mouth’s thin, angry line, and let her in. But he was silent. It was up to her.
“I’m afraid we’re locked in.”
Nothing.
“I’m sorry. It must have been Lily, Jules, and Mara’s idea—” Terry stopped abruptly when she saw the fury on Sean’s face at the mention of her friends. Idiot. Of course he’d feel that way.
She’d just made it even more difficult. Sean’s glare was daunting. His silence was intimidating. And his rage made him close to unapproachable. If she could have fled, she would have. But she couldn’t. She was confined in that bedroom with him for as long as her friends chose.
It would have been easier to retreat into herself, to say nothing and save her pride. But she was the one at fault here. And she couldn’t forget all those nights when she had longed for just a few minutes with him, for a chance to apologize, to try to make him understand. Well, she had those minutes. And she wasn’t going to waste her opportunity. Even if he didn’t listen, even if he shouted back at her, even if he lost it completely.
“I’ve wanted to talk…to explain to you. To say sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t think, to start with. I was just so desperate to help Paul, and then Lily came up with her idea and…I know it was wrong to use you like that.”
Terry paused, hoping that Sean would say something. But he was frozen in place, his eyes riveted on her, his face still set. So she fumbled on with her speech. “I was selfish. We all were. But I had no idea I was going to…to care about you. And we’d canceled the agreement before you and I ever…I know it’s not much, but that night was real. It was for me.”
Part of Sean’s brain registered what Terry was saying. But only a small part. All the rest of him could think about was that he was standing in a room with her. The woman he had vowed never to talk to again. The woman who had hurt him more than anyone, more even than Isobel.
The woman he loved. As Terry fumbled through her apology and explanation, Sean felt all the anger, shame, and resentment he’d nurtured for so long drift away. And decided that he was crazy, standing there, rooted to the spot, when she was only ten feet away.
“…and I know we’ll never be able to go back to that, that I’ve ruined all chance…”
Sean crossed the room.
“…of us…of us being together…”
And put his finger on Terry’s lips to stop her talking. Time enough for that later.
“Who says?” he asked, and bent down to kiss her.
ON THE other side of the door, Lily, Jules, and Mara were huddled, desperately trying to hear what was happening but unable to make out more than the murmur of Terry’s voice.
“Hasn’t he said anything yet?” whispered Jules.
“I haven’t heard him,” Mara mouthed back.
“Hold on a second. Was that him?” murmured Lily.
“I think, maybe….”
“Why are these doors so thick?”
“Shh. Listen. Listen.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Exactly. Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
The friends held their collective breath. Crossed their fingers. Hoped that their strategy had worked. And as every silent second passed, it looked more and more likely. Whatever Sean and Terry were doing, they weren’t quarreling. And they weren’t trying to get out.
“Mission accomplished, I think.” Lily flourished the key and, with a wide grin, slowly, silently unlocked the door.
Together the three women stole out of the show flat, leaving their friend behind with her lover.
Three Years Later
eighty-nine
“You can’t wear that!”
“Course I can. Sean’ll love it.”
“He will?” Jules was incredulous.
“Are you sure?” Mara asked.
“No wonder he went off me.” Lily said, laughing.
“Give me a hand with this, someone.” Terry was trying to undo the tiny, fabric-covered buttons at the back of her 1920s, Schiaparelli wedding dress. It had turned from bright white to faded ivory over the years, but Terry had fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it in an antique-clothes store in Chelsea. Jules, horrified by the idea that her friend was going to get married in someone else’s clothes, had offered to buy her a brand-new, shiny, fresh designer dress, but Terry would have none of it. She wanted the Schiaparelli. And the Schiaparelli she got.
In the end, even Jules had had to agree that it had been the right choice. Cut on the bias, it was not only beautiful, it was also flattering as it flowed over Terry’s restored curves. The bride had looked absolutely gorgeous.
But her going-away outfit was something else. No demure suit, no nice little dress with matching jacket, no chic pastel outfit for her. She’d chosen a 1950s circular pink poodle skirt, an electric blue bat-wing-sleeved sweater, and a pair of high-heeled, strappy, turquoise sandals that showed off her narrow ankles and shapely legs. Her friends might be shocked, but four hours in an ivory dress was enough for Terry. It was time for color.
While Jules held her head in her hands and Lily laughed, Mara helped Terry out of the dress. Five minutes later, she was dressed and ready. Lily went to the window and looked out into the long driveway below.
“Not here yet.”
“Time for a private toast, then.” Jules looked around the ornately furnished room and spotted the champagne she had ordered sitting on a table beside the canopied bed. The wedding had been a Dunne Parties special. Jules—and her onetime assistant, Claire, now the day-to-day manager of the business—had pulled out all the stops. From the setting—the beautiful eighteenth-century Hartwell House—to the champagne—Bollinger—to the music—the Bootleg Beatles—they had been determined that everything would be perfect.
And it had been. Even the weather had cooperated. The day before, it had rained. The day after, it would rain. But for Sean and Terry’s wedding, there were only a few small, wispy clouds way up high. It had been warm, not hot, with just enough breeze to flutter a veil.
Jules waddled over to the wine, poured out four glasses, and handed them around.
Lily raised hers. “To us.”
“To us.”
“Us.”
“I have to drink to that,” Jules said, and took a tiny sip. “To us.”
“And to you lot. For everything you did.”
“We did nothing,” Mara said.
“Just what any friends would have,” said Jules.
And Lily put her finger down her throat and pretended to be sick.
“Stop it, Lils. I mean it. I do. Without all of you, there’d have been no wedding, would there? No Sean and me, no Mark and Ben and Paul all being best men together, no Minnie marching down the aisle and sitting beside us at the altar, no Moo and Tilly as b
ridesmaids, no Evie as flower girl. No pretty house in Blackheath, no new life for me.” Terry paused for a second or two to swallow away the tightness in her throat. “No happy ending. I love you lot.”
“Oh, Terry,” said Mara.
“We love you too,” replied Jules.
Lily smiled. “That we do, babe,” she said, her eyes suspiciously moist.
“Lils! You’re not crying?”
“Course not. I never cry. Except when my best friend gets married to the man of her dreams. Be happy, Ter.” And Lily held out her hand.
“I will,” said Terry. “No problem there.” She took Lily’s hand and squeezed it, tears running down her own face.
“I thought that was great, the boys as joint best men,” Jules ventured after a few moments.
Terry threw off her reflective mood. “Didn’t they look good in their morning suits? The three of them spent weeks learning to tie their cravats properly. Every time I came near them, it felt like they were fiddling with little pieces of gray cloth. That was when they weren’t huddled in a corner, discussing the speech.”
“It was great. Really funny. And sweet too.” Mara smiled at the memory of the story Paul had told about how he’d been ravenous but had hidden in his room with nothing but the nub end of an old Mars bar, hoping if he left his mam and Sean alone, they’d get together.
“I have a feeling someone I know gave them a bit of help?”
“Not me. Never. It was all their own work, I promise.”
“Lils.”
“Well, perhaps I pointed them in the right direction a few times.”
“Whatever you did, it was great.”
“I know I’m biased, but didn’t Moo and Tilly look lovely?”
“Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Those two are going to be as irresistible as their mother. Did you see Mark? Couldn’t take his eyes off Moo, could he?”
“Or the gold dress. I always thought bridesmaids were supposed to be in pastels,” Lily said.
“Be grateful. She wanted purple.” Jules laughed.