143

by Jade Winters

  After her mother left the room, Genevieve lay back down on the bed and wished she could share some of her mother's enthusiasm. Letting out a long sigh of resignation, she threw the quilt off her legs and sat at the edge of her bed. It's going to be okay, she thought. She pushed herself up off the bed, ignoring the steaming hot cup of tea her mother had left by her bedside, and decided she might as well get showered, get dressed and get the shopping trip over with.

  Many hours and what seemed like a hundred dress changes later, Genevieve and her mother had finally settled on a plain silk wedding dress. Her mother was ecstatic but Genevieve was simply going through the motions — nothing felt real to her. She didn't know why she had agreed to marry Paul, why she had gone through with buying a wedding dress, and least of all, why she was now sitting at a restaurant table with her parents and Paul pretending that everything was alright when all she really wanted to do was scream out loud to expel the mounting sense of frustration she felt building within her.

  She sat looking at them as though they were behind glass and she was unable to reach out and touch them.

  "So, is anyone going to tell me about Rebecca then?" she asked suddenly. The question silenced them all and they looked at her sullenly. "What?" she asked, feeling defensive. "How am I ever going to get my memory back if you're keeping secrets from me? Can someone please tell me why there is such animosity between you all, or do I have to call her and ask her myself?"

  It seemed to Genevieve that they looked as though they'd just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

  "Isn't anyone going to speak?" she finally asked, losing her patience. Her parents looked hard at Paul, as if willing him to tell their daughter a plausible story to stop the questioning.

  "Well," he said slowly, "it's a bit of a sore subject; that's why we haven't told you anything about it." Genevieve's mother looked anywhere but at her daughter, and her father took the wine bottle by the neck and poured himself a large glass.

  "A sore subject for who?" she asked, her interest piqued.

  "For me," he said, blushing slightly.

  "Go on," she urged him.

  "Well," he hesitated, glancing at her parents, then back to Genevieve, "it was after you had been living with her for a while." He began to build up momentum. "She basically ruined my chances of getting my own showcase by writing a very bad review about me."

  "But why would she do that?" she asked incredulously. "You're a brilliant artist."

  "Because," he looked at Eddie, who was shaking his head, "because... she was jealous of our relationship, Gen. We had words and things got a little out of hand, things were said that shouldn't have been said, and I was kinda blacklisted from the art world for a while. Things were quite tense between the two of you, and you weren't happy living there but you couldn't just move out because you owned half the place and your work studio was there." He smiled at her. "It doesn't matter now anyway, everything has turned out for the best."

  Genevieve mulled over what he'd said.

  "Why would she be jealous?"

  He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "She's a lesbian, Gen. I was always under the impression she liked you. We didn't want to tell you because we didn't want to upset you. Will you forgive us?" he asked insincerely.

  She could well imagine being angry at a critic who wrote a bad review for personal reasons rather than for the actual work at hand and she felt herself soften toward his explanation.

  "Yes, of course," she said generously. "Well, you certainly showed her yesterday," she continued, squeezing his hand. He beamed.

  "Yes I did, didn't I? I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone Gen; I think it's all best left in the past."

  "Of course, I understand, Paul." The atmosphere around the table lightened almost immediately, and looks of relief flooded her parents' faces.

  "I think today calls for a bottle of champagne to officially welcome our son into the family," Eddie said. He raised his hand to attract the waiter's attention.

  "Yes, sir?" the young waiter asked.

  "Your best bottle of champagne," Eddie said benevolently, his eyes dancing. The waiter hurried off to the restaurant bar and arrived back a few moments later with a bottle of champagne, followed closely by another waiter carrying the champagne stand. He popped the cork and poured a taster for Eddie.

  "That's fine." The waiter proceeded to fill the remaining glasses and left their table. "To Paul, the son I never had, and to Genevieve," he turned to look at her, tears welling in his eyes, "my darling daughter."

  While her parents and Paul were sipping their drinks, Genevieve decided that if she was going to launch her bombshell, it had to be now or never.

  "I have something to announce as well," she said smiling, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

  "What's that, darling?" Paul asked.

  "Now I realise that there's understandably animosity between you and Rebecca, but I'd like to put that all behind us. As you said Paul, it is in the past. I've decided to move back to London," she said quickly. Eddie nearly sprayed his drink all over the table, whilst Elsie could only manage a gasp. Paul sat still, his face transfixed.

  "Pardon?" he asked through gritted teeth. Genevieve took a deep breath.

  "I'm moving back to London — at least until the wedding, anyway. Doctor Covette thinks it will be beneficial for me; she thinks I'm too far away from my real life and that a more familiar setting might help me to remember it." There was a stunned silence. Elsie closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. Genevieve having her memory back was the last thing they wanted. It's all going to be ruined, all of it, she thought frantically.

  "Did you not hear a word Paul said? She's a dirty lesbian! You can't go back there to have her warp your mind!" Eddie said in a sudden outburst of anger. Genevieve stared at her parents in surprise.

  "So that's why neither of you like her — because she's a lesbian? Well don't worry about me; I have my own mind. It won't be warped by anyone," she said firmly. Elsie opened her eyes and looked at Eddie. His face was contorted with rage, and she could see he was fighting to control his temper. She put her hand under the table and squeezed his knee to get his attention, then pleaded with her eyes for him not to say any more. Genevieve nervously played with the napkin on her lap. They all looked at Paul, who had remained speechless. He finally managed to find his voice.

  "So when did you decide this?" he asked quietly.

  "Well, yesterday actually," she said anxiously, disconcerted by her father's reaction, "after my session with Doctor Covette. Look," she said, appealing to them all, "don't you see that even if I didn't like living there, there's a chance that going back to London could trigger some memories? I might be able to remember you all, and how much you must have meant to me." She smiled, attempting to give them reassurance. "Please, Mum, Dad, you don't have to worry about me. I'll be careful, I promise."

  Paul's mind was racing. The only good side to this bombshell was that she had decided to go back before she saw Rebecca yesterday, so Rebecca could have had nothing to do with why she wanted to go home. He tried to work out whether there were any pros to her going back there but came up with none. If she returned to London and got her memory back, they were all doomed; him especially. The party mood definitely flattened and he found solace in the bottle with Eddie, who looked completely shaken up.

  "Paul?" Genevieve said softly. He looked up from nursing his drink. "You said yourself that everything has worked out for the best with Rebecca. Can't you make up with her, for my sake?" she asked pleadingly. Paul shifted in his chair.

  "I'd be willing to," he said, aware that he would have to change his battle plan, "but I don't know if she would bury the hatchet. If she doesn't, you living there could cause serious problems between us. She wouldn't allow me in your place before, so I don't think she'd let me in now."

  "She seems like a reasonable person to me and I own half of it. I'll just have to talk to her, and if she cares about
me as much as she seems to, she'll want to help me."

  "Have you spoken to her about it?" Paul asked, looking down at the table.

  "No, I wanted to tell you all first. I wasn't about to just pack my bags and run off in the middle of the night," she joked.

  "When are you leaving then?" Eddie asked with fire in his eyes.

  "I thought I'd give Rebecca a call this evening and see when it's the best time for me to move back. Speaking of which, Mum, you have her number, don't you?" Paul glanced at Elsie and knew she couldn't lie — after all, she'd texted Rebecca to ask her to send her things over.

  "Yes love, I have it somewhere, I'll look for it later." A look of resignation crossed her face.

  "Thanks, Mum," Genevieve beamed.

  "Let's get the bill and get out of here," Eddie said gruffly.

  * * *

  Elsie and Genevieve were upstairs in the house, looking for Rebecca's number, while Paul and Eddie were sitting in the front room, whiskey on the table.

  "I should have known this wouldn't work," Eddie said, getting up to pace the floor. Both men were in a state of panic.

  "What's the next step then?" Paul asked quietly, aware of Eddie's frustration.

  "There isn't anything we can do now. It's in God's hands," Eddie said.

  "I'm sorry, Eddie. I feel as though I've let you and Elsie down," Paul said as he slumped down into a chair.

  "It's not over yet son. She hasn't said she isn't going to marry you. She only said that she wants to go home to see if she can remember anything. Once the wedding is over, that will be the last any of us will have to do with that woman. Let's just hope Gen doesn't remember anything until then." Both of them simultaneously said a silent prayer.

  Elsie knew exactly where Rebecca's number was, but made a big show of pretending to look for it. She felt that if she could delay the inevitable for a while longer, perhaps by some miracle Genevieve would change her mind. When she could put it off no longer, she pretended to have found it amongst her papers.

  "Here it is!" she exclaimed, and handed the piece of paper over to her daughter with a heavy heart. She would have given her life to prevent her moving back to London, but she knew there was no stopping her once she had made her mind up. Genevieve took Elsie's hand, which both surprised and comforted her.

  "Mum, please don't worry about me. You and Dad can come for dinner every Sunday. And you can take me to see all the sights, because I'm sure I won't remember where they are." Elsie knew she was only half-joking. She wrapped her daughter in a hug, the first real contact that she'd had with her in years. Tears rolled down her face. She had never cried in front of Genevieve before, but she couldn't control herself. She felt as if she was losing her daughter all over again, and with this new departure, a little piece of herself. Sensing her mother crying, Genevieve gently pulled back in order to face her.

  "Please don't cry, Mum. If you don't want me to go straight away, I'll wait a few days. I suppose telling you so suddenly came as a bit of a shock, but you must have known I'd want to go home eventually." Even though Elsie could have told her that she'd prefer her to stay longer, there was no putting off the fact that Genevieve was going.

  "No love, it's fine. I've just enjoyed having you here. Go and make the call." Elsie listened at the door whilst Genevieve called Rebecca — it was a very short call consisting of Rebecca confirming it was okay for Genevieve to move back in the following day. The next sound she heard was Genevieve beginning to gather her belongings together. She was grateful Genevieve could not hear the breaking of her heart.

  CHAPTER 20

  FILLED WITH TREMENDOUS anticipation, like a four-year-old waiting for Christmas, Rebecca stared at the telephone in her hand.

  "Genevieve's coming home. She's coming home!" she said jubilantly to the empty space surrounding her. Unable to repress her excitement, she called Tia, who at first couldn't understand what Rebecca was saying because her voice was so high-pitched. When Tia finally made sense of the message, she too started to join in the excitement, telling Rebecca to get the drinks out because she'd be round within the hour. Tia hung up the phone and automatically called Isabel to tell her the news. She didn't have to be asked twice to go round to her apartment; her jacket was on before she'd even put the phone down.

  The three women sat comfortably in Rebecca's apartment with only candles for light and music playing at a low volume in the background.

  "What do you think brought this on?" Isabel asked. Rebecca couldn't erase her grin.

  "I have absolutely no idea."

  "Did she say anything about remembering?" Tia interjected.

  "Nope, she just asked if she could come home tomorrow. That was it in a nutshell."

  "Well, if she hasn't remembered anything, that means she still has a fiancé," Tia remarked abruptly.

  "I'm well aware of that," Rebecca said, her mood darkening. "The main thing is that I'll have her home. The other problems I'll deal with as-and-when. One thing I will not do is antagonise Paul, because that will lead her right into his hands."

  "Becca?" Tia said.

  "Yes," Rebecca replied testily.

  "Um, not to put the dampers on anything, but what are you going to do when Paul decides he wants to stay over — in her bed?" Rebecca flinched at the thought.

  "I don't know. I really don't know."

  "Look, for all you know she might not be having any kind of relations with Paul, so until something is confirmed one way or another I wouldn't even go down that road," said Isabel. "This is really good news that she's coming back, Rebecca. There's a good chance that you can start opening her mind by showing her who she really is. Not about being a lesbian; but simply all the things you used to enjoy doing together. If anything, that way may prove more fruitful." Rebecca felt her spirits rising, buoyed on by Isabel's positive take on the situation.

  "You're right."

  "And just think, you'll be having her parents on your home turf now. No more of this macho bullshit," Tia said. "Do you want me to be here when she arrives tomorrow?"

  "If you want to, but I don't want you annoying anyone."

  "Me?" Tia said, pretending to look hurt.

  "Yes, you!" she said, and turned to Isabel. "Do you think it would be advisable to take Genie back to the crime scene?"

  "I think you'd better play that one by ear; it could make things worse. I think you should just treat her as you would normally — without the physical contact, obviously."

  "At least you won't be living in this big flat by yourself any more. So that just leaves me and you as singletons, Isabel," Tia said flirtatiously. Rebecca saw Isabel look away but the room wasn't dark enough to hide the fact that she was blushing.

  * * *

  Morning could not have come any sooner for Rebecca. The birds were singing, and she felt like joining them. She was once again grateful to Isabel, who had insisted that they all have an early night in order to not to wake up with a hangover. Rebecca had only consumed two glasses of wine, so she felt totally fresh and energised when she woke. She showered, taking time to enjoy the sensations of the massage setting. She ate a leisurely European breakfast of croissants, freshly squeezed orange juice and fresh fruit. She put on her jeans and the black V-neck top that Genevieve had said was her favourite, opting for sandals rather than boots as the sun was out and it had been forecast to be a hot day. She waited impatiently, and when she heard the bell she ran to the front door to answer the intercom.

  "Hi, it's Genevieve." Those three simple words suddenly made her world a whole lot better. Rebecca buzzed her in and waited. She heard male voices coming down the hallway and was disappointed to think that Genevieve's parents had come with her, but to her relief, she opened the door to find two burly removal men.

  "Where d'ya want them love?" one of them asked.

  "Just here in the hallway would be great, thanks," said Rebecca. As she spoke, Genevieve appeared behind him. Rebecca was at a loss for words. Standing there, in the flesh, was Genevieve.
She thought that this was perhaps how people felt when they were lost in the desert and saw a mirage. Thankfully though, this was no mirage; Genevieve was real — and to her delight they hugged one another.

  "Welcome home," Rebecca said, releasing her. Genevieve's eyes widened in amazement as she took in the apartment.

  "Wow, nice place."

  "Well, you're to thank for the décor. It was you that put this place together." The removal man asked for a signature on his form, bade them a good day, and left. Rebecca took Genevieve by her arm and led her into the front room. "Don't be a stranger in your own home," she said to her warmly.

  "Oh, my god!" Genevieve said, amazed by the views the apartment afforded.

  "Shall I show you around so you can familiarise yourself with everything?"

  "Sure." Rebecca led her around the apartment, stopping when they got to the guest bedroom.

  "This is your room," she said, looking intently at her features, searching for clues that would tell her whether Genevieve realised that she had not slept in there — not even once. When they had argued they had made it a number one rule: never to take fights into the bedroom. But there was no sign to show she remembered.

  Shaking off the disappointment, Rebecca led her to her work studio. Again there was no recognition. Take it slowly, Rebecca reminded herself.

  "Well, I'll leave you to get settled in. Do you need any help moving your things into your room?"

  "No, but thank you, Rebecca," Genevieve said.

  "If you need anything, just give us a yell." She left and walked thoughtfully back to the front room. Genevieve stood in her bedroom and for the second time in a few weeks was left wondering what sort of person had inhabited these walls. She went around the room, touching things, trying to get a feel of something — but there was nothing. She went back to the passage and brought all her things into the bedroom.