Say it with Sequins

by Georgia Hill

  “I’m fine. At home.”

  “Good. Who’s looking after you?”

  “A nurse. And Dad and Whiz pop in now and again, although Whiz is driving me crazy. She keeps banging on about another Davy Jones book. Daniel has promised to visit too.”

  “Oh, He’s such a lovely man. No Max?”

  “N-no, he’s swimming in a competition in the States, Dan said.”

  “Those two still close?” Julia’s voice was cagey.

  Lucy managed a laugh. “We were a bit off the mark there, Julia. Max is straight and so, I suspect, is Daniel.”

  “Well actually, I’m glad you brought that up. I asked Harri about it again and, oh Lucy, I’m really sorry, but I got it wrong. Turns out it was a Jo as in J O that Max went out with. Not a man.”

  “Not a man called J O E then?” Lucy giggled weakly. “No, it’s alright; Daniel told me Max is straight.” She paused for dramatic effect that made Julia proud. “And, he also told me that Max is in love with me.”

  “Lucy!” Julia breathed. “I knew it!”

  “How?”

  “That after show party! You know, the one after you’d done your samba? I could so absolutely tell he was into you big time.”

  “You could have told me!”

  “Darling, I’m sorry. Been a bit preoccupied lately. Been very selfish. I’ve got a bit of news, actually. Harri asked me to marry him.”

  “Julia!”

  “I know! It’s magical isn’t it? Have no idea when we’ll fit it into our manic schedules but we’ll do it somehow. He told me about Max and Jo last week but, I’m so sorry darling, it slipped my mind.”

  “That’s all right.” Lucy felt she could be magnanimous in the light of Julia’s engagement. “Congratulations. Oh Julia you’ll be so beautiful.”

  The bride-to-be gave a dirty laugh. “I sincerely hope so! And I hope you’ll be there to witness it as bridesmaid. I promise not to make you wear lilac polyester.”

  “Yes well, I wore enough of that sort of thing in Who Dares Dances. The costumes don’t get any better do they?”

  Julia chuckled. “You’re not wrong there. But hey, what are you going to do about your gorgeous man Max? I mean, he’s a looker.”

  “And the nicest, kindest, most gentle man you could ever wish to meet.” Lucy added, defensively.

  “Do I detect the feelings might be mutual, Ms Everett? Is this one of your crushes?”

  “It’s more than a crush.” Lucy gave a great sigh.

  “Oh Lucy! What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Lucy switched off her phone and stared again at the wintry scene in front of her. Yet more snow was beginning to fall. It looked likely it would stay around for the holiday. Her mood lifted a little; she loved Christmas, especially a white one. She couldn’t do anything about Max now, but she could face up to another problem in her life.

  “Whiz!” she yelled. “Whiz, can you come in here a minute? I need to talk to you about my next book.”

  Step Twelve.

  In his tiny flat in Highgate, the sitting room lit only by the lights on his miniature Christmas tree, Daniel cruised idly through the channels on the television. A gossipy entertainment show mentioned Julia’s name and made him sit up abruptly. Clasping a hand over his heart, because he felt it actually jolt, he listened as the breathy host of the showbiz programme announced Julia’s engagement to Harri Morgan, ex children’s TV presenter and last year’s winner of Who Dares Dances.

  “So it’s ended,” he whispered to the room. “I must now, finally, get over how I feel.” He watched, as stills of Julia and Harri flickered across the screen. He knew he’d never had a chance with her, not as soon as he’d seen how she and Harri were together but, for a while, he’d hoped.

  “Beautiful Julia. Congratulations.” He blew a kiss at the TV and then added: “But if that Welsh bastard ever hurts you, it’ll be me he answers to.”

  He snapped off the remote and sat in a sweet melancholy for a while. Then, with sudden decision, he reached for his phone. “If I can’t have the woman I love,” he muttered, as he punched in the number, “maybe someone else can have his.” As he waited for the line to connect, he vowed to himself it would the last time, absolutely the last time, that he would play cupid.

  “Hello Max! Oh sorry mate, is it still early there? Look, you’ve got to get your toned backside back to Blighty. Back to Woodstock actually. What? Yes, I’ll explain.”

  Step Thirteen.

  It was the day before Christmas Eve. The snowy weather hadn’t abated and, out here in rural Oxfordshire, it was falling heavily. It had been hell getting a flight at this time of year but Max had managed it – at a price.

  He hesitated before he lifted a hand to the lion head knocker. He looked about him. It was a big, secretive house. Victorian, he hazarded at a guess, with snow covered ivy snaking up the Cotswold stone walls and a carriage drive sweeping in a circle. It was a house peculiarly suited to the unworldly Lucy. A wreath decorated the front door and someone had put white lights in the towering conifer gracing the middle of the drive. It looked like the perfect Christmas card image.

  He looked behind him as the taxi driver gunned the engine of the cab, skidded on the compacted snow on the drive and disappeared through the security gates. It had been nearly as difficult to persuade a driver to bring him out here, as it had been getting a flight.

  “Committed now,” he muttered and was glad the usual jet lag hadn’t kicked in yet. It had been barely forty-eight hours since Daniel’s phone call and any anger he’d felt had evaporated on the plane. It was an emotion that didn’t live long in him. He was more intrigued now.

  The door opened as an elderly man in yellow felt trousers and a tweed jacket came out.

  “Ah, you must be Max,” he said without ceremony. “We know all about you. Go in, go in, my boy.”

  Lucy’s father, he assumed, as the man wandered off towards a black Range Rover tucked neatly to the side of the house.

  “She’s in the drawing room. Last door on the right at the back of the hall,” said a female voice. It belonged to a tiny woman with fiery red hair. She emerged from the house in the wake of the old man.

  She looked up at Max with open curiosity. “Simeon Jones,” she gasped, “as I live and breathe.”

  “No, Max Parry,” he said confused. Maybe the jet lag was hitting in after all.

  “Tabitha Wisley – Whiz.” The woman giggled. “Lucy’s agent,” she added, as he still looked blank. “How disappointing that Lucy hasn’t mentioned me.” She pointed a key at the car and the lights on it flashed as it unlocked. “I’m driving Dr Everett back to Oxford and then I’m going home. She’s all yours.” The last comment was said with asperity. “Let’s hope you prove more inspirational than me. She hasn’t written anything for two weeks.”

  It was all very unlike the welcome visitors got at his own family home. Still confused, Max made his way through the silent house. He knocked on the door he thought most likely to lead to Lucy.

  “Is that you Daniel? Come in out of the cold.”

  He ducked into the room and stood for a minute, awkward, not knowing what to do next.

  “Max! I th-thought it was - ”

  Lucy drank in the sight of him. He wore a black knee length coat, black trousers and carried a sleek leather holdall. A white scarf was wound several times round his neck. Her first thought was how well he fitted into the Victorian setting. He could be Simeon himself. She felt the cold sweep in with him and shivered.

  “Hello Lucy,” he said. “How’s your injury?”

  “G-getting better, thanks.”

  “Dan rang me.”

  Lucy looked up at him. In a flash, she understood what had happened. Daniel had been trying to sort things out.

  “He explained one or two things.” Max picked up a leather Chesterfield chair and placed it next to the head of the sofa. He busied himself by taking off his coat and scarf, shak
ing the snow off them and then laying them neatly on the back of the seat. Lucy watched him avidly. Despite the tan, renewed by the Miami sun, he looked tired. Finally, he sat facing her and took her hand in his cold brown one. Lucy had never seen him looking more beautiful.

  “M-max, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Max’s thin face creased into a smile. “What for, Lucy? For thinking I’m gay or for thinking I’m avaricious?”

  “Are you, are you really angry with me?”

  “I was, a little.” He looked up to see her face crumple. “But I’m not now,” he added. “Just curious. To start with, just what made you think I was gay?”

  “Um, oh th-things.” There had seemed lots of reasons at the time but Lucy couldn’t think of one at this moment.

  “Maybe it’s because I don’t go around in a testosterone filled rage all the time?” Max smiled slightly. “Or that I’m patently close to my family?”

  “Maybe,” Lucy racked her brain, she had never felt so stupid. “And you like to cook.” Even as she said it, she realised how ridiculous it sounded.

  “And that makes me gay, Lucy?”

  “Well, you also seemed so close to Daniel.” She tried hard not to sound defensive.

  “I am. He’s become a really good friend. And I needed one during Who Dares Dances.”

  Lucy felt newly ashamed – and humbled – at how easy he was making it for her. “Yes, I can see that,” she acknowledged. Then she remembered what had started all of it off. “It was Julia really.”

  “Julia?” Max was startled.

  “Yes, she said that you’d been out with someone called Jo.”

  Max frowned. “Jo?”

  “I’m afraid, well, we all sort of assumed it was a J O E.”

  “Ah.” Max laughed. Lucy looked so abject he simply wanted to sweep her into his arms. But he couldn’t, not until the other matter had been resolved. “I wish you’d talked to me about it, Lucy.”

  “Y-yes. Me too. But that’s easier said than done. And I think, once I’d got the idea in my head, I sort of saw evidence for it everywhere.”

  Max sighed. “I can’t blame you entirely. For some reason, there have always been a lot of rumours about me.”

  “Why don’t you deny them?” Lucy looked at him curiously.

  “Why should I? What business is it of anyone’s? It’s my private life and that’s how it should stay. I can never understand why it seems to matter to people so much.”

  “It m-mattered to me.”

  Max caressed his thumb over her hand. “Yes and I’m sorry for that.”

  “No, it’s me who should be sorry, Max. I’ve been jumping to all sorts of conclusions. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that conversation about the money you got for leaving the show. I should have let you explain.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t the right time. I think you’d just had your vision of Who Dares Dances tarnished a little.”

  “Just a little.” Lucy blushed.

  They smiled at one another.

  Max slid forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of his chair. He cupped Lucy’s face gently in one long fingered hand. “We’ve got some catching up to do.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time but I was never certain how you felt about me.” He continued to kiss her, gently, tenderly, overjoyed and immeasurably touched at her shy response.

  “Max?”

  “Yes my love?”

  “There’s one thing I still don’t understand.”

  Max sat back on his chair. The desire he felt numbed a little by creeping jet lag. He kept her hand in his and contented himself by simply gazing. “What?”

  “I can see that the money was really really tempting, especially when you had such a good cause to donate it to but - ”

  “But?” He knew what was coming.

  “You’re an athlete,” Lucy said in a puzzled voice, “an Olympic athlete. I know you found the dancing hard and I know the judges were vile to you, but I can’t believe that you just -” she trailed off.

  “What?”

  “I can’t believe that you just gave up,” Lucy finished lamely, afraid she’d gone too far.

  Max rubbed a tired hand over his face. “I’ve got something for you.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a tape. “Play it will you?” He stifled a yawn. “And now, God I’m really sorry Lucy, but the jet lag always knocks me out for a couple of hours. I know this sounds rude, but do you think I could go and sleep it off somewhere?” He needed an excuse to leave the room. He couldn’t be there to listen to the tape with her; he wouldn’t be able to bear the disappointment on her face when she finally knew his secret.

  Lucy smiled at him. “Of course you can. There’s a room made up opposite mine. Top of the stairs on the left. It’s a nice big bed so you should be okay.” She crimsoned as her thoughts travelled back to their night together. If only she’d known then what she knew now!

  “I’ll find it.”

  He put the tape into the cassette player for her and then left quietly.

  As he shook his head to clear the worst of the fug stupefying his brain, he heard his own voice trailing him up the stairs.

  After the tape had finished playing, Lucy rewound it to listen again. She couldn’t take in what she’d heard. When it had finished playing for the second time, it made more sense. She now knew why Max had been so desperate to leave the competition. It had been the writing challenge that had been the final straw. But Max had fulfilled his task. He had written her a story; or rather, he’d recorded one. For a dyslexic it was so much easier.

  She switched off the tape player and stood and watched as the last light stole from the garden. A low shadow slunk near the wall, leaving neat paw prints in the snow; Basil on a prowl. Snow cloaked the trees and everywhere was silent and still. But Lucy could hear Max’s words reverberate in her head.

  His story was all the more painful for being so common. It was that of a young boy bullied at school for being over six feet tall by the time he was eleven and misunderstood by his teachers who thought him simply lazy and disinterested. Then Max had found out, quite by chance, that he could swim for longer and faster than anyone else. He’d spoken in that deceptively low-key way he had, of how the water had saved him. It was something he could do, something that came naturally to him. Something where his height was an advantage rather than a weapon to be used against him. He hadn’t minded the early starts, the long hours of training, the weekends given up for races. It released him from the bullying he’d endured and of the expectations of his teachers. It also gave him a reason not to do well academically. After all, he reasoned to his school, with his punishing training schedule, he couldn’t fit in his homework, or even some of his lessons. And the more he swam the better he’d become. And at last, those who had bullied him were forgotten. Almost. He’d found a way of being himself, of being the best he possibly could be.

  At twenty-nine he was pushing it to remain in top-level competitive swimming; most swimmers were finished long before they were his age. But he’d persevered, qualified for the Olympics against all expectations and then had gone on to win three medals. Gold medals. The time had come to retire, to go out on a high. And then he’d been invited to enter Who Dares Dances. He was persuaded that it might lead to something, although he didn’t know what. He’d already been asked to do some presenting but had turned it down; he couldn’t read an autocue, the words danced around on the screen. It had been Will who had finally made the decision for him. And he couldn’t bring himself to refuse Will.

  He’d enjoyed it at first. Lola had been a patient teacher and he was used to a gruelling training regime, used to being told what to do in order to improve. It hadn’t seemed so very different to the coaching sessions he underwent for swimming. But the actual dancing, as he explained on the tape, was three minutes of sheer hell each week. Becoming more and more self-conscious about his enormous feet and huge hands, he w
as destined to fail in spectacular fashion. The more hours of training he put in, the worse it got and the judges’ comments had taken him straight back to being bullied at school. Only this time it was worse, this time he was bullied in front of a television audience of millions.

  Bob’s announcement, that he was to write a story as his extra challenge, had come when Max was at his lowest. It had been the final indignity. His sisters tried to get him to back out but he’d never been the sort of person who gave up easily. But then came the offer of the money. It had been too tempting. He’d felt lousy about quitting but he knew he could start up something worthwhile with the money. It was time to go.

  Going straight back into a swimming competition had been like a salve. He hadn’t won but he was back in the world he knew and understood and felt protected in. What it hadn’t done was make him forget the woman he’d grown to love. And then Daniel’s phone call had woken him early one morning.

  Lucy smiled through her tears. She’d once thought that she and Max were complete opposites but she knew the truth now. She understood his longing for a world that felt familiar and safe, of the strategies he used to avoid detection, of the risks involved of pushing oneself into a place where only failure might lie. She was like him in so many ways. A log shifted in the fire, making her jump.

  Picking up her crutch, she turned to see Max framed once again by the doorway.

  “So, now you know.” His voice was low and lazy but she knew him better now.

  “Yes.”

  “So, here comes the big question, do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No!” She went to move towards him but stumbled.

  He came to her and held her to him, safe in his strong arms. “A lot of people do think it’s stupid not to be able to read and write.”

  “I’m the one who’s been stupid, Max. If I’d had a brain cell, I would have realised why you left the show.”

  He stooped to nuzzle his mouth into her neck. “It wasn’t just having to write a damned story, you know. You were driving me crazy. Half the time you flaunted yourself naked in front of me and half the time you kept me at a very long distance.”