by Carrie Elks
‘He said… he said…’ Another hitched gasp. ‘It’s not true, is it?’
‘What?’ Lucy asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He thought I was Mum. Started shouting at me, telling me not to leave him, then told Sam to… to… eff off.’ She sniffed. ‘The nurse tried to calm him down, but he started trying to grab Sam. He was so confused, he started crying and wailing. Begged me to stop my affair before I hurt our girls. Except it wasn’t me he was talking to.’ Her voice was drowned by another sob. ‘He was talking to Mum.’
So her father knew about the affair after all. A fresh surge of panic made Lucy’s legs weak. ‘He’s talking nonsense, you know that. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’ Her breathing was rapid, as though she’d been running for miles.
‘He doesn’t make things up,’ Cesca’s voice was low and raspy. ‘He just remembers old things. That’s what the doctor said.’
Lucy sat down on the edge of the bed, lowering her face into her hand, her fingertips digging into her wet hair. Think, Lucy. She just needed to find the right words, and it would all be fine. The way it always was. ‘It was all so long ago, Cesca, it’s not important.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s sick, that’s all.’
‘Did you know?’ Cesca asked, then coughed out another cry. ‘You did, didn’t you? You don’t sound surprised at all.’
Lucy’s stomach lurched, and she tasted the pasta salad she’d eaten for lunch all over again. ‘I didn’t…’ She searched her brain, trying to find the words. ‘I just…’
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Cesca said again. ‘Oh my God, you knew about this. You lied to me, to us.’ She was talking quickly, her voice loud over the connection. ‘Who else knows?’ she demanded. ‘Who else is lying? Does Juliet know?’
‘No,’ Lucy said, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Just me. I didn’t tell anybody at all. It didn’t mean anything.’
‘Of course it means something.’ Cesca’s tone became angry. ‘It means everything I thought about my family was wrong. I wrote a bloody play based on Mum, or who I thought she was. You must have been laughing at me all along.’
‘No, Cess, I promise I wasn’t.’ Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘What is it like then?’ Cesca demanded. ‘You seem to know everything that’s going on. Tell me what it’s all about.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lucy said, leaning against the dressing table, her body feeling leaden and achy.
‘Of course it matters,’ Cesca wailed. ‘Everything I thought I knew is a lie.’
Lucy covered her mouth to stifle her own sob. Her chest hitched, feeling painfully constricted when she tried to inhale some air. She felt dizzy, as though everything in the room was slanted – only to realise it was her that was half-falling to the floor.
‘No, honey, no. That’s not true.’ She closed her eyes, seeing her mother’s face, the moment before she crashed into that van.
‘Why should I believe a word you say?’ Cesca asked her, her voice still wavering. ‘You’ve been lying to us for years. What else have you been hiding, Lucy? What else have you been telling lies about?’
‘Nothing.’ Her breath came out in shallow bursts. ‘I promise, that’s all there is. I didn’t want you to be hurt.’
‘So you lied instead?’
‘I just didn’t tell you about it.’ She rubbed her palm over her face, feeling the wetness of her tears against her skin. ‘Please, Cesca, let me explain.’ Shaking her head, Lucy bit her lip, trying to calm herself down. She felt jittery and high, as though she couldn’t quite hold on to her thoughts. They were racing around her brain like it was an Indy 500 track.
‘No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t believe a bloody word you say. I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘Please don’t hang up!’ Lucy begged. ‘Cesca, listen, it’s not like —’
But the connection was gone. Lucy looked down at the white robe she was wearing, and at the thousand-count bed sheet she was sitting on. What the hell was happening? She dialled her sister back, but the phone just kept ringing.
With shaking hands she scrolled through her contacts, calling up Juliet’s number. Almost immediately it clicked through to voicemail. Either her phone was turned off or Cesca was calling her right now. Both filled Lucy with a sense of foreboding.
‘Juliet, can you call me when you get this?’ That was all she managed to get out before she choked back another sob. God, she needed to get a grip. Still holding her phone she thought about calling Kitty in LA, asking her not to speak to any of their sisters until Lucy had a chance for damage control. But she knew Kitty too well – she was as curious as the rest of them. She’d be phoning Cesca and Juliet like a shot.
Lucy lay back on the bed, her hair dampening the sheets, staining them a darker shade. Staring at the whitewashed ceiling, she shook her head, trying to get things straight in her mind. But nothing was making sense. She couldn’t even remember why she’d lied to them for so long – how the hell could she explain it when she didn’t even understand it herself?
Frowning, she sat up, tucking her knees beneath her chin. Think, Lucy, think. She took a deep breath in, as much to calm her racing heart as anything else. But the memory of Cesca’s cries, her accusations, were like little jabs of adrenalin, sending her pulse racing as she recalled her sister’s rejection.
I don’t want to talk to you.
But she had to, didn’t she? Cesca couldn’t ignore her for ever. Somehow Lucy had to make her understand. She’d tried to protect them, to keep the family together, to make sure they still had a father, a home, a life together.
She lied because she loved them.
With her arms wrapped around her knees, she rocked back and forward in a soothing movement. Everything was going to be okay. She’d make it all okay – she’d done it before, after all, and she could do it again. They were family, and that was all that mattered.
Lachlan plastered a fake smile on his face and called the waiter over, trying to ignore the empty chair beside him. Jurgen and Klaus were already in good spirits, half a bottle in to the fine wine they’d ordered, and neither of them noticed the way he kept sliding his gaze to the restaurant door.
Where the hell was she?
‘Yes, sir?’ the waiter asked. ‘Would you like to wait for your guest, or are you ready to order?’
‘We’ll order now,’ he said, nodding at Jurgen and Klaus. ‘That’s if you two are ready, of course.’
‘Sure.’ Jurgen grinned, his face flushed from a glass of wine on an empty stomach. Combined with jet lag it was lethal. He started to go through the menu with the waiter, as Lachlan tuned his voice out, checking his phone under the table to see if she’d returned his message.
Nothing.
He wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed or worried. It wasn’t like Lucy to be late for anything.
‘I need to make a quick phone call,’ he told Jurgen and Klaus after the three of them had ordered. ‘Will you excuse me for a minute?’
‘No problem,’ Klaus said, nodding as Lachlan stood up.
As soon as he was in the lobby, Lachlan called her number. Straight to voicemail, damn it. Then he called the apartment phone, but it kept ringing until the dial tone made his head ache. Biting down his frustration, he called the front desk.
‘Mr MacLeish, what can we do for you?’ The concierge answered straight away.
‘Do you know if Miss Shakespeare has left the apartment?’ he asked. ‘Did the car arrive okay?’
‘He waited for twenty minutes, but she didn’t come down,’ the concierge replied. ‘I did call up a number of times but we got no response.’
Lachlan leaned against the brick wall of the restaurant, the phone still glued to his ear. ‘Have you seen her at all?’ he asked, trying to hide the note of alarm in his voice.
‘Not since she arrived back this afternoon. I’ve been sitting here since, and I haven’t set eyes on her.’
‘I’ve called her phone and she�
�s not answering. Can you send someone up to check on her?’
‘Of course.’ The concierge was reassuring. ‘I’ll ask John to go up.’
‘And call me straight back when you’re done.’
‘No problem.’
As he waited for the phone call, Lachlan stood outside the restaurant, checking in on Jurgen and Klaus through the plate-glass window. The two of them seemed happy enough, laughing and drinking from the second bottle of wine. Still, he knew they’d eventually notice he was taking too long.
Not that he really cared.
As soon as his phone rang he picked it up.
‘Mr MacLeish?’ The concierge again.
‘Yes? Is she there?’
‘John spoke to her through the intercom. She’s feeling unwell, said she was in bed, and she’d speak to you later.’
‘She’s sick?’ he asked. ‘Should we send for a doctor?’ His relief at her being in his apartment was quickly replaced by an anxiety at her illness.
‘John offered, but she refused.’
None of it made sense. If she was sick, why hadn’t she called him? ‘Thanks for checking on her.’
‘No problem, Mr MacLeish. Just call if you need anything else.’
He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket, a frown pulling at his lips. Then he walked in to give Jurgen and Klaus his excuses, before calling a car to pick him up.
It was time to go home and look after his girl.
28
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue
– Love’s Labour’s Lost
She’d been so self-centred. She could see it all clearly now, as she zipped up her case and pulled it off the bed, rolling it out to the hallway. She left it next to the door, with her documents resting on top, waiting for the taxi that she’d already called.
The gift she’d bought for Lachlan was still in the hall, too, where she’d left it when she first walked in. She looked at it, twisting her fingers together, wondering what on earth she should do with the thing now.
It didn’t seem like the right time for gifts.
It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, other than to get home and do what she should have done all along. Make sure her family was okay, that it didn’t fall apart. That it wasn’t as fractured as the Kintsugi vase that dominated Lachlan’s hallway.
She checked her phone to see if the taxi had arrived yet, but there was no notification. Just some texts from Lachlan and some missed voicemails. Ones she planned to return just as soon as she was in the cab.
After her futile attempts to return Cesca’s call, her problem-solving skills had kicked into overdrive. Within thirty minutes she’d booked herself on the next plane to London, packed her bags and ordered a cab. Checking the taxi app, she saw her car was still ten minutes away. She shook her head. This was all her fault. She’d taken her eye off the ball, had thrown every piece of herself into this thing with Lachlan. She’d neglected her family and her career, the two things that had always meant everything to her.
For a moment she thought of that dress still hanging in its black bag, hooked on the back of his bedroom door. Thought of how she would have looked in his arms, the pale lace and silk champagne contrasting against his black dinner jacket. But it was all fake, wasn’t it?
A daydream she’d allowed herself to indulge in – one where he felt as deeply about her as she did about him. But he didn’t. That much was clear from their telephone conversation. She’d blurted out that she loved him and he hadn’t said a word. If she stayed and went to the gala – like one of his ‘girls’, as Jenn had described them – she was putting this thing between them above her family. And she couldn’t do that.
She’d been as selfish as her mother had been. It needed to stop. She needed to go back home and be Lucy Shakespeare, the woman who had everything under control. Maybe then everything would go back to normal.
It had begun to rain by the time the car pulled up at his apartment block, and the doorman appeared with an umbrella, shading Lachlan from the dampness. ‘Good evening, Mr MacLeish.’
‘Hi, John. Thanks for checking on Lucy for me.’
‘No problem,’ John said, matching Lachlan step for step as they walked towards the lobby. ‘Whatever she’s got must have come on very quickly. She was fine earlier.’
Lachlan frowned, walking through the door John held open for him. The doorman remained outside, shaking the dampness from his umbrella. Nodding at the concierge, Lachlan made his way to the elevator. It arrived almost straight away.
As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, something seemed off. He stepped into the entrance hall, taking in the pale walls, the polished floor, the table with the large Kintsugi vase. It all looked the same.
But there was another addition – well, two if he was counting. Her case was by the table, along with a big blue box. Resting on top were all her documents.
‘Lucy?’ he called, taking another glance at her luggage. ‘Are you okay?’ He could feel his chest tightening, like somebody had tied a rope around it and pulled hard. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in here.’
He spotted her as soon as he walked into the living room. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a cream cashmere sweater – the soft wool somehow complementing her complexion. But when he brought his gaze up he saw the redness of her eyes, the paleness of her face, her milky skin covered with livid blotches.
‘You look awful,’ he said, reaching for her. But she pulled away from his outstretched hand.
‘Thanks,’ she said, rolling her lips between her teeth. ‘I’m not feeling the best.’
‘Can I get you something? Some Advil? Are you sick or in pain?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, looking anything but. ‘I just need to get home.’
‘What?’ He blinked, trying to let the words sink in. ‘But you are home.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, wincing as if in pain. ‘I mean, I’m going back to London.’
‘You’re flying on Sunday, not today.’ She was making no sense. ‘You can’t leave when you’re ill, that’s crazy. Get to bed and we’ll see how you are in the morning. I’ll call my doctor if you’re no better.’
‘My flight leaves in four hours,’ she said, ignoring his suggestion. ‘I’ve got a cab coming. It should be here in five minutes.’ Her face was shiny beneath the glow of his chandelier. As he came closer her could see her skin looked raw, as though she’d been scrubbing away her make-up with a brush instead of a cloth.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. If you’re sick then you shouldn’t leave. Let me take care of you.’ This time when he touched her, she flinched. ‘Lucy?’ he said, still not comprehending what was happening.
‘I’m not sick.’ Her voice was dull. ‘I have to go home. My sister needs me.’
‘Which sister? What’s happened to her?’
Slowly Lucy brought her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were bloodshot and yet somehow dull, as if a screen had been pulled down over them. ‘Cesca. She found out…’ She trailed off, pulling her lips together in a thin line. When she blinked a tear escaped.
‘Found out what?’ He hated the way the air between them felt solid. Like an invisible barrier.
‘She found out about my mum. About her affair. She said I’m a liar, she hates me.’
‘Why would she hate you?’
Lucy stifled a sob. ‘She thinks it’s all my fault. She won’t talk to me.’
He stroked her arm. It was freezing cold. ‘It’s just a shock for her, that’s all. It would be for anybody. You should have told them about your mom years ago.’
‘Do you think this is all my doing?’ she asked him. ‘You think this is my fault, too?’ She pulled her arm away and held it by her side. Her body was as tightly wound as her words. At that moment she looked impenetrable.
He frowned, reaching around in his brain, trying to find the right answer. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. But you couldn’t keep this a secre
t for ever.’
She blinked her tears away. ‘My sisters need me, they’ve always needed me, and I’m not there. I’m here, doing God knows what.’
‘You’re here with me.’
He could feel her start to shiver beneath his touch, in spite of the warmth in the room. ‘But I shouldn’t be. I should be at home. Everything’s always okay when I’m there. As soon as Cesca told me she was coming to London I knew I should have stayed. But instead I ignored that little voice in my head and got on a plane anyway. And now everything’s gone wrong and I have to make it right.’ She was hysterical, her voice thin and edgy. There was no softness in her face at all. It was like brittle glass, hard yet breakable – threatening to cut him with every touch.