by Carrie Elks
He could feel the panic rising in him. ‘So one phone call from your sister and you’re leaving?’
It was as if she didn’t hear him. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking coming over here.’ She shook her head, staring into space. ‘I risked everything for what? A fling?’
Her words were like a kick to the gut. ‘What?’
Of course it wasn’t a fling. She knew that, didn’t she? Hadn’t she meant it when she said she loved him?
He thought of all the other people who were supposed to love him, too. His mother – disappearing every night – his father – who didn’t seem to love anybody but himself. And now Lucy was leaving him, too. The way everybody did.
Not this time.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said, his voice firm. ‘Let me call Grant, he can get me on the flight.’
Lucy looked at the phone she was clutching tightly. ‘I’m leaving any minute now. The cab’s just around the corner.’
‘Then I’ll catch you up.’
She looked up at him. ‘No.’ Her tone was vehement. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want you there.’
If her earlier words had felt like a kick to the gut, this time they were like a body blow. ‘You don’t want me?’
‘Don’t you see? We’re not good for each other. I’ve messed everything up. My sister hates me, my job is hanging in the balance. Even Grant told me that you were neglecting the business. And for what?’ Her telephone beeped and she swiped it silent. ‘That’s my cab, I need to go.’
‘And the gala?’ he asked her. ‘What about that?’ He was doing everything he could to keep his cool, but all he could see was red. ‘What about the dress you bought?’
‘I’ll transfer some money to you,’ she said. ‘As soon as I’m back in London.’
‘Don’t bother,’ he spat, the anger finally rising to the surface. ‘Consider it payment for services rendered.’ He turned his back on her, unable to look at her, squeezing his fingers tightly into a fist.
‘I’m sorry, I…’ She trailed off. ‘I need to go. I’ll call you when I get to London.’
‘If you walk out that door now, don’t bother coming back.’ As soon as he said it, he wanted to take the words back, wanted to spin around and look at her. Wanted to beg her to stay. But pride made him a statue, his back still firmly turned on her.
Lucy didn’t say another word. But the soft click of the door closing as she left told him all he needed to know.
With his lips pressed together into a thin, bleached line, he walked back into the bedroom. The closet door was closed, but he knew without needing to look that her clothes were no longer hanging there.
His eyes were drawn to a long, black dress carrier, with Bergdorf Goodman’s insignia printed on the front. He walked towards it, unzipping the plastic to reveal the dress hanging inside.
A champagne-coloured silk bodice was covered with lace, the boning of the corset clearly visible where it hung. It was tight by the looks of it, down to the waist, where it flared out to become full and flowing.
He stared at it without blinking. Could almost picture how beautiful it would look against her warm curves, her golden hair pinned up to reveal her creamy shoulders. Next to his dark colouring, and even darker suit, they would have made a glamorous couple. The kind that people stopped and stared at on the red carpet.
The kind that would have showed everybody he was a winner.
Reaching out, he took the dress in his hands, feeling the layers of silk and lace between his fingers.
A wave of fury washed through him. Taking the bodice in both hands he ripped at it, until the fabric began to protest at his roughness. His bicep muscles contracted, his hands tightening their hold on the dress, as he yanked at the delicate fabric until it tore apart beneath his grasp.
Damn her for making him feel the way she did. For making him feel like he might just be worthy of care and love.
Damn her for giving with one hand and taking with the other.
Damn her for not wearing this beautiful dress as she glided into the gala on his arm.
Damn her to hell. Which was exactly where he was headed, too.
29
You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon
my soul, a lie, a wicked lie
– Othello
‘Would you like me to take that for you?’ the flight attendant asked her as she stepped onto the plane, raising his eyebrows at the large box she’d carried on to the flight. She was cradling it like it was something precious. She supposed it was. For some reason she felt very protective of it.
‘It’s very fragile,’ Lucy told him, not quite willing to let it go. ‘I don’t want it to be broken.’
‘We’ll take good care of it, ma’am,’ he promised her, taking the dark blue box from her grasp. ‘I’ll give it back to you when we land.’
She nodded, her arms still outstretched even though the box was gone. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered quietly.
By the time she made it into her seat the plane was almost full. Businessmen already dressed for meetings in London the following morning mingled with families with small children who were fussing with their seatbelts. She sat down heavily, letting her head fall against the rest behind her and closed her eyes for a moment. They felt swollen from her tears, the skin around them red and tender. She reached up to touch it with her fingertips.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight five seven two to London Heathrow, due to land at eight a.m. local time. We’re fully boarded, and once everybody’s in their seats we’ll be getting ready for take-off.’ The announcement continued as the flight attendant introduced the captain, the staff, and explained that everybody should watch the safety demonstration. It sounded like white noise to Lucy. Her mind was too full of dark thoughts to process anything else.
Was it only a few hours ago that she was trying on dresses for the gala? She’d felt like a princess when she was wearing that beautiful gown, or maybe more like Cinderella. For the first time in her life, she would go to the ball.
No, she wouldn’t think of that. Nor would she think of the way Lachlan had looked at her when she told him she was flying home. There’d been a darkness to his eyes she’d never noticed before, almost as though he hated her. She breathed in a ragged mouthful of air, trying to get the image of his expression out of her mind. If she thought about it too much, it might kill her.
‘Would you like a drink before take-off?’ the flight attendant asked her.
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I just want to sleep.’
The attendant frowned. ‘Are you feeling okay? You look a little unwell.’
Lucy attempted a smile, but fell short of the mark. ‘I just need to get some rest. It’s been a long day.’ Or maybe a long few months. Everything had been out of kilter since the day she’d stepped off that plane in Miami.
The attendant didn’t look so certain. ‘Okay, but if you need anything, just press the button.’ He pointed at the plastic above her. ‘Once we’re in flight, I’ll come and help you set up the bed.’
A few minutes later the cabin crew did their usual check of the plane before taking their seats, and the captain taxied the plane to the runway. As the plane lifted into the air, Lucy let her eyes close once again, knowing that for eight hours, at least, she could disappear into sweet, soft oblivion. A kind of limbo between the maelstrom she’d left behind her in New York, and the mess she was heading into in London. The calm at the eye of the storm.
Suddenly, eight hours didn’t feel like nearly long enough.
‘Where to, love?’ The taxi driver glanced over his shoulder at her through the glass partition. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other resting lightly on the back of the chair next to him.
If she squinted her eyes she could be back in New York, with her dress lying next to her as she clutched an oversized box from a local gallery.
The dress was gone. So was New York, but the box remained in her hands, the base resting lightly on her thighs. For its size, it weighed hardly anything, in spite of the big dent it had made in her credit card.
What wouldn’t she give to be back in that yellow taxi again? Make everything that happened afterwards melt away?
She leaned forward to give her father’s address. Except it wasn’t his address any more, was it? Just the empty shell of a family home, echoing with the memories of the four sisters who used to live there. If she closed her eyes she could hear Juliet laughing on the telephone to a boyfriend, while Kitty turned up the volume of the television to drown out her flirtatious conversation. Cesca was usually in the corner, notepad in front of her, a pen tapping against her teeth.
As for Lucy? She wasn’t sure where she’d been. Worrying, mostly, or making sure everything was organised. Writing letters to her sisters’ schools, making up packed lunches for the next day. Going through her dad’s chequebook to make sure there was enough money to pay all the bills.
And then making sure the bills actually got paid.
Her face screwed up in misery as she thought about those days. They’d all been a little broken back then, trying to live in a world where their mum no longer existed. It was like the solar system without the sun, their sense of gravity had completely disappeared.
‘Been on holiday?’ the driver asked, pulling out of the airport complex. Ah, he was one of those. Lucy wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad that she couldn’t be left alone with her gloom.
‘Just visiting a friend.’
‘Did you go anywhere nice?’
‘To New York.’ She held on tightly to her box as he put his foot down to beat the lights.
‘Ah, lovely. Took the missis there once, for our anniversary. Did the whole shebang. Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building. Even ate oysters in Grand Central Station. Disgusting little things. Taste like snot.’
She smiled in spite of herself. ‘I managed to avoid the oysters.’
‘It’s a great city, though, isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘One of those places you can visit again and again. I must ask the missis if she wants to go back.’ He steered right, filtering onto the motorway.
‘Yeah, it’s great.’ She stared out of the window at the fields as they drove past them. Patches of green and yellow, with tall hedges dividing them. So different from the concrete jungle she’d just left.
‘Will you go back, do you think?’
If you walk out that door now, don’t bother coming back. His final words echoed in her mind. ‘I’m…’ Frowning, she looked down at the box in her hands. A gift ungiven. ‘I’m not sure.’
Around an hour later he pulled up outside her father’s old house. She took in the imposing red-brick façade, the white criss-cross Georgian windows, the three chimneys jutting proudly from the roof. It looked the same but different. Where once the front path was lined with pretty flowers and hedges, now there were weeds. The paint on the front door was peeling, the glossy black giving way to dull grey wood. But more than that it looked wan and lonely. As empty as she felt.
As he pulled her case out of the back, she checked her phone. No messages. Not from Lachlan, not from her sisters, not even from Lynn at work. It was as though for the hours she was in the air she had ceased to exist. She couldn’t remember the last time somebody didn’t want something from her. Whether it was a sandwich to take to school or a deposition for the court. There was always something she was having to respond to, from the earliest age.
And now. Nothing.
Thanking the driver, she pulled her case up the pathway, ignoring the dirt ingrained in the Victorian tiles. In her right hand she still held that box, gently placing it on the top step as she rooted for her keys to open the door.
She hesitated for a moment, as metal slid into metal, not quite willing to make the turn that would unleash all those emotions again. Standing on that porch, she felt heavy, like a ton of weight was pressing down on her shoulders. The same weight she’d managed to forget about when she was in New York with Lachlan.
She was about to turn the key when the door was wrenched open. Standing on the other side of the threshold was her sister. Cesca looked smaller than Lucy remembered, more delicate, too. Like a tropical flower you needed to protect from the cold, harsh winter.
‘Hey.’ Lucy gave her sister a half-smile. ‘I’m home.’
Cesca stared at her, saying nothing. Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. Lucy watched as she inhaled, breathing in through her nose, then slowly breathing out, her mouth pursed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea.’ Cesca turned on her heel and walked back up the hallway to the kitchen, leaving Lucy to follow with her case and her box. She left them at the bottom of the stairs, before kicking off her shoes, and padding back to her sister in her sock-covered feet.
‘Have you had something to eat?’ Cesca asked. ‘I’m pretty sure Sam bought some food yesterday. I haven’t eaten anything, I’m not very hungry.’
Lucy shook her head. She came to a stop next to the old kitchen table, and curled her hands around the top of one of the chairs. ‘I’m not hungry either.’ She traced a crack in the wood with the pad of her thumb. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.’
Cesca filled the old, metal kettle, then put it on the hob, lighting up one of the gas burners. ‘We fly back to LA tomorrow,’ she said, pulling her hand away quickly when a flame flickered up. ‘I don’t know why Dad couldn’t just have an electric kettle like everybody else.’
‘I don’t suppose it matters now,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s not like he’s coming back. We don’t have to worry about him burning the house down any more.’
Cesca sniffed, then turned her back to Lucy, reaching up in the cupboard for some mugs. When she spun back round, her eyes were glinting in the early-morning sun. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but none of the usual excuses appeared. She’d had half a day to think of all her reasons, but every time she tried to pin them down they seemed to disappear like smoke into the air. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally said, pulling the chair out and sitting in it. She rested her elbows on the table, dropping her forehead into her hands. ‘It just seemed like the right thing to do. I don’t know how much you remember, Cess, but things were crazy back then.’
‘It’s no excuse. You’ve had years to tell the truth. And yet you’ve kept it from us for all that time. You were supposed to be our sister. We were supposed to be a family.’
‘We are a family,’ Lucy said firmly, looking up from the palm of her hands. ‘And it got harder as time went on. When would have been a good time to get you all together and announce, “Mum was having an affair, and I found out just before she died”? At Juliet’s wedding? Before Kitty moved to LA? Or maybe I should have done it at your premiere? There was no good time.’ She sighed, knowing how ineffective her words were. They sounded stupid even to her own ears. ‘Please sit down, Cess. Let me make the tea.’
‘It’s done.’ Cesca’s voice was thick and throaty, as though she’d been crying all night. ‘There you go.’ She slid one mug across the table to Lucy, cradling the other in her hands as she sat down opposite her.
They stared at each other for a moment, older and younger sister, with matching red eyes and blonde hair. Lucy frowned, feeling the skin above her eyebrows pucker, as she still searched for the words to make everything right.
But maybe they didn’t exist. Maybe there was no right to be made here. Just one woman, doing her best, making mistakes. Breaking her sisters’ hearts the way hers was broken.
‘I really am so sorry.’ Lucy looked down at her tea, seeing the faintest of reflections in the murky brown liquid. ‘I never wanted you to find out like this.’
‘You never wanted us to find out at all, did you?’
She brought her gaze up. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
Lucy took a sip of her tea, feeling the hot liquid scald her tongue. It felt like a good kind of pain. ‘Because I didn’t want to hurt you any more than you were already hurting. You’d just lost your mum, I didn’t want to take her from you all over again.’
‘Our mum. She was our mum.’
Lucy nodded, confused. ‘Yes.’
‘She wasn’t just my mum. She was your mum.’ Cesca’s voice was vehement, as though she was trying to make an important point. ‘You lost her twice, too.’
Everything in that kitchen felt filled with emotion. Like a heavy rain cloud, reaching saturation point. Lucy could almost feel the downpour waiting to start.