Devon was determined not to look back as she walked towards the security gate; but as she was loading her handbag onto the belt, she couldn’t resist. She scoured the area for Cesare’s unruly dark curls, but couldn’t see them anywhere. He was long gone. Already ringing the next woman on his list, probably. Tears formed in her eyes as she walked through the arch and collected her bag on the other side, her passport and boarding card still clutched tightly in her hand. It was only when she reached the departure gate, and the British Airways official waiting to bustle her onboard practically snatched the documents from her, that she realized there was something else there too.
A card. It fell from inside her passport as the woman opened it to check Devon’s photograph. Devon caught it as it tumbled to the counter, snatching it up as eagerly as if it were a love letter.
CESARE MONTIGIANI, it read in small, elegant lettering. And underneath, an Italian phone number. No address, no email. No personal note.
But still, it was a way to contact him. Cesare hadn’t asked for her contact details, her email, nothing. But he gave me his card and he said Italy would be sad without me . . . Still, that might be just a nice way of saying goodbye. He’s probably really grateful it ended like this, so neatly . . .
Despite the gravity of the crisis that was summoning her back so urgently to London, Devon could barely focus on it. She sank into the business-class seat, fastened the seatbelt, and rapidly tapped out a text to Deeley telling her what flight she was on, as the steward shut and locked the plane door. He nodded at her mobile, but she was already turning it off and slipping it back into her bag. She closed her eyes. Suddenly she realized she was exhausted; it wasn’t as if she and Cesare had been doing much sleeping over the last few days. Devon knew she should be thinking about the nightmare situation that was calling her back to London, or worrying about the mess she’d made of her marriage. But all she could do was close her eyes, fall asleep and dream about her Italian lover.
‘Dev!’ called an instantly familiar voice as Devon pushed her trolley out of the last-ditch duty-free shop just after Customs. Devon looked over to see Deeley standing there and she blinked as she realized that her sister had a small child propped on her hip. She was so disoriented that it took her a few more moments to realize that this must be Maxie and Olly’s adopted little girl, who she hadn’t actually met yet.
She pushed the trolley towards her sister, who, as usual, looked as if she had walked straight out of the pages of Grazia, in a trendy, long, belted grey sweater over slim faded jeans tucked loosely into studded ankle boots. Long, cascading caramel-streaked hair, pulled back with a wide suede band, framed Deeley’s face perfectly; she and Maxie’s little girl made an arresting picture, one so dark and the other so fair, both of them so pretty in their very different styles.
‘You look like Angelina Jolie at a photo shoot, Deels,’ Devon said with irony.
‘And you look wonderful,’ Deeley said, staring at her sister. ‘Italy really agrees with you, Dev. You look absolutely amazing. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you!’
‘Yes! Um, thanks!’ Devon said, blushing, and hoping that Deeley wouldn’t guess exactly what Devon had been doing to give herself this post-coital glow of satisfaction.
‘This is Alice,’ Deeley said, hefting her charge a little higher on her hip. ‘Say hi to Auntie Devon, Alice.’
Alice stared at Devon with wide, dark, heavily lashed eyes; she was definitely a little beauty.
‘Trust Maxie to pick a pretty one,’ Devon said cynically. ‘What did she do, get her out of a catalogue?’
‘Dev!’ Deeley said, shocked.
‘Oh, come on, Deels. Maxie didn’t even go to Rwanda herself, did she? She got her brought over by people from the government. You can’t tell me this is anything but a PR thing,’ Devon said, rolling her eyes. ‘Poor little mite,’ she added, looking at Alice’s serious face. ‘Maxie isn’t exactly cut out to be a mother.’
Deeley couldn’t deny a word of this, much as it was clear she wanted to.
‘Well, Alice has me now,’ she said firmly, dropping a kiss on her niece’s curly head. And I’m taking very good care of her. Dev, we should go. Maxie’s really worried about journalists. She sent me to meet you and make sure you didn’t get waylaid. I don’t see anyone, but you never know, I suppose . . .’
‘I’ll just grab a coffee,’ Devon said quickly; with everything waiting for her, she needed a pint of Caffé Nero’s finest to keep her alert.
‘Ooh, get one for me too!’ Deeley said, sitting Alice down on top of Devon’s suitcases as their owner dashed off. ‘Look how tall you are now, baby Alice,’ she crooned cheerfully. ‘You’re as tall as me!’
God, Deeley was born to be a mum, Devon thought as she returned with the two largest cappuccinos-with-extra-shots that Caffé Nero’s barista had to offer. Deeley was singing to Alice, who was giggling, delighted, back at her.
They found a black cab and settled in, Alice on Deeley’s lap, staring out of the window or playing with her aunt’s long hair as the cab took off for central London.
‘I’ve had to stop wearing earrings,’ Deeley said fondly, bouncing her niece. ‘Little madam here pulls them all out and then tries to eat them.’
‘Ouch,’ Devon said, putting her hands up to her ears to check she wasn’t wearing anything dangly. No, just her diamond studs. She remembered Cesare running his tongue round one, biting her lobe, and shuddered with a rush of sensual memory so strong she could feel it from her fingers to her toes.
Stop it! she told herself, raising her coffee cup and drinking deeply, the rich brew jerking her back into harsh reality.
‘Tell me what’s been going on, Deels,’ she said, looking at her sister over Alice’s head. ‘And don’t leave anything out, OK?’
Deeley took a deep breath, looked as if she were about to cry, leaned forward to check that the partition between them and the cab driver was firmly shut, and then spilled it all. It took most of the drive back from the airport, and Devon listened in silence, reaching out to wind her fingers through Alice’s from time to time to distract her niece from pulling at the neck of Deeley’s jumper. She winced on hearing about Deeley’s visit back to Riseholme, but didn’t say a word of reproach, for which Deeley was clearly grateful.
When Deeley had finally ground to a halt, as the cab was coming off the flyover, Devon said slowly, ‘I remember Linda O’Keeffe. I couldn’t have told you her name, but I remember her. She was a really nasty piece of work. Stank of smoke. And looked at all of us like we were pieces of meat.’
‘That’s right,’ Deeley said. ‘She scared me.’ She looked as if she were about to say something else, then bit her lip.
‘So what are we going to do, Deels?’ Devon asked.
The two sisters looked at each other with identical big, dark McKenna eyes.
‘Maxie’s talking to her solicitor now,’ Deeley said. ‘Giving her the official line – pretty much what she told the police. But she’s being very careful. She’s going to tell us exactly what to say in our statements. And the solicitor will be with us to make sure we don’t make any mistakes.’
‘Won’t that look a bit suspicious?’ Devon said, concerned.
‘No, because Maxie was really clever and made it sound as if she thought this was all a set-up to make the government look bad,’ Deeley reassured her. ‘So the police think we have the solicitor because of Olly being a minister and not wanting any scandal.’
Devon guffawed. ‘I can’t believe Olly’s a minister!’ she said. ‘It just goes to show anyone can get into power as long as they went to the right school and have enough money.’
‘Junior minister,’ Deeley corrected, unable not to smile at Devon’s tart words.
‘He won’t be that for long,’ Devon said. ‘Maxie’ll push him up the greasy pole faster than you can say prime minister. With her hand up his bum like a puppet, making him talk.’
‘Dev!’ Deeley covered Alice’s ears with her hands. ‘Don’t listen, Alice,’ s
he said, giggling. ‘Auntie Devon’s being naughty about your mummy and daddy.’
‘Where are we going?’ Devon asked suddenly, as the cab followed a swaying line of buses around the Shepherd’s Bush roundabout.
‘Back to Maxie’s,’ Deeley said. ‘She’ll come back when she’s finished with the solicitor. She said to all meet there.’
‘No, wait . . .’ Devon leaned forward and slid the Plexiglass open, giving her address to the cab driver. ‘I want to go home first. Drop off my stuff.’
‘Maxie said—’ Deeley started, shifting uncomfortably.
‘Maxie isn’t God, Deeley,’ Devon snapped crossly. ‘I’m going home first, OK? It won’t take long.’
I’m being a coward, Devon thought. I want Deeley and Alice there when I see Matt again, if he’s home. I can’t face him on my own, not after Italy. I’ll grab enough stuff for a few days and go to a hotel, or sleep at Maxie’s. I can’t stay in the house with Matt. It wouldn’t be fair.
Not when I’m going to tell him I want a divorce.
Deeley was looking very unhappy. Devon knew her too well for Deeley to be able to hide her feelings.
‘What’s up?’ she said, staring narrowly at her younger sister.
Deeley went red, and then white. Finally she blurted out a story about the front door of the basement flat having been vandalized, and her conviction that it was Linda O’Keeffe, or someone working for her, who had done it; she tagged on some crazy story about having been pushed under a bus at King’s Cross. It sounded much too lurid to be at all likely. Probably just fell over on her high heels, Devon thought meanly.
‘So you haven’t been back there since?’ Devon asked.
‘No – I went to Jersey, and then to Maxie’s – I’ve been looking after Alice since the nanny left . . .’ Deeley was hanging her head, unable to meet Devon’s eye.
Poor thing, she’s embarrassed at having to be her sister’s nanny, Devon thought. I bet Maxie’s treating her like a member of staff.
‘But what about Matt?’ Devon asked. ‘I sort of thought he’d have you around to help him a bit . . .’ She was embarrassed, in turn, at having left her husband crocked up, with no one in the house but the daily cleaning lady. Especially since she had run off to Italy and promptly started a torrid affair. Colour rose in her cheeks; she was too busy thinking of Cesare now to realize that her sister had turned bright red again at the question, burying her face in her niece’s hair to avoid answering.
The cab pulled up outside the Green Street house. Deeley hung back as Devon set her jaw, marched up the steps and unlocked her front door, calling, ‘Matt? Matt, it’s me . . .’
The cabbie carried her cases into the house; by the time she’d tipped him and sent him on his way, Alice was trying to crawl up the stairs, and Matt’s crutch was tapping its way out of the kitchen to meet his wife. He stared, confused, at the scene in front of him, his eyes going from Devon to Deeley to Alice, trying to work out what was going on. His foot was still in its wrap bandage, grubby round the edges now, and he was in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, his hair messy, his chin unshaven, looking exactly like a man who had been left to fend for himself by his wife, and who had gone slightly feral as a result.
‘I didn’t even know you were coming back!’ he said to Devon. ‘What’s going on?’
‘‘Family crisis,’ she said briefly.
‘That makes sense.’ Matt’s expression was unreadable. ‘Somehow, I didn’t think you’d come back to see how I was getting on.’
‘We should get going,’ Deeley said quickly, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘Maxie’ll be wondering where we are.’
Matt looked over at Deeley, and then glanced away swiftly, as if he were angry with her, Devon observed. Maybe Deeley and Matt had had a fight while she was away, and that was why Deeley hadn’t wanted to come back to Green Street; why she was desperate to get away as fast as possible.
Well, I can’t worry about that now. There are much more important things at stake.
Devon drew a deep breath.
‘Not yet,’ she said slowly. ‘Matt deserves to know what’s happening. He’s my husband. He’s a part of this whether he likes it or not.’ She finished the last dregs of her takeaway cappuccino and realized that she still needed more caffeine to help her cope with all this drama. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen, I’ll make a big pot of coffee, and we’ll tell Matt everything. All about our sordid childhood. We can trust him.’ She gave her husband a long, clear look. ‘I’m really sorry about this, Matt. You’re going to get dragged into a lot of stuff that’s nothing to do with you, and it isn’t fair. Especially when you and I are in such a mess at the moment. But the least I can do is tell you the whole truth.’
It was the most honest, direct thing she’d said to Matt in a long time, and she could see him taking it in, appreciating it.
‘Thanks, Dev,’ he said, nodding at her, his blue eyes clear. Something passed between them, something like a goodbye with no hard feelings. Or maybe I’m just imagining that. Hoping for it, Devon thought, as she walked into the kitchen. But right now, it feels as if Matt’s decided he doesn’t want to be married to me any more either.
‘Who’s this lovely little thing?’ she heard Matt asking Deeley, as she filled the kettle.
‘This is Alice,’ Deeley said, a note of pride in her voice. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous? She’s Maxie and Olly’s new daughter. Come on, Alice – we’re going into the kitchen, sweetie. I’ve got some toys for you in my bag . . .’
‘Looks like she’ll be walking soon, eh?’ Matt said. ‘Oi! Get off my crutch!’
Alice! Naughty girl!’ Deeley chimed in.
Deeley and Matt were both laughing as they came into the kitchen. Wow, they get on really well, Devon noticed, as she scooped coffee into the cafetiere. Deeley was hefting Alice, who was leaning over to grab at Matt’s crutch, which seemed to fascinate her. Deeley put her down on the kitchen rug, and Matt, heaving himself onto a stool, handed Deeley his crutch so Alice could crawl over it happily. He propped his foot awkwardly up on the foot-bar of the adjoining stool, swivelling to face his wife.
‘Right then,’ he said simply. ‘Spit it out.’
Deeley
Sitting on Devon’s big cranberry velvet sofa, making sure Alice didn’t fall on the crutch and cut her head open, Deeley was more grateful than she could say for the distraction of needing to constantly supervise her niece; it gave her something to do with her hands, somewhere to direct her attention. That way, she could avoid looking too obviously at her sister and her sister’s husband, desperately trying to read their interaction. You and I are in such a mess at the moment, Devon had said to Matt, and he’d tacitly agreed with it.
What does that mean? Deeley speculated frantically. How much does it mean? Is Devon going off to Italy, not caring that Matt was injured, just a blip? Or something more serious?
Deeley had been so good, so careful to avoid Matt ever since that evening. It wasn’t she who had suggested coming back here, to the house that he shared with her sister; that had been Devon’s idea. And now she had to be just as cautious. She couldn’t stare at Matt, shouldn’t even talk to him.
But now, so close to her sister’s husband, Deeley knew that her flirting with Jeff, her date to meet him at the weekend, were just an attempt to put a tiny Band-Aid on a gaping wound. Deeley wanted Matt as badly as ever, and she didn’t dare to look at him, in case Devon saw the longing in her eyes. He was so big, so lovely, so sweet; she wanted to wrap her arms around him, hug him, look after him – And yes, to finish what we started in the living room, she admitted to herself, knowing that her cheeks were going red as she tried not to think about it. He’d smiled so adorably at Alice, dimples forming in his cheeks, that Alice had gurgled and immediately reached out for him, her chubby hand connecting with the top of his crutch; Deeley and Matt’s eyes had met over her head, and the connection had been instant, a jolt of happiness and recognition.
Like
a husband and wife who’ve been apart for a while, and are really happy to be back together, Deeley thought with great wistfulness. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Matt’s long, wide thigh, propped at an angle on the bar stool to rest his hurt ankle. She realized that she was staring openly at the swell of his quadriceps muscle through the thin cotton of his pyjama bottoms, and dropped her gaze; but then she saw the white piping on the cuffed hem of the pyjamas, which for some reason filled her with immense tenderness. They were like pyjamas a granddad would wear, probably bought from Marks and Spencer. The thought of Matt going to M & S, picking up a pair of navy blue pyjamas with white piping, made her heart melt.
I want to be buying his granddad pyjamas, Deeley thought with a rush of wistfulness. And his socks. And his boxers.
Oh God. This isn’t just lust, she realized, wanting to cry. I’m in love with him.
She hadn’t heard a word that Devon had been saying to Matt. She’d only vaguely registered the fact that Matt had been making sounds of upset and sympathy and concern as Devon told him about Bill abusing Maxie, sounds which had muted into utter silence as Devon wrapped her hands around her cup of coffee, gathered her strength, and gradually, haltingly, told him about that night in 1993 when she, Maxie and Deeley had killed their stepfather to keep themselves safe.
‘Jesus God,’ Matt said slowly, when Devon had finished. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
He turned awkwardly on his stool, looking from Devon to Deeley. ‘I wish I’d been there,’ he said softly. ‘I’d’ve sorted that bugger out for you. Makes me ashamed to be a man when I hear stories like this.’ He reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘You did the right thing, love. Men like that never change. He’d’ve gone after you and Deeley, or found some other girls to mess with instead. You kept a lot of people safe.’ He drew in a breath through clenched teeth. ‘God, when I think about it, my head wants to explode. I’ve never warmed to Maxie, you know that. But when I think about what she went through – poor cow. No wonder she’s a bit cold.’
Bad Sisters Page 36