‘It was the right thing to do!’ she replied, protesting weakly.
‘Stop telling yourself that! It won’t change anything if you keep saying it like a useless mantra. The fact is, she’s a fucking mess and it’s your fault for giving her away.’
He shoved away from the wall and stormed off the veranda going down to the beach.
Estelle squeezed her eyes shut. She thought of the moment she handed Poppy over to Autumn, her little face scrunched up, the sound of her crying.
The guilt came in waves, punching at the core of her. Aiden was right, she told herself it was the right thing to do, over and over, hoping she might convince herself. Hell, she did convince herself for so many years. But the evidence was right in front of her now. The girl had run away, she was in therapy, her heart was broken. Poppy had been neglected by Estelle just like Estelle’s parents had neglected her. And look what it had done to her.
It was like Lorraine said, no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, she was just like her parents. Dirty, filthy, soiling every relationship she had.
She looked inside and caught sight of the champagne bottle Autumn had been trying to tempt her with.
Imagine these bubbles tickling your throat, the happy feel of it spreading to your head, making it swim, cleaning you good and proper inside.
Nothing she did could cleanse her. None of the food she deprived herself of, none of the vitamins she pumped into her body. What was the point? She just wanted her head to swim. She needed it to.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was heading towards the bottle. She grabbed it while nobody was looking, and then walked to the table full of pre-packed party food Autumn had insisted on buying, piling a plate high with cheesy nachos, mini hamburgers, cocktail sausages and sticky cheese dip; cream-filled cakes and After Eights. She thought of the times she’d done the same at her home in London, raiding the local newsagents with one of Seb’s baseball caps pulled low over her eyes like some criminal, grabbing chocolate bars and packets of crisps, shoving them in her mouth as she walked up the street, thinking he had no idea as she added items to her secret stash. She was dirty, just as Lorraine had said. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t outrun her past; couldn’t get beyond her rotten core. No wonder Max had wanted to get rid of her.
She ran outside, the plate and bottle clutched close to her chest. She took the narrow steps down to the beach, the moon beaming on her from above as tears flowed down her cheeks. The skies had cleared now, the setting sun casting an orange glow across the clear sea as it began to dip under the horizon. Estelle sunk down onto the smooth pebbles and stared out to sea, the distant stars smudged through her tear-filled eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Poppy,’ she whispered.
She breathed in the clogging chocolate of the cakes and the powdery cheese of the nachos, her tummy rumbling in anticipation.
Then she looked at the half-filled bottle of champagne.
She ought to be strong, like her therapist had taught her. Just throw it all away. She had the chance to do that right now, there was a bin just a few strides away.
But then she heard Aiden’s words again: She’s a fucking mess and it’s your fault.
She quickly brought the neck of the champagne bottle to her nose, breathing in the tart sweet smell. She licked her lips, then brought the bottle to her face, felt the foil on her mouth, smelt the intoxicating scent of the champagne again. The liquid fizzed against her tongue as she tipped the bottle slightly, teasing her taste buds. Then she tipped the whole bottle up. As the golden liquid slid down her throat, Estelle groaned, the taste bringing back heady memories of her birthdays here in Lillysands, the popping of bottles, the giggles as she shared a cup with Alice.
She closed her eyes, saw Alice standing at the edge of the cliff, fear in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. Then Poppy, her daughter, eyes filled with sadness as she looked into the camera.
What was the connection?
Whoever had sent the Polaroids clearly hated her. And who could blame them?
She took another sip of champagne, surprised to realise she was sobbing against the opening. The champagne flooded her mouth, almost choking her. As the effects of the alcohol spread inside her, her head seemed to blossom, the light of the bubbles flooding the dark corners inside.
She put the bottle down, wiping her mouth, then eyed the plate of food. She reached for one of the nachos, trying not to think of the chemicals slathered on that one solitary chip. She brought it to her nose and sniffed it, memories flooding her mind: three sets of tanned hands dipping into a plastic bowl, Alice laughing as Estelle shoved them into Aiden’s mouth.
She licked it, tongue lighting up at the memory of its taste. She paused a moment then bit into it, taste buds sparking at the crunch. She grabbed more, shovelling them into her mouth like she used to when she spent time in care homes. Before she knew it, the plate was empty, the bottle nearly empty too.
She leaned back, her heady fuzzy from the champagne, the pebbles digging into her palms as she stared out towards the darkening sea, the sky above her now black, stars sparkling savagely. She and Alice would come to the beach often in the summer, bring a blanket and food, curl up together as they talked.
Could she have saved her, if she hadn’t been so selfish, so focused on her troubles? Just like she might have been able to save Poppy if she hadn’t given her up for adoption?
What a mess she’d weaved.
Suddenly her phone started buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it from her pocket.
It was Detective Jones.
Chapter Eighteen
She took a moment to compose herself – she couldn’t have the detective knowing she’d been drinking. Then she put the phone to her ear. ‘Is there any news on Poppy?’ she asked, hoping against hope he was calling to tell her Poppy was home safe and sound.
‘I’m afraid not.’
Disappointment rushed through her. ‘Oh. Then why are you calling, Detective Jones?’
‘Just checking in after you got that last photo. Any more since then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How’s it going in Lillysands?’
She looked down at the food in her lap. ‘Not bad. Look, what are you guys doing to find Poppy? I noticed her story’s no longer top of the media’s priorities.’ She didn’t mention the article Aiden had shown her.
‘What the press print is out of our control, Miss Forster.’
‘Is it really?’ she asked, the alcohol making her brash. ‘You have a media department. Get them to keep the pressure up. If someone recognises her, they’ll call. But that won’t happen if Poppy isn’t in the news.’
‘I don’t need someone to tell me my job,’ the DC said, clearly put out.
‘But I’m not just someone, I’m Poppy’s mother!’
‘Poppy has a mother: Mrs O’Farrell.’
She flinched at his words then slammed the phone down, tears squeezing out of the corner of her eyes as she tipped more champagne into her mouth.
She meant nothing to the police. Even with the notes she’d been receiving, she was just the woman who gave the baby up. She’d seen it in their eyes when they’d visited, the disdain. How could a mother hand over their newborn like that?
Estelle pinched her eyes shut, more tears falling down her cheeks.
Maybe they were right to hate her. Didn’t she hate herself?
She heard the crunch of pebbles behind her and turned to see Darren standing above her. He was wearing a suit; he always seemed to be wearing one. His dark hair was neatly swept to the side, his face cleanly shaven.
She quickly wiped her tears away. He looked at the bottle and the plate and raised an eyebrow.
‘Naughty girl,’ he said suggestively, sitting beside her, not seeming to notice her tears.
Or not caring.
‘I’m having a cheat day,’ she said, barely registering that her words were slurred. ‘Want some?’
‘If there’s a
ny left?’ he replied playfully.
‘A few mouthfuls.’
‘That’ll do.’ He picked the bottle up and downed what remained as Estelle watched in surprise.
‘What?’ he said, laughing. ‘Is a property mogul drinking champagne any more controversial than a healthy-eating writer gobbling up cheesy nachos and cocktail sausages?’
She moaned. ‘I’m so going to regret this tomorrow.’
‘Why? Like you said, it’s a cheat day. Just as well I’m having one too.’ She noticed the way he was watching her, his eyes slowly taking her in.
‘You have cheat days?’ she said.
‘Sure I do.’ He patted his svelte stomach. ‘You think I look like this eating nachos every day of the week?’
She looked at his handsome face. He was so like Seb. Undeniably handsome – square jaw, sparkling eyes, tanned skin. But there was no depth there.
She thought of Aiden’s angry eyes as they’d looked into hers earlier, full of emotion. Maybe she didn’t deserve that; maybe she deserved someone shallow, someone like Darren. Aiden was better than her. Always had been. She was bad. He was good. She’d never deserved him.
‘I know Autumn and Max would love to see you doing this,’ Darren said. ‘I just had to tell them off for saying you need to loosen up.’
So Lorraine and her friend weren’t the only people talking about her at the party.
‘Maybe I do need to loosen up,’ she said.
‘No,’ Darren said, looking into her eyes. ‘I like you the way you are. You’re in control. I like to see that in a woman. The three Cs: clean, controlled, cute.’
‘I wouldn’t agree with that statement right now,’ she said, gesturing towards the bottle of champagne and food.
‘You’re allowed a night off every now and again.’
She held his gaze. Was it so wrong, him being like Seb? Isn’t that what she deserved: shallow, suave and selfish?
‘And I like the fact you use the name Estelle,’ he added. ‘Sounds classier than Stel. So, shall I let Autumn and Max know you’re indulging?’ he teased.
‘No. That’s half the fun,’ Estelle teased back, peering up at the lilac house, which loomed above her in the darkness, music and laughter tinkling out of it. ‘Drinking and eating crap without them even knowing.’
‘Ah, a secret feast.’ Darren took her empty plate. ‘Want me to get more?’
She smiled despite everything inside her crying ‘no’. ‘Absolutely.’
Over the next hour, they drank more champagne and ate all the foods Estelle advised against. In the back of her mind, she knew it was wrong. But something inside her – the old Stel – rebelled against her conscience.
One night, just one night, she told herself. Then after this, no more binging.
But guilt still hit her like a cricket bat as she thought of all she’d just eaten.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, standing up and swaying. ‘Just popping to the loo.’
She walked across the beach, grasping onto the metal pole as she walked up the steps. When she got into the house, she slipped past the revellers to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and kneeling in front of the toilet. She stared down at a sight achingly familiar to her, tears sliding down her cheeks. Then she stuck her fingers down her throat, retching into the toilet and bringing up all the food she’d just consumed. With each retch, she felt the slate inside her getting cleaner and cleaner.
When she was finished, she looked at herself in the mirror. She tidied her hair, wiped her mouth and ignored the disappointment in her eyes. It had been a while since she’d done this. She thought she’d gained control of it.
It was just the one time, she told herself.
She took a deep breath then walked out of the door, banging straight into someone.
‘Oh hello, Stel!’ She looked up to see Mr Tate smiling down at her. But then his smile disappeared, his brow furrowing. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked quietly.
‘Of course I am!’ she said, a little too brightly.
He peered behind her into the bathroom then back at her again. ‘You’re still seeing someone, aren’t you?’
She frowned. ‘Seeing someone?’
‘A therapist? You look very thin, Estelle, I’m worried—’
She crossed her arms, heart pounding. Mr Tate had always been one step ahead of her. At school, he’d referred her to a therapist before she’d even realised she had a problem. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t seem it. Maybe it’s not a good idea you being back in Lillysands, you know what this place is like. Are you returning to London soon? I think you should consider it, you know how this town can chew you up and spit you out.’
‘If it’s so bad then why are you still here?’ She felt a stab of guilt as she said it. The drink was making her cold, it always did.
‘My wife, Estelle. You know how she loves this place. But you don’t have to stay.’ He put his hand on her arm, his eyes pleading with hers. ‘And when you do go back, get help, quickly. We both know how this can spiral out of control for you.’
She pulled away from him. ‘I’m not a little girl any more, Geoffrey,’ she said, using his first name, feeling rebellious like she did at school when she addressed teachers like that.
Then she stormed off. She couldn’t be doing with Mr Tate’s sad brown eyes and concerned looks. It had nothing to do with him! She was an adult now, she could do what she wanted.
She jogged back down to the beach, relieved to see Darren there. Darren was always good for forgetting things, for burying things away.
‘I forgot how gorgeous it is out here,’ Estelle said, sitting down next to him. He handed her the bottle of champagne. She hesitated. She’d just purged all that. But what harm would more do, she needed to drive away the memory of Mr Tate’s expression anyway and she could always get sick again. So she took it, taking a sip. She peered towards the white marquees that had been set up on the beach in the distance. ‘I always liked it when the festival took place. The atmosphere, the buzz.’
‘You wouldn’t like it living with my mum; she goes a bit mental in the lead-up.’
‘Well, she is the brains behind it.’
He examined her face. ‘Do you miss the sea?’
‘I do,’ she said wistfully.
‘Strange place to move then, London.’
‘I needed a change.’
‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’
She looked into his eyes. For one drunken moment, she considered telling him everything. But then she stopped herself.
‘I was being a dramatic teenager. I bet you live right by the sea,’ she asked, wanting to change the subject.
‘Of course! You’d be a fool not to.’ He pointed towards one of the tall white buildings overlooking the marina. ‘I live in a penthouse there and rent out a couple of the other flats. I think Max had his eyes on it as an investment. But, you snooze, you lose.’
‘What a life, fighting over penthouses!’ she teased.
‘Oh, it wasn’t a fair fight really. Max wouldn’t have been able to afford it.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Really? I hear his business is thriving.’
Darren laughed. ‘You’re kidding! The man’s as skint as his son.’
Estelle spluttered on her champagne. ‘What?’
‘All these houses?’ Darren said, peering along the stretch of gleaming houses that lined the cliff above them. Max and Darren’s father had decided to keep two each to rent out as long-term lets and they’d both made a lot of money from them … or so she’d thought. ‘Thanks to some recent landslides,’ Darren continued, ‘including one big one a couple of years ago, people are reluctant to spend as much money on renting out these places so the ones Dad and Max have sit empty. Luckily, Dad has lots of other healthy income streams. Max on the other hand.’ He sighed and shook his head.
‘Jesus. Alice used to talk about the landslide threat here, she was so obsessed with that kind of stuff, but I had no i
dea it was a genuine issue.’
‘Really? Surely you’ve seen how half the gardens have disappeared up there? Same with the other houses down Seaview Terrace. And as for the cottage gardens at the front of the street, they’re in real trouble.’
Estelle thought of Mr Tate and his ill wife, guilt whirring inside. ‘Do you think the houses will go into the sea?’
‘One day, yes. Dad’s made quite a loss from it all, but luckily he’s been sensible with his other investments. Max on the other hand—’ Darren shook his head. ‘Never known a couple to spend so much money they don’t have. But then Autumn probably doesn’t have a clue about the debt, bless her.’
‘But where does Max get the money from?’
‘Loans.’
Estelle looked up at their house, so full of light and laughter. She just couldn’t believe it.
‘It’s not the first time either,’ Darren said. ‘Dad told me Max is always getting in trouble with money. But somehow manages to claw himself back to the surface again without Autumn noticing anything is wrong.’
‘Poor Autumn.’ This new information about Max just reiterated what Lorraine had said about him earlier. He wasn’t the person she thought he was. But then was anyone?
‘You mustn’t mention any of this,’ Darren said, suddenly looking panicked. ‘Dad would go mental. I’m serious, Estelle, you can’t tell anyone.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good,’ he said, his face relaxing. ‘I know I can count on you. You’re—’
‘Clean, controlled and cute,’ she said robotically.
‘Very cute,’ he said, eyes running over her face.
‘Caught in the act!’ a voice said from behind them. They turned around to see Autumn and Max weaving down the beach in the dark towards them, Darren’s parents Veronica and Peter not far behind, more bottles of champagne in their hands.
Estelle looked at Max, still trying to process what she’d learnt about him that evening.
‘Remember, not a word,’ Darren whispered into her ear, his lips tickling her skin.
‘I promise.’
‘Well well well, Stel,’ Max said with a raised eyebrow. ‘Do I detect leftover cheesecake on your lap, young lady?’
Her Last Breath Page 15