by Laura Wood
“He’s fiddling about with the piano,” I say out of the corner of my mouth, trying to be inconspicuous as I dart glances over there.
“Oh my God,” Caitlin mutters, burying her face in her glass. “Why did I come? This is torture.”
“I think he’s coming over,” I say, and she stills.
“Are you sure?” she whispers.
“Yes, yes, he’s making his way through the crowd.” I can feel my own heart pounding as an unbearable tension seems to fill the air, so I can’t imagine what must be going on inside Caitlin.
“Laugh!” she commands. “Laugh right now as if I’m saying something hilarious!”
I give what is possibly the worst stage laugh in the history of stage laughs and just about catch Caitlin’s look of horror at my acting skills before Lucky is standing right in front of me.
“Hello again,” he says, looking down at me, an easy smile on his face that reveals the dimple in his right cheek.
“Hello,” I reply, and my voice croaks with nerves.
He doesn’t speak to Caitlin and she doesn’t speak to him. I have never heard two people ignore each other so loudly before.
“It’s Louise, right?” he asks, and even though he’s talking to me I feel as though I’m intruding on a private conversation. Caitlin remains frozen beside me, her eyes carefully fixed on a point on the other side of the room.
“Yes.” I nod inanely, feeling like I’m stuck in a bad dream as I struggle to make small talk, to pretend there’s anything normal about this situation. “Like the song,” I add, injecting my voice with some false brightness.
“Like the song,” Lucky echoes. “That’s right, I owe you one of those, don’t I?” His words remind me of the conversation we had the night of my first Cardew party. I remember thinking then that we were both of us outsiders, peeking in at that golden world. I really had no idea of the truth of that. “And what brings you to London?” he asks. The question feels heavier than it should. “I seem to remember that you didn’t ever want to leave that house in Cornwall.”
“Well, sometimes you have to open yourself up to new opportunities, I guess,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel.
“I guess so.” He smiles, but the smile is tight. “Anyway, I’d better get back…” He gestures to the stage.
“Oh, yes,” I say eagerly, feeling as though I want to push him up on to the stage myself, just to escape any more of this tense conversation. I can feel the pressure building, thrumming in the air between the three of us.
“It was nice to see you again, Louise.” With that, his eyes flicker across to Caitlin, but she is looking miserably at the bottom of her glass.
Lucky makes his way back through the crowd towards the stage, where he is joined by the rest of his bandmates. They have a brief conversation, and Lucky goes to sit behind his piano. The crowd fall silent once more. Something expectant fills the air, that frisson of excitement that comes when the band take up their instruments and throats clear, fingers hover over keys.
“OK, everyone,” Lucky says, “this next one is a special song, dedicated to the lovely lady sitting right over there,” and he points to where Caitlin and I sit. Her head snaps up and the band start playing. “This is for our new friend Louise,” he says. I recognize the tune as soon as the first notes filled the air, and then Lucky begins singing the words in a deep, warm voice.
“Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise,
Birds in the trees seem to twitter Louise
Each little rose tells me it knows
I love you, love you.”
A sigh escapes from Caitlin’s lips, and I think from mine as well. His voice is rich as velvet. I look over at my friend. This song might have my name on it, but it is plain that he is singing it for her. Someone plonks an open bottle of whisky on the table along with a couple of less than pristine glasses. Caitlin tops up her own glass, sloshing the honey-coloured liquid over the sides.
Bernie and Patricia appear at the table then. “Phew.” Bernie flops into a seat. “The band are certainly playing well tonight.”
“Yes,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “They’re wonderful.”
Bernie looks from me to Caitlin. “And they’re playing your song, darling!” he says. “Why don’t you and Patricia go and dance?”
“I’m not sure…” I trail off.
“Go, go.” He waves his hand. “I’ll stay and keep Caitlin company. Make sure she doesn’t drink the whole bottle.” Here he reaches over and pours himself a large glass of whisky.
“Bernie!” Caitlin cries, only just noticing his arrival. “Here you are! Terrible man, you’ve been neglecting me.” She sticks out her bottom lip.
“You’re quite right,” he says, dusting off the sleeves of his impeccable dinner jacket. “But I’m here to rectify that. I was just telling Lou that she should go and dance.”
“Yes! Yes!” Caitlin exclaims, giving my shoulder a push. “Go and dance!”
I get to my feet and Patricia pulls me into the crowd. I try to focus on the music, and even though I would usually be in my element, losing myself in the crowd, I just can’t seem to get into the party spirit. I close my eyes and I see Lucky’s face when he looked at Caitlin.
The band plays for another thirty minutes. It is now well past two a.m. and the crowd is thinning out. By the time Patricia and I catch up with Caitlin and Bernie we are just about the only people left, and Bernie and Caitlin have put away a good amount of the remaining whisky.
Patricia assesses the situation with a sigh. “I’ll have to get him home,” she says as Bernie peers groggily at the pair of us. “He’s useless when he’s like this. Will you be all right with Caitlin?” she asks, although the question seems a little rhetorical.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “I’m sure I can manage…” I trail off. I am not actually sure I can manage at all. I don’t know where we are or where we are going, and judging by the fact that Caitlin is slumped over the table with her head resting in her arms, she isn’t going to be much help either.
“Al will find you a taxi, don’t worry,” Patricia says, wrapping her fingers around Bernie’s wrist and heaving him to his feet. “Come on, darling,” she calls to him in a sing-song voice. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home?” he repeats, swaying on his feet. “What a good idea. Excellent. Excellent.” He sways some more.
“Yes.” Patricia sighs a put-upon sigh. “It is a good idea. Let’s go. I can’t believe you’re the one I’ll be tucking up into bed tonight, you old soak.”
Bernie beams at her. “Are we leaving little Lou?” he asks then, looking mournfully in my direction. “Little Lou. My little rosebud.” He pulls me close to his chest. I think I could probably get drunk myself just from the fumes on his breath.
“Goodnight, Bernie,” I say, patting him on the arm. “I hope you don’t feel too bad in the morning. I’ll see you at the party on Friday.”
“Party,” Bernie repeats. “Friday. Oh, the masks.” A wicked smile appears on his face. “People behave so badly when they wear masks,” he slurs. “Not that we need an excuse really.”
Patricia tugs him along and the pair of them stumble up the stairs, calling their goodbyes over their shoulders.
When they have both disappeared I turn to survey the situation. Caitlin is still slumped over the table. And I am alone.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“Caitlin,” I say gently, shaking her arm.
She looks up blearily. Her red lipstick is smeared and she beams at me. “Lou!” she says. “Lou!”
“Yes, it’s me.” I slide into the seat across from her. “It’s time to go home,” I say.
“Home?” Caitlin frowns. “No!”
It is like trying to reason with the triplets. “Everyone’s gone,” I point out. “There’s no music. It’s time to go.”
“No, no, no.” Caitlin is shaking her head. “We’ll go somewhere else,” she slurs. “Somewhere else…” She rests her head b
ack on the table, unable to finish her thought.
I spot Al standing by the stage, talking to the double bass player, and I wave helplessly. She takes pity on me and comes straight over.
“Uh-oh,” she says, taking in the sight of Caitlin slumped in her seat. “When she said to bring the bottle I didn’t think she meant just for her.”
“Oh, Bernie put a good dent in it too,” I say ruefully. “Patricia said you may be able to get us a taxi so that I can take her home?”
“Sure,” Al says, smoothing Caitlin’s hair back from her forehead. “We’ll get you home safe, don’t worry.”
“I’ll take you both home,” a voice says, and I look up to see Lucky standing in front of us.
“Oh, no,” I yelp, flustered. “You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to be any trouble…” I trail off.
“It looks like your friend is the one who’s trouble,” Lucky says, and it could have been a joke except, when his eyes fall on Caitlin, his lips are pressed into a thin line. The emphasis that he puts on the words “your friend” is almost funny. Does he really think that after this evening I don’t know what’s between them?
“She … she’s not feeling very well,” I say lamely, and the look in Lucky’s eyes tells me not to bother.
“What’d you give her so much to drink for?” He turns to Al, anger in his voice.
Al spreads her hands in front of her. “I’m not her keeper,” she says.
“I think if you could just get us a taxi, we’ll get out of your way,” I interrupt, focusing only on getting Caitlin home as quickly as possible.
“I told you, I’ll take you,” Lucky says, and without another word he stomps over and lifts Caitlin into his arms as though she weighs nothing at all. Her blonde head lolls against his chest and she opens her eyes.
“Freddy?” she murmurs, and her arm curls up around his neck, before her eyes shut again.
Lucky’s mouth is still pressed together in a firm line. “Let’s go,” he says as he carries Caitlin towards the stairs. There is nothing for me to do but grab our bags and scurry after him.
“Thank you,” I mutter to Al as I pass.
“Come again,” she says serenely, her eyes on Lucky’s back.
Lucky strides outside to where a beaten-up silver car is parked with its hood down. It is in such bad shape that it makes Gerald look like a luxury Rolls-Royce. Lucky lifts Caitlin into the passenger seat and gives me a weak smile. “It goes OK,” he says, “it just looks a mess. Are you all right in the back?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, jumping in. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
He doesn’t say anything, just slides in behind the wheel. As he has promised the car starts without complaint and runs smoothly. It seems as if Lucky knows where he is going and I am relieved by this, as I have no idea.
I sit back in my seat, feeling fingers of cool night air ruffling my hair. After the heat and the noise of the club it is something of a relief. The roads are dark and almost deserted, and street lamps burn with a smudgy golden light that makes the world seem as though it is in soft focus. I fight a sudden yawn. It has been a long night. And it isn’t over yet, I remind myself.
Finally, I am relieved to see a road I recognize, and we pull up outside Caitlin’s house. Diving in her bag, I pull out her key and trip up the stairs first, fumbling with the lock and opening the door to let Lucky carry Caitlin inside. He takes her straight upstairs and I hesitate, unsure whether I should follow. It doesn’t matter; he is back moments later.
“She’s out cold,” he says. “She’ll sleep now until the morning, but she won’t feel great when she wakes up.” He makes it sound like this has happened before.
We stand awkwardly in the hallway.
“Won’t you have a drink?” I ask, just as he says, “I should be going.”
We both laugh nervously. “Please have a drink,” I say in a rush. “Just a quick one?” I can’t bear the sadness in his face. I am sure he needs someone to talk to. I know I do.
“OK, sure.” He nods, and follows me into the sitting room. I walk over to the bar and grab two glasses.
“I don’t think there is very much here,” I say apologetically, “and I don’t know where things are kept.” I splash an inch of something clear into the glasses and hand one to him.
“Thanks,” he says.
We both sit down then, across from each other, neither of us touching our drinks.
“So,” I say finally. “Caitlin says you haven’t seen each other for a while.”
A muscle twitches in Lucky’s jaw. “That’s right.” He nods, staring down into his drink. “Has she … told you about it?” he asks.
“Not really,” I say, taking a sip of my drink and wishing I hadn’t as it burns its way down my throat. I cough. “I think she’s very upset about it, though,” I say hoarsely. “She’s been so agitated since we arrived in London.”
“Well, I can’t take all the credit for that.” Lucky grimaces.
“Why not?” I ask.
He looks at me now, his dark eyes inscrutable. “London isn’t a happy place for her,” he says. “There are a lot of … bad memories.”
“Oh,” I say. “I thought it was…” I break off awkwardly.
“Because of me?” Lucky shakes his head. “There’s a lot more wrong than that. I actually thought I was helping her with it for a while.” He gives a bitter bark of laughter. “I guess I just made it all worse in the end.”
I let that sink in for a moment. If Lucky isn’t the source of Caitlin’s unhappiness, then I don’t know what is. “Still,” I suggest cautiously, “it was her decision to come and see you.”
“God knows why.” Lucky drops his head into his hands. “We ended things almost six weeks ago,” he says. “We had to, I guess; we couldn’t carry on as if nothing was wrong. It all had to be a big secret, and it couldn’t ever go anywhere. We … we loved each other, I think, but it couldn’t go anywhere,” he repeats sadly.
Tears prickle at the back of my eyes. I don’t know what to say.
“I asked her to leave,” he says suddenly, and the look he flashes me is defiant. “I asked her to leave with me that night, right before I saw you. If we just got away from this place, these people…” He rubs a hand across his jaw. “For all their talk of being modern, they’re still ruled by their conventions and their prejudices. There’s an order to be preserved and people like us don’t fit into it. I don’t belong with someone like Caitlin, not in their eyes.” He slumps back in his seat, the indignation draining out of him. “And I guess it was like you said – why would she leave it all behind for me? You don’t walk away from that life if you can help it.” He places the glass carefully by his feet. “Even if it’s killing you,” he adds quietly.
A shiver rushes through me at this. I think about Lucky’s words. “People like us,” he said. He’s right, I don’t fit into that neat order either. Maybe I have a free pass for the summer, and of course it’s much easier for me than for him – the colour of my skin means I was born with a privilege I have never considered before, but in a way we’re still both outsiders in the Cardews’ world.
“I’m worried about her,” I say now, and my voice is small.
“Well, you’re right to be,” is all that he says.
A heavy silence fills the room. I try to untangle everything he has said, to lay out all that I saw tonight in front of me and to make all the pieces fit. But something is wrong. This isn’t neat and tidy storytelling. Lucky and Caitlin aren’t characters that I’m writing. They’re messy, vital, real.
“She’s burning away,” Lucky says, and his voice is a confession. “She has been since her father died. Soon there won’t be anything left of her. Nothing but ash and bone.”
He sighs and then rubs his face with both his hands. Finally, he gets to his feet. “It was really good to meet you, Louise,” he says, holding out his hand. “Take care of yourself … and that friend of yours.” Those words again, building a
wall around his heart, distancing himself from the girl he loves so much.
I slip my hand into his and we shake as though sealing a contract, which I suppose, in a way, we are. For a second his fingers squeeze mine, and the look in his eyes is enough to break my heart.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” he says, recovering his jaunty smile, returning that naked emotion to some hidden, secret place. With that he turns and leaves the room, whistling under his breath. As the front door opens I hear him singing softly one last time.
“Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise…”
I sit quietly by myself for a few minutes after Lucky leaves, sifting through the conversation, and then I drag myself up to bed, emerging around midday to find an incredibly pale Caitlin sitting on the settee in an elaborately embroidered silk dressing gown.
The smile she gives me is tremulous. “Seems that we had quite the party last night,” she says.
“We sure did,” I reply, perching on one of the other chairs. “How are you feeling?”
She grimaces. “I’ve certainly felt better, but I’ll be all right.”
“And what about…” I hesitate.
“Freddy?” she says with a sigh.
I nod.
She gives me that wonky smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes again. “It’s over,” she says heavily, fiddling with the tie on her dressing gown. “It’s silly, because it was over before.” She laughs here without a drop of humour. “But I still had to go, I had to see him.” She shakes her head. “I thought it might make things easier, I thought seeing him would prove that I was over it all, that I didn’t still…” She trails off with tears in her eyes.
“Love him?” I ask quietly.
She nods, and sits in silence for a moment. “It was foolish. To go there, to see him. Nothing has changed. Nothing can change for us. I wish things could be different, but that’s not the world we live in. It’s easier in Cornwall –” she looks at me now “– to be somewhere else. But when we came back here I just couldn’t resist.”
“He said he asked you to leave with him,” I say cautiously.