Looking For Lucy

by Julie Houston

  ‘But that’s the problem, Izzy, I don’t know where our address is going to be. We’re only really looking round this one to get us all out of the house for a couple of hours and to get some idea of what we can afford for our money. The solicitors aren’t even sure how much is going to be left. I mean, according to them, Sophie’s school fees hadn’t been paid for almost a year and Peter was way behind with gas and electricity—and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. It’s all such a mess.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you just batten down the hatches and stay put where you are for as long as you can?’ Izzy asked, as she tried hard not to convey her dismay at the meanness of the rooms we were being shown round. ‘Blimey, where do people actually eat in these houses? There’s no room for a kitchen or dining table in any of these rooms. At least down on Emerald Street you had a couple of decent-sized rooms.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we all go back down there?’ I smiled. ‘After all the times you tried to get me to move out?’

  ‘Not at all, no, don’t be daft. But you might be better looking at a Victorian terraced again rather than one of these ridiculous modern dolls’ houses. Anyway, I wouldn’t have thought a stonking great place like Peter’s is going to sell straight away. Just stay put as long as you can.’

  ‘I wish I could—at least I can lose Sophie in all of those rooms. Can you imagine having to share a house like this with her?’

  ‘Maybe a bit more sympathy is needed, Clem?’ Izzy asked gently before knocking on the kitchen window at Sid who was advancing on Allegra with what looked like a worm. ‘She’s had a terrible shock, poor kid. They both have.’

  ‘Shh,’ I warned as Max sidled up and put his hand in mine. ‘Hello, darling, have you had a good look round? What do you think?’

  ‘I think I’d like to stay at home please, Clem. Can we go back now?’

  *

  Much later that evening, I lay, eyes closed, on the sitting room sofa, an almost empty glass of white wine balanced on my stomach. There was nothing at all I wanted to watch on TV and I’d tried and failed to get into the new Patrick Gale—an author I normally adored. I was, I realised, absolutely shattered and I sent up a little prayer of thanks to whichever deity had seen fit to send over the mother of a prep school friend of Sophie’s, picking Sophie up and taking her home with them for the night. Allegra had been fast asleep in her pink boudoir for a good hour and Max, after another bout of sobbing in bed, had finally cried himself to sleep while I held his hand and stroked his hair.

  I was dozing, the wine starting to work its soothing magic on my body, and I felt the alcohol beginning to smooth out the over-crowded thoughts in my head like an iron on creased linen, calming my horribly jangled nerves, suppressing worries—old and new—that were making a futile attempt to disrupt the descending peace. I was floating away: I was in Israel, in Jerusalem, eating a peach, its sticky juice running down my chin…

  I jumped, heart pounding, the ringing of the front doorbell making me instantly awake as George, who had been at my feet, sent up a volley of barks and rushed out of the room.

  ‘Shut up, George, you’ll wake the children,’ I admonished as I swung my legs onto the floor, found my shoes and followed him down the hall. The insistent, strident ringing came again, louder this time, as I searched for the door key. Where the hell was it? We never usually used this entrance. I eventually found it in a silver ashtray on a nearby table and opened the heavy door on its safety chain, peering round it, but not yet able to work out who it was standing on the step, hand on the buzzer.

  ‘Oh, Justin—I didn’t recognise you. Could you stop ringing that bell? The children have only just got off to sleep.’

  He raised a bottle of vodka, holding it aloft as if it were a prize. ‘Thought I’d come and see you, Clem. See how you are. You know… keep you company and all that.’

  Shit. That was all I needed. I’d met Justin only a few times, on the occasions I’d gone along to the re-enactments with Peter and, of course, at the funeral, but apart from that I didn’t feel I really knew him at all.

  ‘Look, Justin,’ I said, still not fully opening the door, ‘I’m really rather tired.’

  ‘Come on, I’ve brought a bottle.’

  ‘It’s getting very late, Justin. Another time, yes?’ I looked beyond Justin to the drive. ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘Had a drink… got a taxi… so are you going to invite me in?’

  I really could do without this. ‘You need to go home, Justin. I’ll ring for a taxi for you.’

  ‘Been to the solicitor today, Clem. We’ve things to discuss, you and me. The children for a start.’

  ‘The children?’ I looked at him in surprise. But then, I supposed, Sophie and Max were just as much his stepchildren as mine. ‘Look, come in for a minute or two and you can tell me what the solicitor said. If it’s anything about the children then I need to know, but I’m going to have to throw you out then. It’s been a pretty tiring couple of weeks.’ I pulled the chain and Justin almost fell through the door.

  ‘Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine,’ he murmured, squinting slightly at the bright lights in the sitting room. ‘I think, Clementine,’ he belched slightly, ‘excuse me, sweetheart—I think you and I need to support each other because we’ve both been widowed. At least you’ve been widowed… I’ve been widowered… is that the right word? Anyway we’ve both been left by ourselves, broke.’

  ‘So what did the solicitor say to you about Sophie and Max?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, nothing much, really. I mean, they’re not my kids, are they?’ He picked up my empty wineglass and poured himself a good measure of the vodka, then turned to the book I’d been unable to get into. ‘You’re a reader? I’m a bit of a reader myself, you know…’ He sat down heavily on the sofa and sank into the cushions. ‘Yep, Clemmy, I’m reading a book called Necrophilia—it’s dead boring.’

  Right.

  Without his black Cavalier curls, Justin appeared much smaller than I remembered. His reddish thinning hair was greased back, and waves of halitosis mixed with some powerful aftershave wafted towards me as he spoke. The waist of his expensive-looking jeans, held up with a Dolce and Gabbana leather belt I bet had cost more than the jeans itself, rested snugly on his gracile hips above the emergence of a pot-belly. Jesus, what on earth had Vanessa seen in him?

  ‘So you’ve come over in a taxi at this time of night to basically tell me nothing I don’t already know?’ I looked at my watch. It was after nine and I was suddenly so fatigued, so drained, all I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep forever.

  ‘Clementina, Clem,’ Justin purred, ‘I’ve come to see you. You. The minute I saw you with Peter I fancied you. You are one very hot lady. Come on, come on, have a drink with me. Relax.’

  ‘Look, Justin, I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m tired. I’ve had enough today. I’m going to call a taxi for you.’

  ‘And leave you all alone in this big house? You don’t want that, Clem.’ His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘So I suppose you get all of this?’ Justin raised an arm and swung it round, knocking Patrick Gale onto the carpet. ‘Hey, not bad going, Clemmy. All of this—’ he swung his arm again ‘—for what? Six weeks of shagging Peter Broadbent?’ He pointed a bony finger at me and grinned. ‘Not a bad rate at all for one of your lot.’

  ‘One of my lot?’ I felt as if a block of ice had shot down my spine and I was suddenly alert, no longer tired.

  ‘You know what I mean. I know all about you and your sister, Clementine. Clementine?’ He grinned. ‘Bet that’s not your real name, is it? What is it? Jessica? Deirdre? Samantha? Well, I shall call you Fifi. Like a poodle. Bet you like it doggy-style don’t you, Fifi?’

  Without warning, Justin launched himself from the sofa, grabbing my wrist before attempting to plant his wet, slobbering mouth on my own.

  ‘Get off, you disgusting creature,’ I yelled, shaking him away, angry more than frightened at his sudden lecherous lunge.

  ‘
You want it, you know you want it. Girls like you can’t go more than a couple of weeks without it.’ Justin suddenly grabbed at my right breast and shoved his hand painfully into my groin, backing me onto the opposite sofa. ‘That’s better, Fifi,’ he panted as I lost my balance, falling against the cushions. ‘That’s it. Now then, what’s the going rate, these days? A tenner for a hand job? How about a blow job? Twenty quid?’ Flecks of spittle landed on my cheek as he pulled at the Dolce and Gabbana belt and attempted to unzip his jeans. Frightened now, I desperately tried to push him off.

  ‘Get off, get off,’ I said furiously, trying not to raise my voice. The last thing I wanted was Max and Allegra coming down and being scared. ‘George, George,’ I hissed. Where was the damned dog when I needed him?

  ‘Never mind George,’ Justin breathed heavily. ‘I’ll have you shouting, “Justin, Justin” in just two minutes. ‘Oh yes, Fifi, let’s do it…’

  The next second, three things happened almost simultaneously: George, thinking there was a jolly party going on to which he’d not been invited, launched himself on top of Justin. Caught off guard, Justin fell off the sofa, his jeans and pants slipping down around his skinny backside, scant ginger pubic hair and flaccid penis on view to anyone unfortunate to catch sight.

  And David Henderson walked into the sitting room.

  All four of us—George included—froze for a second, and then David grabbed Justin’s shirt, dragging him up from the floor, twisting the collar round his throat.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ David said, shoving him up against the wall, seemingly oblivious to Justin’s boxers and trousers now around his ankles.

  ‘And who the fuck do you think you are?’ Justin managed to gasp out of the side of his mouth. ‘Barging in here like… like Kevin Costner…’

  Kevin Costner?

  David paused in his manhandling of Justin and glanced across at me. I could see it suddenly dawned on him that maybe I’d been fully cooperating in Justin’s attentions. That when he’d knocked on the kitchen French window, when he’d realised it was unlocked and been able to let himself into the kitchen and heard me shouting, ‘Get off,’ I might have actually been shouting at the dog to get off the pair of us so we could carry on with what we were doing unhindered.

  ‘Oh, David, thank God. I’m not sure how you got in… and it’s…’ I glanced at the wall clock ‘Almost ten…’ I couldn’t say anything else. I tried to stand up, pull myself off the sofa, but I suddenly felt terribly sick and had to sit down again, putting my head between her knees. I felt wobbly, a bit like having low blood sugar when you’ve done too much and forgotten to eat. ‘Just get him out of here, David, would you?’

  ‘Clementine, he’s assaulted you…’ David grabbed hold of Justin again, shaking him like a dog. ‘For fuck’s sake, you little weasel, get your trousers up.’

  ‘That’s just what I was trying to do before you pushed me against the wall. If you don’t mind…’ With whatever dignity he could muster, Justin turned away from David and zipped himself up.

  ‘You need to ring the police, Clem.’

  ‘The police? The police?’ Justin blustered, like a politician cornered on Question Time. ‘What on earth for? I came round here tonight to offer a little comfort to my dear widowed friend and the next minute you’re assaulting me. Who the hell are you anyway, letting yourself into this poor lady’s house uninvited?’

  ‘I’m David Henderson.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Justin sneered drunkenly ‘And I’m… I’m Prince Rupert.’

  ‘Ring the police, Clem,’ David said calmly. ‘We’ll have him arrested for sexual assault and attempted rape.’

  ‘No, no, please no,’ I said, attempting to lift my head. ‘I’m fine, David, really. This is Justin, Vanessa’s husband.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Justin said, confident now. ‘I’m family.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘And don’t tell me you didn’t want it. You were gagging for it. It’s what you’re used to. And now that all this has probably got to go—’ he waved a hand dismissively around the room ‘—you’ll be back on the streets with your sister. Tell you what, Fifi, I’ll see you down on Emerald Street in a month or so. You’ll be opening your legs for me then…’

  David launched himself on Justin, shoving him out of the sitting room door, down the hall and out the way he’d entered only twenty minutes earlier.

  ‘You’re no family of mine,’ I managed to shout after him, getting up from my seat. ‘Get out of here, you snivelling little rat and don’t ever, ever, ever have anything to do with me or my family again. And that means Sophie and Max. Keep your disgusting hands off them too.’

  ‘I am actually going to report this to the police, Clementine,’ David said, brushing himself down and running his fingers through his thick dark hair as he came back to join me in the sitting room. ‘I’ll call in at the station in the morning. Let me have his name and address and they’ll send someone round. Frighten him, at least, if you won’t take it further.’ He frowned. ‘What the hell was all that about Kevin Costner and Prince Rupert?’

  ‘Dunno about Kevin, unless he thought you were my bodyguard.’ I smiled weakly, stroking George’s silky ears, feeling suddenly shy. ‘But he actually is Prince Rupert…’

  ‘Huh? Here, drink this, for the shock.’ David had poured us both a brandy from Peter’s drinks cabinet and I sipped mine gratefully, while he downed his in one.

  ‘He’s one of Peter’s re-enactment lot. That’s where Vanessa met him and ran off with him. What in God’s name did she see in him?’

  ‘Are you OK, Clementine?’ David made to take my hand, but then seemed to think better of it. ‘While I can’t believe you left the kitchen French windows unlocked, thank goodness that you did.’

  ‘I’d have been able to kick him off,’ I said. ‘He was so pissed. I just didn’t want to start yelling and waking the kids. Max has had enough to deal with without seeing his stepfather with his pants down.’

  David carefully placed his empty glass on the table next to him, leaned over to pick Patrick Gale from the floor and then turned to me, this time actually taking my hand.

  ‘Clementine, this wasn’t a social call, as such, tonight. I should probably have left it until the morning, but once I’ve made a decision about something, I need to get on with it straight away. I just had to come over and talk to you as soon as possible.’

  I stared at him, heart thumping. God, he was gorgeous.

  ‘I’ve a proposal for you, Clementine…’

  25

  ‘You’re going to do what?’ I looked at David Henderson in astonishment.

  ‘If I can get it at the right price, I’m going to buy it.’ David smiled at my obviously stunned face. While I hadn’t been sure what his ‘proposal’ was going to consist of, the last thing I’d anticipated was that he was thinking of buying Peter’s house. I actually felt a pang of disappointment; a tiny part of me had hoped he was going to tell me he’d fallen totally and utterly in love with me and he just had to leave Mandy and whisk me off to some far distant land with Allegra, Max and George where we would all live happily ever after. What was going to happen to poor old Sophie, I hadn’t really thought through in the five-second timeslot between David telling me he needed to talk to me and then my being told he was thinking of buying Peter’s house.

  ‘But why? Your house, I’m sure, is just as wonderful as this one? Why on earth do you want to move across the fields? Oh, is it the tennis court? Are you a tennis player?’

  ‘Clem, will you just shut up for two minutes?’ David grinned again. ‘And let me tell you my proposal?’

  Oh God, here we go again, I suddenly thought. I could see it all now. David Henderson was another one apparently in the know about my past. Obviously thought that I was a prostitute like Lucy. Why else would I have been living on Emerald Street? Have married Peter? So what was this one proposing? Turning the house into a brothel or just setting me up as his mistress? Bit stupid, that, five hu
ndred yards from his Mandy in his own backyard

  I suddenly saw red. ‘So who told you?’ I demanded angrily. ‘Peter? He seems to have let it slip to every other man around here. Or was it Harriet and Grace who thought it shockingly amusing to tell you and Mandy?’ I knocked back the huge glass of brandy I’d previously been only sipping at, coughing as it went down the wrong way. God, the brandy really had missed its mark. Spluttering, my eyes streaming, I began to cough in earnest, unable to catch my breath. ‘Don’t suppose it will be long before Oliver Cromwell… comes a-knocking…’

  ‘Are you all right?’ David jumped up from the sofa and started to slap me on the back, but I knocked his hand away in fury and started singing that old country and western song about the path being well worn from men’s footsteps leading to somebody or other’s cabin.

  I managed to sing the words I could remember through bouts of wheezing and spluttering and then, turning to David, I said, ‘I say “no”, Mr Henderson. “No” to your damned proposal.’

  David looked at me in astonishment. ‘But you don’t know what it is yet, Clementine.’

  ‘I’ve got a jolly good idea, Mr Henderson,’ I interrupted him. Jesus, I was beginning to feel a bit strange again. ‘I need to sit down, I feel a bit sick again…’

  David grabbed me as I started to sway and pushed me back down to the sofa, shoving my head between my knees.

  I felt him stroke my hair and then, as the nausea passed and I began to lift my head, he stood up and left the room, coming back a minute later with a glass of water.