Looking For Lucy

by Julie Houston

  Lucy suddenly sat up, struggling within the twisted sheets to move over to the right-hand side of the bed before retching and then vomiting into the bucket on the floor.

  ‘She needs an ambulance.’ The pretty young black girl, who couldn’t have been more than Sophie’s age and who had initially shown us up to Lucy’s room, reappeared at the open door. ‘I’m telling you, she’s frightening me. I don’t want her in my flat like this. She needs help.’

  *

  After Sarah and I had driven the ten minutes or so to Midhope General, following the ambulance with Lucy in it, we’d waited for what seemed like hours while Lucy was assessed for a possible heroin overdose. Eventually, we were allowed to see her on the ward where she lay attached to an IV drip that, the nurse explained, contained a drug to block her body from absorbing any additional heroin that might still be in her system. Another drip was putting fluids back into her body as Lucy was severely dehydrated. The nurse, a jolly Irish woman, assured us she’d be fine, that if there was such a thing as a small overdose, then this was one. This wasn’t the first time Lucy had been brought in, she said and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Just as Sarah and I were debating what to do—Sarah was determined she was going to stay the night with Lucy and then take her back home with her to Harrogate to recuperate—Adam sauntered onto the ward.

  ‘Babes, how’re you doing?’

  ‘I think you’ll see,’ I said furiously, ‘if you can see anything with those damned great sunglasses on, that my sister is in a pretty bad way.’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me all that sister shit,’ Adam sneered, sitting on the bed. ‘You’ve not been around for her before. This isn’t the first time she’s ended up here.’

  ‘I think the important thing, rather than blaming anyone, is to decide what’s going to happen tomorrow when Lucy can leave,’ Sarah said, holding Lucy’s hand.

  ‘And you are? Not seen you before.’ Adam didn’t appear overly curious as to who this stranger was holding his girlfriend’s hand.

  ‘This is Sarah, Lucy’s real mother,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, the jailbird? The drug runner?’ Adam gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Well, you are all coming out of the woodwork.’ Adam turned to Lucy, who was now awake and gazing at Adam with such devotion that I immediately knew there was no way she was going to leave the hospital with anyone but him. I recognised that look on her face of old; it was the same mixture of relief, fear and love that would be on her face when she was living with Samir in Sheffield.

  I felt depressed. Do we ever learn from our mistakes? Are we somehow hardwired to constantly repeat our involvement in these toxic relationships?

  ‘I want to come home, Adam, back home to the flat with you.’ Lucy smiled almost shyly at him. ‘I’m sorry for the other week… it won’t happen again…’

  I glanced across at Sarah who was still holding Lucy’s hand, probably realising as I did that there was nothing more she could do to help Lucy for the moment. I was convinced the unexpected appearance of her real mother meant nowhere near as much to Lucy as Adam being back by her side, ready to take her back to his place in Leeds.

  I needed to keep this man on my side for Lucy’s sake. ‘Adam, I really appreciate you coming to be with Lucy and taking her home tomorrow. Would you let us have your address and Lucy’s phone number so at least we know where she is? Sarah and I really don’t want to lose contact with her again…’

  Adam looked doubtful. ‘I don’t like giving out my personal details.’ He frowned. ‘What do you think, Luce, do you want these two to know where you are?’

  ‘Up to you, babes, whatever you think.’

  The depression I’d been feeling was suddenly replaced by a burning anger. Where was the strong feisty girl that was Lucy? I knew she was still there somewhere, hidden underneath all this pathetic deferring to the wishes of this man. What I didn’t know was why, since the age of seventeen, my twin had seemed unable to function without the need for such a controlling man?

  *

  ‘Who knows?’ Sarah had smiled sadly across at me when I put the same question to her as we drove back home. ‘Why did I feel alive only when I was with Johnny? I think perhaps these relationships are as much a drug as the stuff Lucy has been addicted to over the years. Lucy probably sees Adam as the one constant in her chaotic life—she feels safe and loved with him.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ I said angrily. ‘I always loved Lucy, was there for her—as were Mum and Dad. She had just the same upbringing as me.’

  ‘But you were the good girl,’ Sarah said gently. ‘Look, I’m no psychologist, but when Lucy saw you getting all the attention because you did well at school, when you were the teachers’ favourite, your mum and dad’s favourite…’ Sarah paused, not saying anything for a couple of seconds. ‘And then your mum tells her she was the daughter of a violent jailbird—Lucy would have seen a reason for her behaviour. She would have had a peg to fit it on to. She would have thought there was no help for her because she was born that way.’

  ‘A self-fulfilling prophecy, you mean?’

  Sarah smiled that sad little smile again. ‘Or, what I’ve just said is a load of psychological claptrap and you only have to look at Joseph Lennon’s genes to see where Lucy’s problems lie.’

  ‘I have his genes too, Sarah.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Then I give up… I don’t know.’

  We didn’t speak for a couple of minutes, both of us deep in our own thoughts. And then Sarah said, ‘At least you know you will be keeping Allegra. There is no way any court would allow her back with Lucy.’

  ‘I knew that, Sarah, as soon as we saw Lucy in that bed in Emerald House,’ I said quietly. I looked across at her. ‘And this is the awful, awful person coming out in me…’ I could hardly get the words out but needed to say them, needed to confess. ‘Even while my twin was lying there in that awful state… I knew I’d won… that Allegra was mine.’

  I pulled into the drive of Clementine’s and burst into tears.

  37

  ‘That Ralph chap called round while you were out.’ Betty gave me a knowing look as she topped and tailed green beans.

  ‘Rafe.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘His name’s Rafe, and you’re taking too much of the bean off. Chop right at the end, Betty, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Good-looking chap, isn’t he?’ she said, trying to gauge my reaction and, in doing so, almost losing the end of her thumb.

  ‘Is he? I hadn’t noticed. For God’s sake, give me those beans, Betty and start the washing up, would you?’

  ‘Anyway, he wanted to see you. Said to ask you to give him a call.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Number’s on the pad over there.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So are you going to?’

  ‘Betty…’

  ‘Because he said it was important.’

  ‘Betty…’

  ‘And now it’s too late to see him because he said he was leaving at four and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow evening.’

  ‘I…’

  ‘And it’s now well after five.’

  ‘So it is…’

  ‘And you’ve missed him.’

  ‘So I have…’

  ‘And he did say it was important.’

  ‘So is the bloody washing up.’

  Betty held up her hands. ‘Right, I’ve passed on the message,’ she said self-righteously. ‘I’ve said my piece. On your head be it.’

  I fetched the six lobsters I had cooked earlier, pulling off claws and cracking them with such ferocity the succulent white meat shot into the air.

  ‘…only he did say he wanted to see you…’

  ‘Enough, Betty, for the love of God, enough. One more word about Rafe sodding Ahern and I will shove these lobsters where the sun don’t shine…’

  *

  Now it was late afternoon, and way behind with preparations for a party of eight arriving in just a few hours, I couldn’t b
elieve so much had happened with Lucy in such a small space of time. So many emotions were flitting, nonstop through my head: relief that, for tonight at least, Lucy was safe in hospital; sheer delight and utter relief that Allegra had to be staying with me for the foreseeable future; guilt that Allegra definitely being mine once again had come about because Lucy was in a bad state. But underlying all those emotions was an almost overpowering longing to see Rafe, to have him here, standing in the kitchen with me; to carry on where we’d left off only a couple of days previously. But Izzy’s shoving of Hello magazine—with its cosy, loved-up pictures of Rafe with JoJo Kennedy—under my nose, had scuppered any dreams I’d had of Rafe being a free agent. How dare he take me out, tell me I was under his skin, make out that JoJo was off with Ted Mallabourne from Perplexed?

  I knew once back from the hospital, I would have returned Rafe’s calls hoping, against all the odds, that Rafe was going to tell me the magazine had got it wrong—it was out of date, that he and JoJo were no longer together. And I would have listened, taken it all in, simply because I wanted to believe that was the truth.

  It was Mel, just about to leave for home after her shift in the office, who drew my attention to a booking for the following evening.

  ‘You look knackered, you poor old thing,’ she sympathised, once I’d told her about spending the afternoon at the hospital with Lucy. ‘But once you get this evening’s do over and done with, you can have a rest tomorrow. There’s nothing booked in all day apart from that dinner for two I was telling you about the other day. Do you remember, the woman rang to say she wanted no expense spared, wanted to know what champagnes we have in the cellar? Said it was a surprise dinner for her boyfriend, and that if he didn’t propose she was going to do it for him…’

  ‘Oh gosh, is that tomorrow? I was thinking it was next week. Not a problem; I’ve already planned what I’m going to cook, and Emily is down to waitress. It’s no big deal, a dinner for two. I just need to check what champagne we have in. With all that’s been going on with Sarah and Lucy—’ not to mention Rafe ‘—I don’t know if I’m coming or going…’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Mel said, giving me a quick hug.

  ‘I tell you, Mel, I’m going to stay in bed in the morning, and then spend the day with Max and Allegra.’

  ‘You do right—you deserve some time off,’ she said. ‘And I’m so pleased that Allegra won’t be going anywhere at the moment. I know it’s hard for you seeing Lucy as you saw her today, but I’m assuming it means Allegra will stay here with you…?’

  *

  Once she’d gone, I put meatballs in the oven for the kids’ tea and started to wrap the present I’d bought for my dad’s birthday the following day. Unable to find the Sellotape, I tried the office and found it underneath the huge bookings ledger that had pride of place on the leather-topped desk.

  I glanced across at the open ledger where the one name booked in for the following evening immediately jumped out at me: ‘Josephine Kennedy/dinner for two’.

  *

  ‘Paul, I know you’re not supposed to be working tomorrow evening, but I wondered if I could do a swap with you—I’ll do the lunch party if you do my evening shift?’

  ‘No can do, Clem.’

  Oh God, why couldn’t the man speak standard English? There was no way I was cooking dinner for Rafe Ahern and his soon-to-be fiancée.

  ‘Look, Paul,’ I said desperately, ‘I just can’t do tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Moi non plus…’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Why can’t you? What’s so special about tomorrow night?’

  ‘I’m up for an award: Yorkshire Chef of the Year.’

  ‘Are you? Well, you kept that one quiet.’ I was disgruntled now as well as desperate. Why had no one nominated me?

  ‘Right,’ I said, thinking on my feet. ‘So, I don’t suppose you’d consider missing it in order to cook dinner for a world-famous model…?’

  ‘Clem, I wouldn’t consider missing it if the said famous model was lying naked with her legs akimbo on a bed of black silk.’

  ‘There’s no need for vulgarity, Paul,’ I snapped. So, I take it that’s a no?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  Bastard.

  *

  You are a professional, Clementine, I told myself the next morning after yet another sleepless night thinking about and longing for Rafe. You can do this. You simply go ahead and cook and keep out of the way of the pair of them. Sophie had left for Italy with Sam and his family the previous morning, and both Kit and Poppy were off at some pop festival. Luckily Emily, Izzy’s daughter, was booked in for waitressing duty that evening. She’d only done a couple of shifts for me, but she was already shaping up nicely and I’d had several compliments plus some very generous tips to pass on to her.

  As soon as I’d got out of bed—eschewing the promised lie-in—I’d rung the hospital to see how Lucy was, and been informed by a rather irritable nurse that she’d discharged herself around midnight and gone home with Adam. At least she was with Adam, in his flat, and not alone in that dreadful room in Emerald House.

  Thinking Rafe might suddenly appear in the kitchen to explain, to let me down gently, to tell me he was going to marry JoJo, I showered and washed my hair and put on full makeup. If he was on his way round to do the dirty deed, I could at least show him I didn’t care. But I did care. I was so, so in love with Rafe Ahern and there was an end to it. Stifling a sob because Allegra had come into my bedroom and was giving me a worried look, I plastered a smile on my face, Rosy Skies on my lips and, swinging her up on my back, carried her down for breakfast.

  It was only as I was poaching eggs for Max that I remembered Betty saying that Rafe was leaving after four yesterday and wouldn’t be back until this evening. Just in time for his romantic dinner with JoJo, I thought sourly, suddenly feeling silly at having on my tightest jeans and brightest lipstick.

  ‘You look lovely this morning,’ Max said through a mouthful of toast.

  I dropped a kiss on his fair head. ‘Thanks, darling.’ At least one man thought I was his number one.

  *

  Before I knew the true recipients of this romantic dinner for two, I’d spent a good hour enjoying the challenge of planning a menu to reflect true love, but I now sat at the table, furiously kicking the chair opposite as I perused the menu I’d lovingly and proudly come up with:

  An amuse bouche of East Coast Oyster

  Beef carpaccio

  Gratinated lobster with truffle gnocchi and escargot fricassee

  Champagne sorbet

  Star anise mango with almond tuile and vanilla cream

  I was just wondering if I dare sabotage the whole shebang and serve the loved-up couple (Hello magazine speak) Irish stew and dumplings followed by Spotted Dick and tinned custard—it might at least render Rafe’s dick out of action for the night—when the phone rang. If it was Rafe ringing to explain, I wasn’t going to answer it.

  Shaking my head at Max and mouthing ‘I’m not here,’ I watched as Max picked up the phone and said, ‘She’s just here,’ handing me the phone before going back to his breakfast.

  ‘Clem, it’s Izzy. Really sorry, darling, Emily can’t work tonight…’

  My heart sank. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Poor love has twisted her ankle badly. I was showing her how to do Bumps—do you remember doing Bumps with a skipping rope when you were a kid? Great fun—and anyway, she fell over the rope and her ankle is the size of a melon. I said I’d give you a ring early so you can get Sophie or one of the others to work instead.’

  ‘Izzy, there are no others tonight. I really needed Emily…’

  ‘What about Betty?’

  ‘I need her in the kitchen with me.’

  ‘Mel?’

  ‘She’s not a waitress. Anyway, she and Julian are off to London for a couple of days. It was Julian’s daughter, Penelope’s, birthday a couple of weeks ago and this i
s the first chance they’ve had to go down to see her.’

  ‘Right. Is it a big do?’

  ‘Just one couple.’

  ‘One couple? Two people? God, it’s not worth putting your pinny on for that. Cancel it and come to the pictures with us instead.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snapped, although more than a part of me was already wondering if I should.

  ‘OK then.’

  ‘OK what…?’

  ‘I’ll come over to wait on them.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘And Hat and Grace.’

  ‘Izzy, I don’t need three sodding waitresses—who’re not waitresses—to serve one couple.’

  ‘Well, we were off to see The Escort. Listen: “Desperate for a good story, a sex-addicted journalist throws himself into the world of high-class escorts when he starts following a Stanford-educated prostitute.” I actually reckon we’d rather come and play at being waitresses.’

  ‘No, Izzy, absolutely not. No way. Not a chance in hell…’

  *

  ‘So, show us the waitress outfits,’ Izzy beamed. ‘Are they like little French maids’ costumes?’

  ‘You know perfectly well the kids wear black T-shirts and orange and black aprons,’ I said, seeing Harriet’s and Grace’s raised eyebrows. ‘Oh good, you’re wearing black trousers.’

  ‘As instructed by our boss here,’ Harriet laughed. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a waitress.’

  ‘Right, you three, seeing you’re all here—but honestly I only need one of you to be waiting on this couple.’

  ‘We can take it in turns,’ Grace laughed. ‘Bagsy the pudding course.’

  ‘Seeing you’re all here,’ I interrupted, ‘you need to know who it is you’re waiting on…’

  ‘Jeremy Corbyn and his wife?’ Izzy volunteered.

  ‘Has he got a wife? I thought he had a thing going with Diane Abbott…?’

  ‘Get with it, that’s ancient gossip,’ Izzy tutted.

  ‘Wills and Kate? Gosh, was never sure how to curtsy properly. And is it ma’am to rhyme with arm or jam…?’ Harriet looked slightly worried.