by Tom Barry
They moved along the rail, echoing Lucy’s footsteps as she made her way unsteadily along the wall below them, swaying and wobbling as she leant against it for support.
“I know it’s strange, but I’m worried for her,” said Isobel, turning to Maria with concern as Lucy almost fell.
Maria laughed almost cruelly. “This is the real world, Isobel; go down any high street this time of night, and you’ll see girls in a much worse state than her. You try and help them and they gouge your eyes out.”
Lucy lost her footing and toppled over, collapsing awkwardly on the ground with her long legs splayed beneath her like some fallen antelope.
“I’m going to help,” said Isobel instinctively, pulling her arm from Maria’s hold and rushing forward before her friend had the chance to restrain her.
She arrived to find Lucy on all fours, trying to get to her feet but unable to, one broken shoe in her hand. Isobel halted, fearful of discovery, but she knew she couldn’t just leave her half-prostrate on the ground.
Lucy turned her head towards the figure above her, losing her balance and tumbling onto her backside. “Pull me up, Gina,” said the girl, as she stared up at Isobel. “I’m a bit tipsy.”
Isobel grimaced and hauled her to her feet. “I’ll help you to the bathroom, Jay sent me to check you were ok.”
At the sound of his name Lucy smiled and pushed back her golden hair, looking Isobel in the eyes with gratitude. Isobel flinched at her gaze, shocked to find warmth and vulnerability where she had expected to see ruthless avarice and naked wantonness. She was inexplicably filled with compassion for her fallen rival.
“Come on, give me your arm, and your shoes.”
“But you’re not Gina,” said Lucy in confusion.
“I’m just a friend, Jay sent me, ok?”
Lucy nodded and did as she was told, clinging to Isobel like a child as she supported her to the toilets like the walking wounded.
“Please wait for me,” said Lucy as Isobel deposited her outside an open toilet door. “I don’t want to get lost.”
Isobel glanced furtively over her shoulder, aware that Gina might arrive at any moment. In a flash of inspiration she led Lucy into the disabled cubicle, bolting them safely inside together. She appraised the bedraggled seductress as the sheer surreality of the situation hit home; for a moment she was tempted to leave her, to punish her somehow for who she was. But Isobel dismissed the thought almost instantaneously, that wasn’t who she was. Instead she grabbed and dampened some towels, cleaning the grass and dirt from the girl’s hands and knees, as Lucy stood passive, smiling like a sad circus clown.
“There, good as new,” said Isobel with an almost maternal tone.
“I wish I talked posh like you,” said Lucy, sniffling with gratitude. “Jay likes girls who talk posh.”
“You talk lovely,” said Isobel, brushing the last blades of grass from Lucy’s dress as the girl looked up at her with warmth and curiosity, as if trying to place her in the fog of her memory.
“Is it ok if I take a pee?” asked Lucy sheepishly.
“I will turn my back and cover my ears,” said Isobel, again both surprised and touched by the young beauty’s humility.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered.
Isobel nodded conspiratorially, a million possibilities exploding in her mind.
Lucy looked up at her solemnly and then broke into a giggle. “I’m not wearing any panties.”
Isobel wanted to judge her but burst into laughter, completely charmed by her forthright allure.
“I’m ok now, you can turn around,” said Lucy, staggering to full height and kissing Isobel on the cheek in childlike gratefulness.
“Don’t forget your shoes,” said Isobel, resisting a strange urge to give Lucy a reassuring hug; she held them out as Lucy fought to open the door, her mouth bright and vague. Isobel pulled back the bolt, giving Lucy a final pat on the bottom as she encouraged her on her way.
Isobel sat in the car, entangled in a swirling mass of contradictory emotions, as she and Maria watched the taxi pull up outside Eamon’s apartment. They strained to see through the blackness and Isobel’s stomach lurched as Eamon emerged from the cab, pulling Lucy from the back seat as she tried to tug her dress back down.
“I bet he was really glad she wasn’t wearing any knickers,” snorted Maria, as they watched Lucy bear his caresses with oblivious resignation as she followed Jay and Gina up the steps and into the building.
“She’s just a lost soul,” said Isobel, with a faraway look in her eyes.
Maria rolled her eyes upwards. “I say we give it fifteen minutes,” she said, full of certainty. “If Jay is not back down by then, you will know everything you need to know. Because that girl is only good for her bed, and there’s no mistake about that.”
Eamon’s apartment had the unkempt look of temporary accommodation; bare and unloved with empty bottles on the table and discarded clothes draped haphazardly on the furniture. As Gina and Jay sank into the sofa, Eamon opened a bottle of wine and filled a glass to the brim, handing it to Lucy with a flourish. She looked timidly into the redness and took an unladylike gulp, before pulling Gina up from her seat as Eamon flicked on the music.
“Come on, Gina, let’s dance for the boys.”
Lucy put her arms around Gina’s neck and began to swing her hips. Gina stared helplessly at Jay but allowed Lucy to grind against her body as she swayed passively in the centre of the room.
“Come on, Jay, join the party,” said Lucy, meaning to seem casual but unable to disguise the sound of her pleading.
“I’m about danced out tonight,” he said, looking into his lap.
She broke off from Gina and tried to pull him to his feet, desperate for affection and reassurance. But he resisted and she, recoiling in rejection, reached for Eamon, swirling herself around him in manic, hysterical sadness. And as Lucy spun she began to feel the room spin; Eamon grabbed her as spinning turned into falling and she landed on the sofa, staring blankly at the faces above her.
“I think you’re about done in, Lucy,” said Jay, “it’s time to call it a night.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted, slurring her words as the room spun. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll be fine.” She closed her eyes, shutting the room out as nausea washed over her.
Gina clasped Jay’s hand between hers. “I think I should go now, Jay. Will you take me back, please?”
Jay hesitated. He had encouraged Lucy into Eamon’s eyes with relief, even pleasure, but to leave her in her current state seemed a step too far. Gina pulled at his arm again, silently imploring him to leave and sure that, if what they witnessed in the car was any indication, this was where Lucy wanted to be. But he couldn’t convince himself that was the truth and he bent over Lucy’s lifeless form, patting her on each cheek as he spoke.
“Lucy, it’s Jay. We need to get you home. You need to get up, ok?”
Her eyelids fluttered but she only groaned, a green pallor glistening beneath the sweat of her brow. Jay was preparing to lift her when Eamon appeared carrying a blanket. He placed it over Lucy and turned to Jay, his face full of promises and boundaries.
“It will be the devil of a job getting her down those stairs, boss. She might be better sleeping it off where she is.”
Jay looked down at Lucy who seemed to have fallen asleep, her thumb crammed into her mouth like a baby.
“She’ll be sound where she is, boss. Here, take my keys, I’ll get a cab in the morning.”
Again Jay held firm but Gina squeezed his hand, nodding reassurance.
“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I’ll wheel by in the morning with her suitcase.”
Gina pulled him gently to the door and shut it before he could look again, ushering him out and to the car. Eamon watched them, not moving from the window until the headlights were a distant orb of light in the winding streets. As the glow faded altogether, he strode over to Lucy and pulled the blanket
from her body. He surveyed her for a moment before hauling her up and tugging off her dress, already engorged by the mere thought of what he was about to do.
Isobel allowed herself a sigh of relief as Jay and Gina appeared on the steps.
“Looks like you were wrong, Maria, no night of debauchery after all,” she said triumphantly, grinning with the beginnings of elation. Maria shook her head, a grim smile on her face, looking hard at Gina. “The real test is still to come; mark my words, that young woman wants more than a peck on the cheek tonight.”
Isobel said nothing, her eyes now fixed on Jay who was glancing nervously along the deserted road. He looked straight at their BMW and, if it were not for the heavy black tint of the windows, would have met Isobel’s gaze.
“Do you think he suspects anything?” she asked Maria quietly, as if afraid Jay might hear her.
“No, impossible,” said Maria, as she hit the ignition and followed the car. “What man would suspect you of following him in a car?” Isobel conceded with a laugh. “Besides,” said Maria, interrupting her mirth with scathing honesty, “if Jay did think he was being followed, then there’s probably at least one hundred other people that it’s more likely to be — if he’s as much of a rogue as some say.”
They pulled in at a safe distance as the car stopped. Jay got out and looked back at the BMW again before helping Gina from her seat.
“Shall we have a coffee now Jay?” she said, leaning towards him until her breasts brushed his chest.
“I’m sorry, Gina, tonight it is I who lacks the courage.”
Gina laughed automatically, convinced he would not refuse her, and pulled at his arm. Isobel held her breath as he relented, and joined her on the doorstep, as she searched in her bag for her keys. She dangled them before him smiling, but he took hold of her and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek, before jumping back in the car and speeding off.
Isobel and Maria watched in amused shock as Gina threw down her pashmina, and stood staring down the street after the taillights of Jay’s car.
“Looks like he got cold feet,” was all Maria could offer as she waited for Isobel’s gloating victory speech.
But Isobel’s mind was now swimming in doubt, all her uncertainties returning as she thought of Lucy and Gina, of Jay’s calm magnificence amongst the bedlam of the evening, and of his cool indifference as he left Eamon’s apartment.
“Let’s go home, Maria,” she said, her voice low and weary, as she fought back her tears.
As cool, faint rain washed away the excesses of the night from the streets of Capadelli, Lucy awoke alone and naked in Eamon’s living room. A bucket sat amidst a puddle of vomit on the stone floor and her face and hair were matted with stickiness. She reached shakily for her phone and called Jay, barely managing to ask to be picked up before she threw up whatever dregs were left inside her. She stumbled to the bathroom to clean herself up and, as the cold, clear water rushed over her hands, tried to piece the night together.
She looked at her face; the stickiness was not vomit and she knew all too well what it was, she could still smell it — even above the odour of sickness. Lucy tried desperately to remember whose it was as she rubbed at her face. She looked down at her body and followed the trail of stickiness with a flannel. Out of the blur of her memory an image hit her and she almost cried out at its vividness. Eamon’s face looming, dark and ravenous with bulging eyes above her bare breasts as he entered her again, as she pulled him to her, desperate to make him finish as the room spun around her.
Tears ran down her face as she realised what she’d done, but she had no time to ascertain her own guilt before Jay arrived with her suitcase. Lucy watched him carefully as he entered; she saw no anger in his face — perhaps it was not as bad as she feared.
She smiled bravely, not wanting to let him know how clouded and confused was her memory of the night before, that she was so drunk she didn’t know who she had slept with, how many people she had slept with, or what they had done with her.
“I’m sorry, Jay. I really am sorry. The state I am in and everything. I just lost track of how much I was drinking.” Black mascara began to stain her face as she spoke.
Jay surveyed her with concern. Her dishevelled state did not match well with the version of events he’d received earlier from Eamon: that he had woken to find Lucy in the bedroom, asking where the loo was. That she had emerged from the bathroom naked, and climbed into his bed complaining she was cold, and that things had gone from there.
“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked, compassion in his voice. “In which bed you slept?”
“I didn’t know what I was doing last night,” she babbled. “If I was hitting on Eamon it was to get your blood up, that’s all. Maybe I did want to party when we got back, with the four of us, I just don’t know. I really can’t remember anything after we left the nightclub. You have to believe me, Jay.”
Jay hesitated, trapped between conscience and opportunity, all his plans and all his fears whirring through his mind; this was the perfect moment to end things. He was confident that he could spin Lucy any version of the night’s events and she would have no way of separating fact from fiction. She would be gone forever, driven away by her own irreparable guilt and shame.
She broke his silence with a sob. “I’m really, really sorry. Whatever happened last night I didn’t want to cheat on you, please believe me.”
She was at his mercy but he couldn’t bring himself to see her hurt anymore.
“Listen, Lucy, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Nothing happened last night, ok? You were just not feeling well, that’s all. And you were sick in the night. That’s all. Everything is ok.”
He held her tightly, feeling the tears on his cheek. They stood there for a long time, taking solace from their sins in each other’s arms. Finally Lucy spoke.
“What happens now?”
Jay saw Lucy as far as the departure gate. She was quietly crying as he handed her the boarding pass.
“Please, Jay, don’t let me leave like this. I’m begging you. I made a stupid mistake, that’s all.”
Jay put his arm around her.
“It’s ok, Lucy, there’s no harm done. I just need some space. Some time to think about things. Don’t feel bad about anything that’s happened this weekend. Let’s just remember the good times we had. You will be all right, you’ve got Rob, remember? Now you need to move or you will miss your flight.”
“But you will call me?” He flinched at the helpless pleading in Lucy’s voice, and for a second he was tempted to say he would.Fifty-three
Isobel stopped as she crossed London Bridge and leant against the grey stone balustrade looking into the forbidding waters below, the sins of her summer of love wreaking her body and eating her soul. The noon-day striking of the great bell of Westminster pulled her from her thoughts. Somewhere in the bowels of the BB&T offices her husband and her lover were crossing swords, playing out the final act in the charade that was the contract signing ceremony, Jay wanting nothing more than to get away, Peter wanting nothing more than a decision on the music deal arriving before he did so. She had told Peter she was lunching with Maria in Cobham, and had promised Jay to be on the boat before twelve; if either looked out from the towering plate glass offices onto the bridge below, they would know she had lied. Well, she would lie no more.
As she entered the marbled foyer of BB&T, her stomach knotted from tension; she felt insignificant, lost in its cavernous emptiness, a vast atrium stretching above her. The cold iridescence of the walls sent shivers through her blood, and the enquiring gaze of the immaculately groomed receptionist only served to increase her anxiety. She took a seat but her restlessness forced her back to her feet, and she gravitated towards a shimmering brass plaque on the far wall, wishing she were invisible. From a distance it dazzled in the artificial light but as she grew closer the shining expanse formed into words, engraved deep in the glossy metal. They were the BB&T partners’ names and she looked up
at them through sad and tired eyes; she knew if Jay had played his hand differently ten years earlier, his name would, in all probability, be in front of her.
As she searched inside herself, hoping to find courage and strength for what lay ahead, hurried footsteps broke the sacrosanct silence of the marble, and she turned to see Jay.
They stood transfixed, staring at each other, his eyes glassy and awash with pain, defeat etched into every line of his face. He all but ran to her as she moved forwards. But as he went to embrace her she froze, staring over his shoulder in fear and consternation. Peter was lurking in an alcove, tall and triumphant, watching and waiting. Everything swirled around her in his shadow, fifteen years of marriage and all the life before it — everything she had and everything she wanted. Jay smiled as she stared deep into his eyes and held his arms open again in a gesture of vulnerable love. She clenched her fists in determination, the shadow of Peter ever in her mind, and embraced him.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait,” she said. He held her for a long moment, as she let her arms fall limp, before she broke from him. He seemed to her dazed and shaken from the meeting and she saw he did not want to let go.
“The other night. I was there. I saw what happened to Lucy.”
She saw him search behind her eyes before he spoke. “The white BMW?”
She nodded. He grasped her forearms pulling her back into him. “It was the only way,” he said.
“No Jay, it was your way. And your way will never be my way.” She pulled her right arm from him, and reached into her bag, and pushed the jewellery box into his palm. “It’s Lucy who deserves this necklace, not me.” She stepped back from him, out of his spell, and was free. “Goodbye Jay.”
Isobel turned from him as he shrank away, and shuffled towards Peter, numb with pain, regret, and relief.
“I’m so, so, sorry,” she said, hanging her head and afraid to touch him.
But he pulled up her chin to look into her eyes, and drew her to him, holding her into his warmth.
“ I forgive you,” he said simply.
She stepped away from him, and took his hands from her. “But I didn’t come here to ask forgiveness. And I do not seek it.” She squeezed his arm. “Everything that I have done was a choice, my choice. Forgiveness won’t change that.” She saw bewilderment in his eyes. She slipped off her wedding ring and pressed it into his hand, and closed his fingers around it. “I thought I’d found what I was after, but instead I found myself.” She held his gaze in silence as understanding slowly displaced confusion. She kissed his hand. “It’s the right thing to do Peter; we both deserve better than…than insipid contentment.” She gave his hand a final squeeze, released it, and turned towards the door.