And as I’m standing there, the weirdest thing happens. It’s as if I can see them, the way they were. I can see their young, vibrant selves, rising up out of their bodies, shaking off the oldness, starting to dance with each other to the music. They’re all dancing the Charleston, kicking up their heels skittishly, their hair dark and strong, their limbs lithe again, and they’re laughing, clutching each other’s hands, throwing back their heads, reveling in it-
I blink. The vision has gone. I’m looking at a room full of motionless old people.
I glance sharply at Ginny. But she’s just standing there, smiling pleasantly and humming along to the CD, out of tune.
The music is still playing away, echoing through the rest of the home. Sadie can’t be here. She would have heard the music and come to see what was going on. The trail’s gone cold yet again.
“I know what I meant to ask you!” Ginny suddenly turns to me. “Did you ever find that necklace of Sadie’s? The one you were looking for?”
The necklace. Somehow, with Sadie gone, that all seems a million miles away now.
“No, I never did.” I try to smile. “This girl in Paris was supposed to be sending it to me, but… I’m still hoping.”
“Oh well, fingers crossed!” says Ginny.
“Fingers crossed.” I nod. “Anyway, I’d better go. I just wanted to say hi.”
“Well, it’s lovely to see you. I’ll show you out.”
As we make our way through the hall, my head is still full of the vision I saw of all the old people dancing, young and happy again. I can’t shake it.
“Ginny,” I say on impulse as she opens the big front door. “You must have seen a lot of old people… passing on.”
“Yes, I have,” she says, matter-of-factly. “That’s the peril of the job.”
“Do you believe in…” I cough, feeling embarrassed. “In the afterlife? Do you believe in spirits coming back and that kind of thing?”
My mobile phone rings shrilly in my pocket before Ginny can answer, and she nods at it.
“Please, do get that.”
I haul it out-and see Dad’s number on the ID display.
Oh God. Why is Dad calling? He’ll have heard about me leaving my job somehow. He’ll be all stressy and asking what my plans are. And I can’t even dodge the call, with Ginny watching.
“Hi, Dad,” I say hurriedly. “I’m just in the middle of something, can I put you on hold a minute?” I jab at the phone and look up at Ginny again.
“So what you’re asking is, do I believe in ghosts?” she says with a smile.
“Er… yes. I suppose I am.”
“Truthfully? No, I don’t. I think it’s all in the head, Lara. I think it’s what people want to believe. But I can understand what a comfort it must be to those who have lost loved ones.”
“Right.” I nod, digesting this. “Well… bye. And thanks.”
The door closes and I’m halfway down the path before I remember Dad, still waiting patiently on the line. I grab my phone and press Talk.
“Hey, Dad! Sorry about that.”
“Not at all, darling! I’m sorry to disturb you at work.”
Work? So he doesn’t know.
“Oh, right!” I say quickly, crossing my fingers. “Work. Yes. Absolutely. Work! Where else would I be?” I give a shrill laugh. “Although, as it happens, I’m not in the office right now…”
“Ah. Well, this may be ideal timing, then.” Dad hesitates. “I know this may sound odd. But I’ve got something I need to talk to you about and it’s rather important. Could we meet?”
TWENTY-TWO
This is weird. I’m really not sure what’s going on.
We’ve agreed to meet at Lingtons in Oxford Street, because it’s central and we both know it. And also because whenever we arrange to meet up, Dad suggests Lingtons. He’s unfailingly loyal to Uncle Bill, plus he has a Lingtons Gold VIP Card, which gets you free coffee and food, anywhere, anytime. (I don’t. I only have Friends and Family, fifty percent off. Not that I’m complaining.)
As I arrive at the familiar chocolate-brown-and-white frontage, I’m quite apprehensive. Maybe Dad’s got some really bad news to break. Like Mum’s ill. Or he’s ill.
And even if he hasn’t, what am I going to say about my bust-up with Natalie? How will he react when he realizes his flake of a daughter has invested loads of money in a business only to walk out on it? Just the thought of seeing his face crumple in disappointment-yet again-makes me wince. He’ll be devastated. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I have a plan of action.
I push open the door and inhale the familiar scent of coffee, cinnamon, and baking croissants. The plushy brown velvet chairs and gleaming wooden tables are the same as in every other Lingtons around the world. Uncle Bill is beaming down from a massive poster behind the counter. Lingtons mugs, coffeepots, and grinders are arranged on a display shelf, all in the trademark chocolate brown and white. (No one else is allowed to use that shade of chocolate brown, apparently. It belongs to Uncle Bill.)
“Lara!” Dad waves from the head of the queue. “Just in time! What do you want?”
Oh. He looks quite cheerful. Maybe he’s not ill.
“Hi.” I give him a hug. “I’ll have a caramel Lingtoncino and a tuna melt.”
You can’t ask for a cappuccino in Lingtons. It has to be a Lingtoncino.
Dad orders the coffees and food, then proffers his Gold VIP Card.
“What’s this?” says the guy behind the till, looking dubious. “I’ve never seen one of these before.”
“Try scanning it,” says Dad politely.
“Wow.” The guy’s eyes widen as something bleeps on the till screen. He looks up at Dad, a bit awestruck. “That’ll be… free.”
“I always feel a bit guilty using that card,” confesses Dad, as we collect our coffees and make our way to a table. “I’m doing poor Bill out of his rightful income.”
Poor Bill? I feel a tiny wrench in my heart. Dad is so good. He thinks about everyone except himself.
“I think he can probably afford it.” I glance wryly at Uncle Bill’s face printed on my coffee mug.
“Probably.” Dad smiles and glances at my jeans. “You’re dressed very casually, Lara! Is this the new dress-down approach at your office?”
Shit. I never even thought about what I was wearing.
“Actually… I’ve been at a seminar,” I hurriedly improvise.
“They requested casual clothes. It was role play, that kind of thing.”
“Wonderful!” says Dad, so encouragingly that my cheeks flame with guilt. He unwraps a sugar and pours it into his coffee, then stirs it.
“Lara. I want to ask you a question.”
“Absolutely.” I nod earnestly.
“How is your business going? Really?”
Oh God. Of all the zillions of questions he could have asked.
“Well… you know. It’s… it’s good.” My voice has shot up two notches. “All good! We’ve got some great clients, and we’ve recently done some work with Macrosant, and Natalie’s back now-”
“Back?” echoes Dad with interest. “Has she been away?”
The thing about lying to your parents is, you have to keep track of which lies you’ve told.
“She popped away for a little bit.” I force myself to smile. “No big deal.”
“But you feel you made the right decision?” Dad looks as if this really matters to him. “You’re enjoying it?”
“Yes,” I say miserably. “I’m enjoying it.”
“You feel the business has a good future?”
“Yes. Really good.” I stare at the table. The thing about lying to your parents is, sometimes you really wish you hadn’t. Sometimes you just want to dissolve into tears and wail, “Dad, it’s all gone wrooooong! What shall I doooooo?”
“So… what did you want to talk to me about?” I say, to get off the subject.
“No matter.” Dad gives me an affectionate look. “You’ve answere
d my question already. Your business is going well. It’s fulfilling you. That’s all I needed to hear.”
“What do you mean?” I stare at him, confused. Dad shakes his head, smiling.
“There was an opportunity I wanted to talk to you about. But I don’t want to disrupt your new business. I don’t want to throw a spanner in the works. You’re doing what you love and doing it well. You don’t need a job offer.”
Job offer?
My heart is suddenly beating fast. But I mustn’t give away my excitement.
“Why don’t you tell me about it, anyway?” I try to sound casual. “Just in case.”
“Darling.” Dad laughs. “You don’t have to be polite.”
“I’m not being polite,” I say quickly. “I want to know.”
“I wouldn’t insult you. Darling, I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved,” says Dad lovingly. “This would mean you’d have to give it all up. It wouldn’t be worth it.”
“Maybe it would! Just tell me!” Shit. I sound too desperate. I quickly adjust my expression to one of mild interest. “I mean, why not just fill me in? It can’t do any harm.”
“Well. Maybe you’re right.” Dad takes a sip of coffee, then looks at me directly. “Bill called me yesterday. Quite a surprise.”
“Uncle Bill?” I say, taken aback.
“He said you’d been to see him at his house recently?”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yes, I did pop round for a chat. I was going to tell you…”
Not.
“Well, he was impressed. What did he describe you as, now?” Dad gives that crooked little smile he gets when he’s amused. “Oh, yes; ‘tenacious.’ Anyway, the upshot is… this.”
He takes an envelope out of his pocket and slides it across the table. Disbelievingly, I open it. It’s a letter on Lingtons headed paper. It’s offering me a full-time job in the Lingtons human-resources department. It’s offering me a salary of six figures.
I feel a bit faint. I look up, to see Dad’s face glowing. Despite his cool demeanor, he’s obviously really chuffed.
“Bill read it out over the phone before he biked it over. Quite something, isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand.” I rub my brow, feeling confused. “Why did he send the letter to you? Why not straight to me?”
“Bill thought it would be a nice touch.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Smile, darling!” Dad laughs. “Whether you take it up or not, it’s a huge compliment!”
“Right,” I say again. But I can’t smile. Something’s wrong.
“It’s a wonderful tribute to you,” Dad is saying. “I mean, Bill doesn’t owe us anything. He’s done this purely through appreciation of your talent and the goodness of his heart.”
OK, that’s what’s wrong: Dad’s nailed it. I don’t believe in Uncle Bill’s appreciation of my talent. Nor in the goodness of his heart.
I drop my gaze down to the letter again, to the six-figure sum printed in black and white. Suspicions are creeping over me like spiders.
He’s trying to buy me off.
OK, maybe that’s putting it too strongly. But he’s trying to get me on side. I’ve got under Uncle Bill’s skin. Ever since I mentioned Sadie’s necklace. I saw it in his eyes instantly: A shock. A wariness.
And now, out of the blue, a job offer.
“But I don’t want this to sway you,” Dad is saying. “Mum and I are both so proud of you, Lara, and if you want to carry on with your business, we’ll be one hundred percent behind you. The choice is absolutely up to you. No pressure either way.”
He’s saying all the right things. But I can see the hope flickering in Dad’s eyes, even if he’s trying to hide it. He’d love me to have a stable job at a massive multinational firm. And not just any massive multinational firm, the family massive multinational firm.
And Uncle Bill knows that. Why else has he sent this letter via Dad? He’s trying to manipulate both of us.
“I think Uncle Bill feels rather bad that he turned you down flat at the funeral,” Dad continues. “He was very impressed at your persistence. And so am I! I had no idea you were planning to go and ask him again!”
“But I didn’t even mention a job! I went to ask him about-” I stop hopelessly. I can’t mention the necklace. I can’t mention Sadie. This is all impossible.
“To be honest…” Dad lowers his voice, leaning across the little table. “I think Bill’s been having a few problems with Diamanté. He regrets having brought her up so… lavishly. We had quite a heart-to-heart, and do you know what he said?” Dad’s face suffuses with pleasure. “He said he sees you as the kind of self-starting young person who should be a role model for Diamanté.”
He doesn’t really think that! I want to cry out. You don’t know what’s going on! He just wants me to stop chasing the necklace!
I bury my head in my hands despairingly. It’s such a preposterous story. It all sounds so unlikely. And now the necklace is gone and Sadie’s gone and I don’t know what to think… or do…
“Lara!” exclaims Dad. “Darling! Are you all right?”
“I’m… fine.” I raise my head. “Sorry. It’s all just a bit… overwhelming.”
“This is my fault,” says Dad, his smile fading. “I’ve thrown you. I should never have mentioned it, your business is doing so well-”
Oh God. I can’t let this charade go on any longer.
“Dad.” I cut him off. “The business isn’t going well.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s not doing at all well. I lied. I didn’t want to tell you.” I’m crushing a sugar wrapper between my fingers, unable to meet his eye. “But the truth is… it’s a disaster. Natalie left me in the lurch and we had a big row and I walked out on her. And… and I’ve split up with Josh again. For good.” I swallow, forcing myself to say it. “I’ve finally realized how wrong I got everything with him. He didn’t love me. I just really, really wanted him to.”
“I see.” Dad sounds a bit shocked. “Goodness.” There’s silence as he takes this all in. “Well… perhaps this offer has come at just the right time,” he says at last.
“Maybe,” I mumble, still staring at the table.
“What’s wrong?” asks Dad gently. “Darling, why are you resisting this? You wanted to work for Uncle Bill.”
“I know. But it’s… complicated.”
“Lara, can I give you a piece of advice?” Dad waits until I look up. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Relax. Maybe it’s not as complicated as you think.”
I look at Dad, at his straight face, his honest eyes. If I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe any of it. He’d think I’m a paranoid delusional or taking drugs. Or both.
“Did Uncle Bill mention a necklace at all?” I can’t help saying.
“A necklace?” Dad looks puzzled. “No. What necklace?”
“I… it’s nothing.” I sigh. I take a sip of Lingtoncino and look up to see that Dad is watching me. He smiles, but I can tell he’s troubled.
“Darling, you have a wonderful opportunity here.” He gestures at the letter. “A chance for you to get your life back on track. Maybe you should just take it. Don’t overthink it. Don’t look for problems that don’t exist. Just take your chance.”
He doesn’t understand. How could he? Sadie isn’t a problem that doesn’t exist. She does exist. She’s real. She’s a person, and she’s my friend, and she needs me-
Then where is she? says a sharp voice in my head, like a knife thumping into a block. If she exists, where is she?
I start in shock. Where did that voice come from? I can’t be doubting-I can’t be thinking-
I feel a sudden feathery panic. Of course Sadie’s real. Of course she is. Don’t be ridiculous. Stop thinking like this.
But now Ginny’s voice is running through my head again. I think it’s all in the head, Lara. It’s what people want to believe.
No. No way. I mean … No.
Feeling giddy,
I take a gulp of Lingtoncino and look around the coffee shop, trying to anchor myself to reality. Lingtons is real. Dad is real. The job offer is real. And Sadie is real. I know she is. I mean, I saw her. I heard her. We talked together. We danced together, for God’s sake.
And, anyway, how could I possibly have invented her? How would I have known anything about her? How would I have known about the necklace? I never even met her!
“Dad.” I look at him abruptly. “We never visited Great-Aunt Sadie, did we? Except that time when I was a baby.”
“Actually, that’s not quite true.” Dad shoots me a cautious look. “Mum and I were talking about it after the funeral. We remembered that we once took you to see her when you were six.”
“Six.” I swallow. “Was she… wearing a necklace?”
“She might have been.” Dad shrugs.
I met Great-Aunt Sadie at the age of six. I could have seen the necklace. I could have remembered… without realizing that I remembered.
My thoughts are in free fall. I’m hollow and chilly inside. I feel as though everything’s turning on its head. For the first time I’m seeing a new possible reality.
I could have made this whole story up in my head. It’s what I wanted. I felt so guilty we never knew her that I invented her in my subconscious. I mean, when I first saw her that’s what I thought she was. A hallucination.
“Lara?” Dad peers at me. “Are you OK, darling?”
I try to smile back at him, but I’m too preoccupied. There are two voices arguing in my head, right across each other. The first is crying out, Sadie’s real, you know she is! She’s out there! She’s your friend and she’s hurt and you have to find her! The second is calmly intoning, She doesn’t exist. She never did. You’ve wasted enough time. Get your life back.
I’m breathing hard, trying to let my thoughts balance out, let my instincts settle. But I don’t know what to think. I don’t trust myself anymore. Maybe I really am crazy…
“Dad, do you think I’m mad?” I blurt out in desperation. “Seriously. Should I see someone?”
Dad bursts into laughter. “No! Darling, of course not!” He puts his coffee cup down and leans forward. “I think your emotions run high and sometimes your imagination too. You get that from your mother. And sometimes you let them get the better of you. But you’re not mad. No madder than Mum, anyway.”
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