by Maggie James
Scott smiled, and the sight switched on a thousand light bulbs within me. He wasn’t giving up on us after all.
‘Then we’re okay,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you want. I know I do.’
I closed my eyes, my heart hammering with relief. All was well in my world again.
We made plans, both of us in agreement that our relationship was too new for me to move back to England so soon. Instead, I’d ask my neighbour in Spain to keep an eye on my villa while I considered my options. For now, I’d continue to enjoy the privacy the Harbourside apartment offered. As for money, I possessed a healthy chunk in savings as well as my rental income from Amelia and my stock market investments. I’d be fine financially, at least for the time being. Anyway, what did my bank balance matter when I had this perfect man?
The next day dawned bright and warm, prompting me to take a walk around the Harbourside. My body craved fresh air and exercise, although my taste buds voted for a bowl of the Watershed’s excellent chilli afterwards. A perfect morning beckoned.
Sunshine bathed my skin as I strolled towards the Arnolfini, my mood buoyant, my mind fixed on Scott. As well as lunch we’d spent the previous evening together, drinking wine and eating tapas at a bar in Clifton, and I couldn’t have been happier. Our hands clasped, we’d chatted about anything and everything. The rest of the world could have vanished and neither of us would have noticed.
Lost in my thoughts, I turned the corner past the Arnolfini, heading for the bridge that led to the M Shed. With an oof!of surprise I slammed hard against a man’s chest. I stepped backwards, an apology on my lips. Then I saw who it was. Liam Tate.
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Until I found my tongue.
‘You bastard. You’re following me again.’
What appeared to be genuine astonishment crossed his face. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘That day I had lunch at Bella Pasta. All the other times you’ve stalked me. As well as here, now.’
A sneer replaced surprise. ‘Oh, yeah? How come I’m not behind you then?’
‘Don’t play the smart-arse with me!’ My voice was approaching all-out yelling, and people were staring. ‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the police.’
‘Let’s get something straight.’ Anger filled his expression. ‘I’ve better things to do than stalk a two-timing bitch like you.’
I stared at him. Shock rendered me speechless as I clocked the contempt in his eyes. My gut instinct told me he wasn’t lying, however.
‘I’ve just visited a potential development site with a client.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the old warehouses lining the river. ‘As for Bella Pasta, my bank is on the Triangle. I spotted you as I walked up Park Street to get there. I’ve not been following you, or whatever nonsense your overheated imagination has conjured up.’ He threw me a look of scorn before striding off.
Dumbfounded, I watched him disappear into the distance. I remembered the night Scott thought we were being tailed. Had that been Liam, I’d have been bombarded with accusations of infidelity afterwards. He’d not said a word, though. Meaning it couldn’t have been him. Had I jumped to conclusions about the guy?
If so, whispered a voice inside me, might Rick Montgomery be my stalker instead?
Don’t go there, I told myself. He can’t have found you. No way.
I reminded myself I’d not received any more texts from him. Maybe Rick-The-Dick had given up on me.
As for being stalked, Liam must be right – I’d imagined the whole thing. What an idiot I’d been. I’d turned a few random guys in hoodies into a full-blown drama.
Over the next couple of weeks, Scott and I saw each other often, although not as much as I’d have liked. He told me he needed to work late several nights and put in overtime at the weekends. ‘Not my choice,’ he said with a grimace. ‘The motor trade is cut-throat, and I’m under pressure to sell as many cars as possible.’ He’d looked so tired, so defeated, and my idea of helping him into a new career as an artist gathered force.
Each time we met, erotic tension pulsed through the air. Ah, sex, a seductive yet scary prospect. The chemistry between us burned fiercely, but we’d not been dating long. After such a prolonged dry spell I was nervous. No rush, I told myself. First I’d get better acquainted with this wonderful man. To my relief, Scott didn’t press the issue.
Ellie continued to text and leave me pleading voicemail messages, each one perpetuating her lies, but I ignored them all. My phone calls with Mum reassured me that my sister seemed okay and that Ellie, thank God, hadn’t told her about our quarrel.
In the meantime, I snatched every spare minute Scott had available. We had so much in common besides art. Both of us loved music from the eighties; he favoured Fine Young Cannibals whereas I adored Rick Astley. When it came to the cinema, Jason Statham flicks were our top choice. Like me, Scott preferred dogs to cats, red wine over white, curry rather than sushi. We agreed to differ over complementary medicine, once I’d admitted my belief that much of it worked.
‘We’re like that Chinese symbol,’ he told me over cocktails one evening. ‘Black and white, all intertwined. Can’t think of its name.’
‘Yin and yang. Apart from one thing. The thorny question of who played the best James Bond.’
‘No contest. Roger Moore all the way.’
‘It’s Daniel Craig, you idiot.’ He laughed, and as the banter between us batted back and forth, I couldn’t have been happier. What made our relationship special, I decided, was the absence of jealousy. Not once had I suffered the chronic level of suspicion I’d endured with Richie. Just the occasional twinge - I was human, after all - but I managed to quash any pangs that arose, determined to learn from my past mistakes.
My new trusting self was the product of more than sheer resolve. Scott didn’t realise the huge debt of thanks I owed to a woman called Maria Holmes. After I moved to Spain, I thought long and hard about how I’d behaved. All the jealousy, the accusations, how Richie hadn’t deserved that crap. So I started online counselling. To my surprise, it went better than I’d dared hope. We’d talk via Skype once a week, and I’d rant about Gary McIlroy, how I couldn’t allow myself to believe men weren’t all liars. Over time Maria made me see I shouldn’t judge all guys because of one dickhead. By our final session the green-eyed monster who had snooped through Richie’s phone had gone for good. Thank God. That meant my new relationship wouldn’t crash and burn the way my engagement had.
Little did I know I was about to get a painful reminder on that score.
One evening I was cooking paella at the flat, the kitchen fragrant with the smell of fried garlic. Scott was with Darcy, so I’d promised myself a Netflix binge once I’d eaten. As I added prawns to the pan, my mobile vibrated into life. ‘Unknown caller’ flashed onto the screen. I almost ignored it, but didn’t.
‘Hello?’ My tone was curt. If the caller was selling double glazing, I wasn’t in the mood.
‘Hi, Lyddie.’ Oh, God. That voice, laden with spice and overtones of sex, still sent shivers through me.
‘Richie.’ I drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m guessing Caroline gave you my latest number.’ I’d be having words with my friend about that.
‘It was good to see you the other day. How are you?’
‘Fine.’ An awkward silence. Just as I was about to ask why he’d called, he spoke. ‘Are you free tonight? I can explain later, if you’ll let me come round.’
‘You can’t tell me now?’
‘Please. I’d rather not do this on the phone.’
Anxiety hit me. ‘Caroline’s all right, isn’t she? She’s not sick or anything?’
He laughed. ‘Relax. No self-respecting germ would go anywhere near my sister. She’s fine.’
Curiosity got the better of me. ‘You can come round now if you want.’ When I gave him my new address, he whistled, but didn’t comment.
‘I’ll be there in half an hour,’ he said.
While the pa
ella cooked, I paced the kitchen, disturbed about why my ex wanted to see me. I hoped Caroline wasn’t trying to match-make again.
Thirty minutes later, my doorbell announced Richie’s arrival. When I answered it, he stood before me, dressed in tight jeans and a T-shirt the exact blue of his eyes. God, had I ever loved him once.
‘Come in,’ I said. Once inside, he glanced around. ‘Feck me. This is one posh pad, so it is.’ Like Caroline, Richie had also acquired a few Irish speech patterns from their grandfather. He sniffed the air. ‘Something sure smells good.’
‘I’d better check it’s not burning. Come on through.’
He followed me into the kitchen, his eyes alighting on the paella pan. ‘Looks great. I’ve not had seafood for ages.’
Was that a hint? It would be rude not to offer. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Sounds good.’ He grinned his sexy smile, and my knees turned to mush.
I grabbed an extra plate, cutlery and wine glass and set them on the table, conscious of the bottle of wine I’d opened before Richie’s phone call. An air of intimacy pervaded the scene, which made me antsy. How would Scott react if he knew I was drinking wine with my ex?
We made small talk while we ate, catching up on each other’s lives. For some reason he appeared nervous, which bothered me. Had Caroline misled him into thinking I was still available? The more we spoke, the greater my unease became.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ I said, once we’d both finished our second plateful of paella.
When I returned with two mugs of Kenco, Richie cleared his throat. ‘You must be wondering why I called.’
‘Are you planning on telling me?’
His gaze slid away, and I recalled how self-effacing he was, despite his stellar looks. ‘Like I told you, it was great to see you again.’
‘And?’
‘And I can’t help hoping we still have a chance. Just hear me out,’ he said, as I began to speak. ‘I understand Gary McIlroy screwed with your head. But that aside, we were good together, Lyddie. Weren’t we?’
‘Please don’t say anymore.’ Tears pricked at my eyes. After our breakup, I’d have given anything for Richie to tell me he still wanted me. Now Scott filled my entire world.
‘There’s something you should know,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing someone.’
Silence. Those baby blues I’d once adored filled with sadness. ‘That’s, um, that’s great, so it is. I’m pleased for you.’
‘Caroline should have mentioned something.’
‘Yeah, you’re not wrong there. Are the two of you happy together?’
I nodded. I hated to hurt him, but what choice did I have?
Richie got up from his seat. ‘I should go.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. My timing’s lousy, that’s all.’
‘If I’d not met Scott ...’
‘But you have.’ He came round my side of the table to kiss my cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, Lyddie.’ Before I could answer, he headed towards the door.
That night I cried myself to sleep.
Richie wouldn’t quit my thoughts the next day. Until Scott called me from work, driving all memories of my ex from my mind. ‘I have a suggestion,’ he said, nervousness in his voice. ‘Remember I said I’d like you to meet Darcy? How about tomorrow?’
Oh my God. Every vestige of hurt faded away, to be replaced by delight. ‘I’d love that.’
‘Good. Because I’ve already told her I’m bringing you.’ He laughed. ‘Presumptuous of me, right?’
‘Let’s call it optimistic.’
‘I should warn you what to expect. Darcy gets exhausted easily. And she doesn’t look good. Well, of course she doesn’t, not after chemo and being so ill. She’s excited about meeting you, though.’ He laughed. ‘Being sick hasn’t softened her tongue. When I told her how lovely you are she asked why you bothered with an old fart like me. Sisters, hey? Gotta love them. Even if they drive you nuts.’
After we finished the call, I berated myself for not telling him about Richie. No deception, we’d agreed, but did a lie of omission count?
I persuaded myself Scott was better off not knowing. Why risk our growing closeness by voicing something that didn’t need to be said?
13
Scott picked me up at seven the following evening. On the way to Darcy’s place he told me more about his sister. How she’d refused his suggestion she should live with him in Southville, protesting her need for independence. Her stubbornness denied her the opportunity to be picky over where she lived, thanks to her reliance on government benefits. Hence her home being a tiny rented flat in the Greenbank area of the city. Every so often, Scott would repeat his offer, always to be met with the same answer.
‘She says she might as well die now if the only option is me playing nursemaid to her.’ He laughed, but it sounded hollow. ‘A tough cookie, is Darcy, despite her issues. You’ll see.’
We pulled up outside a terraced house tucked down a side street. Paint peeled from the windowsills, the brickwork chipped and crumbling. Scott took a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock, ushering me into a communal hallway. Ahead was a flight of stairs leading to another flat, but Scott led me towards a door on the ground floor.
‘Darcy?’ he called. ‘Darce, hon, it’s me.’ He knocked twice, then used a second key in the lock. After the door swung back a whiff of boiled vegetables reached my nose. To my left I saw a cramped galley kitchen. The wallpaper was in need of replacement, the carpet under my shoes dark with dirt and age. To my right the doorway into the living room stood open.
Darcy was sitting by the window, the evening light playing over her features. Shock stilled my tongue as she struggled to her feet. Her skin was dull, sickly, its hue almost transparent. Her face appeared stripped of all bar a thin layer of flesh, the outline of her skull prominent. She might only be twenty-seven, but she looked in her forties. Her jeans sagged loose on her hips and a long-sleeved top floated over her arms. She wore a scarf around her head, wrapped tight above where her eyebrows had been. Her eyes were devoid of lashes. I thought of my own hair, tried to picture it falling out in clumps, and failed. Empathy rose within me, swift and thick. I swallowed hard.
‘Scotty!’ Darcy moved towards her brother, and they hugged. Then he drew back, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. ‘Darcy, this is Lyddie. My girlfriend.’
Two words that gladdened my heart. ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I said.
She smiled. A genuine one, but it seemed to require a supreme effort. ‘Likewise, chick. He talks about you all the time, you know.’
I laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a good sign.’
‘Not sure you should. Honestly, Scott’s hopeless. You agree, right?’
Sibling banter, I decided. Okay, I’d play along. ‘Meaning?’
‘The fact he once thought you were called Lynnie, not Lyddie. Not to mention believing you were an accountant instead of an artist.’ Mischief played across her wasted face. Scott’s rueful grin betrayed his embarrassment.
Time to help him out. ‘Many people get confused by my name. And I once spent every working day immersed in figures, so he was half right.’
‘Thank you,’ Scott mouthed at me, out of Darcy’s line of vision.
She sat down, exhaustion in every line of her body. ‘You must excuse me, chick. Today’s not a good day, I’m afraid.’
Scott fixed coffee for the two of us and fetched a glass of water for Darcy. Afterwards we sat in her tiny living room, making small talk. She asked about my paintings, her interest sincere from what I could tell, and I relaxed a little. I hadn’t realised how much I wanted us to establish a connection, for Darcy to approve of her brother’s choice of girlfriend. As time progressed, though, her energy levels flagged even further.
‘Sorry I’m such lousy company,’ she said after one too many yawns. ‘Before I got sick nothing could hold me back. Scott will confirm what a live wire I was.’ She took a sip of water. ‘Now
I struggle through every day. Chemo is a killer.’ Her smile was devoid of humour. My heart hurt for her.
‘That’s why I’ve decided not to suffer any more of it,’ Darcy continued. ‘Oh, don’t look at me that way, Scotty. You have no idea what cancer is like, or what passes for its treatment. Feeling sick twenty-four-seven, having your hair fall out, looking deader than a corpse. It’s crap, every single minute of it, you hear me? I refuse to treat my body like that anymore.’
I stayed silent, figuring this was between the two of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott chew his lip, clearly struggling for words.
‘Chemo will give you your best chance,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I have no idea what having cancer is like, other than that it must be hell. But you can’t mess around with leukaemia, Darce. You need to fight it with all guns blazing.’
Darcy huffed out an impatient breath. ‘The disease came back. Hardly a resounding success for chemotherapy, is it? I’m not putting poison in my body any longer. I’ll find a natural healing centre instead, one that specialises in cancer care. And nothing will change my mind.’
Scott fixed her with a glare. ‘And how do you propose paying for this nonsense?’
Her lips set in a thin line, and she didn’t reply. Silence hung over us for a few seconds. God, this must be rough on Scott.
Darcy stood up, her complexion grey in the light from the overhead bulb. She leaned on a nearby table for strength, a tremor running through her body. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but can you go, please? I’m exhausted.’
‘Of course.’ Scott’s tone was apologetic. ‘We’ll see ourselves out. I’ll call you tomorrow, Darce.’
He slammed his hands against the steering wheel once we were back in his car. ‘She’s going to die,’ he said, his voice a strangled whisper. ‘If I can’t talk her out of this complementary therapy nonsense, that is. It’s not as if she can afford that crap anyway.’ With a flick of his wrist, he switched on the radio, and I understood the topic was closed, at least for the time being.