“Bloody hell, I don’t believe it,” he snorted. “Not after all you’ve just said and been through! After that miserable, cheating, deceiving, lying son of a…”
I placed my hand over his mouth. “…Jonti, darling, I really appreciate it but will you please shut up for a moment!”
I couldn’t help the sigh from escaping my lips.
“You can’t go to the flat and duff him up because I can’t give you the keys to the flat. And I can’t give you the keys to the flat because I haven’t got my keys to the flat anymore.” I paused, sniffing, and happened to glance at the wall mirror hanging behind the hall table. My reflection confirmed that I did indeed look like a Panda. I tried to rub the smudged mascara from beneath my eyes with the sleeve of my blouse. “Freddie took them off me,” I added lamely.
Jonti’s jaw clenched and he grabbed my shoulders, bringing his face closer to mine. His jaw worked. “Forcibly?” he hissed. “Did he hurt you?”
I pried Jonti’s fingers away from my shoulders. I said, “Don’t be daft; he’s not the violent type. Come on, you’ve met Freddie. If anything he’s a real pussy. Normally he hates any sort of confrontation. No. I chucked them at him.” I paused, remembering. “Actually, I was aiming them at his face. I missed. Hit the wall instead.”
Jonti rolled his eyes, and his tone grew disparaging. “Typical. You were never a very good thrower. Even when we were kids you were crap with a ball. Absolutely rubbish at bowling, if I remember rightly.”
“I should’ve remembered that when I hurled my set of keys at him, shouldn’t I? A mistake, I realise that now, of course. Now I have absolutely no leverage at all.”I gave a deep, despondent sigh and Jonti tried to put a reassuring arm around my shoulder.
“Sshh. It’s okay.”
I pulled away, frowning. I said, “How can it be okay? I’ve lost my man to a girl who I work with and once thought of as a friend, and I’m homeless. So how is any of that okay?”
“You’ve still got me. And Miranda.”
But his soothing words did little to assuage the indignation that suddenly burned through me.
“You know something?” I hissed. “It’s all that Kristie Gillingham’s fault. She threw herself at him, that red-headed little strumpet. I blame her, not him.”
“The guy was hardly a saint, Bailey,” Jonti put in sagely. “You knew that, even when you first started dating the bloke. He’s been round the block a few times. Admitted it as much himself. He always had an eye for a pretty woman.”
“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he, since he’s a portrait painter – but I never suspected him of being quite so hands on.”
“You always were rather gullible and foolhardy, but you wouldn’t be told.”
I could feel myself growing indignant. I said, “Oh, thanks. So it’s all my fault, is it, for being so naïve and trusting?
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I know what you think. What you always thought about him, us, but were too polite and civilised to say to my face.”
He didn’t say anything.
I rushed on. “But my point is, I don’t think Freddie’s entirely to blame.”
“So he’s no gigolo but a weak man whose head was turned by a pretty young thing.”
“Exactly. Basically he’s a very loving, decent person.”
Jonti looked thoughtful. “Maybe he was just clever at being deceitful.”
I huffed indignantly. “Oh, for God’s sake, bro, I’ve not been playing at make believe for the past few years. I wanted a serious relationship.”
“Maybe that’s what you wanted.”
I turned away. The Freddie I’d known and loved just didn’t fit in with the Freddie who’d just chucked me out of my home. I could hear my voice tremble slightly when I spoke again. “Trouble is, I can’t get my head around the fact that if he didn’t want me, why didn’t he just come right out and tell me so? What was I going to do to him?” I looked up at my brother’s face. He was looking at me pityingly, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking: “If he didn’t want me anymore, and he wanted Kristie, why couldn’t he simply have the guts to admit it? Why did he have to let me find out in such a horrible way?”
Jonti shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him?”
I turned away. “You must be joking,” I muttered. “I wouldn’t stoop so low to show him I cared.”
“Even though it’s obvious you’re trying to make excuses for the guy because you think you still love him?”
I didn’t reply.
“I remember meeting her once,” Jonti went on reflectively. “Attractive, with flowing titian hair and eyes the colour of cooking apples.”
I stared up at my kid brother crossly. “I see she made a bit of an impression on you, too.”
“You think it was just a one off thing?” mused Jonti, obviously thinking aloud.
I shrugged. Didn’t reply, didn’t know, since as far as I was concerned the outcome was the same.
Jonti tugged at his chin. “It’s going to be a trifle difficult for you to continue going to the bank every day with her working there too,” he said.
I didn’t answer. I’d already considered that and for sure I didn’t relish the idea of being in the same office with her day after day. It would be unbearable.
I shrugged out of my sodden jacket and hung it up in the cloakroom, then ran a hand through my long brown hair which only now was drying into the natural curls that hung down my back reaching almost to my waist. I slipped into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel to help it along in the drying process.
When I came back out of the bathroom, still rubbing at my hair with the towel, Jonti was standing where I’d left him in the hall. When he saw me he slid his mobile phone back into his pocket, and I figured he must’ve been trying to reach Miranda. Maybe to tell her the good news that his sister had come to stay for a while. I grabbed a fresh Kleenex from a box on the hall table and peered once again at my reflection before trying once more to repair the damage to my face.
Wanting to change the subject, I said, “So where’s Miranda? Gone off and left you to your own devices while she’s out dancing the night away?”
Jonti leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms and watched in evident fascination as I went about returning my face to some semblance of normality. I remembered that, even as a little boy, he’d loved watching his big sister playing around with makeup and new hair styles at her dressing table.
For a while I’d been slightly worried that he was into girlie stuff rather too much, but all turned out well when he met his future wife at Uni and they decided they were made for one another. After they’d graduated, they had both found good jobs, then going about things the proper way, got a mortgage, found themselves a nice home, and gotten married.
I’d been a bridesmaid at their wedding. I’d stood at the altar in purple silk, standing along two tiny tots barely reaching my ankles, apparently children of Miranda’s many relatives. The smile on my face hadn’t reached my heart. Inside I’d felt sorrowful. Happy of course that my darling young brother was getting married, yet sad for myself that I wasn’t. I didn’t particularly care to be an object of any finger pointing, only I hadn’t seen how I could get out of it without offending anyone, particularly my future sister-in-law, with whom I was always quite careful not to rub up the wrong way as she could be quite a sensitive creature and didn’t take kindly to sarcasm or cutting remarks about her intended husband.
Now Jonti said lightly, “None of your snide remarks about my pregnant wife, please, Bay. In fact, you should be grateful I was here at all.” He looked at me with some disapproval, and I got the feeling it was genuine.
He said, “I could’ve gone out after work for drinks with some mates, which was what I’d actually intended doing before I changed my mind and came home instead. So you’re fortunate I was here to answer the door. I mean, what would you have done otherwise? Gone round to one of your girlfriends for the night?”
/> “Maybe I’d just have driven around all night with the handsome taxi driver who came to my aid like some knight on a black charger.”
“However romantic you like to think that sounds, he’s just a cabbie who presumably doesn’t work for nothing.”
I bit back a retort. “You’re right, and I’m truly thankful I’ve got you,” I said penitently.
“Don’t thank me, thank Miranda.”
“I will, when I see her. Did you speak to her?”
“Not yet.”
“She’ll find out soon enough. I wonder what her reaction will be?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I asked again, “So where is she then?”
“If you must know, she went round to her parents’ house for some prime quality roast beef and some equally prime quality time in the bosom of her family.”
“D’you think she’ll mind?”
“That I didn’t go with her to share the roast beef?
“Idiot.”
“Ah, well, if you mean about what’s happened to you, of course she’ll be upset as I know she hoped that, despite the age gap, you and Freddie would make a go of it.”
I said with slow deliberation, “I meant, Jonti, would she mind about me coming to stay with you guys?”
He rubbed his chin, and for the first time I sensed his slight discomfort. “Ah. That. Well, I’m sure she’ll be cool about it.”
I wasn’t so sure. Pregnant first time mums-to-be with high blood pressure, swollen ankles and a need to go to the loo every thirty minutes during the night aren’t generally known to take everything in their stride. It was going to take some schmoozing and sweetness on my part to get her to accept the situation. Suddenly I stopped thinking about myself, and sniffed. I could smell burning.
Jonti was watching me. “What?”
My smile was rueful. I said, “Your sense of smell is about as good as my aim.”
He straightened up, scowling. “Bloody hell. My dinner! And I spent ages preparing it.”
I felt real remorse as he strode off towards the kitchen. “Sorry, bro. Blame me. It’s all my fault for turning up unannounced and distracting you.”
Jonti made a sort of harrumphing noise at the back of his throat that could’ve meant anything.
I called out after him in as sweet a sisterly fashion as I could manage. “Want some help?”
He called back over his shoulder. “God, no. I know what you’re like in the kitchen. You’ll want to take over everything, and change everything around and it drives Miranda mad. Go and watch TV or something.”
So I sloped off towards the lounge, made for the sofa, curled my legs beneath me and sank down on my favourite spot on the comfortable couch chosen with such care from The Ideal Home Exhibition the first year Jonti and Miranda had got married.
It seemed to me that the Tia Maria liqueur stain on the corduroy fabric of the couch – an accident which had occurred one particularly merry Christmas due to a spillage of my own rather high spirits – had now over time blended in fairly well with the brown material, although the cushioned seat had forever remained somewhat hard and crusty.
But I wasn’t going to let it bother me; I had other, far more serious things to contemplate. Things I must consider in a controlled and non-panicky way.
Who was I kidding? I dreaded having to think too deeply about the problems awaiting me. It always upset me when I thought too deeply about anything. For years I’d trained myself not to get too emotionally involved with anything that might trigger off unhappy memories and cause me unnecessary pain. I was no masochist.
So, hugging a cushion to my chest, I aimed the remote at the 42 inch plasma fixed onto the wall opposite, intending to focus all my attention on the programme that was currently airing. But it was more irritating than relaxing watching these tough-looking cops of the NYPD banging on about getting some donuts with their coffee. Why is it always donuts? What’s so special about those cholesterol-filled sugary bombs? Why not fondant fancies? Or iced buns? Or even a nice Garibaldi? A biscuit would be so much easier to dunk, I reasoned.
Listlessly I surfed through the channels, going through the motions of being entertained. It was a bit like the banter between my brother and I. I’d kept it going as I didn’t want to upset Jonti any more than I already had, though I suspected he was truly a lot more placid and laid-back than I could ever pretend to be. But I hid it well. At least, I thought I did. If I didn’t, it wasn’t for want of trying.
Jonti followed me through into the lounge five minutes later. He plonked an enormous cup of steaming, frothy latte on the glass-topped coffee table beside me and then disappeared again after giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head and telling me he’d be with me as soon as he had finished some work he was in the middle of.
Telling him I was fine, I waved Jonti away and huddled into the corner of the sofa and sipped my drink. I was feeling exhausted and melancholy. But the coffee was strong and sweet and hot, just the way I liked it. And it was good to be indoors and feel safe again. For all my cockiness and attempts to look brave in front of my brother, I knew I was a lot more scared about the future than I pretended to be.
God, could I in reality feel more wounded, humiliated and ashamed by the whole ghastly experience? But a good cry always helps, I find. So I let myself weep, just a little, but my muffled sobs into the cushion brought Jonti racing back to my side.
“Oh, honey, stop. Please.”
Sitting down beside me, he took my cold hands in his.
I’ve always felt a little embarrassed that my hands were always so clammy, a bit like wet fish, or so I’d been told by certain people who thought it was funny to cringe when I shook their hand. My brother’s hands, on the other hand, were dry and warm and quite soft for a man’s hands. This, I had long decided, was because he didn’t do any manual labour at all around the flat. If something needed doing, it was Miranda who did it. Miranda who chiselled, and painted, and decorated. With an uncanny knack of knowing how to, she could fix taps and light bulbs and plugs and suchlike with the ease of a Polish handyman.
“I guess I’m just a bit nervous about what’s going to happen in the future,” I sniffed, groping for a tissue with which to blow my nose.
“Let’s just concentrate on the present for now, shall we, Bay?”
I didn’t say anything. But I was pensive. Their first baby was expected within four months, and already the ever efficient and practical Miranda had found a potential buyer for their current one-bedroom but fairly large flat in Hadley Wood and seen a possible new home for their soon to be extended family. The intended new apartment was in St John’s Wood, a very exclusive and expensive part of the city, just a fashionable stone’s throw from Lord’s Cricket Ground.
They obviously liked addresses with the word Wood in them.
For once I wished I’d been just a little more careful with my savings. Acted a little more responsibly, not relied on Freddie so much. I’d been frivolous and extravagant all my life. A difficult habit to break without help.
“If you’re sure I won’t be in the way,” I said rather formally.
“Of course you won’t be in the way. You’re my sister.”
“It would just be for tonight, a couple of nights, maybe. A week or two at the very most. Until I can sort myself out.”
“No problem.”
I held out my arms. “Thank you. I mean that. And now can I have a hug, please?”
He obliged, and we sat there for a quiet moment before I spoke again, my voice somewhat muffled against his chest.
“I’m starving,” I said. “I’ve not eaten since lunch.”
“Well, the chilli con carne’s completely ruined, along with the saucepan, and it was a wedding present from her favourite cousin. The pan, that is, not the chilli con carne.”
“Tell her I’ll replace it. Tell her I’ll buy her two new saucepans to replace it.” I bit my lip, feeling guilty. I’d been there less than an hour and already I
had caused chaos in her pretty kitchen. Not that she’d say anything to my face. Bluntness wasn’t her way.
Jonti said, “I could rustle up an omelette.”
I considered it for a moment. “Or we could get a takeaway,” I suggested. I grinned. “Miranda needn’t know. We could eat in here with trays on our laps, like we used to at home when we were kids and mum was out.” I glanced at the screen on the wall. “We could watch a movie, maybe. My treat,” I added, beginning to slather away at the vision of melted cheese over a crusty base and loads of toppings. Nothing like getting dumped by your ex to improve your appetite.
“I don’t know. I could make some wholemeal spaghetti and a tomato and mushroom sauce to go with it if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Why trouble yourself, when all you need do is make a quick phone call?”
Jonti, however, remained dubious. He knew as well as I did that Miranda didn’t really approve of take-away meals. She was all for good, nourishing home cooking.
“Pizza Americana, with all the trimmings,” I went on rashly, knowing how tempted he would be and feeling the urge to just very slightly prick the beginnings of a pompous side I occasionally saw to my little brother. “Or we could order Chinese if you prefer. You used to love sushi and sweet and sour. Your choice, of course. I’ll order it. Only…” and here I paused, and I could feel my cheeks burning. “…Only you’ll have to lend me the money, I’m afraid. I’ll pay you back of course, darling, every penny…”
“…Bailey,” my brother interrupted, on a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t have to keep on saying you’ll pay me back for every little thing. It’s not important, a few quid here and there. I can afford a take away, and I know you’re rubbish with money, you always have been.”
Deception Page 2