by Rosie Blake
Grandad looked up. ‘Sorry, sorry, although Howard started it.’
‘I just wanted to know the score, should have known he wouldn’t know. What is the point of having the Sky package if you don’t watch it?’
‘I do watch it.’
‘Pah.’
Geoffrey refused to be drawn into the row, asking everyone to hold up the glass that corresponded to the first number on their sheet. ‘Then dip your finger into the water and run your finger round the rim until you need to change glass with another number.’
Dipping my finger into the glass I left it poised over the rim, staring at Geoffrey and awaiting my cue, not convinced anything would really happen. For a strange moment I imagined this was how a cult started. Would it be the Emperor’s New Clothes and we would all have to pretend we had heard the music? Geoffrey didn’t seem the usual cult leader type but you never knew what lurked beneath that quiet surface. The whole semi-circle seemed to be holding their breath now, even Howard had fallen completely silent and was ready for the next instruction.
Then we began, with a sound that built like a chorus of pan pipes in the small living room. It surprised me, my mouth turning up as I realised we were all making music together. Geoffrey was nodding, pointing at me now so that I bent to pick up the next glass before starting again. The tune changed as Geoffrey directed people to start their new note. There were a few huffs, Howard panicking over whether to come in or not, but you could hear the tune underneath, building if enough of us joined in at the same time.
Then halfway through the song Geoffrey was shaking his head at me as the wrong note emerged – I had picked up the wrong glass. Then another note jarred and I looked towards Howard, who was wiping his mouth.
‘I thought it was my wine.’
Arjun had put his own glass down and had picked up another one. ‘I liked the taste.’
Grandad was searching his table. ‘I put one of the glasses down somewhere. I can’t find Number 3.’
I felt a giggle build in my throat. Geoffrey was looking a little boot-faced as he called us to a halt.
‘Is it with yours, Arjun?’ Grandad asked, still searching.
‘Not sure.’
‘Tidy up your tables,’ Geoffrey said, his voice rising. ‘Stop drinking from the glasses, Howard, and we will begin again in sixty seconds.’
We started the piece again but this time it was all going horribly wrong, the notes flat: clashing hideously so that Geoffrey shut his eyes, his conductor hands falling to his side.
‘This wasn’t Glass Two, I think it was Five.’
‘Did you take my glass?’
‘I haven’t touched your table.’
‘Well, one of them has gone.’
‘Oh my God, will you stop drinking from them! You are ruining the sound,’ Geoffrey burst out in a most out-of-character display of emotion.
Howard paused, glass to his lips. ‘I forgot where I put my drink,’ he said.
‘It does look very like his wine,’ Grandad said. ‘Maybe you should have coloured them with dye?’
‘I didn’t think I would need to,’ Geoffrey blasted. ‘I didn’t think I would be surrounded by so much idiocy.’
Grandad started stuttering, ‘Well, this is my first time and there is a lot going on: paper, glasses, Arjun poking me in the ribs every two seconds—’
‘I haven’t poked you in the ribs.’
‘You made me spill Glass Four!’
‘Be quiet, both of you,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Only Luke and Lottie are behaving.’ Luke looked a little happier at these words, mouth twitching, shaking his head slowly at the older men.
‘I saw him nearly drink one,’ Howard said disloyally.
Luke leaned over to pat Howard’s knee. ‘Nearly. But remember only Lottie and I are behaving.’
I felt a surge of camaraderie: had I been forgiven? I looked up at Luke, who didn’t return my gaze, and felt my shoulders droop again.
The others continued to bicker over water levels, food dye and whether Geoffrey had made the letters on the sheet clear enough, as Luke sidled over to me. I licked my lips, trying to act nonchalantly as he stood in front of me.
‘We probably need to talk at some point,’ Luke said, a serious tone to his voice, one I wasn’t used to hearing. It was the same tone he used when he had first discussed the new recycling system for our block of flats, the same tone he had used when telling me about mortgage rates.
‘Yes.’
He sipped his drink and looked at me carefully. ‘Things haven’t been great—’
‘We probably shouldn’t talk right now,’ I said, cutting him off, trying to keep my voice down so that no one could overhear what we were saying. I couldn’t bear to have a public showdown.
Luke’s eyes flashed as he opened and shut his mouth. I rarely saw him anything other than cheery and relaxed. Now he was clutching his drink, a muscle going in his cheek.
‘We can’t keep on like this, with you snapping at me every time you want to lash out at something.’
That stung. I gritted my teeth, still trying to talk out of the side of my mouth. I could see Arjun and Grandad glance up at us, sticking a smile on my face in response.
‘I don’t lash— look . . . let’s not do this now. We can talk later.’ I could feel the room shift as the others had perhaps cottoned on to the fact Luke and I weren’t in deep discussion about Glass Four in the second song.
‘I’m going to stay at Adam’s actually. He’s got a spare room. I thought it might give us a bit of time and space.’
My hand froze over my glass, the fixed smile slipping from my face. ‘Right.’
Luke turned to me, eyes serious. ‘Not for ever, just, well . . . it’s a chance for us to think.’
‘Is this about Storm?’ I blurted.
‘What? No.’ Luke swiped a hand through his hair.
‘I saw you two looking pretty close,’ I hissed.
Luke looked at me. ‘There is nothing going on there, and you can talk, Adam said you were cosying up with some man near Oxford Street the other day.’
‘That was work.’
Howard was openly staring at us, a soap opera in the room with him. The others had all made various excuses to leave the room, asking Geoffrey in too-loud voices where the loo was, then whether they could see his basement. I didn’t even care, worried where this was heading. How could Luke possibly doubt my loyalty to him?
Luke sighed, turning to face me. ‘Look, maybe a bit of time apart will give us a break. You need to work out what you want, Lottie. I want you, but this distracted, stressed version of yourself . . . ’
Even Howard had left the room now. We were alone.
‘Fine. Run away,’ I said, waving a hand at him. ‘You might as well go now.’
‘I . . . Fine.’ He threw up his hands.
And then, just like that, he headed to the door. I heard him making his excuses to Geoffrey and the front door opened and closed. He had left. I slumped in my chair.
There was a pause and then urgent whispering in the corridor. I could feel the shame steal over me, imagining the four old men discussing what to do. Finally Grandad appeared in the doorway, glancing back as if reluctant to enter.
‘All OK, Lottie?’
He edged into the room and sat on one end of the sofa, clasping his hands together in his lap.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, undermining the words by hiccoughing a small cry.
There was a silence that stretched on and I was about to make my excuses and leave.
‘Do you know why I was so keen to get you and Luke to do all this?’ Grandad swept a hand around the room, abandoned wine glasses littered on every surface.
I sat on the other end of the sofa. ‘You were missing Grandma,’ I said, my voice wobbling.
He shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t that. It was a way to make you happy.’
‘Me?’ Frowning, I looked at him in surprise.
He shrugged. ‘I knew why I was sad, I’d lo
st her, but I had my friends, you, Luke, the knowledge that I had shared my life with the best person. I’ve come to know what’s important. You were unhappy, taking it out on people. Grandma and I had talked about it, we thought perhaps you’d lost your way—’
‘I haven’t los—’
‘—and you used to shrug off the stresses of your job, spend time doing things with people you liked. That seemed to have slowed down, almost stopped . . . ’
Perhaps it was hearing that Grandma had agreed with him, that they had discussed me like this, but for some reason the sadness at hearing it all morphed into anger. Everything these days seemed to be so near the surface. Clenching my hands I spoke through a tight jaw. ‘Well, I’m sorry I’ve become such a bitch. It’s only my job, after all,’ I scoffed, slightly proving his point.
Grandad flinched at the words. ‘Look, Lottie, we understand, we do, but for a while there you have to admit things were better. You were happier when you spent more time enjoying things other than work, having some fun again.’
Looking down I blinked the hot tears away. I didn’t want to admit that he might be right. I was fed up with always feeling like the person in the wrong. Wasn’t I allowed to be stressed? Feel some pressure? ‘Well, thanks for letting me know. I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment.’
‘Lottie’ – Grandad appealed to me, palms out – ‘you’re not a disappointment. It’s just no one wants to see you like this.’
I didn’t want to hear any of this. Defensiveness made me spit out the next sentence. ‘I thought you might have a bit of sympathy, being that my oh-so-put-upon-boyfriend is cheating on me.’
‘He’s not cheating on you, Lottie. He’s with her bec—’ Grandad’s lips pursed tightly.
Stung, I twisted my whole body towards him. ‘What?’
Grandad’s eyes widened.
‘Oh my God,’ I whispered. ‘What do you know?’
His face drained of colour, his eyes slithered away. I knew guilt when I saw it. I had come across enough of it in court.
‘I don’t’ – both palms up in an appeal – ‘I . . . ’
‘Oh my God, you know what Luke has been doing!’ I couldn’t believe it. I felt my stomach sink. Was Grandad really holding something back from me? Was he choosing to be loyal to Luke over me?
‘He brought her over because, well, I can’t say, but it really isn’t what you thin—’
‘You’ve met her?’ I felt nausea rise inside me. Luke had introduced her! This was all becoming too real. I had suspected something was going on but this was so much worse than I’d imagined.
‘No, well, it’s just, it’s not what it . . . Arjun could . . . ’ Grandad was scraping his hands through his hair.
Did they all know? I felt everything swim inside my head. I was utterly alone. I stood up abruptly. ‘Tell Geoffrey I’ve got a headache.’
‘Lottie, wait.’
‘I have to go.’
‘Lottie.’
‘No,’ I said, voice wobbling as I looked down at his ashen face. ‘I can’t even . . . I can’t believe you . . . ’ Knowing I was about to start crying I didn’t carry on. Snatching my bag up, I swept out of the living room to the front door, aware Howard, Arjun and Geoffrey were all crowded into the kitchen trying to avoid listening to the exchange. Humiliation made me angrier and I slammed the door behind me.
Moving down the street I ignored another call from the house. Arjun had tried to follow me but I was walking too quickly. Grandad’s guilty face, the knowledge that something was going on with Luke. The lies. The betrayal. Whatever Arjun wanted to say couldn’t help me.
When I’d got some distance I removed my mobile, wanting a cab, a quick way to get back home. A name appeared on the screen and with a small swell of relief I realised the message was from Mum. That was what I needed. I wanted someone who loved me to tell me it was going to be OK. My parents’ next visit was in a few weeks’ time. I wished she was here right now. I clicked on the message. Had to cancel flights. Your father got given tickets to the test match in India. We’ll rearrange soon! Hope all well! Love to Luke!
Standing stock still I read the message over and over, feeling everything crash around me again. I was returning to an empty flat, my boyfriend was probably cheating on me, my best friend wasn’t speaking to me, my grieving grandad thought I was a cow and was keeping secrets from me, and now my parents had chosen to go on an international cricket tour rather than spend time with me.
I had never felt so alone.
Chapter 24
Love is like a good mystery book: you never know what’s coming next but you know you must keep turning the page
AGNES, 88
The week passed in a fog of misery: barely present in court, dazed with clients as I tried to make sense of everything. What was Luke keeping from me? What did Grandad know?
The work wasn’t acting as a distraction. What did I really love about the job? I’d always wanted to study law, enjoyed representing people, trying to help them articulate what they wanted to say in court. I knew I had lost sight of my original love of the law: a new case, a grateful client, the research involved. Instead I’d become caught up in the idea that I needed to work on anything that might advance my career and to hell with the consequences. I hadn’t even thought about applying for silk and then suddenly I’d decided to be in a great rush to get there. Yet I didn’t really know why I was doing it. I had seen the way my father had given so much up in his quest to get to the top of his industry and it made him happy. But did it make me happy?
My phone remained silent. Amy, Grandad, Luke – all absent. It only highlighted how messed up things were and a terrified ache in my stomach told me I might never get these things back. The anger was fading and the doubts were creeping in: would the two people who loved me most really be lying to me?
Saturday dawned and the buzzer to the flat went, hope lighting in me at the thought that Luke might be here.
‘This is your fault,’ Howard announced down the intercom. ‘It’s us, we need to come in,’ he said.
Frowning, I pressed the button on the intercom, opening the flat door to see Howard halfway up the stairs already.
Grandad was a little slower, calling out behind him, ‘You can’t blame Lottie for this.’
I felt weary as I heard his words. What had I done now? Could I do anything right? And shouldn’t I be angry with him? He was keeping something from me: I was sure.
I stepped aside as Howard and Grandad came into the flat, Grandad unable to disguise the surprise on his face at the state of the place. The curtains were half closed but even the semi-darkness couldn’t hide the dirty plates, bowls and cups, the scattered papers, the flowers long dead in their vase and the crumpled duvet on the sofa. The air was stale and I fitted in perfectly: my hair tied back into a greasy ponytail, hands spattered with biro ink, wearing an old T-shirt of Luke’s still streaked with mud stains from Glastonbury a couple of years ago.
Howard was talking to himself. I could feel my face pulled into a frown wondering just what it was that had got him so excited. He was pacing the rug in the living room. ‘Figured you might be able to talk them down. They’ll listen to you. They certainly aren’t listening to us.’
Grandad had surreptitiously started to remove crockery to the kitchen. Unable to catch his eye, I felt my heart sink seeing the man I loved having to tend to me when after Grandma died that was what I vowed to do for him. Would he really be choosing to hurt me? Surely I needed to trust him?
‘It’s preposterous,’ Howard continued. ‘No respect for history, tradition . . . ’
‘What’s going on? How can I help?’ The focus gave me a much-needed shot of energy, something I simply hadn’t been able to muster in the last few days. I wondered why Grandad wasn’t asking where Luke was and then realised that he probably already knew.
‘As if you don’t know,’ Howard huffed, his lower lip jutting in a pout.
‘I honestly don’t.’
‘You’ll have to see for yourself,’ Howard said.
‘Come on, Lottie, let’s go,’ Grandad said. Was he avoiding looking me in the eye? I felt confused, thoughts whirring. I didn’t want to ask more in front of Howard but not knowing was torture.
Howard wouldn’t let me change. ‘No time, no time, it could all be much, much worse by now,’ he was saying as I fumbled to put on my trainers.
He escorted me out and down into the street, straight into his car. I barely fit into the bucket seat in the back. Grandad got into the front passenger seat.
I tried to make light of it. ‘Shouldn’t you cuff me?’ I said, but Howard just stared at me wordlessly in the driving mirror.
Briefly I pictured the last time I’d sat in that car, the roof rolled down: that slow magical weekend Luke had arranged.
I didn’t dare make conversation, the car journey an excruciatingly silent affair interrupted only by Howard making the odd disgruntled snort. I realised we were heading to the club and was running through various scenarios in my mind. I couldn’t remain quiet for any longer. ‘Is everything OK, Grandad. Are Geoffrey and Arjun all right?’
Howard cut off his reply. ‘They’re fine. Well, they’re probably not happy either because of this travesty, which I am sure is down to your influence.’
‘That was not what Margaret said,’ Grandad said gently.
Margaret? I frowned.
‘Pff.’ There followed a few more snorts and, as we turned into the familiar setting, I was relieved the journey was coming to an end.
There was no time to even whisper questions to Grandad, who I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to anyway, as Howard beckoned me out of the car.
We’d parked near the entrance to the golf club and I could hear a hubbub of noise somewhere ahead of me. ‘Is there an event on?’ I asked.
Howard scoffed. ‘You could say. Come on, young lady.’
Howard turned and marched towards the clubhouse, the sound of voices louder as we approached. Confused, I could make out lots of people lying down on the ground, lots of people with grey hair. Everywhere elderly women were sitting or lying down in front of the entrance to the clubhouse. There were placards, too, with slogans I couldn’t quite make out from this distance. Every now and again the voices would converge into some kind of chant and I would miss the words because Howard would start mumbling obscenities.