‘Maybe you’ll come by for dinner some evening. I do an amazing Mexican night. It would be lovely to get to know each other better.’
‘Yeah. Definitely. That would be great,’ I lie, knowing that will absolutely never happen. ‘Anyway, best get off. Bye.’
‘Bye.’ Kimberly waves.
I begin walking faster than is comfortable, or my level of fitness allows, and coffee attempts to slosh out of the side of my cup as the slightly warped lid struggles to hold it back. I slow when Kimberly jogs past, waving at me. And I wait until she turns the corner at the end of the road before I switch direction and finally walk towards Darcy’s house.
I slow my pace as I walk past lush green-leaved trees and count the colourful front doors of all the red-brick houses between Darcy’s and mine.
‘Thirteen blue . . . fifteen red . . . seventeen purple,’ I say aloud as I sip a mouthful of coffee that is too hot and burns my lips.
Darcy opens her door before I even ring the bell. She’s still in her pyjamas and her hair is piled high on her head in a messy bun. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her look less than perfect.
‘Jinx? Here boy. Here, Jinx. Where are you?’ she says, clicking her fingers as she stands at the top of the steps.
She stops when she notices me and stands a little straighter and I wonder if she knows she’s rubbing her back.
‘Gillian,’ she says, surprised.
I want to say something but words won’t come.
Darcy is staring at me with huge, round sympathetic eyes. ‘I’ve just heard the news. I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry about your father.’
I nod. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes. Of course. Absolutely.’ Darcy pulls the bobbin out of her hair and her long, blonde curls flop around her shoulders, instantly reviving her appearance. ‘Come on in. Please.’
Darcy steps aside and makes room for me to pass by when I reach the top step. She cranes her neck and looks around her garden one last time, shaking her head.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask, knowing she can’t find her puppy.
‘No. Nothing,’ she lies, closing the door behind us. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.’
Darcy’s idea of mess is hilarious. Her huge, airy hall is gleaming. Porcelain tiles sparkle. And a bouquet of bright blue-and-purple oriental lilies perches on top of the sideboard just inside the door.
‘They smell amazing,’ I say, tilting my head towards the flowers and taking a deep breath.
‘Thank you. They’re from Luke.’
I grin. ‘What a great husband you have.’
‘He brings something small home after work most days recently. I think he’s trying to take my mind off waiting for the baby to come.’
‘And does it work?’ I ask, following her as she leads the way into the kitchen.
She laughs and gestures towards the table and chairs, suggesting I have a seat. She waits until I’m sitting before she turns on the tap to fill the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea. Please,’ I say as I place my empty paper cup on the table. I turn the grubby side, stained with brownish-grey streaks of old coffee, away and glance around. But both the cup and I seem out of place in Darcy’s perfect home.
Admittedly, the kitchen is less pristine than the hall. It’s not messy by any stretch. Just lived in. There are some envelopes on the countertop near the toaster. White ones with small plastic windows. Bills. There are quite a lot of them and some look as if they’ve sat there for a while.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any biscuits,’ Darcy says, flicking on the kettle. ‘I’m waiting on a grocery delivery and I haven’t managed to even pop as far as the local shop the last few days because I’ve been ill.’
‘Oh,’ I say, sounding surprised.
She shakes her head and rubs her stomach and I don’t ask anything more. An awkward silence falls over us as Darcy pops a couple of teabags into cups and waits for the kettle to come to the boil.
‘How do you like your tea?’ she asks.
‘Strong and black. Like my heart,’ I joke.
Darcy swallows and I know I’ve shocked her.
‘Here, let me get rid of that for you,’ she says, reaching for the empty takeaway cup.
‘Thanks.’
Darcy is smiling but it doesn’t mask her wince of disgust as she tosses the cup into the nearby pedal bin and goes back to making tea. She fetches some sugar and milk and sets everything down at the table before she pulls out a chair and sits beside me.
‘We weren’t close, you know,’ I finally say. ‘I can’t even say I’m upset he’s gone.’
‘But he was your father,’ Darcy says, adding a large splash of milk into her cup.
I shake my head and point towards the milk. ‘I thought you didn’t use dairy?’
Darcy’s smile becomes more natural and she says, ‘It’s almond. See.’ She turns the milk around so the front label is facing me.
‘Oh.’
Darcy raises the cup to her lips and savours a mouthful of tea. ‘Your head must be spinning,’ she says. ‘Even if you weren’t close, it’s still a shock.’
I shake my head.
‘But the way he died,’ she says, her face growing paler as she thinks about it. ‘It’s just so . . .’ She inhales sharply as she trails off.
I don’t say anything but I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as Darcy watches me, waiting for a reaction. Maybe she’s expecting me to cry. Or have some sort of meltdown. And maybe I will. Maybe I will do both. But not right now.
I’m about to suggest we discuss Buckley & Co’s investment in Darcy’s Dishes and how the death of the CEO has complicated matters, but my phone begins ringing loudly and I’m furious that I forgot to turn the volume off.
Darcy stands up and says, ‘I’ll let you get that. I’ll just be in the garden, if you need me.’
I watch as she walks out of the kitchen before I answer, ‘Hello.’
‘Hello. It’s Lindsay. Lindsay St Claire.’
‘Hello,’ I repeat, standing so I can see Darcy through the kitchen window as she paces the garden.
‘Hello. Hello. Can you hear me?’ Lindsay raises her voice.
I watch Darcy. She’s pale and desperately thin, despite her large bump. She is clicking her fingers and her lips are moving. Although I can’t hear her through the glass, I know she’s calling her dog.
‘Hello,’ Lindsay says. ‘Hello. Are you there?’
‘I can hear you.’
Lindsay takes a deep breath and says, ‘Are you free to talk? I hope this isn’t a bad time.’
I’m startled by a sudden scream in the garden. I hurry outside with the phone frozen against my ear. Darcy is on her knees at the end of the lawn near some tall, leafy trees. I can see from here that she’s shaking.
‘Help! Please. Someone help!’ she shouts.
Lindsay’s startled voice whispers in my ear. ‘Is something wrong? I can hear screaming. Do you need help?’
I run towards Darcy, my work heels stabbing the grass, making it hard to pick up speed.
‘I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number,’ I say firmly, before I hang up.
Chapter Nineteen
DARCY
Saturday 29 June 2019
The waiting room in the veterinary practice is unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. An elderly woman sits with an overweight black cat across her knee, stroking him, and his sleepy purrs of satisfaction fill the air. There’s a man with a leather jacket and a baseball cap sitting close to the woman. He has a cage at his feet. I can’t see what animal is inside, but every now and then the cage rattles and he gives it a nudge with his foot and says, ‘Shh.’
And then there is Luke and me. I’m sitting like a statue, exhausted, and Luke is pacing, with his phone held to his ear. He’s been on the phone almost constantly since news about Andrew Buckley broke. Sometimes he’s trying to reach someone in Buckley & Co who can te
ll us something about the status of the investment. Other times he’s reaching out to other potential investors. There have been lots of promises of call backs and to look into it, but the silence is deafening and I’m struggling to keep it together. Most of the time he’s simply on the phone to Mildred, checking in on stuff at work. Although I secretly call her later for updates. I tell Mildred that Luke and I are so busy we haven’t had a chance to talk, but the truth is I’m so hurt that Luke lied to me. Why did he tell me Mildred was on the phone when she wasn’t? We have so much more important stuff going on right now that picking an argument over a stupid phone call seems petty, but I can’t seem to get it out of my goddamn mind.
Luke slides his phone into his pocket and flops into the seat next to me as he glances around the fancy waiting room. ‘We need this like a hole in the head,’ he says. ‘This place costs an arm and a leg. Remember how expensive the vaccinations were. I can only imagine what they’re going to try to squeeze out of us now.’
‘Shh,’ I say, as the man with the baseball cap glances at us. ‘We’ll figure this out. We’ll figure it all out.’ And I wish I felt remotely as confident as I sound.
Jinx was unconscious when I found him at the end of the garden. At first, I thought he was sleeping. He was lying on his side, panting. But when I touched him and he was cold and didn’t budge I knew something was wrong. I thought an animal might have attacked him. Another larger dog perhaps. But there wasn’t a mark on him. Suddenly he stopped panting and was very still. That’s when I screamed.
Thank God Gillian was there. She helped me carry Jinx into the house. She calmed me down and made more tea. She waited with me as long as she could but she left just before Luke came home. And there has been lots of waiting since. Waiting to see if Jinx would make it through the night. Waiting to find out what the blood tests show. Waiting to hear if we can fix this.
The veterinary nurse appears from behind a frosted door. She smiles and I know she recognises us. She’s seen Jinx a few times over the past few months. First for his vaccinations and more recently when he was neutered.
‘Mr and Mrs Hogan,’ she says, looking at me.
Luke is on his feet first and he helps me to stand. My back is aching from sitting in such a rigid chair for so long but I don’t complain.
‘Would you like to come through?’ she asks.
I nod and Luke and I follow her through the frosted door.
‘Is Jinx okay?’ I ask, as she guides us into an office-like room with a low coffee table and some colourful chairs.
‘He will be,’ she says.
‘What happened? Do you know what caused it yet?’ Luke says, and he sounds as anxious as I feel.
‘Rat poison most likely,’ she says.
My eyes widen. ‘What? A poison?’
‘Or industrial-strength weedkiller. It’s not unusual at this time of year. Have you had your garden sprayed recently?’ she says, stopping to turn and look at Luke as if somehow he might be green fingered and inadvertently responsible.
‘There’s nothing like that in our garden,’ I snap. ‘It’s safe for Jinx. Anyway, he’s a house dog. He’s not out much.’
She smiles. ‘And he eats well normally? You haven’t noticed a change in his appetite in recent days?’
‘He was fine right up until yesterday,’ I say. ‘We had breakfast together. He loves scraps.’
‘Hmm,’ she says, tilting her head to one side and making a face as if she’s disappointed. ‘Scraps aren’t ideal for a young dog’s tummy. It might be best to stick to his regular food. Especially now that he’s been so sick.’
My heart aches. Jinx loves climbing on to my lap for some treats from my plate.
‘Okay.’ She smiles, and I can tell she’s managing the conversation and doesn’t want to upset anyone or face any arguments. ‘We’ve pumped his stomach and he has been given a strong sedative. He’ll be very sleepy for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours but he is ready to go home.’
‘That’s great news,’ Luke says, subtly rubbing my back. ‘Thank you.’
The veterinary nurse nods and smiles again. ‘He’s had a very lucky escape, but he should be fine.’
I choke back tears. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
Within minutes Luke and I are back in reception. Luke settles the bill at the desk while I cradle Jinx in my arms. He’s wrapped in a chequered blanket and he’s heavy, and it’s uncomfortable to rest him on top of my bump. But I can feel the heat of his sleeping body radiating through my clothes, and I’m so relieved he’s okay. I try not to think about my indigestion or the monster bill going on our credit card that I have no idea if we can pay.
‘You’ll have your hands full soon, love,’ the old lady with the cat on her lap says. ‘A baby and a puppy. Your house will be busy.’
I smile, but I don’t say anything.
‘Would you mind turning the telly up, my ears aren’t as good as they used to be?’ she asks, pointing to the small, wall-mounted television behind me.
‘Sure,’ I say, trying to manage holding Jinx in one hand while I find the button on the television that I can barely reach to raise the volume.
‘That’s lovely. Thanks,’ she says, as sound fills the air.
I turn, about to walk towards Luke who looks as if he’s getting annoyed at the desk, but the old woman continues talking to me.
‘Have you seen this?’ she asks, pointing at the screen.
I turned around to see a photo of Andrew Buckley on the TV. He’s sitting on a boat, somewhere with blue-green waters, and although he’s smiling with a glass of champagne in his hand there’s an unmissable sadness in his eyes.
‘Poor man has no one. Not a sinner to claim his body,’ the woman says, stroking her cat. ‘His family should be ashamed of themselves so they should.’
I open my mouth to explain that not everything you see on television is true. I’ve learned that the hard way, recently. I don’t know Andrew Buckley, and I barely know his daughter. But somehow I feel compelled to defend her. To explain that not everything is always black and white and life is messy and complicated, and we should all have more respect than chatting about them in a vet’s waiting room. Andrew isn’t just some name on the news, or a body dumped in the mountains. He was a real person. A father, a friend, an employer . . . and an investor, and now he’s gone.
‘Wonder who he will leave all his money to?’ she says, standing up as someone comes through the frosted door asking for Mr Whiskers.
As I watch her walk away, I wonder too. What will happen to all of Andrew Buckley’s fortune? I assume Gillian will get it. She has been working with him, after all, and is the next of kin. At least he got to make peace with his daughter before the end. But who could have done such a thing? Such a horrible way to end up, left on a mountain somewhere.
I walk towards Luke, my back cracking audibly as I’m really starting to struggle with the weight of Jinx.
‘What do you mean that card has been declined?’ Luke is starting to shout, and the girl behind reception looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
She shrugs. ‘It just won’t go through. I had this problem before when I reached my limit.’
‘Try another card,’ I say gently, reaching Luke’s side.
The girl on reception smiles, and it’s all so awkward.
‘I’ve tried them all,’ Luke hisses.
‘We have a payment plan,’ the girl says. ‘I can set one up for you, if you like. You can spread the cost over twelve months.’
‘Yeah. Okay. Fine,’ Luke grunts. ‘But the problem is your stupid machine. The card is working just fine.’
‘A payment plan would be good. Thank you,’ I say, and the girl stands up to open the large filing cabinet behind her.
‘Sorry,’ she apologises as she roots around inside. ‘We still do things the dinosaur way here. I’ll have to get you to fill in a form and I’ll scan it and get your account up on the system later.’
‘That’s fine,’
I say, swaying. I’m light-headed and it’s suddenly very, very warm in here. I had been enjoying the heat of Jinx’s body, but now it’s burning into my chest like a hot coal.
The girl lifts out a piece of blue paper from the cabinet and closes the drawer with a bang. Something falls off the top and tumbles on to the floor.
‘Oh no, my lunch,’ she says, bending to retrieve it.
I watch as she picks up a familiar light-brown box with an ivory label. It’s Darcy’s Dishes chilli con carne. I can see my silly, grinning face on the label. I hope she won’t recognise me. But then she spins around with a toothy smile and a sparkle in her eyes and says, ‘Oh. My God. It’s you.’
I can’t take the heat any more and my eyes roll before everything is suddenly black and I pass out.
Chapter Twenty
TINA
Tuesday 8 September 1998
I’ve been at St Peter’s for four years. She has only been here four minutes and she’s already caught the eye of every boy in school. That’s impressive. Darcy Flynn with her long sandy-brown hair, straight white teeth and bright-blue eyes. She doesn’t even have a freckle out of place. Darcy turns heads. So, it’s no surprise that Luke Hogan’s head is practically spinning.
Luke is the most popular boy in the school. He and I are in the same English class. I sit at the front. He sits at the back. I’ve said hello to him every morning since day one, but I’m not sure he even hears me because he’s never once said hello back. It’s not just Luke, of course, I’m invisible to most of the other kids here and I’m not sure why. At least the teachers see me. I can always be relied on to offer an intelligent answer to their questions, or engage in a healthy debate. Usually while the rest of the class chat among themselves. And as much as I enjoy the interactions with my teachers, I do get lonely.
When Mr McEvoy said a new girl was joining our class and he asked me to show her around, I was more than happy to oblige. He said Darcy liked to cook, just like me, and I hoped, finally, I would have a best friend. I think Mr McEvoy hoped so too. I see the way he looks at me, his eyes full of sympathy – I hate it. Darcy only arrived yesterday, and, as per usual, I’m alone again already. Luke said he’d cover for me if I wanted to go to the hall for the chess team sign-ups, but I should have known he was just looking for an excuse to get out of class. He ended up showing Darcy around and already they are practically inseparable. They should be my best friend and my boyfriend. Not each other’s. And I don’t even like chess!
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