by Lucy Dillon
‘Gethin?’ she started to call, but then thought, No, don’t interrupt his phone call.
Where would the first-aid box be in the kitchen? Alice began to open some cupboards at random. Under the sink?
It was stuffed with many, many cleaning products but no handy box of plasters.
She sucked her finger and opened drawers with her other hand. Cutlery . . . utensils . . . tea towels. No sign of anything in the cupboard by the fridge, just the usual Tupperwares with lids belonging to other boxes.
The precious seconds of numbness before the sting were ebbing away, and the iron taste of blood on her tongue reminded her unpleasantly of the hospital. Next cupboard: shoe-cleaning kit, suede protector, dusters.
Why would you make the first-aid kit so hard to find? There was only one cupboard left, above the extractor fan. Alice grabbed a chair and reached up to open it. The door was sticky and she had to yank to get it to move.
Inside were three metal dog bowls, a lead, two red Kongs, a squeaky pheasant, a blue harness.
Alice froze. Dog stuff? Did they have a dog?
She reached up and pulled out the harness. There was a brass tag on the ring: no dog’s name, but hers was there, with her mobile number and a different address, 143a King’s Avenue.
Alice gripped the webbing and, just as the pendant had brought back a memory in her heart as she held it, suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that she did have a dog. She had a small white fox terrier, with a pirate patch of black over one eye and long, straight legs, like an Enid Blyton dog. She was Fido’s owner.
‘Fido,’ she said aloud, and it came out half as a sob. ‘Fido.’
Something flashed in the back of her head, and memories shot across her consciousness almost too quickly to register: the concrete run in the North London rescue centre, and the skinny terrier sitting up and begging by the wire grille, pathetically running through all the tricks she knew for every passing visitor – and the unexpected thunderbolt of love that had hit them both at the same time.
Early-morning walks before work, throwing a red ball into the mist rising off the park.
Gladys, the retired nurse in the garden flat below hers, welcoming a wagging Fido inside as Alice headed off to the Tube station for the day.
But mainly her heart filled up with Fido, and her black button eyes, and the white tail that never stopped wagging, and the look of intense devotion she bestowed constantly on Alice, and the feeling of completeness Alice felt in return, not alone anymore, but anchored in the big city by her little dog.
But where was she? Why hadn’t Gethin even mentioned her? Alice felt a clawing dread that something bad had happened to Fido and stumbled as she got down from the chair, sending it crashing to the floor.
‘Gethin!’ she called. Her voice was shaking. ‘Gethin!’
‘What’s the matter?’ He came rushing in and saw the blood on her hand, dripping unnoticed onto the white work surface. ‘You’ve cut yourself! Quick, let me run it under the tap . . .’
‘No, this.’ Alice showed him the harness, the bowls. ‘Where’s Fido? Why didn’t you tell me I’d forgotten her?’
How could I have forgotten Fido? she thought, racked with guilt.
Gethin rubbed his face and looked heartbroken. ‘I didn’t want to tell you until you were feeling better.’
‘Tell me now. I need to know.’
‘She’s dead,’ he blurted out, and Alice felt her face go loose with shock.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sit down,’ he said, and guided her to the table.
Alice’s legs wobbled beneath her and he put his arms round her from behind, rocking her gently. She didn’t mind the contact now; she barely registered it. Something told her that this reaction was weirdly disproportionate – she hadn’t felt this stunned when presented with a man she couldn’t remember – but her brain couldn’t grip the thought. It slipped and slid away.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she said.
Gethin rested his cheek against her head. ‘You were walking Fido in the park here in Stratton and she was off the lead, having a run around.’
‘You were there?’
‘No, this is what you told me later. We think the ball must have bounced or something because she ran into the road, and, well, she went into a bus. It would have been very quick.’
Tears flooded into Alice’s eyes, blurring the mugs on the table. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Why didn’t I stop her?’
‘I don’t know, Bunny.’
‘But I always watched her. I threw the ball for her. I never let her out of my sight! Not in London!’
Gethin hugged her, gently, on account of her ribs. ‘Alice, this is why I didn’t tell you. What can you do now? I really hate having to tell you bad things as well as good things. It’s so hard. Maybe you were texting or on the phone to someone or something. You obviously had a lot on your mind at the time – if I’m being absolutely honest, I was worried about you. You hadn’t been yourself.’
Alice closed her eyes. Had she been on the phone . . . to Luke? When Fido got run over? Who had she been in those weeks? Could a crash have turned her into someone she didn’t even recognise now? The evidence was piling up in front of her and she didn’t want to see it.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gethin. ‘I’m really sorry.’ He reached over her shoulder and touched the brass circle on the harness that Alice was still clutching. ‘We were a little family.’
The word ‘family’ triggered something deep in Alice’s heart and she closed her eyes against another old pain: more memories floating up, old but feeling freshly minted. Barley. Barley the bow-legged Jack Russell who hitched lifts in her dad’s coat pocket.
‘We had a dog when I was growing up. Fido reminded me of her, of Barley. That was why I picked her: she reminded me of Barley . . .’ It was too much. Alice couldn’t fight back the tears, and when Gethin pulled her into his arms, she didn’t resist.
‘Don’t cry, Alice,’ he soothed. ‘I’m here now. I’m here. We’re still a family, you and me. You need to stay here, with me, tonight. I don’t think you should go back to the hotel.’ He pulled away so she could see his face. His doe eyes were fixed on hers. ‘Stay here, so we can have some proper time together.’
‘But Libby needs me . . .’
‘Libby doesn’t need you as much as we need to talk,’ he said, with a note in his voice Alice hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t up for discussion. She wasn’t sure how to react. He was holding her quite tightly.
‘I’m just thinking of you,’ Gethin went on impatiently. ‘You’ve got to put yourself first. Put us first. Don’t you want to get things back to normal? That’s not going to happen if you’re spending all your time with other people, is it? People who don’t even know you.’ He paused, and Alice felt relieved when his face softened. ‘I just want us to catch up on the sofa. Be together. I need that. I’ve missed you so much. You . . . and Fido.’
Fido. And Barley. Alice’s lip wobbled, and Gethin wrapped her up in his arms again. She buried her face in his shoulder and the sense of being completely on her own faded. Gethin knew her, and him knowing her meant the things she loved hadn’t completely gone. Backwards and forwards and sideways in her life.
True to her word, Gina emailed Libby a rundown of what she thought it would take to put the hotel back together. There was a lot to do, but Gina’s suggested timetable made it seem possible. And more importantly, after Lorcan had dropped in on his way to a job to explain each process in beginner’s terms, for the first time Libby could visualise how it would happen.
It felt even more important that she understood now, and that she knew down to the penny what it would cost. She didn’t want to feel this caught out, and vulnerable, ever again.
But even though the revised ideas were going to cost a fraction of Libby’s original budget, it was still money
she didn’t have. She sat at the desk in the office when Lorcan had gone and pressed her thumbs into her temples. Where on earth was she going to conjure it up from?
Normally she’d have turned straight to Jason, but now she couldn’t. He hadn’t phoned since the evening he’d walked out, three days ago. Libby hadn’t wanted to phone him: she knew she’d end up apologising, making it her fault, and it wasn’t. For once, she wanted him to take the blame for what he’d done. Meanwhile, the bills needed to be paid. She had to find the money. The simplicity of it was freeing, in a funny way – there literally was no alternative but to get on with things.
Libby made herself think logically. She couldn’t borrow against the mortgage; they wouldn’t get a loan. So what could she sell? She didn’t have an overflowing jewellery box to raid, but she could start with the diamonds Jason had bought her: too painful to look at now, let alone wear, and more about him proving himself at his mother’s favourite jeweller’s than because she wanted them.
Did that sum up their marriage? she wondered bleakly. All show, no substance? How could Jason have lost track of who she was to the point where he didn’t realise she’d rather have seen Marek’s invoice paid than a pair of earrings? Or had she become that person? She bit her lip. Maybe she had, without seeing it.
Libby picked up her pen. The earrings would be a start, but she needed far more than that. Which meant she was going to have to make a call she really didn’t want to make, but right now, pride wasn’t something she could afford.
She dialled her father’s number before she could start rehearsing the conversation in her head.
Colin Davies picked up on the fourth ring, the exact point at which she always got butterflies and wanted to hang up, but it was too late.
‘Hi, Dad. It’s Libby,’ she said, trying to sound light. ‘Is this a good time to talk?’
It was never a good time, but she always had to ask. If she didn’t, he’d remind her. The hoops she had to jump through with him increased year on year.
‘If you’re quick,’ he sighed, with audible relish. ‘I was just on my way out to the golf course.’
‘Good. I wanted to talk to you about the hotel,’ she began, but as usual, he talked straight over her.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, with an unpleasant chuckle in his voice. ‘You’ve blown through that loan I gave you and you’re back for more.’
Libby stared aghast at Gina’s notes. ‘Um . . .’
‘I knew it!’ He sounded delighted. ‘I said to Sophie, “I bet you ten pounds that money burns a hole in Libby’s pocket and she’ll be on the phone needing a top-up before the month’s out.” You really are your mother’s daughter, Libby. I can’t believe a woman can get to your age and be so clueless about budgeting. I’m surprised Jason hasn’t taken you in hand about it.’
‘Dad, that’s not fair. I—’
‘Why don’t I just speak to Jason? Or does he not know you’ve spent it? Maybe this time we ought to think about signing some sort of agreement, if I’m going to buy into this business. Which is effectively what I’m ending up doing, isn’t it?’
God, thought Libby. How does he do it? How does he still make me feel like a stupid teenager?
It’s because you let him, said the voice in her head. You let him dictate who you are.
In a flash of lucidity, Libby saw what a very, very bad idea it would be to borrow more money from her dad. Even after the last pound was repaid with interest, he’d still crow about it. It would fix her forever as The Daughter Who Needed Bailing Out. Always eighteen, always irresponsible. She might change; he wasn’t going to.
I’m not going to ask, she thought. It’s worth more to me not to tell him; I’ll find the money somewhere else. The snap decision sent a soaring, thrilling, panicky rush through her.
‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea,’ he mused. ‘Put Jason on and we can discuss this properly.’
‘I wasn’t phoning to ask for money,’ said Libby.
‘Oh?’ Her father sounded almost disappointed.
‘No, I was phoning to tell you how well things were going here. How good the hotel’s looking. But it doesn’t sound as if you want to hear anything positive, so I won’t waste your time.’ Her mouth was dry. ‘I’ll give you a call when we reopen. Maybe we can do you a discount on a weekend room rate. Bye, Dad.’
She hung up while he was still spluttering with outrage, and sank her head into her hands. It was the right thing to do, but it left her with another hard phone call to make. Harder, actually. Libby still wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, but her options were limited.
There are no easy ways to ask for money, she reminded herself, as she dialled the next number. That’s today’s lesson.
The phone rang on the other end and then a familiar voice said, ‘Hello, stranger! Where’ve you been?’ Erin’s voice was warm and Libby felt a gulp of guilt that she’d put off calling until she needed a favour. Some friend she was. ‘I was starting to think I said something wrong,’ Erin went on, in a more serious tone. ‘Did I? It’s just that no one’s heard from you, and we’re all a bit . . . What did we do?’
‘Sorry, it’s just been mad here,’ Libby started automatically. Then she stopped. ‘No, actually, it’s been . . . Erin, listen, I don’t know a better way to put this, so I’m going to jump right in: I need a favour. A really big one.’
Should she tell her about Jason leaving first? Libby wasn’t sure she could bear the pity. At least if she framed it as a business thing Erin could still feel able to say no. Her face burned.
‘Ask away!’ Erin was obviously at a playground from the sound of the laughing and screaming in the background. ‘It’s Auntie Libby!’ she added, for the benefit of an unseen child. ‘Can you wave? Wave down the phone? Can you pretend you can see Tobias waving, please?’
Libby squeezed her eyes shut. Tobias was a sweetie. She’d loved being Auntie Libby to Erin’s Beans.
‘Erin, I need to borrow some money,’ she said. ‘Just for a few months.’
‘Oh, don’t tell me – is it the bank?’ said Erin. ‘Did I tell you how they moved Pete’s salary into the wrong account and didn’t tell us till we were thousands overdrawn?’ Libby could imagine the eye-roll. ‘They deny all knowledge, of course. What have they done to you?’
Libby hesitated for a second. Erin was offering her the perfect fig leaf to cover her embarrassment, but she couldn’t take it. She had to be honest. It was pretending to be something she wasn’t that had led her into this situation. Erin deserved the truth.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s . . . I need to borrow it to finish off some work here.’
‘Right.’ Erin sounded surprised. ‘How much are we talking about?’
Libby closed her eyes. This was going to make it real. ‘Ten thousand?’
There was a long pause at the other end.
‘OK,’ said Erin slowly. ‘It’s just that . . . Ten thousand pounds? It’s a lot of money, but it’s not a lot of money, if you get what I mean. I thought you had a massive budget – you sold your house, right?’
Libby stared at the office, its dignified cosiness slowly emerging from the clutter, and realised she could barely remember the details of the house on which she’d spent so much money. It had all been beige and smooth and chrome, not like this hotel, with its cosy corners, and window seats, and unexpected stained glass. Her London renovation had been about adding value to their already overpriced property; this was about bringing a haven back to life.
‘Libby? Are you all right, hon?’ The background noise had dropped to nothing; Erin had discreetly stepped away from the play area to stop the other mums listening in. It was a thoughtful thing to do, caring about what they might think of Libby, even now. ‘Is this really about the hotel?’
I have to tell Erin everything, Libby thought suddenly. She deserves to hear it all before I ask thi
s massive favour, even if it means she doesn’t think I’m worth the risk. To her surprise, as the idea passed through her mind, another weight lifted off her shoulders. Not having to pretend anymore. Just dealing with what was here, now, exactly as it was.
‘Jason’s walked out on me,’ she said. Small words for such a big pain. ‘Work’s stopped on the hotel and it’s a building site. And we don’t have any money because he’s been currency trading again. He’s lost everything. Again.’
‘What do you mean, again? Oh my God.’ Erin sounded stunned. ‘Are you all right? Tell me everything.’
Once Libby started, it tumbled out: Jason’s losses, his sacking, the real reason for their house sale, everything. It felt to Libby as if she were talking about someone else, in places. A workaholic bloke who never discussed his problems, a stay-at-home wife who thought handbags were a good substitute for conversation with her neighbours. A couple she could barely recognise as the Libby and Jason who’d fallen in love in loud London bars while the rain poured down outside.
When she’d finished, there was a long pause at Erin’s end, and Libby felt close to tears at the realisation of what had withered away, without her realising.
‘So, there we are,’ she finished lamely. ‘I guess there’s always the option of selling the hotel once it’s finished, which means I could return your investment fairly quickly. Before Christmas maybe. But I need to get it finished, however I can.’
‘Jeez, Libby.’ Erin sounded shocked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want people to know how badly we’d screwed up. It was just so . . . stupid. To have all that and throw it away.’
‘But you didn’t make that mistake! And it’s not like you’re boo-hooing in a corner; you’ve been working like a dog! Listen, for a start, forget worrying about the money. We’ll lend you it. No, don’t argue! I know Pete would say the same. I’ve got some savings – they’re just sitting in some account earning zero interest; I’d rather they were helping you. Is that all you need? You sure you don’t need more?’