Chapter 47
Lucy
When everyone is gone; when my beautiful apartment is empty and quiet, I grab my apartment key with its jaunty diamante heart on a chain. It should be a broken heart, cut into zigzags.
I drift down my hallway and out into the stairwell.
I am empty, barely breathing. Spent. I failed. I lost. Again.
I descend the stairs, down and down and down, and lean on the door which leads to the garden. I push it open and sleepwalk out, out into the quiet chaos, cold sky above me and jagged branches all around.
I cry out once. Great snivelling sobs follow as I find my way to the old stone bench and table and bury my face in my arms.
So much for offering Phoebe her own room “at my place.” By the time her internship rolls around, who knows where I’ll be. Somewhere else too temporary.
My paltry efforts in this garden are pathetic.
What a waste of time. And I can’t even begin to think about Dirk, about my stupid hopes I could throw a ball with his grandchildren here as I cleared out more undergrowth.
I liked Theo and Lexie. They were growing to trust me. Guess I’ll just disappear on them.
When I raise my head there are panda eyes on my forearms. Mascara. I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. Now I can be a raccoon. I frown and laugh at myself.
I’m just fumbling in my handbag for a tissue when a window opens, high above me. It’s Amaryllis.
“Tea?”
She’s a lifeline. Tea. I need herbal tea. I’d forgotten my Celtic neighbor Amaryllis asked me to drop in after the latest open house. Amaryllis always lowers my blood pressure, in a good way. She’s from another world and that’s exactly where I need to escape.
She opens her door wider and ushers me in as subtle incense wafts – lavender and ginger. There’s soft music playing, something medieval, choral, deeply peaceful. Her green glass beaded curtain tinkles and clicks as she pushes it aside.
In the corner, her large tabby cat on a big pink velvet cushion nestles between high towers of books. He lifts his large head to size me up with green eyes, then yawns – his pink mouth wide behind sharp teeth. He rests its head back on the cushion and resettles himself with a flick of his tail.
“Thank you,” I say.
Amaryllis shrugs and smiles.
“Tea?”
“I’d love some. Thank you.”
“Peppermint? Dandelion? Liquorice?”
“You choose, Amaryllis. Something calming, please. Very, very calming or I will explode.”
She opens a cupboard and rustles around. The teacup she gives me is pink and ornate and delicate, with a gold rim, something from the 1940s. Steam rises as she makes the tea.
We sit either side of her round table, her simple bentwood chair slightly rocky.
“My grandmother’s,” she says. “I’ve kept most of her things.”
“I adore shabby chic, as you know,” I say, then wonder if I’d offended her. “Not that your place is at all shabby.”
She waves a hand and smiles at me, resting both hands around her mug.
“How are you?”
“Oh.” I consider pretending. “Devastated. The place is sold. My offers weren’t high enough. The agent just announced it’s off the market, so at least I won’t have to endure any more open houses.”
“Forgive me, but why should the sale make any difference to you, Lucy?”
“I just wanted to settle somewhere. Settle here actually. Right here, at Brighton Court. I love it here.”
She nods and blows across the top of her tea.
“So who bought the place?”
“No idea. Does it matter?”
She shrugs. Behind her thick glasses, her eyes are deep blue pools.
Steam rises from my cup in a great, fragrant cloud as she tops up my tea.
I really don’t want to lose this friend.
Who knows where I’ll be living in a few weeks.
Panic grips me and I close my eyes, let tears seep out.
When I’ve dabbed at them with a tissue and blown my nose, I notice her 1930s light fitting on three chains.
The cat yawns and stretches in a great furry arch and jumps down and twists himself around the legs of the table and chairs, and then Amaryllis’s ankles and then my own.
I reach down and pat the soft fur between his ears and he lifts his chin and lets me scratch beneath it.
The purrs are solid rumbles. I’d forgotten the soothing presence of a cat.
If I’d been able to buy the apartment, I’d have invited Merlin to visit me up there, perhaps even found a rescue cat and invited it to move in with me.
Merlin looks up at me, then jumps up and sits on my lap. He stares at me until I stroke his ears and scratch him under the chin again. I’m rewarded with a louder purr.
“Style and sheer hard work are not enough, are they?” I say.
“For what?” Amaryllis says.
“For respect. For power. It’s always a losing battle. The person with the most money gets to buy the best property.”
“There’ll be somewhere for you, Lucy.”
“But I want to stay here.”
She nods.
“But make no mistake, Lucy, dear,” she says.
“You are anything but invisible, with or without the makeup and the fancy clothes. You are warm and generous and friendly and creative, and a wonderful addition to Brighton Court. You know I don’t gossip, but I will mention that Dr Dirk O’Connell barely smiled before you arrived.
” It’s the most I’ve ever heard her say.
Her words hang in the bright kitchen between us like a rainbow as Merlin purrs on my lap, eyes closed, claws gently kneading my leg.
I hate to disturb him, but will have to hand him over.
We’ve drunk all the tea, and there’s an open book on the settee and three books beside it on the coffee table.
I clearly disturbed Amaryllis’s reading.
I’ve imposed on her long enough, my quiet neighbor.
Behind the thick glasses, she shutters her great big eyes behind her lashes.
There’s no guile there. Amaryllis rarely talks, but when she does, it’s straight.
Maybe that’s what she means about my relationship with Dirk.
Maybe I try too hard. Maybe I scare people.
Is there such a thing as being too friendly; too carefully groomed?
I stand. Merlin is heavy in my arms, and floppy. I hand him over, thank Amaryllis and make a vow to visit her again in the future, wherever I might be living.
Back inside my perfect apartment, I know I should start packing.
I wander through it, pick up the glue gun and put it down again.
I just can’t do it like last time – pack all my bags in a rage and find shelter.
And, much as I love my best friend, I don’t want to go back to Donna’s, my tail between my legs.
It’s too much of an imposition. We’re grownups.
I’m past all that flat-sharing and couch surfing, surely.
Rebellion lodges in my throat – an unvoiced protest. It spreads like red-hot lava and occupies my whole body. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever – be one of those difficult tenants. Let the next landlord have to deal with it. Let him or her carry me out.
I’m just heading down the stairs and up to the estate agent to see what else they have for rent in this area, when I get a call from Donna.
“What did you say your neighbor’s name was; the hottie; the doc; the widower?” Donna says, voice low, her tone urgent.
“Dirk O’Connell. Why?”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Donna? What’s wrong? What is this?”
“I hate to break it to you, girlfriend, but you’re gonna find out sooner or later.”
“Find out what? Spill, Donna.”
“The other buyer, with the winning offer.”
“Okay, tell me. Just tell me, will you?”
“I asked my contacts through the relocation head office.”
“And.”
“Last name’s O’Connell.”
It knocks the wind out of me.
“Dirk wouldn’t do that to me. Would he? He couldn’t. Could he?” I remember our last conversation, his quiet fury that I’d been in his apartment without him.
“You tell me. What do I know about guys, Lucy? I’m just sharing the facts here. Unless he actually bought it for you, maybe? To surprise you?”
“No. He’d break my heart. Right down the middle.
Bang in two. We spoke about that; how I want to be responsible for my own future – for my own security.
Even if he had the means. If I let a man buy me something like that, I’ll only worry I’ll lose it again if our relationship fails.
If Bart taught me anything, he taught me that my house was never actually my own.
It was always half his. My place in the sun was only ever as good as our marriage. I never want to risk that again.”
And then I see him out the window in the stairwell – Dirk, sauntering down the street towards Brighton Court, the red car bright as ever, parked further up the street. Despite the fact he’s been avoiding me, from the deepest doldrums, my traitorous heart lifts at the sight of him.
Did he really buy my apartment from under me? How dare he! Talk about a betrayal of trust. If I were a dragon, I’d breathe fire and roar.