CHAPTER NINE
When I arrived home and opened the front door, I heard the commotion and my heart sank.
I’d been planning to make a quick coffee and nip up to my room to discover the secrets of Leonard’s wooden box. But Mum and Blaize seemed to be having one of their shouting matches in the kitchen.
‘You wouldn’t think you were a highly intelligent law student with ambitions to be a solicitor,’ seethed Mum. ‘I honestly pity your poor clients if you carry on with them like this – being so bloody self-absorbed and convinced you’re always in the right.’
‘Well, at least I dress appropriately for my age, instead of pretending to be thirty years younger than I actually am!’
I paused outside the kitchen door, plastering on a smile and taking a bolstering breath before I walked in.
‘What’s going on?’ I enquired calmly, glancing from Mum to Blaize and back again. They were standing on opposite sides of the table, glaring at one another, Blaize with her arms folded and Mum tapping her expensively-manicured nails on the tabletop.
‘Oh, well, you’re never going to believe what she’s done now,’ exploded Blaize, turning towards me. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny.
‘What’s happened?’ I glanced questioningly at Mum, but she dropped her gaze to the floor.
She was all made-up for one of her photo shoots.
Cherry red lipstick, smoky eyes and highlighted blonde hair in a tucked-behind-the-ears style that suited her.
I actually thought she looked pretty good in her outfit of black PVC trousers, leopard print blouse and tan boots, with her pre-owned Gucci bag over her shoulder.
There was really no need for my sister to be so nasty.
‘She’s only gone and advertised Dad’s writing bureau for sale,’ blurted out Blaize.
‘Oh. Have you?’ Unsettled, I glanced at Mum. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that myself, to be honest.
Mum looked sulky. ‘Well, I was clearing out the study and I just thought some nice new modern furniture would look good in there.’
‘You mean from Ikea, I suppose,’ demanded my sister with a curl of her lip.
‘Well, maybe.’ Mum sounded on the defensive. ‘You know I’m fond of the minimalist style.’
‘And what about what we like?’
‘You don’t pay the bills or contribute to the household costs,’ shot back Mum. ‘It’s surely up to me how I decorate this house.’
‘Right.’ Blaize nodded, clearly furious. ‘So it matters not a jot to you that you put Dad’s precious writing desk up for sale without even telling us first?’
‘Well, I . . .’ Mum looked uncomfortable.
‘That desk is a precious memory. Don’t you understand? That’s all we have of Dad now. Memories,’ stormed Blaize. ‘But you obviously didn’t give us a second thought when you decided to hawk the thing on bloody eBay.’
I closed my eyes briefly, wishing Blaize would stop shouting.
Arguing like this would get them nowhere because they were both so obstinate and neither would dream of backing down. So the shouting would get louder and louder – each of them wanting the last word – until one of them stormed away upstairs in tears.
Ever since we lost Dad, relations between Mum and Blaize had been deteriorating steadily.
It was exhausting for everyone. And it was no surprise to me that Kitty, who hated conflict, had gone almost completely to ground over the past few months, spending most of her time at home in her bedroom.
Since New Year, she’d even taken to eating all her meals upstairs.
‘Why have you decided to sell it, Mum?’ I asked, slipping off my coat and dropping it on a chair and then crossing to the kettle. ‘If you want to freshen up the study – give it a new look – you could always put the bureau somewhere else?’
‘Yes, exactly.’ Blaize nodded. ‘It could go on the upstairs landing underneath the window.’
‘But the blanket box with the bedding is there,’ protested Mum.
‘So get rid of that! Just don’t get rid of Dad’s desk, okay?’
‘But where would we store all the bed linen?’ shot back Mum. ‘If you’re going to criticise the things I do, you at least need to come up with a solution.’
‘The solution would be for you to stop playing fast and loose with the contents of our family home,’ shouted Blaize.
The doorbell rang, followed swiftly by the rattling of the letterbox.
My heart sank. That was Wyatt’s signature arrival. It had been funny the first time, but quite honestly, I couldn’t handle it right now – not with Mum and Blaize at loggerheads.
As I hurried into the hallway, Wyatt was calling through the letterbox. ‘Anyone at home? Lizzie? I know you’re there. Your car’s in the driveway.’ He sounded cheery but irritated at the same time.
I couldn’t help feeling a little irritated myself.
I’d already explained to Wyatt that I needed an early night, so what was he doing here?
He probably thought he could change my mind about going out for dinner tonight – and normally, I might have allowed him to persuade me.
(With his boundless energy and his way with words, Wyatt could be very persuasive, which meant he was well used to getting his own way.)
But with Mum and Blaize at each other’s throats, I’d already had my own plans for the evening temporarily interrupted.
I could hear them in the kitchen, still taking verbal chunks out of one another, so I’d still need to try and calm the waters and make sure they weren’t going to kill each other.
And I was anxious to get to that wooden box.
I wanted to get it back to Leonard the following day . . .
I opened the door, bracing myself for the charm offensive I knew I’d be facing, but determined that this time, I was going to stand my ground.
Sure enough, the first thing he said was, ‘Only a woman without a heart could turn down dinner with the man of their dreams in favour of an early night.’ This, accompanied by an impression of a clown in tears.
As he pretended to rub his eyes, I couldn’t help smiling.
But I was still determined he wouldn’t get his own way this time.
Maybe I was distracted by the argument still going on in the kitchen. Or maybe I was still feeling peeved at having been second choice on the back of that horse! But I was suddenly clear-headed enough to know what I wanted. And what I wanted was not to go out for dinner with Wyatt that night!
I was perfectly nice, though, inviting him in for a quick coffee.
And actually, his arrival had a calming effect on the sparring partners in the kitchen, both of them breaking out smiles of welcome and pretending to like each other. They drifted away after a while, leaving me alone with Wyatt.
He smiled wolfishly and pulled me close. ‘Now, how about that dinner? I’m starving, aren’t you?’
‘Tempting.’ I smiled. ‘But I do really need a night to myself. Coffee first, though.’ I twisted away from him and made the drinks. And less than half an hour later, I was ushering a rather sulky Wyatt back out to his car.
‘Who’s the drinker?’ he murmured as he buttoned his coat at the door.
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I dropped something into your bin and it clanked, and when I looked inside, I could see it was full of bottles.’
I looked at him and laughed because I thought he was making it up.
‘I’m serious. I think they’re vodka bottles. Someone’s put a bag of rubbish on top of them. Have a look for yourself,’ he said. Then he kissed me swiftly on the cheek, dug his hands in his coat pockets and walked away to his car.
Once he’d gone, I looked inside the bin.
I could see a bottle with a flash of red on the label, and when I pulled out the bag of rubbish, I got the shock of my life.
There had to be at least ten empty vodka bottles lying at the bottom of that bin, enough for a New Year’s Eve party, except that no such party had taken place!
I swallowed uneasily. Mum only drank wine and Blaize was out at uni all day, at least during the week. She left the house early and didn’t get back till after seven most evenings.
So was Kitty the secret drinker?
Surely not.
But someone had to have been working their way through all that vodka. Was that why Kitty was spending so much time in her room? These days, she came out only to collect her food on a tray from the kitchen and then disappear upstairs again.
I dropped the lid of the bin.
Blaize pushed past me in the hall, on her way to the stairs. ‘I mean it, Mum,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll never speak to you again if you sell that bureau.’
‘Is that a promise?’ yelled Mum from the kitchen.
I blew out a weary breath. So the truce hadn’t lasted long.
Mum burst from the kitchen looking upset. She didn’t see me as she marched into the living room and shut the door with some force.
Next second, Blaize almost slammed her bedroom door off its hinges.
I stood there in the sudden silence, still hearing echoes of their angry words in my aching head.
What was happening to us?
Sitting down on the stairs, I sank my head into my hands. It was hard to believe that once upon a time we’d all lived together in relative harmony.
We should be pulling together and supporting one another, now that Dad was gone.
But instead, we seemed to be drifting further and further apart . . .