Chapter 18
Day Seven
Loreena pushes open the heavy wood-panelled doors of a lounge room and waves me inside with a smile. Here is still more evidence of this woman’s dual life. Rather than the tacky over the top furnishings one might expect from someone who appears in public in neon orange fur, the decor is subdued and tasteful. Neither fusty and old-fashioned or jarringly modern, it offers a warm welcome.
A fire crackles in the hearth, below a wide mantle lush with garlands of greenery. A log crackles, spitting out smoky bursts of tangy pine-sap.
There’s a Christmas tree in the corner, decked out in an elegant minimalist style. I step towards the regular pyramid-shaped tree, breathing in its sweet aroma, and confirm it is indeed a Fraser Fir. Not native to the UK, it’s the classic American Christmas tree, imported—and therefore expensive.
Delicate silver filigree baubles nestle amongst the foliage, light bouncing off others with tiny birds captured inside glass spheres. I smile at the irony of Loreena’s tastefully restrained Christmas decorating compared to my own exuberant style. Christian would probably suggest I take note. Although from his theatrical eye rolls as he stumbles across festive pieces in new spots, and the constant good-natured teasing, I suspect he doesn’t mind indulging me in my need to lavish Christmas cheer on every space in the house. He might be right on one count—perhaps the toilet cistern doesn’t really require decoration, but I’m not going to admit that to Mr Grinch.
I’d love to spend time admiring the tree more closely, but Loreena is settling herself into a wingback armchair. It’s modern and comfortable-looking but still completely at home in this room, with its traditional floral-printed wallpaper in soft tones of duck-egg blue. I sink into the deep-seated sofa opposite, rubbing my hand across the lush blue velvet, before arranging myself in a comfortable valley in the mountain of cushions.
Loreena sits, elbows on knees, her chin propped on clasped hands and gazes at me as if I’m some rare species of animal invading her lounge. Her eyes are wistful as she speaks.
“How is he? How’s he doing?” Her first thoughts are of Christian.
“As well as can be expected. He’s looking a lot better than when I found him on my doorstep last Saturday.”
“And after watching…Episode 5…and then last night?”
“Not so good. Upset. Angry. Pissed off. Frustrated.”
I see the glisten of emotion in the corner of her eye.
“I’m so glad he’s got you,” she says, her voice low. “If it wasn’t for Tommy, I’d have broken out of here and gone to their offices, and then…well, I did look up how long you get for murder.”
She shakes her head and lowers it into her hands, fingers covering her eyes, and a muffled sound, almost a sob, escapes. After a moment, she drags her hands down her face with a weary sigh and braves my gaze again.
“The crap those bastards implied…that maybe there was something going on between us, and that Christian roughed me up a bit—you have to know that is so far from the truth, right?”
I nod and swallow hard. There’s a ball of anger and sorrow swelling in my throat.
“I know.” I choke out the words.
“Tommy and I have been together a long time. We were so young. Two teenagers with nothing but each other and a determination to get something better for ourselves. And we have.”
There’s a small upturn in her mouth as she scans the room, a modest pride as she notes the material evidence of their success. There’s obviously a lot of money to be made in auto parts.
“And we’ve been happy, for the most part. But we couldn’t have kids. Tommy would have loved a son. A boy to take to the footy. For me, if we had—I’d have wanted him to be like Christian.”
“Tommy might not have got his football fan then,” I smile. Christian doesn’t neglect his body, and it certainly shows. He had a set of weights delivered on Tuesday. But while he might be dedicated to his own fitness, Christian doesn’t seem to nudge the TV onto sports channels or show any interest in that direction .
“He’d still have been satisfied, I think.” There’s a fond look in Loreena’s eyes, a motherly expression in the curve of her mouth, a softness in her voice.
Those people out there who think she and Christian are a thing, a juicy reverse age-gap hookup, him the prey for a conniving cougar, couldn’t have it more wrong. Christian’s protectiveness towards this woman, and hers for him, is more than an unlikely sudden friendship, but much deeper, each providing something the other lacks. He’s told me a bit about his father and brothers, but hardly a mention of his mother. I know why Loreena was drawn to Christian. I wonder why he might seek that type of bond with a virtual stranger? He’s shared so much with me, I suppose he’ll tell me if and when he’s ready.
It’s been a new experience, being Christian’s confidante, his safe place. Usually I’m the one being encouraged to unburden my problems to my protective friends. Now it seems Loreena is happy for me to be her confidante, too. It inspires a strange feeling; this incredibly strong woman looks to me for strength.
“Figured you might like a cuppa, luv.” The fluted silver tray, with a floral teapot and delicate bone china cups, looks bizarre in Tommy’s meaty hands. He’s got the build of a scrappy prizefighter; not someone you’d imagine as a footman waiting on ladies in the drawing room of a stately home.
Loreena surveys the plate of brownie so heavy with chocolate it’s almost black. “Tommy’s been baking. My favourite, but I’ll share.”
A throaty cackle spills from him, and the crinkles bracketing those brilliant blue eyes deepen in amusement.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Don’t need me sticking my beak in. ”
“Thanks, love.” Loreena places a gentle hand over his. The long scarlet-tipped nails are the only recognisable sign of TV Loreena. As Tommy leaves, closing the door with a definitive clunk, the real Loreena in front of me lifts the pot and pours tea as daintily as the countess who probably lived here before her. She offers me the cup, and a piece of the rich dark brownie on a fancy side plate. I clutch my grateful fingers around the warm rose-patterned china and wait.
“I can see why he’s smitten with you,” she twinkles at me.
Confusion whirls in my brain. And then the wisps of denial clear, like mist slipping away, chased off by the revealing light of the sun. I’ve tried to hide from it, but it’s pointless. The way he looks at me. Touches me. I know this to be true, and it brings a flutter of something strange yet magical deep inside me. A little feeling I haven’t felt for a long time.
“How do you...?” My words falter.
Her smile is conspiratorial, brimming with delight at the secret, and revealing the faintest hint of wrinkles around her big blue eyes. They’re more beautiful for it, more defined. She should let the Botox go.
“Darling, when you’re confined to a tiny tent in the long dark of a winter night in bloody Scotland, you’ve got a lot of time to talk.”
“He talked about me?”
“He did. A real heart to heart. He’s scared, though. Burned by what’s happened in the past.”
I nod, remembering what they did to him and Waverley, as if the world can’t bear the thought of Christian being happy, in love. Although he and Waverley weren’t in love—fond of each other, friends, but not love. What might they do therefore to someone he does love ?
Is he in love with me? That possibility scares me, too. After the disaster of Jack, my bruised heart realised he hadn’t loved me. It’s wary of that word.
“He’s worried what might happen if he lets it out. I’m so glad he at least found a way to tell you what he’s feeling. If that’s the one good thing to have come out of all this shitty stuff, then it was worth it. Love will find a way, as they say.”
Her mouth tips up in a smile, and she leans forward, squeezing my hand. I’m not going to let on that Christian hasn’t said a word. Although I think without words, he may have said a lot, except I wasn’t listening. A kaleidoscope of memories tumbles through my mind, tiny fragments of time we’ve spent together reflected in the new light of Loreena’s revelation. I turn them over, watching the old patterns of Christian’s and my past reshaping themselves into colourful new ones. My chest tightens, as if my ribs are trying to contain the expanding bubble of awareness inside that threatens to burst, altering my entire world.
“He’s chosen well who to give his to. The fact you’re here tells me that. And, look at you.” She tenderly tucks back a strand of hair, and I almost want to close my eyes in bliss, like one of my dogs accepting a fond pat. I’m not sure what I expected of Loreena, or to feel towards her, but it certainly wasn’t this warmth. Somehow, Christian saw this in her.
“Lovely,” she murmurs. “He said you were.”