Dune Road (30 page)

“That sounds reasonably plausible, no?”

“Yes, except the next day she had a holiday gift show. In her dining room.”

“Oh my God! So she lied completely.”

“Yes.”

“Did you call her on it?”

“I couldn’t be bothered. I just want to stay as far away from those people as possible. The truth is, I liked them, but they were never my real friends. I would never call up a single one of those mothers if I was in a crisis, and isn’t that, after all, the definition of a friend?”

Kit smiles. “It’s part of it. Trusting someone, being able to be yourself and feeling safe. Those are all parts of it too.”

“Well, thank God for you.” Charlie raises her Diet Coke in a silent toast to Kit, and Kit, with tears in her eyes, raises her can in return.

Later that day, Edie puts mint leaves from her garden into the pot and pours hot water over them.

“I love your kitchen,” Kit says, looking around happily. “It’s so . . . cozy.”

“You mean cramped.” Edie barks with laughter, placing a steaming mug in front of Kit. “Don’t worry. I love it too. I can stand at the sink and everything is within about three steps.”

“I didn’t mean the size. I meant the way you’ve done it. I love that it’s so retro.”

“This isn’t retro, my dear girl. This is original. These closets were installed in 1958.”

“That’s what I meant.” Kit grins. “Now, Edie, I know you don’t want to talk about it and you’re doing everything you can to avoid it, but your friend Rose gave Steve the all-clear, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“You said Rose is always right.”

“Not always. She’s an excellent judge of character, but I’d forgotten how much she is swayed by a handsome face and a full head of hair.”

Kit starts giggling. “Oh Edie, just admit it. You might be wrong.”

“I hope I am wrong about your young man,” Edie says and frowns. “For your sake.”

“Well, I like him, and I’m happy,” Kit says. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Maybe for now. I would say be careful, but I’m old enough to know, from the look on your face, that it’s far too late for that.”

“It is a bit.” Kit sighs. “And if it makes you feel better, he’s lovely to me. I feel thoroughly spoiled, and no one has treated me quite this well for ages. He’s sending flowers every day.”

“I can tell. Your house looks like a florist has set up shop.”

“And yesterday a bottle of French perfume arrived! Smell!” And Kit extends her wrist.

“Very nice.”

“You just hate being wrong.”

“I do, it’s true. But I hope I am. Where’s that sister of yours tonight?”

“Going to a movie. She planned to go the other night but Tory sweet-talked her into having dinner with them and their dad, so she’s off tonight.”

“And how’s it going with her?”

“Great,” Kit lies, not ready to voice her irritation at Annabel constantly helping herself to Kit’s clothes, her make-up, the mess Annabel leaves around everywhere; her unease at the way Annabel is making herself such a huge part of Kit’s life that she can’t possibly be ignored.

It’s amazing how much Annabel is getting on Kit’s nerves, particularly as she’s taken to disappearing for hours. Most of the time she’s not even there that much, but when she is, boy, does she make her presence known.

Kit should be grateful, should stop being so petty. It must be because she’s used to living on her own, she thinks, just her and the kids, who are used to one another’s habits.

For the first few days, it was lovely having the company, but now it seems that when Annabel is around, all she wants to do is talk. Just the other afternoon Kit found herself looking up from her book and thinking, “Do you ever shut up?” She instantly felt guilty at the thought, then resentful of Annabel curling up next to her and chatting about some inane thing.

She helps herself to food, but hasn’t offered to contribute a penny, nor lifts a finger to do the washing-up or put anything away.

Kit comes home regularly to find Annabel in her clothes, then is annoyed at herself for being angry as Annabel lays her head on Kit’s shoulder and says she always wanted a sister, and isn’t this fun, to swap clothes.

Kit has yet to wear anything of Annabel’s.

It’s like having another teenage daughter. Tory and Annabel both help themselves to Kit’s things, but she can yell at Tory, remove privileges—hell, she can ground her if she has to.

What is she supposed to do about Annabel?

I have to love her, she keeps telling herself. I must not be irritated. She is the sister I always wanted. She is family.

And no, she is not taking me for granted, even though that is exactly how it feels. She is not exploiting my kindness or taking advantage, and I will not think about the fact that I am the one working hard, clearing up, making her breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. The only thing she seems to do is make endless cups of English tea, and I don’t even drink English bloody tea, as Annabel would say.

I am just being grouchy, Kit tells herself. I must breathe. Do more yoga. Meditate. Find my inner peace because she is my sister and she is not going anywhere, and anyway, isn’t this what I always wanted?

Surely two grown women living under the same roof, in such a small space, is always hard work. Surely this will pass. And how long is she damn well staying anyway? I mean, when, exactly, does her visa expire?

 

Kit lets herself into her house and trips over Annabel’s boots in the hallway. Sighing, she picks them up and takes them out to the mudroom, where all the boots are kept, lining them up neatly on the boot rack.

Back in the living room she picks up Annabel’s coat, draped over a chair, and hangs it up in the closet, then hears a crash and a muttered “Bugger!” from upstairs.

“Hello?” Kit calls up the stairs. “Annabel?”

“Oh . . . hi, Kit. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Kit starts to walk up the stairs. “I thought you were going out tonight?”

“I am. I’m just getting ready. Hang on. I’ll be down in a sec.”

Kit heads toward her voice. Coming from Kit’s bathroom. She walks in and finds Annabel, on her knees, frantically clearing up a mess of cream and broken glass on the floor.

It is Kit’s favorite moisturizer. Designer, desperately expensive. She rarely buys it any more, but Adam gave it to her on her birthday last year.

It shouldn’t matter. Kit knows it shouldn’t matter, but she’s stressed and tired and emotionally fragile after her confrontation with Tracy, and seeing Charlie packing up her house, and she just stands there and starts to cry.

“Oh God, Kit, I’m so sorry.” Annabel’s face falls as she stands up and attempts to put her arms around Kit.

“Please don’t.” Kit pushes her away.

“I’ll buy you another one. Just tell me where to get it and I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.”

“It’s not the damn cream,” Kit says. “It’s everything. You’re standing here in my bathroom, wearing my robe, and helping yourself to my cream and my make-up without asking. Did you ever think of just asking? My God. It’s like having another teenager but it’s worse because I don’t want to upset you by saying anything.”

Annabel’s face hardens. “I didn’t think you’d mind. You kept saying I should help myself. I thought that’s what sisters do.”

“Maybe they do if they’ve grown up together, but we’ve just met and I feel like my house has been taken over, and I need some help. Just now I came in and put your boots away and hung your coat up, and I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask. I shouldn’t have to ask you to do these basic things when you hear me telling my kids to do it every day.”

“But why didn’t you just ask? How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t have a housekeeper, Annabel. When you make yourself lunch and leave everything out, and dirty dishes in the sink, and food on the counter, who do you think puts it away? Who do you think washes up? And I’m tired. And I’m tired of doing everything myself.”

“Fine. I’m going to get my stuff together.” Annabel turns to walk out of the room.

“What?” Kit is shocked. She didn’t expect a reaction like this.

“I know when I’m not wanted.”

“I didn’t say that! I just want to be asked before you borrow my stuff, and I want you to help. I don’t want you to go.”

Annabel turns, looking so like a little girl lost that Kit almost feels her heart breaking.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Kit says, moving toward Annabel and putting her arms around her. “I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Annabel says. “And I’m leaving soon anyway, but I’ll try to be better.”

“You’re leaving?” Kit pulls away. “When?”

“My visa’s up in three weeks.”

“Oh.” Kit’s heart sinks. She was hoping she’d say three days.

“So can I ask you something? ”

“Sure.”

“Would you mind if I borrowed your black sweater tonight? I’ll be incredibly careful with it. Promise.”

Kit smiles. “Okay. And thank you for asking.”

 

Annabel rings the doorbell, still not quite sure whether this is the right thing to do, but guessing, by the twitchy feeling in her stomach, that it probably isn’t. She just doesn’t know how to say no; not to mention that this is something she wants.

Love. Family. Security.

These last few days, as she and Adam exchanged funny, and slightly flirtatious, texts, she has begun to realize that it isn’t as innocent as it seems.

She thinks Adam isn’t her type, being far too old, far too nice for her, even if he is attractive, even if he does quite obviously think she is the bee’s knees.

Annabel is used to being adored, but has never been interested in being adored. If you want Annabel to fall in love with you, treat her like a doormat, ignore her, pique her interest by being completely uninterested.

But Adam is different. There is a familiarity about him, a safety. Not a father figure, that would be too unhealthy, but certainly a caretaker; and finding herself in such unfamiliar surroundings, having her life change so much, Annabel has a craving to be taken care of, a craving to be part of a family.

Still. She isn’t planning on hurting Kit. Knows she is playing with fire, and is only here tonight because Adam asked her if she thought they should plan a surprise party for Kit for her birthday.

How odd, she thought, that Kit’s ex-husband should be so involved in her life, still present at family celebrations, still welcome in their home; but she can see how much healthier this is for the children, and his request seemed reasonable, given their relationship.

She texted: “Should we meet in Starbucks? ”

“Come over,” he replied. “If you’re lucky I may even make dinner.”

She didn’t say anything after that.

And now here she is. She is wearing Kit’s black sweater. It looks fantastic with her chunky crystal beads and the large beaded hoops she picked up a couple of years ago in Goa.

She was going to wear Kit’s cashmere wrap cardigan, but she wore it yesterday and caught the sleeve on a piece of jagged wood, and now there’s a bloody great hole.

She’s not sure how to tell Kit, particularly after their conversation tonight, so until she figures out what to do with it she has thrown it in the back of the closet. She hopes Kit will forget about it for a while, so she has a chance to find someone to mend it, although the hole is so big it looks a little beyond repair.

Oh well. It’s only a cardigan, and Annabel can always hide it until she goes, then if Kit decides to have another freak-out like the one earlier, Annabel will be on the other side of the Atlantic.

In fact, she’s been trying to get hold of her dad to send her some more money because she’s been spending it like water since she got here, and the money he gave her to last her the trip is pretty much gone.

He’s been really difficult to get hold of, which is unlike him. He has always been there for her, has sacrificed so much to be the most wonderful father she could have imagined, always helping her, always bailing her out when she got into trouble. He looked after her financially during all those stints in rehab, and he still supports her now as she attempts to find her true path, this time, she hopes, as an actress.

She doesn’t know what she’d do without him. Sure, there have been boyfriends in the past but they have been terrible and abusive, treating her like dirt. No, the only man she has ever been able to truly rely on is her dad.

She has always been able to count on him. Which is why it’s so odd that he hasn’t returned her calls. She hopes he is okay, but as Adam opens the door, a mixture of happiness, expectation and nervousness in his eyes, she forgets all about her father and steps into the house.

Chapter Twenty-three

“W
ine?” Adam leads Annabel into the kitchen, unable to stop smiling, knowing he has an ulterior motive, and happy just to be in her company.