Love Falls (33 page)

‘We should be careful, though.' She gripped him, but Kip's back was bathed in sweat.

‘Oh.' They held each other. It was too late. ‘Next time,' he whispered. ‘I've even got some Durex somewhere,' and they lay together, exhausted, laughing nervously, their bodies slippery and wet, too lazy to get up, drifting in and out of sleep.

 

‘My God, I'm starving.' Kip was sitting up in bed, and Lara felt it too, a gnawing ache at the pit of her stomach, a dizzy lightness in her head.

They pulled on their clothes, and ran downstairs.

‘There's soup.' She lifted the lid off last night's supper, ‘and meringues.'

But Kip was staring into the fridge. ‘I could make scrambled eggs,' he told her, ‘at least I think I can,' and he began breaking eggs, a whole box of them, into a bowl, dropping one and stepping round it as he reached for the bacon.

‘There's a cloth in here, I think.' Lara opened a cupboard.

Kip was chopping like a maniac.

‘Move.' Lara nudged him to get at the curtained space under the sink.

Kip looked down at her. ‘What are you doing?' The egg lay smashed and seeping, the yolk miraculously unbroken, the white spearing out over the floor.

‘Cleaning it up,' she said. ‘Unless you want to?'

‘Oh leave it. Someone will do that,' he winced, and Lara felt her whole body flush with indignation.

‘Ginny, you mean?'

As she searched among the cleaning fluids and jars of polish she had a vision of her mother mopping the classroom floor after school in Eskdalemuir. It was a job she was lucky to get. School cleaner. And happy to do. Lara had helped her. Wiping down the desks, unsticking the chewing gum, sweeping dust and hair and rolled-up wrappers from the corners of the room.

‘It's ready.' Kip served the food on to two plates and carried it out to the terrace. But Lara was still struggling with the broken egg. It slipped away from her as she tried to catch it and even when she'd managed to slide it into the bin it left a glossy sheen on the floor that refused to vanish.

‘I told you to leave it to the experts,' Kip yawned, once she finally sat down, and Lara saw that now the egg was something else she'd have to forget.

 

 

‘What time is it anyway?' Their plates were empty and Kip was leaning back in his chair. ‘It must be at least four.'

‘Really?' Lara ran into the sitting room where she knew there was a clock. ‘My God. It's almost five!' and convinced suddenly that her father, or at least Ginny, must have been trying to call her, she picked up the phone. But there was nothing. No one there. She stared down at the desk. Where was that number? ‘What's the name of the hospital, do you know?' and she started searching through Caroline's scattered papers for a clue.

‘Which hospital?'

‘Where they took Caroline. In the ambulance.'

‘I don't know.'

‘But if we went into Siena . . . surely we'd just find it?'

Kip laughed. ‘How do you mean? Walk?'

‘We could drive there, couldn't we? I mean we've still got Pamela's car.'

Kip opened his eyes wide. He looked so startled his scalp seemed to lift away from his head. ‘Fuck.' He went to the front door and opened it. ‘You're right. She'll kill me. Come on, we'd better go.'

‘Where?'

‘We have to take it back.'

Lara looked out at the drive. She couldn't go to Ceccomoro. Her legs felt weak just at the thought of it. ‘Couldn't you just take me into Siena, and then I'll make my way to the hospital from there.'

‘Lara.' Kip was frowning. ‘They're waiting, you know that, don't you, they're waiting for Caroline to die.'

Lara sat down on the step. Was that it? Were they just waiting, privately, the three of them, without her?

Kip took her arm and tried to pull her up. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘We've got to get the car back.'

‘It's all right. You go. I'll stay here.'

‘Really?' Kip looked round him. At the silent house. The hills, the valley thick with trees. ‘I'll tell you what' – he crouched down beside her – ‘we'll take the car, dump it in the yard and then walk back along the sexy path. We'll only be gone for half an hour.'

Lara didn't answer.

‘Or I suppose you could stay here and wait . . .' He sounded unsure.

‘What?'

‘Nothing. You'll be fine.'

Kip moved towards the car. What was he so nervous about. Kidnappers? The ghost of Sid Vicious? Wild boar? He opened the door and slid himself in, and with the door still open, he turned the ignition. ‘Bye then,' he called, reversing round. ‘See you later,' and he began to pull away.

Lara watched him, her pulse racing, so unsure what to do her thoughts crashed in her ears. ‘Wait!' she screamed, and she ran after him. ‘I'm coming too.'

 

 

There was no one to be seen at Ceccomoro, although the yard was full of cars. The jeep, Andrew's sleek Mercedes, and two other identical hire cars. Kip squeezed the Fiat over by the wall.

‘I won't be a minute,' he said. ‘I need to get something,' and before she could protest he had disappeared round the side of a building.

She waited, listening to the distant sounds of the kitchen, the clatter of a sink, the whizz of machinery, the faint murmur of the staff already preparing the evening meal. Opposite her stood a dilapidated building, rough with uneven stones, and beside it was the olive press which was now a room for storing tennis racquets and balls. May had taken her in there once, shown her where the donkey used to walk in circles over the stone floor, turning the handle of the giant press until all the olives were squashed. Poor little donkey, she'd thought, its grey nose to the floor, but May had handed her a racquet, refusing to believe her when she protested that she'd never played.

‘Listen,' May had said. ‘If you and Kip are still . . . you know . . . next year, I'll invite you to the wedding.'

‘OK.' Lara was too flustered to protest, but she could still feel the heat of her blush.

‘Now that's enough complaining.' Elizabeth Butler, in her orange hat and shades, was stepping into the yard, followed by her daughters. Lara sank down against the wall so that her body was shielded by the Fiat. ‘You'll love it, you'll see.' She turned sharply on Nettle who'd murmured something moaning or defiant. ‘Rubbish! I won't hear another word about it.' And she flipped open the boot of their car. The girls' mouths dropped and their shoulders sagged. ‘Bye, and thanks again.' Elizabeth waved as Andrew Willoughby appeared on the steps.

‘Bye, my dear ones,' he said, and he and Elizabeth kissed airily at least three times.

Lara sank down further.

‘Terrible bores,' Andrew declared before they'd even pulled out of the yard. ‘Why do we have to invite them every year?' and Lara squinted over the bonnet of the car to see who he was talking to now.

Lulu had her back to her, but Lara still knew it was her. The golden shoulder blades, the rolls of honey-coloured hair. ‘Poor Andrew,' Lulu cooed, ‘such a bother. Next year I'll invite everyone I know in Hollywood. Then you'll be amused.'

Andrew gave a dry laugh. ‘That's what worries me. But as long as you still come,' and Lara heard him, he gave her a loud smack on the bum.

‘You horrible man!' she protested, and then she screamed louder. ‘Kip!'

Kip stood in the stone doorway. Lara saw him glance round fleetingly and when he didn't see her he shrugged.

‘Where have you been?' Lulu had her arms around him. ‘Just because I brought Todd back with me, it doesn't mean you have to run away.'

‘And Kip,' Andrew added, ‘I can't remember what it's all about, but Pamela's bloody furious about something and I think I heard her mention your name.'

Kip rolled his eyes and attempted to untangle himself from Lulu's embrace. ‘Where is Todd anyway?'

‘Oh, he's being ridiculous. He's decided to stay on LA time while he's here. Says there's no point adjusting. He should be up in an hour.'

‘Idiotic man,' Andrew mumbled and he disappeared through the wall.

Lulu had her arms round Kip's neck, her body pressed against his. ‘Todd thinks the whole set-up here is hysterical. Real life lords and ladies – he's going round calling everyone by their full title, although he keeps calling Andrew My Lord and curtsying when he sees Pamela, although I've told him you're the real Lord and Mummy's just the girlfriend. Your sisters are pissed off as hell.'

‘Lulu.' Kip stumbled a little, so that they were leaning back against the wall. ‘Listen . . .' and he lowered his voice so that Lara, even though she craned to hear, could only make out Lulu's soft interjections – sighing, laughing, cooing.

Lara felt sick. Should she make some noise? Alert Kip to the fact that she was there, watching? Instead she stayed quiet, her knees cracking, her arms scorched behind the metal bonnet of the car. But as she watched, their conversation seemed increasingly urgent, pulling them together – their two heads close, their foreheads touching, their knees entwined, and then Lulu was kissing him.

Lara looked away. She felt nauseous and sweat broke out, cold and clammy, across her skin. She tried to cough, to clear her throat, but her throat was dry. When she looked up again Lulu was beaming and Kip had pulled away.

‘I've told you before, whenever you need to do a little research you know where I am . . .' and with a flounce of her whole long languid body she skipped away.

Kip wiped his mouth, fast, with the back of his hand, and looked around. His eyes darted past her, unseeing, and he turned and with his shoulders hunched he walked off in the direction of the sexy path.

Lara waited before following. The sun was low in the sky, slanting down across the fields, layering the terraces above in shadow. She walked through the corn field and pushed her way into the maize. Where was he? She wouldn't run, she wouldn't hurry, but all the same she looked round nervously as she stepped into the murky darkness of the sexy wood.

And then something snatched at her arm. She screamed and pulled away, but Kip was wrestling her, laughing like a madman, almost knocking her over as he trapped both her arms in his. ‘Get off. GET OFF!' It took him a moment to realise she was serious, and a moment more to let her go. ‘I don't want to! Leave me alone. I want to get back.' And shocked at herself, paling, she remembered that she really did want to get back. I'm sorry, she could have said, but she was too ashamed.

She hurried on. If it was so easy, she berated herself, then why hadn't she called out before? With Roland. Why hadn't she? The nausea that had subsided rose up again. But she knew that, before, she hadn't really believed the world was ugly. Even though in India she'd seen beggars and lepers, seen rats scampering over sleeping bodies and a man masturbating under a sack in the street. In Scotland she'd seen a builder with his fingers caught in a sash window, his face a pale-green, his lip bitten. But even so she hadn't imagined it could happen. Even when it was happening. When it was too late. If she'd screamed, or called out, or asked for help, she'd have made it real. For all time. For everyone to know. Lara started to run. At least this way it was a secret. No one would ever know, and she wouldn't be the girl connected to dirt and shame and slime.

‘Bloody hell,' Kip huffed when he caught up with her on the road. ‘What's got into you?' But all Lara knew was that, very badly, she wanted to be home.

‘Still no one here.' Kip stopped in the drive. ‘I told you  . . .'

Lara ran into the house and up to the bathroom where she hung her head over the sink. If she could just be sick, then she'd feel better, but although she retched, three times, nothing came up but a thin trail of saliva. ‘Oh,' she moaned. She wanted to be purged. To be clean and empty, and she stared down at the plughole and imagined herself spiralling down it. Spinning away. Smaller and smaller until she was washed and tiny as a shell. She brushed her hair and then her teeth, and taking a deep breath, remembering that, whatever else, she couldn't be in this house alone, she went downstairs.

Kip had put on a record. A tinkling melancholy album of Nina Simone.
Love me or leave me or let me be lonely, You won't believe me but I love you only, I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else
. . . Lara stood in the doorway and looked at him, lying on the white sofa, his shoes scuffing the cover of one arm. What would Caroline say, she thought, but Caroline wasn't here.

‘More cheeps, more beer?' Kip smiled hopefully up at her, and shielded somehow by the music, she opened the fridge and examined what was left inside.

‘I don't think Caroline is a beer sort of person,' she called back as if everything was normal, and she lifted out a bottle of wine. She carried it with two glasses and a corkscrew, the tin of olives, Ginny's plate of meringues, and sat beside Kip's sofa, on the floor.