Reversing Over Liberace (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

I sat on the sofa and shivered. It gave the whole flu story an added veracity, although Luke had clearly already fallen for it. The house was full of flowers and get-well cards and fluffy little teddies wearing “get better soon” T-shirts.

To his credit, Cal hadn't been going to leave me. He'd offered to stay, to call Katie, to do anything I wanted, but all I wanted was to be left alone right now, in my own home, wrapped in this blanket and my misery. I think he was scared of what he'd done to me. Frightened of the way that my heart seemed to have turned to ice, my soul frozen over, my body flinching and curling over on itself like a frosted plant, blasted and withered and brown. “Christ, Willow,” he'd said, as Dix, Fortune, Ratboy and Zakalwe reported in, rattling their words over his headphones almost too fast to take in. “If I'd known, if only I'd
known
.”

But how could he? How could any of us have known the extent of Luke's duplicity?

It had started with Ratboy and Fortune, as Cal had predicted, working fast, feeding off each other. Checking the estate agents, finding out that our flat, our home-to-be, the place for which I'd given Luke sixteen-thousand-pounds deposit, wasn't ours at all. It was rented for the next three months, in Luke's name. At a cost of only two thousand pounds, total. While my jaw was still recovering from this dropping piece of information, Dix had come back from checking up on James. Who, best information suggested, had gone out to Boston to work for US Electrical, having qualified from Manchester University with a degree in Electrical Engineering. He'd worked there for four years, and then moved on to become vice president in charge of research and development at Pearson Brothers Electrical. No mention or trace of any Sampsons or car trade. Full stop.

And then, finally. Zakalwe. Who sounded really nice, a genuine, decent guy, who wasn't to know that what he'd found was going to blow my world open.

“Hey, Sandman. You wanted the inside on Luke Fry, yeah? Okay, not much to find. No trace of the guy doing car imports, 'less he's working without a licence and that's impossible if you're dealing with the States. He's been in Wales, yeah. There's a paper trail a hundred klicks long from there, unpaid credit card stuff mostly, few loans going critical, named in two applications for child support, both still open. All goes quiet for a few years and then he's showing again from last September, drawing benefits in York. Guy looks like a major-league loser.”

“Cheers, Zak. Owe you one.”

“He's been lying to me.” I'd whispered it then, carried on whispering under my breath until Cal had brought me home, shocked and chilled. Not so much by the fact that Luke had lied, but by the fact that I'd believed him. Believed everything, all of it. Cal had even double-checked the Sampsons warehouse being built in York. Turned out—oh, you're not going to believe this—the place was owned by a
toilet manufacturer
who was going to open a bathroom equipment wholesaler there. How stupid is that! How stupid am
I?

“Hey, Willow? Hey there, are you okay?”

Dreaming. Surely. Bright, blistering sunlight squeezing in through a gap in the curtains. Me, hunched in a most untenable position on the sofa like a preying mantis on the verge of breakfast, blanket draped over my head. Room, full of people—no, not full, a squinty glance reassured me—only Cal and Katie and Ash. Oh and Jazz as well, over there, flopped in the armchair with Booter on his lap and Snag nudging at his laces. So, not really people, either.

“Whaeerrr?” God, I must look scary. I've been lying here for two days straight. I'm sure I've been getting up to go to the toilet, but the inside of my mouth doesn't think so and my clothes are showing evidence of this not being the case. But then, I haven't showered for two days, so things might not be as bad as they look. “Blurhurgh?”

Cal. Last time I saw him I kissed him, slapped him, then went catatonic. No wonder he's looking a bit confused, crouching down beside me and stroking my hair. Uurrrgh, it really
is
stuck to my face, isn't it? Wonder what with? No, best not wonder.

And then a snapping, zipping sound as life reasserts. Normality is restored and I sit up.

“Thank Christ.” Ash, smeared along the chesterfield, lit a joint and passed it to Jazz. “Thought I was going to have to rattle a gin bottle to get you awake.”

“Why are you all here?” I yawned and went to run a hand through my hair and then remembered that most of it was stuck to my chin. “What's happening?”

“We're waiting for you to tell us, darling,” Ash drawled.

“We were worried.” Katie bent down to come into view. My eyes still weren't too clever at rotating in their sockets. “You've been down for days.”

“
You
were worried, you mean.
I
said she'd be fine. Men come, men go.”

“Well, you'd know, Ash.” Katie examined her nails.

“Quelle fucking
drag
.”

She was restraining herself from hitting him now. “And stop being camp, it's not impressing anyone.”

“Cal.” I moved so that I could see him. He was perched on the arm of the sofa next to me, still stroking my hair. “What's going on?”

“We want to know what you want us to do.” He was looking at me out of Sandman's eyes, bright, sharp and concentrated. So I knew he wasn't only meaning those there present, but the team as well.

“Okay,” I said slowly. Everyone looked at everyone else. It was clear they expected me to prevaricate, possibly even expected a few moments of insanity. But they forgot, I'd had two days lying on this sofa, thinking. “No one tells Luke anything, right? As far as he's concerned I've had the flu. I need more time to think.” My heart was still, despite everything, wondering if, at the bottom of all this, there might not be a good old-fashioned love story. Luke, seeing me again, falling for me, not able to confess that he was now a penniless, attached man and concocting an involved fantasy simply to gain the object of his heart's desire.
Could
it be? “Maybe he wanted to impress me.”

“Surely honesty would impress you more.” Cal said, and I wondered if he was really thinking about his own secrets. Maybe regretting telling me.

“How
could
he be honest and still keep me? I need to
know
.”

“We'll all do what we can, Willow, but none of us want to see you get hurt.” Katie handed the joint back to Jazz. “Or, any more hurt than you already are.”

“But it
can't
be about the money,” I burst out. “That's what you're all thinking, isn't it? That Luke's been using me to get money. I keep telling you that
he didn't know
!”

“Maybe it
is
just coincidence.” I felt a sudden rush of gratitude for Katie. “He can't have known about the inheritance, so…”

“Exactly.” I made a kissing face at her.

“So maybe he is just a bastard, two-timing you with someone else.”

 

 

 

Two-timing. Sounds rather picturesque really, doesn't it? Makes me think of antique clocks, the ones with the seasons painted round the faces and the big keys to wind them, or an old music-hall dance done by girls in frilly crinolines with parasols. I couldn't associate the phrase with Luke in any shape or form. Particularly now, sitting side-by-side on an overstuffed sofa in the Blue Monkey bar, polished little cocktails in front of us, poring over a menu and laughing (me, rather overheartily) at a group of drunken twentysomethings falling off their chairs at the table opposite.

“So?”

“Mmmm?”

“Willow.” He took the menu from my hands and laid it down on the sofa. “You're hardly here at all, are you? Sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.”

How
could
he be a liar? His behaviour was so
normal
. “You wanted to talk? You said when you rang, something was bothering you?”

Yes, it had been less of a phone call and more of a controlled blurt, I'm afraid. I'd wanted to admit everything, acknowledge that I'd checked up on him, but couldn't without bringing Cal and his team into things, and I couldn't do
that
because I'd promised Cal not to say anything. So I'd ended up saying that we needed to talk and leaving it at that. Trouble was, now I had to think of something to talk
about
, without giving away my uncertainty.

“I'm not sure that getting married would be such a good thing.”

His eyes didn't even flicker. “If that's how you feel, then sure. But, what brought this on? You seemed to be quite happy, last time we spoke.”

“I…I don't know. Cold feet, I suppose. Things being all right as they are.”

A long arm curled around me. “Whatever you want, that's fine by me. Honestly, Willow.” He showed no sign of being a man suddenly let off a hook or, conversely, a man suddenly disappointed.
But then, if he
had
married me, he'd have been entitled to half of everything.

“I…I wasn't sure how you'd react. What with the flat and everything.”

“Ah. The flat.” The arm uncoiled and he picked up his drink, sipped it slowly through the corkscrew straw. I watched in hypnotised fascination as the blue liquid rose and fell through the roller-coaster bends. “There's a bit of a glitch with the flat. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry.”

Over the glass he was watching my face.
He thinks I suspect something.
“Really?” My heart was thumping. Two-time.

“Yes. I'm really sorry. We've got the place, for a while, but someone else put in a higher bid. I kind of misled you. I know how much you loved it and I was kind of hoping that these other people would pull out, or the sale would fall through and we'd get it anyway, so I didn't say anything.” Another flash from those purple eyes, half-amused, assessing me, watching my reaction. “I didn't want you to be disappointed.”

I felt relief just for a second. Then I swallowed it before it made me careless.
Not just the flat. Everything else.
He's lied about everything else.
“Oh, I see. Never mind.” Did I hate him? Love him? Why didn't I
know
?

“Are you
sure
you're all right? You really do seem very off, tonight.”

God, he was attractive. Almost as though he was trying extra hard, stone-washed jeans tight over firm thighs, blue shirt which echoed his eyes like the sea echoes the sky, hair curling onto his collar in the same fashion it had ten years ago, long, strong fingers closing around mine and the smell of a spicy cologne sharp in my nostrils. “It's the flu. Still feeling a bit rocky.” Couldn't I just pretend? For a little while longer?

“Of course.” We chatted, generally, about OC and the baby, my family, the weather, all safe, neutral topics which didn't make my skin prick with anxiety. We ate, although my appetite was gone. (“The flu, taking a terrible long time to shake off.”) And drove up to a nearby beauty spot to sit and watch the sun go down. Luke was all concern, didn't press me to have sex, just carried on the gentle conversation. Asked if Clay had decided what to do about his allotment and how sad it was that, if he didn't buy the land, his inheritance from Ganda would be wiped out, and had I heard any more about Ganda's road-surfacing invention?

“No. Maybe I ought to chase them up.”

“Good idea. Look, let's get the picnic rug out of the boot and sit on the grass. It's a bit soulless, sitting in the car on an evening like this. Reminds me of all those holidaymakers.”

“Yes. That sounds nice.”

“You won't get too cold? I've got a jacket in the back.”

“I'm fine.”

“I'll get it anyway. Will you fetch the rug?”

He buzzed open the boot and I found the rug, neatly folded in the corner. Lying on top of it was Luke's laptop, his inseparable companion. I looked at it and had the first faint glimmerings of an idea, one which might not work, or even be of any use, but it was an idea. Mine. My chance.

I did nothing for a while, lay on the rug next to Luke and relaxed as much as I could. It was, I had to admit, easy to relax with Luke. He was Mr. Urbane, with his carefully general remarks about last night's TV and the beauty of the view spread out before us like a visual episode of
The Archers
. He made no move to seduce me, apart from taking my hand and holding it while we lay, stroking my palm with his fingers in a way which, had I been feeling a little more sure of him, would have had me writhing in pleasure and begging him to use my body in any way he saw fit.

Finally the sun sank. It had, from my perspective, been taking its own sweet time about it. Night gradually closed down around us, the birds putting up the shutters, the heat draining from the air. I gave a rather over-the-top shiver.

“Would you like my jacket now?” Luke offered.

“No, it's all right. We really ought to be getting home. I've told them I'll be back at work tomorrow and I still need a lot of sleep. Recuperation, you see.” As I spoke, I got to my feet. Luke duly followed, and I folded the rug over my arm. “I'll put this away.”

Again Luke popped the boot for me. This time, whilst he was putting the jacket into the car, I managed to shuffle his laptop onto the rubber edge of the boot, balancing it against me while I put the rug into the recess.

“Ready?” Luke came behind the car and I pretended to jump.

“Oh, you startled me! Oh,
bugger
!” As I'd hoped, the laptop had fallen with a rather nasty cracking sound, onto the stony ground underneath the boot. “God, I'm sorry, Luke. Is it all right?”

Luke, a little grim-faced, retrieved the machine. “Fuck. Looks like the battery might be damaged. Shit, these things cost an arm and a leg to fix.”

“I'm really sorry.” Contrition came easily to me. I was always sorry for something.