Juliet ignored him and looked at Frankie.
‘Areyou getting any work done?’
With a laboured sigh, Frankie struggled up to standing and tugged her clothes straight. She was wearing a silk camisole that Juliet recognised as one of their mother’s, and a pair of boxer shorts with garden gnomes on them.
‘Actually, I am, look.’ She went over to the half-finished sculpture. ‘I’m really pleased with it, it’s called ‘Crazy in Love’ – what do you think? Obviously, it’s not finished yet.’
‘Frankie, it’s really, really good. Another level.’
Frankie smiled, and Juliet saw the sister she knew through the matted hair, wandering eyes and defensive stature. Frankie was working, working well, and had pride in what she had done: surely that was evidence that, whatever their dwelling looked like, something was going right. She didn’t feel in a position to judge, given that she herself had needed to move away, but she couldn’t say nothing either. She turned her sister away and spoke quietly.
‘Look, Frank, I’m glad the sculpture’s going well, but is he – Dylan – all right? He’s got a name for…well, for doing drugs and stuff, you know?’
Frankie snorted.
‘Of course I know, and I tell him he’s stupid to muck around with the stronger stuff, but he says it helps him work.’
‘What’s he taking?’
Frankie shrugged.
‘Oh, you know…’
‘No, I don’t know, I haven’t got the faintest idea. Enlighten me, please.’
Her voice had become louder, and now Dylan heaved himself up from the mattress and stumbled over. Juliet instinctively took a step backwards, but Frankie leant into him as he slung an arm around her shoulders.
‘I don’t think you’re being very friendly,’ he slurred, swigging his wine. ‘Coming here and asking nosy questions. You can see that Frankie is fine – better than fine. She’s got me now, she doesn’t need big sister fussing around. Time you left.’
Juliet opened her mouth to reply, but as she did, she caught Frankie giving her a tiny shake of the head, a look of fear flashing across her face.
‘Really, Jools, it’s all good. Look, why don’t I go to Feywood at the weekend, see Martha and let her know myself that it’s all okay? Yeah?’
The hint of a pleading tone in her voice, so unusual for her sister, shocked Juliet almost more than anything else she had seen that day, and she nodded.
‘All right, that sounds like a good idea. Please do, Frank, I’ll try and get down too, maybe.’
Not wanting to get too close to Dylan, she gave her sister a little wave rather than a hug. When Dylan offered a mock salute in return, his sleeve slipped down, and she saw what she had dreaded – telltale marks on the inside of his arm.
‘Time to go,’ said Frankie quietly, and Juliet knew that unhappy though she was, it was the best thing she could do. For now.
TWENTY-NINE
When Juliet got back to the flat, she stood under a long, hot shower and tried to wash the afternoon away. Although she was glad that Frankie’s work seemed to be going well, that was the best that could be said for what she had witnessed that afternoon. But what could she do? Frankie was an adult and had to be left to make her own decisions, and after all, what would she, Juliet, think if someone turned up unannounced at her door, judged her lifestyle and announced that it didn’t pass muster? She’d be furious and flatly refuse any offer of help or attempts at persuading her to do things differently. She sighed as she dried herself and put on a cosy fleece robe. She and Frankie were cut from the same cloth in that respect, and as she had promised that she wasn’t touching hard drugs, there was nothing to do but stay in touch and hope for the best. She tapped out a quick message to Martha, assuring her that Frankie was fine and planning to visit Feywood that weekend, then having no appetite to resume the house hunt – maybe she would end up as Frankie and Dylan’s next-door neighbour, it was probably all she could afford – she once again opened the invitation she had been sent for that evening. It was for an art exhibition and cocktail party being held in a very smart office space inSpitalfields. She had no idea how she had got on their list, as it wasn’t being organised by anyone she knew and wasn’t her usual stamping ground. The art looked awful, and she suspected that the evening was, more than anything, an excuse for the bankers and hedge fund managers who used the offices to pretend they knew something about culture, tick a few ‘we support the arts’ boxes and pour cocktails down their throats before moving on to their private members clubs to talk about their next skiing holiday. She had initially deleted the invitation after a cursory glance but had pulled it back up more than once. Wasn’t she trying to embed herself more firmly in London? Wasn’t this what she had come back for? She didn’t have any other plans that evening and, execrable though it looked, maybe there would be – she shuddered at the thought –networkingopportunities. If she was going to do this, she had to commit to it, and after the encounter with Frankie and Dylan, she could certainly do with a drink.
Juliet stepped out of the Tube at Liverpool Street, already regretting her choice of shoes. She didn’t even know why she had kept them, let alone brought them back from Feywood with her; they had a history of shredding her feet and had been an expensive present from Toby. But they were extremely glamorous with the barely-there straps studded with crystals and thin, silver stiletto heels and she thought they might fit the bill on the cool edge of the Square Mile. Of course, there was always the possibility that everyone else would be in board shorts and flip flops; that was the problem with London, styles changed dizzyingly fast. But she would always rather run the risk of being overdressed. She pushed through a huge glass door into a brightly lit foyer, stuffed with chattering people. She was secretly relieved to see that her outfit wasn’t out of place as themen were mostly in suits and the women in cocktail attire like herself, or smart work clothes. She made a confident beeline for the bar, as she had learnt to do in situations when she didn’t know anyone, and picked up a drinks menu. All the cocktails had been given rather tortured ‘artistic’ names, but eventually she decided to ask for a ‘Vodka Van Gogh’ and hope it didn’t come with extra ear. She leant on the bar as she scanned the room for a familiar face, eventually spotting a woman she knew in passing from the newspaper. She had decided to go over and join her, even though they had barely ever spoken, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice said, ‘Lettie. So glad you could make it.’
Toby. Of course, that must have been how she had got the invitation,whyhadn’t she realised? She summoned up a weak smile.
‘Oh, hello.’
‘You realised, of course, that I had you invited? This isn’t your usual scene, I know, but I was sure you would come. And wearing my shoes as well, how sweet of you. I must say, I was rather disappointed that you didn’t seem to want to discuss the flat and the job any further. I went to a lot of trouble to sort out those introductions for you and you left me looking foolish.’
Juliet automatically opened her mouth to apologise, then snapped it shut again. No, no, no. She wasnotgoing down this path again, taking his reprimands like a good girl, admitting she had been naughty, begging for forgiveness. And besides, he had clearly lied to her about the opportunity atRoundUp.
‘I did email, Toby,’ she said in as mild a tone as possible. ‘I said I needed more time to think about it. If you promised your contacts more than that, it isn’t my doing.’
‘I just thought you’d be rather grateful for my help, especially considering everything you put me through.’
