Chapter 22
Lucy
Harrowing, texts Donna.Evil. Don’t watch the replays.
That bad, huh?I respond. Great. I knew it. Public humiliation.
Yup. Sorry, kid.
Should have known better.
Donna sends me a crazy face emoji.
Need a day off?
No way. I want to be so busy I can’t think about anything but packing tape.
Donna promises me triple shifts for the next two days. If I had time to think, I’d wonder whether I should hide my face, but I haven’t done anything wrong. Instead, I’ll lift my chin.
The network uses their allegations as a banner for two days, with clips of me looking pathetic, but I comfort myself that the initial interview was live, and I know that some people saw the full thing.
Somewhere in that blur of busy-ness, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Amaryllis with more elderberry wine, her eyes large behind the lenses, all concern and sympathy.
“I knew you looked familiar, Lucy, but I couldn’t think where I’d seen you before. Were you married to Bart Hardenburg?”
I nod and let her in.
“No wine now, though, please, Amaryllis. Feeling a bit fragile.”
“Of course you are,” she says. “I only ever turn on the tv to see the weather, but they kept replaying bits of that interview. You were so strong. Violetta is awful. I’ve written to the network in protest.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m here if you want to talk about it. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, too. I want you to know I’m here for you.”
She’s so soft and gentle, her mauve clothes all draped about her. She looks like a stalk of lavender.
“Come and see my lamps, Amaryllis. I’d like to make one for you. We can talk about shapes and colors.”
She chooses a bell shaped shade, and loves the idea of a fringe of transparent pale pink beads. I find myself spilling the whole story as she flips through my fabrics.
“When Phoebe reached high school and began to spend more time with her friends, I had time on my hands. I picked up a job with a local hairdresser, coloring hair, but I was so tired at the end of the day, and after a week, Bart fixed me with his ice blue eyes and told me he earned enough for all of us and needed me at home. I tried to tell him it wasn’t about the money. It was about being part of the wider world, but he told me to get a hobby.
“I gave up the job; did a course in stained glass, but cut my fingers; in oil painting, but had no talent and hated the smell; and then settled on upholstery. Suddenly, life had more purpose. I specialised in found objects – bringing old furniture to life again with simple repairs and swathes of bright fabric. I love a glue gun, Amaryllis! I found all the best fabric suppliers, and then started using the offcuts to re-cover lampshades.”
“They’re beautiful. You truly have a talent, Lucy.”
I nod.
“They were a hit at school fundraisers. Everyone wanted one. Then one wet weekend when Bart was away, Phoebe showed me how to use photos of my creations to make my own website, and Lucy’s Lamps was born, trading on e-Bay. I started creating lamps to order. I still love my taglines. ‘Focus and flair’ and ‘light up your life.’ But Bart wasn’t pleased. Not that he ever said so, but I’d had decades of deciphering the narrowing of his eyes.”
“The private life of a public star...”
