“Style and sheer hard work are not enough, are they?” I say.
“For what?” Amaryllis says.
“For respect. For power. It’s always a losing battle. The person with the most money gets to buy the best property.”
“There’ll be somewhere for you, Lucy.”
“But I want to stay here.”
She nods.
“But make no mistake, Lucy, dear,” she says. “You are anything but invisible, with or without the makeup and the fancy clothes. You are warm and generous and friendly and creative, and a wonderful addition to Brighton Court. You know I don’t gossip, but I will mention that Dr Dirk O’Connell barely smiled before you arrived.” It’s the most I’ve ever heard her say.
Her words hang in the bright kitchen between us like a rainbow as Merlin purrs on my lap, eyes closed, claws gently kneading my leg. I hate to disturb him, but will have to hand him over. We’ve drunk all the tea, and there’s an open book on the settee and three books beside it on the coffee table. I clearly disturbed Amaryllis’s reading.
I’ve imposed on her long enough, my quiet neighbor. Behind the thick glasses, she shutters her great big eyes behind her lashes. There’s no guile there. Amaryllis rarely talks, but when she does, it’s straight. Maybe that’s what she means about my relationship with Dirk. Maybe I try too hard. Maybe I scare people. Is there such a thing as being too friendly; too carefully groomed?
I stand. Merlin is heavy in my arms, and floppy. I hand him over, thank Amaryllis and make a vow to visit her again in the future, wherever I might be living.
Back inside my perfect apartment, I know I should start packing. I wander through it, pick up the glue gun and put it down again. I just can’t do it like last time – pack all my bags in a rage and find shelter. And, much as I love my best friend, I don’t want to go back to Donna’s, my tail between my legs. It’s too much of an imposition. We’re grownups. I’m past all that flat-sharing and couch surfing, surely.
Rebellion lodges in my throat – an unvoiced protest. It spreads like red-hot lava and occupies my whole body. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever – be one of those difficult tenants. Let the next landlord have to deal with it. Let him or her carry me out.
I’m just heading down the stairs and up to the estate agent to see what else they have for rent in this area, when I get a call from Donna.
“What did you say your neighbor’s name was; the hottie; the doc; the widower?” Donna says, voice low, her tone urgent.
“Dirk O’Connell. Why?”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Donna? What’s wrong? What is this?”
“I hate to break it to you, girlfriend, but you’re gonna find out sooner or later.”
“Find out what? Spill, Donna.”
“The other buyer, with the winning offer.”
“Okay, tell me. Just tell me, will you?”
“I asked my contacts through the relocation head office.”
“And.”
“Last name’s O’Connell.”
It knocks the wind out of me.
“Dirk wouldn’t do that to me. Would he? He couldn’t. Could he?” I remember our last conversation, his quiet fury that I’d been in his apartment without him.
“You tell me. What do I know about guys, Lucy? I’m just sharing the facts here. Unless he actually bought it for you, maybe? To surprise you?”
“No. He’d break my heart. Right down the middle. Bang in two. We spoke about that; how I want to be responsible for my own future – for my own security. Even if he had the means. If I let a man buy me something like that, I’ll only worry I’ll lose it again if our relationship fails. If Bart taught me anything, he taught me that my house was never actually my own. It was always half his. My place in the sun was only ever as good as our marriage. I never want to risk that again.”
And then I see him out the window in the stairwell – Dirk, sauntering down the street towards Brighton Court, the red car bright as ever, parked further up the street. Despite the fact he’s been avoiding me, from the deepest doldrums, my traitorous heart lifts at the sight of him.
Did he really buy my apartment from under me? How dare he! Talk about a betrayal of trust. If I were a dragon, I’d breathe fire and roar.
