‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, just—’ But she hadn’t been able to hold it together. The minute she’d started sobbing, he’d stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her. Let her cry messily into his white shirt.
Now, he’d taken charge, was heading some sort of meeting. So sure, so confident that he could fix things.
Bella shook her head. ‘We can’t.’
‘We could try?’
‘The paintwork is ruined, the curtains are burnt. The artwork – God, expensive original artwork – is totally destroyed. The furniture is soaked, or singed, or covered in foam.’ Bella’s voice started to break. ‘There’s no money and no time.’
‘But we can try?’ Brad said simply. ‘You can’t let being afraid get in the way. You know. If we fix it, you could stay. Things could— it could be cool.’
Bella felt her hands ball into fists. ‘First of all, nobody sayscoolany more!’ she said, wondering why she’d started with that. ‘And you can talk! About being afraid!’ She turned to Odette. ‘Did you know that he’s been scared to play guitar in public, or even in front of friends, for twenty years? And he’s brilliant. I heard him a couple of times when he thought I was out.’
Brad’s cheeks flushed and she felt a tiny niggle of guilt. But not enough to stop.
She turned back to Odette. ‘And Odette, you are a brilliant artist. I mean life-changingly, staggeringly brilliant. And you’re keeping all your paintings – which you could probably sell for hundreds or thousands even – in your room because you’re too afraid to make a phone call and face the possibility of being rejected.’
Odette’s face fell, crumpled.
Bella paused for breath, her heart thundering, then her eyes fell on Henri, who was clutching his coffee with both hands. ‘And YOU—’ she said.
‘Me?’ Henri looked affronted.
‘Not telling your dad you don’t want in on his business! He’s setting all his hopes on you and yes, maybe he’s a bit pushy. But he has the right to know the truth. At least you have a father who wants to be in your life.’ She stood up abruptly, her heart hammering. ‘So don’t accuse me of being scared,’ she finished, her voice a little wobbly now. ‘Because we’re all scared. All of us. And sometimes,’ she looked at Brad, his pen still hovering over the notebook, ‘we can’t fix things. For God’s sake. I don’t know why I even sat down with all of you. You’re the last people I should be taking advice from.’
Seeing them all look at her, affronted, hurt, annoyed, upset, was too much. She turned and ran from the room to her bedroom and slammed the door, leaning against it as the tears came.
42
NOW
The knock on the door was hesitant. Then came the voice: ‘Bella?’
Odette.
‘Hey,’ she managed.
‘Open the door?’
Bella looked around her room at the strewn clothing, the abandoned plates. ‘I can’t. I’m OK, I promise.’
For the past twenty-four hours, she’d stayed in her room, only sneaking out when she was sure they were all asleep to grab food, use the bathroom quickly, before rushing back. After her outburst, the house had been strangely silent, and as she’d gradually calmed down, she’d felt sick with herself. She’d burned down the hotel rooms, and now it seemed she’d set fire to her entire life.
Tomorrow she would get up properly and start to pack. Book a ticket and get out of here.
Bella felt an almost painful wash of emotion, her eyes stung from suppressing tears. She just couldn’t afford to break down any more. It was lovely – sweet – that Odette wanted to help. Especially as they hadn’t been on great terms recently. But it was hopeless; just hopeless.
‘Please.’ Odette’s voice was hesitant, nervous. ‘It’s OK. What you said. It was the truth, at least.’
‘Oh, Odette. It wasn’t. Not really. Not the way I said it. I was— It was?—’
‘But it’s OK.’
There was a silence.
Bella could sense Odette still outside the door, probably wondering what to do next. But then heard her footsteps retreating across the creaky landing floor and let herself relax back onto the bed. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, to no one.
