It seemed to Rory that Lori’s departure had marked the beginning of the end for the family. It was when her father’s gambling had become worse. When his drinking escalated, when their mother stopped tolerating his behaviour. When Lori left, everything had fallen apart. And now, Rory knew why. She had written about it. She had written about it in the book that Louisa had just sold for hundreds of thousands and her family were going to read it and find out. She could hear Chantal’s voice in her ear: ‘You have to tell them.’
These past six months, Rory hadn’t been able to think of anything else. It was why she had been so angry when her parents said they were getting married. Now, at this moment with everything that was happening with the book, it was making a mockery of everything she had written. It was ignoring the truth, the facts. And she paused at the most horrible thought of all: if the book came out –whenthe book came out, she corrected herself – everyone would know, they’d be distraught, humiliated, and it would be all her fault.
But they had helped her be who she was. Her family had helped make her this strong woman. How could she hurt them?
Savannah
It was one in the morning when the taxi dropped Savannah home. There was no sign of Calum’s Lexus. Just her Golf sitting outside the house. She couldn’t help it, she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. Wonderful, she could be in bed asleep – even pretending to be asleep – when he came in. She paid the driver, raced out of the car, was in the door, and then a familiar voice stilled her.
‘You’re home late.’
Oh no. He’d left the car because he’d obviously been drinking. Not that Calum ever drank very much. But even a glass of wine magnified everything when he was annoyed. He was standing in the doorway of the study, his study, not her study. She didn’t have a study in the house. She didn’t need one, he insisted. What did she need one for? So she did her work at the kitchen table.
‘Looks good,’ he always said when he saw photo shoots where she was sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Really good, you working there.’
Sometimes there were pictures of him in his study in the articles and he loved this: his two computers on the desk, looking like a business magnate.
Now his tie was off and he had a couple of shirt buttons undone, his suit jacket gone. He wasn’t tall, her husband. Not tall like Steve or Ralphie. But he carried himself well and he looked after himself. He leaned against the door jamb, lithe, in his grey suit trousers and pristine white shirt. He was a study in darkness: he needed to shave again and his skin, always tanned, was brown.
He held a tumbler of amber liquid. Scotch, she figured. His little finger was tapping on the glass. Other people wouldn’t notice those details. They wouldn’t notice the glitter in his dark eyes.
‘Were you drinking?’ he said.
‘A couple of glasses of wine, a glass of amaretti,’ she said. Her heart was racing.
‘You shouldn’t drink, it makes you emotional.’
‘I’m – I’m not emotional,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘It was a lovely evening, Mum’s hen night. You’d have loved it. Oh, a lady called Miranda, Robbie’s wife, was asking after you, said you were handsome.’
‘Really.’
It was hard to describe how cold a person could sound.
‘Is she the blousy one with the bad skin?’
She shivered internally. He could be so hateful about other people.
‘No, the one with the big boat, you went out on it with them once.’
Calum hadn’t been good at sailing, he had been seasick. She shouldn’t have mentioned Miranda.
‘Oh yes, I remember. The husband had a big job.’ He was talking about Miranda’s husband. Calum liked people with big jobs as if some of their lustre would rub off on him. ‘He’s retired now.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘I suppose everyone was flirting with the waiters, everyone does in Gianni’s. Were you?’
‘No, no, I don’t flirt with people,’ she said, desperation creeping in.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’
She grasped about for something else to talk about.
‘How was your event?’
‘Fine.’
He walked towards the kitchen and she knew she was supposed to follow him. He sat down at the kitchen table, sprawled in one of the chairs, making himself bigger. It was something he did. He made himself bigger and she, Savannah thought, made herself smaller.
‘I dropped into the office earlier and guess what I found.’
Savannah felt her stomach disappear, as if it had been vacuumed out.
