And no, she is not taking me for granted, even though that is exactly how it feels. She is not exploiting my kindness or taking advantage, and I will not think about the fact that I am the one working hard, clearing up, making her breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. The only thing she seems to do is make endless cups of English tea, and I don’t even drink English bloody tea, as Annabel would say.
I am just being grouchy, Kit tells herself. I must breathe. Do more yoga. Meditate. Find my inner peace because she is my sister and she is not going anywhere, and anyway, isn’t this what I always wanted?
Surely two grown women living under the same roof, in such a small space, is always hard work. Surely this will pass. And how long is she damn well staying anyway? I mean, when, exactly, does her visa expire?
Kit lets herself into her house and trips over Annabel’s boots in the hallway. Sighing, she picks them up and takes them out to the mudroom, where all the boots are kept, lining them up neatly on the boot rack.
Back in the living room she picks up Annabel’s coat, draped over a chair, and hangs it up in the closet, then hears a crash and a muttered ‘Bugger!’ from upstairs.
‘Hello?’ Kit calls up the stairs. ‘Annabel?’
‘Oh… hi, Kit. I’ll be down in a minute.’
Kit starts to walk up the stairs. ‘I thought you were going out tonight?’
‘I am. I’m just getting ready. Hang on. I’ll be down in a sec.’
Kit heads towards her voice. Coming from Kit’s bathroom. She walks in and finds Annabel, on her knees, frantically clearing up a mess of cream and broken glass on the floor.
It is Kit’s favourite moisturizer. Designer, desperately expensive. She rarely buys it any more, but Adam gave it to her on her birthday last year.
It shouldn’t matter. Kit knows it shouldn’t matter, but she’s stressed and tired and emotionally fragile after her confrontation with Tracy, and seeing Charlie packing up her house, and she just stands there and starts to cry.
‘Oh God, Kit, I’m so sorry.’ Annabel’s face falls as she stands up and attempts to put her arms around Kit.
‘Please don’t.’ Kit pushes her away.
‘I’ll buy you another one. Just tell me where to get it and I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.’
‘It’s not the damn cream,’ Kit says. ‘It’s everything. You’re standing here in my bathroom, wearing my robe, and helping yourself to my cream and my make-up without asking. Did you ever think of just asking? My God. It’s like having another teenager but it’s worse because I don’t want to upset you by saying anything.’
Annabel’s face hardens. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. You kept saying I should help myself. I thought that’s what sisters do.’
‘Maybe they do if they’ve grown up together, but we’ve just met and I feel like my house has been taken over, and I need some help. Just now I came in and put your boots away and hung your coat up, and I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask. I shouldn’t have to ask you to do these basic things when you hear me telling my kids to do it every day.’
‘But why didn’t you just ask? How was I supposed to know?’
‘I don’t have a housekeeper, Annabel. When you make yourself lunch and leave everything out, and dirty dishes in the sink, and food on the counter, who do you think puts it away? Who do you think washes up? And I’m tired. And I’m tired of doing everything myself.’
‘Fine. I’m going to get my stuff together.’ Annabel turns to walk out of the room.
‘What?’ Kit is shocked. She didn’t expect a reaction like this.
‘I know when I’m not wanted.’
‘I didn’t say that! I just want to be asked before you borrow my stuff, and I want you to help. I don’t want you to go.’
Annabel turns, looking so like a little girl lost that Kit almost feels her heart breaking.
‘I’m sorry, okay?’ Kit says, moving towards Annabel and putting her arms around her. ‘I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ Annabel says. ‘And I’m leaving soon anyway, but I’ll try to be better.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Kit pulls away. ‘When?’
‘My visa’s up in three weeks.’
‘Oh.’ Kit’s heart sinks. She was hoping she’d say three days.
‘So can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘Would you mind if I borrowed your black sweater tonight? I’ll be incredibly careful with it. Promise.’
Kit smiles. ‘Okay. And thank you for asking.’
Annabel rings the doorbell, still not quite sure whether this is the right thing to do, but guessing, by the twitchy feeling in her stomach, that it probably isn’t. She just doesn’t know how to say no; not to mention that this is something she wants.
Love. Family. Security.
These last few days, as she and Adam exchanged funny, and slightly flirtatious, texts, she has begun to realize that it isn’t as innocent as it seems.
She thinks Adam isn’t her type, being far too old, far too nice for her, even if he is attractive, even if he does quite obviously think she is the bee’s knees.
Annabel is used to being adored, but has never been interested in being adored. If you want Annabel to fall in love with you, treat her like a doormat, ignore her, pique her interest by being completely uninterested.
But Adam is different. There is a familiarity about him, a safety. Not a father figure, that would be too unhealthy, but certainly a caretaker; and finding herself in such unfamiliar surroundings, having her life change so much, Annabel has a craving to be taken care of, a craving to be part of a family.
Still. She isn’t planning on hurting Kit. Knows she is playing with fire, and is only here tonight because Adam asked her if she thought they should plan a surprise party for Kit for her birthday.
How odd, she thought, that Kit’s ex-husband should be so involved in her life, still present at family celebrations, still welcome in their home; but she can see how much healthier this is for the children, and his request seemed reasonable, given their relationship.
She texted: ‘Should we meet in Starbucks?’
‘Come over,’ he replied. ‘If you’re lucky I may even make dinner.’
She didn’t say anything after that.
And now here she is. She is wearing Kit’s black sweater. It looks fantastic with her chunky crystal beads and the large beaded hoops she picked up a couple of years ago in Goa.
She was going to wear Kit’s cashmere wrap cardigan, but she wore it yesterday and caught the sleeve on a piece of jagged wood, and now there’s a bloody great hole.
She’s not sure how to tell Kit, particularly after their conversation tonight, so until she figures out what to do with it she has thrown it in the back of the closet. She hopes Kit will forget about it for a while, so she has a chance to find someone to mend it, although the hole is so big it looks a little beyond repair.
Oh well. It’s only a cardigan, and Annabel can always hide it until she goes, then if Kit decides to have another freak-out like the one earlier, Annabel will be on the other side of the Atlantic.
In fact, she’s been trying to get hold of her dad to send her some more money because she’s been spending it like water since she got here, and the money he gave her to last her the trip is pretty much gone.
He’s been really difficult to get hold of, which is unlike him. He has always been there for her, has sacrificed so much to be the most wonderful father she could have imagined, always helping her, always bailing her out when she got into trouble. He looked after her financially during all those stints in rehab, and he still supports her now as she attempts to find her true path, this time, she hopes, as an actress.
She doesn’t know what she’d do without him. Sure, there have been boyfriends in the past but they have been terrible and abusive, treating her like dirt. No, the only man she has ever been able to truly rely on is her dad.
She has always been able
to count on him. Which is why it’s so odd that he hasn’t returned her calls. She hopes he is okay, but as Adam opens the door, a mixture of happiness, expectation and nervousness in his eyes, she forgets all about her father and steps into the house.
23
‘Wine?’ Adam leads Annabel into the kitchen, unable to stop smiling, knowing he has an ulterior motive, and happy just to be in her company.
‘No thank you. I don’t drink.’
His face falls. He has been out this afternoon and stocked up on everything he will need for tonight. Wine, vodka, cranberry juice. Salmon, spinach, shallots. The Joy of Cooking lies open on the counter, and the salmon is poaching gently in white wine and butter. He has forgotten she didn’t drink.
‘Oh. Cranberry juice?’ He opens the fridge.
‘Don’t worry. I’m fine with water.’
‘Are you sure?’ He squints into the fridge, his heart sinking. ‘I have… lemonade? Or chocolate milk?’
Annabel laughs. ‘As tempting as the chocolate milk may be, I’ll stick with water.’ She walks over to the stove, and lifts up the lid of one of the pots, leaning down to smell. Adam watches her hold her hair out of the way, and aches to touch her.
She looks up. ‘Something smells amazing.’
‘I hope it is. It’s salmon poached in white wine… Oh shit. Wine. You don’t drink. Do you eat alcohol?’ He attempts a laugh.
‘No. Oh God. Now I’m sorry. You’ve clearly gone to so much trouble, and I had no idea. Honestly, though, I’m not that hungry.’
‘I have some more salmon in the fridge. Why don’t I cook that one separately for you? I can just grill it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. And I promise you there isn’t a drop of alcohol in the soup.’
Annabel laughs. ‘Thank you for being so understanding. I wish I could eat that salmon but one sip of alcohol and you’ll probably find me rolling around underneath a skip within a few hours.’
‘Skip?’
‘Dumpster.’ She laughs.
‘You were that bad?’
‘I wasn’t good. Although I will say I never actually did end up under a dumpster. Close, though.’ She smiles, and Adam can’t tell if she’s joking or not. ‘But I’m not here to talk about me,’ she says. ‘I’m here because I’m intrigued.’
Adam’s heart skips a beat. ‘You are? By what, may I ask?’
‘By your idea to throw a surprise party for Kit. I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I love that her ex-husband would do that for her. I think the two of you set such an amazing example for the children.’
‘Thank you.’ Adam manages to hide his disappointment.
‘So,’ Annabel perches on a stool at the counter and Adam places a tall glass of iced water in front of her, ‘what are you thinking of doing?’
*
Robert McClore snores loudly as Tracy shakes him gently, but there is no waking him tonight.
She sighs, and moves back to her side of the bed. She wants to tell him. Tell him about Jed. Tell him about Jed’s plan, and why she went along with it, and how she never expected to fall in love with Robert.
She needs to confess, so he can help her, because releasing herself from Jed’s clutches, while falling in love with Robert, is proving too overwhelming for her to handle by herself.
As she lies there, watching him, she leans in and inhales between his shoulder and chin. She loves smelling him exactly there, absorbing the faded cologne, the unmistakable scent of Robert that always makes her feel safe.
She thinks about shaking him harder, ensuring he wakes up so she can finally rid herself of the burden of knowledge she has carried alone, but she hesitates. What if he doesn’t believe her? What if he feels betrayed and ends it? What if he never wants to see her again?
She climbs out of bed and curls up on the sofa in the bay window, wrapping herself in the cashmere blanket draped over the back, as she looks out over the water and waits for the sun to come up.
On nights like this, she knows she won’t go back to sleep. On nights like this, the only thing to do is wait until morning and carry on as if everything is fine.
Robert is fast asleep, dreaming the dreams of the drugged, blissfully unaware that the woman he is becoming increasingly dependent on, the woman he is finding he adores, has secrets she is struggling with.
Robert is wary. He feels with Tracy, much as he did with Penelope, that there are secrets there, a hidden well that he is determined to tap into. As a writer, he creates stories around everyone he comes across, but with Tracy it has been almost impossible. She will tell him she is being open with him, but he cannot help feeling that there is far more there than meets the eye.
He wonders what it is that she is not telling him, and hopes she reveals whatever it is soon, for he didn’t expect to fall in love at this stage of the game, and wants to protect himself from any hurt.
He was not looking for anyone, but had he been, he might have looked for a companion perhaps, someone to keep him company as they grew old together, someone with whom to share these golden years, rather than a passionate, obsessive love that he really ought to have grown out of.
And yet there is something so invigorating about feeling these feelings again.
Tracy has become his muse, has inspired him to write as he has never written before. He has told his story, and it has been the easiest and most cathartic book he has ever written.
Of course he has to make changes, needs to make some serious edits before anyone ever sees it, but he has written this book with a passion and verve he hasn’t felt for years.
Tracy has turned writing back into a creative process. For so many years it has just been a business, a treadmill, turning out thriller after thriller, engaging research assistants, writing as painting-by-numbers, fitting the formula, keeping his readers happy.
He hasn’t written like this since he was a young man. Perhaps it was easier because he was writing something he had actually lived, didn’t need to weave in facts and figures supplied by his assistant, but he is certain he has been inspired by Tracy, and he wakes up every morning, glad to be alive, looking forward to writing, and looking forward to being with his muse.
Annabel may not have had anything to drink, but Adam has. Not so much that he is drunk, but certainly enough to have made him relaxed and open in his admiration for Annabel.
They started the evening in a stilted manner, focusing on the party, writing lists, using their shared goal to bandage any awkwardness there was, but by the time they sat down to eat, they had started talking properly, Adam asking Annabel about her father, about her childhood, fascinated by everything she said in her musical, clipped English accent. He could have listened to her all day.
Or all night, as the case may have been.
‘So how long are you planning on staying?’ he asks, making her a camomile tea.
‘My visa is six weeks, and I’ve been here three, so not much longer.’ Her face falls. ‘I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone, and I can’t believe I have to leave.’
‘You like it here?’
‘More than like. I love it. I wish I could stay. I was thinking that if I went back home, I could just shoot back for another three months.’
‘You know, if Ginny is your mother, aren’t you eligible for dual citizenship?’
‘I am, but right now she refuses to recognize me as her daughter, and I need her to petition me. She won’t even take my calls. I don’t want anything from her, except the right to be recognized as half American.’
‘I would have thought she’d do it. She’s a tough old broad, but I’ve always got on with her really well.’
‘Maybe you can have a word with her? God knows she refuses to talk to me.’
‘I will. If you want me to. Hopefully, she’ll make it for the party, and I can pick her up from the airport and talk to her then.’
‘Really? That would be amazing!’
‘I don’t mind at all.’
&nb
sp; Annabel beams with delight at Adam, and then, without planning it, without even truly thinking about it, she leans across the table, and kisses him.
Lightly at first, a thank-you peck on the lips, pulling away to see Adam, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, then going back in to kiss him again, this time longer, sweeter, and the next, sweeter still.
‘Oh God,’ Adam groans, as they finally disengage. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘I know,’ Annabel says. ‘Should I go?’
‘God, no!’ he says, and pulls her over to sit on his lap.
She could stay. She shouldn’t stay, but she could. And she wants to. But Kit is expecting her home, and how could she explain it? And isn’t this bad enough?
They move from the kitchen table to the living-room sofa, grappling around like lust-filled teenagers, clothes being torn off and thrown across the room.
‘I’m not going to sleep with you,’ Annabel says, as Adam licks his way down her body.
‘I don’t think you should.’ Adam stops to grin up at her. ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’
‘For an old man,’ she says as she lies in his arms, still on the sofa, one leg draped over his, ‘you’ve got a pretty impressive amount of energy.’
‘Old man?’ Adam laughs, exhausted, sated, happy. ‘Who are you calling an old man?’
‘You’re almost fifteen years older than me!’ Annabel says, and Adam shivers with horror.
‘That’s awful. Can you just stop already?’ he says, no longer smiling.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I think you’re gorgeous.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’
And Adam’s ego swells, for while he has made many conquests since splitting up with Kit, none has been quite so young, nor quite so beautiful, as Annabel.
Nor have any of them been quite so forbidden, but that is something he is trying hard not to think about. She’ll be gone soon, and this can never be anything more than a fling. They just have to keep it a secret for another three weeks.