I am a liar.
* * *
The house seemed very big and very empty when Laura got up the next morning. For the first time since she’d moved in, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable in it. She suddenly “saw” it, was conscious of doors, walls, and furniture. Things that she’d been so used to that they were comfortingly invisible suddenly appeared odd, as if she didn’t quite recognize them. A chair in the corner of the living room. Mirrors reflecting her face back at her. She was keen to leave it and get to work as quickly as possible.
She got a cab, which took her as far as Drury Lane. There was some disruption up ahead, the traffic was solid; and even as they waited, an ambulance wailed behind them, desperate to reach its injured charge, but unable to move. Cars inched up onto pavements. Laura decided to walk the rest of the way. In the time she’d paid the driver and left the cab, the ambulance had edgedforward only another few meters and she felt for the person who was waiting for it.Never be in an emergency in London,she thought ruefully.You could lie bleeding to death and no one could get to you because of the congestion.She headed in the direction of whatever crisis was taking place, planning to turn down a side street.
Just before she veered away, she looked up toward the incident. Two or three cars had obviously made contact—she could make out some crushed doors and a ruptured hood. Then, awfully, a man, a cyclist lying in the road. His bike was a short distance from his feet, the back wheel mangled. She was about to go and see if she could help, but there was an ambulance car already there, with two paramedics obviously waiting for their backup. The police were holding people back. She shuddered and hoped he was okay. He looked young; he had a backpack on. She thought about his mother when the ambulance finally went past her, lights flashing frantically, a desolate wail every now and then to remind people to get out of the way.
She turned off down a narrow street, then another, and headed toward the office. She walked quickly; the accident had unsettled her even more and she wanted to get to work. The show was gearing up for filming and the heads of departments—art, costume, makeup, camera, and the director—would start prepping in a couple of weeks. When she thought about that, she got the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with an anxiety-infused thrill at what they were about to begin, the juggernaut of production, all for a few minutes a day caught on camera. She had to go and visit some locations today and later meet with the casting director to view tapes of auditions for some of the secondary characters.
Laura’s right shoe was sticking to the pavement, so, in disgust, she stopped and lifted her foot behind her.Chewing gum! Yuck!As she was trying to scrape it off, there was a noise, a cough. Someone behind her had stopped as well. She lowered her foot and stood there for a minute, fear seeping in as an acknowledgment of her stupidity crept up on her. She was in a sort of quiet backstreet, enclosed by buildings on both sides, a link between two thoroughfares. She sensed the tension of someone holding theirbreath. Her heart started hammering and she saw there were only a few yards to the end of the street. People crossed in front of her. People who wouldn’t know if she was attacked in this narrow alley. She suddenly ran forward, her foot feeling tacky, holding her back, as she grasped for the exit, certain someone was following her. She burst into the road and ran wildly away from the alley, only stopping when she was a good distance away. There were plenty of people around her now. Only then could she look back.
There was no one there. No one except for busy commuters and meandering tourists, who were all intent on their own agendas and took no notice of her. She stared at the opening to the alley, but nobody came out. She waited for what seemed an age, made herself stay a bit longer, then wondered if she should go back and see if anyone was loitering in there, but she shrank at the idea. No, she wanted the sanctuary of her office and to immerse herself in her work. It was the only thing that could take her mind off her worries. She turned and hurried away.
46
Friday, October 23
IT WAS AMAZING HOW QUICKLY A PERSON COULD FEEL AT HOME, thought Cherry as she broke the eggs into the butter and sugar mixture and pressed the button on her—correction,their—brand-new candy-apple-red KitchenAid. The blades beat obligingly, and after a few seconds, she switched it off. It had been over a month since Daniel had thrown his mother out, and three weeks since their engagement, and she was baking a cake. Just a little something for him, a surprise while he was out with his friends before he went back to the grueling schedule at the hospital, but it could just as easily be a celebration. An anniversary.
Sometimes she couldn’t believe her luck. She was living in the most amazing apartment, which would be her—their—home for the foreseeable future, and this was just the beginning of the most wonderful life with the most wonderful man. He’d given her the biggest closet, the most drawer space, and his credit card to buy a few things to “make it feel like home.” He’d laughingly begged to be let off any shopping trips, and both of them knew she’d rather go alone anyway. She’d even finally bought his—their—new sheets. She added the flour, then spooned the finished cake mix into the two tins and put them in the oven. Satisfied, she set the timer.
While the cake was cooking, she would think about herbusiness idea. Do a bit of research. It was important to keep up the appearance of looking for a vocation, even if she made it part-time once they were married. She sat with Daniel’s laptop on the perfect lemon sofa, framed by the cream-and-gold-papered walls, imagining what she looked like. She’d achieved a level of living that she reveled in proudly, and all she had to do was exist in it to feel quietly euphoric.
To think, Laura had done her utmost to stop this from happening, to stop her from sitting on this sofa, living in this flat. Laura would’ve gladly ruined her whole life without a second thought. She would still stop it if she could. Cherry could not allow her to think she was a pushover, that she could be bullied. When she’d said she was going to show Laura what it was like to have someone trample all over everything you cared about, she’d meant it. It was the only way the woman would understand what it felt like. Would maybe think twice before doing it again. Because a part of Cherry was scared that all this could still be taken away from her. She’d never wanted to fall out with Laura, but Laura had made their relationship impossible with what she’d tried to do.
She lay back and let her eyes rest on the oil she’d bought for Daniel in Saint-Tropez. Although repaired, it would never be as good as it was before she’d slashed it, but it had been the best investment she’d ever made. Soon she would go back to her mother’s and collect the rest of her things. She hadn’t wanted to go before now, as she was enjoying herself too much. Most of it, she just wanted to be rid of, the old Cherry having been annihilated long ago, but there were the books. Boxes and boxes of them. The books were innocent. They were gateways to a different future, a new life, and she wanted to keep them with her. She was expecting Wendy to suggest she bring Daniel round for tea, something that she would stall indefinitely. The old feelings of guilt crept back in; and she thought, not for the first time, that if her mum wasn’t sowrong,she wouldn’t have to feel this way.
She wondered idly how long she and Daniel could go on in this blissful bubble—without either mother getting in the way. As faras she knew, Laura still hadn’t spoken to him, and Cherry had made sure he hadn’t gotten her letter. He’d spoken to his father though. It had been last week and she’d had to hide her delight when Daniel had told her that Howard had left Laura.Good.Apparently, he’d been screwing that Marianne for years, which was just as she’d suspected. He’d rung Daniel and told him the minimum, just that they were getting divorced, and Daniel wasn’t to worry. She’d held Daniel’s hand supportively as he repeated the conversation and hoped it had been her letter that had triggered the decision. It had taken her quite a lot of practice to get the handwriting just right. How smooth was the writing? Did Laura keep her pen on the paper? Were there any areas where the pressure on the pen was lighter or firmer? Then she made a master alphabet and practiced and practiced before composing her note. She’d gambled on only two things: Howard not turning up at the golf club while she’d done her investigating, and Marianne not recognizing Daniel’s car—something she was fairly confident about, since Marianne wasn’t likely to have spent any time at the Cavendishes’ house. And it had been a stroke of luck Howard hadn’t seen her. Then it had just been a matter of posting the letter, from a place away from Chelsea and Croydon. She’d settled on the center of town and popped into John Lewis and ordered her bakeware at the same time. It was amazing how you could just go around the shop picking things and then someone would arrange to have them delivered, like you were the lady of the manor. You didn’t have to go online and do it yourself or anything.
The timer went off. Cherry went back into the kitchen and pulled the cakes out of the oven. She sniffed approvingly, then left them to cool. She slipped on her jacket and grabbed her keys.Herkeys!Her ownset! Life was good. And now she was going to get another little surprise, something that would be just hers and Daniel’s.
* * *
Cherry tried to keep her anger buttoned down, but it was hard when she saw puppies and kittens desperate to get out, their softpaws clambering over one another, trying to get a grip on the glass sides of their boxes as she walked past, eager for her attention. They’d probably been bought from puppy mills, poor things, been taken straight from their mothers and dumped in this pet shop. She knelt down by one of the cages. Smiled at the soft balls of fur that wanted to get to her, would probably purr deafeningly from human contact if she picked one up. These were the unlucky ones; their lives were destined by the fortunes of their birth. No nurturing start in life from a reputable breeder and, likely, a questionable home when—if—they were ever bought by someone. What kind of future did they have? It was always the same in life; it was all about where you were born, and to whom.
She gazed at the kittens, all five of them, but it was too many to deal with, and, anyway, Daniel preferred dogs. There were fewer puppies, just two left of a litter of three cocker spaniels.Same as Laura had when she was young,Cherry remembered. With light brown, almost golden fur, the male had a white patch on his tummy. She indicated the puppies to the man who ran the place, who was feeding some fish.
“They ever get walked?”
“Every day,” he said brightly, automatically.
She thought about challenging him—it was obvious he was lying—but it probably wouldn’t change things. “I’ll take the boy,” she said, and he placed the puppy carefully in a pet carry box, with holes punched in the side. He produced a birth certificate and medical documents, which she took with the same apathy as he gave them.
“You want a leash?”
She glanced up at a rack behind the cash register. “Yes, please.”
As she walked out of the shop, she looked back at the remaining puppy. She was standing still, watching silently, and Cherry suddenly got a pang of guilt. The poor thing never saw daylight, and had no space to run around. She probably didn’t have any care or comfort at all beyond what was necessary to keep her as a commodity, something to make money from. And Cherry had just taken her brother. She hesitated. Maybe there was a way to end her misery in this place.
“I’ll take the other one as well,” said Cherry.
The puppy wagged her tail as she was also lifted out of the pen. Cherry got out her purse.
“Another leash?” asked the man.
“No . . . it’s okay,” said Cherry. “But I will have one of those large boxes of hamster food.”
