The Sisters (11 page)

Lucinda was dragged out of her thoughts by her phone ringing. Since she’d come back, her phone had hardly rang and the texts usually told her that she was entitled to £3,498 because she’d recently had an accident or that there was a PPI payment waiting for her. If only.

‘You sold the house,’ Paul said.

‘Well hello to you too, Paul.’

‘How could you sell the house?’

‘Forget about the house. Where have you been for the past three months?’

‘It wasn’t three months. I can’t believe that you sold our house.’

‘It was my house to sell and quite frankly I have no idea why you feel that you have the right to question me about my financial affairs when you couldn’t even handle yours.’

There was silence, as Paul knew there was no appropriate response, so Lucinda decided to fill in the gaps. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘Reece had the decency to let his father know that his mother had kidnapped him.’

‘I did not kidnap the children, Paul. You were the one who disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘I had my reasons.’

‘You ignored your children.’

‘I’ve emailed them and told them that I’ll make it up to them.’

‘Bollocks you will.’

‘Look, Lou. I’ve clearly hit a nerve…’

‘Hit a nerve? Are you out of…’

‘Let me start again. How are you? How are the children?’ Lucinda took a deep breath. It was only the fact that she wasn’t paying for the call that made her stay on the line.

‘They’re fine. I’m fine. What happened to you, Paul?’ Lucinda said gently.

‘Bad business decisions.’

‘That bad you had to file for bankruptcy?’

‘Chapter 11 means nothing. It’s tactics, baby.’ Lucinda rolled her eyes. She’d heard that more than once during their marriage.

‘You should have told me that we…sorry that you were in trouble.’

‘I know, I know,’ Paul said with a sense of exhaustion. ‘I’m sorry that you had to find out the way you did. I’m sorry that you felt you had no choice but to sell the house. I’m sorry for everything.’

‘Shit happens,’ Lucinda said, as she felt overwhelmed with empathy for her ex husband. ‘Anyway, if I know you, you’ll bounce back. So where are you?’

‘Atlanta. There’s a new artist I’m looking at.’

‘The last artist you looked at was conveniently on her knees between your legs,’ Lucinda said, unable to help herself.

‘Hey, there’s no need for that,’ Paul said, clearly amused. ‘This is legit. So when are you and the kids coming home?’

‘What are you talking about? We’re not coming home. We’re here for good.’

‘But I thought that you were just in London for the summer.’

‘You really are delusional. I didn’t sell the house just to fund a summer trip.’

They spoke for a few more minutes with Paul promising to send her some money once he was back on his feet and to think about coming back to New York before Lucinda ended the call. The conversation had made her feel sorry for her ex-husband and even more sorry for herself. Lucinda got up and walked over to the large silver fridge and saw that it was filled with food. She became slightly offended by the luxurious items staring back at her. Bottles of champagne, a small tin of caviar, smoked salmon; everything from the cheese, to the carrots and milk was organic. The old New York Lucinda would have thought nothing of opening a bottle of champagne at eleven in the morning. Instead she reached for the bottle of orange juice. The champagne would have to wait until there really was something to celebrate.

Lucinda only had the sounds of radio 2 for company, as the twins were already out after she forced two fully loaded oyster cards into their hands and told them to find their way around London. She wasn’t confident that they’d end up on the right end of the Metropolitan line so she called Lena who’d just finished her exams and arranged for her to meet her cousins. Lucinda walked through the house, barefoot and still in pyjamas. Every room was a reminder that she didn’t have much time left. She constantly worried that any moment now the landlord would tell the estate agents that he was selling the house and that she’d have to leave. Where would she go? She couldn’t live out of hotels and she wasn’t prepared to be separated from her children. The very thought caused anxiety to grip her stomach as she walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower.

The sky was a clear bright blue with only the vapours left behind by planes on their way to Heathrow. There was a cool breeze in the air and it rustled the leaves of the trees that had long lost their cherry blossom. It only took Lucinda ten minutes before she found herself outside her house. She pushed the wrought black iron gate, which wasn’t on the latch and instantly swung open. She walked up the stairs, trying to ignore the overflowing, green wheelie bin. She wrinkled her nose in disapproval at the front door, which clearly needed repainting. She lifted the chrome knocker not quite believing that she was knocking on the front door of her own house. She waited, but there was no answer so she knocked again, harder, before bending down and pushing open the letterbox. Even from the hallway she could see that the house was in complete disarray. There were baskets of clothes that had just been dumped in the hallway and shoes scattered across the floor. Lucinda slammed the letterbox shut and tried to lean across to look through the large bay windows.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Lucinda jumped at the sound of the Irish-accented voice behind her. She turned around and found herself face to face with a tall white man who didn’t look like he’d slept much recently. ‘I asked you what the hell are you doing?’

Lucinda looked down at the carrier bags in his hands and the keys that he held in his left hand. ‘This is my house,’ Lucinda answered straightening herself up.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I said that this is my house.’

‘Are you off your head? This is my sister’s house. Do I need to call the police?’

‘Why on earth would you need to call the police?’

‘Oh let me think. There’s a crazy woman knocking at my sister’s front door, looking through letter boxes, forcing open windows…’

‘I wasn’t trying to force open the window…’

‘And telling me that this is her house. You don’t think that would be good enough reason for calling the police?’

Lucinda stared back at him, swelling with anger. His green eyes never left her face as he pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket.

‘You know what, I’m going. I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.’

‘I suggest you do that,’ he said as Lucinda walked back down the stairs and closed the gate behind her, making sure that she placed it firmly back on the latch.

‘For the record. This is my house. I own it. Your sister is renting from me and when you’ve stopped ranting and raving like an idiot you can tell her that I’m speaking to the estate agents today and I want her out,’ Lucinda said as she stormed off down the road.

He was left speechless as he watched the stranger walk away whilst thinking this was the last thing that his sister needed.

IT TOOK Lucinda two hours and an uncomfortable, hot and sticky tube journey from Notting Hill to Waterloo before she calmed down. She understood now what it meant when people said that it felt like the whole world was conspiring against you. As she pushed open the glass doors of the office building and told the receptionist who she was, Lucinda prayed that things were about to change.

‘I cannot believe that Lucinda LeSoeur is sitting in my office after all these years,’ said Sal as he sat on the grey pastel sofa in the corner of his office.

‘Why are you wearing shorts?’ Lucinda asked as she looked down at his tanned but hairy legs. ‘It’s not very professional.’

‘What are you talking about? They’re Ralph Lauren. Anyway, you’re wearing shorts.’

‘That’s because I have the legs for it,’ Lucinda said as she crossed her long legs, which she knew always caught Sal’s attention. She was wearing a pair of yellow DKNY shorts and a white linen vest. One thing that Lucinda could do was pull a look together. Although this was one was pulled together whilst she was in the middle of an angry huff.

‘That is double standards. So, what can I do for you, Lulu, because if I remember correctly, the last time we saw each other you said that the next time you saw me you’d stuff a Grammy award up my arse.’

Lucinda couldn’t help but laugh out loud as the memory of that moment flashed before her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I was a bit angry the last time I saw you.’

‘That’s an understatement.’

‘Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. I never did win one and if it makes you feel better. I apologise.’

‘Look,’ Sal said as he suddenly stood up and slapped his hands together as if he was gathering a group of five year olds to line up properly. ‘Why don’t we get out of the office and take advantage of the nice weather before it disappears and I’ve got to pack my shorts away.’

Sal’s office was next door to the Old Vic theatre in Waterloo and in ten minutes they were walking along the South Bank.

‘They had a fake beach here last summer,’ Sal said as they walked past the growing queue of tourists waiting to board the London Eye. ‘They had stripy deck chairs and even a Punch and Judy show.’

‘You’re joking?’ Lucinda said as she stopped at a row of pop up food stalls. ‘I can’t believe how much the South Bank has changed. I remember when the only food truck around here was the ice-cream man selling hot dogs from his van.’

‘But it’s nice to see that some things haven’t changed,’ said Sal as he pointed across the river at St Pauls Cathedral. Lucinda looked across and watched the sunrays bouncing off the top of the majestic cathedral and then catching the ripples of the River Thames. The river sparkled in the sunlight and looked cool and inviting. It was these moments that made Lucinda realise just how special London was. With the exception of the extra three stone that Sal had piled on, which had settled mainly on his stomach, he hadn’t changed. He still had the same cheeky grin and large, bright blue eyes. His thick, curly brown hair was in desperate need of a cut but he looked well. He’d been the manager for the group since he’d discovered their demo tape amongst the reject pile of the record company where he’d been temping that summer. His boss had not been interested – he’d said that no one was interested in girl bands. Sal had taken it upon himself to call the number on the inside of the tape cassette and then turned up, uninvited on their doorstep and had begged Lucinda to let him manage her group. Jessica said no, he didn’t look like he could manage a tuck shop. Beatrice wasn’t really interested as she was convinced that the entire venture would go nowhere. But Lucinda had liked him because he was enthusiastic and more importantly he was offering his services for free. No one had been harder working as Sal was in those early days and no one was more devastated then he when Lucinda had decided to call it a day.

‘I spoke to Bea about a month ago. Sent a pressie for her baby. Nice little Burberry number,’ Sal said as they sat at an outside table of a bar that was close to Blackfriars Bridge but nicely tucked away from the tourists. Lucinda wasn’t surprised that Sal was still in contact with her sisters. He and Beatrice had grown close and she knew that nearly all of his clients were on Jessica’s books. There was an unbroken trust between them all.

‘It’s funny though. She didn’t say that you were coming over,’ he said.

‘It was a last minute decision. I decided it was time for a fresh start,’ Lucinda said in a well-rehearsed speech.

‘And that’s why you’ve called me, right? You want a fresh start,’ Sal stated rather than asked as he ordered a club sandwich for them both and a bottle of sparkling water. Lucinda looked at him surprised as she remembered all of the occasions when Sal was more than the life and soul of a party.

‘Sparkling water? Really Sal?’

‘Three years sober, Lulu.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘Well, I had to buck up my ideas after I woke up in the front seat of my car, engine running and the contents of my wheelie bin on the bonnet. To this day, I have no memory of even getting into that car. I could have killed someone. I could have killed myself. Petrie threatened to take the kids and move back to Portugal and live with her parents. So I fixed up.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah I know. Who would have thought? Salvatore Alinari. Sober. But don’t think that you don’t have to drink on my account. I watched Petrie knock back half a bottle of sauvignon whilst I sipped at my virgin bloody Mary last night. Me, I’ve already lost two stone and I’m thinking about a triathlon next year. Don’t roll your eyes,’ Sal said before Lucinda had even had a chance to think about it.

Lucinda changed her order from a white wine to a diet coke and decided that there had been enough small talk.

‘Sal, I need your help.’

‘Well, I didn’t think you were coming to see me just to say hello and tell me that I got fat. So what is it?’

‘I want to make a comeback.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean why?’

‘It’s a good enough question. Lou, seventeen years ago your lawyers sent me a lovely fax telling me that it was over. Within that time you threatened to assault me with a musical award and sent me a couple of Christmas cards. I think that the least you could do is tell me why. Do you need the money?’

‘No, of course not. There are loads of reasons but mainly I need to have a career. I need to give my kids something to look up to. I want to try again.’

‘But I thought that you weren’t interested in the music business. I read that interview you gave a few years back.’

‘That was years ago. I don’t even know why I gave that interview. I need to make music. I need to work. I need a manager.’

‘You want me to manage you?’ Sal said not making any effort to hide his surprise.

‘Who else would I go to? You’ve known me for nearly twenty-five years.’

‘Don’t say it too loudly.’

‘You manage three artists who are in the top ten right now. You’re respected, you know me and I trust you not to screw me over.’

‘Lou, the music business isn’t the same as it was.’