The Sisters (22 page)

‘Oh my God. I’m so proud of you, I could cry,’ Harrie said before she started laughing down the phone. ‘Was it good? I mean it has been so long since you kissed someone that you think being licked by a dog is good.’

‘You really are disgusting. Yes it was good…’

‘Are you going to see him again? Did he text you?’

‘Yes he texted me.’

‘Lulu, this is awesome. I knew that going back to London would be great for you.’

‘Harrie, it was one date not the bloody royal wedding. Anyway, things haven’t changed that much. I still haven’t found anyone who wants to record me.’

‘You wouldn’t think that it’d be so difficult – anyone with a MacBook in their bedroom is a producer. I thought Sal was helping you.’

‘He is helping me and he’s doing his best but everyone he has sent me to see just haven’t got me. I feel as though I’m getting too old for this.’

‘You’re not too old. You’re just being too fussy.’

‘I’m not fussy…I’m just,’ Lucinda replied distractedly as she turned over the pages of her notebook and started to go through the list of ingredients.

‘What are you doing? Because you’re hardly paying any attention.’

‘Sorry, I’m just going through a recipe.’

‘Oh I wish I was there. What are you making.’

‘Sweet potato pudding. My mum used to make it all the time when we were younger.’

‘Lou, if none of this works out you can always cook for a living. I mean, you’re a good cook. You’re the only woman in New York City who would actually cook at her own dinner parties.’

‘Cooking at home is entirely different to cooking for the world and his wife.’

‘A portfolio lifestyle, baby. Perhaps all of this is teaching you that you need to diversify.’

‘It was a lot easier when Paul just gave me money.’

‘Yeah and that’s how you got into this mess in the first place.’

They talked for a few more minutes as Harrie updated Lucinda on who was sleeping with who, how she was thinking of booking a holiday and how much she missed her closest friend.

‘I miss you too. You’re the only one who doesn’t judge me,’ Lucinda said just before Lena walked into the kitchen, still in her pyjamas.

‘Please, honey. None of us are saints. Right, I have to go. I’m taking that husband of my mine to the airport. I’ll speak to you soon. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ Lucinda replied. Before she put her phone on the counter she noticed a text, reminding her that her phone bill of £46.92 was due to be taken out of her account in 7 days.

‘Afternoon.’ Lucinda said as she glanced at the kitchen clock. Lena pulled up a stool and sat down in front of her aunt.

‘We were up late. Katelyn is still asleep.’

‘Nothing new there. So, how long do you plan on staying?’

‘Why, do you want me to go?’ Lena said defensively as she leaned over the breakfast bar and switched the kettle on.

‘No, I’m happy for you to stay. More than happy, sweetheart but I’m not sure if your mum will feel the same way.’

‘She couldn’t care less.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘She probably didn’t notice that I’ve even gone. All she cares about is herself. I mean look at how she treats you, auntie Lou.’

‘Look whatever is going on between me and your mother has nothing do with your relationship. I know that it’s not easy being a teenager…’

Lena rolled her eyes. ‘And this is a hard time for you, I mean you’re waiting for your exam results, the divorce, your grand…’ Lucinda stopped as she remembered that Lena, in fact none of the grandchildren, had been told about their grandfather’s illness. Even though it was nearly three months since he’d been diagnosed and he was attending weekly chemotherapy, they were still in the dark having been told stupid stories that their grandfather was ill with the flu or that he had a stomach bug. Lucinda still didn’t see the point. At least tell them now and prepare for the worse as opposed to being told that their grandfather had dropped dead one day.

‘Your grandparents are there for you. You’re luckier than most. You’ve got an amazing support network, which includes your mum,’ she said.

‘I’m not bothered about the divorce. I don’t know why mum even married him; he wasn’t horrible or anything like that. He was quite funny sometimes but mum wasn’t happy with him. It’s probably why she’s drinking so much.’

‘I’m sure she’s not drinking that…?’

‘Auntie Lou, I’ve read the stories online. I know what mum was like when she was famous, before she had me. She’d make out like you were the crazy one but really it was her.’ Lucinda didn’t answer because she knew Lena was speaking the truth. She had witnessed for herself when Jessica went off the rails and how she loved the fame and all of its trappings. Jessica disappearing on a week’s bender wasn’t unusual and she was more than happy to dapple in the various illicit selections in the club toilets or a darkened room of an after party.

‘How much is she drinking?’ Lena shrugged her shoulders because she honestly didn’t know but she knew from the recycling bin that her mum was drinking at least a bottle of wine a night. ‘She has been drinking in her bedroom and she hardly eats.’

‘Ok, sweetie. It’s probably time that I spoke to her.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Lena said with a look on her face that made her look much older than her 16 years.

RICHARD LEANED his face against the cold porcelain toilet seat exhausted. ‘Perhaps I should just sleep here,’ he thought to himself as he slowly turned around and sat down on the bathroom floor. The blinds were half open and the sunlight was streaming through to the spotless bathroom. He’d always thought it strange that the brightest room in the house was their guest bathroom; he used to think that it was a waste, but now that he was spending so much time there, he appreciated it. He continued to sit for a while, enjoying the warm sunshine on his face. It reminded him of the last time he and Felicia had visited Grenada. He had laid on a piece of land, which was the same land he used to play cricket as a young boy, and watched the clouds float overhead whilst Felicia had paced around saying she wasn’t sure about moving to Grenada for good and maybe just a holiday home for now. They had made so many plans over the last few years, especially with Felicia due to retire in a year’s time, but now it seemed that the only planning he’d be doing would be for his funeral. He stood up making sure to avoid his reflection in the mirror and the scales in the corner. He didn’t feel as though he’d made any significant improvements. Yesterday had been his fourth chemotherapy session and as always he felt fine for the rest of the day but the following morning his familiar friends of nausea, temperature, a banging headache and constipation returned. If he wasn’t sitting on the toilet trying to go then he had his head in it bringing up the little food that he’d managed to get down a few hours before.

‘How are you feeling?’ Felicia asked, knowing full well that he wouldn’t tell her the truth.

‘I feel like shit.’

‘Oh,’ Felicia said surprised at his forthrightness. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

Richard shook his head.

‘I was thinking of making some oxtail soup that would help you with…’

‘Lord no. You know I hate oxtail.’ He sat down in his armchair and picked up the Evening Standard from the floor.

‘Did you know that Lena is staying with Lucinda?’ Richard said as he started to flick through the paper.

‘What?’ Felicia said without lifting her head from the book in her lap.

‘I don’t know why I bother. You never listen to me. Our granddaughter, Lena, is staying with Lulu.’

‘Why?’

‘Lulu didn’t say.’

‘When did you speak to her?’

‘Whilst you were out spending a small fortune in Waterstones.’ Richard pointed at the plastic bag on the floor on the sofa, the contents spilling out onto the floor.

‘They had a deal on.’

‘They always have a deal on. Speaking of deals, Virgin have a deal on for flights to Grenada.’

‘Richard you know you can’t go on holiday…’

‘I don’t want the next time I go to Grenada to be in a wooden box, thank you very much.’

‘Stop being so dramatic. Anyway, what did Lucinda want?’

‘She wanted to talk to me about the grandchildren. She thinks I should tell them.’

‘And I think she’s right. Reece, Katelyn and Lena should know what’s going on. They’re not babies, so you should tell them. They’d hate you for it if you didn’t.’

‘I know. I’ll tell them,’ Richard said as he turned the pages of the newspaper in his hand. ‘I hate these bloody newspapers and their damn stories. Why don’t they just leave her alone?’

Felicia had already skimmed through the third story that week about Jessica, this time intimate details about her non-sex life with Andrew and her turbulent relationships with the actor, Devon Miles and the club owner Otis Leigh from her Euterpe days.

‘You should know better than to read it. Just throw it in the bin.’

Richard kissed his teeth and turned to the back pages. ‘And England can’t even win a damn cricket match.’ He screwed up the paper and threw it on the floor.

‘I should go and see her,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t been around for a few weeks.’

‘Don’t be silly; I’m sure she’s fine. You know the child has a lot on, she doesn’t need us…’

‘What’s the point of being a father if I don’t do my job and make sure she’s doing ok?’ He looked at his wrist and turned his watch so he could see the face. When Lucinda, Jessica and Beatrice had bought it for him it’d slightly pinched the skin on his wrist when he’d closed the clasp, but now it moved freely around his dry skin. ‘What time do you think she’ll get home?’

‘You’re not going all the way up there Richard.’

‘It’s only Islington, not Kathmandu.’

‘I don’t care if it’s just across the street. You’re in no state. You’ve just had chemo and your immune system is weak. It’s not worth it.’

‘Checking if our daughter is ok isn’t worth it?’

‘You know exactly what I meant,’ Felicia said sternly. She looked up at the framed photographs on the wall, the three eldest daughters sitting together for their primary school picture, and Jessica not at all pleased about being squashed in the middle. Those were the memories that she wanted her husband to hold onto, not make new ones of a daughter who was angry and struggling to cope.

‘I’ll go and see her.’

Richard sullenly folded his arms and turned on the TV. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying it wasn’t fair. ‘I just want to see if she’s ok.’

‘I know you do. I’ll make chicken soup instead and bring her some of that.’

‘Just don’t put…’

‘I know, I know,’ Felicia said as she got up, walked over to her husband and kissed the top of his head. ‘I won’t put any dasheen in it ok, you silly man.’ Richard smiled and grabbed hold of his wife’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

Felicia knew she was taking a chance by turning up at Jessica’s house unannounced but she didn’t want to give her the opportunity to tell her that she wasn’t home. She took a step back and looked up. The shutters and all of the windows were open and she could faintly make out the sound of the television. She knocked on the door and waited. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to Jessica’s home. She, Lena and Andrew, when he felt like it, always came to them. In fact they all did, preferring the luxury of being waited on by parents who always thought that they didn’t see them enough. Lucinda was different though. As much as Felicia hated to admit it, Lucinda would have been the one who threw open her doors to welcome her family. She lifted up the brass knocker and knocked again. The paint beneath the knocker was starting to peel away. If Richard had seen it, he’d have got back in his car and driven to Wickes. He was proud of his daughters and wouldn’t have liked to see anything that would have laid them open to criticism. Felicia placed the canvas bag with a plastic container filled with slightly warm soup on the step and pushed open the letter box when the door suddenly swung open causing her to stand up quickly.

‘Mum, what are you doing here?’ Jessica said more than surprised to see her mother on her doorstep.

‘Well, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain…’ She stopped as she took a close look at her daughter and felt her breath stop in her throat. She was dressed in her pyjama bottoms and a faded Back to the Future t-shirt that she was sure had belonged to Jessica’s first husband.

‘What’s going on with you?’ Felicia asked. Jessica walked away from the open door and picked up the large wine glass, which she’d left on the hallway table. Felicia slammed the door behind her and walked straight to the kitchen. She stopped when she saw the sight of dirty cups and plates in the sink, and the overflowing recycling bin with empty wine bottles on the floor next to it. There was an empty bread bag on the worktop and blackened bananas in the fruit bowl. Felicia didn’t even want to leave her homemade soup in the kitchen but she cleared a space on the kitchen table and left it there.

‘I thought you had a cleaner?’ Felicia walked into the living room and moved a few dresses that were still in their plastic dry-cleaning bags on the sofa and hung them on the back of the door.

‘She’s on holiday.’

‘That shouldn’t stop you from cleaning up. I didn’t bring you up to live in a pig sty, Jessica LeSoeur. Where’s your daughter?’

‘Mum, did you come here for a reason or just to harass me because I really don’t need it?’ Jessica said deliberately not answering. She sat down and turned up the volume on the TV. Felicia walked over and once she’d worked out how, turned the television off. She glanced over at the wooden coffee table and saw the bottle of wine that was still two thirds full.

‘You know your father wanted to come round and see you. He’s as sick as a dog but his only concern is you. I’m so glad he didn’t see this.’

‘Has something happened?’

‘No, nothing has happened to him but the lord knows what it would have done to him to see you like this. What are you doing to yourself?’

‘I’m not doing anything to myself.’

‘Jessica, I saw all of those bottles in the kitchen and look at you, it’s only eight o’clock and I’m sure that’s not your first bottle. What are you doing to yourself?’