The Sisters (25 page)

Both of them nodded their heads like obedient puppies before bolting out of her office. Beatrice looked over at the pile of files that had been unpacked and shook her head glad that Tanya still had her back to her. She silently prayed that she hadn’t been right when she’d said that most women returned home.

The black cab pulled up next to Mansion Hill tube station and both Beatrice and Sarah got out. Sarah had asked her sensible questions about the case and hadn’t said a word when the taxi driver turned around as they sat at the traffic lights in New Change and told Beatrice that she looked familiar; like one of those girls who used to be in a group whose name he couldn’t remember.

‘Isn’t it a bit strange representing someone you know? My tutor in law school warned us against it.’

‘So did mine and I’d usually run a mile but this is different,’ Beatrice replied as they walked along Queen Victoria Street. The recent thunderstorm had cooled down the summer air and a soft breeze swirled around them. It was only 11 o’clock so the traffic moved steadily along the roads, and there weren’t a million and one people rushing out of Cannon Street Station, in the middle of rush hour, trying to make it to work on time. They reached the revolving glass door of the office building that was no different to the other buildings they had passed with the same faux marble exterior walls and a simple brass plaque on the wall. Sarah and Beatrice headed to the lifts and up to the fifth floor to Bacall Fields, the firm of accounts that she and her sisters had used when they received their first advance from the record company. They’d been recommended several accountant firms by the record company but Lucinda had put her foot down; she didn’t like the idea of Concave records being involved in every single part of their professional lives. When Beatrice had first entered the offices of Bacall Fields they’d been above a funeral parlour on the Old Kent Road. Thomas Bacall had opened the door himself whilst his partner, Calvin Fields had been in the back room haggling with their landlord over payment of the rent. Beatrice remembered telling Lucinda that she had another thing coming if she thought that she’d trust a couple of accountants who looked like they found their degrees in the bottom of a cereal box with their money. Lucinda had pushed her through the doors and she hadn’t looked back since.

Bacall Fields had certainly come a long way since their days on the Old Kent Road, which they were still quite proud of, shown by the battered road sign that they’d
acquired,
that now hung on the reception area wall.

‘Hello Beatrice. It’s been so long. You look fantastic. I’d never have guessed that you’d had a baby. How are you?’ Phoebe said as Beatrice and Sarah walked onto the fifth floor.

‘I’m well, Phoebe. It’s good to see you. Why are you sitting in reception?’ Beatrice asked. Phoebe tutted and flicked back her long brown hair. ‘Bloody temp. She was here last week no problem and then Monday morning she’s a no show. Two days later I get an email from her. She had an offer to go to Marbella. Too good to turn down apparently. Your sister is already here. I’ve placed her in the conference room. Tom is just finishing off with another client but he’ll be with you shortly. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water?’ Phoebe said without taking a breath as she got up and walked authoritatively through the corridor.

‘Tea, thank you. Sarah?’

‘The same, thank you,’ Sarah said softly.

‘You need to learn to speak up love. You’re swimming with sharks now,’ Phoebe said as she opened the door to the conference room.

Jessica had been waiting in the conference room for twenty minutes. She felt nervous and sick that her life was out of control. She spun the gold bangles around her left wrist, and pushed them down but she could still see the red wings of the small butterfly tattoo on her wrist. She ran her fingers along the tattoo. It had been her bright idea. Emma had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown as she paced around Jessica’s garden convinced that her life was over as she waited for her A-Level results, due the following day. Jessica’s solution had been to ply her baby sister with wine to try and take her mind off things. Lucinda and Beatrice had also been there, although Lucinda had stuck to sparkling raspberry and cranberry juice as she was still breast-feeding her four-month-old twins who were on their first international trip and were being looked after by her parents. The birth of the twins – and Jessica’s daughter a year earlier – had eased the tension between them. However, it wasn’t as good as it used to be. Lucinda’s departure for a new life was still fairly raw but it had got better. Jessica still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to convince her sisters to get into a cab to Nunhead, which reminded Beatrice of being dragged around to all sorts of dodgy underground clubs in South East London to perform. They’d all left the small shop with the peeling posters on the wall and the metal bars on the window, with butterfly tattoos on their wrist. Euterpe’s second number one had been a ballad called ‘Butterfly Soul,’ which Edgar the tattooist, despite looking like the recruiter for Hell’s Angels, had surprised the girls by putting their album on the CD player and humming along.

Thomas pushed aside the pages of Jessica’s financial portfolio that he’d printed out earlier that morning and looked directly at Jessica.

‘I’m not being funny but how could you not realise that you had this much money in the bank? I mean, how could you miss four million quid?’

‘I didn’t miss it,’ Jessica sighed. ‘I just kind of forgot about it. It wasn’t as if I had to live off the royalty cheques. The business was doing well.’

‘Forgot about it? I wouldn’t have forgotten about four million,’ Thomas said as he took his glasses off and cleaned them with his sky blue tie. Sarah silently agreed with him. ‘Well, it’s not quite the £25 million that’s being quoted in the papers but it’s close. Your house has increased in value but then again everyone’s house is increasing in value. Do you know that your house is probably making more money a day than you do?’

‘Great,’ Jessica said sullenly. ‘Can’t I just sign the house over to Lena? I mean it’ll go to her eventually.’ Beatrice shook her head whilst Sarah diligently made notes. She hated this part of divorce law, dragging over the coals of her client’s finances.

‘Not a good idea.’

‘But I don’t want him getting my house.’

‘I know you don’t, but giving your house away to try and reduce your assets isn’t smart and I wish I could say that everything they’ve put in their ancillary relief application was wrong but it’s not. Jess, financially you’re the equivalent of the ravens at the Tower of London. You’re not going anywhere.’

‘I was hoping the numbers were wrong.’

‘Excuse me, I never get things wrong. Anyway, look on the bright side. You can reduce the amount of the account a bit. Just tell Lucinda to take her share of the money. I’m sure she wouldn’t turn down a couple of mill.’

‘I doubt that she’ll be interested,’ Jessica said, causing Beatrice to look at her sister and wonder why on earth she would be so defiant. ‘Can’t I just put the money into one of those tax avoidance thingy’s?’

‘Talk to your sister about that. She’s the lawyer. She’ll tell you why hiding your assets is a bad idea. Personally, I haven’t got a problem with hiding money from the taxman,’ Thomas said bluntly. ‘How could you let this happen Jess? What was the first thing that I taught you and your sisters? Protect your assets. Haven’t I always told you that?’

‘How was I supposed to know that my husband would turn out to be the devil?’

‘Well, the devil was an angel once but that’s no excuse Jess. You should have protected yourself.’

Jessica got up and stormed out of the office.

‘I better go after her,’ Beatrice said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Thomas looked at Beatrice and shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s not your fault Bea. Some people just can’t handle the truth.’

‘YOU CAN’T hide the money from her Jess,’ Beatrice said as she sat across from Jessica in a restaurant in St. Pauls. She’d sent Sarah back to the office whilst she seized the opportunity to find out what was going on with the sister who used to have so much fire and whose gregariousness she once envied. Instead she pitied the woman who sat in front of her drinking double vodka and tonic and pushing the risotto around her plate.

‘I know you’re going through a rough time.’

‘My husband is trying to financially ruin me and he’s sleeping with my sister. That’s more than just a rough time.’

Beatrice started coughing and spluttering as the bread she’d just swallowed decided to take a different direction. She grabbed the glass of water in front of her and took a couple of gulps.

‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised,’ Jessica replied without looking up from her plate. She put a small spoonful of risotto into her mouth and slowly chewed. She’d been trying to eat more but it was difficult when your stomach was filled with so much anxiety.

‘Lou would never do that. You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Well it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? She tried it on with him before, the last time I visited her in New York. She’s a devious little…’

‘Stop it, Jess. I know Lou. That’s not like her…’

‘If you saw what I saw then you wouldn’t say that.’

‘And what exactly did you see, Jessica? The last time you were in New York Lou had just got divorced from Paul. She was a mess, you know she was. She’d caught Paul with that skanky…’ Beatrice stopped as she felt her temperature begin to boil. ‘You know what Lou is like. With her yoga and her Buddhism like Tina bloody Turner. She believes in karma, she’d never have done that to you. Never.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Jessica said shaking her head. ‘You’ve all been sucked in by her. I saw her…Five years ago I walked in on her and Andrew, she practically had her knickers on the floor.’ Beatrice picked up the white linen napkin that she’d placed on her lap and threw it on top of her half eaten meal. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.

‘You need to pull yourself together and ask yourself what exactly you saw because I’m telling you there’s no way that our sister would do that to any of us. We worked hard to get through all of that Euterpe stuff and there is no way that she’d stick the knife in by sleeping with Andrew. For God’s sake, she didn’t even like him. You were the only one who thought that the sun shone out of his arse.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Beatrice looked at the glass in her sister’s hand, the slice of lemon moving daintily amongst the ice cubes as the vodka swirled around the bottom.

‘I’m not calling you a liar, Jess but you’d stopped drinking before you had Lena, stopped being Jessie the party animal and then as soon as you met Andrew it started up again. So if you were as drunk then as you are now then all I’m saying is that you made a mistake. I’m going back to work. They were right when they said you shouldn’t represent your family.’

Jessica watched her sister walk out of the restaurant and past the window as she headed in the direction of Ludgate Hill. She felt sick and angry. Angry about the position that her estranged husband had put her in, angry that her mum and now Beatrice were telling her she was wrong. She’d kept this secret to herself for five long years and every time she allowed the footage to replay in her head, something was always different. On some nights she pressed play and she saw her sister on her knees between Andrew’s legs with his hands pushing down on her head. Other days she saw Lucinda naked sitting on top of Andrew as he called out her name. Some days it was even cruder as Lucinda was bent over the sofa with Andrew thrusting away behind her as he pulled onto her hair and Lucinda looked at Jessica with a smile on her face. Jessica shook her head as she tried to get rid of the latest image in her head as though she was removing pictures on an etch a sketch. It was the image of Lucinda trying to push Andrew off her, as she screamed no.

‘Did you know that I’ve run a marathon?’ Richard said as he rhythmically tapped the arms of the chair.

‘Oh yeah. I’ve done it twice. What was your time?’ said Dr. Marcus as he squinted at the scans on his computer screen.

‘This isn’t a competition you know. Six hours 12 minutes. Anyway, I was a cancer survivor and I was running with my brother-in-law. I was hardly going to be breaking any records.’

‘It’s a great achievement. I walked like John Wayne for a week.’

‘It’s all Lance Armstrong’s fault. If he can do seven Tour de Frances then I can do one little marathon, I told myself. If I’d only known. Hey, if I had what he had I probably could have run the marathon in half the time.’ Richard looked around the room that he’d sat in many times before and wondered what news he was going to hear today. He’d surprised himself by being in a good mood. There was no nausea or thumping headache greeting him that morning and he’d felt like his old self. He’d even stepped on the bathroom scales and had put on two pounds. He wanted to hear good news. He needed good news. ‘So, doctor. What is it?’

‘Well, the good news is that the tumours haven’t spread but I’m still concerned about your lymph nodes, even though they appear to be clear.’

‘So the chemo is working then? That’s good isn’t it?’

‘Yes, good but not good enough. The growth has stopped but the tumours haven’t reduced in size, which is what I’d want to see before we even contemplate surgery.’

‘So what…more chemo? I’ve had four cycles already.’

‘I know you have and I know it’s hard.’

‘You’ve got no idea how hard it’s been. If my head hasn’t been down a toilet then I’ve been sitting on one. I’m sick of drinking soup but it’s the only thing that I can keep down for more than an hour. Monday was the first time in months that I ate something and kept it down and you know what it was? A deep pan pizza with peppers, sausage and extra cheese. I thought that even if I couldn’t eat it, I just wanted to smell it. I managed two and a half slices.’

‘That’s good. It’s when you’re not eating that I’ve got to be worried. Look Richard, I know that you’re not going to like it but I’m going to suggest five more cycles of chemo…’