by Grace Lowrie
‘I nearly didn’t.’ Sebastian closed his eyes as if to shut out the memory. ‘I saw that Clive guy and I jumped to all the wrong conclusions – I nearly missed what he was trying to tell me.’
‘But it all worked out OK in the end,’ I said soothingly.
Sebastian opened his eyes again and I smiled reassuringly at him, but he didn’t smile back. Even in this dreadful state, he still looked so damn sexy! If my mouth wasn’t so ugly and sore I would’ve made him kiss me.
‘How’s your hand?’ I asked.
‘Fine.’
‘Can I see?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to stay grumpy for long?’
I saw a trace of a smile flicker across his face before he replied. ‘Probably not.’
‘Good. Can I ask you to do something for me then?’
‘What?’ he said warily.
‘Go home, have a long hot shower, eat something, and then get some sleep.’
Sebastian sighed, his shoulders sagging, his forehead resting on the edge of the bed.
‘Please, Sebastian, you are worrying Celeste and I don’t like seeing Celeste worried.’
‘OK,’ he mumbled, but he didn’t move. With my other hand I gently stroked the side of his face. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he mumbled again.
‘I’ll be home soon.’
Sebastian raised his eyes to mine. ‘Are you sure you want to come home?’
‘Of course! Where else would I go?’
‘You could –’
I cut him off. ‘I love you, Sebastian. And I love Celeste. You
are my home.’
Chapter Thirty-seven
During my interview with the police on Sunday, I learned that they had charged Dan Stanton with ABH as soon as he had improved sufficiently to be moved from the intensive ward to a secure one. Aside from his concussion, he was recovering from a broken nose and a cracked jaw bone and had to eat through a straw. I found this oddly satisfying.
The police also informed me that Dan had been fired from DW&P the day before he attacked me. Apparently his work hadn’t been up to scratch and when a female employee filed a complaint of sexual harassment against him, it had made the senior partners’ decision to let him go much easier. It seemed that Dan’s dismissal had had nothing to do with Sebastian; Dan simply resented his success and popularity.
Detective Inspector Lambert, a sombre man with bad dandruff and yellow teeth, was interested to know how well I knew a key witness; a Mr Clive Probert. I explained that I suspected he had been following me around for some time, but I was careful to emphasise that I didn’t find him the least bit threatening and that I was understandably grateful for his presence on Wednesday evening. Lambert agreed that Clive was almost certainly harmless, but said that they had already cautioned him not to follow me anymore. He explained that in his professional experience that sort of obsessional behaviour was to be discouraged, despite the unusually positive side-effects in my case.
By the time the detective had finished with his questions and I’d relived events over and over, in great detail in my mind, the only thing Lambert claimed he couldn’t understand was why Dan went after me as a means of hurting Sebastian and not Celeste. After all, I wasn’t his girlfriend, was I? He looked at me pointedly, an eyebrow raised, in case I wanted to volunteer anything further, but I stayed silent. Eventually DI Lambert and his sidekick, whose name I’d already forgotten, relented, satisfied with my statement, confident they would get a conviction and fairly sure the charges against Sebastian would be dropped entirely. I hadn’t broached the subject with the twins yet.
On Monday morning I was given the all clear and discharged from hospital. I felt much better; my energy was returning, the swelling in my face had diminished, and my bruises were already fading to an unappealing yellowy colour. Celeste helped me carry all the Get Well Soon cards, chocolates, and flowers from my friends and colleagues down to where Sebastian was waiting in his car. He gazed fondly at me in the rear view mirror as I slid into the back seat. He still looked tired, but he was clean-shaven, washed, and dressed in a suit ready for work – more like his usual self. While Celeste chattered away about their up-coming trip to Paris, I tried not to stare at the bandage wrapped on Sebastian’s right hand as he turned the steering wheel. The twins were due to spend Christmas and New Year with their uncle and cousins and they were leaving in only four days’ time. They had, of course, invited me to join them, but I wouldn’t have felt right leaving my mum on her own for Christmas.
Sebastian pulled up at the house and hugged us both quickly goodbye before heading off to work without comment. Celeste’s buoyant, festive mood continued as she cheerily arranged my chrysanthemums in various vases while telling me about the latest collection she was working on. In the background I could hear Mrs McBride noisily vacuuming bedrooms somewhere upstairs. As I sat down I noticed that the painting of Mr and Mrs Walker had been hung on the wall above the breakfast table; where it would be seen every day, but would not be faded by direct sunlight. I thought it looked very at home beside the family sized Christmas tree – oddly comforting. Eventually Celeste sat down next to me.
‘How are you feeling, darling? You’re very quiet. Can I get you anything?’
‘To be honest I feel pretty much normal,’ I admitted.
‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah. How about you?’
‘Great! I’m really looking forward to our trip – Paris is beautiful at Christmas time and one of my friends from college is throwing a huge New Year’s Eve party on the Seine, did I tell you?’ I nodded, smiling at her excitement. ‘But I’ve got tons to get done before then, obviously.’
‘How’s Sebastian?’
‘Oh, he’s alright. We have a great lawyer who is sure all the charges will be dropped, and his colleagues have been very supportive.’
‘That’s good. He looks better …’ I added.
‘Yes,’ Celeste said thoughtfully. ‘It was a shock, seeing him lose control like that.’ Celeste’s eyes darted to mine and I silently urged her to continue. ‘He … he really lost it – I’ve never seen him so angry. By the time I got there he had already kicked the door down and the guy was on the floor, not moving … but Sebastian just … kept hitting him. I was afraid he wouldn’t stop.’
‘But he did,’ I said softly.
‘Yes. He did. Eventually. He scared me though.’ Celeste held my eyes and I was unable to look away. ‘I don’t understand where all that anger came from.’
‘We all get angry when our buttons are pushed,’ I shrugged.
‘Yes,’ Celeste paused. ‘You are family – I guess Sebastian cares about you almost as much as I do …’
‘I care about him too.’ I tried to sound matter-of-fact, but in my own head it was a confession.
‘I know you do. I’m glad,’ she said. ‘Anyway …’ She stood abruptly. ‘I must get on with some work and you must promise to take it easy for the rest of the day, doctor’s orders!’
‘OK, I’ve got some reading to catch up on.’
‘Good.’ Celeste kissed me gently on the mouth before strutting out of the room.
The rest of the week rushed by in a blur of activity. Celeste was holed up in her studio during the day and then spent her evenings flitting between various different parties, sometimes squeezing three or four different events into one night. Any spare time was devoted to Christmas shopping and packing and repacking for her holiday with excited agitation. I’d asked the twins if we could refrain from exchanging Christmas presents this year; they’d given me so much already; I hadn’t had a chance to get near the shops and anyway they were impossible to buy for. Sebastian had readily agreed to the idea, perhaps typically for a man, and although Celeste was petulant about it at first she had finally conceded. I suspect Sebastian had talked her around. Celeste still gave me little ‘get well’ gifts and tokens every chance she got and fussed over me as if I was made of glass. It would probably have been annoying if I did
n’t adore her so completely.
I saw very little of Sebastian. He worked long hours at his Kensington office, returning home late and then leaving before breakfast. I guessed he was deliberately avoiding being alone with me. Maybe he was trying to evade his own feelings, maybe he was giving me space to recover from my ordeal, or maybe he was trying to allay any suspicions Celeste may have formed about the two of us. Of course the insecure voice in the back of my head whined that he didn’t love me any more, but I was determined to ignore it.
With Celeste’s expert help I disguised my bruises with concealer and ventured in to work to tie up loose ends, two days before the Christmas break. Thankfully my young assistants, overly studious Ryan and unashamedly tenacious Priti, had coped well under Evelyn’s guidance and I was reassured that they would manage without me while I took more time off. In fact Evelyn had persuaded me to take two whole weeks leave because of the backlog of holiday pay I was owed. I knew I’d miss the museum but I had resolved to use the time to focus on Sebastian’s upcoming show.
As I walked through the National Art Library on Thursday afternoon I spotted Clive hovering in a corner, watching me over his notebook. I approached him with what I hoped was a reassuringly friendly smile, but he still swayed nervously from foot to foot as I neared.
‘Hello, Clive, it’s good to see you here. How are you?’
‘OK, I’m OK, thank you, Miss Graham,’ he said, avoiding eye contact.
‘Good. You know you can just call me Tasha?’
Clive shifted uncomfortably but didn’t reply.
‘But Miss Graham is fine …’ I added.
‘How are you? If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Graham?’
‘I’m very well, thanks to you. In fact I want you to know how grateful I am to you for getting help, when I needed it – I know it can’t have been easy for you.’
‘I …’ Clive faltered. ‘It was nothing.’
‘I don’t think that’s true, Clive – I think you were incredibly brave and I will never forget it,’ I added quietly.
Clive met my eyes briefly and then nodded, embarrassed. ‘OK, Miss Graham.’
‘Take care, Clive,’ I said as I continued on my way.
On Friday evening, a taxi arrived to take the twins to Heathrow airport. Celeste babbled almost non-stop about how much she would miss me, clasping my hand in hers and fervently imploring me to stay in frequent contact. I reassured her as much as I could – I knew I’d miss her terribly, but I couldn’t help thinking a bit of distance might do us all some good. Sebastian was his usual laid-back self and said little. He hugged me briefly but tightly and urged me to take care with quiet intensity, until Celeste pushed him towards the car. I waved and called ‘Merry Christmas!’ after them as they disappeared out of sight and was left standing in their vast, expensive house all alone. It felt cavernous without them and I quickly collected my things, locked up and headed for the station.
Sitting on the Tube I slipped into a daze. My life before the twins re-entered it, felt like a lifetime ago, or an alternate life in another universe. None of my previous relationships had been anywhere near as intense, not for me anyway. I thought I’d been in love before, but now I knew I’d only ever loved Sebastian and Celeste. What I had with the twins was so happy, so loving, so exciting, and so reassuringly comfortable on one level. And yet the strength, the concentration of our love was daunting at times. One deeply, passionate relationship was mind-blowing enough for anyone and here I was with two! I gazed at my intermittent reflection in the window as the stations and tunnels passed. Was I still me any more?
Chapter Thirty-eight
Mum welcomed me at her front door by instructing me to go and get her some cigarettes from the corner shop. Her bungalow was plain and sparsely decorated but it was warm and quiet and my first night there I slept soundly for twelve hours straight. I must have needed it.
The time passed gently and uneventfully at first. Mum relayed all the latest news on her friends and neighbours – a disjointed description of the various miseries and illnesses of people I didn’t know and would probably never meet. In turn I attempted to describe Sebastian’s architectural photographs and my plans for his show. But Mum had never been to a photographic exhibition before and I could tell she wasn’t really interested.
I drank red wine while she drank dry sherry. We made Christmas dinner together, with chicken legs rather than turkey since it was just the two of us, but with some seasonal trimmings – Brussels sprouts, stuffing, and bread sauce swimming in gravy. Afterwards a soporific feeling pervaded the sitting room and we nodded off whilst pretending to watch the Queen’s speech, our stomachs distended, eyelids drooping, the central heating mingling with the alcohol to lull us to sleep. As time crawled by I tentatively suggested we could play cards or go for a walk, but Mum didn’t want to miss her favourite TV shows – those with an abundance of moral outrage and no intentional humour. Outside it drizzled.
Celeste rang me from Paris at least once a day, sometimes tipsy, sometimes hungover. She sounded happy, lively, and far away. She repeatedly begged me to come to Paris for New Year’s Eve, but I had already agreed to spend it in Brighton with my uni friends and I was unwilling to disappoint them. I didn’t hear from Sebastian. I sometimes heard the deep, rich sound of his voice in the background of Celeste’s phone calls, but we didn’t contact each other directly – perhaps because it was safer.
With so much time and space on my hands to think, I inevitably started to worry. I tried being brutally honest with myself about the precarious nature of my two relationships. After all, it was only a matter of time before I got caught out – before Celeste caught me sleeping with Sebastian, or Sebastian caught me sleeping with Celeste. I tried to envisage it happening, to make it seem more real – I mentally flagellated myself by picturing the hurt and betrayal on their faces when they finally discovered that I was a cheat. The imagined images brought tears to my eyes. Obviously the twins would resent me – I deserved that, but would they resent each other? The thought crushed me. Surely their bond was too strong for that? Oh God, what had I done? What was I doing?
But as the days dragged by I missed the twins more and more. I started to feel strangely hollow, incomplete, as if two thirds of me were missing. I loved them utterly and absolutely. I could no more give up Sebastian and Celeste than I could give up breathing. I read books and tried hard not to dwell on things, but being tired all the time didn’t help; I’d started to have bad dreams – vicious, terrifying nightmares from which I’d wake with a cry or a shout, saturated with cold sweat. It was always the same – the sour stench of his breath, the crushing weight of his body on mine, the dark mercilessness in his eyes … I had thought I was OK. I’d thought I’d moved on, but now I wondered if it was just the proximity of the twins that had been keeping me safe from my own mind, keeping my fears at bay. My terror seemed to have free rein now.
Obviously I didn’t mention my suffering to Celeste – I didn’t want to worry her and, anyway, my mum was agitated enough for two people. She was sick of being woken by my strangled cries in the middle of the night and had got me talking to a friend of hers – a retired trauma counsellor that she’d met at bingo.
Moira was lovely – calm and straight talking – her soft, soothing voice belied a shrewd intelligence and a wicked sense of humour. She reassured me that my symptoms, my bad dreams and flashbacks, were an entirely normal reaction to the attack. It was my mind’s way of dealing with what had happened, rather than repressing it, which would only have been unhealthy in the long term. She predicted that as I continued to surround myself with supportive friends and family the symptoms would naturally recede and I was grateful for her confidence.
On Friday the thirtieth of December Celeste called me early. She talked so animatedly that I had to ask her to take a deep breath, slow down, and start again.
‘Oh, Tasha, I know we agreed we wouldn’t do presents, but this is just one present and it’s for all of us –
all three of us!’
I sighed with a smile. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, darling! It’s so exciting; we’re going on holiday!’
‘What?’
‘Antigua! All of us – for a whole week.’
‘Antigua!? Where even is that? In the –’
‘In the Caribbean!’
‘Wow, are you serious?’
‘Of course! So you need to go home and pack.’
‘What? When?’
‘Today, you need to pack today. Our flight leaves Monday morning from Gatwick. You should be able to get there easily from Brighton on the Gatwick express train but you need to pack today for a whole week in the sun!’
‘Oh my God!’ I laughed, stunned.
‘I know!’ Celeste giggled.
‘How ?’ My mind was swamped with questions as I wondered about the logistics of such last minute arrangements. ‘What about you …?’
‘I’m going shopping today so I can get everything Sebastian and I need. We’ll meet you at the airport.’
I could hear Celeste’s huge grin over the phone. A whole week in the sun with the twins all to myself? I couldn’t believe it – it sounded like heaven.
‘Tasha, are you still there?’
‘Yes, I … I’m just in shock – it sounds wonderful.’
‘Just wait till you see where we’re staying!’ Celeste crowed.
‘Thank you so much, Celeste.’
‘It’s a pleasure, darling! Really it is.’
‘I miss you.’
‘Not as much as I miss you, darling,’ Celeste replied, her voice lower.
Celeste issued me with detailed instructions and a list of things to pack – I was to meet them at the British Airways check-in desk with my passport at 7 a.m. so that we could all check into First Class together. My bad dreams were forgotten as the rest of the day passed in a surreal buzz of excitement. While I packed in Holland Park, Celeste called me every couple of hours or so with more suggestions as and when she thought of them. I packed sun cream, bikinis, summer dresses and flip flops whilst simultaneously preparing for a cold and windy weekend on the south coast of England, my head spinning.
