‘I’ll help you.’ I jumped up from my seat and followed Harriet into a homely, comfortable kitchen. It wasn’t a patch on Peter’s for either grandeur or size but I immediately fell in love with the cream and oak units adorned with children’s lovingly executed and displayed drawings and scribbles; with the mass of wild flowers haphazardly arranged in blue pottery jugs; the general untidy paraphernalia of a family with five children.
‘Now, this Caesar salad is not going to be anything like you can produce—’ Harriet held up a hand as I started to protest ‘—but the date and walnut bread, which I am passing off as my own—note the lengthening of my nose—will be brilliant because it’s from that fabulous little artisan bakery that David Henderson is always recommending.’
‘It looks wonderful. Shall I add this parmesan, Harriet?’
‘Oh yes, do. I’d have forgotten all about that.’ We gathered up plates and dishes and headed back outside. ‘I’m really pleased David is recommending you too, Clem,’ Harriet added. ‘If you’ve got him on your side, you can’t go wrong.’
Once we had passed round the salad and bread and filled glasses of wine and water, Izzy said, ‘So, Clem, how come you’ve turned out so well but your poor twin has ended up on the streets?’
‘That’s bit harsh, Izzy,’ Grace said. ‘Maybe Lucy has chosen it as a career path?’
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Grace,’ Harriet admonished her friend. ‘No one ends up as a sex worker through choice. No one goes to the careers officer and says, “I’d like to be a sex worker please. What training would you suggest?” God, do you remember those awful sessions when you were fourteen and just wanted to be an air stewardess or the next Madonna or… or Christie Brinkley and the guy peered over his glasses at you and said the same thing he said to all of the class: “Teaching? Banking? Secretarial?” And you agreed to all his suggestions because you didn’t dare tell him you were going to marry George Michael and become a film star acting alongside Richard Gere…’
I put down my fork and took a long drink from my glass of water. ‘Lucy and I were adopted from birth.’
‘My God, Clem, you never even told me that.’ Izzy stared at me in surprise.
‘We had a normal, happy—I suppose—childhood. Lucy was always the naughty one, particularly at school. She was constantly in trouble, even from when we started in infant school. She wouldn’t sit down at circle time, was always thumping the other kids, pulling the ribbons from the other little girls’ hair and making them cry. She was very bright, could read even before we went to school, but had absolutely no interest in schoolwork whereas I loved it all. Loved the books, the colouring, the singing…’
‘How strange that you should look so much alike and yet have such different personalities,’ Izzy said through a mouthful of salad. ‘I thought identical twins always thought alike and did things together?’
‘A bit like the Kray Twins, you mean?’ I said seriously and then smiled at the faces of the other women who, I could see, were slightly uncomfortable at my words.
‘Sorry, that was a bit crass of me. Don’t get me wrong—as young sisters we were close. I adored her. I’ve often wondered if it was because my mum—obviously—told us we were adopted; that even though she said she and my father had chosen us because we were special—you know how the adoption people at social services would have told them to tell us—that Lucy just couldn’t hack it.’
‘Well, you must have discussed it with her over the years,’ Harriet said. ‘What did she say?’
‘She never really wanted to talk about it. All she would say, particularly as we got older and hit our teens, was that some bitch of a woman had had us and thrown us away. That’s how she always saw it. I mean, I always wanted to find out who our mother was but Lucy was adamant, would actually fly into a rage if I suggested, once we were eighteen, that we look for her.’
‘And you still haven’t? Looked for her, I mean?’ Harriet asked. ‘Maybe she’s desperate to find you too?
I smiled, but I could feel my lip begin to wobble. Shit, I didn’t want to cry. ‘I doubt it very much, Harriet.’ I hesitated, unsure whether to carry on. ‘Look, there are very few people who know this and I’m not sure why I’m telling you all now. It must be the wine I’ve drunk, and I’ll probably regret it because you might not want to know me after this…’
‘After what?’ All three women stared at me.
‘My mother—my adopted mother that is—would never tell us anything about our real mother. Lucy never really wanted to know anyway but, even though I always did, my mother said she knew nothing, had no idea who our real mother had been. And then, when Lucy and I were about fifteen, Lucy came up with the idea of forming a sort of gang. All the naughties—and even though we went to this little private school, there was a real set of incredibly naughty girls—were in it and Lucy was in charge. She was incredibly rude to the teachers, did no homework, skived off school and went into town after school with her gang, hanging round the bars, drinking and smoking and, eventually, dabbling in drugs. The Black Ladies, as they dubbed themselves, were warned if they carried on they’d all be expelled. Lucy didn’t care; she hated school anyway.’
‘What about you then, Clem, in all this?’ Grace asked, gently. ‘Were you in the Black Ladies as well?’
‘Yes of course. It was great fun to begin with, but then it all seemed like a lot of hard work skiving off and deliberately not doing homework when actually, because I was interested, especially in the arts and English, I wanted to go to lessons and do well. Lucy used to get angry with me, tell me I wasn’t being loyal to her and the gang, but I really wanted to do well at school because I enjoyed it and particularly because I wanted to go to the really good sixth-form college here in Midhope. Lucy thought I was mad and played up even more. Then she started staying out really late, hanging out with a new set of kids she’d met from the comprehensive in our village and doing drugs. Only cannabis, I think, to begin with, and maybe Ecstasy occasionally. It got to the stage where my parents started ringing the police when she didn’t come home until two in the morning. She was only fifteen.’
Everyone had finished eating but seemed too engrossed in listening to what I was saying to think about clearing plates or making coffee.
‘It must have been awful for you,’ Izzy said, squeezing my hand. ‘Oh, God, of course…’ her hand flew to her mouth. ‘That’s why you insisted on living down on Emerald Street. To be near Lucy?’
‘Well, yes, but that was only in the last year or so. Anyway, one night, the police had picked Lucy up once again and brought her home, of her head, about three in the morning. We were both sixteen by then and had just left school. I’d started sixth-form college but Lucy was basically doing nothing apart from staying in bed all day and staying out most of the night. Well, my mother absolutely lost it. She just lost her temper and let rip and said it was history repeating itself, Lucy was no better than the trollop who’d given birth to us. That…’ Here I stopped and couldn’t say anything for a while. ‘That our mother was a drug addict who’d been sent to prison for assaulting the police and smuggling heroin into the country… and that… and that… Lucy and I were born in prison.’
‘In prison? You were actually born in prison? Oh my God, Clem, how awful for you to be told that.’ Harriet was genuinely distressed. ‘Had your mother known that all along, do you think?’
I smiled at Harriet’s concern. ‘Oh yes, absolutely. Social services don’t keep anything from prospective adopters these days. Knowing my mother, it never ceases to amaze me that she took the children of a violent drug addict on in the first place. But apparently, she and my father had been married for fifteen years and she was pushing forty and just couldn’t get pregnant herself. I suppose when she was offered us by social services she realised that it was her last chance to actually have children. She’s not overly maternal so it’s always made me wonder why she wanted to take us on. Anyway, she did but, as she tells me now, taking Lucy was the biggest mist
ake of her life. I often think she wishes she could have taken just me. She’s refused to have anything to do with Lucy for years.’
‘I wonder where your real mum is now?’ Grace asked. ‘Have you never tried to find out?’
‘No. No, no.’ I shook my head vehemently. ‘Once I’d been told what sort of woman she was, I think I was frightened to find out more. Worried that she’d gone from bad to worse; that she might still be in prison somewhere. That maybe she had mental health problems. I was frightened I’d find her, meet her and see what I might become in the years ahead.’
‘I see absolutely no reason why you should turn how to be a violent drug dealer.’ Harriet smiled. ‘You seem to have done pretty well so far. I mean, Allegra is absolutely gorgeous and you are a brilliant cook and—I’m sure this is the wine talking again—although I wasn’t sure at the time about your marrying Peter, I’m sure it’s going to work out well. You seem happy?’
‘I’m getting there,’ I smiled. ‘If I could just find Lucy and sort a few things out…’
‘But you’ve managed to have some contact with her over the years?’ Grace asked gently.
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course. I saw her on and off throughout our early twenties: she’d get clean, off the drugs, off the street, come back home to Mum and Dad’s for a while, but then something would happen and she’d start using again. She’d meet some man, move to another town…’
‘But why doesn’t she want to see you?’ Izzy asked. ‘You’re her sister, her twin for heaven’s sake. But, Jesus, she ran like a frightened rabbit when she saw you the other night.’
I didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, knew I didn’t want to explain further. ‘It’s complicated,’ I said finally. ‘Just a bit complicated. Look, would you all mind awfully keeping all that I’ve told you today to yourselves? I mean, David Henderson has just offered me this little job—maybe he wouldn’t if he knew my background…’
‘Oh gosh, absolutely…’
‘Yes, yes, no problem…’
‘It’s got absolutely nothing to do with anyone else…’
The four of us sat in silence, not one of us wanting to break the mood of complicity that suddenly seemed to bind us together, until Harriet asked, ‘Does Peter know about Lucy, Clem?’
‘Oh yes, he knows everything. I told him on the night of the Big Proposal. I needed him to know so that he could change his mind about marrying me if he couldn’t cope with the idea of me being born in prison and my sister being a sex worker. It was quite a lot for him to take in. But he did. He’s not really mentioned it since which I know must seem very, very strange. I get the impression that he feels if it’s not talked about then perhaps it will all go away. He’s certainly never offered to walk the streets of Midhope with me looking for her. And now, she appears to have moved on. I don’t know where she is and I don’t think I’ll get any help from him when I start looking for Lucy again.’ I could feel my traitorous lip beginning to wobble again and I quickly drank some water. ‘And that’s fine, it really is. Peter’s taken on Allegra and me; I really don’t expect him to take on all the baggage that goes with us.’
‘Isn’t that what marriage is all about though?’ Grace asked. ‘Taking on all the baggage, I mean?’
She was interrupted by a sudden whimper that very quickly became a strident yell. ‘Jonty,’ Grace said, immediately getting up from the table and making her way to the kitchen. ‘Another male needing attention.’
I glanced at my watch. ‘Gosh, I need to go—I’ve got to pick Allegra up from school and Vanessa is dropping Peter’s two off in an hour. Are you OK dropping me off, Izzy? You’re all right to drive?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve not had anything to drink. Hell, we are late…’*
I love it that I’ve suddenly got these bright, generous women as new friends, I thought as I poached salmon, wilted spinach and grated cheese for fish pie. I love it that Allegra seems already to have settled so well at her new school and I love it that I appear to have got a new job with David Henderson.
I’d been ten minutes late picking Allegra up from the village school, running in from the adjacent lane where Izzy had dropped me off, horribly conscious that on the second day at Allegra’s new school I was running late, exhaling, I was sure, alcohol as I ran. I had drunk too much wine, and as I panted across the tiny playing field and into a playground full of waiting, chattering mothers, I suddenly panicked that I’d revealed too much. Oh God, I really had opened up to these women who, let’s face it, apart from Izzy, I didn’t really know.
What if they were, even at this very moment, telling husbands, nannies, mothers, neighbours-over-the wall: ‘Listen to this: we had lunch today with this woman whose sister—twin—is a, would you believe it, a common prostitute… and she, this woman, she’s not that much better. She’s married this man who is a bit strange, does those re-enactment things, you know racing up and down fields with pikes, thinking they’re Charles the First—or is it the Second? Anyway, he’s very, very wealthy… huge house… well, she’s obviously only married him for his money… and if that’s not prostitution as well, I don’t know what is…and listen, this is the best bit. Where do you think she was born…? No, not London or Birmingham. No, not Russia or Timbuctoo…’ A triumphant shaking of head. ‘Prison! …Her mother was a drug runner, a violent heroin and crack cocaine smuggler who apparently kept most of Yorkshire supplied with its drugs… Probably still does…”
I shook my head as I ran, desperately trying to rid my brain of thoughts and pictures of women sharing delicious morsels of gossip—my gossip—and, searching for Allegra in the throng of heaving children, ran straight into The Fear-Bold.
‘Ah, Mrs Broadbent,’ Mrs Theobold said, glancing at the watch on her plump, freckled wrist. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you.’
I smiled, but kept my mouth clamped shut, conscious of the alcohol fumes wafting towards this fearsome woman if I didn’t. The last thing I needed was more gossip starting about how that violent, drug smuggler’s daughter had picked her own daughter up, ‘obviously quite drunk, darling, on only the poor little mite’s second day at Westenbury C of E.”
‘Just a quick word, Mrs Broadbent, if I may? About Allegra?’
My heart sank. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘No, no. On the contrary. I just wanted to pass on to you Miss Fisher’s comments about Allegra, about what an extremely bright, personable little girl she seems to be and how well she’s settled in with us. Miss Fisher would have come out herself but she’s had to go off to a twilight training session on Safeguarding.’
Relief spread through my whole body like a sudden ray of sunshine on a dull day, and I was just about to utter my thanks to the headmistress—I could actually have hugged her—when I remembered the alcohol fumes and, instead, beamed beatifically in what I hoped gave the impression of pleasure rather than insanity.
‘I’m so pleased, Mrs… erm, Mrs Theobold,’ I said out of the side of my mouth. ‘Thank you so much for that. I won’t come too near. I’m prone to… to er… tonsillitis and I can feel a bout coming on. I would so hate to pass it on to you so early in the term.’
Mrs Theobold hastily stepped back as Allegra came running, leaping into my waiting arms before wrapping her legs expertly around my middle.
‘Careful now, Allegra, Mummy’s not too well,’ she said to Allegra before adding, ‘Honey and lemon, Mrs Broadbent. Works a treat, I always find.’
But even more so with a good tot of whisky, Mrs Theobold, the tipsy little devil inside me was daring me to reply but, quitting while I was ahead, I beamed again and, swinging Allegra’s sticky little hand in my own, we made our way across the village and home.
Any disquiet I might have been feeling about sharing my shady past with the women at lunch was wonderfully squashed by two text messages that came through within minutes of each other as I unlocked the kitchen door.
Lovely to have you for lunch, Clem. Sorry if we poured too much rose down you. If you�
�re regretting sharing what you told us today, please don’t. Anything you told Grace and me goes no further. For a start, it has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else and, secondly, we all have something in our lives we might wish to keep to ourselves. I certainly have.
Hat
And:
It’s so good to meet people that one immediately feels an affinity with, Clem. Really enjoyed your company and talking to you again. Anything we discussed remains, of course, absolutely confidential. Hope to see you soon.
Grace
Even the knowledge that Sophie had come in and gone straight upstairs without acknowledging me, together with the loud thump of unrecognisable hip-hop music emanating, it appeared, through every wall in the house, couldn’t dampen my happiness as I assembled the fish pie, topped, tailed and sliced green beans and washed lettuce for salad.
‘Clem? Darling?’ Peter had to raise his voice above the insistent and seemingly increasing noise from Sophie’s room as he came into the kitchen, taking off his black pinstriped suit jacket and loosening his scarlet tie. ‘Goodness, what is she listening to up there?’
I laughed. ‘Oh, the equivalent of what we listened to as fifteen-year-olds. You remember? The Vengaboys’ “Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!!” And Ricky Martin? God, I loved Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca”.’ I started singing, shaking the wet lettuce like a single maraca, droplets flying over my head and onto Peter.
Peter frowned, shaking his shirtsleeve of water before searching in a cupboard for a glass. ‘I never listened to dreadful stuff like this. Have you heard the words? I can’t even repeat them…’
I laughed again. ‘Bad day?’ I found the bottle of Royal Lochnagar he’d been searching for and passed it over. ‘You seem a bit tense.’
‘Not the best day in my life, no, Clem.’ He tried to smile. ‘But nothing to worry your lovely head about, darling.’
‘Don’t be daft, Peter. Tell me.’
Looking For Lucy Page 17
