by Jill Mansell
‘I know.’
‘I mean it. Really terrible. I look quite pretty when I cry, but you don’t at all. You’re a mess.’
‘Thank you,’ said Clemency. There wasn’t even any point in trying to shoot her stop-it-now hate-rays; her eyelids were too swollen to let the hatred through.
‘Now I know why you don’t cry,’ said Belle.
Clemency shrugged. It wasn’t the reason, but it would do.
‘I’ve never even thought about it before, but I can’t remember the last time,’ Belle went on.
‘Don’t let it bother you.’
‘No, really. You never do. When was it?’ Belle frowned, trying to recall the occasion. ‘OK, got it. When your grandad died, not long after I first met you. You were really upset about losing him.’
Clemency nodded. ‘I was.’
‘What about since then?’
‘Hasn’t happened.’
‘Not even once?’
‘No.’
‘Until today,’ said Belle.
Oh God, would she give it a rest? Clemency shrugged. ‘Seems that way.’
For several seconds, neither of them spoke. At last Belle said, ‘You must really love him.’
It was as if the insides of her eyelids were coated with fine sandpaper; it even hurt to blink. Clemency said, ‘You mean Sam?’
‘Of course I mean Sam. Who else would we be talking about?’
How could Belle not realise? Incredulous, Clemency shook her head. ‘You seriously think that’s why I’m upset? I’m not crying about Sam, I’m crying about you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because I can’t believe you thought I’d make fun of you. I can’t believe you ever thought I was better than you … or more popular … I mean, we’ve always had different friends and interests, but neither of us was ever better than the other. OK, sometimes I laughed at you when things went wrong, but you laughed at me too … because we’re sisters and that’s what sisters do.’ Fresh tears were now leaking from her eyes, but Clemency didn’t attempt to brush them away. ‘I used to envy you because you were so thin and blonde and elegant and stylish and you could speak fluent French and you were always so confident …’
‘Me? Me?’
‘Yes! All those things!’ Clemency’s voice cracked with emotion and the effort of saying what she was trying so hard to say. ‘You could be annoying too, but I swear on my life that I never deliberately taunted you after Hugo called you frigid … apart from anything else, he was a vile, sleazy git. I was only singing those songs because I loved Frozen, and that’s the absolute truth.’ She swallowed the golfball-sized lump in her throat. ‘I’m so sorry you were scared to tell me you were gay because you thought I’d make fun of you. I never would have done, but it makes me feel so terrible and ashamed that you thought I might.’
And now her vision was so blurred with tears that all she could see was the vaguest outline of her sister moving towards her; it wasn’t until they were holding and hugging each other that she realised Belle was openly sobbing too.
They clung together and wept, and Belle hiccupped, ‘I c-can’t believe I made you cry … I can’t b-believe you ever envied me. I mean, I always wanted you to be envious, but you never showed it.’
‘That’s because I knew it was what you wanted.’ Sniffing and wiping tears from her jawline, Clemency said with a glimmer of amusement, ‘If I’d shown it, that would have meant you’d won.’
Belle managed a watery smile too. ‘We were both pretty stubborn.’
‘We really were.’
‘Obviously you were more stubborn than me. Évidemment, tu étais plus têtu que moi.’
‘Excuse me?’ Clemency shook her head and started to laugh. ‘Now you’re just showing off.’
They embraced again and Belle murmured in her ear, ‘Do you really love him though? Sam?’
Clemency wiped her waterlogged eyes. ‘It’s OK, nothing will ever happen. I made that promise to you and I’ll keep it.’
‘I know you will. I trust you.’ Belle paused. ‘But it’s a bit like me owning the world’s most beautiful shoes, don’t you think, except they’re the wrong size? So I’ll never wear them, and they’d fit you perfectly, but I won’t let you have them because they’re mine.’
Clemency felt as if she’d forgotten how to breathe. She could hear the hectic thudding of her pulse in her ears. She stared at Belle, unable to speak.
‘Or like me keeping a private jet and never flying anywhere in it,’ said Belle.
‘I … suppose.’
‘Or you could say it was like me owning the most stunning diamond necklace, except I can’t wear it because I’m allergic to diamonds.’ Belle was clutching her by the shoulders now, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘It would just be a waste, wouldn’t it? The most selfish, terrible, awful waste. You do really love Sam, don’t you?’
Clemency nodded. Oh God, she did. So very much.
‘And Sam really loves you too,’ said Belle.
‘Does he?’ It came out as a croak.
‘He told me the whole story. You should have heard him. And the look on his face when he was talking about you … I mean, trust me, it’s the real thing.’
Was it?
‘And if the way Sam feels about you is anything like the way I feel about Verity,’ Belle said softly, ‘I don’t think something like that should be wasted.’ She paused. ‘I think you and Sam should be together.’
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in.
Finally Clemency whispered, ‘You do? And you’re really OK with that?’
Belle nodded and broke into a grin. ‘I know, it’s come as a surprise to me too. But yes, I really am.’
They hugged once more and Clemency said, ‘I think you might be nicer now than you were when you were straight.’
Belle laughed. ‘Except I never have been straight.’
‘Listen to me,’ said Clemency. ‘You’re my sister and I don’t care what else you are. I love you.’
‘Oh Clem. I love you too.’
‘Ahem,’ came a deliberately loud cough from across the hallway. When they peered into the bathroom, they saw a middle-aged man’s face at the open window.
‘Look, I’m glad you two love each other,’ said the man, ‘and sorry to interrupt, but you did say you were only borrowing it for a couple of minutes. So is it OK now if I take my ladder back?’
Chapter 43
It took a while before Belle would let Clemency leave the flat.
‘Seriously, you look awful. If he sees you like this, he’s just going to change his mind and say “Actually, d’you mind if we just stay friends?” Lie down,’ Belle instructed, ‘and I’ll make you an ice pack to put on your eyes. You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with Rocky Balboa.’
For the next fifteen minutes, Clemency was forced to lie on the sofa with half a small bag of frozen peas covering one eye and a packet of Mediterranean rice pressed on the other. ‘You should really learn how to cry prettily, you know,’ Belle chided. ‘Like me.’
Then came the make-up, again applied by Belle because apparently she was so much better at it. ‘I don’t just chuck it all on in two minutes flat like you do.’ Not too much, just enough to cover the shameful blotchiness and distract from the fading pinkness of her eyes.
Finally Clemency was allowed to get dressed. When she presented herself for inspection, Belle cast a critical eye over the flippy red summer dress and silver flip-flops. ‘It makes your bum look big.’
‘My bum is big.’
‘I mean, it doesn’t do anything to disguise it.’
Her more stylish sister was trying to help. She wasn’t going to take offence. Clem smiled and did a playful wiggle. ‘Good.’
It wasn’t until they were leaving Clemency’s flat that Belle said, ‘Oh, is it the fifth today? I’ve just remembered, Sam’s got some charity event down in St Austell this evening. Are you going straight over to see him now?’
As if she might choos
e to stop off at the garage first to get her car MOT’d and valeted, or maybe head over to the supermarket for a spot of food shopping. Clemency said, ‘I thought I might.’
‘Well you’ll need to get to the flat before he sets off. Shall I give him a call and let him know you’re on your way?’
Clemency shook her head. ‘It’s OK, I can be there in five minutes. He won’t have left yet, surely.’
Thirty minutes later, she was wishing she’d made the journey on foot. Because if she had, she’d have been there by now. With Sam.
Instead, she was stuck in gridlock, caught smack in the middle of traffic that was backed up in all directions thanks to the hapless holidaymaker who’d towed his caravan down a lane that was too narrow for it, then come nose to nose with a tractor that had been trundling in the other direction.
No one could move. There were too many cars behind them now, and no room for anyone to turn round. And to cap it all, Clemency was trapped at the bottom of Fox Hill Lane, where phone signal was as hard to capture as Cornish pixies. Out of her car and leaning against it, she tried again to get through to Sam, then Ronan, then Belle.
Nothing, nada, zilch.
OK, maybe it wasn’t a life-threatening situation; she wouldn’t actually die if she didn’t get to see Sam until, say, tomorrow … but she still wanted to see him, more than anything in the world. The amount of adrenalin swooshing through her body was making her feel sick and light-headed with anticipation. All her carefully applied make-up was melting in the heat and her heart was clamouring inside her chest. Twenty or so yards away, the tractor driver and the owner of the caravan were arguing about whose fault it was that all this had happened. A couple of small children were crying, a carload of surfers were playing loud music and dancing in the lane to pass the time, and holidaymakers leaving the beach and making their way on foot back to their campsite eyed the situation with smug amusement.
The music now blasting out of the surfers’ battered purple Renault was ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ and the surfers were bellowing along to it with energetic enthusiasm and complete disregard for the actual tune. Apart from the driver, they were all glugging from bottles of chilled lager, waving them in the air between gulps. One of the boys caught Clemency’s eye. ‘Cheer up, beautiful lady! It’s a perfect day, right? Want a beer?’
She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
‘See? You’re feeling better already. No need to panic, eh? Don’t worry, be happy!’
And she was happy, but the frustration was building and building, because seeing Sam again would make her so much happier.
Just to be doing something, Clemency gave her phone a vigorous shake before trying Sam’s number once more and for good measure waving it high above her head.
The next moment, unbelievably, it began to ring at Sam’s end, then it was picked up and she was just able to make out his voice saying her name.
Oh, his beautiful voice …
‘Sam! Hang on!’ At last, a use for all the adrenalin in her bloodstream. Barefoot, she leapt up on to the bonnet of her car. ‘Sam, are you still at home? I’m on my way to see you but I’m stuck in traffic … Oh Sam, do you know what Belle said? She doesn’t mind about us – she’s completely fine about it! This is killing me. I’m trapped in a stupid traffic jam and I’m so desperate to see you!’
‘… what … can’t … where … cutting out …’
‘Sam, can you hear me? I’m at the bottom of Fox Hill Lane by the turn-off to Beachcomber Bay … I was coming to meet you, but I can’t leave my car— oh.’
The line had gone dead and she’d hardly been able to make out a single word he’d said. Presumably he hadn’t been able to hear her either. She tried to redial, but the oh-so-evasive fragment of phone signal had evaporated, drifted off out to sea.
And the bonnet of the car, super-heated by the afternoon sun, was burning the soles of her bare feet. Ouch.
One of the small boys in the car behind Clemency’s wailed in plaintive tones, ‘Mum, I’m hungry.’
‘Well you’ll just have to wait,’ said his mother.
You and me both, thought Clemency.
Oh well, she’d managed without Sam for the last three and a bit years. Another day of waiting wouldn’t kill her.
Except knowing her luck, Sam would be seated next to some gorgeous, stunning blonde at the charity event in St Austell and would fall madly in love with her at first sight and there’d be nothing Clemency could do about it, because it would be too late.
The charity night was a black-tie affair. Having showered and changed into his dinner suit, Sam had been about to head off to St Austell when his mobile phone had rung.
Clemency’s name flashed up and he reversed back into the parking space he’d just been about to pull out of.
Two minutes later, he was pretty much none the wiser. A catastrophically poor connection had meant all he’d been able to hear was ‘Sam … way … stuck … Belle … trapped … desperate …’ When he’d tried to make her aware that she was cutting out, she’d burbled something about Fox Hill and Beachcomber Bay and coming to meet him, before the call had abruptly ended.
He hadn’t been able to call her back – there was no connection at all now – and the few words he’d managed to make out weren’t reassuring. He thought she’d sounded excited, but what if it had been distress causing her to shout like that? She’d mentioned Belle, and being trapped. Had Belle gone ballistic and done something to her? Oh God, surely not …
But when he tried Belle’s number, her phone was turned off.
Then he checked his sat nav and saw that Fox Hill Lane was currently unreachable, with traffic at a standstill all around it.
Had there been some kind of terrible accident? His blood ran cold at the thought. Oh God.
He switched off the ignition and jumped out of the car. It was six o’clock and he’d allowed himself a couple of hours to reach St Austell, but this wasn’t a situation he could ignore. If something had happened to Clemency, he needed to get to her fast, and on foot was clearly the way to go.
Please don’t let anything bad have happened to her.
The sun was lower in the sky now, but a heavy, shimmering heat still hung in the air; the temperature had to be up in the high twenties. Sam soon encountered the snarled-up traffic. He carried on walking purposefully past sunburnt families loaded down with pushchairs and cool boxes, beach balls and lilos. Since the holidaymakers were all sporting shorts and T-shirts, swimsuits and cotton kaftans, he didn’t exactly blend in; no one else was wearing highly polished shoes, a black bow tie and a dinner jacket.
Minutes later, he drew level with a particularly sprawling group complaining about the heat, and got wolf-whistled by a couple of bawdy grannies. ‘Ooh, look at ’im, Jean, bit of a fittie, in’t ’e?’
‘That’s what I call a decent body, Marj. Hey, love, not so fast. Stay and ’ave a chat. If you’re ’eading to the same campsite as us, you can give me a piggy back if you like!’
Sam, overtaking them at a brisk pace, turned to the two older women. ‘Next time, ladies, I promise.’
They cackled with delight and Jean said, ‘Young man, we’ll hold you to that.’
Ten minutes later, he reached the brow of the hill and paused to take in the view of the traffic-clogged valley ahead of him. Making his way down past the line of cars, he searched for Clemency’s but couldn’t spot it. The good news, though, was that there didn’t appear to have been any kind of accident. OK, if he wasn’t able to locate her here on Fox Hill Lane, that must mean she was wanting him to meet her down at Beachcomber Bay.
As he came closer to the dip at the bottom of the hill, Sam heard music and singing. Then a bend in the lane meant he was able to see a group of people who’d previously been obscured from view by a large caravan, and his heart leapt in his chest. Because the people were dancing along to the music, their joie de vivre infectious, and one of them was a girl wearing a red summer dress and silver flip-fl
ops. Her legs were long and tanned, her dark wavy hair flew around her shoulders as she twirled, and even from here, Sam could see that her head was thrown back and she was laughing.
Which was good, because it meant she was all right, nothing terrible had happened. She was happy, she was fine. He felt his shoulders relax and realised just how worried he’d been.
Now all he had to do was find out why she’d called his phone and what she’d been trying to tell him.
As he made his way down the rest of the steep hill, Sam wondered if she’d even heard from Annabelle yet.
Chapter 44
Clemency’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back as the blond surfer called Ted swung her round in the road and sang along, wildly off-key, to ‘Happy’ by Pharrell. The sun warmed her eyelids and she breathed in the mingled scents of wild flowers and grass from the high hedgerows on either side of the lane, as well as the oily tang of tarmac from the road itself.
And she was happy, despite having missed her chance to see Sam this evening, because she’d see him tomorrow and in the meantime she could celebrate what would hopefully happen then, now that it was—
‘Happy, happy, happy, happy!’ bellowed Ted, swinging her arm so vigorously he almost tipped her over. Clemency opened her eyes in order to regain her balance and saw that they were being watched. A small boy, pointing at her, was saying to his father, ‘Daddy, why are they dancing? Can we dance too?’
The next moment Clemency’s attention was caught by another figure headed her way. In contrast with everyone else, this one was wearing black, and in even more of a contrast the black outfit was a perfectly tailored tuxedo.
It was like looking up and seeing James Bond coming towards you. Except this was even better than James Bond because somehow, unbelievably, it was Sam.
‘Hey,’ Ted protested when she let go of his hand. ‘Don’t stop now, we’re just getting to the good bit.’
But Clemency had already turned away from the dancers; her attention was fixed on Sam alone. Did he know? Had Belle contacted him to tell him? Oh goodness, her knees were going funny just at the sight of him … What was he doing here?
