by Shari Low
The seven of them, all arms linked now, like a chorus of the Moulin Rouge, walked in a line to the exit. They crossed the road outside the terminal, breaking into a jog to minimise the damage from the torrents of rain that were pelting from the skies. As soon as they reached the ground floor of the multi-storey car park and saw the line of waiting cars, Stacey knew immediately which one belonged to them. Three back in the row of vehicles parked in the pick-up bay was the bright pink minivan, with borders of flashing lights around the windows, and a sign along the side in silver glitter, announcing that it was the ‘GoGo Party Bus’. Over the years, she’d visited Vegas, land of ostentatious tackiness, many times, but never had she seen something so gloriously crass.
‘Hurry up,’ Senga said conspiratorially. ‘Ida needs to get this back to The GoGo Club before they realise it’s missing.’
‘Auntie Ida! You stole it?’ Stacey gasped.
Ida immediately flipped to outrage. ‘Absolutely not! I erm… borrowed it. And if the buggers would pay a decent rate for their cleaners then I wouldn’t have had to!’ she finished with a defiant wink. ‘We only keep them on because they’ve been clients for so long.’
Many years ago, the women had realised there was strength in numbers, and they’d formed their own cleaning company, Manky Scrubbers. All equal partners, they’d built up a wide base of new customers but still retained most of their existing clients. One of them was The GoGo Club. Formerly Sparkles. Before that, ten other names. It was just one of many places that Stacey had spent her childhood, going there after school, while the club was closed, to do her homework on freshly wiped tables as her mum or one of these women cleaned around her. While today’s climate of political correctness and nanny states might find that idea abhorrent, Stacey could honestly say that she’d had a brilliant life growing up. They’d never had money, but she’d known nothing other than overwhelming love, great laughs and strong women who never let her feel alone or unsupported for a single second. They’d all been there for every event she’d ever had – her first school play, her first gymnastics win, the first time she donned a sequined thong bikini and danced on a pole (in Sparkles, and yes, their cheers almost drowned out the music). As a thank you for everything they’d done for her, Stacey had flown them all to LA for the first screening of USA Speed Freaks. They’d cried with pride, then headed to a karaoke club, the first stop in a party that had lasted for two days. Stacey wasn’t sure that Hollywood had recovered.
Now, they piled on to the pink vehicle, where two bottles of Prosecco were chilling in the large ice bucket next to the back seat. Before they’d even shook the rain from their shoulders, Senga had distributed the glasses. ‘Stacey, love, I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’re home. It’s the best Christmas present I could have hoped for,’ Senga declared, and to her shock, Stacey could see that her mum was blinking back tears.
Her heart strings tightened. Her poor mum. She’d lost her husband, Edwin, to a sudden heart attack just before Christmas last year, so this month and the festivities were always going to be tough for her. Stacey had been so happy for her mother when she and Edwin had got together twelve years ago, around the same time as Stacey moved to the USA, and they’d had a truly happy marriage. It had broken Senga’s heart when he’d passed away and only the support of her friends and Stacey had kept her going. It still swamped her in guilt that she hadn’t made it back to Glasgow for Edwin’s funeral, but shooting commitments had made it impossible to get there on time. Instead, Stacey had flown Senga out to LA the day afterwards and they’d spent a month together, her mum hanging out on set every day and sharing a double bed at night. Jax wasn’t thrilled about it, but it didn’t matter because Senga said the change of environment was the best thing that could have happened for her. By the time she left to return to Scotland, Stacey could see a glimmer of her mother’s joy in life returning, and knew she’d be ok. Since then, they’d spoken on Facetime every day at least once, but nothing beat the feeling of being right next to her now and watching her face crease into the widest grin.
The others all raised a toast and then they laughed, chatted and caught up with the gossip all the way back to Senga’s home. When the bus stopped at the end of the gravel path to her semi-detached home in Paisley, a town about fifteen minutes from the airport and twenty-five minutes from Glasgow’s city centre, they all hugged and made plans to meet up before the wedding ceremony. Stacey and her chums had known Cammy since he and Josie – another of Senga’s closest friends – worked in an underwear boutique in the city centre a million years ago and he employed them again now to keep his current shop spotless. To Ida’s delight, he was very happy to pay their standard rate, although they’d offered him a loyalty discount. He’d refused, saying they were worth every penny, and they’d all fallen in love with him just a little bit more. They had no idea that Stacey knew that feeling all too well.
Pulling her large gold suitcase behind her, Stacey followed Senga through the door, dropping her bag and coat as soon as she stepped into the hall and throwing her arms around her mum again. ‘I’m so glad I came home,’ she told her, emotion distorting her words.
‘I’m thrilled you’re here, ma love. I’ve missed you so much. Come on, I need a cuppa.’
In the kitchen, Stacey chatted away while Senga made two cups of tea. The room they were in now was a far cry from the one they’d had in the tiny council flat they’d shared until Senga and Edwin got married. After the wedding, Senga had moved in to Edwin’s home and they’d decorated it together. Now the kitchen was a large square, with white Shaker units and yellow walls, cream worktops and a long pine table – with, of course, enough seats for six – in the middle. Even though Stacey had never actually lived here, it was so ‘Senga’ that it felt like home.
The teas were finally brought to the table, along with a biscuit tin, a pot of jam, and a plate piled high with warm buttered toast, bringing on another swell of happiness and nostalgia.
‘There you go, pet,’ Senga said, as she slipped in to the chair across from her daughter. She picked up her own tea and watched with undisguised love as Stacey lifted a slice of toast and smeared it with strawberry jam. ‘Thirty-seven and it still warms ma heart to watch you.’
Stacey’s toast stopped in mid-air. ‘Ma, I’m thirty-five.’
‘Really?’ Senga asked with an air of mock innocence, making Stacey giggle as she realised she was being played. She rolled her eyes. ‘Can’t believe I fell for that.’
‘Aye, you’ve been in Hollywood too long. Now eat your toast. Although, that body has been deprived of carbs for so long there’s every change it’ll kill you. Death by pan loaf.’
Stacey’s jaws were beginning to ache from laughter. She needed this. Needed to be here. Needed to get her head together. Needed to tell her mum what had brought her here, but she suddenly realised that she didn’t know where to start.
Senga put her mug down. ‘So come on, then. Tell me what’s going on.’
Damn, it was like she could read her mind.
Her courage failed her and she decided to wait. She should speak to Cammy first. What was the point of upsetting Senga, of causing a drama, when there was no need for it? No, she should just plead innocence, talk to Cammy, and then, when he rejected her – which she was fairly sure he would – she could skulk back to LA knowing that the damage had been contained and her humiliation was strictly between her and the man she was in love with.
‘Tell you what? I just decided to come home to spend Christmas with you.’ Stacey was fairly sure she’d nailed the innocent act, until her mum’s eyebrows rose in the same way that they would when Stacey was a teenager and she would tell Senga she was going out with her pals, when really she was meeting some boy from school and planning to snog him outside the youth club. She got caught every time.
‘And you just happened to come home on the day of Cammy’s wedding?’
‘Yes, well, I thought I’d go. He sent me an invitation ages ago, but I didn’
t know whether I’d be filming this week, so I couldn’t commit to coming.’
Senga absorbed her explanation for a few moments, finally going quiet.
Stacey chomped on her toast, her insides relaxing with relief. Yes! Her mum was buying it. She’d always kept her feelings for Cammy to herself and she was positive that Senga had no clue how she felt. Success! Victory! The teenage Stacey would be so proud.
‘Ah, that’s great then,’ her mum said, with calm insouciance. ‘I’m glad it’s got nothing to with the fact that you’ve had a thing for that man for years and you’ve not come here with some daft notion to tell him.’
Stacey’s inner teenager put her toast down. Caught, cornered, and left with no option but to make a full confession.
Noon – 2 p.m.
Ten
Caro
In her pocket, her phone beeped for about the tenth time, but Caro ignored it. Val, Jen and Chrissie had all texted her at least twice, and then there had been messages from her cousin Todd and her Aunt Pearl saying how excited they were about the day, and then – oh, her heart – one from Cammy.
I can’t wait to marry you today
See you at the end of the aisle.
That had almost broken her. What the hell was she thinking pulling this stunt today? Caro had never, of her own free will, caused or been the centre of any dramatic event in her whole life. Of course, there was the ‘my father has a whole other family’ saga a couple of years ago, but her only part in that had been discovering the truth.
How could she explain her actions to anyone else today when she didn’t even understand them herself? How would she ever live with this? Everyone she loved had come here today and given up their time and money to celebrate with them and she was ruining everything. Of course she should have told Cammy how she was feeling, but she’d been so sure she’d get over it. Even in the last few weeks, as the doubts mounted, she’d convinced herself that she’d find a way to squash her fears. That was before the dreams, before the panic, before the tightening in her chest that made her feel like she’d pass out from the sheer terror of it all.
So she walked. Then walked more. Too scared to go speak to the person she wanted to see, but just as scared not to. After an hour of wandering around the streets of the city centre, she snapped, hailed a taxi, and now that it was pulling up outside the door of the imposing sandstone house in the upmarket suburb of Bearsden, Caro felt her courage almost desert her. The only reason she knew of this address was because her lawyer had tracked it down when she’d sold her mother’s house in Aberdeen after she died. Her father had no claim on the property – it had been left to her Aunt Pearl and her mum Yvonne by their parents and so was protected from a marital claim – but her mum hadn’t left a will, so she’d required a legal document from him saying that he wouldn’t attempt to contest proceedings. He’d have had a bloody cheek if he did.
Two years and three days ago, she’d met Cammy for the first time. It should be a happy memory, something to celebrate. And it was. However, that was also the day that she’d discovered a family dynamic that came straight out of one of those shock chat shows on TV.
‘Hate to hurry you up, but, you know… busy Friday.’ The taxi driver’s hint snapped her from her torpor.
‘Sorry. Bugger. Sorry,’ she spluttered. Yet she still didn’t make a move to get out of the cab. She couldn’t do this. She should just give him her own address and go back home. Or go to the hotel and speak to Cammy and tell him she couldn’t marry him. Rip that plaster right off. ‘Sorry, I’ve changed my mind. Could you take me to…’ her request tailed off, cut short by a visceral reaction to what she’d just seen. The house. The window. Someone standing there. Their reaction suggested that they’d seen her too. They’d put their hands on their hips, staring at her, as if throwing out a subliminal challenge. Come ahead, they said.
Run. Stay. Run. Stay.
‘Look, I can see that you’re having a day of it,’ the driver went on, spotting her renewed hesitation, ‘but I need to keep the meter ticking here. My missus will kick my arse if I don’t come home minted tonight.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Caro said, meaning it. She hated to put people out.
Snap decision. She pulled twenty quid from her pocket and thrust it towards him, more than covering the fifteen pounds showing on the meter.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, as she clambered out of the cab.
‘You too,’ she replied, with a forced cheeriness she definitely wasn’t feeling.
The taxi accelerated off, leaving her standing there, a lone figure in a very conspicuous scarlet duffle coat, just staring at the stationary silhouette in the window.
She could still run and…
No. Decision made.
It was time.
She’d been avoiding this family for two years now. How could she move on, build a new life, when she hadn’t settled her old one? Today had already gone from what should have been the happiest of her life to potentially one of the worst, so she may as well pile on the misery.
As she stepped forward, she lifted her head and jutted her chin. Even if she didn’t feel confident, she could at least act like it.
At the door, the huge brass knocker reverberated as she lifted it, then let it fall against the wood.
Five seconds. Maybe ten. No one was going to answer. Spineless bastards.
She reached up to knock again and…
The door opened. Caro stared at the woman in front of her, suddenly struck silent. Lila. The half-sister she’d only found out about two years ago. They shared a father – the one who had been cheating on her mother for almost the entire duration of their marriage. The one and only time she’d seen Lila, on the night she’d confronted her father, she’d been a vibrant, blonde, Marilyn Monroe-esque beauty, flawlessly groomed and spectacularly turned out. Back then, Lila posted every detail of her life on social media and was rewarded with hundreds – sometimes thousands – of ‘likes’ and fawning comments. Caro remembered the figure she’d seen when she last checked Lila’s Instagram profile – 246,000 followers. Yep, 246,000 people cared what Lila thought, what she wore, what she said. That blew Caro’s mind.
The woman standing here now was the same person but in a different shell. There was no make-up. Her hair was scraped into a ponytail. Her cheeks were sunken, the circles under her eyes a dark contrast to the red of the spots that had broken out on her chin.
‘Lila?’ Caro said, tentatively. The woman nodded, saying nothing, leaving it to Caro to proceed. ‘I’m—’
‘My sister,’ Lila said bluntly. ‘I know who you are. My dad told me all about you.’
Caro hid her surprise. She’d no idea her father had revealed the truth to his other daughter. They’d all been in the same room only once, but the two women hadn’t actually come face to face and Lila wasn’t even aware that Caro was there. They were in a restaurant where Lila was having dinner with her mother, their father, and…
Cammy. Yep, Lila had been dating the man Caro was supposed to marry today, but she’d ceremoniously dumped him the same night Caro met him. After Lila had ditched him, Caro had got talking to Cammy outside and he’d offered to drive Caro home to Aberdeen. How crazy was that? Caro had come looking for a father and had ended up with the love of her life. Her half-sister’s cast-offs. Probably the only gift her sibling would ever give her.
‘I was hoping to speak to my… our… Is Jack in?’ Caro stuttered over the words. Calling him ‘dad’ seemed so wrong, given that he’d never been a father to her. Not really. He’d come home a week or so out of every month, allegedly back from his travels with his big-shot job in the oil industry, but now she knew it was actually a week away from his other family. How convenient for him that his job was based in both Aberdeen and Glasgow, so it fitted his duplicitous life. When he was around, he’d pretty much co-existed in the house with her. Her mother had worshipped the ground he walked on, but Jack had never taken an interest in his daughter’s life, never shown any
fatherly affection. Caro hadn’t realised dads could be any other way until she was a teenager and met some of her friends’ fathers.
It seemed though, that he’d been a very different father to Lila. Her social media posts were packed with pictures of the two of them together on special occasions, and gushy declarations about how great he was and how much she loved him.
Now, though, even the most observant person would be hard pushed to recognise this woman in those pictures.
‘He’s out, but he’ll be back soon,’ Lila said, her voice completely flat.
‘Okay,’ Caro sighed and realised that her overwhelming emotion was relief. This was confirmation that confronting him today was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come and she wasn’t even sure why she was here. Was she looking for understanding? For explanations? For some shred of reason that would restore her faith in marriage and everything it stood for? Or was she looking for revenge, to let go of her hatred by taking on a battle her mother hadn’t even known she had to fight?
What was the point? What could she possibly gain?
She managed a half smile at Lila. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she said, as she turned to walk back down the path. Time to go.
‘Do you want to come in and wait?’ Lila blurted. ‘He won’t be long.’
There was something in her tone, an edge of anxiety maybe? Caro wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her hesitate.
‘I don’t think…’ she began.
Lila rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously? You’ve, like, come all the way over here to speak to him and you’re just going to leave? That’s, like, so lame.’
Caro immediately felt her hackles rise. Lame? That should definitely be a cue to get out of there. Yet, something in Lila’s challenge, combined with curiosity, an emotional whirlpool and a dose of pride, made her hesitate. This was her half-sister, but she didn’t know her at all. It suddenly seemed important to her not to let Lila think she was some cowardly ‘lame’ individual.
