“Unless, maybe, just maybe, the poison-pen knows me well enough to know I’d tell you anyway. What if that’s just what he wanted?”
“Well, if that was the plan, he definitely went about it the right way. Look, enough beating around the bush. I can hear that little cry-for-help thing in your voice, so you win, I’ll help. First step: invite Dad out to lunch this week, somewhere near Chelsea. He may moan about having to go that far away, but he’ll say yes for the excuse to take the Austin out for a spin. Try to find a place with good parking, since there’s no way he’d risk leaving it on the street, which cracks me up every time, but hey, let’s focus on the task at hand. I have spare keys to his flat. As soon as the coast is clear, I’ll go in and have a look around.”
As queasy as the notion of tricking my father made me, I couldn’t think of a better idea, so I accepted my sister’s offer.
It was already late, and the station was empty, the two of us the only ones on the platform as we waited for the train. According to the departures board, a Southeastern train to Orpington was due shortly. I’d have to change at Bromley for a train to Victoria, then get the tube to South Kensington and walk another ten minutes to get home.
Maggie sighed. “You know what I’d like to do right now? Hop on that train with you. A proper sleepover at my sister’s place in London. Slip into bed with you and just chat the night away.”
“You know I’d love to, except . . . Fred will wonder where you are.”
The train roared into view at the end of the platform, brakes squealing as it came to a stop. The doors opened, but not a single passenger stepped out. When the long whistle sounded to announce departure was imminent, Maggie nudged me forward.
“Come on, Rigby! Move it or you’ll miss your train!”
After we exchanged a knowing glance, I boarded the train and disappeared into the night.
Fred was waiting for Maggie in bed, eyes glued to an old episode of Fawlty Towers. The lovers’ quarrel was no match for John Cleese, and the couple soon found themselves roaring with laughter at the endless antics of England’s reigning lord of the absurd.
“Okay, maybe you don’t want to get married, but what about moving into my place?” Fred asked.
“Ha! Come on, I’m the one who doesn’t want to get married? Don’t be a hypocrite. I saw your face when my dad said the M-word.”
“And I saw you wasted no time in setting the record straight.”
“Look, Michel and my dad are both right here. London’s just too far away for me to keep an eye on them.”
“Your brother is a grown man, and your father has led the life he wanted. Isn’t it time you started living yours to the fullest?”
Maggie grabbed the remote and shut off the TV. She straddled Fred and took off her T-shirt, looking him straight in the eye.
“What? Why are you giving me that look?” he asked.
“Because we’ve been together two whole years and it’s the first time I’ve realized that I know next to nothing about you—your life, your family. You’ve never introduced me, never talked about them at all. Meanwhile, you’re a leading expert on all things Maggie, the whole family . . . I don’t know where you grew up, where you went to college, if you went to college.”
“Right. Because you never asked.”
“That’s not true! You just always get dodgy and elusive when I ask about your past.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” he said, brushing his lips across her bare breasts. “Sometimes a man has other priorities. But if you insist, I’ll tell all . . . everything, my whole life story, in full detail . . . I was born thirty-nine years ago in London . . .”
Fred slipped lower as he spoke, making a trail of kisses down Maggie’s stomach.
“Okay, you win, I see your point,” Maggie murmured, her breath quickening. “Stop talking. Now.”
8
KEITH
October 1980, Baltimore
Shafts of moonlight streamed into the loft through the skylights, filled with little specks of floating dust. May slept soundly, the folds of the bedsheets hugging tightly to the curves of her body. Seated at the foot of the bed, Sally-Anne studied her and watched her breathe. At that very moment, the rising and falling of May’s chest was the only thing she cared about in the world. They could have been the last two people on earth, the whole of the universe contained within that loft.
One hour earlier, visions of the past had jolted Sally-Anne awake. Familiar faces glared down at her in judgment—frozen, expressionless, and unforgiving—while she sat, immobile, on an empty stage. So much of Sally-Anne’s character came from these judging faces, from a youth spent learning everything, without ever being taught.
Can two broken souls fix each other? Sally-Anne wondered. Would one person’s pain cancel out the other’s, or would it simply be piled on top of it?
“What time is it?” May groaned, her face buried in the pillow.
“Four in the morning, maybe a bit later.”
“What’s on your mind, what are you thinking about?”
“About us.”
“Good things or bad?”
“Go back to sleep.”