‘Missed you, too.’
The door closed, and I realised that was another lie I’d uttered today. I rolled over, and begged the heavens for sleep. And thank God, He eventually answered my prayer.
I awoke the following morning, feeling as drugged up as I’d told CeCe I was last night. Stumbling out of bed, I saw a note pushed under the door.
Left for collige. Call if you need me. Love u. Cee.
I walked down the stairs and noted the kitchen had been tidied and looked as pristine as it usually did, which made me feel guilty for lying to her last night. I switched on the kettle, then remembered we’d run out of teabags.
Wandering into the sitting room, I peered through the glass at a day that appeared considerably brighter than the one before it.
As I stared out of the window my thoughts flew unbidden to High Weald and I wondered if Rory was awake yet, and what he would have for breakfast now that I was no longer there to make it for him. Come on, Star, he’s with his mother, he’s happy . . .
And yet – maybe it was vanity rather than instinct – I felt him missing me.
No.
‘That is not your life. They are not your family. Rory is not your child,’ I told myself out loud.
I walked upstairs and for want of anything to fill the emptiness, I adopted Orlando’s policy of routine and took another shower, after which I dressed and went downstairs to sit at the desk. Today, I told myself, I would try to begin my novel. Do something for me, to start forging my own destiny. So I picked up my notebook and ink pen and began to write.
A few hours later, I came to and saw that a fiery dusk was already descending. Putting down my pen and massaging the fingers that had clenched it so tightly, I stood up to get a glass of water. I looked at my mobile and saw there were a number of texts and two voicemails, which I studiously ignored, until both curiosity and fear that something had happened to Orlando – or perhaps Rory – melted my resolve.
‘Hi, Star, it’s Mouse here. I don’t know whether Orlando passed on the message, but Marguerite is off to France this weekend. She said you might be willing to take care of Rory and the house while she’s gone. Can you get back to me as soon as possible? The landline at High Weald isn’t working – something to do with an unpaid bill – so she asked me to call you. Thanks.’
The next message was from Shanthi, asking how and where I was, and saying that it would be great to meet up soon. The mellow sound of her voice comforted me, and I made a mental note to call her back and arrange a day and time. I checked my text messages and saw two more from an obviously desperate Mouse. With Orlando currently off the scene, the job of taking care of Rory would inevitably fall to him. I was about to put the mobile down when Mouse rang again. This time, I decided I must answer it.
‘Star, thank God. I was wondering if I had the wrong number. I tried calling Orlando, but he isn’t picking up either.’
‘No, he wouldn’t be.’
‘Did you get my voicemail and my texts earlier?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And can you come to High Weald next week?’
‘No, I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘Right.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Can I ask you why not? Marguerite said you seemed pretty keen on the idea of working for her sometimes.’
‘Yes, but only with Orlando’s agreement. And he didn’t agree.’
‘Surely he can spare you for a few days for the sake of his nephew?’
‘Yes, he can. He sacked me yesterday after your call to him. He called me a traitor,’ I added abruptly.
‘God.’ Mouse gave a long sigh at the other end of the line. ‘I’m sorry, Star. This isn’t your mess at all, and we shouldn’t have involved you in it. I wasn’t thinking before I called him . . .’
‘Yes, well, that’s the way things are.’
‘And you won’t consider coming here, even for the weekend?’
‘Sorry, but I can’t. Orlando has been so kind to me. I don’t want to betray that kindness.’
‘No, I see that. Ah, well . . . you’re probably better off out of our crazy family anyway. Rory will be devastated – we’re all getting bored with his eulogies about you.’
‘Send him my love.’
‘I will, of course. And maybe, when the dust has settled, you might change your mind.’
‘I don’t think so. Sorry.’
‘Okay. I’ll leave you alone. Just one thing, though. Can you give me your address so that I can at least send you on what you’re owed for taking care of Rory last week?’
‘It really doesn’t matter. I was happy to do it.’
‘It certainly matters to me, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .’
I gave him our address and he said he would put a cheque in the post.
‘Right, well then, my troubled relatives and I will leave you in peace. Perhaps Orlando will calm down and go down on bended knee to beg you to come back.’
‘I doubt it. You told me how stubborn he is, and I’ve hurt him deeply.’
‘No, Star, I have. This is all my fault. Anyway, good luck with finding some other employment, and keep in touch. Bye now.’
‘Bye.’
The line went dead. And despite my firm stance, it felt like the ending of a beautiful love affair. With a house, a family, and what may or may not have been my own past. I swallowed hard to prevent the tears, then went to the kitchen to prepare supper for CeCe and myself. Just the two of us once more.
As I sliced the vegetables for a stir fry far more aggressively than was needed, I realised that, on every level, I was back to square one. While I was waiting for CeCe to arrive, I only hoped that my feigning illness would dissuade her from a delayed attack of the sulks over forgetting to tell her I was staying on at High Weald. I then texted Shanthi – I had to start somewhere with a life of my own – and invited her over for a cup of coffee at her convenience. She texted back immediately and said she’d be delighted to pop in at four tomorrow. I was at least happy that this gave me a great excuse to bake a cake – something other than lemon drizzle, I thought morosely as I heard the front door open and close.
‘Hi, Sia, how are you feeling?’
‘Much better, thank you.’
She frowned as she studied my face. ‘You look very pale still.’
‘I’m always pale, Cee,’ I chuckled. ‘Promise, I’m fine. How are you?’
‘Oh, okay, sort of,’ she said, and I knew she wasn’t. ‘Want a beer?’ she asked me as she went to the fridge to reach for one.
‘No thanks.’
‘How was nursery-maiding?’ she said, coming to sit down opposite me.
‘Fine, thanks. Rory’s a sweetie.’
‘Will you be going again?’
‘No. It was a one-off.’
‘I’m glad. Goodness, Star, you have a first-class degree in English Literature, speak two languages fluently and are the most intelligent person I know. You’ve got to stop selling yourself short.’
It was CeCe’s oft-repeated refrain and I really wasn’t interested in pursuing it.