The Sisters (20 page)

‘My cooking isn’t that good.’ Lucinda put her hand on the door handle to open it but immediately jumped back as someone determinedly knocked on the front door very hard.

‘Hi, Auntie Lou,’ Lena said as Lucinda opened the door, surprised to see her niece standing on the doorstep.

‘Lena, I didn’t know you were coming over. Do you have to knock the door so hard? You sound like the police.’

‘Sorry Auntie Lou. I texted Katelyn earlier and said that I was coming round. It’s ok isn’t it?’

‘Of course it’s ok.’ Lucinda opened the door wider for her niece to step through but didn’t say a word when she noticed the large holdall that Lena was holding in her hands. ‘Have you eaten?’ Lucinda asked as Lena kissed her cheek and she noticed the puffiness around her eyes.

‘I had something at lunch-time.’ If Lena was anything like her mother then something was nothing more than some chocolate and a bottle of juice.

‘Well, your cousins are about to stuff their faces in the kitchen so why don’t you join them?’

Lena nodded and began to walk towards the kitchen. ‘Oh and Lena, make sure your mum knows where you are.’

‘I will.’

Lucinda walked out of the house and closed the door, knowing full well that there were better odds on her being selected to lead England in the World Cup then of Lena calling her mother. So she did the responsible thing and texted Jessica with the certainty that Jessica wouldn’t text her back.

JESSICA HAD left the office in a temper. In fact, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of silent fury. She hated not being in control and felt like a puppet whose strings were being pulled in four different directions. The one place that should have been her sanctuary felt as though it was closing in on her. The paparazzi hadn’t come back. She knew better than anybody that notoriety only lasted for so long and they were hardly going to stay just to get a picture of someone who used to be famous. Wendy had called and told her to come to the book launch party of another celebrity who hadn’t picked up a book since Johnny and Jennifer’s Yellow Hat when they were 6-years-old but Jessica had refused and said she was going to take the evening off, go to the gym and watch some rubbish on TV. Her intention quickly dissipated with the arrival of Lucinda’s text whilst she sat in the back of the cab as it turned onto Pentonville Road. First her husband, even though she didn’t have any actual proof, and now her own daughter was deserting her for her older sister. She leaned towards the open car window in a fairly useless effort to fan the flames of the temper that had been swirling and building inside of her since the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning. By the time the cab had pulled up onto her road she’d managed to talk herself into going for a run to clear the cobwebs in her head, but that intention was quickly swept away when she saw the thick white envelope on the doormat.

‘Jess you need to calm down,’ Beatrice said as she balanced baby Sam on her left shoulder and held her phone to her right ear. The last time she’d heard Jessica this angry was when Lucinda had walked into the dressing room and announced,
“I’m leaving.”

‘Don’t tell me to calm down. How can I calm down when everything I’ve worked for is being taken out from underneath me?’

‘Jessica,’ Beatrice said firmly. ‘Stop pacing and sit down.’

Jessica did what she was told and sat down in the middle of her living room floor with the contents of the white envelope held tightly in her left hand.

‘Who the hell does he think he is, Bea? How the fuck can he think that he’s entitled to my business?’

‘What exactly did the solicitors send you?’

‘He didn’t build this. I did. The bastard.’ Beatrice placed the baby on the sofa next to his brother and sister who for once were sitting quietly in their pyjamas flicking through their dad’s comic books whilst Jake sat in his armchair flicking through the TV channels.

‘Are you still there?’ Bea asked as she closed the living room door and sat down in the quiet of her kitchen.

‘Yes, I’m still here.’

‘Right, so tell me what they have sent you.’

‘Divorce petition, application for ancillary relief, acknowledgement of service and some other bits of crap. I still can’t believe he’s doing this.’

‘Right, I want you to scan and email everything to me, ok? Do it as soon as you get off the phone.’

‘He wants my house, Bea. He didn’t contribute a penny to this house, and the pensions, share accounts…’

‘Jess, stop it. There’s no point making yourself even more upset. He’s not worth it.’

‘How the fuck can I stop?’ Jessica said as she started to scan the page that listed her possessions like a shopping list. She’d read it in a blind fury 15 minutes earlier, but now as she sat on the cool wooden floor and the calmness ebbed through her she noticed the last entry, which clearly wasn’t an afterthought but had been placed there to reiterate the fact that Andrew intended on getting absolutely everything.

‘This is just priceless,’ Jessica said as she stood up and walked towards the kitchen. ‘Fucking priceless.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He wants my fucking royalties.’ She hesitated as she opened the fridge door and stared at the bottles of white wine on the middle shelf.

‘What? Euterpe’s royalties?’

‘Can you believe it? The nerve of that poor fucking excuse for a man.’

‘No wonder The Daily Post called it a £25 million divorce battle. The bastard,’ Beatrice said as she took off her lawyer hat and replaced it with her sisterly heart. ‘Look, send me everything and we’ll talk about it tomorrow morning. I’ve got to sort Sam out and get the twins into the bed. It’ll be alright. I’ll look after you.’ The lump that had formed in Jessica’s throat stopped her from responding. She knew alcohol wasn’t the answer but right now she wasn’t looking for answers.

‘I love you sis,’ Beatrice said as she ended the call. Jessica stared again at the itinerary. She couldn’t believe that Andrew was going after her business; the business, which had saved her. Jessica’s working life revolved around the world of the celebrity but she was more than content to leave the limelight firmly at her office door, whereas Andrew had craved and insisted upon it. She’d stopped being Jessica the party girl from Euterpe years ago, but he wanted to be married to the girl he’d only known from music videos and newspaper gossip columns. As she took out the corkscrew from the drawer she chided herself for being so complacent in her marriage.
‘More fool me,’
she said out loud as she pushed the hard metal into the cork and began to twist. Andrew behaved like a big-spender but he’d been barely solvent when they first met. The big warning sign had been glaringly obvious when three weeks after proposing Andrew asked her to help him out with a £35,000 tax bill. She had duly complied and from the moment she’d authorised the online payment he’d held fast onto the age-old adage of “what’s mine is yours.” He’d started their marriage with debt collectors breathing down his neck but now he was hoping to leave it as lottery winner. She should have been the one who’d chosen to end their marriage but pride and stupidity had stopped her from doing that and now the choice had been taken away from her. Again, first Lucinda and then Christopher, and now that fuckwit of a husband. She leaned against the fridge door and took a mouthful of ice cold wine enjoying the feeling as it tickled the back of her tongue and worked its way down towards her stomach. It was pitiful really. A 42-year-old woman drinking alone in her kitchen whilst her only daughter sat in her estranged sister’s house. As for her husband, she had to stop thinking about where he was or what he was doing. How he felt was clearly typed out on the papers that were now strewn across her kitchen counter. Royalties. She hadn’t thought about the Euterpe royalty account for years. There was no reason to. Jessica LeSoeur was doing perfectly well on her own. She didn’t need Euterpe but that didn’t stop her from looking again at the itemised list.

‘Fuck me,’ Jessica said out loud as she traced her finger along the column. £4,786,985.28. If she really wanted Andrew off her back she could just give him that and get the full clean break she’d had when she divorced Christopher but there was no way she was going to do that. It hadn’t occurred to her for one minute that the royalties were that much but as she traced her finger back to the account details it became clear that no matter what her feelings about her past she couldn’t hand over nearly five million pounds because this was a joint account and Lucinda’s name stood proudly above Jessica’s.

LUCINDA HESITATED, which was unusual for her, as she wasn’t a woman known for hesitation. She’d changed into her heels at the side of the pub opposite and walked tentatively towards the restaurant. It was a warm summer evening. Music and laughter seemed to drift out of every open window and car that drove past. She had spent a good fifteen minutes googling Geraint’s Kitchen restaurant and much to her disappointment had found nothing but good reviews. Even
The Times
had described it as “simplicity at its rustic best, which rises above the pretentiousness of its neighbours.” She’d wanted to be at least 10 minutes late but reminded herself that this wasn’t a date so she didn’t have to worry about following the rules. The doors to the restaurant were wide open as well as the windows that ran along the side. The restaurant was packed and a few heads turned as she walked past the window. She stopped briefly as she spotted Owen step out of the doors, check his watch and look in the opposite direction. Lucinda checked hers again, a silver Cartier watch that had been a gift from her paternal grandfather on her 18th birthday. All of the grandchildren had got one when they had turned 18 and there were 11 of them. Her cousin Daryl had been convinced that their grandfather had stolen them and was just offloading them to the grandchildren one by one.

‘You’re here,’ Owen said as he turned to his right and saw Lucinda walking towards him.

‘I’m not late am I?’

‘No, no of course not.’ He leaned towards her and kissed on the cheek and then took a step back as he wondered if he’d done the right thing. Lucinda smiled and quickly chastised herself for enjoying the scent of his aftershave a little too much.

‘Your restaurant looks really nice and it’s busy.’

‘I bet that you googled me or went on Tripadviser.’

‘I forgot about Tripadviser? What does it say; did someone give you two stars because their toilet seat wasn’t warm enough when they sat down?’

‘Even worse, there was no one around to wipe their arse. Come on let’s go in,’ Owen replied with a laugh as he put his hand gently on Lucinda’s back. There was no mistaking the look of pride on Owen’s face as he walked into his own restaurant and said hello to his staff.

‘Hold on a second. This isn’t an odd way of you carrying out staff appraisals is it?’ Lucinda asked as she followed Owen up a set of stairs where along the wall were black and white photographs of Hollywood legends. ‘Oh look, my mum’s boyfriend,’ Lucinda said as she stopped at a photograph of Steve McQueen and admired it for a few seconds. ‘I think he’s the only man that my mum would have considered leaving my dad for.’

‘Well she’d have to have fought off my mum first,’ Owen said with a grin.

‘Is that you?’ At the top of the stairs was a large photograph of four men sitting at a table looking exactly like a modern day version of the rat pack. Owen sat in the middle of the group, all four laughing, with bow ties hanging loosely around their necks. He had his arm around a man who was obviously his brother, a black man who looked like he’d heard the best joke in the world and a Chinese man leaning back and holding a bottle of Jameson whiskey.

‘Yep that’s me. Madeline took it the night we opened the restaurant. That’s my older brother Geraint. He lives in San Francisco.’

‘Oh, you named it after him?’

‘Well I kind of had to. He gave me the money with a proviso that as long as I didn’t name a plate of scallops after him, he wanted his name somewhere in this restaurant so I thought I’d stick it on the door. He couldn’t really complain about that.’

‘So, you’re close?’ Lucinda asked.

‘Yeah, we all are. I suppose no different to you and your sisters. So, whilst we’re here this is my best mate, Daniel.’ Owen pointed to the black man on his left. ‘We’ve been best friends since the day we were born. My mum and his mum went to school together. They didn’t even let a little thing like my mum and dad moving to Ireland break them up, and that in the corner is Jiang my mate since uni who described this picture as the worst Benetton advert ever.’ Lucinda laughed again. ‘They’re all nuts but I wouldn’t be without them. I’m telling you, you’re lucky that Daniel is away on holiday and that Jiang’s wife had a baby the other day otherwise they’d be falling over themselves to be here.’ At the top of the stairs the door opened to the roof, which was an extension of the restaurant downstairs. There were only six tables and with the exception of one in the corner they were all filled.

‘Wow, this is gorgeous. I wasn’t expecting this,’ Lucinda said as they were approached by a waiter who clearly didn’t have a clue who she was as it was unlikely that he was even born when Euterpe had first appeared on Top of the Pops. They were led to their table and Lucinda took her seat completely aware that the couple on the table they’d just passed had clearly recognised her.

‘Does it ever bother you?’ Owen said as he handed her the menu. ‘Complete strangers watching your every move.’

Lucinda shook her head. ‘To be honest it rarely happens these days.’

‘Really,’ Owen said clearly surprised. ‘But you and your sisters were all over the place. You even did a Pepsi commercial.’

‘I thought you said Euterpe wasn’t your thing?’

‘Well, you wasn’t but neither were the bloody Spice Girls and you could hardly ignore them could you?’

‘That’s true, we were everywhere and it did get ridiculous just before we broke up. Photographers everywhere, anyone who spent more than a minute with us or so
called close friends
selling their stories to the newspapers. I couldn’t even go to Tesco’s without being followed by five or six people who were far too interested in the contents of my shopping basket. My parents had to put up with all sorts turning up at the front door. My mum teaches Classics at UCL and for three years in a row her classes were oversubscribed. It’s as if they thought that we’d appear as guest lecturers one day or mum would show them family photographs.’ Lucinda shook her head at the memories and opened her menu.