I’m determined to catch up with Lucy and demand to know what she thinks she’s doing to poor Jane and Harry. She can’t be allowed to play around with people’s lives like this, and after years of being a victim of her spite, it’s suddenly desperately important to me that I’m the one to make her see this.
My rage at the sense of deep injustice seems to be giving me wings, but after ten minutes of hard running, I begin to flag.
At last, just when I think I can’t possibly keep up this speed for a minute longer, I catch sight of Lucy’s red T-shirt disappearing round a bend in the path up ahead. Puffing like a vintage steam train, I put my head down and – my legs feeling as heavy as lead by now – I tank along even faster, overtaking several small packs of runners, amazed that I’m still going. Perhaps I do actually have stamina now!
Lucy is running alone, which I’m pleased about. It would be harder to tackle her if Olivia was there, supporting her. When I’m finally in shouting distance, I call out her name.
At first, she doesn’t hear me, so I keep on shouting until she finally turns her head. The instant she sees it’s me, her face turns thunderous.
‘What do you want?’ she barks, showing her total disdain by running on and refusing to stop.
‘There’s a hole in your shorts at the back.’
‘What? Where?’ She halts and twists round to examine her own butt. She glares at me. ‘There’s no hole. What do you want?’
‘I want to ask you a question, Lucy.’ My heart is hammering so loudly, she can probably hear it. Even if she can’t, she’ll be able to tell from my face that I’m angry and upset in fairly equal measure.
‘Oh, yes? And what question is that?’ She smirks, hands on hips. ‘Oh, I know. How come you’re always so much more successful than me, Lucy? Especially when it comes to setting up cafés. Was that the question, Twilight?’
She spits out my name, contempt for me oozing out of every pore, and for the thousandth time, I wonder what I ever did to be the object of such never-ending hatred. My whole body is trembling and I worry my emotion will show in my voice. The last thing I want is Lucy thinking that after all these years, I’m still afraid of her.
I take a deep breath to calm my ragged nerves.
‘Come on, spit it out,’ she sneers. ‘Or are you too scared?’ She puts on a fake look of sympathy. ‘Aw, poor little Twilight. Going to run home and complain about me to your mummy?’
I clench my fists at my sides. ‘Lucy, for God’s sake, we’re not ten any more.’
‘Sorry? What was that?’ Lucy holds her hand exaggeratedly to her ear. ‘Did the timid little mouse speak there?’ She shakes her head at me in disgust.
I swallow hard, remembering something Paloma is always saying. When faced with something or someone intimidating, imagine that person with no clothes on or dressed up as Mickey Mouse with a funny squeaky voice.
Actually, the squeaky voice thing is easy with Lucy because she often sounds like a recording that’s been speeded up. I turn her into a pesky five-year-old and give her goofy teeth, and I actually find my shoulders relaxing.
‘Well? Cat got your tongue?’
‘Lucy, for fuck’s sake, we’re not in the school playground, so why not grow up, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, and listen to me? You never know, you might just hear something useful.’
A look of uncertainty flashes across her face for a brief moment. She wasn’t expecting me to challenge her. But then next second, she’s laughing in my face. ‘Ooh, playing the tough guy now, are we? Do I look scared? I think not. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a run to finish.’
She turns, about to go, but I dash forward and grab a handful of her T-shirt at the back, stopping her dead in her tracks. She turns and for a brief instant, we lock eyes and I see her look of shocked disbelief. Then she starts shrieking with indignation, trying to wrench herself away from my clutches, but grimly, I hang on to the fabric.
I eyeball her as steadily as I can, feeling like I’m trying to tame a rebellious child. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Lucy Slater, until you’ve answered my question, which is this: Why have you gone back on your promise to help Jane and Harry?’
Her eyes slide away from mine, guilt written all over her face. ‘Get your hands off me, you pathetic excuse for a person.’ Incensed, she slaps at my hands to make me let go but I hang on tenaciously, determined to get an answer.
‘Tell me why you’ve left them in the lurch like this and I’ll let go.’
She glares at me mutely but stops struggling so hard.
‘Come on. I want to know, Lucy. Why would you do that to such lovely people? I want to hear your reasons.’
‘I don’t need a reason, except that I’ve changed my mind,’ she snaps, turning the full force of her blazing white-hot fury on me, eyes flashing angrily. Shocked, I almost let go of her. But something deep within is giving me the strength to persist. It’s as if all the heartache of those years of being tormented by her has been building up inside me, and it’s finally risen to the ‘full’ level and has nowhere else to go. Except out of my mouth!
I’m not giving up. I want an answer. ‘I should have thought you’d be making tons of money from the café, Lucy. It’s been a runaway success, hasn’t it? Not like your
