She narrows her eyes and stops struggling altogether, and I know I’ve hit her where it hurts with that last remark. She’d have given anything to be the next Alexander McQueen, but even Daddy couldn’t fix that for her.
‘The money must be rolling in, and then there’s the funds you’ll collect from this charity run, so donating a few thousand to a good cause like Harry’s won’t be much of a hardship, will it?’
‘It’s not rolling in!’ she snaps. ‘And anyway, it’s absolutely none of your business what I do with my own money.’
‘Possibly not. All I’m saying is you promised Jane and Harry, and I don’t know how you’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you’ve let them down. I certainly couldn’t.’
She laughs. ‘Well, no, of course you couldn’t. Because you’re a saint and everyone adores you. You couldn’t do anything wrong if you tried, little Miss Perfect. Perfect family. Adored by everyone. With Jason twisted around your little finger. God, you make me sick.’
I stare at her, taken aback by her fury.
‘Oh, don’t give me that innocent look. You always get what you want, regardless of how much your selfishness might be hurting other people.’
‘What?’ I stare at her, mystified. ‘Lucy, what the hell are you talking about?’
She gives me a filthy look. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’
I rack my brains but come up with zero. ‘I actually don’t.’
‘You mean Jason didn’t tell you? I thought he told you everything.’ She practically spits out the words.
I laugh. ‘Jason told me nothing. But I’d like to know what I’m supposed to have done, so why don’t you tell me?’
I let go of her T-shirt and she makes a thing of furiously straightening it up. There’s a wasp flying around and she swipes at it.
‘Well?’ I demand.
But she seems to have transferred her rage to the wasp instead and is flapping her arms around wildly.
‘So you’re not going to help Jane and Harry? Is it because the café isn’t doing so well?’ I ask, remembering her comment that the money wasn’t rolling in.
‘What makes you say that? We’re doing brilliantly.’ She shrieks as the wasp keeps buzzing around her head and she runs away to escape. Climbing on a nearby fence, she unscrews her water bottle and takes a long drink. ‘We’re packing them in every day, haven’t you noticed?’ She smiles smugly and turns her face up to the sun. ‘Oh no, of course you won’t have noticed because you can never leave that crappy building you call a café, just in case your once-in-a-blue-moon customer arrives.’
Grinning, she leans a little further back on the fence, and I glare at her, thinking how easy it would be to give her a little prod. There’s a trough filled with something slimy and green just behind her in the field beyond the fence …
She sits up straight, looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘I bet your mum and dad are so proud of you for making such a success of it.’ She says it slowly, with a triumphant smile, relishing every single word.
The blood rushes in my veins. If I take a deep breath, maybe I won’t have to kill her.
I walk towards her and a look of astonishment crosses her face.
I don’t know what she thinks I’m going to do, but she jerks fractionally backwards then seems to lose her balance, gripping on to the fence to try and stay upright.
But gravity wins. And with an anguished glance behind her, she sort of slides slowly off her perch, legs at a funny angle, and lands with an ominous gloopy splatter in the trough.
The indignant shrieks and threats that ensue turn the air blue. Struggling to get out of the trough, legs and arms flailing about, she’s getting more steeped in green slimy gunk by the second and calling me all the names under the sun.
‘Are you just going to stand there, you halfwit blockhead?’ she splutters at last.
I walk slowly across and lean over the fence, offering my hand to pull her out. But she ignores me and stubbornly manages to heave herself out.
Then without warning, she opens her mouth and lets out a deafening noise somewhere between a howl and a scream.
I stare at her in alarm. ‘Keep the noise down. People will think you’re being murdered.’
‘I’ve been stung by that wasp, you freak!’ she yells. ‘Fuck’s sake, it’s bloody painful.’ She’s twisting round, lifting her T-shirt at the back to find the sting, and moaning that she’s going to die.
I step forward. ‘Are you allergic to wasp stings?’ Frowning, I feel in my pocket and bring out my mobile phone, ready to dial for an ambulance.
‘No, of course I’m not allergic, you stupid moron!’ she yells in my face. ‘It just bloody hurts.’
‘Right.’ Calmly, I slip the phone back in my pocket. ‘Well, you’re not going to die then, are you! Better get on. Got a run to finish.’
With a cheery wave, I jog off, leaving her standing there, wearing the contents of the trough, her mouth opening and shutting like a giant angry cod’s …
Chapter 32
I force myself to run normally until I’m out of sight of Lucy. Then I collapse weakly against the trunk of a horse chestnut tree, my heart banging against my ribcage.
My legs are trembling so much at the confrontation, I’m not sure I can go on yet. A couple of people are jogging towards me – and Lucy will be along soon, if she’s not heading back – so I slip round the other side of the trunk and sink down gratefully onto a patch of green moss under the tree’s sheltering branches.
I feel slightly sick. But the fearful look on Lucy’s face when I started walking towards her was a revelation. You always hear that bullies are essentially cowards, but I never really believed that before now. It puts a whole new complexion on my attitude towards Lucy.
I might even feel a bit sorry for her.
Actually
