‘You’re not exactly selling it to me.’
‘But then it smiles at you,’ he goes on, ignoring my complaint. ‘And that first smile. Well, it’s worth a million quid. Have no fear. That man loves your bones. He’d do anything for you. He’ll be made up.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Still …’
‘Just tell him, Maya. And do it soon.’
Leaving Beefy to finish his tea, I head upstairs for a shower, stopping in my tracks when I’m confronted by a huge, freestanding bath, freshly installed at the far end of the en suite. I can’t help smiling at the fact that Dan’s been busy preparing for my return, and I’m sorely tempted to break it in, but there’s no time. Leaving the bath for now, I take a quick shower instead. Back in the bedroom, I discover a pair of combats hanging in Dan’s wardrobe, nestling up against one of his suits. I pull them on, along with a shirt, and go back down to the living room to settle in for the wait. Just after seven, Clive calls with new information. Dan’s still at the station. No charges, but he’s helping with enquiries.
‘There’s nothing more I can do here,’ he says. ‘I’ll come and join you.’ He pauses, and I know what’s coming next. ‘Any chance you could get Lucy over there?’
‘Of course,’ I smile.
At the end of the day, after everything Clive’s done for us, he deserves plenty in return. As soon as he’s gone, I wake Lucy with an early morning call. Silencing her questions, I tell her to get a cab over to the penthouse.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ she barks, marching through the door and surveying the kitchen. ‘Don’t tell me you’re back with that piece of shit.’
‘Sit down, Lucy.’
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ She comes to a halt next to the counter, sways a little and clamps her hands on her head. ‘Jesus, I’ve got the hangover from Hell.’
‘I said sit down.’
While Beefy beats a hasty retreat to the lobby, closing the door behind him, I set about filling the kettle.
‘What are you doing?’ Lucy demands.
‘Making tea. Sit down.’
‘I don’t want tea.’ She eyes me warily. ‘Well, actually I do. My mouth’s like sandpaper. I’m never drinking again.’
‘That might be a good idea.’
‘So, what’s going on?’
‘Sit.’ I point at a stool. ‘You’re getting tea and the truth. It’ll sort out your hangover, trust me.’
Slowly, uneasily, never once taking her blurry eyes off me, she lowers herself onto the stool. And then I begin. Busying myself with the usual tea rigmarole, I fill her in on everything that’s happened since the accident, leaving out Clive’s involvement for the time being. She needs to take in the facts before she takes off like a firework.
‘This is fucking mad,’ she breathes when I’m done. ‘No. It’s beyond fucking mad.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘This sort of shit happens in films … or on EastEnders. This isn’t real.’
‘Well, it is real. It all happened.’
She stares at me, goggle-eyed, opens her mouth as if she’s on the verge of saying something, and then closes it again, several times. Good grief, this is painful. I knew it would be difficult, but the alcohol-induced fug isn’t helping matters.
‘So, you didn’t shag Gordon?’ she asks at last.
Incredible. After everything that’s happened, this is what her brain decides to obsess over?
‘Absolutely not. He’s Dan’s friend. And he’s gay, by the way.’
‘You are kidding me.’
‘No, I’m not. Come off it, Luce. You saw the way he danced last night.’
She shakes her head.
‘Gay?’
‘And he’s in the closet, so keep shtum.’
‘But, he’s gay?’
I’m about to remind her that Gordon’s sexuality is possibly the least important thing in all of this, but I get no chance.
‘You’ve been lying to me for months.’ She scowls at me.
‘Yes.’ I yawn. ‘But I had no choice. And you can’t complain. You lied to me.’
‘When?’
‘When you and Clive lured me over here.’
‘Yes … but … I didn’t lie to you for three sodding months.’ She sinks into a temporary silence, her face gurning its way through several unpleasant emotions: anger, disbelief, annoyance, confusion. ‘I can’t get over it,’ she murmurs at last. ‘Gordon’s gay.’ Her eyes seem to lose focus. ‘But what about Clive?’
Ah, so we’ve finally got to the inevitable crux of the matter.
‘He’s not gay.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Of course, I do.’
And now, after all this time, I finally get to put an end to the torture. I can barely contain myself. The words bubble up from my lungs, bursting from my mouth with a good helping of childish excitement.
‘He didn’t want to split up with you.’
I’m half expecting a tirade of abuse. Instead, a small smile jitters across her lips … and I’m thoroughly relieved.
‘What?’
‘He couldn’t see you. He had to keep his distance. We couldn’t have any links between me and Dan.’
‘And you knew this all along?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t supposed to know, but I forced it out of them. They made me promise not to say a word. I’m so sorry, Lucy.’
With a dismissive wave, she springs up from the stool, sways again, and then circles the kitchen, deep in thought.
‘The fewer people who knew, the better,’ I press on. ‘I wanted to tell you. Honestly, I did. And I nearly told you, more than once. You were a complete nightmare …’
‘He still wants me?’ she cuts in.
‘Yes.’
‘He does?’
‘Yes,’ I repeat with all the patience I can muster.
‘He still wants me,’ she cries jubilantly, throwing her hands in
