Little White Lies (23 page)

I shake my head. “Not now. Maybe in a while, when it doesn’t matter so much anymore. But if I tried to talk to him now, I just . . . well, I just couldn’t. I don’t feel strong enough to face rejection.”

Chloe nods her head. “Fair enough. Look, I better get home. But have a think, please. Stay here if you really, really want to. But don’t just give up. Not yet.”

“I’m not giving up,” I say, giving her a tight hug. “I’ve just finally made a decision that I’m going to stick to, that’s all. I’m staying here, where I belong, and that’s that. But look, thank you so much—for coming over, for listening. I really needed it.”

She gives me a quick hug. “Yeah, well, next time you have any mad schemes, you tell me first, okay? And, Nat?”

I look up. “What?”

“I always preferred Becky to Amelia. In
Vanity Fair . . .
”

I manage an appreciative grin, and watch as Chloe walks out of the drive. It’s a balmy late-summer evening, and I don’t feel like going to bed quite yet. Instead, I prop the door open, and sit on the front step looking out over the front garden and taking in the view of the street. Everywhere I look there are rambling houses with mud-splattered cars in front of them. I can smell the delicious scent of wild garlic and hear the song of the local seagull population, flying toward the River Avon. I’ve always been so desperate to leave all this behind and move to the big city, but I suppose it wasn’t such a bad place to grow up. The people were friendly and I was allowed to cycle along the streets without my parents worrying that I’d be knocked down by a car. I had a great childhood here.

I hear a noise behind me and turn round to see my dad standing in the hallway.

“Want to sit down?” I ask, moving over to make room for him on the step. He smiles, and walks over to join me. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then he leans back.

“We were going to move to London, your mum and me. About a year before you were born,” he says thoughtfully.

“Really?” I ask, shocked. “But you hate London, don’t you?”

He chuckles. “I do now, but I was game when I was younger—you know, to give it a go.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Well, I had a job offer—one that would have given us enough money to live on quite comfortably, really. And your mother was really keen—you know how she feels about London. But then she started to get second thoughts. She wanted to have children. We both did. And she thought she’d be lonely in London with all her friends back here. I wasn’t bothered about leaving, so we talked it over and we decided to stay.”

“But I thought Mum was desperate to move to London?”

Dad pauses. “I don’t think your mum would really have liked London. She likes the safety of home, you know. It’s one thing reading novels and dreaming of an exciting life, but quite another thing to actually live it.”

“But . . .”

“You and your mum aren’t so different, you know. You both spent so much time talking about London and how exciting it would be. It was no good telling you otherwise ’cause neither of you would have listened.”

“So you think I was wrong to go?” I ask falteringly.

“Of course not. I think you made the right decision—I just hope you made the right decision coming back, that’s all. No place is perfect. No life is perfect—there are ups and downs.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I say softly.

“You could never disappoint us,” Dad says seriously. “Look, I know that things have been hard sometimes. After James . . . after your brother died, it was so painful watching you trying to make up for his absence, trying to be everything to everyone to fill the void. You were so strong, Nat, such a little trouper. Did everything we asked of you and more—you even learned to ride your bike on your own because I’d just taught James when he . . . when he got ill. Your little wise head told you that I might get upset teaching you; that it might bring back painful memories. And, you know, you were probably right. But you don’t have to do that now. We love you—so much you have no idea. And we want what’s best for you. Not for anyone else.”

I take Dad’s hand. “So do I, Dad. I just don’t know what that is anymore.”

“The trick to life is working out what the important things are, Nat. Some things aren’t worth the compromise or sacrifice—other things are worth giving up everything for.”

I think about this for a while. But before I can say anything, Dad gets up to go back inside. “Time for me to get to sleep,” he says, then pauses. “Natalie, I don’t know why you came back, and I don’t need to know. But make sure it was worth the sacrifice, won’t you? Make sure it’s a good reason.”

Then he kisses me on the top of my head, and makes his way upstairs to go to bed.

I sit on the doorstep for ages. James was my superhero before he died. Eighteen months older than me, he was blond, beautiful, talkative, and brilliant. Everyone loved him—me more than anyone. And then he got leukemia, and nothing was ever the same again. I wonder what he’d be like now. Still a hero, I’ve no doubt about that. Maybe he’d be able to tell me what to do now.

Or maybe he’d tell me I need to do some thinking of my own. Maybe he’d tell me that it’s no good running away from everything—first to London, and then back to Bath, making up stories when things didn’t go according to plan rather than facing my fears.

And maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I’ve been subconsciously trying to make up for James’s death all my life. Perhaps now it’s time to start getting my own life back on track.

But where? Do I stay here or go back to London? London is a great place, I know that. I suppose Eden comes in different shapes and sizes at different times. And maybe I’m not quite ready for the peace of the country again quite yet. But realistically, what do I have to go back to in the City?

What was it my dad was saying about compromise and sacrifice? Well, I think staying here is worth it. Not ever having to face Simon is a good reason. Losing my job is a pretty good reason, too. No, there’s no doubt about it, I’ve made the right decision. At least, I think I have. Maybe.

“Natalie, dear, it’s the telephone. For you.”

My mother is bustling around my room as I slowly open my eyes. I feel exhausted, as if I haven’t slept, and yet I know I have—I’ve been dreaming about school and being asked questions by my most scary teacher, Miss Adams, and I don’t know the answers . . . I always get that dream when I’m worried about something or if I’ve got a job interview or something. So I don’t know why I dreamt about it last night.

“Can’t you tell whoever it is to call me back?” I ask her, burying my head back under the duvet.

“I tried that, but the woman on the line was very persistent,” my mum says briskly. “Almost rude, actually, but I suppose manners aren’t that important anymore . . .”

I follow her blindly out of my old bedroom and pick up the phone. As Mum walks down the stairs, she mouths, “Cup of tea?” and I nod gratefully.

“Hello?”

My voice is desperately croaky, so I clear my throat and try again.

“I’m sorry, hello?”

“Natalie? Thank fuck for that. Bloody hell, girl, you’re difficult to get hold of!”

It’s Julie.

“Julie! How are you? Er—how did you get my number?”

“Not easily, I’ll tell you that for nothing,” she says crossly. “What the fuck are you doing in Bath? Jesus, the stress I’ve had tracking you down. Alistair and I were banging on your door and this old bloke opened it . . . honestly, Natalie, you should have seen the pair of us. Staring at him, we were. And he tells us you’ve moved down to Bath!”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s better this way. I’m not sure London was really such a good move. Anway, I lost my job, remember?”

“Yeah, but that’s the point,” says Julie. “You haven’t lost your job anymore. And you’ve got to come back just so that I can hear Laura begging.”

“What? Julie, you know as well as I do that Laura won’t want me back in the shop.”

“Laura may not, but then again, Laura may not have much choice in the matter.”

“Excuse me?” This is all too much for my sleepy brain to take in. What on earth is Julie talking about?

“Remember your friend Giovanni?”

“The Italian guy? He’s hardly my friend, Julie, and it’s not my fault if he doesn’t want to sell his stuff in Tina T’s.”

“Yeah, well, the thing is, he does, you see. He’s letting Laura stock his bags, and shoes. New line. Exclusive. There’s just one condition—he wants you to have responsibility for his stock—the display and everything. And Laura is spitting blood.”

“Me?” I nearly drop the phone. “But I’m in Bath!”

Julie sighs audibly. “My God, girl, is it the air down there or have you always been this stupid?”

She starts talking very slowly. “Let me explain this in words of one syllable. You have to come back from Bath. Laura hasn’t told Giovanni that you’ve left. He wants you to be his point of contact. And Laura keeps putting him off ’cos she can’t get hold of you and she doesn’t know what to do . . .”

“No!” I gasp.

“Yes!” Julie says excitably. “Look, she needs you. And now, thank God, I know where you are. Right, I’ll give her your number, shall I? And you can play hard to get. Make her give you a pay raise or something.”

I pause. There is a little voice inside me that is whooping with delight. That wants me to go and pack my bags and, quickly as I can, go to London, and watch Laura beg me to come back to work. But of course I can’t really do it. I’m back in Bath where I belong, and I’m staying here.

“Julie, look, that’s really good news,” I say, trying to convince myself I’m doing the right thing, “but I don’t think I can take back my old job. I just . . . well, I need a new start, that’s all.”

“A ’new start’? What the fuck are you talking about? Natalie, you’ve only been in London a few months and now you’ve got Laura over a barrel . . . You told me you hated bloody Bath, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, things change,” I say defensively.

“Tell you what, babe, you’ve changed, that’s what. Look, it’s up to you. You want me to give Laura your number or not?”

“No,” I say softly. “Thanks, Julie, but I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope you do,” says Julie, and puts the phone down.

I mooch back into the kitchen.

“Got any plans?” Mum asks, as she puts a cup of tea in front of me. I pour myself some cornflakes and consider her question. Do I have any plans? I mean, really, do I? “Only I was thinking about going shopping. If you fancied coming. Your auntie Liz is having a party next week and I need something to wear . . . Natalie dear, are you okay?”

I try to nod and smile brightly, but it’s no use. I’m not okay. I’m about as far from okay as I’ve ever been. I feel like I’m in a void, and all the options open to me are unattractive, and it’s all my fault, so I can’t even blame anyone, and my life is pretty much over as far as I can tell. I look up desolately as tears run into my cereal bowl.

“I don’t have any plans,” I say miserably. “I can’t go back to London, and I’m not in love with Pete, and I probably won’t ever have any plans again . . . but yes, I suppose shopping sounds nice.”

“Why can’t you go back to London, darling?” Mum asks me, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to me to give me a hug. “You seemed to be doing so well there. What happened to you, dear?”

“I just messed up,” I say dolefully. I figure my mother doesn’t need to know the details.

“Messed up how? Come on, I’m your mother. You can tell me, you know. I won’t be shocked. Although it wasn’t drugs, was it? You know your father and I have always been understanding, but drugs—well, at that I draw the line . . .”

“It isn’t drugs,” I reassure her.

“Well, then, it can’t be that bad, can it?” she says brightly, stroking my back like she used to when I was a little girl.

“Look, dear,” she continues, “do you remember what Grandpa used to say when he was alive? If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. Now, you’re healthy, you’ve got a great job at Shannon’s, and you’ve always got your dad and me to come back to. What could be so bad?” She’s got a point. I mean, it’s not really that bad. Not when you compare what I’ve got with people who are starving and stuff. In the great scheme of things, I’ve got things pretty good, I suppose.

“They want me back in London,” I say, sniffing loudly. “My job, I mean. But I can’t go back there. I mean, there’s nothing there for me . . .”

“You’ve got your job back? Oh, thank the Lord,” Mum says, getting up quickly. “Phillip! Phillip! Natalie’s going back to London!”

Mum goes looking for Dad, and I follow after her. “I didn’t say that,” I say pointedly. “I said I couldn’t go. Mum, stop, will you? I can’t go back to London. Anyway, I thought you’d want me to stay here.”

“Stay here?” Mum looks at me as if I’m mad. “Natalie, don’t be silly. If you want to come back here in a few years’ time, perhaps when you’re married and have children, then your dad and I would love it. But coming back like this, with that look of resignation on your face—oh, dear. It breaks your father’s heart, you know . . . Now, where is he? Phillip?”

She walks up the stairs and my dad appears at the top. “Did I hear you’re going back to London, Natalie?”