‘OK,’ she relented, and allowed herself to be steered towards the steps that led to his veranda.
‘I think you’re being a complete wanker.’ Victoria was standing in front of George’s desk, her hands on her hips.
He looked up from his paperwork, irritated.
‘There aren’t many men who would be delighted by such a revelation, I can assure you.’
‘Get real, George. Most men would give their eye-teeth to go out with a former topless model.’
George looked furious.
‘Well, not me.’
‘She was seventeen. And, personally, I think she was jolly brave.’
‘Yes, well, we all know about your moral code, Victoria.’
Victoria glared at him through narrowed eyes.
‘And what about yours?’ she asked softly.
George sighed, screwed the top back on his pen and laid it down carefully.
‘I think it would be better for everyone if you left. I should never have let you stay in the first place.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Victoria was arch. ‘I’m not about to tell Lisa what we got up to. Not least because I’m completely disgusted with myself. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me.’
‘Good,’ said George lightly. ‘Because I don’t know what you’d get out of it if you did.’
Victoria leaned down and pushed her face right up close to George’s, scrutinizing him in disbelief.
‘What?’ he asked indignantly.
‘You’ve got no idea how lucky you are, have you?’
‘Me?’
‘Lisa is a lovely, lovely girl. She’s worth about ten billion of me. And you have to rub her nose in something she did years and years ago, when she was a frightened kid whose mother had just died? Do you know, I’m almost tempted to confess, even if I do come out of it badly. Because at least she’d know what a hypocrite you are. And maybe I’d be doing her a favour.’
‘I want you out of here by this afternoon,’ thundered George.
‘What’s going on?’ Mimi appeared in the doorway, alarmed at the raised voices.
‘Why didn’t you remind me what an arsehole he is?’ demanded Victoria. ‘Go and pack your stuff. We’re leaving.’
‘What?’
Victoria marched across the office and picked a bulging file off the top of the filing cabinet. She threw it on the desk in front of George.
‘There’s the party file,’ she hissed. ‘The invitations went out yesterday. Second class. Because for once I’ve managed to stick to my budget.’
She swept out of the room. Mimi stared at George, who had his head in his hands.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘Don’t ask,’ he replied wearily.
Mimi scanned the room for clues and spotted a familiar-looking brown envelope poking out of the bin. She gulped nervously.
‘Where’s Lisa?’
‘I don’t know. She’s stormed off as well.’ He heaved an enormous sigh. ‘Why does it have to be so difficult, Mimi? I don’t understand why I suddenly get turned into the enemy when I’m only trying to do my best.’
Mimi couldn’t look him in the eye. Shit, she thought. This has majorly backfired. She had hoped to bring her mother and George together, not drive them apart.
Lisa stood in the middle of Bruno’s kitchen, dripping on to the slate floor. He handed her an enormous towel.
‘There’s a cloakroom just off the hall.’ He pulled some dry clothes from an airer hanging over a French range, handing her a shirt and a pair of shorts. ‘You can stick these on. You won’t win any fashion awards, but I’ll drive you back so no one will have to see you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lisa gratefully, trying not to shiver.
She slipped into the cloakroom, which was colossal, with the same slate floor as the kitchen. On one wall was a triptych: three large square canvasses each with an identical photo screen-printed on to it of a beautiful boy with long eyelashes, his head back, laughing. The same image repeated in royal blue and black, in the style of Andy Warhol. This must be Bruno’s brother, she realized. The one who had driven off Mariscombe Point. If Leonard was to be believed, she thought wryly. Had it been another of his fairy tales?
By the time she’d dried herself and dressed, Bruno had lit the fire in the living room and a delicious smell of woodsmoke filled the air. He’d made them both Irish coffee. Thick, sweet espresso with a slug of Paddy’s and a dollop of Devon cream on the top.
‘Was that your brother, in the bathroom?’ Lisa asked.
Bruno looked at her warily.
‘In the photos? Yes.’ His voice sounded strained.
‘They’re beautiful.’
He’d had them done after Joe died. To erase that last memory of Joe’s hurt, scornful gaze, so full of hatred and resentment. He’d wanted to remember Joe carefree and laughing, because that’s what he so often was.
‘He was beautiful,’ he replied carefully. ‘Sickeningly beautiful. I think that was half his problem. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have got away with half of what he did.’ He looked at Lisa, then looked away again. ‘You obviously know what happened to him.’
She nodded.
‘It must have been awful.’
‘Awful . . . ?’ Bruno tried out the word, but it didn’t seem to suffice. ‘The awful thing was not knowing what was going through his head that night. Joe was wild. And he was pissed. But to do that . . .’
His jaw tightened.
‘I shall never forgive him,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘For what he’s done to Mum. He was always selfish; he always had to come first. And just because he thought he wasn’t going to get his own way for the first time in his life . . .’
Lisa watched in horror as Bruno put his head in his hands. A strangled noise came from him and she realized it was choking sobs; choking sobs that he was desperately trying to suppress.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ He looked up and his face was contorted with the effort to control himself. ‘It’s been a difficult morning. It’s my mother’s birthday. I tried to get her to go out to lunch, but she refused point-blank. She’s . . . never going to get over it. And I keep blaming myself.’
Lisa came over to sit by him. She took his hands in hers.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ she soothed. ‘Joe was a grown man. It was his decision.’
‘But it was me who pushed him.’ Bruno was calmer now, able to articulate. ‘I taunted him. But I was only trying to make him realize . . . I loved him. We all loved him. But he was going off the rails. I wanted to save him. I wanted him to make something of himself. And I would have helped him in the end. But first he needed a shock. He needed a wake-up call, and he needed to make the decision to change. He couldn’t be forced . . .’ He ran his fingers through his hair despairingly. ‘How was I to know he couldn’t take it? No one had ever given it to him straight in his life. He always had it cushy. And I had to come along and give it to him with both guns.’
‘You weren’t to know.’ Lisa desperately hunted around for something to say that wasn’t a cliché or an empty platitude.
‘And now I look at Mum and I blame myself. She’s got nothing to live for.’ Bruno looked down into his coffee cup. ‘She’s an empty shell and it’s my fault.’
‘Why?’ demanded Lisa. ‘Why are the self-indulgent actions of someone who got his own way all his life
your
fault?’
‘It was my fault for goading him. My fault for leaving the keys. My fault for being everything he wasn’t and making sure he knew it. You name it.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t see the point in blaming yourself,’ declared Lisa. ‘If Joe couldn’t handle the truth, that was his problem. He was obviously a loser. Why should you have to suffer for that?’
Bruno looked at her in astonishment.
‘Do you know, no one’s had the nerve to say anything like that before?’
Lisa shrugged.
‘Joe’s dead. He’s not bothered, is he? Don’t beat yourself up on his account.’ She twizzled one of her curls round her finger. ‘You obviously haven’t had counselling.’
‘Counselling?’ Bruno snorted. ‘No, I haven’t. It’s not really my thing.’
‘It’s not mine either,’ Lisa replied. ‘But I have to admit, it did help when I finally got round to it. Not that it changes anything. But you get to understand that it’s OK to feel the way you do. And to have the guts to put things into perspective. And not go round apportioning blame. Feeling guilty isn’t going to bring Joe back.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘In my case, I didn’t blame myself. I blamed everyone else, which is just as bad. I’ve just about come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t actually
anybody’s
fault. It was fate.’
‘So why . . . ?’
‘Why did I have counselling?’ Lisa leaned forward and put her cup down on the coffee table. ‘My mum died when I was seventeen.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Very ouch. I didn’t bother seeing anyone for ages, because I thought counselling was for pussies. But you can’t bottle everything up for ever. And you can’t dump on your friends all the time.’
Bruno put his head back and shut his eyes for a few moments.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it’s the first time I’ve really talked to anyone about it.’
Lisa didn’t answer at first.
‘You can talk to me any time,’ she offered eventually. ‘I can be an objective ear. I don’t mind, because I know what it’s like.’
‘Thank you.’ Bruno looked genuinely touched. ‘Though to be honest, I don’t really give a toss about myself. It’s Mum I feel bad about. She doesn’t seem to be getting over it at all.’ He paused. ‘How did your father cope?’
‘Dad?’ replied Lisa grimly, then couldn’t help a rather cynical smile. ‘He ran off with my mum’s sister.’
‘Ah.’ Bruno looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘He . . . didn’t even have the decency to wait until Mum had died.’
‘Shit.’
‘So I kind of lost my dad as well.’
‘You fell out with him over it?’
Lisa nodded.
‘We still don’t speak. They live in Spain, him and my aunt. He doesn’t even know I’ve bought The Rocks.’
‘Doesn’t he even have a phone number for you? In case . . .’
‘In case what? He dies?’ Lisa was aware that her voice was scornful. ‘I really don’t care what happens to him.’
There was a long pause.
‘Don’t you?’ asked Bruno gently.
‘No!’ replied Lisa vehemently, but she couldn’t meet Bruno’s eye. She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids for a moment, then looked over at him. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I bloody do. But it’s been too long now. Thirteen years. I mean, if he really cared about me, he’d have tried to get in touch, wouldn’t he? Maybe even just once. Like when I was eighteen. Or twenty-one. Or thirty . . .’
She’d never told anyone how painful those milestone birthdays had been. How she had approached the letter box with a dry mouth, hoping for a card. Hoping for something that said he still cared about her. But there was nothing. She’d imagined him stretched out on a sunlounger by the pool, Andrea next to him with her belly bulging out of a white bikini, with no idea that this day was any different to any other in the glorious Spanish sunshine.
Suddenly Lisa felt tears streaming down her face. She tried to compose herself, dabbing desperately at her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Hey . . .’ Bruno leant towards her. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be tactless.’
He put a concerned arm around her. For a moment Lisa was tempted to throw herself against his chest and howl. His presence felt so comforting. Or was it something else? She was keenly aware of his warmth; she could feel the hardness of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. For a second she thought it would be heaven, to have his arms wrapped round her, breathe in that scent . . .
She drew herself away hastily, before she made a fool of herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, beside herself with embarrassment. ‘Honestly, I haven’t even given him a thought for years. I guess . . . it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, trying to get things ready.’
She smiled at him and he held her gaze solemnly. The two of them sat still, keenly aware that there had been a moment between them that transcended mere friendship. It was Bruno who broke away, standing up and running his hand through his hair with a rueful grin.
‘Maybe we should start our own support group.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Lisa. ‘Honestly, I don’t need any more counselling or therapy. I’m over it. But any time you want to talk, that’s all right,’ she added hastily. ‘If you want a shoulder to cry on . . .’
‘I’m OK too, generally speaking,’ insisted Bruno. ‘It’s just that little things get to you every now and again. But thanks for listening.’
He moved away swiftly, clearing away the coffee cups. ‘What were you doing walking on the beach in the pouring rain, anyway?’
Lisa decided it was too trivial to go into.
‘It was just a silly argument that got blown out of proportion. I think I probably overreacted.’
She stood up.
‘I better get back. I’ve got a mountain of stuff to do.’
‘Let me give you a lift.’
Lisa looked out of the window. The rain was still pounding relentlessly against the glass. Everywhere she looked it was grey: grey sand, grey rocks, grey sea, grey sky.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘if you could just lend me an umbrella. I’d rather walk.’
Bruno put his head to one side and looked at her quizzically.
‘You’re very independent, aren’t you?’
‘Yep,’ she replied, thinking that was probably where she had made her mistake. She’d relinquished her independence and now she was paying for it. Now she was accountable to other people. Well, that was going to change, she thought, as she took the umbrella from Bruno. She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone, least of all George.
When Lisa had gone, Bruno went into the cloakroom. Ostensibly to take a leak, but in reality to see if he could look the photos in the eye. And he could.
‘Sorry, Joe,’ he said to them all. ‘I’m not going to let you ruin the rest of my life.’
Joe stared back at him, laughing, as he always did. But this time the look wasn’t quite so scornful and triumphant. He didn’t seem to be taunting Bruno any more. And perhaps that was because Lisa’s words had sunk in. Bruno might not feel totally absolved from guilt, but she was right; there was no point in beating himself up about it for the rest of his life.
He walked back into the living room. Bruno was used to being on his own, but suddenly without Lisa it felt incredibly empty. Her presence there that afternoon made him realize he had all this space, and no one to share it with. He really should start entertaining, he decided. This was a house for sharing, for parties. Not an exile for some sort of eccentric recluse. He plumped up the cushions where Lisa had been sitting, then strode over to the sound system and put on some music.