True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(2)

'No. He stayed at Dan's.'

I pick up the kettle, decide there's enough water, and flick it on.

'He's in pieces.'

She's staring at me now, as if I'm some sort of dangerous dog. Her  eyebrows climb a little, then settle into a frown. Without taking her  eyes off me, she dives in for another mouthful of toast.

'Dan, that is.' Watching me closely, she waits for a reaction, but I'm being tough this morning. I'm giving her nothing.

'Aren't you bothered?' she asks.

I don't answer because I can't. Right now, I'm sleep-deprived and  nothing sensible is going to come out of my mouth. The contents of my  head are like the contents of my drawers: everything slung in together,  with no rhyme and definitely no reason. Instead, I simply shrug.

'Maya, say something.'

I shrug again. Turning away, I grip the worktop and look down at a gathering of dirty mugs in the sink.

'You should talk about it,' she insists.

'No I shouldn't.'

Silence lingers in the room, broken only by the clinking of mugs as I  remove them from the bowl and lay them out on the counter top. Turning  on the tap, I squeeze too much washing up liquid into the mix and wonder  what the hell I'm doing.

'It might help,' Lucy says at last, her voice barely making an imprint on the sound of running water.

I send her a look of death. She's doing exactly the wrong thing here,  blundering into all the wrong places, pressing all the wrong buttons,  and now I'm beginning to seethe.

'How can it help?' I demand. 'Can it change the facts?'

'No. But  … '

Jesus, she's not giving up, is she? Seriously, the woman must have a  death wish. After all these years, she should know by now that you  never, ever push it with a sleep-deprived Maya Scotton.

'But what, Lucy?' I snarl. 'These are the facts. He grew up on the same  road as me, walked the same streets, went to the same school. He knew my  sister and he never mentioned any of this, not once.'

For a second or two, Lucy seems to shrivel under the weight of my vitriol, but she recovers quickly.

'Is that any surprise, considering what Sara did to him?'

'Are you on his side now? You're supposed to be my friend.'

'I am your friend.' She grimaces. 'Although at the minute, I'm not  entirely sure why. And there are no sides. I'm trying to make you see  sense.'

'I am seeing sense.'

'You're seeing red.'

We exchange glares: long, evil, bitch-slapping glares.

'He deceived me. He let me believe he was someone else. And worse than  that, the only reason he ever wanted to meet me in the first place was  because of my sister.'

'It didn't last.'

'Oh, fuck off.'

'Bubbles.'

'What?'

'Bubbles.'

She motions towards the sink. I look back to find the bowl overflowing, a  mountain of soap suds rising upwards and outwards, almost level with my  chest.

'Shit.' I scrabble to turn off the tap, and survey the suds. I'm  useless. I can't even wash the pots without some sort of foam disaster.  Whatever made me think a relationship could go smoothly? Opening the  window, I scoop up a handful of bubbles and waft them outside.

'You know what you're doing, don't you?' Lucy asks.         

     



 

'Throwing fucking soap bubbles out of the fucking window.' I gather another mound.

'No. You're doing what you always do. You're blocking it all out.'

'Whatever.' I blow the suds into the rain. I'm about to dig in for a third handful when I feel a touch against my arm.

'Sit down.'

Drawing me away from the sink, she gently encourages me to take a seat.

'You need tea. Tea makes everything better. And then you need sleep.'

In a grump, I watch as Lucy sets about washing the mugs and making tea.

'Denial isn't a good thing.' Placing two mugs on the table, she lowers  herself onto a chair. 'You need to work things through, talk about them,  get them out of your system. If you don't, you'll only end up with  constipation.'

I let out a sigh.

'Emotional constipation,' she explains seriously.

Oh great, she's about to give me a dose of magazine psychobabble.

'You did exactly the same thing with Boyd. You never talked about him.'

I take a sip of tea, wondering why on Earth she's bringing that up now.  Just thinking about that man brings up the bile in my throat, never mind  talking about him. Putting my mug down, I close my eyes, fighting off  the flashbacks to the basement at Slaters: the breath stinking of  alcohol, the lecherous eyes, the hands on me, the mouth smothering mine.

'And Tom.'

I bristle.

'He dumped me. That's it. Neither of them deserve to be talked about.'

'Right. So Boyd abuses you and you deal with it by running straight into  Tom's arms, convinced that he's going to make everything alright, only  Tom doesn't make it all alright at all. He dumps you. And how do you  deal with that? By shagging anything with a pulse.'

'Stop it.'

'And how did all that work for you then?'

'Just fine.'

'Really?' Her face rumples with disbelief. 'And then you find this one  amazing man, the most amazing man you're ever likely to meet in your  entire life, a man who falls for you hook, line and sinker.' She pauses,  and I know that she's about to deliver her punchline. 'And then you run  at the first hurdle.'

I'd like to remind my flatmate that this isn't exactly the first hurdle.  In fact, according to my fuddled calculations, it's probably about the  third.

'And why is that?' Lucy demands, pointing a finger at me. 'I'll tell  you,' she goes on before I can even register the question. 'It's because  you're screwed up, that's why. Because you never deal with anything.  You just run away and hide.'

I stare out of the window. Lucy's words scratch at the outside of my  skull, begging to be let in, pleading to be acknowledged, but I'm having  none of it.

'You're emotionally constipated, Maya. You never talk about the things that really matter.'

'That's my decision, and it would be great if my best friend could honour it.'

'You're making a huge mistake.'

I glance at the doorway. Perhaps I should just slink off back to my  bedroom, simply close the door on the rest of the day. And perhaps I  should do it quickly because I can hear Lucy breathing now, big deep  breaths, in and out, and I know she's building up to something else.

'Clive says he's in love with you.'

My heartbeat accelerates, blood pumps and suddenly, I'm feeling dizzy. I  close my eyes and I'm back outside my parents' house in Limmingham, and  Dan's in front of me, his face twisted with anguish. She knows exactly  where to hit me. She's got me cracking now  …  and I can't crack.

'He's not in love with me, Lucy. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.'

'Well, perhaps he's learning.'

I open my eyes again. I seem to be looking straight at Lucy's face, only  she's a blur, and that can only mean one thing. I'm crying.

'You've had a shock,' she says quietly. 'I understand that. And now  you're dealing with it the same way you deal with everything: sling up  the defences and avoid the issues.'

'Just leave it, please.'

'He deceived you, and I get why you're angry, but that's not the real problem, is it?'

'As far as I'm concerned, it is.'

She shakes her head. 'Wrong.'

'So what is the real problem, Luce? Get on with it. I'm sure you're dying to tell me.'

'You're acting like you're determined to move on but  … '

'But what?'

She takes in a breath before she flings her answer at me.         

     



 

'You're deceiving yourself.'





Chapter Two


I'm dreaming. This isn't real. I'm back in Limmingham, back in my place  of sanctuary. These are my woods  …  and yet they're not. For a start, the  branches are too bulky, knotting overhead like giant fists, almost  blocking out the light. I blink, once, twice, aware that there's  something in the shadows. Something or someone, hovering, watching and  waiting. Sensing a prickle, I know that whatever or whoever it is,  they're determined to destroy me. My mouth dries up as I realise this is  no sanctuary at all. I need to get out of here. I need to run. I try to  move but my legs are weighted by fear. I force out a scream, a silent,  choking scream for help, but there's no one here to save me. And then I  call a name. It comes out mangled, but I know who I'm calling.

I'm calling for Dan.

The tree trunks disintegrate, darkness scatters and with a shiver, I  open my eyes. I'm back in reality, lying on top of crumpled sheets,  listening to the steady hush of raindrops and staring at a cobweb on the  ceiling. I will my body to relax. Slow it down, I tell myself. Control  the breathing, control the heartbeat. There's no need to panic. It was  just a dream. It meant nothing.

At last, I raise my head and glance at the clock. It's nearly six and my  stomach's rumbling. Finally, I'm hungry. On my way to the kitchen, I  stop off at the lounge door. It's open: so that Lucy can keep an eye on  me, I'm sure. Poking my head around the door, I find her splayed out on  the sofa, watching a film.

'I'm making fish finger sandwiches,' I inform her. 'Want any?'

She shakes her head. 'I've had beans on toast.'

'What's on?'

'Pretty Woman.'

I stare at the screen: Richard Gere and Julia Roberts on a piano, shagging their way towards a perfect, romantic ending.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Maya.' Lucy sits up quickly, her face plastered with worry. 'I didn't think.'