True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(62)

'So, what's brought you here?'

She swallows, fresh tears glistening in her eyes.

'You know what I said about time? I don't know how much we've got.' She  gulps in a breath. 'Sophie's been diagnosed with cancer.'

Oh shit.

'I'm so sorry.'

She shakes her head.

'Breast cancer. Early stage. Her odds are good, but it's freaked me out  …   and it's freaked her out too. She's a single mum. She's got a little  girl.'

I fumble for something to say, and find nothing.

'I should have called,' she goes on. 'I only found out this morning, and I just  … ' The tears tumble down her cheeks.

'It's okay.' I reach out and touch her hand.

'You told me to be patient, but I can't be patient, not any more. I need  to see him. I need to tell him. I just left the kids with my husband  and got on a train.'         

     



 

'It's fine. Honestly, it's fine,' I lie, glancing back at the clock. Dan  promised he'd be home just after five and it's already half four. It's  not fine at all.

'It's at times like this when you just have to put things behind you. Sophie wants him back as much as I do.'

My forehead creases. 'But I thought she didn't believe those things about your dad.'

'Denial's a wonderful thing, isn't it?' She smiles. 'It can be your best  friend. It can keep you safe, keep you sane.' She pauses. The smile  disappears. 'But it's fragile. All it takes is something like this  –  a  shock, a wake-up call  –  and it all comes crumbling down. She asked me to  contact him. I couldn't refuse.'

'And you want to meet him today?'

She nods.

'Layla, I don't know.' I get up and pace across the kitchen. I can  barely believe what's happening. Just when I thought I'd manage to  regain some control over my life, it's being snatched away. The tremors  evolve, threatening to give way to a full-blown quake. 'If you'd told  me, I could have paved the way. I could have talked him into another  meeting.'

'Sophie can't wait. She's desperate.'

And so am I.

'A week,' I beg. 'Just give me a week.'

'It wouldn't make any difference,' Layla states flatly, her eyes  brimming with despair. 'We both know that. He doesn't really want to see  me. You'll never talk him into it.'

'I can,' I insist. 'I've already made progress. I just can't rush him.'

Especially right now, not with Boyd's shadow still hanging over us.

'You're not really making progress, Maya. If you're being honest with  yourself, you'll admit that. He'll never agree to meet me. This is the  only way. I meet him here. I just need enough time to tell him what's  going on, face to face.'

I run a hand over my forehead and stare into space. I understand what  she's saying, I really do, but if I go along with this, I'll be dicing  with danger.

'You could go to Fosters,' I suggest, knowing it's already too late. 'He's leaving at five. You could catch him there.'

'No,' she says, utterly determined now. 'After last time, I don't think they'd even let me in.'

'But here? You can't see him here.'

'Yes, I can.' Finally, she seems to pick up on my panic. 'He doesn't  need to know we've been in touch, Maya. Just make out that I turned up  out of the blue. Blame me. I've got nothing left to lose.'

Gazing at the clock, I run through the alternatives in my mind and as  far as I can see, there's only one. I could ask her to leave, but that  would be pointless. She'd only end up hanging around on the street. And  even though she may not be his favourite person, I can't treat Dan's  sister like that. There are no two ways about it: I'm up to my neck in  shit  …  and there's no escape.

'Okay,' I murmur.

She watches me for a moment.

'You've never been on the wrong side of him, have you?'

No, I've not. But now that Layla's here, there's a distinct possibility  I'm going to experience it tonight  …  and it could change things between  us forever. Out of nowhere, nausea grabs hold of my stomach, swinging  about the contents with wild abandon.

'If he does kick off, he'll calm down eventually,' I offer, reassuring  myself now, or at least trying to. 'And then he'll see sense, and you  two can talk. It'll be fine.'

With an uncertain nod, Layla shifts from the stool and wanders through  to the living area. Making straight for the windows, she takes in the  view of the Thames, and then she turns, catching sight of the paintings  that line the room, focussing eventually on the picture above the  fireplace

'Limmingham.' Feeling like a condemned woman, I join her. 'I painted it.'

'You?' Her eyes widen. 'It's wonderful.'

'It's the woods. The ones down near the beach. I painted this before I knew about Dan.'

'It's funny you should choose that place.' She doesn't need to say any  more. We both know the local legend. The murdered boy. The ghost. 'It's  like you're meant for each other.'

We are, and I know that now. We're totally meant for each other. And if  we can get through this little episode in one piece, then I'm going to  get a ring on his finger before he can blink an eye. I'm never going to  risk losing him again.         

     



 

'I remember you,' Layla smiles. 'I used to see you playing out on the  front when you were young. A lovely little thing. You seemed to get more  miserable as you got older.'

I feel myself baulk. She's completely right, of course, but I never thought it was that obvious.

'I suppose  … ' She hesitates, looks at me and then turns back to the  picture, as if she's really not sure whether to go on or not. 'Your  sister couldn't have been easy to live with.'

'She wasn't,' I confirm. 'But we're okay now. She's changed.'

'Has Dan met her?'

'Yes.'

She gives me a look of disbelief. 'I know how she treated him,' she explains. 'Everyone knew.'

'And I'm not excusing her, but we're adults now. They've met a few  times. At first it didn't go too well, but they're trying. I'm sure  they'll get there one day.'

'Well, if he can do that with Sara,' Layla muses, echoing my own thoughts, 'then I'm sure there's hope for me.'

***

I check the clock. Twenty to five. To steady the nerves, I pour us both a  glass of wine. To pass the time, we settle down to a few minutes of  half-hearted small talk. Layla tells me about her husband and children, a  little about Sophie, how she moved to Wales, cutting all ties until her  life began to fall apart. And then we move on to me. I take her through  a summary of my life, from Limmingham to Dan. And all the time, I keep  my eye on that bloody clock, watching as the minutes sneak past.

'You should wait upstairs,' I say at last.

Her forehead creases.

'In my studio. If he sees you as soon as he walks through the door,  he'll be off again. I'll get him to take a shower. I'll lock the front  door and hide his keys.'

'Hide his keys?'

'A precaution. That way, he can't run.'

'But locking him in?'

'He's done it to me.'

Fuelled by a last minute dose of nerves, she gets up and looks at the door.

'I can't do this.'

I hold out a hand.

'It's too late now. He'll either bump into you in the lift, or see you out on the street.'

'But it's going to be ugly.'

'He's your brother,' I remind her, amazed at my sudden attack of  resolve. 'You need him in your life and he needs you too, whether he  knows it or not. We're going to sort this out together.'

I lead her up to the studio and leave her on the sofa. As I make my way  back downstairs, my heart thuds, my stomach flips over on itself and my  legs threaten to collapse. Coming to a halt by the window, I look out at  the grey skies and will my body to behave. Big Ben's clock face tells  me it's a quarter past five. I ruffle my hair, grab a cushion and lie  down on the sofa. I've barely got myself into position when I hear the  key in the lock. Holding my breath, I listen as the door opens, clicks  to a close, and he places his briefcase and keys on the counter top.

I sit up slowly.

'Hi.'

'Hi back,' he smiles. 'What have you been up to?'

'I've just had a nap. I've been painting most of the day.'

'Shall I take a look?'

He motions to the stairs and I panic.

'No. No. I don't want you to see it yet. I'm not sure about it.'

Pushing myself up from the sofa, I make my way over to him, waiting for  him to take off his jacket before I step into his arms. And oh God, I  feel like Judas.

'Jesus, what a day,' he grumbles into my neck. 'I need some serious de-stressing.'

'What's been going on?'

'The usual. Negotiations. Problems. I've got a site visit on Monday. There's an issue down the river, one of those complexes.'

'It'll be fine.'

He draws away, smiling broadly. 'At least I'm here with you now. I'm  going to forget it all, drink some wine and fuck you good and proper.'  And then he frowns, clearly picking up on my unease. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.'

'Are you sure? You're shaking.'

'It's your effect on me,' I lie. 'Go and take a shower. I'll make a start on dinner.'

'Dinner?' He laughs. 'You? No way. We'll order something in.'

He kisses me gently.

'Shower,' I whisper, touching a finger against his chest. 'Now.'

I wait for him to disappear into the bedroom before I set about my  preparations. Grabbing the keys, I hide them in a drawer, adding my own  set after I've locked the front door. And then I make my way upstairs,  silently urging Layla to follow me back down. Within a couple of  minutes, we're seated on the sofas: Layla facing the window, me facing  the stairs. Eyes locked and imprisoned in a silent mutual panic, we  wait.