'I love you.' Reaching up, I run my fingers through his hair. 'No matter what. I love everything about you.'
'And I love you too.' He pulls back, completely serious, securing his gaze on mine. 'Yesterday was pretty fucked up.'
'For both of us.'
But it seems to have done the trick. This morning, he's calm again. Still tired, but definitely more under control.
'We'll get there,' he whispers with a smile. 'I'll make sure of it.'
'I know you will.'
He closes his eyes. 'What happened last night … '
I lay a finger on his lips. His eyes open.
'It won't happen again,' I inform him. 'From now on, we deal with our shit in different ways.'
I remove the finger and he takes his chance.
'But what I said … about you.'
'Was right,' I interrupt. 'Don't apologise for making me see the truth.' My bottom lip begins to quiver. I'd better push out my confession quickly, before I crack. 'I wanted pain for all the wrong reasons. You get me.'
He smiles tenderly. 'And you certainly get me.' The smile deepens and I know he's about to try his luck. 'We should get married.'
'Is that a proposal?'
'Could be.'
'But it's not Saturday.'
'Bollocks. What day is it?'
'Tuesday.'
He sighs, and before he can complain, I grab hold of the back of his head and tug him in for a kiss. When I finally release him, he spends a few seconds studying me.
'I need to go into work,' he says at last.
And my brain kicks into life, digging up Clive's words from yesterday: I have a mission.
'You're too tired. Take the day off.'
He sighs again.
'I'd love nothing more, but there are things I need to sort out.'
'But … '
'But nothing, sweet pea. If I'm going to sell Fosters, it needs to be in a fit state. Trust me, I don't have a choice about this.'
I'm simply not going to win this battle. If he stays at home, he'll only end up an agitated mess. Realising that I've just got to let him go, I cup his face in my hands.
'Then promise you'll be nice to your employees.'
'Of course.' He grins.
'And promise you won't work too late.'
'Promise.' He nods. 'And promise me you'll behave with your bodyguard.'
'Promise.' And seeing as I've got Beefy back, that won't be too difficult. 'I'm just going to paint. There'll be no drama today.'
'Thank fuck for that.' He lands a gentle kiss on my lips. 'Get on with that triptych. It's going to be something else.'
***
I've started on the right hand side now, gradually luring the face of pleasure out of the shadows, linking it to the left hand panel with undertones of gold and bronze, the occasional touch of red. Stepping back every now and then to check the overall effect, I'm engrossed in a world of colour and form and angles, determined for the symmetry to flow, the light to reflect across all three canvases. I'm musing over the centre panel when my mobile snaps me out of my trance. Putting down the palette and brush, I pick up the phone, disappointed to find that it's my sister. I'm half tempted to let it ring off, but my old friend, guilt, rears its ugly head. I still haven't spoken to her since she last met Dan.
'Sara.'
'How's things?' she asks, her words slightly slurred, her tone overly-chirpy.
'Fine.' Wishing that I could just dive back into my own little world, I stare at the canvas.
'I'm in London,' she announces.
Oh great. And she's already had one too many by the sounds of things, and that can only mean one thing: she'll be wanting to meet up for a sisterly chat.
'What are you doing down here?'
'The kids are at Mum's for a few days. I needed some space. I'm staying in a hotel. Can we meet up?'
And there we go. Completely as expected. My brain stirs into action, desperate to find an excuse, but it doesn't get far. My better side quickly takes the helm.
'Of course. Where are you?'
'In the hotel bar, getting pissed. Come and join me. We'll have fun.'
I seriously doubt that. I'm just not in the mood for a shed load of wine and a protracted session. The painting's calling to me and if I get no more done today, then I want to be in a decent state to crack on with it tomorrow. A hangover's out of the question.
'Come down to the apartment,' I suggest.
'What apartment?'
'Dan's apartment.' I hesitate. 'Well, it's mine too … sort of. I mean, I've moved in with him.'
There's a silence.
'Moved in?' she asks, perplexed. 'Isn't that a bit quick?'
'Maybe. But it's what I want. Get a taxi down here.'
Another silence.
'I can't.'
'Why not?
'You know our history.'
Of course I know their history. There's no way of telling what's going to kick off between these two when they get together again. But it's not going to happen. At least not yet. I'll see to that.
'He's at work. He won't be back for ages.'
I listen to the sound of my sister's breathing. It's shallow, uneven.
'I can't,' she mutters at last. 'I just can't. I haven't got enough money. And besides, I'm on my … er … second bottle of wine. Come and see me here. Please. I want to talk.'
At this point, I could simply say 'no'. I could put her firmly in her place. 'You can't just turn up out of the blue, get wasted in a hotel bar and demand that I join you.' But then again, I remind myself, this is my sister all over: always wanting her own way, and usually getting it. I'm about to give in to her demands, and I know it. After all, why change the habit of a lifetime?
'Where are you?' I ask.
'Some dive in Bayswater. Seaton's. It's just off the Queensway.'
And by the sound of it, she's more than halfway through the second bottle.
'Stay where you are. I'm on my way.'
With a resigned sigh, I say goodbye to painting for the day. Grabbing a quick shower, I change into a pair of jeans and a Harrods blouse, ruffle my hair, apply a smattering of make-up and I'm ready.
I find Beefy in the lobby.
'Come on.' I wave my handbag as I close the front door.
He rises to his feet, a look of pure terror in his eyes. 'Not another drive?' he asks.
'No, even worse.' I take in a deep breath. 'We're going to meet my sister.'
Deciding that it's best to leave the Jag in the garage, I ask the concierge to call a taxi and before long, we're taking a ride in the back of a black cab. Under a blanket of cloud, we cross the river and thread our way past Whitehall, Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park, eventually slowing to a crawl in a litter-strewn back street and pulling up outside what seems to be nothing more than a dilapidated townhouse.
'Jesus.' I hand over a twenty to the taxi driver. 'She's gone really up-market this time.'
With Beefy following on behind, I get out of the taxi, take the steps, open the front door and find myself in a musty hallway. Straight ahead, there's nothing more than a deserted reception desk, crammed into a space under the stair case, while to the left a set of glass doors lead into the bar.
'Beefy, can you just wait outside?' I ask. 'I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe.'
He glances round and nods. I watch him go before I make my way through the doors into a ramshackle, neglected mess of a place, crammed with a jumble of mismatched stools and tables. It's empty … apart from my sister. Perched on a stool at the end of the room, she's sitting at a table by an unmanned bar. Drawing up another stool, I sit next to her.
She looks up, her hair a tangle, her eyes unfocussed.
'You're here,' she smiles. 'I'm on my third bottle now.'
'So, you can afford wine in a hotel, but you can't afford a taxi?'
'I don't want to go to Dan's place,' she slurs. 'And now I can't walk very far.' She lets off a thick, drunken laugh. 'Have a drink.' She nudges the bottle towards me.
I shake my head.
'No thanks. And you need to slow down.'
While Sara wobbles about on her seat, I move the glass away from her, noting in the process that it's smeared with lipstick that belongs to someone else.
'I can't stay long,' I announce. 'Have you got a room here tonight?'
She nods: a child-like, over-exaggerated nod.
'Maybe you should just go upstairs and sleep it off.'
'Nah, I'm enjoying myself too much.'
'You don't look like you're enjoying yourself.'
'So, what do I look like then?' Narrowing her eyes until they're nothing more than tiny slits, she scowls at me.
'Do you want me to be honest?'
'Yes please, Mrs look-at-me-in-my-posh-clothes.'
'Don't start.'
She leans forwards and tugs at the top. 'Did he buy you that? Mr Money Bags?'
'What's got into you?'
Leaning back again, she almost falls off the stool. Saving herself just in time, she swipes her hand across the table, grabs the glass of wine and takes a huge swig.
'It's alright for some.'
'It's been alright for you for the past ten years,' I sneer.
'And now it isn't,' she sneers back. 'Did you know Geoff's buggered off with another woman?'
'Already?'
'Already. And he's not having anything to do with the kids.'
'Then slam him for maintenance and be done with it.'
She lets off a laugh, and I'm glad there's no one else around because it's a bloody loud one.
'Maintenance?' she cackles. 'He hasn't got any fucking money. His sodding business went down the pan months ago. And did he tell me that?' She taps her chest, swaying again. 'No. And the house? That's being … what's the word?'