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Dumbfounded she continued to stare at him. ‘What on earth for?’
‘I know you asked me to sell everything, but . . .’ Finally his eyes met hers. Brown pools that welled with sadness. ‘God, Lizzie, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.’
Her mind hurtled back to the day of the funeral; the last time she’d stayed in the house. She could vividly remember wandering through it, knowing her mother would never again cook in that kitchen. Her father would never get round to fixing the squeaking door to the living room. Robert would never again sleep in his old bedroom. ‘You lied to me, Nick,’ she choked out. ‘I asked you to sell this house, but you didn’t.’ Acutely aware of the greatness of the loss she’d tried to put behind her, she buried her head in her hands.
His arm circled round her, but she slapped it away. ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she screamed. ‘How can you pretend to be my friend, when you’ve sliced me in two?’ Nick jerked back, clearly stung by her words, but Lizzie didn’t care. She was hurting, and he was the cause. ‘What did you think you were going to achieve by this, Nick? Are you enjoying watching me fall apart?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ he shot back, then swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath. ‘I thought it might do you good to come back here. To allow yourself to grieve.’
‘You stupid man,’ she spat back. ‘Don’t you think I’ve done enough grieving? Do you honestly think I went back to the States and just got on with my life without a second’s thought for them?’
‘No, I don’t.’ His voice was heavy with misery. Slowly he reached into his pocket for the keys. ‘Clearly I’ve cocked up here, big time, and for that I’m truly sorry. But while you’re here, do you want to go in and take a look?’
At the sight of the familiar keys dangling from his fingers, she froze. Part of her wanted to get behind the wheel, turn the car around and drive away as quickly as she could. That was after shoving Nick out and leaving him stranded on the damn driveway. But the house, despite her initial dread, looked lovely. And she’d always been one to face her fears, not run from them. ‘What have you done with the contents?’
‘I took the clothes to the charity shop, but after that . . .’ He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what to keep, and what to get rid of. So I guess I took the easy option and just kept it all. I thought you should be the one who decided what to keep and what to throw. I always knew one day you’d come back.’
‘I’ve only come back because you’ve given me no alternative,’ she replied coldly. ‘I told you at the time I didn’t need their things to remind me of them. I have enough memories in my head to last me a lifetime.’ Memories and great bucketloads of guilt. How many times did she close her eyes only to find that conversation with them running through her head? The one where she pleaded with them to come over as soon as they could because she was lonely. And how many times did she recall the knock on the door, the grim looking police officer informing her of a car accident? Three members of her family as good as wiped out. All because of her.
‘I’ve got the message. You’re not happy with what I’ve done.’ Pointedly he waved the keys in front of her nose. ‘But are you going in, or not?’
In that moment, she hated him. He was forcing her to remember things she’d rather bury, but she didn’t really have a damn choice. Cursing under her breath, she snatched the keys from his hand and climbed out of the car.
Nick opened his door and waited for her to come round the bonnet of the car. ‘Do you want me to wait out here?’
‘Yes. If you value your head, and don’t want it chewed off, I’d keep away from me for a while.’ With her heart thumping and her legs trembling, she walked up to the front door. Once there she took a deep breath, slid the key into the familiar lock, turned three times, a quirk that had driven them all mad, and stepped inside.
Her first thought was how bright and cheery it looked, totally at odds with what she’d expected. She’d been imagining their beautiful furniture covered with dust sheets, so it was a pleasant surprise to find the house as well maintained on the inside as it was on the outside. There were no dust sheets and, incredibly, no dust. In fact, everything was very much as it would have been had her family been alive. Only tidier. Hesitantly she wandered through the rooms, almost smiling at how shiny everything looked. Her mother would have been delighted. When she caught sight of the big old chair her father used to sit in she faltered, tears welling in her eyes. God, he’d loved that scruffy chair. If anybody else dared to sit on it, they were treated to a steely glare and quickly scuttled off. Despite the tears though, her lips curved at the memory. In reality, Dad had been a big softie. Putty in his daughter’s hands, so her mother liked to tell her.
Slowly she climbed the old mahogany staircase, memories crowding through her. Her and Robert zipping down on metal tea trays. The day they’d brought their parents breakfast in bed for the first time. Chasing the puppy up the stairs after it had scampered off in disgrace, having peed on the living room carpet.
On reaching the landing, she took another deep breath and braced herself for the bedrooms.
First was Robert’s room. Her heart pounded as she slowly opened the door. It was exactly as she’d remembered it. Unusually tidy, because he hadn’t slept in it properly since going off to university. Despite later buying a house of his own, many of his much-loved possessions had remained in this room. The model aircraft on the shelves, the signed football, the framed pictures of Formula One race cars. Oh God, there in the middle of the bed was his battered old bear. Her eyes welled again as she reached across for it, fingering the worn ears. Robert was five years older than her but he’d always tried to act even older. Except when it came to that shabby bear.
Clasping it to her, she entered her parents’ bedroom. The big wrought iron bed still had their duvet on it. The one with pink rose petals her mother had loved and her father had put up with. Some of her mother’s necklaces were carefully displayed on a jewellery stand. Her father’s old trilby hung jauntily on the end of the bedstead.
The rush of tears came upon her so abruptly she had no chance to stop them. As the twin bonds of grief and guilt wrapped themselves tightly round her, slowly suffocating her, she threw herself onto the carefully made bed and wept her heart out.
* * *
Nick looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. She’d been in there for twenty minutes now. Should he go and check on her? Okay, she’d made it excruciatingly clear she didn’t want him in there with her, but surely by now she’d had enough time alone? He remembered the coldness of her voice, the hard expression on her face when he’d told her what he’d done. If there had been a decent sized rock, he’d have crawled under it. So, no, it was probably best he stayed out of the way.
He glanced again at his watch. Twenty-four minutes had passed. Approximately. His fingers drummed impatiently on the dashboard.
Twenty-five minutes. It was no good. He couldn’t wait out here any longer.
Clambering out of the car, he walked briskly up to the house and pushed open the door. His heart nosedived at the sound of crying. No, not crying. Heart-wrenching wails of anguish. He didn’t stop to think about whether she’d want him intruding on her grief — his mind was powerless to prevent him following the clamour of his heart. Bounding up the stairs he thrust open the door to the master bedroom.
He found her curled in the foetal position in the centre of the bed, hugging a scruffy teddy bear, her whole body shuddering. She looked so alone, so utterly lost, his heart shattered. Uncaring of how she’d react, he moved onto the bed and dragged her into his arms. She stiffened but didn’t resist. Moments later she was clinging to him, crying even harder.
Well done, Nicholas. What a way to treat the woman you love. Literally bring her to her knees. He tried to soothe, rocking and running his hands over her hair, all the while feeling like the meanest bastard that ever lived.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured, lying down on the bed and bringing her against him. ‘So very sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here without warning. It was too much.’ When at last he felt her tears begin to lessen, he kissed the top of her head. ‘You’ve got full permission to hit me wherever you think will cause most pain.’
‘I don’t have a desire to hit you,’ she sniffed, fumbling around to try and find a tissue. He handed her the wedge he’d put in his pocket before leaving the car. ‘At least not at the moment.’
‘Well, you should. As if you haven’t been through enough recently, I decide to take you back here. Christ, I should be up for moron of the year.’
