Chapter Three
Lila
Lila squeezed off the bus with the group of passengers crowded around the door and pulled her hood straight up against the rain. Within seconds she’d made it down the dark street and was halfway to the small Airbnb bedsit she was renting.
There had been no question of going on to the pub to meet everyone after that surreal incident. Not only were her pants stained, she could barely think straight and was already exhausted. It was just a matter of time anyway. The post-mortem was going to begin soon.
She could feel it coming at her, a swarming cloud of locusts, buzzing in the distance, sweeping closer and closer until they would finally land on her; a thousand errant criticisms she could make about stupid things she’d said and done. Micro-expressions she’d picked up when looking at people, which told her – without a shadow of a doubt – that they thought she was a complete and utter weirdo. Those locust thoughts would nibble, nibble down at her sanity, until she was left barren of all self-esteem.
So, an enjoyable Friday night to look forward to.
Her bedsit was on the first floor. There was a uniform run-down quality to the buildings in this block that felt like home. None of the neighbours wanted to make eye contact with her either, which was fine by her. She just let herself in, put the chain across and allowed herself a moment to breathe in the darkness.
What an absolutely insane day. Probably the most interesting thing to ever happen to her, now that she thought about it, and she couldn’t even tell anyone it had happened.
Not that she had anyone to actually tell.
The storage heaters were kicking out some warmth and she switched on the lamp beside the bed, before pulling the curtains. She’d rented the place for two weeks, just in case she didn’t get the job and end up going to Sicily. They were meant to be leaving on Tuesday. Sibyl was bound to give her the elbow after the bloody-pants embarrassment.
Lila wiggled out of the offending clothes and held them up. Lord, it was worse than she’d been able to tell from looking down at them. Had Rowan Walker’s palm really cradled her in that many places all around her thighs? She gave a little shiver as the memory of it tried to push its way into her mind. She wouldnotperv out about it. He’d been a perfect gentleman. So different to the initial panic she’d had when he walked into the storeroom. She could be forgiven for thinking it in the moment, she supposed, but seriously, in hindsight, if a man were going to attack you, he’d have to be friggin’ stupid to lockhimselfin the room too.
Anyway, the least she could do was not objectify Rowan in her mind. He was more than just an obscenely attractive man. Also, rather than thinking of it as titillating – how about the fact that to get blood all over her clothes that way, he must have been bleeding profusely? She hoped he got that cut looked at when he got to the hospital to see his sister.
He’d really been worried about her. That was obvious. They must be close. Despite the fact he must be jet-setting all over the place, he’d known things that were going on with his nephew’s life with school.
As Lila stepped into the shower of the tiny bathroom, she couldn’t help thinking about what it would have been like to grow up knowing she had a brother. Even if they hadn’t lived together, obviously, they could have been in contact. They would have had some kind of relationship.
In the letter Stephen had said he was eight years older than her. Maybe the age gap would have been too much for them to want to be in contact? But…if her dad had stuck around, perhaps Stephen would have come over to visit?
No. If her dad had been the type to stick around, she probably would never have been born. It was clear from the letter that he’d walked out on Stephen in the same way. Did it help her to know that? That it wasn’t only her that her father couldn’t be bothered to stay for? Truthfully, it did a little and she felt rotten for that. It wasn’t nice to be glad that someone else had suffered the same way you had, was it?
It had been different for Stephen though. Because he had another half-sibling. A brother he grew up with, who he had a special bond with that she would never be able to compare to. And he looked like he had grown up perfectly well adjusted. Not an anxious social freak like her.
Because she wasn’t reflecting on her own self-destructive behaviour enough, she got dried herself from the shower, got straight into her pyjamas and pulled out her cell phone to do exactly the thing that had confirmed to her that she was more of a screw-up than her half-brother. She stalked him on social media.
He didn’t use his accounts much at all, but the first time she’d looked him up, she’d found him tagged in some pictures by the American girlfriend he’d also mentioned in his letter. Noelle Kingston was a writer. Lila had heard of her, andshehad an Instagram account she used regularly, which Stephen made cameo appearances in. Noelle mostly posted photos of stationery and books – many of which Lila had ended up adding to her own wish list – but she also put in the odd personal photo and dragged Stephen into them.
It was enough for Lila to see that: a) he looked just like their dad, but a lot better turned out. Her dad had always been scruffy, with mechanical grease under his fingernails and faded T-shirts of old eighties bands she’d never heard of. Stephen dressed like he was old money, either on his way to the office, or off sailing with Kennedys. He and Noelle travelled a fair amount, sometimes in London, sometimes in New York. She knew he’d been there at New Year’s because of this creeptastic habit of hers. It would have been the perfect time to reach out to him, but she’d still been too chicken.
They went on vacations too, and went to lots of restaurants, and family events. His brother’s wedding had been at Christmas and there had been this big gorgeous candid photo of the whole wedding party cracking up at something outside some sort of manor house. The bride and groom had been glowing, almost bent double, supporting each other as they laughed. Noelle had tagged Nick Cartwright, which was how Lila had figured out it was Stephen’s brother. Stephen had been laughing too, watching them, his face all full of joy for them, and Noelle had been under his arm, looking up at him like he was the best thing since dresses with pockets. Nothing was missing from her brother’s life. He didn’t need her. He had all that family and love and laughter.
Could she really deal with meeting up with him and it being awkward andherbeing awkward, and then him never contacting her again because why on earth would he need that kind of painful social interaction in his perfectly happy existence?
She wasn’t an idiot. She knew that the photos and posts on social media were just a slice of his life. Maybe he had other problems. Social media was a highlight reel at the end of the day…but at least hehadhighlights.
She dropped the phone and went to make herself a cup of instant hot chocolate in the tiny kitchenette. She should probably eat something too but couldn’t be bothered to cook, so she just grabbed a packet of crackers to nibble.
Back under the covers with her snacks, she went into Netflix and went to find one of her guilty pleasure TV shows. Period dramas were her absolute favourite. She’d watchedPride and Prejudicea million times.
She would have survived better in those days, she was sure. There were rules about etiquette that they actually taught you as a young lady. Yes, she knew it was a horrible time really, in terms of equality, but at least being cripplingly shy wouldn’t have been seen as something that made her broken and inadequate back then. It probably would have been an attractive quality. Although, a social faux pas had been the absolute end of the world. That was probably a lot of pressure.
Either way, watching all the actors and actresses dance in candlelit ballrooms, giving each other longing looks, was the best way she’d found to help her ignore all the creeping thoughts that wanted to replay over and over in her mind.
Like the way she’d blushed when Ruth looked at her for too long. And the way she’d made that comment about not wanting to answer loads of questions…when Rowan had been asking her loads of questions. The way she wanted a black hole to appear and swallow her up when Sibyl noticed the blood on her pants.
No. Stop. It was all done now. She couldn’t rewind it and change anything. For all she knew that was the last time she was going to see any of them anyway.
Well, not Rowan. She would no doubt see his image, his films around all over the place, but she’d probably never speak to him again.
