“So, Cyndi!” Suze exclaims in animation. “How many children did you say you have?”
“You should choose some drawings to take home,” adds Ulla, holding up her sketchpad. “Have a look.”
“Oh, yes!” encourages Danny. “See this one of you in my jacket? Divine!”
“Goodness!” says Cyndi in delight. “May I really? Oh, I look so elegant….I only have one child,” she continues to Suze. “My one precious gift. And you? You have kids?”
Rebecca is standing in the far doorway now. Not moving, not waving, not speaking. Just standing, waiting to be noticed.
My eyes are fixed on Corey. He’s listening to Tarquin…he’s gazing absently up at the ceiling…he’s frowning with slight impatience….And then, as his gaze drifts past Tarkie, past Cyndi, his whole face jerks with horror.
OK. He’s seen her.
If I was hoping for a reaction, I’m not disappointed. His eyes have gone all starey. The color has drained from his cheeks. He looks like he’s in a nightmare. In fact, he looks so ill, I almost feel sorry for him, loathsome as he is. This man has tried so hard to airbrush out his past. He’s had a facelift. He’s lied about his age. He’s denied his friends. He doesn’t want the past to exist. But here it is, standing in front of him in a floaty purple dress and kohled eyes.
For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.
(I didn’t get this bit from Ocean’s Eleven. It’s from Love Actually. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it Becky Actually for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)
The first sign just says:
Hi, Corey.
She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:
Long time.
And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:
I’d love to meet your wife.
Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.
Chat with her about old times.
Or maybe that’s not such a good idea?
Corey’s face is rigid. He looks like he’s undergoing torture. Well, in a way, he is. And Rebecca’s loving it.
“And what about nurseries, or do you call them preschools here?” I can hear Suze asking Cyndi brightly. “Because it’s so hard to find places in the UK.”
“Tell me about it!” exclaims Cyndi, completely oblivious to the drama going on around her. “And you know, Peyton is super-talented, so…”
What about Brent’s settlement, Corey?
Rebecca practically brandishes the sign at him, then substitutes the next one.
You owe him.
YOU OWE HIM, COREY.
And now she’s writing an extra sign we didn’t agree on. She holds it up and her eyes glitter wickedly.
I could make your life a misery.
I would LOVE to make your life a misery.
Crikey. Well, that’s honest. I glance at Corey, and the veins are standing out on his forehead. His fists are clenched. He looks like he wants to attack her.
Just sign it and I’ll be out of your life.
Rebecca gives him a long, challenging gaze. Then she starts holding the signs up more and more quickly, almost as if she’s dealing cards.
Just sign it.
Just sign the settlement, Corey.
Do it.
Corey is breathing harder and harder. He looks like a man about to explode.
Just fucking DO IT.
DO IT, Corey.
DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!
“OK!” Corey suddenly erupts like a bull snorting. “OK! Let’s get this goddamn settlement done. Give me a pen. Let’s get it done.”
Oh my God. Did he just say—
I meet Rebecca’s eyes for a breathless moment. Have we done it? Have we won?
I think we’ve won.
Slowly, silently, Rebecca closes the double doors…and it’s as if she was never there.
“Marvelous!” says Luke smoothly. “Very kind of you, Corey. Shall we sort that out straightaway?”
“You OK, babe?” says Cyndi, looking away in surprise from Suze, Danny, and Ulla and surveying Corey. “Sweetheart, is something wrong? You look like you’re burning up!”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Corey gives her a fixed smile. “Just want to get this all wrapped up.”
“Good man,” says Dad, in cheerful tones. “Let’s go and find my legal colleagues.”
Without further delay, Dad ushers Corey toward the door. I catch his eye as he walks past and feel a weird bubble rising up inside me. But I’m not sure…Is it a bubble of relief? Hysteria? Disbelief?
As Cyndi babbles on about Peyton’s amazing ballet potential, I meet Suze’s eyes…then Mum’s…all round the room. Tarquin’s…Danny’s…Ulla’s…Elinor’s…and, last of all, Luke’s. He gives me a little grin and lifts his coffee cup to me as though in a toast. And I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. After all that. We’ve done it.
We’ve actually done it.
NINETEEN
The Bellagio fountains are magical. And, OK, I know they’re touristy and I know they’re a cliché and I know there’s a load of other sightseers crowding around. But right now I feel as if they’re gushing up, over and over, just for us. For us ten. They’re our reward.
We’re leaning against the balustrade, all in a line, like at the end of the Ocean’s Eleven film. That ripply piano music is playing in my head, and nobody’s saying anything. We’re looking at one another and smiling, and I haven’t felt so good for ages. Forever. We did it. We got justice. And the ridiculous thing is, Brent doesn’t even have any idea yet…but somehow that’s not the point.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so content. I don’t think life has ever fallen so perfectly into place.
The plan worked so brilliantly. Everyone played their part immaculately, from Tarquin, to Janice…especially Janice. (Apparently she locked herself in a stall in the ladies’, moaning, until Lori went for help, whereupon Janice scurried away.) Over our celebratory drinks I regaled everyone with how fantastic she’d been, and she got all flustered and had to have more champagne, and then everyone had to rehash all their various moments, and Dad wanted to hear it all about ten times, because he’d been stuck waiting for so long, and Mum said, didn’t we wish we had it all on video, and Luke said, well, maybe, if we wanted to end up in prison for coercion.
I’m still not totally sure if he was joking or not.
But I don’t care. The documents are signed. Brent’s going to get the money. He’ll be able to buy a house. And that’s all that matters.
Rebecca isn’t with us. She didn’t even stay to say goodbye. Which—you know. Fair enough. That’s her choice. To be honest, I’m glad. I’ll be happy if I never see her again. I’m over poking around in the past. I want to move forward. Move on. It’s time for Luke and me and Minnie to head home. Not home L.A.—home home.
Suze and Tarkie are heading home too. I think they’ll probably scoop up the children and get on a plane as soon as they can. Back to England, back to Letherby Hall, back to real life. Tarkie can’t wait to get stuck in to all his development plans. Suze can’t wait to go and find Owl’s Tower. She told me she’s going to feed it GroMore every week, just to make sure. (Actually, she’d better not do that; she’ll probably kill it.)
Luke and I need to pack up the house in L.A., give notice at Minnie’s preschool, do all those final things you do when something’s over. And it’ll be sad in a way…but it’ll be right. I smile up at Luke, whose face is all shining from the fountain lights, and he puts his arm round my shoulders.
What’s supposed to happen now i
s we all silently drift off without saying goodbye, into our separate lives, with our millions. Except that’s where real life and Ocean’s Eleven really are different, because we can’t drift off silently—we’ve got a table reserved for all of us at this very nice steak restaurant that was recommended to Luke. (Plus, obviously, we don’t have any millions.)
So I glance at Mum, and she nods and nudges Dad, and Janice looks up from her phone and says, “Martin’s just boarding at Heathrow! Won’t be long now!”
Janice’s husband, Martin, is coming out for a few days, and they’re going to visit some vineyards in California with Mum and Dad. I think they’ll have a wonderful time, and it’s a really nice way for my parents to thank Janice. She deserves it.
“Shall we go?” says Mum.
“Let me get a piccie first!” says Janice. “All line up in front of the fountains!”
OK, we have majorly digressed from Ocean’s Eleven at this point. I can’t imagine Brad Pitt accosting a random tourist and asking him to take a quick “snap of the gang.”
Then Mum wants a photo of her and Dad, and then they want one with Janice, and I’m just wondering whether I should ask Suze to take one of Luke and me, when I notice a stocky man nearby, watching us. I wouldn’t even have noticed him, except he’s staring quite fixedly at Dad, and as he turns his head, the light catches his face and—
I gasp so loud, Luke whips round in alarm.
“Look!” I flail my arms. “Is that him? Is it Brent?”
The man takes a step backward and from his caught-out expression I just know it’s him. He looks like the photo, only craggier and sadder. He also looks as though he’s having second thoughts about being here.
“Don’t go!” I add hastily. “Please.” I hurry over to Dad and tug his sleeve. “Dad, look who’s here!”
He turns, and I can see the light of surprise in his eyes.
“Brent! You made it! I didn’t think you’d—”
“I got a voicemail from Rebecca,” says Brent. “She told me…” He rubs his brow. “Told me you’d be here. Told me some other stuff. Not sure what to believe.”
Slowly, Suze, Tarkie, and the others are gathering round, peering at Brent, almost in disbelief. We’ve been chasing, discussing, focusing on this guy for all this time. And, finally, here he is.
He’s not a well-looking man. He’s still got the square brow of his youth, but his gray hair is going, and the rest of his face is jowly, with sunken, defeated eyes. He looks like he’s had a hard life. He’s wearing an old, cheap-looking jacket, and a backpack is slung over his shoulder.
Now his eyes are moving suspiciously over all of us, as though expecting a trick.
“Did Rebecca tell you—” Dad breaks off. “Did she mention a settlement at all?” he says carefully. “Did she mention the money?”
Brent’s expression immediately becomes more defensive. His glower deepens and his shoulders tense. Which I can understand. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to believe it either. I wouldn’t want the hope till I had the proof.
“Makes no sense,” he says. “Why would Corey suddenly cave in? I tried in 2002.”
“I know,” says Dad quickly. “Brent, like I tried to tell you before, I had no idea you were approaching Corey then. None. I would never— You have to know…” As he gazes at Brent, he seems a bit overcome. “Here. Read this.” He takes out of his pocket a copy of the settlement agreement. “It’s what you’re morally owed. No more.”
Tourists are pressing backward and forward, trying to get a view of the fountains, but the ten of us are totally engrossed in Brent’s face as he reads the words of the document.
I’m pretty sure he reads the whole thing three times before he reacts. Then he looks up, gives a brief nod, and says, “I see. Yes. Can I keep this?”
And you might think he was totally callous and ungrateful, if you couldn’t see his hands, shaking and shaking—and a sudden tear plop onto the paper, which we all pretend we didn’t notice.
“Of course.” Dad nods. “We have copies.”
Brent carefully folds the paper up small and puts it in his backpack, then surveys the group of us again.
“I guess I need to thank…you, Graham?”
“All of us,” says Dad quickly. “We all pulled together.”
“But who are you?” Brent looks around at the faces, as though totally confused.
“Friends of Graham’s,” says Janice.
“And Becky’s,” says Danny, as Ulla nods.
“I am Rebecca’s mother-in-law,” says Elinor.
“It was Bex who made the plan to get Corey,” puts in Suze.
“We called it Becky’s Eleven,” explains Mum brightly. “Have you seen the film?”
“Which one’s Becky?” demands Brent, and, nervously, I step toward him.
“Hi. I’m Becky. I met your daughter, Becca. I came to the trailer—I don’t know if she mentioned it—and I told my dad you’d been evicted….That’s how it all began, really.”
“We wanted to get justice for you,” chimes in Janice. “That Corey is a low-down snake, pardon my French!”
“You’re from Britain.” Brent looks more and more bewildered.
“Oxshott. But I flew over to help,” continues Janice cheerily. “Well, anything for Jane and Graham.”
“And anything for Becky,” adds Suze. “She got us all going.”
“It was a group effort,” I say quickly. “Everyone was brilliant.”
“But…” Brent rubs his face again. “Why? Why help me? You’re strangers, most of you. You don’t know me.”
“We were helping Becky’s dad,” says Danny simply.
“You need to thank my daughter,” puts in Dad. “She’s the powerhouse behind all this.”
“Oh, and by the way, Brent, thanks for the C.B. and M.M.M. tip,” I exclaim, suddenly remembering. “That’s, like, my motto for life!”
But Brent doesn’t respond. He’s looking around at the ten of us, a sort of wonder in his face. Then, at last, he turns to me.
“Young lady, you must be very lucky in your friends,” he says. “Or maybe they’re lucky in you.”
“I’m very lucky in my friends,” I say at once. “That’s what it is. Definitely. They’re amazing.”
“It goes both ways,” says Ulla, and we all peer at her in surprise. (She’s not the most talkative, Ulla, although she was brilliant at distracting Cyndi.)
“Hear, hear,” confirms Suze.
“Well, anyway,” I say a bit awkwardly. “The main thing is, we did it. And now you’re here! You must come for supper….” I swing back round to take up the conversation with Brent. But I can’t see him anymore. What happened? Where is he?
We all scan the crowd in confusion, and Luke searches around the area a bit—but it’s soon obvious he’s not coming back.
Brent’s gone.
—
The steak house that was recommended to Luke is amazing. We all order steaks and fries and pretty much every side dish on the menu. The waiter pours out a delicious red wine, and as we toast one another I can sense everyone breathing out. Properly. Finally. We made it.
As I look around the table, I feel a little wash of happiness. We’re all in such a better place than we were. Mum and Dad are sitting side by side across the table from me with Janice. They’re all looking at photos on Dad’s phone of the red-rock canyons and making plans for their vineyard trips. All of Mum’s hysteria has evaporated; all of her tension has gone. She keeps stroking Dad’s arm, and he squeezes her back as though he’s never going to leave her again.
Elinor is looking pretty relaxed too. She and Luke are chatting away about the holiday we might all take in the Hamptons, with Danny chipping in every now and again with local gossip that makes even Elinor snort with laughter.
If you were brutally honest, you might say that Danny has mostly become best friends with Elinor because she’s planning to spend a small fortune on his clothes and help him launch a whole new older wom
en’s market, which will do great things for his profits….But there’s more to it than that. There’s a genuine bond between them. I really do believe that. Like, they’ve already discussed how they’ll give Cyndi a wonderful time at the Met Ball because none of this was her fault. (I’m going to try and go too.)
As for Suze and Tarkie, they’re completely different people. Suze has relaxed. She’s the old Suze. She laughs at silly things. Her frown has eased. And Tarkie is a revelation! I keep watching him, trying to work out what’s different—but I don’t think it’s one thing. It’s lots of little things. Apparently one of the pieces of advice Dad gave him on the road was, “Fake it till you make it.” Well, I don’t know what’s fake and what’s real, or whether he even knows himself—but it’s working. He’s going to make a kick-ass lord of the manor when he gets back to England.
“We’re going to plant over a thousand trees next year,” he’s telling Dad. “Of course, Suze won’t notice any of them.”
At once, Suze flushes red and says hastily, “I will! I’ll help plant them and look after them and everything. I love trees!”
Tarkie flicks a tiny, teasing smile at her, and she flushes even deeper, and it’s quite obvious she’s confessed all about Owl’s Tower. Well, that’s good. It was stressing me out, never mind them.
As if she’s reading my mind, Suze gently nudges my foot with hers under the table. We’re both wearing our cowboy boots. They feel so right, I can’t believe I’ll ever wear anything else again. The Wild West has really got under my skin. Into my soul. The clothes, the sunshine, the desert, the music…
Ooh, which reminds me of something.
“Hey, Luke!” I say brightly. “I forgot to tell you. When I was out with Suze this afternoon, I tried out a banjo, and I think we should get it.”
“What?” Luke looks up from his conversation with Elinor, aghast.
“I told her you wouldn’t go for it,” puts in Suze, spearing a piece of steak.
“Don’t look like that, Luke!” I say, affronted. “It’ll be good for Minnie to learn an instrument, so why not the banjo? And we can all have lessons together and become a family folk group, and it’ll totally be a good investment….”