Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 105
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“In order to explain my current predicament,” I continue, “I must take you back in time. Back to the beginning. By which I mean not the creation of Earth. Nor even the big bang. But tea at Claridges.”
I pause — but Luke is still silent, listening. Maybe this is going to be OK.
“It was there, at Claridges, that my problem began. I was presented with an impossible task. I was, if you will, that Greek god having to choose between the three apples. Except there were only two — and they weren’t apples.” I pause significantly. “They were weddings.”
At last, Luke turns round in his chair. His eyes are bloodshot, and there’s a strange expression on his face. As he gazes at me, I feel a tremor of apprehension.
“Becky,” he says, as though with a huge effort.
“Yes?” I gulp.
“Do you think my mother loves me?”
“What?” I say, thrown.
“Tell me honestly. Do you think my mother loves me?”
Hang on. Has he been listening to a single word I’ve been saying?
“Er… of course I do!” I say. “And speaking of mothers, that is, in a sense, where my problem originally lay—”
“I’ve been a fool.” Luke picks up his glass and takes a swig of what looks like whiskey. “She’s just been using me, hasn’t she?”
I stare at him, discomfited — then notice the half-empty bottle on the table. How long has he been sitting here? I look at his face again, taut and vulnerable, and bite back some of the things I could say about Elinor.
“Of course she loves you!” I put down my speech and go over to him. “I’m sure she does. I mean, you can see it, in the way she… um…” I tail off feebly.
What am I supposed to say? In the way she uses your staff with no recompense or thanks? In the way she stabs you in the back, then disappears to Switzerland?
“What… why are you…” I say hesitantly. “Has something happened?”
“It’s so stupid.” He shakes his head. “I came across something earlier on.” He takes a deep breath. “I was at her apartment to pick up some papers for the foundation. And I don’t know why — maybe it was after seeing those photographs of Suze and Ernie this morning.” He looks up. “But I found myself searching in her study for old pictures. Of me as a child. Of us. I don’t really know what I was looking for. Anything, I guess.”
“Did you find anything?”
Luke gestures to the papers littering the table and I squint puzzledly at one. “What are they?”
“They’re letters. From my father. Letters he wrote to my mother after they split up, fifteen, twenty years ago. Pleading with her to see me.” His voice is deadpan and I look at him warily.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that he begged her to let me visit,” says Luke evenly. “He offered to pay hotel bills. He offered to accompany me. He asked again and again… and I never knew.” He reaches for a couple of sheets and hands them to me. “Look, read for yourself.”
Trying to hide my shock, I start to scan them, taking in phrases here and there.
Luke is so desperate to see his mother… cannot understand your attitude…
“These letters explain a lot of things. It turns out her new husband wasn’t against her taking me with them, after all. In fact, he sounds like a pretty decent guy. He agreed with my dad, I should come and visit. But she wasn’t interested.” He shrugs. “Why should she be, I suppose?”
… an intelligent loving boy… missing out on a wonderful opportunity…
“Luke, that’s… terrible,” I say inadequately.
“The worst thing is, I used to take it all out on my parents. When I was a teenager. I used to blame them.”
I have a sudden vision of Annabel, and her kind, warm face; of Luke’s dad, writing these letters in secret — and feel a pang of outrage toward Elinor. She doesn’t deserve Luke. She doesn’t deserve any family.
There’s silence except for the rain drumming outside. I reach out and squeeze Luke’s hand, trying to inject as much love and warmth as I can.
“Luke, I’m sure your parents understood. And…” I swallow all the things I really want to say about Elinor. “And I’m sure Elinor wanted you to be there really. I mean, maybe it was difficult for her at the time, or… or maybe she was away a lot—”
“There’s something I’ve never told you,” interrupts Luke. “Or anybody.” He raises his head. “I came to see my mother when I was fourteen.”
I pause — but Luke is still silent, listening. Maybe this is going to be OK.
“It was there, at Claridges, that my problem began. I was presented with an impossible task. I was, if you will, that Greek god having to choose between the three apples. Except there were only two — and they weren’t apples.” I pause significantly. “They were weddings.”
At last, Luke turns round in his chair. His eyes are bloodshot, and there’s a strange expression on his face. As he gazes at me, I feel a tremor of apprehension.
“Becky,” he says, as though with a huge effort.
“Yes?” I gulp.
“Do you think my mother loves me?”
“What?” I say, thrown.
“Tell me honestly. Do you think my mother loves me?”
Hang on. Has he been listening to a single word I’ve been saying?
“Er… of course I do!” I say. “And speaking of mothers, that is, in a sense, where my problem originally lay—”
“I’ve been a fool.” Luke picks up his glass and takes a swig of what looks like whiskey. “She’s just been using me, hasn’t she?”
I stare at him, discomfited — then notice the half-empty bottle on the table. How long has he been sitting here? I look at his face again, taut and vulnerable, and bite back some of the things I could say about Elinor.
“Of course she loves you!” I put down my speech and go over to him. “I’m sure she does. I mean, you can see it, in the way she… um…” I tail off feebly.
What am I supposed to say? In the way she uses your staff with no recompense or thanks? In the way she stabs you in the back, then disappears to Switzerland?
“What… why are you…” I say hesitantly. “Has something happened?”
“It’s so stupid.” He shakes his head. “I came across something earlier on.” He takes a deep breath. “I was at her apartment to pick up some papers for the foundation. And I don’t know why — maybe it was after seeing those photographs of Suze and Ernie this morning.” He looks up. “But I found myself searching in her study for old pictures. Of me as a child. Of us. I don’t really know what I was looking for. Anything, I guess.”
“Did you find anything?”
Luke gestures to the papers littering the table and I squint puzzledly at one. “What are they?”
“They’re letters. From my father. Letters he wrote to my mother after they split up, fifteen, twenty years ago. Pleading with her to see me.” His voice is deadpan and I look at him warily.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that he begged her to let me visit,” says Luke evenly. “He offered to pay hotel bills. He offered to accompany me. He asked again and again… and I never knew.” He reaches for a couple of sheets and hands them to me. “Look, read for yourself.”
Trying to hide my shock, I start to scan them, taking in phrases here and there.
Luke is so desperate to see his mother… cannot understand your attitude…
“These letters explain a lot of things. It turns out her new husband wasn’t against her taking me with them, after all. In fact, he sounds like a pretty decent guy. He agreed with my dad, I should come and visit. But she wasn’t interested.” He shrugs. “Why should she be, I suppose?”
… an intelligent loving boy… missing out on a wonderful opportunity…
“Luke, that’s… terrible,” I say inadequately.
“The worst thing is, I used to take it all out on my parents. When I was a teenager. I used to blame them.”
I have a sudden vision of Annabel, and her kind, warm face; of Luke’s dad, writing these letters in secret — and feel a pang of outrage toward Elinor. She doesn’t deserve Luke. She doesn’t deserve any family.
There’s silence except for the rain drumming outside. I reach out and squeeze Luke’s hand, trying to inject as much love and warmth as I can.
“Luke, I’m sure your parents understood. And…” I swallow all the things I really want to say about Elinor. “And I’m sure Elinor wanted you to be there really. I mean, maybe it was difficult for her at the time, or… or maybe she was away a lot—”
“There’s something I’ve never told you,” interrupts Luke. “Or anybody.” He raises his head. “I came to see my mother when I was fourteen.”
