Lost (Arielle Lockley Series Book 2) (18 page)

I’m sitting next to Dad in a booth, Mum and Piers are opposite us. The place is packed full of people, and I’m so glad that Eddie, the manager on duty today, reserved me a booth as I wouldn’t have got one otherwise.

I can hear what Mum is saying but I can’t really take it in. How did it get to this? Why didn’t we see the signs? Do something earlier?

‘Apparently it’s not the first time that Felicity has been found in this state,’ Mum says gently.

Piers takes my hand and squeezes it.

‘But this time the person who found her didn’t know her, and they called the police because...’ Mum falters, ‘... because she was ranting about tigers and elephants coming towards her.’

‘Maybe there were,’ I spit out angrily. ‘And maybe people should mind their own bloody business. So what if she was ranting in the street? People rant in London all the time, and no one bothers them.’

How could someone think that Felicity is some sort of crazy person? Couldn’t they see that she’s fragile, not a threat? Couldn’t they have contacted someone who cares, not someone who is holding her prisoner in hospital “for her own safety”?

‘She was half-dressed, Arielle,’ Dad says softly. ‘And she had no shoes on. I know you love Felicity, we all do, but there’s a problem here that we can’t ignore. She needs our help, even if she wants to go on pretending that nothing is wrong. ’

‘She kept it so well hidden,’ Mum says sadly.

I can’t look at her. I’m staring at the table, trying to take all this in.

‘I honestly thought it was an overactive thyroid gland, not dementia,’ she continues. ‘She was so convincing, and I accepted her cracks as eccentricities.’

‘Flick’s and her land of make-believe,’ I mutter.

Etta must have known about this, thinking back to our conversation yesterday. Why hasn’t she rescued her godmother from the hospital and taken her home to be more comfortable? Why didn’t she tell me outright that Felicity is this ill, spell it out rather than make ambiguous hints laced with sarcastic comments? Why couldn’t she just be a fucking grown-up? We could have arranged help for Felicity;
we
could have helped her.

I know why though, it’s because she doesn’t give a damn. She was splashed across the tabloids the other morning, pictured falling out of a club with Dylan Broadmoor, the lead singer from Volcano Leash, traces of “a white substance” smeared across her right cheek. Facial cheek, that is, not bum – you could see both in the photos.

She doesn’t care about Felicity, not really; all she cares about is her record deal. Etta Millhouse is a hypocrite, and if I had her phone number or address, I’d be calling her out on all the times she’s busted my balls for “taking advantage” of Felicity when it’s her who can’t be arsed to be there for her godmother. If I hadn’t been kept in the dark, this would not have happened. I would never have started a new business with Felicity; I would never have run this pop-up.

The pop-up may be a success, but there will be no more. If I have to move to Bransgore to look after Felicity, I will. I won’t have her in this situation again. I won’t tolerate her feeling alone and afraid if she forgets something, or forgets herself.

‘What happens next?’ I ask in a small voice. It’s all I can do to stop myself from bursting into tears. Felicity does not deserve this illness, no one does.

‘Cool, so we’ve got two pulled pork burgers, one with courgette fries, and one with sweet potato fries,’ a voice interrupts. I stick my hand up numbly, and Piers nods at the waiter who puts those plates down in front of us. ‘Then there’s a lobster mac ’n’ cheese.’ Mum nods. ‘And baby-back ribs with mashed potato and corn on the cob for you, sir. Can I get you anything else, any more drinks? Any other sauces?’

We shake our heads and he disappears with a smile, oblivious to our glum faces.

I push away my tin plate. My appetite has gone, even though the smoky smell of the BBQ sauce and the bubbling cheese on Mum’s dish is making my mouth water. It smells wonderful, but I feel nauseous.

‘What’s next? How can we make things right for Felicity?’

‘Arielle,’ Piers says, shooting a look at my parents as he shakes Tabasco sauce over his sweet potato fries. ‘Let’s talk about this later, OK? Once the pop-up is over. Eat your lunch, and then try and enjoy your afternoon.’

How can he be so dismissive?

‘You can’t expect me to go back and play shop,’ I snarl. ‘How can I? I should just close the pop-up down now. What’s the point?’

‘The point is,’ Piers says, grabbing my hand again as Dad puts his lunch to one side to put his arm around me. I’m convinced he’s wiped sticky BBQ sauce on my dress. ‘It would make Felicity happy.’

‘Please.’ I gasp. ‘Don’t pull the Felicity card, like you can speak for her.’

This is totally the wrong place for this conversation. People are looking over at us, and I recognise some of the people who are standing at the bar as customers of the pop-up. Looks like they are getting the added bonus of drama to add to their tea dresses and ripped jeans.

‘And,’ I continue, remembering Mum’s odd behaviour when we were setting up the pop-up, remembering how she went on about Felicity being so proud of me. ‘Don’t lie. You knew, didn’t you?’ I say, staring straight at Mum. ‘You knew it wasn’t just a hormone thing, you knew it was dementia.’

‘I suspected a few weeks ago,’ Mum chokes out. ‘But I didn’t know for definite. Felicity never confided in me, and I hoped I was wrong.’

She takes a big swig of her San Pellegrino Aranciata drink.
Of course
Tabitha’s place wouldn’t have Fanta on the drinks menu.

‘So if she never confided in you,’ I spit out, ‘don’t you dare try and “speak” for her. You
can’t
.’

‘Arielle,’ Piers says quietly. ‘Stop this, and listen to me. Please, just think of my dad for a second.’

‘I... Oh, shit.’ The penny drops. ‘He had Alzheimer’s,’ I answer quietly.

‘He did,’ Piers says carefully. ‘And the last thing he ever wanted was for me and Giles to fuss over him, to stop doing the things we loved. We were there for him as much as we could be, we got him the support he needed, but we didn’t drop
everything
. Felicity would want you to continue with the pop-up this weekend, and she’ll want you to have a fabulous story to tell her on Monday. If you tell her you shut this down, how do you think she’ll feel? She’s already lost some of her dignity because of what happened yesterday. Don’t rob her of anymore.’

I nod because I can see where he is coming from, but I have to wonder why Mum and Dad told me this now. Could it not have waited until after the pop-up? They could have made up some excuse, pretended Felicity had a raging migraine or a nasty case of diarrhoea. It would have made it easier for me. All I want to do is rush to whatever hospital Felicity is in and get her home.  

I grab a courgette fry to munch on. I’m sure it’s delicious, but it tastes like cardboard.

‘I get where you’re coming from,’ I say in-between chewing. ‘And I want Felicity to be proud of the pop-up, but I need to hear what we’re going to do about this.’

‘I’m not sure it’s even up to us,’ Mum says.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re not her family, Arielle,’ Dad says kindly. ‘Etta is.’

‘But they’re not really related, right?’ Piers interjects.

‘No, not by blood.’

‘So it’s up to Felicity who she grants power of attorney to,’ Piers states, matter-of-factly.

‘So we need to get it, not Etta,’ I say. ‘She–’

‘Unless Felicity wants Etta,’ Mum interrupts me gently. ‘And then we have to go along with her wishes, OK?’

I nod, but it will be over my dead body that Etta gets to be in charge. Etta will plonk Felicity in a home, sell her house, then use the money for cocaine and copious amounts of tiny black outfits going on the stories I’ve seen in today’s newspapers. There is no way I am going to let that happen.

‘Thank you so much for all your help.’ I force myself to gush my thanks at two of Tabitha’s bar staff, Paige and Olive, as they leave for the day. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t have survived today without you!’

‘Our pleasure. See you tomorrow!’ they call back at me, and I’m finally left in silence and on my own for the first time since I heard the news about Felicity.

After forcing down my lunch and showing Mum, Dad and Piers around the pop-up, I somehow got through the rest of the afternoon, though it was a bit of a blur. I went into auto-pilot mode, unable to stop myself thinking about Felicity. I should have seen the signs, should have realised that she was hiding what was really wrong with her, and I should have thought about her more than my selfish aspirations.

I look around the studio space, and I survey the scene. I’m exhausted but I have a lot to do before it starts all over again. First things first – tidy up and count the takings. We can’t restock until the morning as downstairs people are enjoying their Saturday evening – the only way to access the studio is by walking through the place, which means another early start tomorrow. 

Nearly everything has sold, amazingly, and only ten items or so are left on the various clothes rails. One of the mannequins has lost its arm though. Who on Earth managed to get that downstairs and past Ryan and the rest of the staff? Fair play to them if they got it out of the building unseen.

Ramone’s sewing machine, which was overloaded with trinkets, also looks emptier than it should. I don’t recall us selling that many necklaces and bracelets, which means we’ve had a few thieves visit us today. I’ll be able to work it out better tomorrow once I’ve reconciled the stock that is left with the receipts. I know damages and stealing goes hand-in-hand in the retail industry, but it still makes me sad that people can be dishonest.

I get cracking with the tidying up, finding several food wrappers on the floor, plenty of unidentifiable “bits”, and clumps of dusty hairballs. Once the mirrors are cleaned and the floor is vacuumed, I examine the stock that’s remaining and decide to leave it out to try and sell tomorrow, even though it’s clear why no one has bought this stuff.

There’s a pair of really light blue, almost white, flared jeans that just look really dated. If they had some rips in them though, a bit of customisation... Quickly I gather up the remaining clothes and put them in one of the shop’s big paper bags. Sod it, I’ll customise them myself and see if I can inject a bit of life into them. I know just what to do with these jeans to have them fly off the rails tomorrow, hopefully, and it’s better than discounting them to practically free.

I fire off a text to Piers to let him know I just need to count up the cash, and ask him to set off. Mum and Dad have gone to the theatre.

I have never seen so much money in my life! The two tills were bursting when I opened them. Without even counting it, I know we will have made more money today than we made in a month at the shop.

‘My goodness,’ I mutter, as I start counting it again. This cannot be right.

How is this possible? I know I’ll have to account for what the stock cost Felicity originally, but we have minimum overheads here. We’re going to be looking at a tidy profit.

I’m counting the cash for the third time in disbelief when the door opens. Ryan walks in, brandishing a mannequin arm; Piers follows him.

‘You found it!’

‘It was in the gents’ loos downstairs,’ Ryan explains, pulling a face. ‘People are so... Woah,’ he says, clocking the cash in front of me. ‘Did you make all that today?’

Piers steps forward, and I am grinning like the Cheshire Cat when he comes over to plant a kiss on my forehead.

‘Guess how much we’ve made? Go on, guess!’

Ryan puts the mannequin arm down, and comes over for a closer look. ‘I’ve never seen so much cash in my life,’ he remarks.

Piers doesn’t say anything, so I suspect he has! 

‘Well, I’m going to say ten grand,’ Ryan suggests.

‘Piers?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Both wrong!’ I exclaim gleefully. ‘You are looking at £16,425 here. Oh, and thirty-seven pence.’

Ryan whistles. ‘Can’t forget the thirty-seven pence!’

‘I’m so proud of you.’ Piers’ face says it all.

I am smiling so much it hurts. I can’t wait to tell Felicity about our success today, and then it hits me that Felicity is in the hospital, that she’s really ill, and my smile disappears. Ryan senses that something is wrong.

‘So I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine, Arielle? I’ll leave you guys to finish up.’

‘Thanks, Ryan,’ I say. ‘And thanks for all your help today. You’ve been amazing, you all have, and I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘My pleasure. See you tomorrow,’ he calls back at us, as he leaves Piers and I alone to bag up the money. I’ll be keeping it in our safe at home until I can take it to the bank on Monday.

‘Come here,’ Piers says as the door closes and we hear Ryan’s footsteps on the stairs. I stand up and walk around the table to him. He pulls me into a big hug. ‘You should be so proud,’ he says. ‘This,’ he lets go of me to point to the cash, ‘is amazing!’

‘Thanks,’ I mutter, grabbing hold of his hands and pulling him back towards me.

I really need a big hug now, and I need to nestle my face into Piers’ body and inhale that deep Piers’ smell that makes the world be OK again. I would be lost without Piers.

I grip hold of him tighter, worried that one day I’ll lose Piers to this illness, but I know this is something he won’t want to talk about. Hearing about Felicity’s condition today will have brought back painful reminders for him. I never met his parents as they both died before we met, but I know he had a tough time losing them both at a young age. His father died of deterioration from Alzheimer’s; his mother was killed in a car crash. I’m so grateful that my parents are – touch wood – in superb health.

‘What’s wrong, Pony?’ Piers asks, stroking my hair with his hand. ‘Are you thinking about Felicity?’

‘I just can’t believe she kept that from us,’ I whisper.

‘She’s a proud woman, Arielle.’

‘She didn’t need to be proud with us,’ I mutter as the news sinks in properly. I look up at Piers and grab hold of his face, overcome with some weird madness. ‘Promise me,’ I say fiercely, ‘promise me that when we’re old and grey if you know something is wrong with you, if you get this, promise me that you’ll tell me. Promise me you won’t keep me in the dark. Promise me that you’ll let me help you,’ I rant.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer me as I let go of his face and burst into noisy tears again. I am sobbing my heart out here, and he pulls me even closer, hugging me so tight, before helping us sink down to the floor of Ramone’s studio space.

‘We’ll die peacefully together in out sleep,’ I hear him whisper, ‘at the age of one hundred and five, surrounded by our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. You’ve got nothing to worry about there, Pony.’

I gulp, trying to control my erratic breathing and shaking body. ‘Do you promise?’ I ask thickly.

‘I promise.’ He blinks back tears of his own.

We’re sat on the floor, staring at one another, and I’m not sure who moves first – whether Piers tilts his head slightly or I move in closer – but within a fraction of a second our hands are all over one another, and we’re kissing frantically like we’ve been starved of each other for the past few months. I guess we have. I can’t remember the last time we had sex. Life just seemed to get in the way, and now it’s April, and we probably haven’t made love since we celebrated our engagement last November.

‘Piers!’ I whisper urgently as he tugs down the zip of my dress with one hand; the other pulls me closer to him. ‘Someone might walk in!’

‘Let them,’ he growls, yanking down my dress and pushing my lacy white bra out of the way. ‘This can’t wait.’

I’ve never known him to be so forceful, which is a major turn-on. Piers turns his attention to my right nipple, sucking and biting it hard whilst his other hand pushes down the rest of my dress. I moan loudly, running my fingers through his hair, and I inch myself closer. I’ve missed this, and it’s exactly what I need right now. I can hear the faint hum of music from downstairs and people laughing away, enjoying themselves, oblivious to the two of us up here enjoying ourselves.

He changes course, planting kisses up my chest, across my neck, before nibbling at my ear. I reach down and undo his belt with one hand, which is proving trickier than I remember – I’m really out of practice! – but I finally get it undone as Piers starts kissing me deeply, exploring my mouth with his, holding the back of my head tightly.

Undoing his buttons, I wriggle my hand into his jeans and start stroking him, though he doesn’t need any help getting started. He moans into my mouth as my touch gets harder and faster, until he can’t stand my teasing anymore.

Letting go of me he wriggles out of his jeans, and gives me a quick cheeky smile before he’s back on top of me and slowly, torturously, easing himself into me. With each thrust, I forget my worries, I forget my fears, and I take in Piers tightly, raising my legs up in the air to give him better access.

‘I can’t... hold on,’ he grunts, as he changes his angle slightly and increases his pace.

‘It’s OK,’ I whisper.

I close my eyes tightly as the sensations wash over me, and I feel Piers come with a few deep thrusts and a massive groan of satisfaction. I was close, but it doesn’t matter that I didn’t come. I’m just glad to get close to Piers again, that our dry spell is over.

As we catch our breath, and wipe the sweat from our bodies, he apologies for this.

‘Piers,’ I say softly, ‘it doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to me,’ Piers points out.

‘I know, but I’m just happy to be with you. Look,’ I say, seeing his face, but remembering where we are. ‘Make it up to me back at home, OK?’

‘No,’ he states flatly.

‘Piers?’

He grins devilishly, then flips me over and starts sensually massaging my shoulders and neck. ‘I’m afraid it will have to be now, Miss Lockley,’ he whispers into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

As his hands move lower, I’m too busy enjoying myself to protest. All thoughts of me laying naked on a shop floor, where anyone could walk in on us at any moment, have gone completely out of my mind. He really does have the magic touch.