Lost (Arielle Lockley Series Book 2) (20 page)

‘Don’t you see though, dear?’

‘See what?’

‘That you did it. You did the pop-up all by yourself, I never helped you one bit.
You
did it, Arielle, and you should be so proud of the money you’ve made. I know I am.’

Felicity beams at me, and I smile cautiously back. This looks like Felicity, and it sounds like Felicity, but for how long? How long have I got with her before it’s too late and she’s confusing me for someone she knew once upon a time or, worse, she’s screaming at me, frightened, because she thinks I’m a stranger who is there to harm her?

This disease is a ticking time bomb and I would not wish this upon anyone, not even Etta who let me into Felicity’s home with a scowl on her face before she disappeared who knows where. Probably to rummage through Felicity’s bedroom to see if she can find anything that she can pawn for crack.

‘Dear,
please
.’

‘Sorry, what’s that Felicity?’

‘I see that look. I’m still me, you know, even with this little tangle in my brain.’

I don’t know whether it’s her choice of her words – I mean, a
tangle
in her brain – or her complete acceptance of her situation, but tears are running down my face. I’m newly engaged, just run a successful pop-up, yet I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in the past decade.
What is with me?

She’s right though, she is still Felicity, even if she looks more tired and frail. Her white hair is tied back in an elegant bun, and whilst she looks carefully constructed, like she’s put her outfit together and dabbed some rouge on her cheeks, I know this is not the work of Felicity Farrell.

Felicity Farrell would never wear those boring grey trousers with an over-sized beige cardigan and a white ruffled blouse. Felicity Farrell would never let company see her in something so ordinary, even if that company is just me. Felicity Farrell would be decked out in one of her vintage Dior skirt suits to receive me, coordinating her accessories beautifully with the cut, colour and texture of her garments. Her hair would be beautifully blow-dried, never tied back, and her make-up would be so flawless that you’d think it was her natural face.

‘Oh no, Arielle. No, not you, too. This is disappointing. I expected better from you, of all people.’

I laugh, nervously, trying not to choke on the massive lump that seems to have sprung up in my throat. ‘You’ve said that to me before,’ I hiccup.

‘Yes, the day we first met. I remember. I might not remember everything, but I certainly remember that day, and look how far you’ve come! Now, dry your eyes. Come on, don’t be silly. We have a lot to talk about, whilst...’ Felicity loses herself for a moment, ‘well, whilst we still can.’

‘It’s just so unfair,’ I whisper.

‘Life often is. All this pain, suffering. Did you hear about the cyclone?’ she asks randomly, but then continues without waiting for an answer in true Felicity fashion. ‘Send them out there, I say. It would soon put things into perspective for them. Your chap could do with a bit of perspective.’

‘Piers? What’s he got to do with any of this?’ I ask carefully.

Piers and Felicity have never even met, so where is this coming from? Is this one of the symptoms Mum warned me about, that along with forgetfulness and confusion, Felicity could also suffer from delusions and hallucinations, like the elephants and wild tigers she thought she saw on the road outside.

‘It was a success then?’

‘Sorry, what? Felicity, are you OK?’

‘Are you, my dear?’ she answers, almost cryptically. ‘Now, tell me, was the pop-up a success?’

‘Yes, we’ve–’

I stop myself short from telling her we’ve already talked about the pop-up, have been talking about it for the past twenty minutes, in fact. I want to scream and cry and, at the same time, I want to walk out and leave, give myself two minutes to recompose, then start again. Tell Felicity about the pop-up, and do it with a smile on my face; be as enthusiastic as if it was the first time I was telling her.

‘We’ve made so much money!’ I brightly force myself to say, but I’m wringing my hands together and doing anything but look Felicity in the eye.

‘Then when and where shall we do it again?’

I look up at Felicity, who is looking at me like she’s not said anything out of the ordinary. Surely she realises it’s all about her now, that we need to dissolve the business because we can’t carry on. Felicity cannot carry on.

‘I thought we could donate the money to charity,’ I say quietly. ‘Two charities, actually. Tabitha’s favourite children’s charity to thank her for being so generous with her place and her staff. And an Alzheimer’s charity,’ I mumble. I can’t look at her.

‘But where would that leave us, dear? I mean, as noble as your suggestion is, you need the money for stock and other overheads, not to mention premises. How’s the search going by the way? Any joy?’

‘Felicity...’

‘Arielle, look at me.’

I look up, squirming, unable to meet Felicity’s warm blue eyes.

‘I hope you’re not giving up because of me, Arielle Lockley,’ she continues. ‘Surely I’m a reason to go on, a reason for you to visit.’

‘Is that what you’re worried about?’ I gasp. ‘That I’m only here for the money, for an easy ride. I’m here for you, Felicity, and will be...’

I stop myself from saying until the end. It sounds so final, so bleak.

‘Whether we have the business or not, I’m going to be here a lot. Even if you have no clue who I am.’ I laugh, quite manically, even though I want to remain strong in front of Felicity who seems to be coping with great poise and dignity. ‘I will be here.’

‘I know perfectly well who you are, Rosie.’

My face loses colour, and my heart beats faster. I feel itchy, I feel nauseous, and I want my mum since Piers is currently on a plane back to the States. I’d run over to Felicity, envelope her in a big hug, but she’s not the touchy-feely sort of person.

This is so unfair.

‘Sorry, Arielle,’ Felicity quickly says, as the tears pour down my face again. ‘Just a little gallows humour. Dear? Please don’t cry, you’ll set me off. Dear?’

I take a deep breath and nod at Felicity, desperately wiping my tears away on the sleeves of my cherry red cashmere jumper, an awful habit I’ve had since I was a teenager. I can see black mascara stains smudged all over the sleeve as I move my palm away from my face. I take a sip of water, and a deep breath.

‘What will you do?’ Felicity asks. ‘If I dissolve the business, what will you do?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘But it doesn’t matter.’

‘What doesn’t matter?’

‘What I do,’ I say. ‘None of that matters right now.’

‘Why doesn’t it matter?’ Felicity asks me, but I’m lost for words on how to answer her. How can I say it’s because I don’t have to amount to anything, that whether I work or not, I don’t have to achieve anything. I have the luxury of being here for Felicity, and I can figure out everything else afterwards.

‘Why don’t you matter, Arielle? Why don’t you think you’re worthy of mattering, of making a difference?’ Felicity fires at me.

‘I could answer that,’ Etta interrupts with a smirk, walking through into the kitchen where we are, ‘but I’m afraid that’s all Arielle has time for today, Aunt Felicity.’

I shoot her a look. ‘I can stay as long as Felicity wants me to,’ I retort in the politest tone I can manage.

Etta laughs, a cruel sneering laugh. ‘As I’ve always suspected, it’s all about what
she
wants to do!’

‘Etta!’ Felicity chastises her. ‘I won’t have you girls fighting. Be nice to your sister.’

Etta shoots me a triumphant look, which I ignore, though I do wonder what happened to Etta’s sister. She probably pushed her off a cliff as she evidently doesn’t like to share – it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.

‘Aunt Felicity, I have someone I’d like you to meet, a housekeeper of sorts. If
Rosie
,’ Etta says significantly, ‘could pop to the shops and get us some more milk, that would be helpful.’

Wait, Felicity called me Rosie earlier, but claimed she was joking... I feel a cold lurch of dread as I realise during the hour I’ve been here with Felicity, she’s been lucid less than I thought.

‘I can go,’ I say quietly, ‘but I’ll be back.’ I shoot Etta a look.

‘Of course you’ll be back, Arielle!’ Felicity pipes up. ‘You’ve still not told me about the pop-up.’

I make my excuses so quickly to get out of that house, and once I’m outside, I’m on the ground, sobbing my heart out at the unfairness of it all.

‘Just go inside, Pony.’

‘I– I’m not sure I can.’ I glance up in the rear-view mirror of Mum’s car and pull a quick face at myself. I look ridiculous, and I also look super tired.

I’ve been sitting outside Felicity’s house for the past fifteen minutes, steeling myself to go in. Not even a pep talk from Piers is persuading me to open the car door and knock on Felicity’s front door though.

Felicity lives in a tiny hamlet near the village of Bransgore, which is in the New Forest National Park. She has a gorgeous detached cottage, in the middle of nowhere really, which is probably a good thing as if she did have neighbours they’d suspect me of casing the joint. A random visitor who took a wrong turn found her, by chance, last week.

The cottage has three charming higgledy-piggledy chimneys jutting out of the grey slate roof, and striking apple green shutters flank the windows and give the cottage some serious fairy-tale character.

Calling it a cottage is rather misleading as it’s been extended several times over the years, but it’s a gorgeous country retreat for Felicity, albeit one that is probably a little out of the way for her now. If Felicity got in a state, left the house and disappeared off into the New Forest... it could be weeks before anybody found her.

‘Come on, none of that. You have to stay strong for Felicity.’

‘I just wish you were here with me, Piers,’ I say in a quiet voice.

‘I wish I was with you, too.’

I know he probably doesn’t mean that though. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be reminded of his dad and the possibility that this, too, may happen to him one day. What would I do if Piers didn’t recognise me, thought I was someone else? How would I live without him?

‘Come on, Arielle,’ Piers continues. ‘She’s expecting you. Go in and see her. She’s still the same old Felicity.’

‘I should have–’

‘Hey! Stop that! How could you have known that she had this when you met her, that she wasn’t just a naturally scatty person? You couldn’t, OK, and you can’t change the past. What you can do though is control your actions now, so go in,’ Piers says, almost angrily. ‘Stop making excuses, and go and knock on the bloody door. Ignore Etta, and be there for Felicity.’

I feel ashamed at his words. He’s right.

‘OK, I’m getting out.’ I open the car door and slam it behind me, beeping the door lock with the key fob. ‘I love you,’ I say as I walk towards the front door. ‘And I can’t wait for you to get back from the States.’

‘I love you, too. Now, have a nice day!’ he jokes in a faux American accent.

I’m still smiling at that when the door opens.

‘Come in. You must be Arielle,’ a
real
American accent says to me, with more than a hint of a Southern drawl. ‘I’m Sadie, Felicity’s new live-in carer, though we’re using the term housekeeper,’ she shares conspiratorially.

‘That was a quick hire!’ I walk into the cottage and close the door behind me.

‘Etta needed to get back to London today, and I could start immediately. There was no point in waiting around.’

‘Of course she did,’ I mutter.

Sadie looks at me quizzically. She’s a curvy blonde with shoulder-length blow-dried hair, warm brown eyes, and a swatch of bright red lipstick on her lips. She’s wearing a simple black skirt with a wrap-around mustard-coloured cardigan over a cream blouse, but her elegant diamond earrings, necklace and eternity ring suggest she can hold her own when it comes to the finer things in life. Being a carer seems an odd choice for someone with that much bling and a top-of-the-range Land Rover parked outside on the drive. At least, I assume that’s her car; Felicity might have other visitors for all I know.

‘She’s working on her album,’ she explains, like I care. ‘It’s an exciting time for her.’

How selfish of Felicity to deprive Etta of her studio time. I have no doubt that Etta’s antics will be splashed all over the papers tomorrow, and that there will be no mention of any studio sessions. Let Etta tell Sadie whatever lies she wants to ease her guilt. At least I don’t have to see her. 

‘Luckily for Felicity, I can’t sing,’ Sadie says with a laugh. ‘And I really love looking after people.’

‘How long have you been in the UK?’ I ask.

‘My husband is British, and we’ve lived over here for the past twenty years. I was actually a nurse in a hospital, back home in Kentucky, but I tried working here in a hospital and it didn’t work out.’

I shoot her a worried look. Was she struck off for malpractice? Just who has Etta employed?

‘I just found that I couldn’t cope with the lack of personal care. Don’t get me wrong,’ she hurriedly explains seeing my look. ‘The NHS is brilliant, but I missed working with individuals and seeing each one of them through to recovery. It was all about getting through your rounds as quickly as possible, just another body in a bed to tick off a list. I’ve found being a private nurse suits me better.’ 

And it’s paid better, I suspect.

‘Makes sense,’ I say brightly. ‘Now, how is Felicity today?’

‘Come through and see for yourself.’

I follow Sadie through to the conservatory where Felicity is staring out of the window at the miles and miles of trees that stretch out from the back of her property, a half-drunk cup of tea and an upturned book resting on the glass coffee table beside her.

‘Hi Felicity,’ I chirp, going over to double-kiss her cheeks. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Arielle, dear! I’m jolly good, ta. And yourself? How are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say, sitting down in the squidgy armchair opposite her.

‘Can I get you a drink, Arielle? A tea? Coffee?’ Sadie asks.

‘Can I get a peppermint tea, please?’

‘Of course.’ She smiles. ‘A refill for you, Felicity?’

‘Yes, please. Oh, and Sadie,’ Sadie turns back to us, ‘can you get the paperwork from the study?’

Sadie nods, and leaves the conservatory, and I quickly check my phone that has just buzzed. It’s a message from Ob:

‘Fatty. Call me. URGENT. I have news. Two lots of news actually. The inevitable bad and good kind. CALL. ME.’

‘Paperwork?’ I ask, firing off a quick text back explaining that I’m with Felicity at the moment. I also ask if he’s working today.

‘Yes, dear. I’m afraid I’ve not been too honest with you.’

‘Oh?’ I look up from my phone. Ob has just replied to say he’s free until three, which is when my train back to London is.

‘You’ll see what I mean when Sadie brings it through.’

‘How are you finding Sadie?’ I ask. I’m curious as to whether Felicity thinks she really is a housekeeper, or whether she knows that she’s a carer. I bash out another quick text to Ob, asking him to meet me for lunch.

‘She makes an awful cup of tea,’ Felicity whispers, and I laugh at that as Felicity is obsessed with tea. As an American Sadie has no chance of ever making Felicity a decent cup, not even if she had been trained by the Queen’s personal tea-maker, if that job even exists. She’s a bit of a snob when it comes to the hot wet stuff.

‘But, have you seen my hair?’ she continues, patting her head.

It’s true. Felicity looks more like her old self today with her hair beautifully styled, and even her clothes are more in keeping with the Felicity Farrell I know.

‘Very fancy,’ I remark with a smile, putting my phone back in my bag. Ob is going to pick me up from my parents’ house at one o’clock, as I need to drop Mum’s car back at the house.

Felicity’s hair puts mine to shame, which is tied back simply in a high ponytail.

‘It reminds me of how that friend of yours used to wear it. Lydia, was it?’

I cringe. I’ve not heard from her, and my birthday was a long time ago. I fear that’s another friendship that has fallen by the wayside, which is alarming considering how small my social circle was to begin with.

‘Oh,’ Felicity says, seeing my face. ‘You’re still not talking?’

I’m impressed, and pleased that she has remembered that. Hearing Felicity today you wouldn’t think this was the same person I visited yesterday. It’s why it’s so heart-breaking – these good days make the bad days seem so much worse, even though the good days are the ones we should treasure. I need to learn to ignore the beastly days.

‘You must rectify that,’ she says.

‘Sure.’

I grab a cushion and plump it out. There’s only a little bit of me imagining that it’s Lydia’s face.

‘I mean it. Promise me that you’ll speak to Lydia this week.’

I shoot her a look, and put the cushion behind my back.

‘Promise me,’ she says firmly. ‘And I’ll do what you suggested with the money from the pop-up.’

She’s remembered my suggestion to split the money between a children’s charity and an Alzheimer’s charity?

‘I promise,’ I say as Sadie walks back in with a stack of papers wedged under her arm and two cups of tea in her hands.

‘Here’s a peppermint tea for you.’ She hands me a chunky mug, which I know Felicity hates. ‘And another Earl Grey for you, Felicity.’

She puts Felicity’s cup down on the coffee table, and hands her the paperwork.

I really must have a quiet word with Sadie and fill her in on a few of Felicity’s quirks and set ways – chunky mugs definitely won’t feature on that list, especially not for a cup of Earl Grey. It’s painfully obvious that Etta has failed to brief Sadie properly.

‘Shout if you need anything else.’

We thank Sadie and she leaves us alone in the conservatory. It’s really warm in here. I shrug off my cardigan, and take a sip of my tea. It tastes fine to me but, then again, you can’t really mess up peppermint tea.

‘Take a look at this, dear.’ Felicity hands me the paperwork, keeping a few sheets of paper behind.

I take the papers from her, and start leafing through them. ‘What am I looking for?’ I ask.

‘I have to confess, Arielle, I never changed the business. It was never yours.’

Felicity is watching me carefully.

‘What do you mean?’ My pitch gets higher as I rummage faster through the contracts and documents in front of me. ‘I signed paperwork, I have a business debit card for our joint account,’ I protest.

‘You have a card on my business account, and the paperwork you signed said you were employed to run a venture for me in London. Did you not read it before you signed it?’

She knows full well that I didn’t, but I’m reading it now.

‘You–’

I don’t even know what to say.

‘You need to be more careful, dear,’ Felicity says. ‘Did you learn nothing from signing a lease without reading it properly?’ Her tone is kind, but I feel like the world’s biggest moron.
Again
. She’s right though.

I feel like a child who was given the idea of a shop to play with rather than a successful businesswoman who made it happen herself. This is no different to being Piers’ “kept” woman, except this time it was Felicity who was keeping me. This is much worse though. I
chose
to be kept by Piers; I honestly thought what Felicity and I had was a real partnership, that we were doing this
together
.

‘I’m in no position to keep the business,’ she continues, ‘but I will sell it to you for one pound, if you like.’ 

I shake my head, finally looking up from the paperwork. ‘If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it on my own,’ I snap.

‘Are you sure? Tills, clothes rails and everything else you need won’t be cheap, Arielle. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

‘I’m sure,’ I say stubbornly, angry at myself for being so naive. ‘I’ll arrange to have everything sent to you, I guess, unless you want me to get rid of it on your behalf?’

‘Please just keep it.’

‘I can’t do that Felicity,’ I say tightly. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

Felicity sighs. ‘Is this your pride talking or you? Don’t be so bloody obstinate. It doesn’t matter who owns what, it matters who achieved what, and the success of the pop-up was all down to you. Look,’ she says, seeing the expression on my face, ‘have a think about it, and let me know, OK?’

I nod, but I know my answer will still be no. I can’t believe this.