Bound by Ivy (5 page)

13

Leo and I spend the day rehearsing, drinking coffee and hot chocolate, ordering in fresh ham sandwiches and sponge cake from a Soho deli and just talking about all sorts of things that don’t matter.

At
dinner time, we head out to China Town and eat crispy duck pancakes, egg-fried rice and beef in black bean sauce.

Two security guards follow us
and wait outside the restaurant while we eat. But still, we have fun.

Leo tells me about his
journey from nobody to famous movie star – how he did all sorts of jobs on the way up, from selling surfboards to making smoothies. He tells me about his artist mother and his father who was town mayor for a while.

I tell him a little about my family and
how my mother died when I was young.

When Leo
asks me again about the security, I’m half tempted to tell him about Giles Getty and the kidnapping, but something in me just can’t get the words out. I’m not ready to talk about that. Not yet.

Jen
knows something happened, but doesn’t know the details. After the kidnapping, I phoned her to say something bad happened at the theatre, and that I might be too spooked to go through with my opening night performance. But she doesn’t know much more than that, and she understands me well enough to wait until I’m ready to tell her more.

What Jen does know for sure is that
Marc insisted I stay at his townhouse and that he take care of me. I told Jen about all the therapists Marc lined up, and that was enough for her. As long as she knew I was being looked after, she didn’t need to know any more.

*****

Leo and I don’t work too hard at rehearsing because we know we have another big performance tonight.

When show
time finally comes around, we’re well practised, but full of energy and in good form. The crowd react well to us and we fix most of the things we felt didn’t work on opening night.

Just like always, time flies when I’m performing and before I know it, Leo and I are doing our final bows and walking off stage.

I’m hoping Marc will be waiting for me in the wings, but he isn’t. Instead, Keith is there – which takes me by surprise.

‘Keith, what are you doing here?’ I ask, picking up the skirts of my costume and walking towards him.

‘I’ve come to pick you up.’

‘Isn’t Marc here?’ I ask tentatively.

‘No. Sorry. I know I’m no substitute.’

‘You’ll d
o just fine,’ I say. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’

Leo appears
beside me. ‘Where’s Prince Charming?’

‘I was hoping to see him. But ... I guess he has his reasons for not being here.’

‘If you were my girlfriend,
I’d
be waiting for you after every show.’

I give him a sideway
s glance, raising an eyebrow. ‘I doubt that,’ I say. ‘You strike me as the sort of guy who’d be there the first few nights with the biggest bunch of flowers ever, and then get bored and be off chatting up one of the dancers.’

Leo laughs. ‘Oh, so cruel!’

‘Can I have my phone back now?’

Leo rolls his eyes. ‘
Sure. It’s in my dressing room. I’ll go get it for you.’

14

There are no missed calls or text messages on my phone, and I can’t help feeling like something more is happening than just some safety thing. Why wouldn’t Marc have called, even just to check that I was okay?

I keep the phone in my lap all the way to my dad’s house, but there isn’t so much as a bleep or a flash.
As we near my village, the reception bar creeps lower and lower until it hovers between one bar and no service. Our village council campaigned to keep a mobile phone mast out of our area, so there’s still only reception when the wind blows a certain way.

‘Keith,’ I ask, as we pull up outside
the cottage. ‘Has Marc told you anything more about what’s going on?’

‘Not exactly,’ says
Keith. ‘All I know is that he’s been tightening security today. I’ve been swamped with messages about new procedures and passwords.’

I’m about to climb out of
the car when Keith holds up a hand to stop me. ‘Wait. I’m to escort you right to the door. New instructions.’

‘Okay.’ I’m
beginning to feel really anxious now. Both about all the security and Marc not calling. When Marc and I are apart my body craves him, and the thought of being away from him tonight ... it almost hurts. I need to call him.

Keith comes around to open the car door and just as he does, I see a flash of black outside the front garden.

‘What was that?’ I gasp.

‘Security,’ s
ays Keith, helping me out. ‘They’ll be surrounding the perimeter of your dad’s cottage and stationed on the roads leading down here too. One good thing about these little country places – the roads are very easy to monitor. Not like London.’

I step out of
the car, my legs a little shaky.

Keith shuts
the car door behind me. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about. But better safe than sorry.’

I nod, and walk up the gravel path towards the
house. Everything’s dark, and I realise that Dad has no idea I’m coming down here tonight. In all the weirdness of today, and my phone being locked away by Leo, I totally forgot to call him.

I
knock softly on the wooden door and wait for an answer.

Silence.

‘Everything okay?’ Keith asks.

‘It looks like no one’s home
,’ I say, confused.

‘Maybe they’re all asleep.’

‘Not Dad. He works shifts as a taxi driver. He’s a night owl. He stays awake until three or four in the morning, usually. I guess he could be at work, but he doesn’t usually work weekdays this late.’

I knock again, wincing at the loud noise in the darkness.

Inside the cottage, I hear a clunk and then Sammy starts crying.

‘Whoops
,’ I whisper

The door creaks
open and I see Dad, looking sleepy and bleary eyed.

‘Dad?’ I say.
‘Were you asleep?’

‘Oh. Hello love.
I didn’t realise it was Christmas Eve already.’

Now I know something’s wrong.

‘It’s not Christmas Eve,’ I say, glancing at Keith. ‘I’m a day early. Didn’t my bags arrive earlier?’

Dad scratches his head. ‘
Oh, something did. I just thought it was your Christmas presents.’

He blinks, and I
notice that his eyes aren’t quite focusing.

‘Have you been drinking?’
I ask.

Dad blinks again. ‘Only a few beers.’

I turn to Keith. ‘Thanks so much for the lift. I’m fine now, honestly.’

Keith glances
at my dad. ‘Will you be okay here?’

‘Absolutely fine,’ I say
. ‘Don’t worry about me. Get back to your family.’

‘If you’re sure ...’

‘Positive. Go on. Get on home.’

Keith hesitates, then gives a little nod. ‘Well. If you’re su
re. There’s plenty of security around here. Call if you want anything. Okay? I can be back here within half an hour.’

‘Okay.’

Keith heads back to the car.

I turn back to Dad.
‘Come on. Let’s go in and you can tell me what’s going on.’

15

The cottage is dark inside, and silver moonlight turns the sofas into creepy, lumpy shadows. I smell stale beer and old socks, and feel something I haven’t felt in the cottage for a very long time – not since the few years after Mum died.

Sadness.

Sammy’s still wailing, but Dad doesn’t seem to notice.

My stomach ties itself in one knot after another as I walk through the cottage and trip over beer bottles and clumps of clothing.

‘Dad,’ I say. ‘What’s going on?’

S
ammy’s wailing lessens a little and turns into a dull little whimper. Then he becomes quiet, and I guess he must have fallen back to sleep.

I turn and see my dad’s pale, creased up face in the moonlight. His hair is standing up all over the place. His eyes a
re bloodshot and now I see him trying to walk, I know he’s a little drunk. And he’s holding himself in that way, that same sad defeated way, that he did when Mum died.

A sliver of s
ickness runs through my stomach as I remember that awful time. Dad, drinking too much, not taking care of himself, depressed all the time. The house a complete state. Me struggling to cope with it and hold the family together, whilst nursing a big, empty hole where Mum had been.

I still miss her, even now. There aren’t many days when I don’t think
of her, one way or another.

‘Everything’s okay, love,’ Dad insists, his words soft and tired.
‘You just woke me up, that’s all.’ There’s a clink as he trips over a beer bottle, and he stumbles around until he finds his feet.

‘No it isn’t.’
I turn on the light and wish I hadn’t. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the cottage looking so bad. Piles of dirty clothes everywhere. A counter covered in dirty plates and cups. There are even a few flies climbing over rubbish bags by the bin, which makes me absolutely shudder. It’s winter. Who gets flies in winter?

An empty whisky bottle
lies on the dining table, and drained beer bottles are lined up along the floor by Dad’s easy chair.

‘Oh Dad.’ I turn to h
im and realise how truly awful he looks. Those bleary eyes are bright red under the light. His skin is pale and tired, and he’s wearing the same shirt and trousers from the party.

‘You were wearing those clothes in bed
?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’ Dad scratches his head. He follows my gaze down
to his dirty shirt. ‘I was too tired to get out of my clothes tonight. It’s ... been a long day.’

‘And too tired
yesterday and the day before by the looks of it. Where’s Genoveva?’

‘She’s ta
king a break.’

‘Da
d.’ I cross my arms. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to force it out of you?’

Dad sig
hs and slumps down on the sofa. ‘Genoveva left,’ he says, picking up an empty beer bottle from the floor and trying to drink from it. It takes him a good few seconds before he realises the bottle is empty, at which point he tosses it back down to the floor.

It rolls towards my feet and I pic
k it up. ‘Has Sammy been crawling around all this stuff?’

‘No
.’ Dad rubs his eyes. ‘A girl from town has been taking him for half the day while I’m at work. She’s not bad. Cheap rates. He seems pretty happy with her. And this place isn’t so bad.’

‘Not so bad?’ I try to stuff the
empty beer bottle in the overfull bin, before giving up and placing it on the sticky kitchen counter. ‘Dad, it’s awful. You can’t have Sammy in a place like this. Does Genoveva know what a mess it is?’

‘
I … she won’t take my calls. I keep expecting her to walk through the door. But it’s been over a week …’

‘Oh, Dad.’ I go behind the sofa
and put my arms around him shoulders. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come and stayed here. Helped out.’

‘You couldn’t have done, love. You’re so busy with your play and everything.’

I hug him tighter. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have called you. I was ...’ I think back to that weird and difficult week after the whole Giles Getty thing. ‘... pretty busy. But I still should have thought of you. I’m so sorry. I knew something was up last night, but I didn’t realise it was this bad. You should have said something. You know how important you and Sammy are to me. I’d drop everything to come help out.’

Dad gives a tired smile. ‘That’s exactly why I
didn’t tell you.’

‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘With Genoveva? Did you have a big fight or something?’

‘Of sorts.’ Dad sighs. He grabs another empty beer bottle and starts picking at the label.

‘Dad?’

‘She’s … been seeing someone else.’

‘Oh no.’

‘A doctor. He lives in the village. He’s married.’

‘Oh no.
’

Dad nods
. ‘I feel terrible for his wife. They have three kids together. Three times the heartache.’

‘So where’s Genoveva now?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve heard that she’s with him. In one of his holiday homes. I’m just hoping she’ll see sense and come back to us. Sammy needs her. I need her too.’

‘Poor Sammy. He must not know what end is up right now.’

‘Him and me both.’

‘Things will get better
,’ I say, picking up beer bottles. I line them up around the bin, just like I used to after Mum died. ‘Time heals.’

‘She’ll be back
,’ says Dad. ‘I’m sure of it. She just needs time to realise what a terrible mistake she’s made.’ He puts his head in his hands.

I put a hand
on his shoulder. ‘I hope so Dad.’ But secretly, I can’t see it. Genoveva and Dad often rowed, but she’s never left him before. And if she’s seeing someone else …

‘
Sammy’s missing her like crazy,’ says Dad. ‘That’s why I know she can’t have left for good. She’d never leave him for good.’

I don’t know what to say about
that. Truth be told, I’ve always thought of Genoveva as a bit on the cold side. I try to see the best in everybody, but with Genoveva it was a struggle at times. And right now, seeing my dad upset like this, it’s a
real
struggle.

Two sides to every story
, I remind myself. But knowing Genoveva the way I do, perhaps there really is only one side to this one.

‘Oh Dad.’ I put my arms around him
again. ‘Let me make you some hot milk and I’ll start getting this place cleaned up.’

‘No
.’ Dad shakes his head and clambers to his feet. ‘You must be knackered. You’ve come all the way from London. We’ll both get stuck in tomorrow. You should go to bed. Get some rest. We both should.’

His skin looks
so pale and thin – almost see through.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ I say, knowing full well that I’m going to insist Dad stays out of my way tomorrow. He’s far more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to clearing up, and by the look of him he needs a good lie i
n. ‘You go get some sleep.’