When the Siren Calls (47 page)

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I’ll wheel by in the morning with her suitcase.”

Gina pulled him gently to the door and shut it before he could look again, ushering him out and to the car. Eamon watched them, not moving from the window until the headlights were a distant orb of light in the winding streets. As the glow faded altogether, he strode over to Lucy and pulled the blanket from her body. He surveyed her for a moment before hauling her up and tugging off her dress, already engorged by the mere thought of what he was about to do.

Isobel allowed herself a sigh of relief as Jay and Gina appeared on the steps.

“Looks like you were wrong, Maria, no night of debauchery after all,” she said triumphantly, grinning with the beginnings of elation. Maria shook her head, a grim smile on her face, looking hard at Gina. “The real test is still to come; mark my words, that young woman wants more than a peck on the cheek tonight.”

Isobel said nothing, her eyes now fixed on Jay who was glancing nervously along the deserted road. He looked straight at their BMW and, if it were not for the heavy black tint of the windows, would have met Isobel’s gaze.

“Do you think he suspects anything?” she asked Maria quietly, as if afraid Jay might hear her.

“No, impossible,” said Maria, as she hit the ignition and followed the car. “What man would suspect you of following him in a car?” Isobel conceded with a laugh. “Besides,” said Maria, interrupting her mirth with scathing honesty, “if Jay did think he was being followed, then there’s probably at least one hundred other people that it’s more likely to be — if he’s as much of a rogue as some say.”

They pulled in at a safe distance as the car stopped. Jay got out and looked back at the BMW again before helping Gina from her seat.

“Shall we have a coffee now Jay?” she said, leaning towards him until her breasts brushed his chest.

“I’m sorry, Gina, tonight it is I who lacks the courage.”

Gina laughed automatically, convinced he would not refuse her, and pulled at his arm. Isobel held her breath as he relented, and joined her on the doorstep, as she searched in her bag for her keys. She dangled them before him smiling, but he took hold of her and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek, before jumping back in the car and speeding off.

Isobel and Maria watched in amused shock as Gina threw down her pashmina, and stood staring down the street after the taillights of Jay’s car.

“Looks like he got cold feet,” was all Maria could offer as she waited for Isobel’s gloating victory speech.

But Isobel’s mind was now swimming in doubt, all her uncertainties returning as she thought of Lucy and Gina, of Jay’s calm magnificence amongst the bedlam of the evening, and of his cool indifference as he left Eamon’s apartment.

“Let’s go home, Maria,” she said, her voice low and weary, as she fought back her tears.

As cool, faint rain washed away the excesses of the night from the streets of Capadelli, Lucy awoke alone and naked in Eamon’s living room. A bucket sat amidst a puddle of vomit on the stone floor and her face and hair were matted with stickiness. She reached shakily for her phone and called Jay, barely managing to ask to be picked up before she threw up whatever dregs were left inside her. She stumbled to the bathroom to clean herself up and, as the cold, clear water rushed over her hands, tried to piece the night together.

She looked at her face; the stickiness was not vomit and she knew all too well what it was, she could still smell it — even above the odour of sickness. Lucy tried desperately to remember whose it was as she rubbed at her face. She looked down at her body and followed the trail of stickiness with a flannel. Out of the blur of her memory an image hit her and she almost cried out at its vividness. Eamon’s face looming, dark and ravenous with bulging eyes above her bare breasts as he entered her again, as she pulled him to her, desperate to make him finish as the room spun around her.

Tears ran down her face as she realised what she’d done, but she had no time to ascertain her own guilt before Jay arrived with her suitcase. Lucy watched him carefully as he entered; she saw no anger in his face — perhaps it was not as bad as she feared.

She smiled bravely, not wanting to let him know how clouded and confused was her memory of the night before, that she was so drunk she didn’t know who she had slept with, how many people she had slept with, or what they had done with her.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I really am sorry. The state I am in and everything. I just lost track of how much I was drinking.” Black mascara began to stain her face as she spoke.

Jay surveyed her with concern. Her dishevelled state did not match well with the version of events he’d received earlier from Eamon: that he had woken to find Lucy in the bedroom, asking where the loo was. That she had emerged from the bathroom naked, and climbed into his bed complaining she was cold, and that things had gone from there.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked, compassion in his voice. “In which bed you slept?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing last night,” she babbled. “If I was hitting on Eamon it was to get your blood up, that’s all. Maybe I did want to party when we got back, with the four of us, I just don’t know. I really can’t remember anything after we left the nightclub. You have to believe me, Jay.”

Jay hesitated, trapped between conscience and opportunity, all his plans and all his fears whirring through his mind; this was the perfect moment to end things. He was confident that he could spin Lucy any version of the night’s events and she would have no way of separating fact from fiction. She would be gone forever, driven away by her own irreparable guilt and shame.

She broke his silence with a sob. “I’m really, really sorry. Whatever happened last night I didn’t want to cheat on you, please believe me.”

She was at his mercy but he couldn’t bring himself to see her hurt anymore.

“Listen, Lucy, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Nothing happened last night, ok? You were just not feeling well, that’s all. And you were sick in the night. That’s all. Everything is ok.”

He held her tightly, feeling the tears on his cheek. They stood there for a long time, taking solace from their sins in each other’s arms. Finally Lucy spoke.

“What happens now?”

Jay saw Lucy as far as the departure gate. She was quietly crying as he handed her the boarding pass.

“Please, Jay, don’t let me leave like this. I’m begging you. I made a stupid mistake, that’s all.”

Jay put his arm around her.

“It’s ok, Lucy, there’s no harm done. I just need some space. Some time to think about things. Don’t feel bad about anything that’s happened this weekend. Let’s just remember the good times we had. You will be all right, you’ve got Rob, remember? Now you need to move or you will miss your flight.”

“But you will call me?” He flinched at the helpless pleading in Lucy’s voice, and for a second he was tempted to say he would.Fifty-three

Isobel stopped as she crossed London Bridge and leant against the grey stone balustrade looking into the forbidding waters below, the sins of her summer of love wreaking her body and eating her soul. The noon-day striking of the great bell of Westminster pulled her from her thoughts. Somewhere in the bowels of the BB&T offices her husband and her lover were crossing swords, playing out the final act in the charade that was the contract signing ceremony, Jay wanting nothing more than to get away, Peter wanting nothing more than a decision on the music deal arriving before he did so. She had told Peter she was lunching with Maria in Cobham, and had promised Jay to be on the boat before twelve; if either looked out from the towering plate glass offices onto the bridge below, they would know she had lied. Well, she would lie no more.

As she entered the marbled foyer of BB&T, her stomach knotted from tension; she felt insignificant, lost in its cavernous emptiness, a vast atrium stretching above her. The cold iridescence of the walls sent shivers through her blood, and the enquiring gaze of the immaculately groomed receptionist only served to increase her anxiety. She took a seat but her restlessness forced her back to her feet, and she gravitated towards a shimmering brass plaque on the far wall, wishing she were invisible. From a distance it dazzled in the artificial light but as she grew closer the shining expanse formed into words, engraved deep in the glossy metal. They were the BB&T partners’ names and she looked up at them through sad and tired eyes; she knew if Jay had played his hand differently ten years earlier, his name would, in all probability, be in front of her.

As she searched inside herself, hoping to find courage and strength for what lay ahead, hurried footsteps broke the sacrosanct silence of the marble, and she turned to see Jay.

They stood transfixed, staring at each other, his eyes glassy and awash with pain, defeat etched into every line of his face. He all but ran to her as she moved forwards. But as he went to embrace her she froze, staring over his shoulder in fear and consternation. Peter was lurking in an alcove, tall and triumphant, watching and waiting. Everything swirled around her in his shadow, fifteen years of marriage and all the life before it — everything she had and everything she wanted. Jay smiled as she stared deep into his eyes and held his arms open again in a gesture of vulnerable love. She clenched her fists in determination, the shadow of Peter ever in her mind, and embraced him.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait,” she said. He held her for a long moment, as she let her arms fall limp, before she broke from him. He seemed to her dazed and shaken from the meeting and she saw he did not want to let go.

“The other night. I was there. I saw what happened to Lucy.”

She saw him search behind her eyes before he spoke. “The white BMW?”

She nodded. He grasped her forearms pulling her back into him. “It was the only way,” he said.

“No Jay, it was your way. And your way will never be my way.” She pulled her right arm from him, and reached into her bag, and pushed the jewellery box into his palm. “It’s Lucy who deserves this necklace, not me.” She stepped back from him, out of his spell, and was free. “Goodbye Jay.”

Isobel turned from him as he shrank away, and shuffled towards Peter, numb with pain, regret, and relief.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” she said, hanging her head and afraid to touch him.

But he pulled up her chin to look into her eyes, and drew her to him, holding her into his warmth.

“ I forgive you,” he said simply.

She stepped away from him, and took his hands from her. “But I didn’t come here to ask forgiveness. And I do not seek it.” She squeezed his arm. “Everything that I have done was a choice, my choice. Forgiveness won’t change that.” She saw bewilderment in his eyes. She slipped off her wedding ring and pressed it into his hand, and closed his fingers around it. “I thought I’d found what I was after, but instead I found myself.” She held his gaze in silence as understanding slowly displaced confusion. She kissed his hand. “It’s the right thing to do Peter; we both deserve better than…than insipid contentment.” She gave his hand a final squeeze, released it, and turned towards the door.

Miles away Lucy admired the diamond on her finger as she waited for the phone to answer. The ringing stopped, and she sucked in a deep breath.

“I’m just leaving, Jay,” said a cold and harried female voice.

“It’s not Jay, it’s Lucy Baker.”

“I’m sorry honey, do I know you?”

“You saw me at sports day. I’m the slut with the long legs and tight arse.”

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to many gifted professionals for reading earlier drafts and for their candid comments and suggestions. Most notably, Rebekah (Becky) Brown for her scrupulous editing, to Stephanie Hale of the Oxford Literary Consultancy for expert advice, to the authors Matthew Branton, Tom Fuller and Ré Ó Laighléis, for their guidance and support, to Nasrin Sharifi for her inspirational cover concepts, to my friends in the Cobham Book Club who served as a literary focus group, and to the community of talented writers and aspiring authors to be found at www.youwriteon.com who generously provided written reviews.

Also by Tom Barry: Saving Jay, Book Two of the ‘Siren Calls’ Trilogy

If you enjoyed this book and would like to spend more time with Isobel, Jay and other characters from When the Siren Calls, while meeting new ones, then Saving Jay is for you. Follow Jay’s story, from fallen City hot-shot, to wheeler-dealer lothario, until he meets the woman that offers him the chance of redemption. The book extends the timeline of When the Siren Calls, first meeting Jay as the young rising star, through to how he responds to rejection by the woman he loves.

For updates on Saving Jay, and to follow Tom Barry, go to

http://www.tombarrywrites.com