“Aran’s just sent me another text for you by mistake,” he says. “You really must tell him your correct number.”
“Oh,” I say nervously. “What does he say?”
“He’s set up the meeting you discussed with the producers of Even More Beautiful,” says Luke in an odd, toneless voice. “He’s told them you’re super-excited, and they can’t wait to meet you.”
I don’t believe it. I told Aran I wasn’t interested.
“That’s nothing,” I say hurriedly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a—”
“I know exactly what it is,” says Luke, still in the same odd voice. “It’s a reality show involving plastic surgery. Are you so desperate for fame, Becky? Are you willing to butcher your body to become a celebrity? Are you willing to leave Minnie and put yourself at risk of injury, or death, just so you can stand on the red carpet?”
“No!” I say, appalled. “Luke, I wouldn’t actually do it—”
“So why are you having the meeting?”
“I’m not! I told Aran I didn’t want to do it! This is all a mix-up.”
“Why would Aran set up a meeting unless you’d expressed interest?” His voice is inexorable.
“I don’t know!” I say desperately. “Luke, please believe me! I told Aran I wasn’t interested. I wouldn’t lie to you—”
“Oh, really? That’s a good one, Becky.” He gives a short, ill-humored laugh. “You wouldn’t lie to me. That’s a brilliant one.”
“OK.” I clutch my hair. “I know I fibbed about Minnie seeing Elinor. And Sage and Lois. But that was different. Luke, you can’t think I’d be willing to have plastic surgery on TV!”
“Becky, to be absolutely honest,” he says, his face hard, “I have no idea how your mind works anymore.”
“But—”
“Where Ladeee?” Minnie interrupts. “Where Ladeee gone?”
Her little face is so innocent and trusting that, with no warning, I burst into tears. I would never, ever use her for publicity. I would never, ever put myself at risk for some stupid reality show. How could Luke think that?
He’s shrugging on his jacket and now he heads to the kitchen door, still with that distant expression. “Don’t worry about supper for me.”
“Where are you going?” I say.
“My assistant had a place held for me on the midnight flight to New York. I decided I didn’t want to go till the morning, but I don’t know why I’m waiting around. I’ll see if she can still get me out tonight, then I can hook up with Gary.”
“You’re leaving?” I say, stricken.
“Do you care?”
“Of course I care!” My voice wobbles perilously. “Luke, you’re not listening! You don’t understand!”
“No,” he lashes back. “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t know what you want or why you want it or what your values are anymore. You’re lost, Becky. Completely lost.”
“I’m not!” I give a sudden sob. “I’m not lost!”
But Luke has gone. I sink back into my chair, feeling shaky with disbelief. So much for my intervention. Elinor stalked out. Luke stalked out. I’ve made everything a zillion times worse.
How could he think I’d have plastic surgery? How could he think I’d use Minnie?
“Where Ladeeeee?” says Minnie again. She looks curiously at my face. “Mummy crying,” she adds dispassionately.
“Come on, darling.” With a huge effort, I force myself out of my chair. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Minnie isn’t too keen on the idea of bed, and I don’t really blame her, to be honest. It takes ages to cajole her back under the blankets, and I end up reading Guess How Much I Love You about ten times because, each time we finish, she says, “Again! More! Moooooore!” and I can’t resist her pleas. Reading the familiar words is soothing me as much as her, I think.
And then, just as I’m creeping out of her darkened room, I hear the front door slam down below. It’s like a stab in the heart. He’s gone and he didn’t say goodbye. He always says goodbye.
I feel dazed. I don’t know what to do with myself. At last, I head back into the kitchen, but I can’t bring myself to eat, and that’s not only because it’s revolting quinoa bake from that stupid Eat Good & Clean website, which I am never, ever visiting again. So I just sit at the table, my mind circling round and round, trying to work out where exactly I went so disastrously wrong.
And then there’s the sound of a key in the front door, and my heart lifts. He’s back. He came back! I knew he would.
“Luke!” I go running into the hall. “Luke— Oh.”
It’s not Luke; it’s Suze. She’s looking tired, and as she takes off her jacket I can see she’s been nibbling the skin on her fingers, which she does whenever she’s stressed.
“Hi,” she says shortly. “Are the children OK?”
“Watching Wall-E.” I nod. I have a feeling they might have put it on for a second time, although I won’t mention this to Suze. “What happened about Tarkie? Did you find him? Is he OK?”
Suze surveys me silently for a moment. She looks as if I’ve made some joke that isn’t very funny—that in fact is quite tasteless.
“I have no idea if he’s OK, Bex,” she says at last, in a strange manner. “Because it turns out Tarkie wasn’t at Golden Peace. He’s not in L.A. at all. He texted me from some roadside diner.”