Christmas at home had been fun. As always, Marj had cooked the most magnificent turkey dinner and clucked like a mother hen as her girls told her they looked forward to the feast all year.
Fergal had been in charge of the wine selection, something he excelled at after taking up a tasting course at Dundee College. The guys at work had ribbed him something awful when they found out, but hell, now he knew his Merlot from his Montepulciano he was laughing all the way to his modest cellar – well, outhouse in the garden.
When she arrived home, Max had asked her parents if she could listen to the recording the doctor had given Marj of his prognosis after the op. They understood her need to hear the facts word for word, and the hope he had given them. Marj laughed and told Max she’d leave her to it; she knew the speech off by heart she’d listened to it so often. But Fergal sat beside Max on the sitting-room sofa while the CD played. He watched his daughter tenderly. He knew only too well how much she needed to be reassured her mother would be OK. They both loved her so much.
Max smiled as she listened to the doctor. He handled the situation perfectly, his voice kind but firm. He said there were no guarantees but, with the radiotherapy, she had given herself the best possible chance of the cancer never returning.
Max felt Fergal’s hand on top of hers. She looked up at her dad and saw what she needed to see. Yes, he was worried, but more for his daughter. He was telling her Marj would be OK. Fergal wasn’t the kind of man who told her he loved her every day, but he showed it every time he looked at her, every time she told him she’d broken a big story. He was less vocal than Marj, strong and quiet, but, just like their mother, he had always willed her and Lucy to make a mark on the world.
When Lucy arrived home, Marj couldn’t remember ever feeling so contented. Her little family unit under one roof.
Marj was relieved to see Max back to her normal carefree self. And Lucy seemed in good spirits, happy for Max and full of life as she told her sister and mum the latest episode in the Kirk saga: walking in on him in his hotel suite.
‘Really. All the magazines are full of this oral-sex stuff. I’m sure we didn’t have it in our day,’ she told her daughters, who couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Oh I’m as open-minded as the rest but I’m not so sure he’s right for you, Lucy. You can get over many things in a relationship, but that sight in his hotel room? I don’t think so.’
‘Me neither, Mum,’ Lucy agreed.
After Christmas dinner, Marj told Lucy she had visited Hartley – she couldn’t keep it from her any longer.
Lucy felt a pang of emotion as her mum told her what she’d done and admitted she was terrified Lucy’d think her a meddling old fool.
Lucy shook her head. ‘Not at all, Mum. If the last few months have taught me anything, it’s to cherish the people who will stick by you, no matter what. You were only trying to help.’
Marj smiled and squeezed Lucy’s hand. She had seen the flicker of hope in her daughter’s eyes when she told her how Hartley had reacted, how he looked as though he would cry and how he admitted he felt ashamed at believing she could have betrayed him.
‘Mum, I wish he’d believed me too. I don’t know if I could ever be with him, knowing what he was prepared to think of me. But, well, Bridget did a good job setting me up – anyone would have come to the same conclusion.’
Fergal had come to join ‘his girls’ as he loved to call them for mince pies round the roaring fire.
Their mother had looked a little tearful as she waved them off at Dundee airport. But she had Fergal, who, Max and Lucy agreed, was even more adoring of his wife than they could ever remember.
They had laughed as Marj told them that, before she knew if she’d need a mastectomy or chemo, he had assured her he’d love if she were bald or had five breasts or one. But everything was going to be OK.
Now the sisters were back in their Kensington flat. With the Hogmanay Ball just two nights away, Max was trying on her gown. She had always admired on Lucy a stunning Dior number in deep-purple velvet and her sister had offered to have it taken up a few inches for her. Max may have been a little more petite in frame than Lucy but the fabric clung to her as though it was made to fit.
The high peep-toes she had found in Karen Millen were exactly the same colour and Lucy told her they looked like this season’s Gucci.
‘I love it,’ she squealed while parading for Lucy.
Lucy had her eye on a YSL gown that had been used for a shoot for the mag last month. A designer at the fashion house had promised she could borrow it for the ball.
As Lucy began to explain what it looked like, their intercom buzzed. Lucy smiled as she heard Clarissa’s voice. She couldn’t wait to see her – it had been an age.
Lucy opened the door and was greeted with a flurry of air kisses.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, Clarissa, where’s the rest of you? You’re… so… slim. You look amazing.’
‘Ha! Tell me again,’ Clarissa roared, twirling in front of Lucy. ‘To hell with humility, I’ll never tire of hearing those words.’
Lucy was astonished. No wonder the A-listers queued to stay at the Thai spa. Clarissa was half the woman she remembered; her wobbly tum and bum had vanished. She could be no more than a size 10. And she looked healthy, her small waist accentuating still-womanly breasts and hips.
Max teetered over in her gown. ‘Hello, I’m Max, Lucy’s sister.’
‘Wow. You look divine,’ Clarissa told Max, taking her in. ‘That dress is to die for… and the gorgeous gene clearly runs in the family.’
Max blushed as she took Clarissa’s coat.
Sitting beside Lucy on the sofa, Clarissa was waving her hands excitedly. ‘So, you like the new body? I tell you, I don’t think it will last too long. I’ve already given in to a cream cake or two.’
Lucy laughed. ‘You look amazing. And speaking of things we shouldn’t have, would you like a glass of Prosecco? It’s nearly New Year, after all.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Max shouted through from her bedroom, where she was changing into her jeans and a T-shirt. She’d get it, so the friends could catch up.
‘Anyway,’ Clarissa told Lucy, ‘as I say, I don’t think I can keep it off for long. That’s part of the reason Clive and I have decided to get married sooner than planned – on Valentine’s Day. What do you think? Of course, it’s not just about me not looking like Nelly the Elephant; it will be so romantic too. But I might as well make the most of being slim. If we wait until summer I’ll no doubt be the size of a house.’
Clarissa relished watching Lucy’s expression. ‘That’s wonderful! Valentine’s Day is perfect.’
‘You can come?’
‘Of course.’ Lucy smiled.
Clarissa beamed, thanking Max as she gave them both a flute.
‘Mmm, lovely,’ Clarissa said as the sweet honey bubbles spread over her tongue. ‘I tell you, this near-starvation thing does the trick but, my God, it’s dull. This tastes like nectar.’
The girls clinked glasses, with Max leading the toast: ‘To us.’
Clarissa suddenly looked serious and turned to Lucy. ‘Now, what of your love life, young lady? Kirk Kelner? Should I be buying a hat for your Hollywood wedding?’
Lucy grimaced. ‘Not quite.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Max, why don’t you tell Clarissa what happened? You tell it so well.’
Max clasped her hands. This was a story she would never tire of telling. And as she built up to the bit where Lucy caught him with the blonde bobbing up and down, Clarissa’s facial expressions were a picture.
‘Noooo! Really?’
‘Really,’ Lucy and Max chorused.
It took Clarissa a while to recover before reassuring Lucy that film star or not, she could do better. Clarissa looked trendier than normal. Clearly, she’d had to buy clothes in a smaller size and had opted for a new style at the same time. She wore dark denim high-waisted jeans and a crisp Anne Fontaine white wrap-around shirt. There was still something of the thrown-together look about her, but that was part of Clarissa’s charm.
Lucy noted the absence of Hartley’s name in the conversation. Perhaps Clarissa had heard he was back with Bridget and didn’t want to hurt her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lucy told her. ‘I read the magazines. I know Hartley’s back with his ex.’
‘God! That vile excuse for a woman we met at Ascot. How could he?’ Clarissa boomed.
Lucy looked into her glass, then caught Max’s eye. She could mask her feelings from most people but not Max. Max knew Lucy was still hurting. And Clarissa had sensed how much Lucy had liked Hartley at her supper. Lucy had been dating him for only a few weeks, but her face came to life when she talked about Hartley and that had touched Clarissa.
Clarissa didn’t have the heart to tell Lucy the latest gossip – that Bridget might be pregnant. She had heard the news through a friend of Dorcas King, who said she’d been with Bridget when she bought a pregnancy test. Clarissa was sure her friend had told her because she knew she had become friends with Lucy and Hartley when they were an item. Hartley had seemed so lovely – warm and unaffected. Why would he ever be with Bridget after Lucy?
It would do no good to tell Lucy the news, which might not even be true. God, if it was, poor Lucy. No matter how brave a face Lucy put on it, Clarissa could see her friend was in pain.
‘Anyway,’ Clarissa said brightly. ‘Enough of men. Are you looking forward to the ball? It’s only two nights away. And Max, you’re coming too? With Lucy’s brother Luke?’
Max nodded, aware how odd it sounded.
‘My, my, it’s hard to keep up with you two,’ Clarissa said, draining her glass.