Page 7 of Save You
Her words make me flinch.
“I can take you up, if you like,” she continues, nodding toward the staircase that curves up to the first floor.I turn to Lin, but my friend shakes her head.“I’ll wait here.You go.”
“The boys are in the sitting room, if you want to join them.I’ll be down in a minute,” Lydia says, pointing across the entrance hall to a corridor that leads to the back of the house.Lin hesitates a moment, but then she nods.
Lydia and I walk up the broad, dark brown staircase together.I notice that the Beauforts’ house is way friendlier on the insidethan it looks from outside.The hall is bright and inviting.There might not be family photos on the walls, like there are in our house, but at least there are no oil paintings in golden frames, portraits of long-dead ancestors, like the ones at the Vegas’.The pictures here are colorful and impressionistic, and while they aren’t particularly personal, they at least convey a welcoming atmosphere.
At the top of the stairs, we turn down a dark landing; it’s so long that I can’t help wondering what’s hidden behind all the doors we pass.And how it’s possible that a single family lives here.
“Here we are,” Lydia murmurs suddenly, stopping outside a large door.For a moment, we both stare at it, then she turns to me.“I know it’s asking a lot, but I get the feeling he really needs you.”
I can hardly untangle my thoughts and emotions.My body seems to know that James is on the other side of that door—I’m drawn to him like a magnet.And even though I’m not sure that I can help him in the way Lydia is clearly hoping for, I still want to be there for him.
Lydia touches my arm for a moment.“Ruby…There was nothing between James and Elaine except that kiss.”
I stiffen.
“James came straight out of the pool and collapsed onto a chair.I know he can be awful, but—”
“Lydia,” I interrupt her.
“—he wasn’t himself.”
I shake my head.“That’s not why I’m here.”
I can’t think about that at the moment.Because if I do—if I allow myself to think about James and Elaine—the rage anddisappointment will win out, and I won’t be able to walk through that door.
“I can’t listen to that right now.”
For a moment, Lydia looks like she wants to say something else, but she only sighs.“I just wanted you to know.”
Then she turns away and walks back down the landing to the stairs.I watch her until she reaches them, a long shaft of light cast over the expensive carpet.Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to the door.
I don’t think I’ve ever found anything as difficult as reaching for that handle.It feels cool under my fingers, and a shiver runs down my spine as I hesitantly turn it and open the door.
I hold my breath while I stand in the doorway to James’s room.
It has high ceilings and I’m sure it would take up the whole top floor of our little terraced house.On my right, there’s a desk and a brown leather chair.To my left, the wall is lined with shelves filled with books, notebooks, and the occasional ornament, which remind me of the statues I saw at Beaufort’s that time.As well as the door I’ve just come in by, there are two more, on either side of the room.They’re in solid wood and I guess that one leads to a bathroom and that the other, which is a little smaller, is to James’s wardrobe.In the middle of the room, there’s a seating area with a sofa, armchair, and coffee table, arranged on a Persian rug.
Cautiously, I cross the room.There’s a king-size bed right opposite the door, at the far end of the room.On each side of the bed there are large windows, but the curtains are almost completely shut, so that only two thin strips of light shine onto the floor.
I see James at once.
He’s lying in bed, with a dark gray duvet over most of his body.Tentatively, I come closer so that I can see his face.
I gasp for air.
I’d thought James was asleep…but his eyes are open.And the expression in them sends an ice-cold shiver down my spine.
James’s eyes—normally so expressive—are lifeless.His face is entirely blank.
I take another step toward him.He doesn’t react, gives no sign of having noticed my presence.Instead, he stares right through me.His pupils are unnaturally wide, and the stench of alcohol lies heavily on the air.I can’t help thinking back to Wednesday evening, but I suppress the memory.I’m not here to muse on my wounded feelings.I’m here because James has lost his mum.Nobody should go through a thing like that alone.Especially not someone who—despite everything—means so much to me.
Resolutely, I cross the last gap between us and sit cautiously on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, James,” I whisper.
He winces, as if he’d been falling in a dream and has now landed with a painful bump.The next moment, he turns his head slightly toward me.There are dark rings under his eyes, his hair hangs limp over his brow.His lips are dry and split.He looks like he’s been living entirely on booze for days.
