Page 85 of The Truth About You and Me
‘Before we get there, it’s important you know that’ – I drop a gear again as I follow the gravel higher up, the outer edges of the garden wall coming into view – ‘it can kind of look imposing but…’
‘Holy hell.’ She leans forward as the house comes into view. ‘It’s like Manderley had a baby!’
I round the car into the car park to the right of the house, the crest of the cliff dripping off the edge of the garden. ‘I promise, it’s half falling down, everywhere creaks and the majority of the furniture is second-hand and most things have a knack to them.’
‘A knack?’
‘Yeah, like the downstairs loo needs three pumps of the flush; the kitchen door needs a quick shoulder barge below the hinge and…’
She shakes her head and pulls at her cuffs again, hands smoothing down her trousers as though she can change the whole outfit the more she fiddles with it.
I grin over at her but she’s pale. ‘Hey,’ I add softly. She turns her head to me, hands clutched around the tops of her arms. ‘I promise you, my family are as much of a mess as me. Don’t be fooled by the whole…’ I wave my hand at the house. ‘Chadwickthing.’
‘So they’re not perfectly groomed, articulate and charming? That makes me feel a whole lot better, thanks.’
‘I know this is a lot. But I promise, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you would be comfortable.’
She breathes in deeply through her nose, holds her breath then exhales slowly. ‘OK. Let’s go meet the parents.’ She frowns as though never expecting to ever say the words. ‘God I hope I don’t go allBen Stillerand offer to milk your dad’s nipples.’
I laugh, but she’s nervous. Maybe thisistoo much too soon?
We climb out of the car. I double click the lock, as Maggie pulls her navy-blue leather coat around her, arms folded.
The cast-iron rusting garden furniture is still out, as is the pergola. Lights swing in the sea air, and flames are dancing in the paella tin/firepit that Dad insisted we brought back from a week in Madrid. The waves are loud, but I can hear laughter, the whack of a cricket bat and cheers coming from below.
‘And you’ve definitely told them about… the germ thing?’ she says as I walk around the car to her side and we head towards the house.
‘Yes. They know not to touch you.’
‘What else have you told them?’ The wind is whipping her hair around her head, thick brown and blonde curls flashing across her face. I step towards her.
‘Enough. Just be yourself.’
‘I don’t know how to be anyone else.’
‘And thank God for that. You are the perfect you.’
‘How do you do that?’ She stills, hand over her eyes blocking out the sun. ‘Land the perfect one-liner?’
‘I rehearse them into my mirror every morning.’
‘You do not.’ She laughs, but she’s nervously looking back up at the house.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
‘I guess?’
I stretch out my hand and she lets her own fall into my palm.
37
MAGGIE
I can feel Jack trying to dampen his thoughts; I extract my hand from his and straighten my coat. He needs space to think. His mind is back on the redhead and the feeling that something was about to happen to her. He’s remembering so much more. I’m determined to help him find out what happened to her, tohimthat night. Who was she?
‘Brace yourself. They can be a lot,’ he says, opening the door, head lifted. ‘Hello?’ Jack shouts into the large space.
The house is huge, but like Jack warned, it’s not the glossy film set I imagined. Patches of darker colour blot the pale blue walls with areas that need repair, but the foyer alone is bigger than my whole lounge.
