‘Back to the Philippines. I reckon what happened to Precious scared the crap out of her, and her daughter Tia’s not well. She might come back, but my feeling is she won’t.’
‘And what about Destiny?’
‘Jeez, that blew up in a big way. The husband wasn’t satisfied with beating the living daylights out of her – he started in on the kids too. That finally brought her to her senses – she’s moved them out of the family home and into a women’s refuge. She’s still showing up for work, but I don’t know for how long. He’s been turning up at the door here, making a nuisance of himself.’
Annie thought of her own heartache over Max – and Layla, mourning not only the loss of her friend but of Alberto too.
She heaved a sigh. ‘Ellie, do you sometimes think that men are just too much trouble?’
‘Hell yes.’ Chris passed by the open door, saw the two women sitting there, gave them a smile. ‘But not my Chris,’ she added.
Annie left her there, and took a taxi home to Holland Park. She needed to phone Ruthie, give her the all-clear.
Annie offered to go with her to the funeral, but Layla refused.
‘No, it’s OK. I can do this on my own.’
And she could. She took the train up to Durham, booked into a hotel overnight. Next morning she dressed carefully in her black power suit, added a chunky necklace, black courts, put her hair up in a neat French pleat. Checked herself in the mirror. Added pillar-box red lipstick, smoky black eye shadow and a lot of mascara. Checked herself again. Yes, she looked the business. Precious would be proud.
At ten thirty she took a taxi to the church. They were handing out black-edged booklets as she went in the door, with Amelia Westover picked out in silver on the front cover.
Amelia Westover!
Precious suited her so much better.
There were a lot of mourners, a lot of school friends by the look of it, university types, aged uncles and aunts. Settling herself in at the rear of the church, she saw Mr and Mrs Westover up at the front. Mrs Westover was in bits, and Mr Westover looked gaunt with grief.
Then the organ music changed tone, and the pall-bearers brought in a mahogany coffin laden with white lilies.
Precious is in there.
But she wasn’t. Precious was gone, out into the stars.
Layla felt tears choke her. She put her hand over her heart, did the heart-brain exercise the way Precious had taught her, and grew calmer.
Precious wasn’t in there.
She was gone, she was free.
Later, she shook hands with the Westovers. They seemed so devastated she almost started crying all over again.