‘Oh! It’s Layla, isn’t it,’ said Mrs Westover, looking at her with Precious’s heartbreakingly beautiful eyes.
‘I thought I’d come,’ she said.
‘We’re so glad you did, dear.’ Mrs Westover turned to a woman beside her – a sister, Layla thought, the same bone structure, the same stunning eyes. ‘This is Layla,’ she told her.
‘Did you know Amelia well?’ asked the woman, trying to smile.
‘No, not very well,’ said Layla, thinking of Precious, the Glamazon, the most fabulous creature she had ever clapped eyes on. ‘But she was my friend,’ she said with pride.
‘But you can’t let him go,’ said Layla.
She was back at home in Holland Park, in the study with Annie. And Max had just told them both that he was flying out to Barbados tonight. He was upstairs now, packing.
‘Layla, it’s his decision,’ said Annie. ‘Trouble’s over. He can do whatever he wants.’
Layla eyed her mother intensely. ‘Ask him to stay,’ she pleaded.
Annie sat back in her chair. Her heart felt bruised, the way he’d come right out with it: “I’m going. See you.” Bastard.
‘The funeral went off OK?’ she asked.
‘Don’t change the subject! Yes, it was fine. Bloody horrible, but a nice funeral. Please ask him to stay.’
‘No,’ said Annie. ‘I can’t. Now drop it.’
‘Are you going to at least get the door fixed before you leave?’ asked Annie.
She had wandered upstairs and was now leaning against the wall in the adjoining room to the master suite, watching Max fling things into his bag.
He paused, glancing over at the door still lying there on the carpet.
‘No,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Keep it there as a little reminder of me.’
I don’t need reminders, thought Annie. I’ll never forget you, not as long as I live.
But she couldn’t say it. She was obstinate, true, but he was the one who’d hurt her, not the other way around. All his pain had been whipped up out of his past experiences and his own fevered imagination. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to apologize for, all the blame was on him.
‘Did you sort out the Kath business? And Junior and Molls?’ she asked.
‘They’ve been told to fuck off, if that’s what you mean. And word is, they have.’
‘Good.’
Silence fell. He tossed in a shirt, the dark blue one the same colour as his eyes.
‘Well… I hope you have a good trip,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ He looked at her. ‘I will.’
He’s not even going to kiss me goodbye, she thought.
Well, fuck him.
‘See you then,’ she said, and left the room before she broke down and cried.
When she woke next morning, he was gone.