Love Me Or Leave Me

Chapter Six

Lucy.

‘So you’ve really left him then?’

‘Be more accurate to say we left each other,’ Lucy answered, knocking back the dregs of the margarita in front of her and crunching loudly on an ice cube. It was her third and she probably should have left it at that, but somehow she found herself waving over to the barman for the same again. To hell with it anyway, she thought. My marriage just ground to a shuddering halt this week, why the hell not?

‘Oh Lucy,’ her pal Bianca said, shaking her head sadly and dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a Kleenex. ‘I just can’t believe it. I mean, this is you and Andrew we’re talking about. You were like the gold standard of happy couples! If you guys can’t make it, then what hope is there for the rest of us?’

Lucy managed a weak, watery smile back at her. Bianca was a sweet, lovely girl who meant well, but who actually did nothing but make Lucy feel guilty, for having the barefaced cheek to have marital problems in the first place.

Bianca, it had to be explained, was a die-hard romantic, who’d watched one too many romcoms starring Jennifer Aniston, and was convinced that once you sealed the deal with a bloke and had a ring on your finger to show for it, it would inevitably lead to happy ever after. And the sad thing was that at one time, Lucy had bought into all that too.

Whereas now she thought, what a load of my arse.

Besides as far as Bianca knew, what she believed was the absolute truth. After all, she and Andrew had once been loved up and happy together, hadn’t they? So happy; Hollywood-ending happy. In fact, that was the whole bloody tragedy of it. Lucy had honestly thought this was her soulmate; the man she’d happily grow old with. The two of them should have ended up old and grey, worrying about their cholesterol and going off on Nile cruises, with a prescription for Viagra stuck in his back pocket on account of the age gap.

Not, for the love of God, with her sitting on a barstool, with the hangover from hell, yet already onto her third margarita and wondering how many more it would take for her to get so completely hammered that it would somehow numb the pain a bit.

Lucy had never really been much of a drinker, but these days booze was the only thing getting her through this. Lovely, lovely booze and lots of it. It was completely unlike her, not her normal carry-on at all, but then she figured, if this wasn’t a dire emergency, then what was?

‘None of this was your fault, you know,’ Bianca told her firmly. ‘If it hadn’t been for … well, you know. Circumstances.’

‘I know, sweetheart,’ said Lucy, squeezing her hand, flushing with gratitude to have a genuine pal like this in her corner. ‘Circumstances. That’s all it came down to in the end really, wasn’t it?’

But she certainly didn’t need reminding of the circumstances that had suddenly propelled her out of her beautiful marital home with a husband she loved, to sleeping in Bianca’s spare room and effectively living out of a suitcase.

‘Well, all I can say is, I hope Alannah and Josh are finally happy with themselves now,’ said Bianca, nibbling crossly on the bowl of peanuts in front of her.

‘Are you kidding me? You can bet the pair of them are out celebrating getting rid of their beloved stepmother tonight with a bottle of Cristal …’ Lucy broke off here a bit, but then when it came to Andrew’s grown-up children from his first marriage, it was bloody hard going, keeping an even temper.

Sweet Mother of God, where to start about Alannah and Josh? They were twins and at twenty-eight, just two years younger than Lucy herself, so initially when Lucy first came into their lives, she’d made the critical error of trying to befriend them both. I’m dating their father, she’d naïvely thought back then. So can’t we all just get along and be friends?

Right from day one, she’d really gone the extra mile with both of them. She constantly put herself into their shoes and realized how incredibly awkward this whole icky situation had to be for both of them. After all, wasn’t this the oldest scenario in the book? A fifty-something divorcee, suddenly dating a new and considerably younger girlfriend? To his kids, she figured, I must look like the mid-life equivalent of a Porsche. Lucy had been around the block enough to know how utterly shite it must have been for the twins, and had genuinely bent over backwards trying to blend them all into one big happy family.

But in spite of all her proffered kindness and numerous olive branches, their rudeness back to her knew no bounds and it was honestly like the more of a superhuman effort she made with them, the more they despised her for it.

On countless occasions, she’d gone out of her way to invite Alannah to fashion shows that she was working on, or else to highly exclusive sample sales most girls would have sold a kidney to get into, mainly because fabulous designer gear straight off a catwalk was usually flogged off for half nothing. Not only that, but Lucy had regularly made a point of inviting Josh along to the flashy fashionista cocktail dos she was always getting plus ones for, where he could spend the whole night surrounded by beautiful women. Sure, what normal fella his age wouldn’t kill for that?

Out of the goodness of her heart, Lucy had genuinely meant well. In spite of everything that had happened since and in spite of all the pain that had been caused, she’d desperately wanted them all to get along, but Alannah and Josh only sneered at her and dismissed her because she was a ‘just a model’. And of course, the two of them had her pigeon-holed as some kind of brainless, vapid party girl who’d been lucky enough to meet this older, wealthy, distinguished guy and somehow cajole him down the aisle.

Heather Mills, they’d nicknamed her behind her back (she knew for a fact; she’d accidentally overheard), and it bloody well stung.

But then, that was the thing about Lucy. People were always reading about her in the papers or else seeing her on photo shoots in glossy magazine ads and had her down as tough and flinty, a girl well able to take care of herself. And yet, underneath all that, she might as well have been a big, soft marshmallow. So Josh and Alannah and their never-ending petty little slights got to her on a daily basis. How could they not?

And they never, not for one millisecond, seemed to let up. They’d never forgive her for what had happened to their family and by God, from day one they’d been determined to make Lucy pay with her heart’s blood. Whether it was her fault or not.

Back at the bar, Bianca was now rummaging round the bottom of her handbag.

‘Oh … by the way, I’ve got something here you probably should see, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I thought it would be best to show you after a couple of drinks, to … well, to lessen the impact a bit.’

‘Ehh … I’m guessing it’s a decree nisi that Alannah and Josh made Andrew sign, with a gun pointed to his head?’

‘Not quite that bad, but …’

Apologetically, Bianca held up a copy of that evening’s Chronicle. And there it was in glorious Technicolor for all the world to see.

LUCY BELTER AND HER SUGAR DADDY HIT THE ROCKS! EXCLUSIVE.

‘Oh, you’re kidding me,’ Lucy groaned, head in her hands.

‘Sorry. Thought you’d be better off seeing it with a few drinks on you.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, I’m way too sober for this. Where’s the barman with our refills?’

Bianca looked at her worriedly. ‘Do you really think that’s a good idea, love? It’s just you’ve got that huge photo shoot first thing in the morning and you really need to look the biz.’

‘Just one for the road then,’ said Lucy, though she wasn’t even sure she meant it. Alcohol was just about the only thing getting her through this whole nightmare.

‘Right then, if you insist,’ said Bianca doubtfully. ‘Though I’m warning you, I’m making you drink buckets of water with it too. You need your beauty sleep.’

Bianca was a stylist and acutely aware of how important it was for models to look fresh and camera-ready at all times. As she headed off to the bar, Lucy smiled fondly after her and silently blessed the girl for being such a stalwart. God knows, she needed her mates around her now. Then her eye fell on the headline and in spite of herself, she winced again.

There was a downside of living your life in the public eye and Lucy was very well-known, not only as a model, but thanks to a regular slot she had on Good Morning Ireland! as a ‘fashionista and trend commentator’. In other words, after any major red carpet event, Lucy was your go-to personality to sit in a hot TV studio and pass comments like, ‘If you ask me, all Angelina Jolie needs is a nice, light spray tan and a Supersize Big Mac meal in that order.’

And amazingly, TV gigs really started to take off for her. Producers told her she was a born natural and audiences seemed to relish her gutsy, down-to-earth, no-nonsense approach.

Lucy loved what she did and most of the time was happy to see stories about herself in the papers; after all, it was part and parcel of her job, she reckoned. A job she’d worked bloody hard at since she’d first been ‘discovered’ at the tender age of fifteen. Her family wasn’t wealthy and privileged like Andrew’s; she’d had to graft for everything that came her way in life. But amazingly, right from day one, her career seemed to just take off. Six feet tall, with Nordic good looks and cheekbones you could nearly slice ham on, she was a natural. In next to no time, she was earning some serious money for herself, between catwalk shows and magazine shoots.

But Lucy was shrewd and streetwise and took absolutely nothing for granted, knowing that a model’s sell-by date was short and a dole queue was potentially just a heartbeat away from her. So she took on every single modelling gig that was offered to her, slogging, slaving and grafting for everything that came her way.

You need a model to stand shivering in a bikini in the middle of Grafton Street in February to advertise sun holidays? Lucy was your first port of call. Or you need a glamour gal to climb naked into a giant vat of cold beans, just so you could promote some new reduced fat range? She was your gal. No job too big, too small or too mortifying. And recession or no, miraculously the money kept rolling in.

Of course the downside of having a public profile was that for months now, all sorts of sleazy tabloids were running features speculating on the state of her marriage. As far as possible, she did her level best to avoid reading any of that crap, but still. Hard not to feel like your nerve endings were lying jangled and exposed every time you glanced at a byline that screeched into your face,

THEY WERE A MISMATCH FROM THE WORD GO!

Alannah and Josh, she thought bitterly, must be having a bloody field day with all this.

Just then, a song came on the bar’s music system. ‘True Love’ by Cole Porter. And completely unbidden, a memory surfaced, something Lucy thought she’d buried deep inside and worked bloody hard at keeping there. But in spite of her best efforts, the recollection still bubbled to the surface.

No, she warned herself, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble. Don’t sink under. It’s just a silly love song; DO NOT let it get to you. You’re doing so well. All you’ve got to do is stay strong.

But it was no use.

Because the fact was, the last time Lucy heard that song had been on her wedding day. At the tiny little reception dinner afterwards, to be exact. She and Andrew had got married barefoot on the beach, at sunset in Cancun, and it was initially supposed to have been just the two of them and no one else. After all, getting married abroad seemed like the most elegant way of side-stepping all the attendant drama that they’d have had to deal with, had they got married quickly and quietly in the registry office at home, as had been their original plan. After all, Alannah and Josh wouldn’t have liked it and the last thing Lucy wanted to do was cause any offence on her wedding day.

No doubt about it; the best way to avoid being accused of insensitivity around his first family was just as Andrew rightly said, ‘to get married miles away from everyone on the beach of some tropical island, at sunset. Just you and me, darling, and not another soul. I don’t want a three-ring circus like I had the first time round, for all the good that did me. Just the woman I love and a priest to marry us. As long as you turn up to marry me, then that’s all that matters.’

‘I think it’s a fabulous idea!’ Lucy had told him delightedly at the time, feeling like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘And you’re sure you don’t mind missing out on doing the whole big white wedding thing?’ he’d asked her, a bit worriedly. ‘It’s perfectly alright for me, you know, I’ve done all this before, I’ve had the whole shindig. But this is your big day, sweetheart, and all I want is for you to be happy.’

‘I couldn’t give a damn where we do it, you know that,’ Lucy whispered into his chest, snuggling into him, loving the feel of his arms locking tightly around her. ‘As long as we’re together, isn’t that all that matters?’

‘Excellent,’ he twinkled, lightly kissing her forehead. ‘Then it’s settled. Apart from the family, let’s say nothing to anyone. Let’s just book it and then think of how surprised everyone will be when we come back as man and wife?’

‘You see?’ she’d laughed happily at him. ‘This is why I love you! You’ve just solved so many problems in one fell swoop and no one can possibly take offence at our going away now!’

‘And of course there’s something else,’ he’d added, leaning in to kiss her properly now. ‘Technically, our wedding will actually be our honeymoon too … so …’

‘So … what you’re saying is …’ she teased, nibbling on his ear, knowing right well the effect it had on him. ‘The minute we’re married, we can go straight from the boring church bit, skip the whole reception part and really start putting our honeymoon suite to good use?’

‘Well, now you just read my thoughts.’

Lucy didn’t remember much more about that night after that.

Mind you, it hadn’t been easy, breaking it to her own mother and the rest of her family that there wouldn’t actually be some big fancy-schmancy wedding at home. Instead, just a tiny, strictly private beach wedding abroad, followed by a New Year’s Eve dinner back home instead. Lucy hated seeing the hurt in her Mum’s red, rheumy eyes at the news that she wouldn’t be able to go to her adored youngest girl’s wedding, but she still held firm. After all, she and Andrew had a deal; just the two of them and no one else.

But of course at the very last minute, and as soon as they heard the wedding just happened to involve a freebie trip to the Caribbean, Alannah and Josh had managed to inveigle themselves along. Lucy was tight-lipped with fury about it, but figured, this is the man I love and these, after all, are his kids and I’m about to be their stepmother. So what can I do?

The song played on as yet more memories resurfaced. Getting worse and worse it seemed, each and every time.

There had been the wedding dinner, with tensions around the table almost ready to skyrocket. They’d made a dismal little party that night; just herself and Andrew, side by side, clutching hands with Alannah and Josh at the table opposite them, glowering on. Just the four of them.

And the killer was that it could have been perfect. It should have been perfect. It should have been relaxed and romantic, just the two of them in this tropical paradise, just like they’d planned. But it was hardly likely either Lucy or her husband of barely two hours would look back on this day without shuddering, Lucy remembered thinking, glancing round the table in the Mexican restaurant and trying her level best not to vomit at what was going on around her.

‘So anyway Dad,’ Alannah harped across the table at him, while poor, patient Andrew listened on, glancing between Alannah and Josh. Both of them, by the way, with faces like thunder on this, the happy occasion of their Dad’s second marriage. Almost as though they’d been forced to come all this way to this fabulous, five-star resort hotel on a sandy white Caribbean beach with guns pointed to their heads, when in fact the exact opposite was the case.

‘If you could just see your way to fixing up for my hotel room, Dad, I’d be very grateful,’ Alannah was trying to cajole Andrew. ‘I’m just a bit cash strapped at the minute, you see. What, with all the expense of Christmas and then having to buy an outfit for this wedding … well, you know yourself. Chi-ching. Anyway, you don’t mind stepping up to the plate a bit here, do you? Come on, you wouldn’t begrudge me today of all days! After all, I did travel out all this way, just to be here for you.’

Lucy stayed tight-lipped and managed to say nothing. At the very least, she thought gratefully, the sound of the restaurant’s mariachi band playing some long-forgotten song the Gypsy Kings had a hit with approximately fifteen years ago, went some way towards drowning out the conversation a bit. Just look out the terrace onto the sea, she told herself, shivering slightly against the cool of the restaurant’s air conditioning and pulling her wrap tightly round slender, tanned shoulders.

Forget about this tortuous evening and instead think about how sparkly the distant Caribbean looks in the moonlight. Focus on the warm, tropical breeze that’s gently wafting through the restaurant’s open terrace doors. Focus on Andrew, her soulmate, lover and now brand new husband. Focus on just about anything except Andrew’s two adult children.

‘Oh yeah … and another thing,’ Alannah was still droning on in that nasally, whining voice that was not unlike listening to nails being dragged down a blackboard. ‘Just to let you know, Dad, I seem to have built up a serious load of room service charges. Only telling you so you don’t have a heart attack when you see the final bill! Oh … and by the way, for Christmas, I saw the most fabulous sapphire ring in the jewellers … not dropping hints or anything, just pointing you in the right direction, that’s all!’

Give me strength, Lucy thought, flushing like a forest fire from a combination of the warm, tropical breeze, the huge meal she’d just gorged herself on, and the very real sensation that she could strangle Alannah with her bare hands, wedding day or no wedding day.

And no, it wasn’t the bloody money, of course it wasn’t. Andrew’s cash was his to spend in any way he saw fit and Lucy would have been the last person to begrudge him splashing out on his two kids. After all, why shouldn’t he? He was a wealthy man with pots of money to go around and Lucy wasn’t the type to give two hoots what he chose to do with it. He could have gone and blown the whole lot of it on Mars Bars and she’d just have laughed.