Save Her, page 2
Again, Linda carried on before Flora could respond. ‘Mind, I don’t want to be a charity case. I can’t afford the price of each session, but I can afford to pay something towards it. I could work for you as well? I can clean. Do you need a cleaner? Anything you need I can do it. Just please don’t say no.’
The hope that shone in Linda’s eyes broke Flora’s heart. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She looked at Ethan. He was smudging the white chalk to make smoke from a chimney. It stopped her from saying what the sensible side of her brain was screaming at her to say. Her heart was already picturing welcoming Ethan to the group for free. So, Flora had taken the coward’s way out and given herself more time.
‘Let me discuss it with my business partner and I’ll get back to you, okay?’ Flora did not have a business partner. But Linda wasn’t to know that.
With a heavy heart she had locked up the centre, said a glum goodbye to Charlotte, her heart and head in turmoil and Linda’s contact details burning a hole in her pocket. Guilt made bile rise to her throat as she thought about the four-course dinner she was about to consume whilst Linda was probably going without to ensure Ethan got enough food.
3
Linda and Ethan’s plight had consumed Flora’s mind as she drove her battered red Vauxhall Corsa out of Manchester’s city centre. Orange brick terraces almost mounting each other gave way to stone semis with expensive cars until these were replaced with gates leading to large, towering mansions bordered by great swathes of countryside. Usually she spent the journey fascinated by this visual representation of the class system. It was the type of day she would normally have loved. The sun was apologising for the earlier rain, its rays reflecting off the residual droplets, making everything around her sparkle. The green grass enhanced by the sunlight would dazzle her, each vibrant shade of green vying for her attention. On any other day, the beauty around her would be making her feel lucky to be alive. But she noticed nothing, driving purely on autopilot. Unable to think of anything else but Linda and Ethan.
It was with a bad taste in her mouth that she went up the tree-lined driveway leading to Cavendish Manor. As she handed her key to the valet, she wondered if Linda had ever been able to afford a car. It was the hole in Linda’s shirt that she thought of as she gave her coat to the butler, a frumpish elderly man called Reginald who probably earned more in a week than Linda did in a year. It was Ethan’s grey raincoat with the rip in one sleeve that she pictured as she listened to Cecelia agonise over whether they should have Christmas at their French mansion or in their holiday home in Spain.
And it was just as the lemon soufflé was served and Cecelia was informing them that she’d had the chef throw out the first batch because they didn’t all match – that Flora’s misery and frustration erupted like a volcano. She didn’t mean to do it. Her impotence at being unable to help Linda combined with her dislike of Cecelia had silenced her sensibilities. Before she knew it, in a voice that she hoped mirrored Cecelia’s when she was delivering one of her backhanded compliments, Flora interrupted her mother-in-law.
‘Oh, Cecelia, before I forget, we won’t be around for Christmas this year as we are planning to have it in our new house on our own.’
The room went as silent as a crypt. Sam’s spoon had hovered in the air as he looked at her, incredulously. They had agreed to wait until they signed the paperwork and Sam had wanted to talk to his parents on his own. As soon as she had spoken, she knew she’d made a mistake. She wanted to chase after the words and gobble them back up. She closed her eyes praying that it was all just a dream, like the many occasions at night where she would picture what she should have said to Cecelia but was never brave enough to actually say it.
But when she opened her eyes and looked across the table to her sister-in-law Sophie, she saw her face had lost all its colour. She had done the unspeakable. Greg, Sam’s brother looked dumbfounded, his mouth wide open in shock. Alistair, Sam’s father was looking at her intently, but she could not read his expression.
She wanted to explain to them that Cecelia had made her do it. After years of abusive snide comments, she had finally had enough. That being with Linda and Ethan, two people in genuine need, had meant she could not stand the shallowness of Cecelia’s conversation anymore. Cecelia used none of her wealth to help people. Did she even realise that people like Linda existed? That they had real-life problems that were more important than which house to spend Christmas at and whether they should get there by bloody plane or helicopter. Accustomed to the power that came with the family wealth, Cecelia was only concerned with the chess game that was her own life. She put her pawns where she wanted them and expected them to do as they were told. Sam and Flora lived in the house that Cecelia had bought for Sam when he turned eighteen, a house that was next door to the one she had bought Greg, his brother. These houses were, coincidentally, five minutes around the corner from Cavendish Manor.
Flora had known that she would be apoplectic when she found out that Flora and Sam would be moving away. Cecelia did not allow her pawns to move of their own accord. However, she did not foresee her mother-in-law collapsing to the floor like a statue, clutching at her right arm.
4
Cecelia clutched her right arm and fell to the floor. If Sophie’s brain had not been distracted by trying to process what Flora had said she would have found the entire thing comical. Before Flora had opened her mouth, nothing would have pleased Sophie more than seeing Cecelia falling to the floor, apparently having a heart attack. But as it was, Sophie was so stunned that she felt she could quite easily have joined Cecelia on the floor.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she tried to take in Flora’s words. Flora was moving. And worse still: she had not said a word to Sophie. It made the blood boil in her veins.
Since they were four years old, Flora and Sophie had been best friends. A friendship that started with them both liking the green crayon the best, it had transformed into something unshakeable, twenty-four years later. Although they loved the same colour, in looks and personalities they were polar opposites. Flora was shapely and brown-haired and still obsessed with the colour green, her wardrobe reflected nearly every shade of green available. Sophie was stick thin and blonde and favoured suits and dresses in muted creams and blacks. She was sophisticated and spent a lot of time making sure not a hair was out of place. People were drawn to Flora as she was kind, chatty and trusting whereas they found Sophie was reserved and ruthless. But they had been inseparable since that day and their friendship grew with them, leaning on each other throughout the journey to adulthood through the good times and the bad. They’d even married brothers, which made it all the more devastating that Flora would not have discussed with her something so momentous as moving away.
Sophie felt like the world had shifted around her. Nothing looked quite the same. Flora was her entire world: their friendship was all that got her through the day. People envied the close bond between them, it was a profound connection. Or so she had thought.
Flora would not meet her eye, even after Alistair had leapt from the table and yelled at Reginald to call an ambulance. Greg and Sam hovered uncertainly around their mother as Alistair cradled her head in his lap. Cecelia looked serene, like she was sleeping. But Sophie could not focus on them. She kept looking at Flora, willing her to meet her eye. But Flora’s head stayed resolutely down, as tears spilled onto her pale green dress, leaving blotchy stains. Sophie was about to give voice to her stormy thoughts, to force Flora to look up and meet her eye when Reginald burst in, followed closely by two paramedics.
The next few minutes were a blur. Greg’s hand on her back pushed Sophie roughly out of the house and into a car. The chauffeur pulled away and they were following the pulsating lights of the ambulance to the hospital. Greg was holding her hand so tightly it hurt, but Sophie could not really feel the pain. For Flora did not understand the damage she had just done. But she was going to.
5
The doors to the waiting room burst open. Each door slammed against the wall making everyone jump, such was the force of Greg’s push. Greg was two years older than Sam and although they both had a similar giant build, Greg exhibited none of the gentleness that Sam possessed. Brash, loud and ruthless he was the polar opposite of Sam. When Sophie first introduced her to Greg, Flora thought she was joking. But apparently their shared ambition and passion made them a formidable couple. They both worked in the family firm and despite Cecelia’s protests, Sophie had risen up the ranks and played a vital role in securing new business for the company. Flora would have thought it would have garnered Sophie some respect from Cecelia, even grudgingly. But if anything, it made Cecelia hate her more.
Sophie headed straight to Flora and took the seat next to her. Greg walked over and sat at the other side of Sam.
‘Bad news, she’s going to be fine. Just a panic attack. Drama queen,’ whispered Sophie. Sneaking a look at the men to check they weren’t listening, Sophie continued, ‘Shame, though, I was really hopeful for a while. Can you believe she tried to make it look like a heart attack? Bloody actress.’
Flora looked at Sophie for the first time since she had revealed their plans. In lashing out at Cecelia she knew she had badly hurt Sophie. There had never been a time in her life when she had not told Sophie something. Every time something happened to her, no matter how trivial, Sophie was the person she wanted to tell. Sophie was the one she cried to when the parent-shaped hole in her life became too much to bear. Sophie was the one she turned to when she had her first period and thought she was dying. They had grown together, two damaged little girls grappling with their traumatic childhoods and who only had each other to rely on. But that was exactly why she could not tell Sophie she was moving. How could she admit to her best friend that she was no longer that broken little girl who needed Sophie as much as oxygen? That she was now a married woman ready to embark on the beginning of her ‘happily ever after’? Sam was so patient and kind when it came to her relationship with Sophie. But a few little hints here and there had told her he was ready to start coming first in Flora’s world. Flora gave Sophie a weak smile but said nothing.
A flicker of emotion passed over Sophie’s face, but Flora could not decipher it before her face became expressionless once more.
Flora opened her mouth to speak but Sophie took her hands. ‘Let’s talk about it later.’
Flora opened her mouth again, but Greg stood up. ‘Sophie, let’s go.’ His tone brooked no argument. Sophie stood obediently and walked to his side. As soon as she got close, he grabbed her arm and led her out of the room. Flora could have sworn she saw Sophie wince in pain. But the thought was driven from her mind at the feel of Sam’s arms wrapping around her. This always happened: whenever he touched her the world disappeared around her and she was consumed by the feel of his skin and his smell. She had been resistant to him at first, put off by his money and status.
She had thought everyone that had a life of privilege, who had things handed to them on a plate, could not possibly share her values. But she soon came to see that although Cecelia embodied everything that she hated about those with wealth, Sam was the one apple who had fallen far away from the tree. He was her entire world and she was glad she had not killed his mother. She loved this man with all her heart and resolved to never let Cecelia get under her skin again. He was worth taking any nasty remark that Cecelia threw at her.
After all, Cecelia’s weaponry consisted of empty words. She would never actually hurt Flora. Would she?
6
The next time that Sophie and Flora saw Cecelia was at Alistair’s birthday party. Like the Queen of England, Alistair had two birthdays. A family one and a public one. This was the public one, where anyone who was anyone was invited. Michelin star chefs cooked up tiny portions of pretentious food and the gardens of Cavendish Manor rang with fake laughter only rich people can produce. Impeccably dressed waiters appeared before the guests could even register that they were thirsty. Classical music played from speakers sequestered among the shrubs. Not slowed down by her ‘funny turn’, Cecelia had gone all out.
Sophie walked on the outskirts of the gardens trying to avoid everyone. Normally, she and Flora would have teamed up and spent the entire time together, giggling, dodging Cecelia and making fun of the guests. But Flora had been spending less and less time with her since that fateful dinner. Every day she seemed to be ‘working late at the centre’. When they did see each other Flora would talk endlessly about Linda and Ethan and what she was going to do. Every time Sophie went to broach the subject of moving, Flora appeared to sense it and change the conversation or come up with an excuse to leave.
Sophie was becoming increasingly frustrated, as she knew that danger was coming for Flora. And she was the only person in the world that could protect her from it.
When they had married into the Cavendish family, Sophie genuinely believed they were both getting their fairy-tale ending. In Greg, she had found a like-minded, intelligent and ambitious businessman and Flora had found the gentle giant she always wanted in Sam. But to enter into the Cavendish family was to be swept up in their web of toxicity. Flora had kept herself on the outskirts of family life. She never accepted or used their money unless she had no choice; whereas Sophie had thrown herself in headfirst and fully embraced the Cavendish life, seduced by a wealth and power beyond her wildest dreams. But now she was inside she had been exposed to the secrets of how the Cavendish family retained their wealth and power. She had seen that Flora was in more danger than she could ever realise since her revelation on Friday.
Sophie had always protected Flora and she was not about to stop now. But she could not protect Flora if they were not talking. Sophie knew that Flora was a coward when it came to uncomfortable conversations. Her friend was beautiful inside and out, but her need to please people stopped her from standing up and saying what she truly felt. It saddened Sophie that Flora had felt unable to talk to her. Honesty had never been a problem between them before they married into the Cavendish family.
Did Sam have something to do with it? She always thought that he had begrudgingly accepted their close bond but now she wondered if Sam was just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of her.
She knew she could be irritating, always turning up and taking up so much of Flora’s time. But he didn’t – couldn’t – understand what bound Flora and Sophie together. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had not known hardship, neglect or cruelty in the way that Sophie and Flora had. Sophie had had to fight to get them to where they were today. She was not going to let Sam or any of the Cavendishes ruin it. She would protect Flora at all costs, whether she wanted to be or not.
The four of them – Greg, Sam, Sophie and Flora – had travelled to the party together. Greg had driven whilst Sam and Flora cuddled in the back. Sophie enjoyed watching the glow on Flora’s face when Sam embraced her. After everything that she had been through, Flora deserved happiness. Sophie looked at Greg, his face compassionless and focused. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he even think about holding her hand? When was the last time he had cuddled her? She went cold inside and returned to surreptitiously staring at Flora and Sam through the wing mirror of the car.
Cecelia and Alistair had been waiting for them at the entrance to the house. Sam and Greg were held by their mother and the girls were pushed to the side like the spare parts Cecelia thought they were. Alistair bowed his head to Sophie and gave her a knowing smile. She went cold again. His smile was designed to remind her of the power he had over her. Everyone who met Alistair Cavendish instantly warmed to him. After all, he was charming, handsome, generous with laughter and an extremely shrewd businessman. It was only if you looked closely, behind the façade that you could see the psychopath in the bespoke tailored suit.
7
Escaping another dull conversation – no, she had not gone to Oxford University like Sam and yes, Manchester College of Art was ‘coming up in the world’ – Flora went around the side of the building towards the back door, intending to seek a bottle of wine from the bar inside. Since marrying into the Cavendish family, she had begun to drink more heavily. It seemed the only anaesthetic to the shallowness that came with this pretentious world of money she had married into.
Raised voices from around the corner of the house stopped her in her tracks. Was that Sophie? She almost did not recognise her friend’s voice as it trembled with a fear she’d never heard before.
Greg’s voice rang out, echoing off the stone walls. ‘Dammit, Sophie. I don’t even know who you are anymore.’
Flora tried to peer around the corner but whipped her head back, worried they would see her.
‘Greg, please!’ cried Sophie.
Unable to help herself, Flora peeked her head around the corner of the house again just in time to see Sophie lay what seemed like a placatory hand on Greg’s arm. Greg ripped her hand off him, throwing it from him like her touch had burned him. Anger rippled from him and he appeared to grow even larger. He grabbed Sophie by her shoulders pushed her until her back hit the wall behind her. Flora heard the breath leave Sophie’s lungs and the thud of her head meeting stone. He towered menacingly over Sophie and brought his head down, his face inches from hers. Flora’s terror matched the fear on Sophie’s face. She saw spittle leave his mouth as he spat words she could not distinguish into Sophie’s face. She saw Sophie’s lips move but could not hear a sound. The next moment, Greg let out a cry of anger and he pulled back his hand clenched into a fist. Flora saw the colour drain from Sophie’s face, and cringe away. She was about to rush to Sophie’s side when Greg’s fist hit the wall right next to Sophie’s head. He lowered his hand to his side, a trickle of blood on his knuckles. His whole body vibrated with anger. Flora turned away, her breath coming in rasps, and indecision flickering through her. What should she do? Her instinct was to intervene, but something stopped her. She cursed her cowardice.
