The Truth Hurts Read online

  “You’re becoming more and more Country Life with every week you spend here.”

  “You’ll come home one night and find me in tweed and pearls.”

  Drew made a face. “And a velvet headband holding your hair back?”

  “A sensible bob.”

  “Comfortable shoes, bought from a catalog?”

  “And elastic-waist pants that don’t need to be ironed for the weekend.”

  “Stop.” He pulled Poppy into his arms. “It’s too sexy, I can’t resist.”

  They trudged up the hill arm in arm, the grass slippery, and stood on the crest of it, looking back at the house. It looked so little, nestled in between the hills, safe and warm. “That’s our house,” she said. It was a silly thing to say, really. Not as if Drew didn’t know that. But the words felt nice in her mouth, and from Drew’s expression it seemed as though he shared her sentimentality. They would do this walk again, she decided. With friends, after a Sunday lunch. With a baby strapped to her front, smiling at the patterns of leaves overhead. With toddlers padding fat-footed through the grass. With sulking, moody teens who didn’t want to go on a walk. Together just the two of them again, when Drew couldn’t take the hill at double time and they had to check that it wasn’t too slippery before they left. This would be their life, now and for as long as she could imagine.

  What kind of a father would Drew be? What had his own father been like? Would he want to be like him? Surely it was fair to want to know something about the people who would have been grandparents to her children?

  “Drew?” she asked. There was a little gap in the fence around the field. They slipped through it, into the woods. It was quiet here, a comforting sort of quietness which came from being under the canopy of green leaves. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  Her nerve failed. Today was too lovely to spoil.

  She took a breath and erased the question from her lips. “Don’t think I’m stupid,” she said instead, “but what do you do?”

  He slowed down, walking in step with her along the soft earthen path. To their left a river—river was probably too grand a word—a stream wiggled its way through the wood, splitting it in two. “You know what I do.”

  “Venture capital,” she said. “But I don’t understand what you actually do, do. Like, when you get into the office. What happens?”

  “I invest money. And when that money makes money, I get a cut.”

  “And you’re good at it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Have you always done that?”

  His gaze dropped to the ground. “I invested my inheritance, when I came into it.”

  “That must have been such an awful time.”

  Drew stopped. She realized, seeing the lines—two parallel ones, like an eleven between his eyebrows—that she had said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” she said. She kept walking. If they kept moving and kept talking, there was no reason to dwell on her asking about the past.

  “I’m not much good at talking about it,” he said after they had walked for a few minutes in silence.

  “You don’t have to,” she replied, reaching for his hand, wrapping it with her own, trying to tell him that she was sorry, that she knew she had upset him and that she hadn’t meant to.

  His hands were smooth against hers. Sweat was prickling along her spine, under her sweater. “Nearly home,” she said as they came out of the woods and back onto the grass. The sky felt bright by comparison. She blinked.

  “There’s a car on the drive,” said Drew.

  “Gina!” said Poppy. “She must be early!”

  “Very early,” said Drew. He didn’t sound pleased.

  “You’re going to love her,” she said. There was no point asking why he was annoyed. He wouldn’t tell her the truth anyway. She picked up her heavy rubber feet and started to run—as much as she was able to—across the field. “Come on!” she called back to Drew. “Or can’t you keep up with your much younger wife?”

  Drew laughed and charged up behind her, catching her around the waist and kissing her neck, pushing her backward into the grass. She squealed at the wetness of it on the back of her bare neck, but returned his kisses.

  It was like a film, or a photograph. If she had seen them together she would have been swollen with jealousy. She would have been heart-rippingly jealous of the girl in the wellies with the smile, the enormous engagement ring and the gorgeous husband. But she didn’t have to be jealous. It was real. It was hers.

  Chapter 20

  Gina was dragging her fourth suitcase out of the back of the taxi when they arrived back at the house.

  “Poppy!” she screamed the moment she saw her friend coming across the drive. Gina ran over, sneakers crunching on the gravel. Both girls wrapped their arms around each other and Gina dragged Poppy off her feet, spinning her around.

  “This is Drew,” Poppy said, proudly presenting her husband as if she had created him.

  “I know,” she said, as Drew held his hand out.

  “The famous Gina. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His voice wasn’t warm as it had been on their walk, it was formal. Sort of like when he ordered in restaurants or spoke to someone on the phone.

  “Nice to meet you,” Gina returned.

  A silence filled the air around them. “How much did you pack!” Poppy asked, fumbling for something to say.

  “I didn’t know how many ball gowns I’d need. Fuck me, Pops, this place is amazing.”

  For the first time, Poppy felt as if she wasn’t the person who belonged here the least. “Thank you!” she squealed. “Let’s take your stuff upstairs.”

  “Yes! Oh, and we need to pay Greg.”

  “Greg?”

  “The cabbie. I didn’t have any cash.” She gestured toward the van sitting on the drive. “I think it’s two hundred.”

  “Two hundred quid?”

  “Yeah. You said to get a cab.”

  Poppy had meant from the station. Not from London.

  “Of course,” said Drew. He put his hand on Poppy’s waist. “Darling, why don’t you settle Gina in and I’ll sort the cabbie out.” He pulled his wallet from inside his padded jacket and strode over to the car. Gina gave a low whistle.

  “Where can I get me one of those?”

  “A husband? You get asked out about fifty times a day.”

  “A sugar daddy.” Gina smiled, her teeth bright white against her lips.

  “He’s only fifteen years older than me! He’s not a sugar daddy!”

  “Course not, babe. Course not.”

  Poppy pushed the kitchen door open and pulled off her wellies. “Let me give you the tour!” she said, excited to show Gina the house. Gina dropped her bag on the kitchen sofa and went to the fridge.

  “First things first,” she said, taking out a bottle of wine. “That was a fucker of a drive. Not sure I’ve got the stamina to walk around the whole of this place straight away.”

  “Of course,” Poppy said. “I’ll start making lunch then.”

  “Luncheon,” said Gina, doing an affected accent.

  “Oh piss off,” Poppy replied, meaning to sound amused. The words came out harder than she had anticipated. Gina raised her eyebrows. “Sorry,” Poppy said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too, babe,” said Gina as she poured herself a glass of wine, slopping the pale yellow liquid into a glass. “It’s incredible.”

  “I know,” Poppy said, looking around. “We’re so lucky.”

  She had been telling herself that a lot lately. It had become like a little mantra. Every time she heard a noise from upstairs and felt her skin prickle, every time she woke up and found Drew gone. So lucky. So, so lucky.

  And anyway, Gina was here now. She wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

  “This is your room,” said Poppy, opening the door to the little square room. It was on a long corridor of little storage rooms on the very top floor; apparently it was originally where the se
rvants would have lived.

  “Very funny,” Gina said. “Up in the servants’ quarters because I’m your skiv. Where’s my real room?”

  Poppy blushed from her forehead to her chest, her skin blotching as she tried to explain. It had been Drew’s idea for Gina to be up here, leaving them the entire middle floor to themselves. “The guest bedrooms are all so close together. Drew thought you might prefer some privacy. You’ve got your own bathroom up here, and you could have one of the other rooms as a living room, like having an apartment,” she faltered. “But if you want to move down to one of the guest rooms, you can? But I think Drew wanted to put his friends in there when they come to stay . . .”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s only for a few weeks. Drew probably wants to be able to bang you senseless without me hearing,” said Gina, digging through the huge canvas tote she used as a handbag. “I brought you something.” She held out a little blue box, tied with a creamy white ribbon. Poppy raised one eyebrow. She and Gina didn’t do presents. It wasn’t their thing. Not even Christmas and birthdays: they both knew they were on shit money and even shittier levels of free time; the gift of not having to buy a gift was what they both really wanted.

  “What is it?” Poppy asked, taking the box.

  “You know how a present works, right?” Gina laughed.

  Poppy pulled the bow and lifted the lid. In the box was another box, square and suede. “Is there going to be another box inside this as well?” asked Poppy.

  “You are so suspicious!”

  Inside the suede box, sitting on a little cushion, was a gold bracelet. A thin, almost invisible gold chain, with a round disc in the middle. On the disc were the letters P and G. Poppy’s eyes filled with tears. “Gina,” she said, her voice a little rough. “Why?”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “I love it, you idiot, but you didn’t have to.” Gina never had any money; she was the kind of person who bought the whole bar a shot once she had a couple of drinks inside her. How had she managed this?

  Gina looked uncomfortable, her eyes on the floor. “I just wanted to say thank you and stuff.”

  Poppy held her wrist out, getting Gina to do the fiddly clasp.

  “Let’s go down and have a drink. I can’t wait for you to get to know Drew. You’ll love him.”

  “Look what Gina gave me!” Poppy said, thrusting her wrist at Drew when they reached the kitchen.

  Drew smiled. “Beautiful.”

  “It’s no big deal,” said Gina, refilling her wine glass. “Just wanted to say thanks and stuff.”

  “Very sweet of you, Gina,” Drew said, holding her gaze.

  Poppy looked up at them both and felt her body unfurl. The two people she loved most in the world were here, in her home. This, she decided, must be what it felt like to have a family.

  Before

  Caroline and Jim had been nervous to ask Poppy about coming on holiday with them.

  It had been Jack’s idea, to start with. Jack who, since Poppy’s arrival, had started joining in with the family again rather than hiding in his room with his laptop.

  “Why isn’t Poppy coming to France?” he had asked that weekend. Poppy had been staying with a university friend and the family had gone for a walk and a pub lunch in the country. When they had reached the pub, Caroline had asked for a table for six, and then had to correct herself.

  “Because it’s a family holiday,” Jim had said, putting Grace into the high chair she’d outgrown. “And it would be boring for her.”

  “Why?” asked Ella.

  “Because there’s not much for a twenty-one-year-old to do in Côte Rouge,” Caroline had replied, pretending she wasn’t wondering the same thing.

  Would Poppy want to come? Would it be wrong to ask—put her in an awkward position?

  “Did you ask her, though?” Jack had insisted, tearing into the bread. Caroline couldn’t bring herself to tell him to slow down. Yes, he would eat half a free baguette and then leave his main course, but she didn’t want to start a row.

  “No,” she said. “Jim, can you try and catch the waitress’s eye and order some wine?”

  “Who’s driving?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Me, apparently. But I can still have one glass.”

  “You should ask her,” announced Ella. “She might feel left out otherwise. You wouldn’t like it if we all went on holiday without you, would you, Mummy?”

  Caroline decided that, while she didn’t approve of sugar-coating things for the children, it probably wouldn’t be fair to tell her daughter that she would be absolutely fine with them all going off on holiday without her if it meant two weeks alone in a nice quiet house. Her only concern would be how long Jim could cope with all three of them without losing it. Nevertheless, the thought had stuck with her. Was it cruel to leave Poppy all alone at the house? They’d agreed that they’d pay her half her usual weekly salary, she’d have the house to herself and be able to do babysitting for other people. That was a good deal, wasn’t it?

  “Do you think they were right?” she asked Jim on the drive home, the two younger children crashed out in the back of the car, Jack plugged into an iPad.

  “About what?”

  “Poppy. France.” She pulled off the roundabout. Jim gripped irritatingly at the handle above the window and took a sharp intake of breath. “What?” she asked.

  “You didn’t signal.”

  “I did!”

  “It doesn’t count if you do it as you’re pulling out.”

  She sighed and focused on the road. The asphalt slid beneath their wheels and the greenness of the country turned to gray as they came back into London.

  “There wouldn’t be any harm in asking, would there?”

  “What if she felt obliged?” Caroline checked the children’s faces in her mirror.

  “She’s not like that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “She loves them. Really loves them. And I think she likes being around us. It sounds like her mother is a right cow, and her dad left for another woman. He’s got a second family and he doesn’t bother with her anymore.”

  “Really?” Caroline was surprised. Poppy hadn’t gone into detail about her father whenever they’d spoken. It stung a little bit. “How do you know that?”

  “I asked.”

  “Nosy.” She was more than a little pleased to know that Jim had asked, that Poppy hadn’t volunteered it because she trusted him more.

  “I was giving her a lift to the station, and it came up. Her mum left her sister’s dad for her dad, and then he fucked off.”

  Caroline sighed. “What a mess. No wonder she doesn’t ever want to go home.”

  “So we’ll ask her?”

  The prospect of Poppy coming with them lightened the worry that had been sitting all along Caroline’s spine, tightening her back. She wanted to be good at family holidays, truly she did. She wanted to be able to leave home and work and everything “London” in London. But she couldn’t. For her, the annual French holiday was another fortnight of cooking meals and clearing them up—just like home life. Maybe with Poppy there she would be able to steal half an hour by the pool to read a book.

  Was it wrong, she wondered idly, that she was so happy to outsource so much to Poppy? She should probably resent Poppy for being so good at it all. But she couldn’t. Something about Poppy’s gratitude at being included made her impossible to dislike. She still seemed to assume that Caroline knew best, that the kids would rather be with their mother than with her. She was genuinely, unquestionably kind.

  Caroline smiled. “Let’s ask her.”

  “You’re sure?” Jim sounded surprised.

  “Yes,” she said. “Absolutely sure. We just have to make sure that she doesn’t feel like she has to.”

  Poppy’s face was like a sunrise when they asked her. “I thought you were going to fire me!” she yelped as she jumped up from the kitchen stool and threw her arms around Caroline. “You’re absolutely sure you want
me to come? I won’t spoil the family time? I can go off and give you space whenever you want it.”

  Caroline’s face split into a grin. How could anyone be so excited about the prospect of two weeks in France?

  “You might live to regret it!” Jim laughed as Poppy hugged him. “If it’s pissing it down for two whole weeks and we have to go to the Museum of French Country Life every day.”

  Caroline watched as Poppy wrapped her arms around Jim’s shoulder and brushed her cheek against his chest. There was something so hungry there. But then Poppy had grown up without a father. Caroline smiled at them. She wouldn’t give in to the nasty little whispers at the back of her mind.

  Chapter 21

  “Would you have believed it?” Poppy called up the stairs. “If someone had told us this time last year that we’d be doing this right now? Being here?”

  “Not a chance,” said Gina as she came down the stairs from her room. “I feel like I should be singing that ‘I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here’ song from Annie.” She jumped down the final steps, her legs impossibly long and thin. She’d only been here a week, but somehow seemed far more at ease with the house than Poppy did.

  “I still feel like that too,” said Poppy. “All the time. I keep seeing myself in windows and trying to work out who that grown-up woman is.”

  “Gotta get over that, babe. It’s your house.”

  Poppy snorted as they wandered toward the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder. “Technically yeah, but come on. It’s not like I put anything into buying it, is it? It’s not, y’know, mine mine.”

  “I thought Drew kept telling you it’s equally yours and all that?”

  “He does. He’s the same way about the money. Gave me all these credit cards, keeps trying to encourage me to buy stuff. But it doesn’t feel right; every time I use that card I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “You have such problems. So, what’s the plan for today? Walk? Shopping? Pub?”

  Poppy took a glass down from the shelf at the end of the kitchen and filled it with water. “I know, I know. My diamond shoes are too tight. What do you feel like doing?”