innit. Everyone coming, everyone going. Look at us, I never met you before in my life, man! And yet here we are, bro.’
‘Here we are.’
‘I love people coming to visit. Me and my wife, we love it.’
‘I’m dead grateful, mate. Honest.’
‘I love Scousers, man.’
‘Cheers. I love …’
Luckily, Leon laughs just hard enough for it to be infectious, so I laugh too, shaking my head and throwing my hands into the air, declaring that I’m tired, or something. Leon tells me he totally understands, totally, totally, totally, as he closes the boot and climbs into the driver’s seat.
‘And wait ’til we take you to brunch!’
‘Brunch?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, man. Did Mikey not fill you in on the brunch?’
‘Erm. You mean like breakfast before lunch?’
Leon bashes his steering wheel and wipes the tears from his eyes, laughing harder.
‘It’s so much better than that,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’
I gaze out of the window to see the first country I’ve ever been to outside the UK. It’s night-time and as we drive across the six lane flyover, I take in the thousands of rooms lit up inside huge hotels, boats floating on a stretch of water below us, all decorated with fancy lights. Everything’s so big. In the distance, I can see the skyscrapers, getting larger and larger the closer we drive. Apparently Leon lives on the twenty-second floor.
‘You know who’s gonna be at the brunch on Friday, don’t you?’ Leon asks.
Christ, I can’t even think what day it is today. Wednesday. Leon looks across at me, eager for my answer. I guess correctly, of course.
‘You’ve got one hell of a story to tell us, man,’ Leon says. ‘We need to get back to my apartment, get on the balcony and crack open some beers.’
I laugh again. Yep. That’s exactly what we need to do.
Already, this trip to Dubai is the best thing I’ve ever done. Ever.
37
Zara
He introduces himself as Richard, holds out his hand.
It’s as if I’m at White Oaks for an interview.
He leads me into that study, the one with the garish gold trophies and model cars, and gestures for me to take a seat on the leather Chesterfield. He swivels in a chair behind the vast desk a fair distance away. Broad and bald, he seems in a hurry to be somewhere else.
‘I’m gonna make this quick,’ he tells me. ‘James Glover is a liar.’
That single word, liar, cuts me like a sharp knife.
Richard drops his pen down and stands up, starts to count on his fingers. ‘If James Glover told you them cars are his, he’s a liar. If he said the minibus is his, he’s a liar. If he gave you the inclination that he was me, or anything like me, he’s a liar. And if he told you that this house is his house, well, sweetheart, he is a liar.’
It’s such a dirty word, liar.
I shudder. If Jim has lied about all of that, then who the hell is he? How could this happen to me twice? What is wrong with people, telling fucking lies?
‘Excuse me,’ I say, tears choking me, that dirty word liar hammering into my head. I notice the door to the small bathroom ajar and run towards it, locking myself inside. That man, Richard Griffin, is terrifying. His bald head shines pink and he speaks through gritted teeth. I don’t want to ever hear him say the word liar ever, ever again. I’d happily escape out of that tiny bathroom window, like a runaway bride, if only my damn suitcase and canvas tote bag weren’t in his study.
Splashing my face with cold water and dabbing it dry with a freshly rolled hand towel, I stare at my reflection, tired and beaten. How far have I come since the last time I stood in this exact room, doing pretty much the exact same thing? Thousands of miles, and yet a million steps backwards. How much longer can I keep doing this?
I see my reflection again, ignoring my scar with all my might. My dark eyes are glaring back at me. The last time I was here Jim changed his t-shirt. Except he didn’t. Because this house is not Jim’s house. Which means he changed it somewhere else.
I remember sitting in his car, the rain battering down, the ladder in my tights. The smell of the grease, the grey of the flyover. I have been to Jim’s home, haven’t I? But it’s not White Oaks. It’s somewhere very different indeed.