the house or maybe renting it out.” I plopped a teabag into a mug and waited for the kettle to boil.
She had her lecture voice on. “Well I’m glad you’re getting away from that eyesore in the middle of nowhere. For once in your life making a sound decision.”
I poured the hot water over the teabag and scoured Pippa’s fridge for milk.
“Darling, are you still there?” she screeched.
“Yes, I’m here. Just making a cup of tea. How’s Dad?”
“It would be nice if you came home and found out for yourself. You promised you’d come for Christmas and you never even called! That was extremely selfish and rude.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, Mum, but I had horrendous flu and literally couldn’t get out of bed. Maybe I could come for Easter?”
Silence.
I stirred my tea and imagined what my father’s reaction would be if I came home. It’s a satisfying thing when someone no longer has control over you, but when they don’t even know who you are, which is what happened last time I visited, all you feel is pity. That storm of a man had become as helpless as a baby, his brain mashed potato. I didn’t relish seeing him.
“Darling, are you still there?”
“Mum, I can hear Pippa’s car, she’s just got back, better go,” I lied. “I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay? Big kiss.” I hung up. Telling my mother even a tenth of what was going on in my life would be laying all my troubles on her shoulders, and she already had enough to deal with. It would make her even more hysterical. Yes, I could go and visit her, right this minute, but that would mean the triplets had won. I had to go back to Cliffside and face them, sort out the mess I’d got myself into. But I’d need backup. Mr. Donner? No, too doddery and frail; I didn’t want to drag the sweet old man into my drama. Sam the contractor? Good idea, he was tough; I’d try him.
Cradling the mug of tea, I shuffled in my borrowed slippers (Pippa’s eleven-year-old niece’s, who’d left them behind) from the kitchen to Pippa’s cozy, pristine sitting room, mulling over what to say to Sam. I hadn’t been exactly polite to him when he’d come over that time. The kid’s slippers looked up at me goofily with two big crocodile eyes and open-jawed teeth as if asking me the same question. I needed to sit down and think this thing through clearly. Hatch a clever plan. Going to Cliffside on my own was out of the question.
Tick tock, tick tock. Eight million. I hated being its guardian, but now I was physically parted from it, I felt like a dog without its prize bone. The more I considered it, the crazier the whole thing was. What the hell had Juan been thinking? Why didn’t he just put that money into an offshore account? Surely he could’ve done that without being traced? Who, in their right mind, buries money? And who in their right mind goes along with it? A woman so in love she couldn’t think straight, apparently.
Pippa’s sitting room was like a Homes & Gardens magazine. Thick toile de Jouy curtains set off her pretty picture windows, pooling on the lush cream carpet in luxurious swathes. Two sumptuous Conran sofas, a gilded Italian mirror above a brick fireplace, and bookshelves lining the walls. I collapsed into one of the squidgy sofas, my mind whirring. Beanie, wagging his tail, leapt up. His long sausagey body nestled between me and the comfy cushions, and he pressed his wet nose on my lap.
This place was light years away from Cliffside. My eyes ran along the walls decorated with botanical prints of English flowers set in gold frames, and the coffee table books stashed in the bookshelves. My gaze then landed on a set of photo albums. I placed my mug gently on a coaster—careful not to spill tea—and got up, propelled by curiosity. My own words rang in my ears, the stern telling-off I’d given to Jen for snooping without permission. Nevertheless, I pulled out a couple of the albums and sat back down to browse.
The first album was filled with Pippa as a child. Horses and ponies. Lots of them. Pippa winning rosettes for show jumping. Pippa on vacation, on what looked like the Cornish coast, frolicking and shivering in the cold sea, in a flowery swimsuit, tall and gangly, grinning at the camera with her signature