OK, this explains a lot. A lot. For a start, is this why she’s been so irritable? She always gets irritable in early pregnancy. And no wonder she was so freaked out about Bryce. She thought her marriage was going to fall apart, and Tarkie didn’t even know he was going to be a father again….I wince at the thought. And she’s been dealing with it all on her own, saying nothing to anybody.
Or…has she?
“Does Alicia know?” I ask, more abruptly than I mean to.
“No!” Suze sounds shocked. “Of course not. I would never have told her before you.” She puts an arm around me and squeezes. “I wouldn’t, Bex.”
I turn to face her and, of course, now I see all the telltale signs that only a best friend can pick up. Her skin is flaring up around her nose. That always happens when she’s pregnant. And…
Well, actually, that’s the only telltale sign. That, and—
“Hey!” I take a step back. “You’ve been drinking! All that tequila, the bourbon iced tea…”
“Faked it,” says Suze succinctly. “Chucked it away when no one was looking. I knew if I was obvious about it, you’d guess.”
“Fair enough.” I nod. “Oh my God, Suze, four children.” I stare at her wonderingly. “Four.”
“I know.” She gulps.
“Or five, if you have twins. Or six if you have triplets—”
“Shut up!” says Suze, looking freaked out. “I won’t! Bex…” Her expression becomes agonized. “I wish…I wish you…I just wish—”
“I know,” I cut her off gently. “I know you do.”
“It doesn’t seem fair.” She swallows. “We didn’t even plan this. Total surprise.”
She gestures at her stomach, and deep inside I feel a little wrench of jealousy. I’d love a total surprise. To my horror, tears prick at my eyes, and I quickly turn away.
Anyway. It’s fine. We have Minnie and she’s perfect. She’s more than perfect. We don’t need anything else. I bend down to kiss the smooth two-year-old cheek that I love so much it hurts inside. And as I straighten up, I see Suze watching me with a shimmer in her own eyes.
“Stop it,” I say, swallowing hard. “Stop it. Look. OK. You can’t have everything. Can you?”
“No,” says Suze after a pause. “No, I suppose not.”
“You can’t have everything,” I repeat, as we resume walking. This is my favorite ever saying—in fact, I’ve got it on a fridge magnet. “You can’t have everything,” I emphasize. “Because where on earth would you put it?”
Suze gives a snort of laughter, and I can’t help grinning. She nudges me with her shoulder and I bash her back with my hand, and then she takes Minnie’s other hand and we start swinging her along the road, and Minnie exclaims, “Again! Again!” And just for a few minutes, all the angst and urgency dissipates into the sky. And we’re just two friends, walking along down a sunny street, swinging a little girl.
SIXTEEN
Tarkie has taken a conference room for our meeting, and he even negotiated a deal on it. He is so the man of the moment. We’ve all got pads of paper and our lucky mascot pencils and glasses of water, and I’ve already written Get Justice for Brent at the top of my pad and underlined it three times, which I think gives it purpose.
Suze and I are sitting next to each other, and we keep nudging each other and admiring our new cowboy boots. It was Suze who bought them. She practically manhandled me into the shop, and she said to the store owner, “We’re buying boots,” so firmly she almost sounded aggressive. And then we tried on nearly every pair, and God, it was fun.
I don’t know quite what happened to me before. How could I not want to buy cowboy boots? How could anyone not want to buy cowboy boots? I feel like a weird fog has lifted from my brain and I’m back to who I was.
My pair are anthracite gray with silver studs, and Minnie absolutely adores them. She grabbed them and put them on as soon as I got them out of the box, and she tottered around in them all evening. Then she wanted to go to bed in them. When I said, “No, darling, you can’t wear boots in bed,” she wanted to hug them in bed, like a teddy. And then, when I finally exclaimed, “No! Mummy is wearing them tonight!” she said, “But da boots love Minnie,” and gave me this sad, reproachful look that actually made me feel really bad, even though they’re my boots. I mean, honestly.
Anyway, she’s asleep now. We’ve found a really nice, highly recommended babysitter called Judy, and she’s staying in our bedroom till we’ve finished our meeting. I mean, yes, I could have brought Minnie along and sat her on my knee. But first: It’s past her bedtime. And second: This is business. As I look around, I can see that all our faces are taut with intent. (Except Danny’s, which is taut with the “firming serum” he got at his facial. Apparently his afternoon at the spa was so blissful, he doesn’t care if he missed all the action, and he can always get it on “catch-up”—i.e., me telling him all about it.)
“Corey is like a fortress, we all know that.” Dad’s voice brings me back to the room. “Nevertheless, Tarquin has managed to get into the inner sanctum.”
“Corey’s asked me to meet his board members.” Tarquin gives an affirming nod. “I have his cell number. He’s told me to call anytime.”
“That’s amazing!” I say. “Well done!” I break into applause and everyone joins in, while Tarquin looks modest.
“It’s still tricky, though,” Tarkie continues. “First, because Corey has stepped back from the day-to-day running of his business. His new wife and daughter are the apple of his eye, and that’s all he’s interested in. Second, because he doesn’t like talking about the past.”
“Because his wife thinks he’s fifty-something,” I put in, and Dad gives a wry chuckle.
“It’s not just that,” says Tarkie. “He’s almost phobic. He ducks any question about the past. I asked him directly if he’d ever traveled round the States as a young man, whereupon he flinched and started talking about his last holiday in Hawaii.”
“So we can’t appeal to the goodness of his heart,” says Dad. “Or any sense of nostalgia.”
“Not at all,” agrees Tarkie. “We’ll somehow have to force him into doing the right thing. Now, as I said, I’m having lawyers look at the deal that Brent did. But unfortunately there’s no hard evidence that Corey ever lied to or misled Brent. This all happened a long time ago, and it’s one man’s word against the other’s.”
“But Raymond told us!” puts in Suze.
“Maybe. But do you think Raymond will ever agree to appear in court to support Brent?” Tarkie shakes his head. “Corey’s story will be that Brent is simply bitter after having made a poor business decision.”
“Like EMI turning down the Beatles,” puts in Janice helpfully. “Brent would be EMI.”
“No, he’d be the drummer,” says Mum. “The other drummer.”
“Ringo Starr?” says Janice, looking baffled.
“No, love, the other drummer. Pete Whatsit—”
“Fascinating stuff, Jane,” Tarkie interrupts briskly. “But if we could return to the business in hand…?” He fixes Mum with a look which, for Tarkie, is almost stern, and to my astonishment she shuts up.
“There’s one arcane point of law that the lawyers are still looking into,” Tarkie continues. “But, meanwhile, our dilemma is this: Do we contact Corey before we have any legal backing, or do we wait?”
“What will we say if we contact him?” says Mum.