For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.
(I didn’t get this bit from Ocean’s Eleven. It’s from Love Actually. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it Becky Actually for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)
The first sign just says:
Hi, Corey.
She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:
Long time.
And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:
I’d love to meet your wife.
Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.
Chat with her about old times.
Or maybe that’s not such a good idea?
Corey’s face is rigid. He looks like he’s undergoing torture. Well, in a way, he is. And Rebecca’s loving it.
“And what about nurseries, or do you call them preschools here?” I can hear Suze asking Cyndi brightly. “Because it’s so hard to find places in the UK.”
“Tell me about it!” exclaims Cyndi, completely oblivious to the drama going on around her. “And you know, Peyton is super-talented, so…”
What about Brent’s settlement, Corey?
Rebecca practically brandishes the sign at him, then substitutes the next one.
You owe him.
YOU OWE HIM, COREY.
And now she’s writing an extra sign we didn’t agree on. She holds it up and her eyes glitter wickedly.
I could make your life a misery.
I would LOVE to make your life a misery.
Crikey. Well, that’s honest. I glance at Corey, and the veins are standing out on his forehead. His fists are clenched. He looks like he wants to attack her.
Just sign it and I’ll be out of your life.
Rebecca gives him a long, challenging gaze. Then she starts holding the signs up more and more quickly, almost as if she’s dealing cards.
Just sign it.
Just sign the settlement, Corey.
Do it.
Corey is breathing harder and harder. He looks like a man about to explode.
Just fucking DO IT.
DO IT, Corey.
DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!
“OK!” Corey suddenly erupts like a bull snorting. “OK! Let’s get this goddamn settlement done. Give me a pen. Let’s get it done.”
Oh my God. Did he just say—
I meet Rebecca’s eyes for a breathless moment. Have we done it? Have we won?
I think we’ve won.
Slowly, silently, Rebecca closes the double doors…and it’s as if she was never there.
“Marvelous!” says Luke smoothly. “Very kind of you, Corey. Shall we sort that out straightaway?”
“You OK, babe?” says Cyndi, looking away in surprise from Suze, Danny, and Ulla and surveying Corey. “Sweetheart, is something wrong? You look like you’re burning up!”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Corey gives her a fixed smile. “Just want to get this all wrapped up.”
“Good man,” says Dad, in cheerful tones. “Let’s go and find my legal colleagues.”
Without further delay, Dad ushers Corey toward the door. I catch his eye as he walks past and feel a weird bubble rising up inside me. But I’m not sure…Is it a bubble of relief? Hysteria? Disbelief?
As Cyndi babbles on about Peyton’s amazing ballet potential, I meet Suze’s eyes…then Mum’s…all round the room. Tarquin’s…Danny’s…Ulla’s…Elinor’s…and, last of all, Luke’s. He gives me a little grin and lifts his coffee cup to me as though in a toast. And I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. After all that. We’ve done it.
We’ve actually done it.
NINETEEN
The Bellagio fountains are magical. And, OK, I know they’re touristy and I know they’re a cliché and I know there’s a load of other sightseers crowding around. But right now I feel as if they’re gushing up, over and over, just for us. For us ten. They’re our reward.
We’re leaning against the balustrade, all in a line, like at the end of the Ocean’s Eleven film. That ripply piano music is playing in my head, and nobody’s saying anything. We’re looking at one another and smiling, and I haven’t felt so good for ages. Forever. We did it. We got justice. And the ridiculous thing is, Brent doesn’t even have any idea yet…but somehow that’s not the point.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so content. I don’t think life has ever fallen so perfectly into place.
The plan worked so brilliantly. Everyone played their part immaculately, from Tarquin, to Janice…especially Janice. (Apparently she locked herself in a stall in the ladies’, moaning, until Lori went for help, whereupon Janice scurried away.) Over our celebratory drinks I regaled everyone with how fantastic she’d been, and she got all flustered and had to have more champagne, and then everyone had to rehash all their various moments, and Dad wanted to hear it all about ten times, because he’d been stuck waiting for so long, and Mum said, didn’t we wish we had it all on video, and Luke said, well, maybe, if we wanted to end up in prison for coercion.
I’m still not totally sure if he was joking or not.
But I don’t care. The documents are signed. Brent’s going to get the money. He’ll be able to buy a house. And that’s all that matters.
Rebecca isn’t with us. She didn’t even stay to say goodbye. Which—you know. Fair enough. That’s her choice. To be honest, I’m glad. I’ll be happy if I never see her again. I’m over poking around in the past. I want to move forward. Move on. It’s time for Luke and me and Minnie to head home. Not home L.A.—home home.
Suze and Tarkie are heading home too. I think they’ll probably scoop up the children and get on a plane as soon as they can. Back to England, back to Letherby Hall, back to real life. Tarkie can’t wait to get stuck in to all his development plans. Suze can’t wait to go and find Owl’s Tower. She told me she’s going to feed it GroMore every week, just to make sure. (Actually, she’d better not do that; she’ll probably kill it.)
Luke and I need to pack up the house in L.A., give notice at Minnie’s preschool, do all those final things you do when something’s over. And it’ll be sad in a way…but it’ll be right. I smile up at Luke, whose face is all shining from the fountain lights, and he puts his arm round my shoulders.
What’s supposed to happen now is we all silently drift off without saying goodbye, into our separate lives, with our millions. Except that’s where real life and Ocean’s Eleven really are different, because we can’t drift off silently—we’ve got a table reserved for all of us at this very nice steak restaurant that was recommended to Luke. (Plus, obviously, we don’t have any millions.)
So I glance at Mum, and she nods and nudges Dad, and Janice looks up from her phone and says, “Martin’s just boarding at Heathrow! Won’t be long now!”
Janice’s husband, Martin, is coming out for a few days, and they’re going to visit some vineyards in California with Mum and Dad. I think they’ll have a wonderful time, and it’s a really nice way for my parents to thank Janice. She deserves it.