She shook her head. ‘No can do. I’ll be busy working in the West End by then.’ Her voice was filled with confidence. ‘I told you from the start I’d help out until I sell the script. After that, you’re on your own.’
She felt like a different person, being able to stand in a kitchen and hold her own. Such a contrast to the girl who’d been fired from the Cat Café only months before. And even though her heart was achy and tender from losing Sam, it still felt good.
Cesca was still mulling that over when her shift finished, and she clambered on the bus to Hampstead, heading for her dad’s house where she’d been staying since she’d arrived back in London. He’d been almost shocked when she’d finally taken him up on his offer of some temporary shelter, but had hidden the surprise well, leading her to her old bedroom, nodding sagely as she babbled an explanation that it was only until she got herself straight.
Everything was temporary, really. The job, the house. A means to an end, a roof over her head and a source of sustenance while she touted her play around. She’d have to get used to it again, she supposed. To not knowing where her next pay cheque was coming from, or whether she’d be able to afford the rent that month. But somehow it seemed different to before. In the past six years this had been her life because she thought she had no other option. Now it was a necessity while she was pursuing her dream.
And boy, was she pursuing it.
Another thing she’d learned in Italy: it wasn’t your circumstances that made you happy but your attitude. And hers had taken a 180-degree turn.
‘Good evening.’ Her father looked up from his book as she walked into the living room. It was one of those rare occasions when he wasn’t hiding in his office. ‘Did you manage to avoid being sacked?’
‘Just about,’ she said. ‘It was a close thing, though. Apparently telling the owner his whole café is stupid isn’t the best way to keep a job.’
Her father smiled. ‘You always did lack diplomacy, my dear.’ He checked his watch. ‘Oh, and your sister called an hour ago.’
‘Lucy?’
‘No, it was Kitty. She’s having a whale of a time in LA, apparently. Said it was always sunny over there. When I told her it was raining here she began to laugh hysterically.’
‘That sounds like Kitty.’ It was funny, almost painfully so, to think her sister was living in the same city as Sam. Everywhere Cesca looked there were reminders. ‘I’ll turn the laptop on and Skype her.’ Much cheaper than phoning. Plus seeing her sister on the screen was so much better than just hearing her voice. ‘Do you mind if I borrow it?’
‘You silly girl, I already told you it was yours. Now go and call your sister.’
Taking a pit stop in the kitchen to pour a glass of water, Cesca headed for the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. She flicked the computer on, watching it blink to life, then clicked on Skype. Kitty was in the favourites, along with her other sisters. She smiled when she saw their names.
It only took a couple of rings for Kitty to pick up. Then her face came on the screen. She was smiling, her face glowing in the light of her computer. ‘Hey, lovely.’
There was something about talking to her sisters that felt like coming home. Of course they’d had their differences – and over the years she may have hidden the worst of her plight from them – but they were as familiar to her as an old coat. Warming, cosy, and comfortable to wear. ‘Hey yourself. How’s LA treating you?’
‘Never mind that, we have girl talk to do.’
‘We do?’ Cesca’s brow rose up.
‘Yes, we do. This guy, this Sam, what are you going to do about him?’
Cesca groaned. ‘Ugh, word gets around fast. Have you been talking to Lucy?’ On her arrival back in London, Cesca had spent over an hour on the phone to her eldest sister in Scotland, pouring her heart out. She should have known word would spread.
‘No, she told Juliet, who told me. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, does it? You know as well as I do if you tell one of us you tell us all.’
That was all too true.
‘Well if you’ve been talking to them, I hope they’ve told you it’s as over as quickly as it began. I was nothing more than a holiday fling to him. And I’ve accepted that now.’ Lies, all lies. She was nowhere near acceptance. ‘So there really isn’t much to tell you.’
‘We’re talking about Sam Carlton, right? The one who ruined your play and then ran off to Hollywood? The one who turned up in Italy and tried to ruin your summer, too?’ There was a smile in Kitty’s voice. ‘Except he didn’t ruin it, did he, you little minx? From what I’ve heard he rather made it. So I think there’s quite a lot to tell.’
Cesca groaned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She avoided Kitty’s gaze across the video connection, not knowing where to begin. It all sounded so stupid, she barely understood it herself.
‘He was on the Mary Jane Landers show this afternoon.’ Kitty sounded like the cat who got the cream.
Cesca looked up straight away. Didn’t her sister know how bad she was making Cesca feel? The conversation felt like death by a thousand bruises. Why on earth was she talking abo
ut some celebrity chat show with her, while Cesca’s heart was breaking?
‘Was he?’
‘He was. And I think you should watch it.’