SAVE YOU
Mona Kasten was born in 1992 and studied Library and Information Management before switching to writing full-time. She lives in Hamburg, Germany, with her family, their cats, and an enormous number of books; she loves caffeine in every form, long forest walks, and days when she can do nothing but write. For more information, visit: monakasten.de.
Rachel Ward completed the MA in Literary Translation at the University of East Anglia in 2002 and has been working as a freelance translator from German and French to English ever since. She lives in Wymondham, near Norwich, UK, and specializes in works for children and young adults, as well as in crime fiction and contemporary literature. She also loves coffee and cats and can be found on social media as @racheltranslates and at forwardtranslations.co.uk.
TITLES BY MONA KASTEN
SAVE YOU
Mona Kasten
Translated by Rachel Ward
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First published in Germany by Bastei Lübbe AG, Köln, 2018
First published in the United States of America by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC 2025
First published in Great Britain by Penguin Books 2025 001
Copyright © Mona Kasten, 2025
Translation copyright © Rachel Ward, 2025
Copyright © Bastei Lübbe AG, Köln, 2018
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For Kim
PLAYLIST
“Delicate” by Damien Rice
“You and Me” by Niall Horan
“Lonely” (feat. Lil Wayne) by Demi Lovato
“Dress” by Taylor Swift
“You Are” by GOT7
“Never Be the Same” by Camila Cabello
“Sticky Leaves” by Linying
“Lights On” by Shawn Mendes
“If I Be Wrong” by Wolf Larsen
“No Promises” (feat. Demi Lovato) [acoustic] by Cheat Codes
1
Lydia
James is drunk. Or coked-up. Or both.
It’s been three days since anyone could really talk to him. He’s just been on one long bender in our sitting room, draining bottle after bottle and acting like nothing’s happened. I don’t understand how he can be like this. Apparently, he’s not even interested in the fact that our family is now in ruins.
“I think it’s his way of grieving.”
I give Cyril a sideways glance. He’s the only other person who knows what’s happened. I told him at his party, the night that James got off his face and snogged Elaine in front of Ruby’s very eyes. Somebody had to help me get James home without either Percy or Dad spotting the state he was in. Our families are close friends, so Cy and I have known each other since we were kids. And even though Dad made me promise not to tell anyone about Mum before the official press release goes out, I know I can trust him and that he’ll keep the secret— even from Wren, Keshav, and Alistair.
I couldn’t have got through the last few days without his help.
He convinced Dad to leave James alone for a bit and told the lads not to ask questions for the time being. They’re sticking to that, although I get the impression that with every passing day, they’re finding it harder and harder to watch James destroying himself. While my brother is doing his very best to shut off his brain, all I can do is wonder how I’m meant to cope. My mum is dead. Graham’s mum died seven years ago. The baby growing inside me isn’t going to have a granny.
Seriously. That’s the thought running through my head on a perpetual ticker. Instead of grieving, I’m wrestling with the fact that my child will never know the embrace of a loving grandmother. What the hell is wrong with me?
But I can’t help it. The thoughts in my head have taken on a life of their own— they escalate until I’m wallowing in catastrophic scenarios and I’m so scared of the future that I can’t think about anything else. It’s like I’ve been in a state of shock for three days. I guess something inside me— and James— broke horribly when Dad told us what had happened.
“I don’t know how to help him,” I whisper, watching James tip back his head and drain yet another glass. It hurts to see him suffering. He can’t keep on like this forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to face reality. And in my view, there’s only one person in the world who can help him with that.
I pull out my phone for the squillionth time and call Ruby’s number, but she doesn’t pick up. I wish I could be angry with her, but I can’t. If I’d caught Graham with someone else, I wouldn’t want anything to do with him, or anyone associated with him, ever again either.
“Are you calling her again?” Cy asks, glancing sceptically at my phone. I nod, and he frowns disapprovingly. I’m not surprised
by his reaction. He thinks Ruby’s only interested in James for his money. I know that’s not true, but once Cyril’s made up his mind about a person, it’s very hard to convince him to change it. And I might find it frustrating, but I can’t resent him for it. It’s his way of taking care of his friends.
“He won’t listen to any of us. I think she might be able to get through to him before he has a total breakdown.” My voice sounds weird in my own ears. So cold and flat—but inwardly, I’m the total opposite.
The pain makes it almost impossible even to stand up straight. It’s like I’ve been tied up and spent days trying to undo the knots. Like my thoughts are whirling on a never-ending carousel that I can’t jump down from. Everything seems pointless, and the harder I struggle against the helplessness rising up within me, the more completely it grips me.
I’ve lost one of the most important people in my life. I don’t know how I can get through this alone. I need my twin brother. But all James will do is get shitfaced and smash everything that gets in his way. I haven’t seen my dad since Wednesday. He’s away, meeting with lawyers and accountants, settling the future of the Beaufort companies. He doesn’t even have a second to spare on Mum’s funeral—he’s hired a woman called Julia to organize it, and she’s been strolling in and out of our house for days like she’s part of the family now.
The thought of Mum’s funeral makes my throat clench. I can’t breathe; my eyes start to sting. Hastily, I turn away, but Cyril notices.
“Lydia . . .” he whispers, gently reaching for my hand. I pull away from him and leave the room without a word. I don’t want the boys to see me cry. Sooner or later, they’re going
to start asking questions, whatever Cyril says; we can’t stall them forever. They’re not idiots. Even for James, this is out of character. OK, so he gets a bit out of hand sometimes, but he normally knows his limits. And the boys have clocked that right now, he doesn’t. Keshav has started hiding bottles of the hard stuff from the bar, and Alistair “accidentally” flushed James’s last few grams of cocaine down the loo— and that tells you everything you need to know.
I can’t wait to put an end to all this secrecy. It won’t be long now. The press release is going out at three on the dot, and then all the boys will know— and it won’t be just them, either. The whole world will learn that Mum died. I can already see the headlines and the reporters doorstepping us and hanging around outside the school. I feel sick and stumble down the hall toward the library.
The lamps are on, casting faint light on the rows of shelves full of antique leather-bound books. I lean on the bookcases as I cross the room, my knees shaking. Right at the back, by the window, there’s an armchair upholstered in dark red velvet. It’s been my favourite spot in this house ever since I was little. This is where I came to hide away when I wanted some peace—from the boys, from Dad, from the expectations that go with the name Beaufort.
At the sight of this little reading nook, my tears flow all the faster. I curl up in the chair, wrapping my arms around my legs. Then I bury my face in my knees and cry quietly.
Everything around me feels so surreal. Like this is a bad dream that I could wake up from if I just tried hard enough. I wish myself back to the summer, eighteen months ago, when Mum was still alive and Graham could give me a hug when I was having a bad day.
I wipe my eyes with one hand and pull my phone from my jeans pocket with the other. As I unlock the screen, I notice streaks of mascara all over the backs of my hands.
I open my contacts. I haven’t spoken to Graham for months, but he’s still saved in my favourites, along with James’s number. He doesn’t even know about our baby, let alone that my mum died. I’ve honoured his wish and haven’t called him. It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. We were in touch pretty much every day for more than two years, and then it suddenly stopped, practically overnight. It felt like going cold turkey.
And now . . . I’m having a relapse. I can’t help it. I call his number and hold my breath as I listen to it ring. The ringing stops after a moment. I shut my eyes and listen intently, trying to hear whether or not he’s picked up. At this moment, it’s like I could actually drown in the lonely helplessness I’ve been feeling for days.
“Don’t call me. We agreed,” he says quietly. The sound of his soft, scratchy voice tips me over the edge. My body is shaken by a violent sob. I press my free hand to my mouth so that Graham won’t hear.
But it’s too late.
“Lydia?”
I notice the panic in his voice, but I can’t speak, only shake my head. My breath is out of control, far too fast.
Graham doesn’t hang up. He stays on the line, making quiet, soothing sounds. On the one hand, hearing him is churning me up more than ever, but on the other, it feels so safe and familiar that I press my phone even harder to my ear. I think his voice was one of the reasons I fell in love with him—long before I ever saw him in person. I remember the hours we spent on the phone, my
ear sore and burning, remember waking up with Graham still on the line. His voice, gentle and quiet, deep, and just as piercing as his golden-brown eyes.
I’ve always felt safe with Graham. For ages, he was my rock. It’s only thanks to him that I was able to move on from the thing with Gregg and start to look ahead again.
And even though I’m devastated, this feeling of security starts trying to fight its way back to the top. Just hearing his voice is helping me calm down ever so slightly. I don’t know how long I sit here like this but, gradually, my tears stop.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers in the end.
I can’t answer. All I can do is utter a helpless sound.
For a minute, he stays quiet. I hear him breathe in a few times like he’s going to say something, but at the last moment, he always holds back. When he finally speaks, his voice is hushed and full of pain: “There’s nothing I’d rather do than drive over to see you, to be there for you.”
I shut my eyes and imagine him sitting in his flat, at the old wooden table that looks about ready to collapse. Graham likes to claim it’s an antique, but he actually pulled it out of a skip and revarnished it.
“I know,” I whisper.
“But you know that I can’t, don’t you?”
Something in the sitting room just smashed. I hear breaking glass, then someone yelling. I can’t tell whether they’re hurt or having fun, but I straighten up all the same. I can’t let James add a physical injury to the list.
“Sorry for phoning,” I whisper, my voice broken, and I end the call.
I feel a stab in the heart as I get up and leave my little safe haven to go and check on my brother.
Ember
My sister is ill.
I wouldn’t normally find that surprising— after all, it’s December, it’s freezing, and everywhere you look, people are coughing and sneezing. It’s only a matter of when, not if, you’re going to catch a cold.
But my sister never gets ill. Seriously, never.
When Ruby came home three nights ago and went to bed without a word, I didn’t think anything of it. After all, she’d just come through the marathon of applying to Oxford, and it must have been mentally and physically exhausting. But the next day, she said she had a cold and couldn’t go to school. That made me dubious because anyone who knows Ruby knows that she’d drag herself in, even with a temperature, out of fear of missing something important.
Today is Saturday, and I’m starting to feel really worried. Ruby’s barely left her room. She’s lying in bed, reading one book after another, and pretending that her eyes are red because she’s ill. But she can’t fool me. Something bad has happened, and she won’t tell me what, which is driving me crazy.
Right now, I’m squinting through the crack around her door, watching her stir her soup without eating any of it. I can’t remember ever seeing her like this. Her face is pale, and there are bluish circles under her eyes, getting darker with every day. Her hair is
greasy and limp, hanging uncombed around her face, and she’s wearing the same baggy clothes as yesterday and the day before. Normally, Ruby is the epitome of togetherness. It’s not just her planner or her schoolwork— she takes pride in her appearance too. I didn’t know she even had any slobby clothes.
“Stop lurking outside my room,” she says suddenly, and I jump, caught. I act like I was coming in anyway, and push the door open.
Ruby raises her eyebrows at me. Then she puts the bowl of soup down on her bedside table, on the tray I brought it up on. I suppress a sigh.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it,” I threaten, nodding toward the soup. Not that it has the desired effect. Ruby gestures vaguely.
“Knock yourself out.”
I groan with frustration as I lower myself onto the edge of her bed. “It’s been hard, but I’ve left you alone for the last couple of days because I can see you’re not exactly in the mood to talk, but . . . I’m genuinely worried about you.”
Ruby pulls her duvet up to her chin, so that only her head is peeking out. Her eyes are dull and sad, like whatever happened to her has just this minute hit her with full force. But then she blinks, and she’s back— or she’s acting like she is. There’s been a funny look in her eyes since last Wednesday. It’s been like only her body was here, and her mind has been somewhere else entirely.
“It’s just a cold. I’ll be better soon,” she says flatly, sounding like one of those lifeless computerized voices when you’re on hold, like she’s been replaced by a robot.
Ruby turns her face to the wall and disappears under the duvet again— a clear sign that as far as she’s concerned, the conver-
sation is over. I sigh, and I’m about to stand up when her phone lights up on the bedside table, catching my attention. I lean over slightly so that I can see the screen.
“Lin’s calling you,” I mumble.
All I hear is a muffled “don’t care.”
I frown and watch as the call ends and, a moment later, the number of missed calls pops up on the screen. It’s in the double digits. “She’s called you more than ten times, Ruby. Whatever’s happened, you won’t be able to hide forever.”
My sister just growls.
Mum says I should give her time, but every day, it’s getting harder to watch Ruby suffer. It doesn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that James Beaufort and his arsehole friends have something to do with this.
But I thought Ruby had got over Beaufort. So, what’s happened? And when?
I’ve tried to analyze the situation the way Ruby would, and I’ve made a mental list:
1. Ruby was in Oxford for her interviews.
2. When she got back, everything was fine.
3. That evening, Lydia Beaufort turned up on our doorstep, and Ruby went off with her.
4. After that, everything changed. Ruby hid away and has barely spoken since.
Why???
OK. So, Ruby’s list would probably be way more structured that that, but I’ve put things in a logical order, and clearly, whatever happened, it happened on Wednesday evening.
But where did she and Lydia go?
My eyes wander from Ruby, or rather the top of her head, which is all I can see poking out of her duvet, to her phone and back again. She won’t miss it, I’m pretty sure of that.
“If you need anything, I’m next door,” I say, even though I know she won’t take me up on the offer. Then I give an extra loud sigh as I stand up and make a lightning-fast grab for her phone. I shove it up one sleeve of my baggy, loose-knit sweater and tiptoe back into my own room.
Once I’ve shut the door behind me, I exhale with relief— and instantly feel guilty. My gaze is drawn to the wall, as if Ruby can see me from her bed. She’ll probably never speak to me again when she finds out that I’ve invaded her privacy like this. But as her sister, it’s my duty to find out how to help. Right?
I walk to my desk and sit down on the creaky chair. Then I pull her phone from my sleeve. My sister makes a massive secret of everything that goes on at Maxton Hall, but obviously I know the kind of people she’s at school with: rich kids whose parents are actual aristocrats, actors, politicians, or entrepreneurs. People with power and influence in this country, who quite often hit the headlines. I’ve been following some of Ruby’s year on Insta for a while, so I know the gossip. Just the thought of what some of them might have done to Ruby turns my stomach.
I only hesitate for a tiny moment, then I unlock Ruby’s phone and bring up her calls list. Lin isn’t the only person who’s been ringing. A number she doesn’t have saved has called her loads of times too. I make up my mind and find Lin’s details— after all, she’s the only person from Ruby’s horrible school I’ve ever met in person. Hesitantly, I hold the handset to my ear. She picks up after just one ring.
“Ruby,” I hear Lin say breathlessly. “Thank God. How are you?”
“Lin—it’s me, Ember,” I interrupt her.
“Ember? What . . . ?”
“Ruby’s not doing very well.”
Lin goes quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, she says: “That’s hardly surprising, considering what’s happened.”
“What has happened?” I burst out. “What the hell has happened, Lin? Ruby won’t talk to me, and I’m so worried. Did Beaufort hurt her? If he did, the dickhead, I’ll—”
“Ember.” Now it’s her cutting me off. “What are you talking about?”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that Ruby messaged me on Wednesday to say she’d made up with James Beaufort, and now today, I hear that his mum died last Monday.”
2Ruby
Ember’s knocking on my door again.
I wish I had the energy to make her piss off. I get that she’s worried, but I just don’t feel able to psych myself up for anything, or to speak to anyone. Even my sister.
“Ruby, Lin’s on the phone.”
Frowning, I pull my head out from under my duvet and turn around. Ember’s standing by my bed, holding out a phone. I squint at it. That’s my phone. And Lin’s name is shining out from the screen at me.
“You took my phone?” I ask wearily. I can feel the outrage trying to build up deep within me, but the emotion vanishes as quickly as it came. Over the last few days, my body has felt like a black hole, swallowing up all emotions before they even have the chance to land.
Nothing really gets through to me; I can’t be arsed with anything. Every time I get out of bed, it’s as exhausting as if I’d run a marathon; I haven’t been downstairs in three days. I hadn’t missed a single day of school since I started at Maxton Hall, but
now the mere idea of showering, getting dressed, and spending six to ten hours with other people is too much for me. Let alone the fact that I couldn’t bear to see James. Just the sight of him would probably make me crumple in on myself like a faded flower. Or burst into tears.
“Tell her I’ll call her back,” I mutter. My voice is rough because I’ve spoken so little in the last few days.
Ember doesn’t move. “You need to speak to her now.”
“But I don’t want to speak to her.” What I want is a little time to get back on my feet. Three days isn’t enough to let me face up to Lin and her questions. I sent her a very short message on Wednesday. That’s all. She doesn’t know what happened between James and me in Oxford, and at the moment, I don’t have the strength to tell her about it. Or about what happened after that. If I could, I’d blank out the whole of last week and act like everything’s the same as ever. But sadly, as long as I can’t even manage to get out of bed, that’s not possible.
“Please, Ruby,” says Ember, staring hard at me. “I don’t know why you’re so sad or why you won’t talk to me about it, but . . . Lin just told me something. And I really think you need to speak to her.”
I glare at Ember, but her determined expression tells me I’ve lost. She won’t leave my room until I’ve talked to Lin. In some ways, we’re far too similar, and stubbornness is definitely one of the traits we share.
Resignedly, I stretch out my hand and take the phone.
“Lin?”
“Ruby, lovely, we have to talk, it’s urgent.”
Her voice tells me that she knows.
She knows what James did.
She knows that he’s plucked my heart out with his bare hands, only to throw it on the floor and trample on it.
And if Lin knows, then the rest of the school definitely does.
“I don’t want to talk about James,” I croak. “I never want to talk about him ever again, OK?”
For a moment, Lin is very quiet. Then she takes a deep breath. “Ember told me that you went off with Lydia on Wednesday evening.”
I don’t reply, just fiddle with the hem of my duvet with my free hand.
“Did you find out then?”
I laugh tonelessly. “What d’you mean? That he’s an arsehole?”
Lin sighs. “Did Lydia really not tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask hesitantly.
“Ruby . . . Did you see my message earlier?”
Lin’s voice is so cautious that my whole body suddenly runs hot and cold. I gulp. “No . . . I haven’t looked at my phone since Wednesday.”
Lin takes a deep breath. “Then you really haven’t heard.”
“What haven’t I heard?”
“Ruby, are you sitting down?”
I straighten up in my bed.
Nobody asks that question unless something absolutely terrible has happened. Suddenly, the image of James, totally wasted, in that pool with Elaine is replaced by one that’s way worse. James, hurt in an accident. James in hospital.
“What’s wrong?” I croak.
“Cordelia Beaufort died last Monday.”
I need a moment to take in what Lin just said.
Cordelia Beaufort died last Monday.
An unbearable silence spreads between us.
James’s mother is dead. Died on Monday.
I remember our passionate kisses, his hands running restlessly over my naked body, the overwhelming sensation of him inside me.
No way can James have known about it that evening—that night. Even he isn’t that good an actor. No, he and Lydia must have only found out themselves on Wednesday.
I can hear Lin speaking but can’t focus on her words. My mind is too busy wondering if it’s really possible that Mortimer Beaufort waited two whole days to tell his children that their mother had died. And if so, how shit must James and Lydia have felt when they got home on Wednesday and found out?
I remember Lydia’s swollen red eyes as she stood there on my doorstep, asking if James was with me. The blank, emotionless expression on James’s face as he looked at me. And the moment that he jumped into the pool and smashed up everything we had created between us the night before.
A painful throb spreads through my body. I take my phone from my ear and put it on speaker. Then I click through my texts. I open the thread shown under a number I don’t know. Three unread messages:
Ruby. I’m so sorry. I can explain everything
Please come back to Cyril’s or tell me where you are so Percy can pick you up
Our Mum died. James is losing it. I don’t know what to do
“Lin,” I whisper. “Is that really true?”
“Yes,” Lin whispers back. “They put out a press release earlier
on, and within about thirty seconds, everyone had heard the news.”
More silence. Thousands of thoughts are swirling around in my head. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing but this one feeling, which comes over me so suddenly and so violently that the words just bubble up out of me by themselves: “I have to go to him.”
This is the first time I’ve seen the grey stone wall around the Beauforts’ house and grounds. There’s a huge iron gate across the drive with dozens of people hanging around outside it, cameras and microphones in hand.
“Lowlifes,” mutters Lin, stopping her car a few yards away from them. Instantly, the reporters swarm toward us.
Lin leans down to lock the car doors from the inside. “Call Lydia and get her to open the gate.”
I’m so grateful to have her at my side at this moment, keeping a clear head. She offered to drive me without a second’s hesitation, and in less than half an hour from our phone call, she was outside my house. If I’d ever doubted the depth of Lin’s and my friendship, those doubts dissolved in that instant.
I pull my phone from my pocket and call the number that’s been contacting me so often in the last few days.
It takes a few seconds for Lydia to pick up.
“Hello?” Her voice still sounds as nasal as it did on Wednesday evening when we drove to Cyril’s together.
“I’m outside your house. Could you open the gate, please?” I ask while trying to cover my face with an arm. I don’t know if it’s having the desired effect. The journalists are now standing
right next to Lin’s car, shouting out questions that I can’t really hear.
“Ruby? What . . . ?”
Someone starts pounding on my window. Lin and I jump violently.
“As soon as possible, please?”
“Hold on,” Lydia says, then she hangs up.
It takes maybe thirty seconds for the gate to open and someone to come out toward our car. It’s not until the person is a few yards away that I recognize them.
It’s Percy.
The sight of the chauffeur makes my heart skip a beat. Without warning, I’m plunged into memories. Memories of a day in London that started out nice and ended badly. And a night when James took loving care of me after his friends acted like bastards and threw me into a pool.
He pushes his way past the paparazzi and gestures to Lin to wind down her window.
“Drive through the gates and up to the house, miss. These people know that they’ll be trespassing if they follow you, so they won’t do it.”
Lin nods, and once Percy’s moved the press out of the way, she drives into the grounds. The driveway is so long and wide that it’s more like a country lane through a park, with frost-covered lawns on either side. In the distance, I can make out a big house. It’s square, two storeys high, with a gabled roof. The grey slate roof is as gloomy-looking as the rest of the granite-clad façade. Despite its cheerless look, you can tell that rich people live here. I think it fits Mortimer Beaufort to a tee— cold and forceful. It’s much harder to imagine Lydia and James feeling at home.
In front of the house, the driveway opens out into a courtyard, where Lin parks behind a black sports car outside one of the garages off to one side.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” she asks, and I nod.
The air is icy as we get out and hurry toward the front steps. Just before we reach them, I grab her arm. My friend turns and looks enquiringly at me.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say breathlessly. I don’t know what will be waiting for me in this house. Having Lin with me takes some of the fear from that, and that’s really good. At the start of term, that would have been unthinkable—back then I kept my private and school lives strictly separate and told Lin practically nothing personal. That’s all changed. Mainly because of James.
“Any time.” She takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.
“Thank you,” I whisper again.
Lin nods, then we walk up the steps. Lydia opens the door before we have time to ring the bell. She looks just as messed up as three days ago. And now I understand why.
“I’m so sorry, Lydia,” I mumble.
She bites hard on her bottom lip and lowers her gaze to the floor. At this second, I don’t care that we’re not close, that we barely know each other. I stumble up the last few steps and give her a hug. Her body starts to shake the moment I put my arms around her, and I can’t help thinking about Wednesday. If I’d known what had happened and what state she was in, I’d never have left her alone.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again.
Lydia digs her fingers into my jumper and buries her face in my collarbone. I hold her tight and stroke her back as I feel her
tears soak into my clothes. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling at this moment. If my mum died . . . I don’t know how I’d survive.
Meanwhile, Lin has quietly closed the front door. Her eyes meet mine as she stands a few feet from us. She looks as shaken up as I feel.
Eventually, Lydia lets me go. Her cheeks are flushed a deep red, her eyes are bloodshot and glassy. I lift my hand and stroke a few wet strands of hair from her cheek.
“Can I help you at all?” I ask cautiously.
She shakes her head. “Just get my brother back for me. He’s totally out of it. I . . .” Her voice catches, hoarse from so much crying, and she has to clear her throat before she can go on. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s killing himself and I just don’t know how to help him.”
Her words make my heart pound painfully again. I feel an overwhelming urge to see James and hold him in my arms, like Lydia—but I’m scared of meeting him.
“Where is he?”
“Cyril and I got him up to his room. He passed out just now.” Her words make me flinch.
“I can take you up, if you like,” she continues, nodding toward the staircase that curves up to the first floor. I turn to Lin, but my friend shakes her head. “I’ll wait here. You go.”
“The boys are in the sitting room, if you want to join them. I’ll be down in a minute,” Lydia says, pointing across the entrance hall to a corridor that leads to the back of the house. Lin hesitates a moment, but then she nods.
Lydia and I walk up the broad, dark brown staircase together. I notice that the Beauforts’ house is way friendlier on the inside
than it looks from outside. The hall is bright and inviting. There might not be family photos on the walls, like there are in our house, but at least there are no oil paintings in golden frames, portraits of long-dead ancestors, like the ones at the Vegas’. The pictures here are colourful and impressionistic, and while they aren’t particularly personal, they at least convey a welcoming atmosphere.
At the top of the stairs, we turn down a dark landing; it’s so long that I can’t help wondering what’s hidden behind all the doors we pass. And how it’s possible that a single family lives here.
“Here we are,” Lydia murmurs suddenly, stopping outside a large door. For a moment, we both stare at it, then she turns to me. “I know it’s asking a lot, but I get the feeling he really needs you.”
I can hardly untangle my thoughts and emotions. My body seems to know that James is on the other side of that door—I’m drawn to him like a magnet. And even though I’m not sure that I can help him in the way Lydia is clearly hoping for, I still want to be there for him.
Lydia touches my arm for a moment. “Ruby . . . There was nothing between James and Elaine except that kiss.”
I stiffen.
“James came straight out of the pool and collapsed onto a chair. I know he can be awful, but—”
“Lydia,” I interrupt her.
“—he wasn’t himself.”
I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I can’t think about that at the moment. Because if I do—if I allow myself to think about James and Elaine—the rage and dis-
appointment will win out, and I won’t be able to walk through that door.
“I can’t listen to that right now.”
For a moment, Lydia looks like she wants to say something else, but she only sighs. “I just wanted you to know.”
Then she turns away and walks back down the landing to the stairs. I watch her until she reaches them, a long shaft of light cast over the expensive carpet. Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to the door.
I don’t think I’ve ever found anything as difficult as reaching for that handle. It feels cool under my fingers, and a shiver runs down my spine as I hesitantly turn it and open the door.
I hold my breath while I stand in the doorway to James’s room.
It has high ceilings and I’m sure it would take up the whole top floor of our little terraced house. On my right, there’s a desk and a brown leather chair. To my left, the wall is lined with shelves filled with books, notebooks, and the occasional ornament, which remind me of the statues I saw at Beaufort’s that time. As well as the door I’ve just come in by, there are two more, on either side of the room. They’re in solid wood and I guess that one leads to a bathroom and that the other, which is a little smaller, is to James’s wardrobe. In the middle of the room, there’s a seating area with a sofa, armchair, and coffee table, arranged on a Persian rug.
Cautiously, I cross the room. There’s a king-size bed right opposite the door, at the far end of the room. On each side of the bed there are large windows, but the curtains are almost completely shut, so that only two thin strips of light shine onto the floor.
I see James at once.
He’s lying in bed, with a dark grey duvet over most of his body. Tentatively, I come closer so that I can see his face.
I gasp for air.
I’d thought James was asleep . . . but his eyes are open. And the expression in them sends an ice-cold shiver down my spine.
James’s eyes—normally so expressive— are lifeless. His face is entirely blank.
I take another step toward him. He doesn’t react, gives no sign of having noticed my presence. Instead, he stares right through me. His pupils are unnaturally wide, and the stench of alcohol lies heavily on the air. I can’t help thinking back to Wednesday evening, but I suppress the memory. I’m not here to muse on my wounded feelings. I’m here because James has lost his mum. Nobody should go through a thing like that alone. Especially not someone who— despite everything—means so much to me.
Resolutely, I cross the last gap between us and sit cautiously on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, James,” I whisper.
He winces, as if he’d been falling in a dream and has now landed with a painful bump. The next moment, he turns his head slightly toward me. There are dark rings under his eyes, his hair hangs limp over his brow. His lips are dry and split. He looks like he’s been living entirely on booze for days.
When he kissed Elaine, I wished him nothing but ill. I wished for someone to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt me. I wished for revenge for my aching heart. But seeing him this broken doesn’t bring me the satisfaction I’d been hoping for. Quite the opposite. It feels more as though his pain jumps over to me and pulls me down into the depths. I’m flooded with despair be-
cause I don’t know what I can do for him. All the words that occur to me at this moment feel meaningless.
Tenderly, I raise my hand and stroke James’s red-blond hair out of his face. I run my fingertips gently over his cheeks, then lay both palms on his cold face. It feels as though I’m holding something desperately fragile in my hands.
I pluck up all my courage, lean down to him, and press my lips onto his forehead.
James catches his breath.
For a moment, we’re frozen in that position, neither of us daring to move.
Then I sit back up and pull my hand away.
The next second, James grabs my hips. He digs his fingers into them and kind of plunges forward. I’m so startled by the sudden movement that I freeze. James wraps his arms around me and buries his face in the crook of my neck. His whole body is shaken by a deep sobbing.
I put my arms around him and hold him tight. There’s nothing that I can say in this moment. I don’t know how he feels in his loss, and I don’t want to act as though I do.
All I can do right now is to be there for him. I can stroke his back and share his tears. I can empathize with him and let him know that he doesn’t have to go through this alone, no matter what happened between us.
And as James cries in my arms, I realize that I’d got the situation totally wrong.
I’d thought that after what he’d done to me, I’d be able to put him right out of my life. I hoped to get over him as fast as possible. But now that I grasp what his pain is doing to me, I know that that’s not going to happen any time soon.
3
James
The walls are spinning. I don’t know which way’s up and which way’s down; all I can tell is that Ruby’s hands are there, keeping me semi-anchored in reality. She’s sitting on my bed, leaning her back on the headboard, and I’m half lying in her lap. One of her arms is wrapped tightly around me and she’s stroking my hair with her hand. I’m focused entirely on the warmth of her body, her even breath, and her touch.
I have no idea how many days have passed. There’s nothing but fog when I try to remember anything. Thick grey fog, and two thoughts that get through to me in every brief moment of clarity.
Firstly: My mum is dead.
Secondly: I kissed another girl in front of Ruby. It doesn’t matter how much alcohol I down, or what else I take—I’ll never forget Ruby’s face at that moment. She looked so shocked and hurt. Like I’d destroyed her whole world.
I bury my face in Ruby’s side again. Partly because I’m afraid she’ll stand up and leave at any moment. And partly because I’m