Читать книгу Temptation Island - Victoria Fox, Victoria Fox - Страница 19

Rehab was a total waste of time. Aurora had known it would be—after all, she had only gone to please her parents and to help her mother get over the trauma of walking in on her young daughter in a state of such disarray, and everyone said that rehab only worked if the person genuinely wanted to change. She’d had a blast that day with Sebastian, got horny even now just thinking about it, and while it was unfortunate—and just a tad embarrassing—to have Sherilyn walk in at such an inopportune moment, she didn’t regret it.

What she did regret was that Julieta had got fired from her housekeeping duties. On top of that being a rough ride for a poor Mexican family, it was also the end of any rough rides she could expect to enjoy with Sebastian again.

She’d spent a month at the Tyrell Chase Center with her consultant, a gnarled old shrink called Dr Lux, but it was always ‘Call me Ed’—it wasn’t the first time she’d been. Dr Lux went over the same tired ground: her reckless behaviour was down to overindulgence, hedonism, lack of boundaries, blah blah fucking blah. Sherilyn took this diagnosis as a personal affront and always wept heartily after a meeting with Dr Lux: she hated Aurora going into rehab as much as Aurora did. Had she been a bad mother? Where had she gone wrong? Was Aurora suffering from being an only child? While Aurora sat and picked her nails, wondering when the hell they could get out of there.

By the time she did eventually get out, it seemed Sherilyn had just about recovered from the shock. Her father informed Aurora she’d been upping her sessions with Lindy the Therapist—no doubt Lindy would have several things to say about the pool-table episode—and had some new pills to pop that came in a fancy pink packet and sat serious as a Bible by her mother’s bed.

Today was the eve of Aurora’s sixteenth birthday party. They’d had people attending the mansion all week: caterers and planners, stylists and organisers, even a horse trainer attempting to map a route from the drive to the pool, where a white stallion would enter with the birthday girl on its back. She even suspected Tom was sorting a guest appearance from the Black Eyed Peas, and MTV was coming to film a special all-star Super Sweet—it was going to be amazing!

‘You’re lucky we’re going ahead with this,’ Tom had said when they’d talked about the celebrations. ‘After the trouble you’ve got yourself in.’

‘I know, Daddy,’ she’d said, eyes wide. ‘You and Mom are so kind and generous—I know I don’t deserve it!’

‘As long as you’ve learned your lesson,’ Tom had gone on, as stern as he’d ever be and always with a twinkle that suggested he didn’t think whatever she’d done was that bad, ‘we’re not going to deny you your sweet sixteen.’

He’d ruffled her hair, and that had been that.

Ramon, her hair stylist, arrived. He was doing a colour before her big appearance tomorrow. Sherilyn had insisted on sitting in on the session: Dr Lux had told her she wasn’t to be left alone with men—the girl had a sex addiction that temptation did nothing to ease.

‘Mom!’ she yelled up the stairs. The word bounced hollowly off the high ceilings, precise as a tennis ball. ‘Ramon’s here!’

Upstairs, Sherilyn Rose applied a flush of rouge to her alarmingly pale complexion. She looked bad. The lighting in her dressing room was unflattering, but, even so, she was tired, overworked and under-slept. Opening a drawer in her vanity table, she extracted a bottle of little red pills. She chucked a handful into her mouth and took a slug of water.

‘All right, sweetheart!’ she sang, her soft Alabama tones melting down the stairway to her waiting daughter. Sweet-As-Pie-Mom was a hard act to maintain, she thought grimly. It used to come to her naturally—recently she felt like a gruesome monster wearing a little girl’s skin. Ugh, that was horrific. But that was the sort of image residing in her head these days.

It was hardly any wonder her nerves were shredded. The pills Lindy had given her were the only things that allowed her to sleep at night. She had been enduring terrible dreams of late: memories that she’d thought were buried deep in the past. And yet every time Aurora misbehaved—this latest episode the worst yet—they returned to her in vivid, appalling detail.

The vast Indian Ocean. The island. That man …

If it ever came out, the reasons why they’d done it, her life would not be worth living.

Another couple of tablets, that was all. Shakily she chucked them down her white throat.

Was her life worth living now?

Sherilyn took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, just as Lindy had taught her. She tried to smile, making her way slowly down the mansion stairs, one step at a time. As always, she shuddered when she passed the open games room, its equipment cleanly polished and disinfected on her instruction. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her daughter in that context. It disgusted her.

Not that her husband seemed to care. People said fathers were always closer to their girls: that the mothers got left out in the cold. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she was jealous of their connection, a bond she had tried so hard to feel, to engage, and, failing that, to manufacture. It hadn’t worked. How could it, when week after week she was subjected to yet another reminder of her daughter’s monstrosity?

What on earth had she and Tom raised?

Whatever it was, she knew they deserved every bad thing they got.

Aurora’s first impression was that her mother could do with a visit from her own stylist: a recent dye job had rendered her hair the same colour as Barbie’s and she wore tight frayed jeans and precarious white shoe boots. Dated.

She hitched herself on to a stool by the patio doors, making sure she could see the poolside arrangement and issue preferences if necessary, while Ramon, young with a Mohawk, plonked down his cosmetics bag and laid out his tools. He was so clearly gay that any notion of chaperoning was absurd. Still, Aurora adhered to the new rules—it was a novelty to actually be made to do something.

‘OK, honey,’ he said, running his fingers through Aurora’s blonde hair. ‘What are we doing today?’

Sherilyn lit a cigarette and surveyed her daughter. Aurora noticed how her hands trembled with each puff. ‘How about some layering in the length …’

‘I want it all off,’ announced Aurora.

Ramon was appalled. ‘Shaved?’

Aurora rolled her eyes. ‘Not shaved. But nearly. Really short, like a boy’s.’

Sherilyn blew out smoke. ‘Darling, no!’

‘Do you mind?’ Ramon gestured to Sherilyn’s cigarette, then to his cosmetics case filled with mousse and sprays. ‘I’ve got flammable substances here.’

‘Yeah.’ Aurora nodded decisively. ‘Dramatic. You can do drama, can’t you, Ramon?’

‘Anything for you.’

‘We should dye it as well,’ said Aurora. ‘Bleach it. So it’s kinda white.’

Ramon grinned. ‘I like it.’

Sherilyn ground out her Marlboro. ‘Are you sure? It sounds extreme …’

‘I am extreme, Mom. And this is my party.’

‘All right, if that’s what’ll make you happy …’ She drifted out to the pool.

‘Is your mom doped?’ asked Ramon.

‘Probably,’ said Aurora as he began mixing the colour. ‘I don’t blame her. I’ve been a bitch lately.’ And she did honestly feel bad about the pool-table thing, but the fact was that in its aftermath her life hadn’t changed at all. Some days she thought her mother could do with an electric shock, or a cattle prod, something that frazzled her; something that brought her back to life. But if that hadn’t done it, what would?

Ramon applied the cold mixture to her roots and didn’t comment.

Aurora was watching a shirtless guy string lights in the trees by the pool. So was her mom by the looks of it. Ew! Weren’t you meant to switch those bits off when you got married? An image popped up of Sherilyn and Tom getting it on. Maybe they didn’t any more, seeing as they were now, like, way old. But they must have—at least once. Yuck yuck YUCK.

She spied a gossip rag poking out of Ramon’s bag. On the front was her so-called best friend Farrah Michaels wearing a solemn expression above the headline: BFFs AT WAR: ‘AURORA NASH SHOULD BE IN JAIL!’ It was hardly a war, thought Aurora, since it was entirely onesided: she wasn’t the one mouthing off to the press at every available opportunity, all for a bit of cheap publicity. Farrah was just bitter because she’d split with Boy-Band-Christian after he was found cheating on her with a dwarf while on tour in Vegas.

She tossed the magazine down, pissed.

‘Hold still!’ commanded Ramon, swiping at her head with his brush. The dye stank and she told him so. ‘Your hair will stink too if you don’t do as I say.’

Outside, Sherilyn was on the phone. She was frowning and nodding. When she came back in, Aurora demanded to know what was going on. Weirdly, her mother ignored her. Instead, she addressed Ramon.

‘How long will this take?’

‘Don’t hurry him, Mom, it’s important.’

‘So is this.’ Sherilyn closed her cell. ‘That was your father. He’s got some news to share with you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He’s taking us for lunch at Il Cielo.’

‘Is it about the party?’

Sherilyn hesitated. ‘Not exactly,’ she said.

‘What, then?’

A pause. ‘Let’s wait till lunchtime, shall we?’

She could feel Ramon’s curiosity wafting off him like heat. ‘What was that about?’ he asked when Sherilyn had disappeared next door.

Aurora yawned. ‘I expect Dad’s bought me another car,’ she mused. ‘They’ll want it to be a surprise, but I guess they have to tell me if they want to co-ordinate it with the arrival of the stallion. To be honest, I don’t know where I’ll keep another one—and anyway, I don’t even have my permit!’

‘Your mother and I have one last gift for you,’ said Tom over lunch. The waiter refilled their water. Cubes of ice tinkled and cracked in the glass, melting slowly in the afternoon sun. Il Cielo boasted a gorgeous terrace and, as ever, Tom Nash and his family had secured the best table.

Aurora, admiring her new bleached-blonde hairstyle in an enormous window, grinned. ‘Cool! What is it?’

A gaggle of fans approached. Tom swore under his breath at the fresh interruption but smiled pleasantly enough as he and Sherilyn signed scraps of paper and the backs of tabs. Women fancied Tom Nash like crazy: his alpha vibe rendered them babbling incoherent wrecks. They fell for his Southern charm with its twist of LA polish; they adored his vocal Republican stance. Tom was all about tradition, about core values, work ethic and the importance of family. They lapped it up like kittens.

On the other hand, everyone regarded Aurora, and her new hairstyle, with a pinch of trepidation, as though she were a sitting bomb that could blast off at any second. Fine, fuck the lot of them. Aurora sighed loudly, impatient for her dad to spill.

Sherilyn forked her barely touched crab linguine. ‘Go on, Tom,’ she said softly.

Aurora frowned. What could they have bought her? Maybe it wasn’t a car, after all. Maybe it was something sicker that even she hadn’t imagined—and she’d imagined most things.

At last, Tom spoke. ‘We’re sending you to England.’

Aurora was pleased. ‘London? Can I stay at the Dorchester again?’

‘Not exactly a shopping trip, honey,’ said Sherilyn.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

‘Boarding school,’ said Tom, clearing his throat. WHAT?

‘What?’ shrieked Aurora, horrified.

Her parents exchanged glances. ‘That’s right,’ said Tom. ‘And it’s not in London. It’s a prestigious, little-known school in the North. You’ll receive the attention you need there.’

Aurora’s mouth was hanging open. She couldn’t believe it.

‘You can’t do this to me,’ she squawked. ‘I won’t go. I’m not going. Boarding school?’ The very word conjured images of prison bars and child labour.

Sherilyn touched her arm. ‘We didn’t take this decision lightly,’ she crooned. ‘But we do think it’s the best thing for you. After what happened with—’ she cleared her throat ‘—Sebastian Ortega. And crashing the Ferrari. And Mink Ray.’

‘What do you know about Mink Ray?’ Aurora’s face was burning. Had they been spying on her?

‘You’ll be home every few weeks for vacation,’ said Tom. ‘And we’ve organised a guardian for you in London so you can be there for exeats.’

Aurora didn’t even know what the word meant. This was a fucking outrage!

‘You can’t make me go,’ she said, lip wobbling.

But Tom remained uncharacteristically steadfast. ‘It’s for your own good,’ he said, sawing his veal in a manner that suggested the end of the discussion. ‘Therapy doesn’t work, rehab doesn’t work … This is our last option and we believe it will be the making of you.’

‘And this is meant to be my birthday present? Are you kidding me?’

Tom’s face softened. ‘Well—’ he put down his cutlery and smiled tentatively ‘—I was going to wait till tomorrow, but since you asked … We’ve got you that Porsche you wanted as well.’

‘Fuck the fucking Porsche,’ lashed Aurora, scraping her chair back and getting to her feet. She lifted her mother’s glass of red wine and emptied it pointlessly over the ciabatta rolls.

She was going to England over her dead body. There was no fucking way.