I dedicate this chapter to Team Awesome and all the LTM fans I have 'betweeted' on Twitter :-]
Disclaimer: Same as always, don't own any of it
Chapter Ten
"Anywhere." Gillian giggled as she ran down the driveway, increasing her speed the further she went.
"Oi! Hold up love!" Cal trotted after her.
She waited a little way down the road, pulling her sunglasses out of her bag and quickly putting them on. Not only was the sun bright, but she was still feeling a little hungover – the dark shades, she hoped, would help. Already, though, she was feeling better, just being away from the house. She felt the familiar stab of guilt she always used to get when escaping from home - the exhilaration of freedom, followed by the sadness and shame that she should feel such happiness at getting away from her family.
Cal grinned at her as he reached her side. "Feeling better, then?"
"A bit." She returned the smile. "I can't deny I'm still a bit hungover, but the sun is shining, I'm away from my mother…" She sucked in her breath suddenly. "God, that's depressing. What kind of person feels happy when they get away from their mother? It's supposed to be the other way around."
"Tell you what, Foster. How about we spend the next couple of hours not talking about your mother?"
"Deal." She looped her arm through his as she tugged him along the road with her.
"So, where are you taking me then, Californian girl?"
She grinned. "Well, I could take you shopping on Rodeo Drive…" She laughed out loud as he pulled a face at her. "But how about the walk of fame instead? Then we can get some lunch, maybe go to the beach this afternoon…"
"Sounds perfect, love," he said softly as they continued walking along the street. "Just perfect."
###
As the morning slid into afternoon and the Californian sun continued to burn brightly, Cal watched Gillian oscillate between happiness and sorrow, bouncing between the two with such unpredictability it made his head spin.
They carefully avoided the subject of her mother – or father, for that matter – choosing instead to talk about meaningless things, observations of people around them ("Does anyone in Hollywood ever tell the truth?" Cal had asked incredulously as they spotted yet more liars), and to simply enjoy each other's company. Gillian's hangover was waning, she seemed relaxed and confident most of the time, and giggled as she ran along the Hollywood walk of fame, spotting various stars and trying to remember whose was next to whose. They had lunch in a diner Gillian told him she used to frequent with her friends after school that she swore hadn't been decorated since then, and insisted on taking a photo of Cal with a man dressed as Superman outside Gap, despite his grunting protests.
But every so often, a dark cloud would pass over her face; the exact nature of her thoughts Cal didn't know, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask if she didn't want to tell, but the sadness was there, and the guilt he hated seeing so much. Guilt for the way she had treated her mother was probably part of it, but Cal couldn't forget the conversation they'd had in his office when she first told him her father had died. He'd called her, in the weeks before he'd died, and she had ignored his messages. How that guilt could be erased Cal didn't know, but he sure as hell knew about guilt.
He watched as she went from animatedly describing her evenings as a teenager spent at Lulu's Diner to swirling the straw around in her milkshake with a hollow, empty look in her eyes. He saw the way her face would light up as she saw children skipping along the street, squealing in delight at the various costumed characters they saw, and how the light in her eyes then dimmed if she saw a man with the children – a father, taking his kids on a day out.
Her grief was complex, he knew that, and to be honest he didn't really know how to help her. He'd lost his mother, but she was someone he'd adored. How did you cope with losing someone you had walked away from a long time ago?
For the most part, though, she seemed fairly relaxed and happy – certainly more so than she had been in the last twenty four hours. Cal was more than happy to keep her company, however she chose to spend the day, and found he was actually starting to enjoy some of the touristy things she decided they should do.
There was no mention of her mother, or when they would return home; he would let her dictate when it was time to return. Eventually, she took a deep breath and turned to look at him, and he smiled. "Time to go?"
She nodded, smiling at him in return. The thought of heading back to the house for another encounter with her mother was causing her stomach to twist in knots, but the fact that she didn't even have to tell Cal what she was thinking was an instant source of comfort. No matter how confusing and complicated and difficult things got, Cal was her constant, her anchor. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to show him just how much that meant to her.
Her smile was one of gratitude, but laced with just enough sadness for him to know that her pain hadn't entirely been healed by a day of traipsing round Hollywood – it would be foolish to think it could be. There was something else in her smile though, and as they got nearer the house, he saw more confidence in her stride.
"Alright, love?" he asked as they started walking up the drive.
She nodded. "I've got a lot… going on…" She gestured at her head with a twirling finger. "You know."
He nodded. "Sure."
"And yes, I do feel… trepidation, about walking through that front door. Which is completely ridiculous." She flashed anger briefly, which Cal knew was for herself. "But you know what?" She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to let her get to me anymore, Cal. I feel better now, I'm relaxed… I'm going to go in there and be strong, and be polite, and if all else fails, bite my lip until it bleeds, but I will not retaliate or make the situation worse."
"That's my girl." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Did your Mum give you a key?"
"No, but I know where she keeps the spare." She lifted up the plant pot, third from the left, and stared in confusion at the empty space. "It's not there."
"Maybe it's under a different one," he suggested casually, but Gillian shook her head fiercely.
"It's always here. Under this pot. Always."
Her lower lip was trembling and she felt like she was on the verge of tears – God, Gillian, why are you being so stupid? she silently screamed at herself. It's a key. Does it really matter if your mother doesn't keep it in the same place anymore? Yes. It did matter. But she couldn't quite put into words why.
"Why don't you just ring the bell?" he asked softly, and she nodded, reaching out to press the button a little harder than was necessary.
A minute later Caroline opened the door, smiling widely. Gillian stiffened, bracing herself for the inevitable sweetly worded jabs, but none came.
"Hello darling. Did you have a fun day?"
"Where's the spare key?"
She followed her mother as she breezed into the house, not wanting to initiate another argument, but sensing one might be just around the corner.
"What's that?" Caroline called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the living room.
Cal touched Gillian's arm briefly. "I'm going to go and call Emily, but holler if you need me, yeah?"
"Okay." She forced a smile and watched him walk up the stairs before heading into the living room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she was surprised to see that it was already nearly four thirty. Was her mother annoyed that she'd spent most of the day away from her? Did she think it was rude to arrive back home to see your family and then disappear?
If she does, she'll soon let me know, Gillian thought, realising she was clenching her jaw and quickly tried to rearrange her face into a relaxed smile.
"Mom." She walked through the living room into the kitchen, where her mother was drinking a glass of water. "Where's the spare key? It wasn't under the pot."
"I don't keep it there anymore." She took another sip of water. "Do you want a drink? How's the hangover?"
"I'm fine," Gillian replied shortly. "I just don't understand… they key has always been under the pot." She couldn't explain why it was upsetting her so much that the key had moved. Why am I being so irrational? She gulped back fresh tears as her mother gestured towards the bar stool.
"Sit down."
She sat, crossing her legs and folding her arms in front of her, her fingers tightly woven together.
Caroline pulled up a stool, and for a moment simply looked at her daughter. "I removed the key when your father moved out. He knew where it was kept; I didn't want him having free access to my house whenever he wanted, not once it had become 'my' house instead of 'ours'.
Gillian lifted her gaze to her mother's; bright blue locked on bright blue. She swallowed. "I get that."
"There was always the possibility that he'd fall off the wagon, come calling late at night, more than a little worse for wear…"
Gillian nodded. "It was a sensible thing to do. I'm sorry I… overreacted. I don't know why I…"
"Because things are different, Gillian," her mother said simply. "Because you walked back through the front door thinking everything was going to go back to the way it was when you were eighteen. And you probably didn't want it to be that way – you practically sprinted out the door the day you left home – but isn't there a part of you, however small, that feels comforted by knowing the routines of home? You grew up in this house; there were some good times, weren't there? Some good memories to hold onto? You want to draw some comfort from that, convince yourself that you still have a home here, that you haven't completely walked away from your old life."
Gillian detected hope in her voice, and felt a pang of guilt for ever making her mother feel that her childhood had been nothing but miserable.
"Of course there were some good times, Mom," she said, her voice wavering with emotion. "And I guess you're right. I wanted to know some things were still the same."
Caroline nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. They sat in silence for a few moments, although Gillian couldn't quite discern whether it was a comfortable silence or not. There were a thousand questions swirling around her head, but in the last few minutes she and her mother had come closer to a proper, honest conversation since she'd arrived yesterday - it was probably the closest they'd come to a proper, honest conversation in several years – and Gillian was loathe to say anything that would break the fragile spell.
She opened her mouth to speak, although which word would spill first from her lips she wasn't sure, when her mother suddenly pushed the stool back with a loud scrape and stood up.
"Well, I'm off. I've got a few engagements tonight, not sure when I'll be back, so don't wait up!"
Gillian swallowed, forcing her mouth to twist into a smile even when she could feel its natural impulse to downturn with sadness. "Okay. Have fun."
"You too!" Caroline winked at her daughter. "There's plenty of food in the fridge, help yourself to anything. Unless you're going out, of course. But if you want to stay in, I'm sure you and Cal could find something to do to amuse yourselves."
Gillian managed to resist the temptation to roll her eyes – just barely – and instead asked, "What about Stephen? Isn't he around tonight?"
"He's gone back to the hotel. I'm not entirely sure why he came back today, to be honest with you, but then I was surprised you came back so quickly as well."
"Of course I came back," Gillian said quietly. "I couldn't just…"
"I know." Her mother's voice was surprisingly soft. "I know."
There it was; another glimpse of the mother she wanted, the mother that appeared fleetingly in her life before vanishing behind false cheer and a sharp tongue and a mask that she used to hide herself from everyone, including her daughter. And then she was gone, walking out the door with a casual, "Have a good evening!", leaving a trail of perfume and, as she so often had before, a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration in her daughter.
###
Cal approached the kitchen slowly, reluctant to disturb Gillian if she was sharing a private moment with her mother. The silence indicated they were not having a conversation, so he continued walking into the kitchen, noticing Gillian sitting at the breakfast bar. She was slumped over slightly; not a good sign. He was the one with the bad posture, hers was usually impeccable.
"Your Mum and Stephen not around, love?"
She looked up at him, smiling as he entered, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's gone out. Stephen's at his hotel."
He nodded. "So, do you want to go out for dinner tonight?"
She bit her lip and averted her gaze, and he read the apprehension and guilt on her face. "It's alright, love. I don't mind spending the evening on my own."
Her eyes flew to his. "I didn't…"
"You didn't have to say anything, love." He smiled at her. "You want to go and see Stephen. And you should."
"You're really okay with this?" she asked doubtfully. "I feel bad, just abandoning you for the evening, when you came out here with me, and you didn't have to, and…"
"Foster." He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face towards him. "I came to California with you to support you – what kind of selfish bugger would I be if I insisted you spend the evening with me instead of your family?"
She smiled. "But…"
"No buts," he said firmly. "You see me all the time back home, how often do you get to see your brother? Besides – I have a feeling you two have plenty to talk about."
She nodded. "Did he say anything to you this morning? You saw him before I did…"
"Just small talk."
"You're lying," she said softly.
He shook his head. "He didn't say anything to me, love, other than a bit of idle chit chat. I promise."
She looked at him intently. "He didn't say anything… but you saw something."
"Foster, if reading you is over the line, reading your brother certainly is." She sighed softly, and he gave her a gentle smile. "Go and talk to him, love. He's your brother. And don't you dare worry about me, okay?"
She smiled. "I'll try not to."
"I mean it. In fact, I forbid you from thinking about me at all tonight."
Her smile grew a little wider. "Easier said than done."
"Go on." He reached forward and brushed her cheek with a kiss, then straightened up. "But before you go… do you know where you Mum keeps her take out menus?"
She laughed. "Mom doesn't do take out, Cal. But she said to help yourself to any food or utensils or anything you want…" She hopped off the bar stool and opened the large cupboard next to the refrigerator, then tossed something at Cal. "You might want this as well."
He caught the apron deftly, then opened it out and held it against him, grinning at the bright pattern of roses. "Thanks love."
"It's very becoming." She giggled, then walked towards him. Wrapping her arms around him she gave him a brief hug, and felt the reassuring squeeze of his hand on her shoulder before she pulled away. "Bye, Cal."
"Bye, love," he said as she walked towards the door. "And remember – no thinking about me at all."
She turned and smiled. "Only if you promise not to think about me."
"Deal." He watched as she walked through the living room, waited until he heard the gentle click of the door open and close, then let out the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Not think about Foster all evening. Like that was going to happen.