The Wish List of Albie Young (ARC)

by Ruby Hummingbird

  ‘Oh,’ Maria exclaimed, a hand on her chest.

  The short, deep laugh came again. Then, without much warning, Troy slid his chair back. ‘Look, I better be going, but thanks for the cake, yeah?’

  She had wanted to ask him more about being a tattoo artist, about his other hopes and dreams. She wanted to know why it would be the only birthday cake he would have that day. She wanted to make this day special. Wasn’t that how mentoring worked? And yet she found herself nodding, half rising out of her chair, thrown by his desire to leave so soon.

  He didn’t let her draw out a goodbye, gave her a low wave, nodded at Amrit as he skirted round the adjacent table to the door.

  Maria watched him go, sloping past the window of the café, head down, hood up, movements cat-like. She wondered where he was off to now, how he spent his days, how he would spend his birthday.

  Pauline approached the table with a tray and a cloth. ‘Who was that then?’ she asked, stacking the plates and cups on the tray.

  ‘Someone Albie was mentoring,’ Maria explained.

  Pauline looked up. ‘That man was a dark horse, wasn’t he…?’

  For a second Maria couldn’t help the thoughts: Albie had been a dark horse. The wealth, the secrets – and Cathie, of course.

  ‘…Plans for the café,’ Pauline continued, ‘mentoring the local youth… What next?’ She laughed, setting the tray to one side and wiping the table down with a cloth.

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Maria said, dismissing her previous thought and turning to her with a small smile, ‘How are the next couple of weeks looking?’

  Pauline paused, gave Maria a puzzled frown.

  ‘Can you take a day off?’

  Our little flat has a balcony overlooking the sea and I love to sit out in the evening as the sun sets, smoking a cigarette, holding a glass of wine.

  One evening before bed, sat curled in my lap in her cotton nightdress, she had looked around the balcony.

  ‘We don’t grow anything. In Polly’s house she has a big plant called yucca, which is funny.’

  She settled in my lap as the sun was sinking, oranges and pinks ribboned across the sky.

  The next day I brought home seeds, pots, a bright red watering can, a bag of soil.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, looking curiously in my basket.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  We planted them in clay pots, sat in the corner of the balcony. Barefoot and earnest, she watered them every day, religiously, just before her own breakfast.

  She asked after them, she talked to them, she sang.

  ‘Mrs Finchley told me that’s how plants grow big,’ she’d said, continuing to tell the pots about how Worzel Gummidge had swapped his head that day, how there were nine planets in the solar system but maybe more in others, how Polly was her best friend but she liked Katie too.

  Then, hearing a cry one morning, I rushed out, hair damp, one stocking on, one crumpled in my hand. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Yellow, a yellow flower,’ she said, eyes bright with excitement.

  She tended to those tulips as if they were the most precious things in the world – and cried when they finally died.

  I can’t look at flowers without thinking of her, without thinking of the wonder on her face that made her beam when she first saw them blossom. I can’t look at them without feeling an ache so deep in my soul, I wonder how I will bear the pain of it forever.

  Twenty-One

  She had looked up a few different places in an hour or so radius of Brighton, baulking at the prices and then reminding herself that this was not her gift and frankly, Albie could afford it. She phoned her chosen spa and booked them two spots for a whole day, the woman on the phone running through each option: did she want a hammam massage with herbs in their new cedarwood barrel sauna? Did she want the lunch inspired by the principles of Ayurveda to optimise digestion? Did she want…? Maria said yes to every question, feeling the excitement build inside her.

  Pauline had offered to drive them. Maria had wanted to take the train but Pauline was so no-nonsense that she found herself agreeing and met her at an allocated time outside her apartment.

  ‘Sorry about the crisp packets,’ Pauline said, brushing at the seat. ‘I’m a proper car slut, can’t keep them clean. Did you bring flip flops? I like the new look though!’ she added, glancing across at Maria. Today, Maria was wearing loose clothing and trainers. She’d removed the tags that morning, fretting over the ironed creases in the fabric, gasping at the price of fashion these days.

  ‘Flip flops?’ Maria said, putting on her seatbelt, ‘I don’t own flip flops.’

  ‘Didn’t think so, so I chucked in a spare pair for you, but they might give them for free – I heard some fancy places do that. Mint?’ Pauline offered her a tin of travel sweets dusted with sugar.

  ‘Oh, lovely, thank you,’ Maria said, taking one, the powder sticking to her fingers. She tucked her bag under her legs. The car smelt of wet fabric and prawn cocktail, a faded air freshener dangling from the mirror, its smell long gone.

  ‘S’good,’ she said as they pulled into the traffic, her mouth full.

  ‘So,’ Pauline said, twiddling the button on the radio, ‘journey time’s just over an hour. Tell me exactly what we’re doing, I could not be more excited.’

  The drive went by in no time, and before they knew it, they were arriving. The spa was part of a hotel, a pebbled driveway sweeping around the front of an enormous cream Georgian manor house, pillars either side of the heavy oak doors. The car crunched across the gravel, Maria straining her neck, admiring every detail of the grand façade. Bay trees in terracotta pots stood in uniform lines, impeccably manicured hedges, a polished marble floor as they stepped inside. The scent that struck her was immediate: beeswax polish and money. She felt self-conscious as she moved across to the polished wooden Reception desk, pulling on her hooded top, more suited to a gymnasium than a swanky hotel. A young man with slicked-back blond hair looked up with a smile, not seeming to bat a professional eye at their attire.

  Pauline was giving a low whistle behind her, distracted by double doors to the left opening onto an enormous restaurant with soaring flowers in the centre of every table.

  The man directed them both to the side entrance to the spa and they traipsed round, peeking at a freshly-cut lawn with what looked to be a labyrinth at its centre, a couple sat on a bench overlooking the scene.

  ‘Cor! This is alright, isn’t it?’ Pauline whispered reverentially, pushing through the double doors, a discreet glass sign on the right of them announcing ‘The Waterdale Spa’. The smell of chlorine hung in the air as they squeaked across to another reception desk manned by a smooth olive-skinned girl. ‘Welcome to The Waterdale Spa,’ her voice whispered, satin-smooth and reverential. Maria felt an overwhelming urge to bow.

  They were handed an enormous pile of pristine white towels, dressing gowns and (free) fluffy slippers and instructed to follow as the hostess pointed out the various doors: treatment rooms, resting area, relaxation lounge, swimming pool, changing rooms, sauna, steam room and more. The words were largely foreign to Maria, who had never been anywhere like this, so she let Pauline ask the questions, sort the timings. She just stared, awe-struck, as they moved, trying not to stumble as she peeked out over her enormous pile of fluffy items.

  As she stumbled into the changing room, heading to a locker, she could see Pauline was already somehow half undressed, talking about the eucalyptus steam room and the cold shower experience. For a grandmother she had an enviable figure: willowy long limbs, a narrow waist. In comparison, Maria found herself looking around for a cubicle to hide.

  ‘Oh, they’ve got an outdoor and inside sauna, you know,’ Pauline read from a notice on the wall.

  Maria grinned as she realised Albie had guessed absolutely right. This was the perfect gift for Pauline, she was absolutely in her element.

  ‘I thought I’d get Shellac,’ Pauline was saying as Maria continued to hunt fo
r somewhere to change. She looked at her dumbly. ‘For the toes,’ Pauline waggled a foot. ‘I’ve always wanted to get a gel manicure and now I can try.’

  ‘Great,’ Maria said, spotting a small changing room in the corner, trying not to stare at Pauline’s royal blue bikini as she passed. Maria wouldn’t dare to wear a bikini; Pauline was only a few years younger, but she carried it off effortlessly.

  Maria got undressed and reached into her bag, pulling at the tags on her new black swimming costume. She’d had to buy it especially. It hadn’t occurred to her when she had called to book, until the receptionist had listed what to bring. And of course, swimming pools, hot tubs… there was bound to be water. Now, she reminded herself why she had booked the spa: it wasn’t about her, it was a gift for Pauline from Albie. Just seeing Pauline’s wide-eyed reaction at the high-vaulted swimming pool area, the black-tiled bottom of the pool sparkling with tiny silver flecks, the sleek cushioned loungers that lined the room, Maria knew she had done the right thing by coming.

  Pauline immediately stepped into the almost-empty pool, her ash-blonde hair tied in a high knot as she set off doing breaststroke. Maria sunk onto a nearby lounger, pulling out her book and taking the odd glance at the pool. It did look inviting but there was no way she was getting in.

  Time passed and people came and went. Pauline swam towards Maria, her fringe stuck to her forehead, her cheeks flushed with the exercise.

  ‘This is amazing. You going to get in?’

  ‘I’m alright,’ Maria said from the safety of her lounger.

  ‘You’re not going to get wet?’ Pauline splashed at her, spraying the side.

  Maria lifted her knees up, just avoiding the droplets.

  ‘How about the hot tub?’ Pauline said, climbing up the ladder.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure…’ Maria replied, glancing across the room.

  ‘Come on,’ Pauline said, standing dripping in front of her, ‘Don’t make me sit in there on my own.’

  Maria could see she wouldn’t be giving up. She put down her book and nodded, standing and wrapping the dressing gown firmly around her.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Pauline, padding across to the large circled pool, steam rising from its surface. Pressing a button on the side, it bubbled into life and she stepped into it, turning to hold her hand out to Maria. She took it, dressing gown abandoned on a chair nearby, a tentative step into the water. Apart from her baths she avoided water.

  ‘Watch yer step!’ Pauline said, sinking into the bubbles. ‘Oh my god, this is bliss.’

  The water was wonderfully warm and Maria reminded herself that it was just like an oversized bath. She edged her way into a sitting position and rested her head back, feeling the water tickle the bottom strands of her hair.

  ‘That better?’ Pauline asked, opening one eye to look across at her.

  Maria couldn’t stop the grin from her face. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, the jet streams of water gently pummelling the knots in her back and thighs. She allowed herself to rest right back against the side and close her eyes, savouring it.

  ‘So, are we going to talk about him?’ Pauline said after a while, both eyes still closed, head tilted back.

  Maria gave her a sideways look, ‘Who?’

  Pauline opened one eye. ‘Who do you think? Our amazing benefactor, of course: Albert. I was always curious, were you two…?’ She waggled her eyebrows.

  Maria couldn’t help a small giggle escaping. ‘He was my friend,’ she said simply. ‘But I wish…’ She settled back against the edge again, sighing deeply.

  ‘Oh, I think I see.’

  ‘I don’t know he ever felt the same way,’ Maria said hurriedly, not wanting to presume. ‘He mentioned a woman, Cathie. He wanted to take her to Paris…’ The information burst out of Maria in an embarrassed rush.

  ‘Cathie,’ Pauline repeated.

  Maria nodded, ‘I wrote to her. To tell her. She didn’t reply.’

  ‘Didn’t she? Well, there’s certainly no rivalry there…’

  Maria looked up at her, her breath seeming suddenly stuck in her chest. Pauline was giving her the strangest look. Did she…?

  Maria couldn’t help asking, her eyes widening, ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Cathie was Albie’s sister! Thought they’d had a falling-out a while back, he mentioned it in passing. I was telling him about two of my sisters – they don’t speak, they had a massive falling-out over a casserole dish, one of those nice ceramic ones. Someone smashed it or didn’t return it, I forget, and it all exploded. Families, eh?’

  Maria wasn’t focusing as Pauline continued. Sister? Cathie was Albie’s sister? How had she never known this? And he’d told Pauline, but not her.

  All the worry she’d had, the imagined romance, the years of a lost love, gone. Maria couldn’t help a silly smile forming on her face.

  Pauline noticed and started to laugh, ‘You dolt!’

  Maria imagined her face becoming crimson, feeling luck that she could blame it on the heat of the water.

  ‘And this!’ Pauline threw an arm around, saving Maria from more detail. ‘Lavish spa days, renovations… what else has the man got you doing?’

  ‘He had this whole list – a wish list, he called it – and I’m working my way through it.’

  Pauline was silent for a bit. ‘What a wonderful way to live. I wonder why he created it.’

  Maria opened her eyes again, realising she had been asking herself the same thing. He was generous – he had shown that in all her dealings with him – but the list did seem to go above and beyond generosity. As if something else was driving him to complete the bullet points. Why did Albie feel he had to live in this way? Was it simply that he wanted to help others or was there a deeper reason behind it?

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted finally, ‘I wish I knew. And I wish I could show him the list still lives on even, even after…’

  Maria was glad to be in the water, glad her face was already wet.

  Pauline stretched out her legs, brushing Maria’s in the water. ‘Oops, sorry. You know, it’s inspired me really. You can’t help but be affected by all that goodness, it’s bound to rub off. We’re running an afternoon cake sale for the Macmillan Cancer Support charity – Keith’s agreed to do the baking for it. In fact,’ she said, ‘I’ve offered him a job. We need someone else in the kitchen who knows what they’re doing, I want to stay front of house nowadays…’

  ‘Keith,’ Maria repeated, her voice brimming with joy. ‘Oh, but that’s brilliant.’ She felt her face stretch into the most enormous smile. Keith finally had work, someone had given him a much-needed chance.

  ‘Yeah, and I offered him the bedsit above the café. Seems he’s had some trouble recently with accommodation,’ she said, a sly glance across.

  Maria bit her lip.

  Pauline cackled. ‘You could have told me you hauled the man in off the street…’

  ‘I didn’t…’ The water sploshed as Maria started.

  Pauline batted her away. ‘I’m joking, I’m joking, I knew something was up, he kept appearing in the café with the same clothes for a start, so I asked him outright and he told me. I was relieved, no great secret that. For a minute I was worried he might have killed someone or something. He didn’t seem the killing type. So, he lives there now. He’s keeping the place tidier than any previous tenant. He asked me if he could borrow coasters from the café. Coasters, for god’s sake, man’s a neat freak.’

  Maria felt herself relax, laughing at Pauline’s exasperated expression. How wonderful that Keith now had a roof over his head, not damp and cold and ignored on the streets of Brighton. She hadn’t seen him in a while and was delighted that was the reason.

  ‘The Albie Effect, isn’t it? I’ve gone soft,’ said Pauline, sinking deeper into the water.

  The Albie Effect, Maria reflected, feeling the warmth all around her and now in her too. How true. He was making everything better still, touching the lives of others even now.


  They stayed in a happy silence and before Maria knew it, an olive-skinned girl was standing in front of them in her dazzling white uniform informing them their treatments would begin in five minutes.

  With her skin shrivelled from the water, Maria stepped out of the hot tub and into her dressing gown.

  ‘Treatments!’ Pauline announced with an excited clap.

  The massages were utter heaven, lilting music playing as fingers pressed and squeezed her flesh. Aromatic oil was rubbed into her back and shoulders and Maria soon forgot to be embarrassed about her rolls of flesh or the wrinkles on her skin, too carried away by the ecstasy of being pampered. When she stood, she was dizzy, skin and hair damp and smelling of the orange-scented oil they’d used.

  Pauline looked at her groggily, clearly feeling the same way. ‘Not sure I’m going to be able to stay awake for the rest of the day.’

  They had their toenails painted side by side, Pauline selecting the same bright coral for them both and Maria getting a tiny glimpse into what her life might have been like with a best friend. They talked more over the healthy lunch, Pauline telling her all about her childhood in East London, her mum a midwife, her dad a plumber who loved to fix up anything with a wire so their whole terrace house was crammed with broken electrical goods; her first husband who lost all their money buying a holiday home in Spain that didn’t exist. She talked and Maria listened and laughed, swerving questions about herself and diverting the attention back to Pauline.

  Pauline offered an enormous tip to the receptionist, asking if she could track them down some cake.

  ‘It’s a special lunch designed around the principles of Ayurveda to help aid digestion and leave you feeling restored and energised,’ the receptionist explained in a zen-like tone.

  ‘That is great but I have a medical need for a sugary treat,’ Pauline said solemnly, marvelling at the speed with which the girl produced two enormous slices of Black Forest gateau.

  ‘So…’ – Pauline cut into the cake – ‘what about you, Maria? Apart from Albie, has there ever been another man in your life?’