by Talli Roland
She pressed the doorbell, listening to the click of her mother’s heels on the marble inside.
‘Emma!’ Her mum’s face creased with pleasure as the door swung open. She folded Emma in her arms, and for a second Emma let herself relax into the embrace.
‘It’s so good to see you.’ Her mother ushered Emma down the corridor and into a modern kitchen, completely redone with top-of-the-line units and flooring. The sharp contrast with the former seventies-style space always made Emma blink.
‘How are you, love? You seem well.’ Her mum scanned her face as they settled into chairs at the table.
Emma shot her mother a sceptical look. This was a change; the usual comment was how pale and tired she appeared! But Emma had to admit, when she’d glanced in the mirror while tying up her hair this morning, she had looked more alive. Her face had lost the strained expression she’d never even realised it had, until now.
‘And what brings you here on a weekday? Not that I’m complaining,’ her mother added hastily.
Emma met her mother’s concerned eyes, wondering if she should say the real reason she was suddenly free on weekdays: that she’d been let go. In the past, she’d have kept that information firmly locked up within her protective barrier, thinking her mum wasn’t interested, anyway. But now, in the silence of the big kitchen, Emma felt the urge to share what was really happening in her life.
‘Actually, I’m not with Gladstone. I’m looking for a new job. And George and I aren’t together any longer, either,’ she blurted, thinking she’d get it all out there in one go.
A flash of surprise mixed with hurt crossed her mother’s face. ‘Oh, Emma. When did this happen?’
‘Last week.’ Emma ran her fingers over the smooth tabletop, thinking maybe she should have told her mother sooner, or at least when they’d spoken yesterday. She’d just assumed…
‘Are you all right for money? Andrew and I can always help out if need be.’ Her mum placed a mug of Earl Grey with a splash of milk and a hint of sugar—just the way Emma liked it—in front of her. ‘And as for George, well…I’m sorry.’ Her voice was measured, but Emma sensed she didn’t mean it. She’d never said anything, but Emma knew her mother hadn’t warmed to George despite his charm offensive.
‘Well.’ Her mum cleared her throat, as if she was afraid to ask Emma more questions in case Emma clammed up. ‘Meg and I had a great time going through old photo albums yesterday. She wanted to see some pictures of you at her age. There are some wonderful ones of your father…’ A smile tugged the edge of her rose-coloured lips.
Emma tried hard to keep her mouth from dropping open as the worlds she’d thought her mother had desperately tried to separate came crashing together. Mum had showed Meg photos of her and Dad?
‘I didn’t think those albums were still in the house,’ Emma said finally, her voice hoarse. ‘I thought you’d put them all in storage.’
‘Of course they’re still here.’ Her mother paused. ‘You know, I struggled with the right way to deal with everything after your father’s death. The whole house was full of mementos that reminded me of him at every turn. I couldn’t bear to be faced with the fact that he only existed in memories now, so I thought it best to do a clean sweep. I tried to explain it to you, but…’ She sighed heavily. ‘Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do.’
Emma stared, her mind turning over. She remembered the day she’d got up, still burdened with grief at losing her dad. As she’d trailed down the stairs to the kitchen, panic had lodged in her throat when she noticed all the photos were missing. It wasn’t just the staircase: in the lounge, too, bare nails protruded from the wall. And in the kitchen, her dad’s favourite apron had vanished from the hook on the door. Her mum had turned from the stove as she’d screamed, questioning where her father’s things had gone, and then she’d rushed up the steps.…That had been the start of shutting her mother out and delving into a world of her own.
Now, Emma realised her mum had found it just as hard to cope without her dad. Removing her father’s things wasn’t a callous move, as her teenaged self had hastily interpreted—it was because her mother cared too deeply. And contrary to what Emma had held true for all these years, her mother had tried to talk to Emma. Emma had been the one to turn away.
Why had she clung to the wrong belief for so long? Emma shook her head as the reason flooded in: it had been easier to shut down after her father’s death than to deal with his loss. Being angry with her mum took less effort than learning to open up and live again.
‘I just thought you wanted to forget Dad.’ The words burst from Emma as she gazed into her mother’s calm grey eyes.
‘How could I ever do that?’ Her mother smiled sadly. ‘He was such a big part of my life. Even if I had known I was going to lose him so soon, I wouldn’t have traded our time together for the world. And he gave me you.’ She reached out and grasped Emma’s hand, and for the first time in ages, Emma didn’t pull away. ‘I do miss him, you know. Don’t get me wrong; I love Andrew. Sometimes, though, I can’t help thinking what my life—what you—would have been like if he were still here. His death had a huge impact on you, and I felt powerless to do anything.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I couldn’t get through to you. And maybe…maybe at some stage, once I had Andrew and Meg, I stopped trying as hard as I should have.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper, and Emma’s heart squeezed with guilt.
‘It wasn’t you, Mum,’ she said, clutching her mother’s hand. ‘I just…I just wasn’t ready to talk about it, I guess.’
‘I’d love it if we could start again. Start being a family—a proper family. Without you, there was always something missing.’ Her mum’s eyes shone with tears and Emma nodded, a thread of happiness wending through her at the thought of spending more time together. Birthdays…holidays…and maybe this year, she’d actually have a cosy family Christmas? She hadn’t experienced that since her father died. Despite George and Alice in her life, Christmastime had always felt empty, and Emma had crammed the space with work.
Her mum wiped her eyes. ‘Look at the pair of us, like something off a soap opera! Your father would be saying we’re soppy Sallies and making us laugh right now.’
Emma grinned, remembering how her dad was notorious for causing hilarity at inappropriate times. On one of the few occasions they’d gone to church, he’d made her mother snort when he’d drawn a caricature of the reverend as a walrus. God, it was good to finally talk about her father; to unlock all the memories stored inside.
‘Oh, dear.’ Her mum glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get going if we don’t want to be late for Meg.’
Emma pushed back the immediate thought that Meg would be upset she hadn’t brought a toy, and nodded. She’d been wrong about her mother for all these years. Maybe she should give Meg a chance, too. Emma couldn’t expect a child to fall all over her if they’d hardly exchanged two words, could she?
‘Come on.’ Her mother cleared away the mugs and settled a cashmere coat around her shoulders. Outside, the November sky was a deep blue, with airplane tracks criss-crossing the cerulean canvas. Emma breathed in, feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from her. Her mum hadn’t forgotten about her dad, after all. The jagged pieces of the past had shifted into place, forming a smooth picture.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the tree-lined drive of Meg’s posh private school. An imposing, red-bricked building loomed over them.
‘Wow.’ Emma raised an eyebrow. If she were seven again, she’d have been terrified at getting lost in there. Fleetingly, she thought of the small school she’d attended on the village green, with the pub on one side and the church on the other. What a contrast with this place.
‘I know. Impressive, isn’t it? Andrew wanted Meg to get a solid grounding, and this was the best school.’ Her mother eased into a parking space and turned off the engine. ‘We need to go around the back. They should be c
oming out soon.’
Emma followed her mum through a gate to the rear of the school, every bit as imposing as the front. A sharp bell rang, and a few minutes later, a stream of children came racing out. God, they’re cute, Emma thought, eyeing the girls’ straw boaters, maroon blazers and checked skirts. Which one was Meg? She squinted, trying to make out her sister’s dark blonde hair and freckled cheeks. In those hats, they all looked the same.
‘Here she is!’ Emma spun around to see Meg clutching her mother’s arm. ‘Meg, say hi to Emma.’
Meg gazed down at the ground, half-hiding behind her mum. ‘Hi, Emma,’ she mumbled.
Emma’s heart panged. Was Meg that shy around her? Not surprising, given she hadn’t done much to encourage a relationship. Smiling, she bent down to Meg’s eye level.
‘Hey, Meg. It’s my first time here. Do you think you could show me around?’ Beside her, her mum nodded encouragingly.
Meg paused, staring up as if gauging Emma’s true level of interest. Then her head bobbed up and down. ‘I guess. Mum, is that okay?’
‘Perfect, darling,’ her mother answered. ‘I’ll wait here for you two.’
Tentatively, Meg reached out and took Emma’s hand, leading her into the giant building. Inside, it smelled exactly like Emma’s school had: floor wax and dust. But instead of cracked linoleum and flickering fluorescents, this school had polished wooden floorboards and globe lights that cast a soft glow on ornate woodwork.
‘This is my classroom.’ Meg stopped in front of a door covered with coloured-in tracings of children’s hands.
‘Very nice,’ Emma said, wondering how on earth to converse with a seven-year-old. She pointed to the cutouts on the door. ‘Which one is yours?’
Meg placed her palm over a sparkly green one. ‘This one. I wanted to put more sparkles on it, but we ran out.’
Emma laid her hand over Meg’s. ‘My hand is twice the size of yours!’
‘Yes, but you’re old,’ Meg said solemnly, and Emma stifled a laugh as her sister tugged her into the classroom, pointing out other artwork on the walls.
When they’d completed the rounds of the room, Meg looked up at Emma. ‘Will you come to my Christmas concert? It’s the third week of December. I’m playing the lead star! I even get to sing a solo.’
The lead star! Emma smiled, picturing her sister in a vibrant costume, her high, sweet voice lifted in song. She nodded, thinking it’d be a great start at making herself a part of Meg’s world and fitting back into the family. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Riding the Tube the next day to meet Alice at Bond Street for their shopping expedition, Emma felt lighter than she had in years. As the train swayed, she couldn’t help grinning at the thought of last night. She and Meg had played Snakes and Ladders—the old board game her mum had dragged out from God knows where—for hours. Then, Andrew had returned from work and they’d all sat down to dinner, chatting away. Her stepfather was surprisingly nice, and Emma realised she’d never really got to know him.
She’d left as night closed in, but not before promising Meg no fewer than a hundred times that yes, she’d be at the concert to see her play lead star. After years of being alone, Emma was starting to feel part of a family again. She couldn’t wait for Christmas now! Images floated into her head of waking up in her old bedroom, tearing down the stairs to the pine-scented lounge, then ripping open gifts. She’d have to pick up something extra special for Meg.
And tonight, she was seeing Will. Not just seeing him—cooking for him! Who would have thought? Emma’s smile grew bigger, and the man beside her shifted away like she’d escaped from the loony bin, but she didn’t care. She was living, as clichéd as that sounded. This time last week, she’d been in the office, blissfully unaware her life was about to come crashing down. Now, she was minus a job and a fiancé, but everything seemed full of hope and potential. Yikes, was she actually starting to become Pollyanna?
Alice waved as Emma pushed through the Tube turnstile towards the busy pavement. ‘Right, no time to waste,’ she said with a look of determination. ‘Where do you usually shop?’
‘Um…’ Emma strained to think. ‘Marks & Spencer, Debenhams—’
‘You’re only thirty-two!’ Alice exclaimed in horror. ‘Those places are great for work and more formal stuff, but what about casual, going-out clothes?’ Alice glanced at the jeans and jumper Emma was wearing, and shook her head. ‘Let me guess. That’s it, right?’
Emma shrugged. ‘You know me, Al. Until now, I didn’t go out. If George and I went anywhere, it was always after work.’ Even on the weekends, they’d hooked up after a stint in the office.
‘Well, no more. We’re going to do an Emma makeover. New attitude, new you.’
‘Not too different, though, right?’ Emma said cautiously. A little spruce-up wasn’t a bad thing, but she knew how carried away her friend could get. Once, Alice had auditioned for a part requiring a shaved head. To show her commitment to the role, she’d gone all out and showed up at the audition with a shiny, newly bald scalp. However, her head turned out to be strangely shaped—a fact she’d only uncovered (literally!) too late. Alice hadn’t got the part and had been forced to wear a selection of hideous wigs and scarves tied around her noggin until her locks had grown past the chicken-fuzz stage.
Alice shrugged, eyeing Emma’s hastily pulled-back ponytail. ‘We’ll see. We’ll start with wardrobe first, then try to get you into an emergency hair appointment somewhere. Oh, remind me to give you the recipe before I head off. I printed it out—you can grab the ingredients on the way home.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ A shot of adrenaline coursed through Emma at the thought of seeing Will tonight. Would he do more than kiss her cheek? She wouldn’t complain! God, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so anxious about an impending date. It was kind of exciting in a nerve-racking way.
‘Let’s get started.’ Taking Emma’s arm, Alice marched her into New Look, a brand Emma always thought catered more to teenagers than thirty-somethings.
Two hours and what felt like several thousand shops later, Emma was clutching a handful of carrier bags and a whole new wardrobe. Sexy skinny jeans, funky leather lace-up boots with heels she could just about manage, softly tailored jumpers that gave her some curves…she had to hand it to her friend. Despite her fears, Alice hadn’t gone overboard. Pivoting Gok Wan–style in her new attire, Emma had to admit she did feel more feminine.
For tonight, Alice had selected black skinny jeans and an artfully draping cashmere sweater dotted with sequins. Just enough to signal to Will she was making an effort, Alice had said, but not too much to show she was gagging for it. The deep turquoise of the top made the green of Emma’s eyes stand out.
‘Okay.’ Alice halted in front of a hair salon just off New Bond Street. ‘Let’s see if they can fit you in.’ Reaching up, she yanked the elastic from Emma’s ponytail and tousled her hair.
‘Hey! No need to blind me.’ Emma pushed curls from her face before she tripped over something. Alice didn’t mess around!
‘I’m thinking a few copper highlights to lift the colour, maybe a blow-dry to smooth it down.…’ Grimacing, Alice examined the strands. ‘And definitely a trim. You have enough split ends to knit a hair shirt.’
Heaving open the salon’s glass door, Alice tugged Emma inside. The frighteningly stylish cutters buzzing back and forth reminded Emma why she hadn’t been to a hair salon for months. In drab clothing with an unimaginative hairstyle, she always felt out of place amidst the fashionistas. Even worse, you had to stare at your pale reflection for however long it took the stylists to tut over your tortured locks. Anyway, she’d never seen the point in wasting time on improving her appearance. Now, though, she wanted to look nice for Will.
‘My friend needs highlights and a cut, please,’ Alice announced to the crimson-haired receptionist, who bl
inked like she’d been asked to design indoor plumbing on Mars.
‘We’re very busy today. Let me check the schedule.’ The receptionist clacked away on a computer as Alice rolled her eyes. ‘Well, ladies, you’re in luck,’ the woman said. ‘Jesús can do your colour and highlights right now, if you’re free.’ Her tone indicated Emma would be a fool to suggest otherwise—that’s how privileged she was.
‘Jesus?’ Alice sniggered, pronouncing the Spanish name in English. ‘He’d have to be, to perform a miracle on your hair.’
Emma wanted to protest, but she knew Alice was right. Her locks had been sadly neglected for years. These days, they were lucky if they even got conditioned.
‘Do you want to book Jesús, then?’ The receptionist tilted her head, looking as if she couldn’t care less.
‘We do.’ Alice glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to run. Good luck—I expect a full report later. When is Will coming over?’
‘Seven.’ Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You think there’ll be enough time? It’s already half past three.’
Alice waved a hand. ‘No worries. You should be out of here by five, there’s a Tesco Metro around the corner where you can pick up everything you need, and you’ll be back at your flat by five thirty at the latest. Plenty of time. Right, I’m off. ’Bye!’
Emma watched Alice’s slender form disappear into the crowd, then gulped and followed the receptionist into the bowels of the salon.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jesús really had performed a miracle, Emma thought as she eyed her newly upgraded reflection a few hours later. Or had her perception been skewed by the large glass of wine she’d gulped earlier? She’d tried to say no—without any food in her stomach, it’d go right to her head—but the salon assistant had pressed a goblet into her hand. Probably they’d found the more sloshed the customer, the less likely she’d be to complain.
