by Jill Mansell
“Good-bye. And just so you know, if anyone asks how our date went, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to give you a good review.”
“That’s fine.” Patsy thought it was probably more than fine; it was a blessing. Aloud, she said, “I deserve it.”
Together they watched as Derek cycled off down the street for the second time.
“And another one bites the dust,” said Dan.
Barbara, the huge black Labrador who belonged to one of the most regular of the pub’s regulars, placed her paw on Patsy’s knee as if sympathizing with her tragic still-manless state.
“I did ask him not to ride through the village, but he ignored me.” Patsy relived her horror when she’d realized he was going to do it anyway. When you were on the back of a tandem, you didn’t have much choice in the matter.
“I don’t think I want to speak to you anymore.” Dan was shaking his head at her. “You shameless strumpet, plastering your face with…eurgh, all that disgusting makeup.”
Patsy picked up a cardboard beer coaster and spun it at him like a weapon. Frustratingly, he employed his lightning reflexes to catch it, then flipped it into the air so that Barbara could leap up and grab it in her mouth.
“Come on then.” Lily finished her drink and stood up, gesturing to Dan and jangling her keys. “Let’s get you back to your car.”
Dan rose to his feet and gave Patsy a hug. “Bye then. See you in a couple of weeks. And don’t worry, there has to be someone decent out there. We’ll find him for you eventually.”
She hugged him in turn. They might tease each other endlessly, but he was her little brother—albeit a foot taller than her—and she loved him to bits.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. And you look after yourself.” Drawing back, she shook her head at him. “I still can’t believe they let you fly actual planes.”
Dan grinned. “That’s nothing. I can’t believe I let you cut my hair.”
He stowed his travel case in the back of the van, ruffled Barbara’s ears as an au revoir, and jumped into the passenger seat. Starting the engine, Lily leaned out the driver’s window and said, “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was Lily’s birthday; she would be twenty-five. Patsy smiled, because they all knew it would be an especially significant day. She nodded and waved at them both. “Oh yes, you definitely will.”
The van pulled away and disappeared up the road. Barbara, panting in the heat and now in search of shade and a bowl of cold water, wandered back inside the pub. And Patsy, finding herself with an unexpectedly free evening, set off in the direction of home.
As she was letting herself into the cottage, her phone began to ring. Surprised by the name on the screen, she answered it and said, “Rosa, hello! How are things with you? It’s been ages.”
Rosa had worked for her here at the salon years ago. Now married and living in London with her taxi-driver husband and three young children, she’d stayed in touch via Facebook, but they hadn’t seen each other since the birth of Rosa’s middle child. The good intentions were always there, but—as they had a habit of doing—life and work had simply gotten in the way.
“Everything’s great!” Rosa sounded buoyant. “OK, now listen. I’ve got something to ask you. And this might sound a bit weird, but I promise you it’s not bad weird.”
“Okaaay.” Intrigued, Patsy picked up the crumb-strewn plate and empty Twix wrapper Dan had left on the coffee table. Honestly, for someone without an ounce of fat on him, he certainly ate a lot of junk food. “What’s it about?”
“A friend of a friend needs a favor. Nothing illegal. But it has to be someone who can definitely keep a secret.” Rosa paused, as in the background another phone began to ring. “Which is why I thought of you.”
Chapter 3
A bird was singing loudly in the honeysuckle outside Lily’s bedroom window. Coral would probably know what kind of bird, but Lily didn’t have a clue. It sounded very cheerful though. She opened her eyes and saw from the dazzle of light slicing through the gap in the curtains that it was destined to be another hot, sunny day.
It’s my birthday. I’m twenty-five!
And so lucky…
She slid out of bed, knowing that when she opened the door, the tray would be outside. It always was; over the years it had been a tradition from which they’d never wavered.
And indeed it was there, on the wine-red landing carpet, the rectangular silver tray bearing a single rosebud in a squat silver vase, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a sealed envelope, and a small, flat package wrapped in silver-and-yellow-striped paper and tied with curly silver ribbons.
From her mum.
Lily bent down, picked up the tray, and carefully carried it back into her room, laying it on the bedside table so nothing would topple over. She could hear sounds of movement drifting up from downstairs—the clink of china, the murmur of voices on the radio, doors being opened and closed.
But this, now, was private, to be shared between her and her mother. Just the two of them.
For the very last time.
Lily took a sip of orange juice and opened the envelope. While all the other letters had been written on thick, lilac writing paper, this one was on a plain white sheet of paper. But the handwriting was the same, instantly recognizable with its extravagant loops and swirls. She ran the tips of her fingers over the paper, the first person to touch it since her mum had written the words, then lifted it to her nose and inhaled to see if it retained any recognizable scent.
No, it just smelled like paper.
OK, here goes. She took a steadying breath and began to read.
Hello, my dearest, darling girl, and happy, happy birthday! You’re twenty-five, and I wish you all the love and happiness in the world. (I’m going to trust you here and assume you haven’t opened your letters early. It’s a possibility by now, and it doesn’t matter a bit if you have, but I still kind of hope you managed to control your impatience and wait, so I can talk to my twenty-five-year-old daughter woman to woman!)
I wonder if you look like me. Is your hair still long and madly curly? It’s so hard to imagine what you’re like now, but I do know for sure that you are kind, thoughtful, loving, and beautiful on the inside and out. I hope your life is as happy as it deserves to be. Have you found a wonderful partner yet? Are you married? Maybe you have a child… Wow, that’s an incredible thought! I could be a grandma by now! Well, if I am, I bet you’re a fantastic mother. (And if you aren’t, you’re still fantastic anyway.)
A tear was trickling down Lily’s cheek. She paused and wiped it away. She could hear her mum’s voice so clearly that it was almost as if she were here in the room, saying the words to her.
She continued to read:
I didn’t know how long to continue writing to you on your birthday, sweetheart. A part of me wanted to carry on until you were a hundred! But it looks as if the decision has been made for me, as the last few days haven’t been great. I’m writing this in the hospital (hence the less-than-glamorous paper), and it’s becoming harder to concentrate. They’re upping my morphine, so I’m going to be sleeping a lot more from now on. And I don’t want to start scribbling gibberish, so this is another reason to make this the last letter.
I have a little present for you too! Is it there? Have you already opened it? If not, let me just explain that it might not have cost a lot, but it’s my most precious and treasured possession—apart from you, obviously, my beautiful, darling girl—which is why I want you to have it now. It was given to me on my nineteenth birthday by Declan Madison. He was my first love and—as it turned out—the only love of my life.
How I wish our relationship could have lasted—although if it had, then I never would have gotten involved with your father, and we wouldn’t have had you! (Something else I wonder: Will you get to know your father at some stage? Are you in touch with each
other? Did he turn out to be not so bad after all? So many questions!)
Anyway, I’m passing on to you what Declan gave to me, and I really hope you like it. Has Coral told you about him? She will have, I’m sure. He really was a lovely boy. We had the best time together—it was just the timing that was wrong. And if it’s strange to think of you being twenty-five now, it’s equally strange to imagine Declan being forty-eight. That’s old!
I hope you’re still in touch with Coral and Nick. And Patsy too! I hope I chose the right people to look after you, my darling. I did the best I could. More than anything, I wish I could have stayed with you, but sadly, that hasn’t been possible.
Thank you for being the light of my life, the very best thing that ever happened to me. I wish you nothing but love, health, and happiness.
Happy birthday, beautiful Lily.
All, all, all my everlasting love, sweetheart.
You and me, always.
Mum xxx
There, done, and the tears were now flowing down Lily’s face in earnest. Every letter ended with those same words: You and me, always. She and her mum had said it to each other each night at bedtime; it had been their mantra, their secret promise to each other. Whatever might happen—and it had happened—nothing could break the bond that existed between them.
She would reread the letter over and over in the years ahead, but never again for the first time. This was why she’d always preferred to open the envelopes in private. Once it was done and she’d had the chance to compose herself once more, she would go downstairs and begin the rest of her birthday.
Rubbing her eyes and her wet face on the hem of her T-shirt, Lily picked up the wrapped present and carefully untied the silver ribbon bow. Over the past seventeen years, the scotch tape had lost its stickiness and acquired a light-brown tinge. When she nudged it, it loosened beneath her touch.
She unfolded the striped wrapping paper, then the nest of tissue beneath it. The bangle was narrow and silver, randomly studded with tiny sparkling stones that were unlikely to be diamonds. But it was pretty, catching the light as she turned it this way and that. And she dimly remembered it too.
Vague memories from early childhood were beginning to resurface, of exploring bedroom drawers and boxes containing various bits of jewelry, of seeing and trying on the bangle, which at the time had been far too big for her. Back then, at the age of five or six, she’d far preferred to hang assorted strings of beads around her neck and shuffle around in her mum’s high heels, pretending to be a grown-up.
A few months after that, her mum had fallen ill and the difficult times had begun. Lily knew now how hard it must have been for everyone, attempting to shield her from the worst of it and pretending everything wasn’t as bad as it actually was. Her mum had done her best to carry on doing as much as possible with her, between the repeated stays in the hospital. Coral and Nick had asked Lily what color she’d like her new bedroom to be and had redecorated accordingly, for when she spent time with them. And Patsy, her babysitter, had spoiled her endlessly, taking her out on day trips, creating treasure hunts, and keeping her entertained when—let’s face it—most eighteen-year-old girls would far rather be chasing after boys and having fun with friends their own age.
When her mother had finally died, between them they had showered her with so much genuine love that she’d never once had to worry about what would happen to her. It had all been arranged; everything had been taken care of. Coral and Nick had welcomed her into their household, allowing her to grieve but always there for her, patiently helping her settle into her new life with them. Of course she’d missed her mum dreadfully, but she’d been surrounded with warmth and affection, and as time passed, the grief subsided. She might no longer have a birth mother, but Coral had definitely been the next best thing.
Lily slid the silver bangle onto her left wrist and gazed across at the framed photograph on her bedside table. The photo had been taken here, in the garden of Goldstone House, on her first birthday, when she’d still been a beaming, bald baby with only a few teeth to her name. There she was, sitting happily on her mum’s lap, with Nick and Coral to one side and Patsy laughing as she made a futile grab for a blurry toddler who was actually Dan racing past with a water pistol in each hand and a small dog in hot pursuit.
Of course, Lily had no memory of the day itself. But it was one of her favorite photographs because everyone in it looked so completely happy and relaxed.
She had been lucky. Tragedy might have touched her life, but she’d come through it. And Coral, in turn, had come through for her.
Which was why, twenty-four years after that first birthday, she was still so glad to be here.
Chapter 4
Coral was on the terrace, aiming her watering can at the hanging baskets outside the French windows. Turning at the sound of Lily’s footsteps behind her, she managed to send a spray of water over her own bare feet.
“Darling, happy birthday!” Putting down the watering can, she came over and held out her arms. They hugged each other, then Coral pulled back so she could see Lily’s face. “How are you? All OK?”
Lily nodded. “I’m fine. You know, a bit emotional, but it was nice too.” She indicated the envelope in her hand. “You can read it. And this was the present.” Holding up her other arm, she showed Coral the bangle on her wrist. “I kind of remember it used to be in her dressing-table drawer.”
“I remember it too. And I’d always wondered what happened to it.” Admiring the bangle, Coral nodded and said, “All this time it’s been wrapped up, waiting for you.”
“It was a present from her boyfriend when she was nineteen. Declan.”
“That’s right.” Coral smiled, taking the letter from her. “He was Jo’s first love. She always called him ‘the one that got away.’”
Lily nodded. They’d talked about him before, of course, although Coral had never met Declan herself. After leaving school, her mum had taken a gap year, traveling to Spain and meeting Declan when they were both working at a restaurant on Las Ramblas in Barcelona. They’d spent eleven months together, enjoying each other’s company, the social life, and the high-octane buzzing energy of the capital city of Catalonia. Everything had been perfect until the time had come to return to the UK and take up their places at university—Declan at St. Andrews, her mother in Exeter.
This was when the perennial problem had arisen: Would they be able to keep a long-distance relationship going when they were separated by a distance of more than four hundred miles?
The answer had turned out to be no. It would have been just too hard, the distance too great. There had been endless agonizing, tears had been shed, and the hopelessness of the situation had been discussed over and over again. But finally, they’d conceded defeat and agreed to go their separate ways. The love affair was over.
Eventually, of course, Lily’s mum had met someone else and ended up accidentally getting pregnant. When the new boyfriend had found out about the pregnancy, he’d wanted nothing more to do with her, whereupon her mum, devastated but far too proud to beg, had granted his wish.
What a charmer.
Anyway, who needed a man like that in her life? You’d have to be mad or desperate. Lily did what she’d always done and mentally erased the thought of her biological father from her mind. Instead, she watched as Coral finished reading the letter. When she came to the end, unshed tears glimmered in her eyes, and she drew Lily to her for another hug.
“Her letters sound just like her. It’s as if I can hear her saying every word.”
Lily nodded. “I know.”
“It’s a beautiful letter,” said Coral. She checked her watch. “Forty minutes before we have to open up. We’d better go inside. There might be more cards and presents to open in the kitchen.”
* * *
It had turned out to be a busy morning. It might be her birthday, but there was still w
ork to do. When Coral and Nick had inherited Goldstone House from Nick’s parents, they had taken over the business too. Goldstone Salvage & Treasure was a destination architectural salvage company that attracted visitors from miles around. Amateurs and professionals alike came to Stanton Langley in search of items for their homes, gardens, and businesses. Every day was different; you never knew who would be buying or selling, or what might pass through the yard.
Flagstones, wooden beams, and French antique radiators jostled for position with giant chandeliers, period fireplaces, garden sculptures, and eclectic items from theater companies and old movie sets. Next to a selection of ornate bed frames and church pews was a Tornado jet fighter cone. Stone gargoyles sat between mullioned windows and a cast-iron kissing gate. Wooden wall panels and original red postboxes mingled with a giant swan-shaped bed and life-size statues of Adam and the Ants.
It was now midday. Lily had just finished helping a man load an Italian marble sink into the back of his Volvo.
“Well, I’m impressed.” The man’s wife shook her head in admiration. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I know. I’m stronger than I look. There, all done.” Lily dusted her hands on the sides of her shorts and waved the couple off as the phone in her pocket began to ring.
“Lily! Happy birthday,” said Dan.
“Hi! Thanks for the flowers. They’re amazing.” The florist had delivered them an hour earlier, a typically over-the-top explosion of birds-of-paradise, stunning yellow roses, deep purple gerbera, and fuchsia-pink peonies the size of dinner plates.
“They’ve arrived, then? Good. I asked for thistles, nettles, and a few old dandelions.”
“That’s exactly what they sent me.”
He laughed. “Listen, that’s not why I called. I’ve messed up and I need you to help me out.”
“Have you crashed your airplane? Because if you want me to take the blame and say I was driving at the time, they might be suspicious.”
