At which point, everyone looked at me. Tim said, ‘Eden?’
They wanted me to say something but what did I want to say? How much I loved him. How many great memories I had of him?
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I love him so much. This feels all wrong – like Auntie Fiona said, all wrong. I wish I’d had a proper chance to say goodbye.’
‘But you did say goodbye,’ said Mom. ‘Last time you were here, he came down, remember? And you know he loved you, Eden.’
‘I loved him too.’
Fiona wiped her eyes, saying, ‘Come here, Eden,’ and squashed me in her embrace.
Fletcher and Austin took up their shovels again and began returning the dug-up clay.
‘Easier putting it back in than it was getting it out,’ said Fletcher.
It was afternoon by the time we got back, to find Margaret keeping dry just inside the open bi-folds, nursing a glass of wine.
‘God, look at everyone!’ she said, and Mom, surveying the mud up to Fletcher’s knees said: ‘Yes. We’re going to have the washing machine going all night, aren’t we Fi?’
Which was just so typical of Mom.
* * *
The wake started after everyone had showered. Mom came wafting into the sitting room, wearing a white kaftan with silver beading around the scooped neckline. She pressed the button on the wall to ignite the fire box, and watched as the fake flames leapt up over the fire-resistant pebbles.
‘We need to tell Pinkhound that we’re leaving, without telling them why. We can go anytime, so we’ll just say we’ve found a nice place for Owen, and we’re all eager to get paid.’
Four weeks.
A month to clear out everything from the castle and from every other cottage and structure, including the chapel, not to mention the pavilion, before Pinkhound came to take possession.
‘Four weeks,’ said Fiona, forlornly. ‘I know we all agreed to that, Jes, but now it’s happened … I don’t know, I feel like I need time to process this. Dad being gone. This estate sold.’
Mom spoke soothingly, saying, ‘Four weeks is plenty of time. You’ll see. We’ll get it done. And once everyone’s been paid … look, it will be a relief. We’ll be able to do what we want with our lives.’
‘Who decided on those terms?’ said Fletcher.
Mom said: ‘We all did. Don’t you remember, we signed the paperwork?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Fletcher. ‘And I’m not arguing, but everyone knows I can’t be here for four weeks, right? I’ve got to get back. What about you, Austin?’
‘Definitely I’ve got to get back. I mean, we were only just here, and now we’re back. I’m so behind with study already.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Tim. ‘We can organise the move. The main thing is for us to decide where to go. Although, actually, there is a house, isn’t there, Fi, that we’ve been looking at buying? It’s in the Pacific Palisades – between Malibu and LA. It’s a gated community. Near the hiking trails.’
‘You’ve already looked at something?’ said Mom.
‘We have,’ admitted Fiona. ‘After we signed the contract, I had a bit of a poke around trying to figure out what we’d get for our money, not thinking we’d be able to do anything straightaway, but maybe now …’
‘If you’ve found something you like, you should grab it. All cash, quick sale,’ said Mom.
‘But it’s all happening so fast,’ said Fiona, face in her hands. ‘I was just getting into the groove of caring for him and now he’s gone.’
‘Speaking for myself, I can’t wait,’ said Fletcher. ‘Pop had a long life, and he got what he wanted. He never had to go into a nursing home, being poked and prodded. He’s six feet under and where he always wanted to be. And we all come out of this place with money.’
Austin came into the room. He’d been busy in the kitchen, making a pot of mulled wine.
‘I’ve spiced it with cloves,’ he said, sniffing. ‘Like Penelope used to do. It got me thinking: I should ask her for a recipe book. Remember that lamb she made? I’d like to take some of those old recipes into the world with me.’
The mention of Penelope’s name gave me a chance to say: ‘Do you think we should call Penelope and Rex? Maybe there’s something from the house they want. A memento of Pop.’
Mom looked at Fiona, who looked at Tim, who looked down at his white socks.
‘Okay, Eden,’ said Mom. ‘There are things that you need to know about how this will all play out from here. Things to do with your inheritance, and so on. And the first thing you need to know is: we took care of Penelope and her family. She worked here for a very long time, as you know. But what you maybe don’t know was there were times when there was no money and Owen didn’t pay her. And when we decided to sell, one thing she said was that she didn’t have a lot of money saved and that was our fault. And because she was a good, loyal friend to Owen, and to the estate and because it seemed that he hadn’t always paid her properly, let alone Rex, who helped out from time to time, and not to mention Earl, well, you’ll remember when we signed the agreement with Pinkhound, they paid a deposit? That was a million dollars – and we gave some of that money to Penelope.’
‘How much?’ I said.
‘How much? Well, that’s a very forward question. But, since you’ve asked it, we gave her one-third. Three hundred and thirty thousand dollars. And she took that money and obviously she gave some of that money to Earl.’
‘As she should have done,’ said Great Aunt Margaret. She’d risen from her chair and was reaching for her cigarettes.
Mom said: ‘And, Eden, just so you know, your great aunt Margaret has benefited too, haven’t you, Margaret?’
‘Yes, I have. Although don’t go saying you’ve done me a favour, Jesalyn,’ said Margaret, heading for the bi-folds, so she could smoke on the deck. ‘Owen was my brother.’
‘Yes, but you were never an heir,’ said Jesalyn. ‘Owen’s father left the estate to Owen alone.’
‘That was a different time,’ said Margaret, her voice muffled around the cigarette she’d put between her lips. ‘I was married to Stan and everyone thought, oh, a woman goes with her husband and gets his property. Didn’t work that way for me. My kids ended up with it. But that’s fine. And I’m happy for the help. So thank you, Jesalyn. Thank you, again.’
I said: ‘But do we know if Earl knows that Pop has died?’
Mom looked at Fiona, who looked at Tim and Margaret.
‘I guess Penelope would tell him if she knows how to find him,’ said Fiona.
If she knew how to find him? I should have known then that something was up. How could Penelope not know how to find him?
* * *
Tim drove Margaret back to Paso after the wake. I offered to ride with them, which prompted Fletcher to say: ‘I’ll come, too. I feel like getting out of here,’ which made Mom say: ‘Well, if you’re both going, maybe I should, too.’
‘I don’t need an entourage,’ said Margaret, surprised.
‘No, but Fletcher’s right, it will be nice to get off the estate,’ said Mom, ‘after all we’ve been through today.’
And so we all went, with windscreen wipers struggling in the rain, and me jumping down with an umbrella to take Margaret by the elbow and help her to her door.
‘Go on, run back,’ she told me, as she went inside. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
I kissed her cheek and splashed back to the truck. We drove back to the estate, with the headlights lighting a dim path, up the Chimney Rock Road, and then down the gravel drive, past the base of the hill where Pop had been laid to rest.
We all looked out the window.
‘Night, Owen,’ Tim said, as we trundled on. ‘Does it feel strange to anyone else, knowing he’s up there, not up in his room?’
‘It feels weird that he’s not in a coffin,’ said Fletcher. ‘Like he could easily climb out of his grave and come back to haunt us.’
‘Fletcher, please. If your Mom heard that,
she’d be beside herself.’
Tim parked the four-wheel drive in the turning circle. The day had been momentous and exhausting, and I felt so tired. My plan had been to go inside and straight to bed, but we found Fiona on her knees in the pavilion, crying over an open box of Christmas decorations.
‘What are you doing?’ said Mom.
‘Oh, I couldn’t help it,’ said Fiona. ‘Every Christmas for as long as I can remember, we’ve had on this estate. We used to have the biggest trees when I was a girl, in the front room of the castle. And then when I got married, coming back every year to visit. And I was so looking forward to being lady of the manor this year. Having everyone come to the pavilion for Thanksgiving, then again for Christmas. Having Dad come down. And now he’s gone and I felt so melancholy. And I couldn’t help myself. I opened up the decorations and it’s like: who remembers this?’ she said, holding up a paper star, coloured purple with crayon and splattered with gold dust, most of which had fallen off. ‘You made this for me, Austin, when you were in elementary school.’
‘It’s hideous,’ said Austin.
‘Eden made this one,’ said Mom, getting down onto her knees to dig out a peg angel on a red string.
‘And it’s not just these old decorations. I found some old photographs of Christmas back in the day. When Jack and I were little. And some from the year Eden was born, wearing her “My First Christmas” onesie. You’ll have to remind me to give them to you.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Mom.
Fletcher found a tiny fairy light – a free-wheeling one, with a tag to pull on and make it glow – and put it in his mouth and blew out his cheeks, so they shone pink.
Austin laughed, then turned towards the bi-folds. The rain that had been falling since morning had become a ferocious storm, with howling wind, and water was beading against the glass.
‘Jesus,’ said Fletcher, standing to take the glowing ball out of his mouth and to look out at the cold and the black. ‘Where is this coming from?’
‘It’s just rain,’ said Tim. ‘Rain’s good for the farms around here.’
I thought of Pop, buried beneath clay that must by then have been so heavy and so slippery.
‘Remember how Nan used to make us go through the whole thing every Christmas: what are you grateful for, this year?’ said Austin. ‘We’re not going to make Christmas, so let’s play now.’
‘I don’t want to play,’ said Fletcher.
‘Oh, come on. For old times’ sake.’
‘Okay, I’ll tell you what I’m grateful for,’ said Fletcher. ‘I’m grateful we found somebody willing to take this place off our hands.’
‘Yes! Here’s to that,’ cried Austin.
* * *
Dawn, the following day. The rain had cleared and pink light stained the morning sky. The oak trees on our hillsides were gradually turning golden, and deer sniffed the breeze.
I went out in my pyjamas and sat down in one of the low Adirondack chairs with a mug of hot water and lemon juice. Some minutes passed, before Fiona came and joined me. She was wearing Pop’s old robe – the one with the crest, and the cord belt, tight around her bulk, and her feet were stuffed into his slippers.
‘Forgive my outfit. I wanted to feel close to him,’ she explained.
We sat side by side, looking out over the golden valley.
‘I feel sad,’ said Fiona.
‘I don’t,’ said Mom, breaking the mood as she came out through the bi-folds onto the deck. ‘Good morning, Eden,’ she said, ruffling my hair. ‘I’m just going to make coffee. Would anyone like some?’
‘No.’
‘I was just saying it feels sad. I have no parents now. Nothing between me and death.’
‘Oh, stop being so morbid,’ said Mom. ‘You’re going to live another thirty, maybe even forty years. You’re going to buy that lovely house in the Palisades and maybe even a nice new car. A soft-top, even. I can see you in a sports car, Fiona. And Eden will be able to go to any college she chooses. And I’ll have some security. And all that’s before we head out shopping today.’
‘We’re going shopping?’
It was the first I’d heard of it.
‘Yes. I need to go into Paso to pick up a few things. I want you to come with me. No moping around here. It’s Friday. You’re heading back to Briar Ridge on what, Monday?’
‘Yes. I can’t afford to miss any more school.’
‘Okay. I saw some hiking boots when I was last in town and I’ve been kicking myself for not getting them. Still thinking like we have no money. But now we do. And you’re coming to give me your seal of approval.’
* * *
Mom tried a few times to start a conversation in the car on our way into Paso, but eventually gave up and put the radio on, and we rode from then on with only music playing.
We parked in Main Street, and Mom said: ‘Okay. Let’s go. Let’s have a proper girls’ shop.’
But I didn’t want to be looking over sale items, giggling like a stupid person. What was happening was horrible. My pop was dead. The castle was sold. I still hadn’t heard anything from Earl. I just wanted to get away from Mom. So I said: ‘Can’t you go and get the boots?’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’
I said the only thing I could think of: ‘I’ve been thinking, I actually need to go to the salon.’
I held the ends of my hair up, between two fingers, to show her the broken bits. Mom seemed surprised. I’d never been the kind of girl who worried about stuff like that. She examined the brush-hard ends of her blonde extensions and said: ‘Oh, I could do with a treatment, too. Let me come with you. We’ll find a place that can do us both. Maybe a mani-pedi?’
‘I hate those.’
‘No girl hates those!’ said Mom. ‘But, you know, whatever. I realise you’re going through a hard time, honey, but taking it out on me won’t help.’
I put my hands in the back pockets of my skinny jeans.
‘I just want to maybe be alone for a bit. So can I go?’
‘Fine, whatever.’
We went in different directions, with Mom stalking away using her longest stride to show how upset she was. I stood waiting, watching her go, then went around the corner, not sure what, exactly, to do next, except that straightaway I came across a salon staffed by two girls with jet-black mohawks and septum piercings, wearing maroon Doc Martens. After a minute looking in through the storefront, I went inside, a bit self-conscious in my sweater and Vans, and explained what I wanted.
‘You sure about this?’ asked the stylist. She had full-sleeve tattoos, and wore eight silver skull rings.
I nodded, and the stylist said, ‘Cool.’
She started with an elastic band and scissors, chomping through my blonde ponytail, then picked up her short-tooth shears and began to move them around my head, propelling herself on a low stool with casters. She smelt of cigarettes and essential oil – rosemary – and she whistled as my hair fell in clumps, to lie like furballs on the black-painted floor.
At some point, her colleague – pierced through the tongue, with an armful of tattoo magazines – came over to watch.
‘Boyfriend trouble?’ she asked.
I shrugged my slumping shoulders under my nylon cape. I honestly didn’t know what to think about Earl not being there. Not calling me. Not bothering. He’d cared about me. That’s what I thought. And not just a little bit. A lot.
‘Was he a jerk?’
‘I guess,’ I said, running my hand over the fresh stubble.
* * *
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Mom was standing by the car, her hands weighed down by fancy shopping bags with stretched handles. ‘What were you thinking?’
It had taken a second for her to recognise me, with my head now dark fuzz.
‘Honestly, Eden, I do not understand you,’ she said, clicking open the car doors. ‘Why would you do that? You’ve made yourself look ugly. Did you want to look ugly? Well, you’ve succeeded.’
‘You think I don’t understand,’ said Mom, as she clattered into the car with her keys and bangles. ‘I do understand. You loved your pop. This is the end of an era for you. I felt the same way when your father died, and I was in agony over losing him, and then I found out I was losing my home, too. It’s tough. But you have to move on. What choice do we have? And as for Earl,’ she added, snapping down the indicator, and pulling away from the kerb, ‘I can tell you now, he’s just not worth a minute of your time.’
I didn’t answer, and Mom stopped talking. We drove on, arriving back at the Glass Pavilion to find Austin in the kitchen. He did a double-take as he came out of the pantry, saying: ‘Whoa! What did you do?’
Fletcher chimed in, saying: ‘Jesus. That looks terrible.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ said Mom, dumping her shopping bags on the floor. ‘Why anyone would want to make themselves this ugly is beyond me.’
* * *
That night, unable to sleep, I got back up and went out onto the deck to look up at the night sky.
Mom wanted me to stay for the weekend. I wanted to leave. There was a train into LA and I could get somebody – Briony, or Dr White or somebody – to pick me up from Union Station. Mom said she needed my help to start cataloguing the castle and throwing things out. There was going to be an argument about it, for sure.
I smelt something. What was it? I lifted my nose, sniffed again. Smoke. I turned and saw Fletcher sitting in a dark corner, with a lit cigarette.
‘What are you doing?’ I said.
‘Why?’ he replied. ‘Do you want one?’
‘No.’
Fletcher shrugged.
‘Pop would have a stroke if he saw you doing that. You know how much he hated it.’
‘Pop loved smoking. Nan smoked. Rex smokes. You probably smoke and you don’t want to admit it.’
Fletcher blew out a smoke ring.
The Lucky One Page 18
