by Brigid Coady
No, she didn't miss him. No. Not at all.
She was still telling herself that as she climbed the stairs out of the station.
She looked round and frowned.
Crap. She'd been so busy thinking about Jack she'd come out of completely the wrong entrance. Looking across the four-lane street clogged with cars, she rolled her shoulders.
Concentrate, Edie.
Taking a deep breath she walked back down into the station. Finding the right exit, she walked tiredly up the steps and popped up on the opposite side of the street she'd just been looking at.
She had to get it together.
"Dad. It is about Dad." she said as she strode down Kensington Church Street, past restaurants and various antique shops plus a pub that was covered in hanging baskets.
How come she didn't remember her grandmother?
How can you forget a grandmother? She'd been thirteen when Dad had left. So there was plenty of time for her to have made some memories of a grandmother.
There were so many gaps in her life; she was wondering why this one could hurt as well. Surely she should be used to living in a Swiss cheese world.
She reached the junction of her grandmother's street and looked around, searching for clues. Wracking her memories for something familiar.
No, she'd never been here before.
She wouldn't have forgotten this, surely?
The large white stucco houses were like something out of a high-end property magazine or a Richard Curtis movie. Imposing.
Granny must have some serious money, she thought.
Slowly she walked down the street counting off the numbers.
She was close. And as she ticked the house numbers her feet started to go slower.
And then there it was, faster than she expected but years too late.
Number one hundred and fifty six.
It had gateposts, a small front garden with carefully manicured hedges. Gravel was scattered and raked between them instead of grass. The path pointed like an arrow to a shiny black door with brass fittings.
Edie knew she would be able to see her face in the doorknob. The plate to the side of the door held two buttons.
Now she just had to walk up the path and press the correct one.
It was really that easy in principle.
Nothing to it.
Edie stayed standing at the gate.
What was she going to say? She was usually better prepared than this. She would have practiced every possible variation. And some impossible ones, just to be ready.
She should have been rehearsing on the train but oh no, she'd let her inner hormonal teen lust after Jack Twist instead.
"Hi, I'm your granddaughter." She whispered it under her breath. Testing the words.
Well it had a punchy immediacy and truth to it. But it if she wasn't careful it could cause a little old lady to keel over.
"Hi, you don't know me but I'm looking for Charlie Dickens," she said and stared hard at the house.
Could he be there, in one of those rooms?
OK it was a bit generic. It might work or she could get the door slammed in her face for being a salesperson.
Or a gold-digger.
She started biting what remained of her left thumbnail.
She turned her back on the house. She needed to concentrate. This could be a one shot deal. She took her thumb from her mouth and rubbed the spot above her heart.
One chance. She felt sick.
"Hi, I'm Edie Dickens and I need to speak with you…" had possibilities. And if her grandmother knew about her then she'd know immediately and Edie wouldn’t have to finish an unfinishable sentence. And if she didn't know about her, well someone with the same surname would give her pause, surely? This was so confusing.
She had to do it, and do it now.
She span round on her heel and straight into the chest she'd been ogling only minutes before.
"Are you taking me up on my offer?"
She had opened her mouth to say, are you stalking me, but instead she found herself wanting to say ‘yes’ to the question asked in a deep, velvety and seductive voice.
Jack was standing with his hands on his hips, smiling at her.
What the hell?
"No, I'm not. I'm here to see someone. So I think you'd better go away. This is private property. And stop stalking me.”
Edie wanted to stamp her foot. She couldn’t think when he was around and somehow he'd found her. Maybe he'd followed her from the tube? But surely he couldn't be too good at hiding. He was so big.
"Stalking you? I'm standing outside my flat and I see you hanging around the gate. What am I supposed to think?"
The laughter faded from his face as he said it. The look that was left was similar to the one she'd witnessed at the rugby party.
Right after he'd called her a cold bitch.
She could feel her face scald with embarrassment.
She drew herself up as tall as possible but then what he'd said hit her and she deflated slightly.
"Your flat?" she asked, screwing up her face in confusion.
He nodded, frowning down at her.
Surely that couldn't be right.
She peered past him. Two doorbells. Of course, well that explained it. But what were the chances?
"I've come to see your neighbour." Edie said decisively. She needed to claw back control of this situation.
"Mrs Pirrip?" he asked.
Pirrip? That didn't sound right. Surely she'd be Dickens, like her?
That was the sort of thing Mum would've told her, surely?
But Edie had put the phone down, hadn't she?
Because she hadn't want to talk to her any more. Great move, Dickens.
Control. Take control, that's what was needed.
And if she didn't have it…Fake it until you make it.
She nodded at Jack as if Mrs Pirrip was exactly who she was supposed to be seeing.
Edie wouldn't ask any more questions than she needed to, at least until she'd figured it out.
Best not to let on to Jack how confused she was.
She didn’t need to give him any more power over her; of course he didn't know that with one look she would end up at his feet like all the other women.
No, he didn't need to know that.
And maybe this Mrs Pirrip, whoever she was, would know where her grandmother or father was.
She stared at Jack, willing him out of the way.
He looked at her with increasing wariness but eventually he stepped aside.
Edie wonder what was the statistical probability of Jack Twist living in the very house that her grandmother was supposed to live in. She knew that it was low. Astronomically low. Lottery winning low.
She'd think about it all later. She needed to focus.
She marched up the path as purposefully as she could, but with her stomach clenched and her knees quivering.
At least, she thought, I'm not going to give an old lady a heart attack.
But Mrs Pirrip might know something, a forwarding address maybe. Edie had a burning need to know, to fill one of the holes in her life.
Of course, Jack came with her.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, waiting beside her as she rang the bell.
"I'm not casing the joint." she said pressing hard on the buzzer.
Focus, Edie. This was about finding Dad.
The door opened and a slim, grey haired, very well dressed older lady stood inside holding the door and staring at her quizzically.
"Yes?" she said and then her expression cleared and she beamed when she saw Jack behind Edie.
"Jack, my dear. I see you've brought me your friend for tea.” The lady turned back to look at Edie from top to toe. “And she's just how you described her. Beautiful.”
What?
Edie had her mouth open to interrupt her and say one of the statements that she’d been practising but with these words she turned to look at Jack.
W
hat had he been saying? Surely he hadn't been talking about her?
He was almost as pink as the ridiculous lining of his suit.
At long last, he didn’t look all cool and collected. So he’d been chatting with his neighbour about her, huh?
Edie could feel a little smile building up inside her; it began to pull at the side of her mouth.
Interesting.
But the distraction meant she lost any chance to tell Mrs Pirrip she had got it wrong. Edie had come under her own steam.
Edie wasn't sure how but she found herself ushered into the flat and then sitting next to Jack on a sofa.
The sofa had been well worn. The stuffing had settled so that although she tried to sit at the opposite end of the sofa, she and Jack leaned into each other.
The half smile was frozen on her mouth.
How had she lost control of this all over again? The reins were slipping through her fingers and she felt like things were galloping out of control.
"Well dear, I'm so glad that you're here." Mrs Pirrip came back in with a tea tray.
What was Edie supposed to do, now? This wasn’t what she'd planned.
She watched the old lady as she sat opposite them. Did she look like her?
Jack nudged her.
He had a very sharp elbow when it dug her in the ribs. She rubbed the spot and jabbed him back.
Her elbow hit what felt like concrete.
"Thank you, Mrs Pirrip. But actually that isn’t why I’m here. It was just a coincidence that Jack and I…” she trailed off when she realised she was going off topic. She took a big breath.
“I need to ask you a question," she said.
Jack snorted. She stopped herself from jabbing an elbow into his side again. She'd have a bruise on it as it was.
She'd show him; did he really think the world revolved round him?
She waited for Mrs Pirrip to start pouring the tea.
She took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
“I'm looking for Mrs Dickens, Charles Dickens mother."
When said like that it sounded nonsensical. She could feel Jack go still beside her, she waited for another nudge in her ribs, but there wasn't one.
Mrs Pirrip's cup rattled as she put it down quickly.
“I haven’t been called Mrs Dickens in a long time.” The lady pursed her lips as she whispered it and then she frowned. “But why are you looking for me?”
Chapter 17
Edie stared at the woman. This was her. This was her grandmother. Everything went blurry, she blinked away the tears that were starting in her eyes. She had to keep it together.
"I'm Edie." she said it quietly, keeping her fingers crossed that this woman, her grandmother, knew who she was. She could feel all the new pink parts of her heart swell outwards in hope.
The older parts contracted, waiting for the next blow to fall.
"Edie?" Mrs Pirrip’s voice shook and her eyes brightened with tears. "Edwina. Oh, my dear." Her hand reached out towards Edie.
Edie's hand automatically flew up to grasp it.
Her grandmother’s nails were perfectly manicured.
Edie's were all bitten nails and flaking polish.
No. She snatched her hand back and sat on it. It should be perfect. She needed it to be perfect.
Mrs Pirrip’s hand fell into her lap and the smile dropped from her face.
Edie could feel her face burning.
She'd ruined it. She poisoned everything. Why couldn’t she be like other people?
All the questions she had bubbled up, clamouring for a chance to be asked. But where did she start? How could she start?
"Where's my dad?" It came out like the question of a little girl.
Her voice wobbled. Her vision blurred again.
But then there was a hand on her back. It rubbed in circular movements. Soothing her. Keeping her from completely breaking down. It kept her grounded.
"Charlie? He's in Dubai." Mrs Pirrip said. Or maybe Edie should call her Grandma?
Dubai?
Why wasn't he here?
Edie didn’t realise how firmly that dream of seeing her dad now, today, had settled in her heart. She felt as if she'd lost him all over again.
Which was silly as she'd lost him years ago.
The pink parts shrank back behind the older dark parts of her heart.
"Maybe I should leave?" Jack said quietly.
Edie realised the hand on her back was his.
He carried on rubbing even as he said it.
She didn't want him to stop. He couldn't leave; that touch was the only thing grounding her, making her feel less alone.
Mrs Pirrip, her grandmother, looked startled when Jack spoke and then upset, her hands clutching compulsively. She turned to Jack, panicked.
Edie realised they both needed him to stay.
Jack would be the very solid no man’s land across which they could meet each other safely. A rugby-playing chaperone.
"Stay. Please." Edie whispered.
She'd deny it tomorrow at work, of course. Threaten him with some serious damage if he told anyone. But tonight, here, right now, she needed him.
“Yes,” Mrs Pirrip agreed.
They smiled tentatively at each other.
Then there was silence. It was drawn out, pulling the strings that connected them all tightly.
“What do you know?” Mrs Pirrip asked Edie, cutting into it. Releasing the tension.
She was watching Edie closely, as she perched on the edge of her chair, staring at her. Drinking her in.
Edie shrugged and lifted her hands and then clasped them tightly to stop them fluttering helplessly.
“Nothing.” Her voice broke as she said it. "Nothing." That sounded better, stronger.
Jack’s hand on her back radiated strength to her.
Mrs Pirrip raised her hand again. It was tentative, as if she expected to be rejected again.
Edie released her hands and grasped it.
It was cool and dry and fragile.
When was the last time she'd held anyone's hand? It must have been Tom. But when was the last time she'd held Mum's hand? When was the last time she'd held the hand of someone related to her?
She clasped it eagerly.
Underneath the fragility she could feel strength as it squeezed hers.
“Oh, dear heart,” her grandmother said on a breath.
Edie held her hand tighter, clutching at it like a lifeline.
I'm going to crack, Edie thought.
She could feel the turmoil and feelings welling up pushing against her barriers, wanting to break through. Her heart was swelling out through the cracks.
“I remember the last time I saw you,” Mrs Pirrip said. “You were seven and Charlie had taken you to see the Nutcracker at the Royal Opera House. Your mother was off shopping so that's why I met you there.” She smiled in memory. “You twirled round in a pale pink tulle dress. You told me you were going to grow up to be a ballerina.”
Edie could almost see her younger self, twirling for a lady she’d never met before. She remembered that trip, but she hadn’t remembered Mrs Pirrip.
“But why didn’t we see you after that?” Edie asked.
What had gone so wrong? This was all way before her parent’s divorce, so it couldn't be that. What had been wrong then?
Her grandmother squeezed her hand again and then looked at the floor for a moment.
“I don’t think your mother liked to share Charlie and you…” she said, and her body tensed as if bracing herself for an argument from Edie.
Edie frowned.
The thing is, it didn’t sound out of the realms of possibility.
Mum wasn’t known for her openness or sharing attitude. Edie grasped the locket around her neck for stability.
"Tell me more."
"Are you sure?" Mrs Pirrip asked.
"I need to know," Edie nodded as she said it.
"Well, my dear, I only know bits and pieces fr
om what Charlie has told me and knowing your mother…" She took a deep breath.
"Your mum and dad met at work and I know Charlie was attracted to her because she was outgoing and funny but fragile."
Outgoing and funny? That didn't seem like her mum at all. Fragile though, that sounded right.
"I was happy that Charlie had met someone who made him so happy, but, I have to say I was a bit worried that she didn't speak to her mother."
"But her mum died. When she was a teenager." Edie said.
"No, dear. Her father died then but her mother didn't die until you were a little baby. Something happened between them and your mum wouldn't tell Charlie what it was, just that she'd made her choice."
"Charlie pieced it together later. Your other grandmother married very quickly after your grandfather died and I don't think your mum got on with her stepfather. I think your grandmother was made to choose, and she didn't choose your mum."
Mrs Pirrip's lips thinned at the thought.
"Anyway, with that kind of example, your mum wasn't very good at sharing her loved ones. She wanted to be the only person they needed."
She looked at Edie, pleadingly.
Edie nodded. It was exactly what her mum was like.
"So gradually, she started to see competition in everyone. She stopped Charlie from seeing friends in case they took him away from her and then when you came along, she didn't want me around either."
"Charlie would try and sneak you out to see me. But as you got older it got harder and harder. Charlie still loved her but she wasn't the carefree woman he'd married."
"He never cheated on her. No matter what that Satis woman said. But your mother was convinced that he had found someone else. And in her eyes that meant he couldn't have you. He fought all the way through your teens, he fought damn hard. But that lawyer," she shook her and shuddered. "That woman was horrible. Evil. The way she had your mum completely convinced that your dad should pay for what he did. Oh, Charlie didn't care about the money. That didn't matter. It was losing you that tore him apart. That woman made sure that you and he both paid the price."
Tears dripped from Edie's jaw and onto her lap.
The water darkened and puckered the pale linen skirt.
Classic Satis divorce strategy, Edie thought.
Hit 'em where it hurts. And she should know because she'd been doing it herself. Find their Achilles heel and grind a legal thumb into it until they bled.
