by Jill Mansell
Until the day of the argument.
Lara could recall every last second of that day, from the moment she’d been gripped with fear at the realisation that her period was late, all the way through to the following morning when she’d finally fallen into an exhausted sleep on the train.
It had been a Friday afternoon and she’d been in double maths, wrestling with trigonometry, when the date had nudged her with its significance. Normally as regular as clockwork, she was five days overdue. Oh God, please no, they’d been so careful . . .
After school, numb with terror, she had stood in Boots the Chemist, gazing at the pregnancy testing kits and discovering she couldn’t afford to buy one.
Then meeting up with Flynn, actually voicing her fears aloud was easier said than done. The words twisted themselves into knots inside her chest and refused to come out. Flynn would be appalled. He was seventeen years old. This wasn’t part of the plan.
By ten o’clock that evening she still hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to tell him. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow and everything would be all right, the problem would be resolved. Leaving it for another twenty-four hours wouldn’t hurt.
That was when the phone had rung and Flynn had taken the call inviting him to spend the next few days at a skiing tournament in Austria. It was also the moment Lara realised she was on her own. Thrilled by the opportunity to take part in the tournament, Flynn said yes without even checking first that she was fine with it.
He put the phone down, and that was when the argument had begun. At first he thought she was joking. Amazed by her reaction, he assumed she was upset because his parents could afford to pay for him to fly over to Austria and her father would never do that. The fight went on and on, spiralling beyond all reason because Lara now knew she couldn’t tell him what might be wrong. He was Flynn Erskine, the boy all the other girls fancied, the gilded sports star with his life ahead of him and a genuine talent that was already getting him noticed in the world of downhill skiing.
She called him self-centred, he told her she was turning into a crazy person. She yelled that he only cared about himself, and Flynn, gazing at her as if she were a complete stranger, said, ‘My God, I can’t believe you actually think that.’ She bellowed that she couldn’t believe she’d wasted the last eight months with someone like him and he shouted back that if he’d known she was going to turn into a neurotic basket case he’d never have got involved in the first place.
The argument had culminated with her announcing that she never ever wanted to see him again and storming out of his parents’ house. But having lost track of time, she’d already missed the last bus. Being late home had been a bone of contention for months, filling her father with rage and bringing with it the threat of, ‘If you can’t abide by our rules, you can get out.’ She’d never imagined he’d actually see it through but it turned out she’d underestimated him. When she let herself into the house forty minutes later, her father and Janice had had plenty of time in which to plan their own line of attack.
Not to mention haul the suitcases down from the loft.
Lara jumped as her mobile phone rang, bringing her crashing back to the present.
‘Hi, it’s me. How’s it going?’
‘Everything’s fine.’ She relaxed at the sound of Gigi’s voice. ‘I’m just waiting to see the solicitor. Bought anything nice?’
‘A scarf with vampires on it in New Look and a leopard-print bra from La Senza!’
‘The perfect outfit for any job interview.’ As Lara said it, the door to the solicitor’s office opened and an elderly man came towards her. ‘Looks like I’m going in now.’ She picked up her bag and rose to her feet. ‘OK, sweetie, won’t be long. I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished.’
What must it have been like for Aunt Nettie? At the age of forty-seven, never married and having devoted her life to her animals, how must she have felt when Lara arrived on her doorstep with two large battered suitcases and a small embryo by way of baggage?
In all probability her heart must have sunk all the way down to her sturdy dog-walking boots.
‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.’ Lara’s voice was muffled by the thick scratchy wool of Nettie’s bright purple hand-knitted sweater. Clothes were about on a par, priority-wise, with eyelash extensions and the latest developments in pentapeptides. The sweater smelled of soap and dog. Nettie’s yellow corduroy trousers had probably been donated by an ancient farmer to the local charity shop. That she had been Lara’s mum’s older sister seemed impossible; Barbara had been as elegant as Audrey Hepburn, the delicate whippet to Nettie’s galumphing wolfhound.
But Nettie was a good soul with a heart of gold beneath the bluff exterior. Hugging Lara, she said gruffly, ‘You did the right thing, love. You’re staying here with me.’
OK, get it over and done with. Say it now. ‘And I think I might be going to have a baby.’
Nettie pulled away, held her at arm’s length and gazed down at her stomach. ‘What, right this minute?’
Lara heard herself make a strange half-sob, half-laugh. ‘No, but maybe in about eight months.’
‘Oh well. So we’ve got plenty of time to get used to the idea. Got a boyfriend?’
Her heart ached. ‘Not any more.’
But Nettie’s no-nonsense, can-do attitude was infectious. Over the course of the next day or two they walked the dogs and talked and talked about everything. Nettie went into the local chemist and bought a pregnancy testing kit: ‘Ha, that’ll get the locals excited!’ The test proved positive and they talked some more, coming to the conclusion that of course Lara was far too young to become a mother but between them they’d cope, and not having the child might make more sense but it simply wasn’t an option. Neither of them could bear to do that.
And that was it. From then on there was no going back. Lara shed her old life like a snake sloughing off its skin. Two days after leaving Bath, her father called. Nettie had answered the phone.
‘It’s Charles.’ His tone was abrupt; the pair of them had never liked each other. ‘Have you heard from Lara?’
‘Yes, I have.’ In turn, Nettie was cool. ‘She’s here. And this is where she’s staying. This is her home from now on.’
‘Fine by me.’ He sounded relieved. ‘You’d better let the police know she’s still alive then. That boyfriend of hers is threatening to report her missing.’
‘She doesn’t want anything to do with him either,’ said Nettie. ‘Don’t go telling him where she is.’
Charles replied curtly, ‘Why would I?’ and hung up.
‘There, all done.’ Nettie put down the phone. ‘You know what? We should have done this three years ago. I thought about it, you know. But I didn’t want to drag you away from your home and all your friends.’
Lara gazed around the messy, informal kitchen with the dog bowls lined up in a row and the latest batch of puppies curled up asleep in their basket in front of the Aga. Currently deep in self-preservation mode, she wasn’t allowing herself to even think about Evie and her other friends. She certainly wasn’t allowing herself to think about Flynn.
Aloud, she said with a crack in her voice, ‘I wish you had.’
Lara waited on a bench in Victoria Park and watched a couple of teenagers heading her way along the path, arm in arm, heads bent together and hips touching. Just like she and Flynn used to do when they had come here all those years ago. The boy whispered something in the girl’s ear and she burst out laughing, responding with a playful dig in the ribs. Oh yes, they used to do that too.
As they passed by, the girl said, ‘. . . Dad was asking if you’d like to go to the football with him on Saturday, because he’s managed to get an extra ticket.’
The boy’s face lit up. ‘Cool!’
OK, that didn’t used to happen.
Then her phone rang again.
‘Mum, I’m in the park now, by the playground. Where are you?’
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Lara spotted her and lifted her hand. ‘Look higher and over to the right. See me waving? Come on up.’
She sat back and watched as Gigi made her way up the hill. With her long legs, straight, swingy brown hair and merry silver-grey eyes, she was a head-turner with killer cheekbones and a refreshing lack of vanity. Her beautiful wilful daughter, the love of her life, the happiest accident she’d ever had. And by the looks of things she’d been on a spree; her arms were weighed down with bags.
What happened next would be all down to Gigi. Was their world about to change? Who knew?
‘Phew, I’m shattered!’ Gigi flung herself on to the bench and produced a can of Diet Coke from one of the carriers. She opened the ring-pull – tssssssttt – and drank thirstily. ‘Ah, that’s better. The shops here are great.’ She offered Lara the can. ‘I found this little boutiquey place having the most brilliant sale. Anyway, how was it? What did the solicitor say? Have you got the jewellery?’
This had been the reason for coming down to Bath. When the solicitor had called to inform her of her father’s death and had also suggested they meet to discuss his will, Lara had been mystified. She knew her father too well to expect him to leave her anything of value. The inevitable conclusion was that he was passing on the few items of jewellery that had belonged to her mum. Not much and nothing for Sotheby’s to get excited about, but unbelievably precious nonetheless. All these years on, she could still picture her mum wearing each piece . . . the tiny daisy ring, the thin bangles and the three narrow gold chains she’d always worn around her neck. There’d also been a long coral necklace, a jade pendant and a bracelet of sheeny black pearls.
And it was just as well she could still picture the items of jewellery, seeing as there had been no mention of them this afternoon.
‘No. But we’re getting something else.’ Lara realised she was still in shock; her hands were trembling. ‘You’re not going to believe this. It’s the house.’
Gigi choked on her drink. ‘Are you joking?’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘But why? My God, because he felt guilty about kicking you out? Oh wow, that’s so—’
‘No,’ Lara leapt in before Gigi could start thinking sentimental thoughts about the grandfather she’d never known. ‘It’s nothing to do with that. The house was never his in the first place.’
‘What? How can that happen?’ Gigi was stunned. ‘He’s lived in it for the last thirty years!’
Thirty-two years, actually. When Lara had been born, her parents had been living in a flat in Bradford on Avon, just a few miles outside Bath. Then, when she was three, they had moved into the house she’d grown up in. Her father had worked in a bank. She had always assumed they’d bought it with the help of a mortgage. This afternoon’s meeting with the solicitor had been a revelation in more ways than one.
‘The house was bought in my mum’s name. And it was paid for in cash. When she wrote her will she left it in trust for me. But if she died before my father, he was allowed to live there for as long as he needed to. And now he doesn’t need it any more.’ Lara sat back and puffed out her cheeks. ‘Which means it’s properly mine.’
‘We’ve got a house. We’ve actually got a house!’ Gigi kicked her legs in the air. ‘Woo-hoo! We can sell it!’
‘Yes.’ How much would it fetch? Bearing in mind that this was a super-pricey city. Guessing wildly, Lara estimated four to five hundred thousand pounds.
‘Or we could live in it!’
Lara’s heart went thuddity-thud. ‘You mean here in Bath?’
‘I was thinking we could maybe attach it to five million multicoloured helium balloons and float it to wherever takes our fancy.’ Gigi rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Mum, of course here in Bath.’
‘Why?’ Did she already know the answer to that question?
‘Why not? Because we can!’ Her daughter’s sweeping arm indicated the park, the trees, the Georgian houses of honey-coloured Bath stone, the rolling hills in the distance. ‘You always said you’d never come back as long as your father was alive. But he’s dead now, so that’s that taken care of. Your mum’s just given you a house. And I really love this city,’ said Gigi. ‘I know this is going to sound mad, but being here for the first time just feels . . . right. I liked the shops. I like the people. You know when you get that squeeze in your chest, like falling a little bit in love?’ She pressed her clenched fist to her breastbone for emphasis. ‘That’s how I’ve been feeling all afternoon! It’s like coming home.’
‘But what about your friends? Wouldn’t you miss them?’
‘Mum, we’re eighteen, everyone’s heading off to different places now anyway. Unis . . . gap years . . . we’re all moving on. Besides, there’s phones and Facebook, and we can still meet up when we want to. It’s not as if we’d lose touch.’ She shrugged and said, ‘Plus, moving to a new place means making new friends.’
For a moment Lara couldn’t speak. Gigi’s instincts were a huge part of her personality; when she fell in love, whether with a piece of art, a new recipe, unicycling or kayaking or diving, it was never a passing whim. It became a passion.
And in all honesty how could she disagree with this one? She felt exactly the same way. Keswick and the Lake District had been wonderful but she had always loved her home town, had missed it desperately for so many years.
They could do it. There was nothing to stop them.
Other than Flynn Erskine.
Evie was lying in bed watching shards of bright sunlight sneaking in around the curtains. It was eight o’clock in the morning and the weather forecaster had promised wall-to-wall sunshine today. Fingers crossed he’d got it right.
Because she was superstitious, Evie crossed her fingers and listened to the birds singing outside her window. Then she heard another door along the landing being opened. Floorboards creaked.
There was a tap at her door and she called out, ‘I’m awake.’
The door opened and Bonnie appeared; fair hair rumpled, she was wearing a white cotton dressing gown and looking puzzled.
‘Morning, darling. I’m sure there’s something we’re meant to be doing today. Any ideas?’
‘No.’ Evie shook her head. ‘I’m just going to have a lie-in. Maybe go shopping later. Any good films on at the cinema?’
Another door slammed, they heard footsteps in a hurry and Marina raced past her mother into the bedroom. Taking a flying leap on to the bed, she sang, ‘You’re getting married in the morning!’
‘That’s it.’ Bonnie heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I knew there was something.’ She broke into a grin and came over to envelop Evie in a hug. ‘Here we are, can you believe it? Happening at last. Now, you stay there and we’ll bring you breakfast in bed.’
‘Ooh yes, we’re going to spoil you rotten.’ Marina bounced off the bed in her pyjamas and flung back the curtains. ‘Don’t move a muscle! Well, unless you need to go for a wee.’
Evie lay back against her plumped-up pillows and listened to the two of them clattering downstairs.
Lucky, lucky me.
In just a few hours she would properly belong to the family she loved more than any other family in the world. Bonnie would become her mother-in-law, Marina her sister-in-law. Ray would become not only her father-in-law but the father she had never had.
And she would become Joel’s wife.
It was like a dream come true. Her life was about to become officially perfect. Gazing out of the window, Evie wondered how different things might have been if she hadn’t met the Barbers.
Her own family was about as small as it was possible to get. Growing up, it had just been herself and her mother, who couldn’t have been more different from Bonnie Barber if she’d tried. Evie had never known her father. Nor had she known much fun. In order to provide a decent standard of living, her mother had sacrificed her social life for financial security. Every spare hour had been spent working. Evie had learned not to make a nuisance of herself, or to expect much in the way of attention.
Her childhood had been lonely, which was why getting to know Lara in her early teens had made such a difference. Because Lara’s home life was pretty miserable too. Their respective problems had cemented their friendship. In many ways, she’d had it easier; at least her mother was still alive. Nor did she have a father and stepmother who ganged up on her and appeared to resent her very existence. Evie knew her mother didn’t hate her; she just wasn’t her number one priority.
Like today. The wedding was due to start at twelve o’clock. And her mother, currently snowed under at the office, was driving down from Swindon for the ceremony. On the phone last night she’d explained that she could be a bit late getting there but that she’d definitely be at the church by twelve fifteen. ‘So I might miss a couple of hymns, but I’ll be there in time for the main bit.’
Evie hadn’t even attempted to protest. I mean, what more could any daughter expect? If her mother managed to stay for the first half of the reception it would be a bonus.
Was it any wonder she loved Bonnie and Ray?
From the foot of the stairs, Bonnie yelled up, ‘Toast and marmalade, darling? Or croissants and cherry jam?’
‘Ooh, croissants please.’
‘Bucks Fizz?’ This from Marina. ‘Or orange juice and champagne in separate glasses?’
‘Separate glasses please.’
‘Moët et Chandon or vintage Bollinger?’ Marina paused. ‘Or lovely sparkly cava from the supermarket?’
Evie knew the proper stuff was being saved for the toasts at the reception. She grinned. ‘Cava.’
‘Good girl, cor-rect answer! OK, just give us a few minutes . . .’
Imagine it, in a few hours she wouldn’t be a Beresford any more. She’d become Evie Barber instead. One of the family. Oh my.
She’d first seen Joel in a nightclub in Bath, shortly after the Barbers had moved down from London. That had been fifteen years ago. She’d been nineteen, on the gawky side, never a member of the cool set. Whereas Joel, at twenty and without even trying, had been the epitome of cool. Handsome, charming, reckless and impulsive, everyone had fallen under his spell and Evie had been content to watch from the sidelines. She didn’t mind that he didn’t notice her; Joel Barber was way out of her league.
