by Ali Harris
I throw my arms around her and shake my head defiantly. ‘No you haven’t, Mum. You couldn’t have known, no one could. God, I hate him for this!’
‘Don’t say that,’ Mum says dully. ‘He’s still your father.’
I scoff and Delilah shoots me a warning look to say, ‘Not now.’
‘So what are you going to do, Mum?’ she asks. ‘You can stay here if you like – for as long as you want, right, Will?’
‘Of course,’ he nods, and I feel such relief that Will wasn’t the villain in all of this after all. I don’t mind admitting that I’ve got him wrong. I’ve got a lot of people wrong recently. Maybe Mum was right: maybe I was jealous of him coming between me and Delilah.
‘That’s very kind of you but there’s no need,’ Mum says calmly. The initial shock has passed and she seems to be growing stronger and more assured in front of my eyes. Then again, maybe it’s just the effect of the large brandy Will has poured for her. ‘I’ve already taken your father’s keys to the flat and after I’d kicked him . . . and her . . . out I had the lock changed by a locksmith. I’ve already decided I’m going to move permanently to London. I hate being stuck so far away from you all. It was never my choice to live in Norfolk, and I don’t want to go back to the house on my own.’ She pauses. ‘Not now.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Delilah cries, standing up and running around the table. ‘I’m so proud of you. You know we’ll all do anything we can to help, won’t we?’
I nod and cling on to Delilah and Mum.
Will stands up too. ‘I’ll go and see to the children.’ He hovers for a moment, then comes over and kisses Mum and Delilah on their foreheads and squeezes my arm. ‘You Taylor women are pretty incredible; I’ve always thought so,’ he says, and walks out the room, which sets us all off into a fresh bout of tears.
‘He’s a good man, Delilah,’ Mum says, patting her hand. ‘Do you promise me that you’ll get some counselling and work out your problems together?’
Delilah nods and buries her face in Mum’s shoulder, and I stroke her hair.
‘I don’t deserve him,’ comes Delilah’s muffled voice.
‘Yes you do,’ Mum says sternly, pulling her face up and looking intently at us both. ‘Girls, listen to me, I may have made mistakes in my marriage – no,’ she holds up her hand to stop us from protesting, ‘I have, trust me, I know I have. Just promise me one thing?’
We nod, still gripping on to her tightly.
‘I want you to promise that you’ll never change who you are for a man.’
Suddenly I find it hard to look my mum in the eye, but she is gazing wistfully out of the window anyway.
‘I had my own life and a career before I met Charles, but I gave it all up for him. I changed who I was to fit in with the image of a wife and mother that he had, and in the process I lost myself. I always thought I’d have a career and kids but . . .’ She strokes a strand of hair from her face and gathers herself, smiling back at us lovingly.’ Of course, I ended up with my four wonderful children so I don’t regret it. I just don’t want either of you girls to make the same mistakes. Know who you are and believe in yourself fully, because no matter who you share it with, this is your life and you only have one chance. Now,’ she says, cupping our faces and kissing each of us on the cheeks, ‘I’d like to see my gorgeous grandchildren.’
Delilah nods and lifts herself off Mum’s shoulder, and I stand up.
‘You know,’ I say, ‘I think I’m going to go for a walk, if that’s OK?’
Suddenly I feel like I have an awful lot to think about.
I walk up the hill slowly. It’s dark and the paths are slippery with the glistening evening frost that has already settled. The cold and surprisingly strong wind is whipping my hair into a tail spin and I feel as if I might just take off. I stop for a moment, swaying on my feet and look back down the hill at the rows of perfect houses that surround it and that are emitting a warm saffron glow. Suddenly they appear to be more like bleak statues than homes. It’s like I can suddenly see through the outward perfection to what is underneath and it isn’t as attractive as I’ve always thought.
I plunge my hands deep into my pockets and continue the climb. Despite the shocking bombshell about my father, everything suddenly feels clearer somehow and I am left, not with the cotton wool of confusion I’ve had about my life for the last few weeks, but just with my mum’s words whirling about in my head as if blown by the wind. Promise me you’ll never change who you are for a man.
Her words circle around again and again as I climb, making me rewind the past three weeks of my life since I met Joel. What have I done apart from completely change for him? I turned myself into someone I thought he wanted and, in the process, became someone I didn’t like any more. Self-obsessed, vain, impatient, I stopped listening to the people I really cared about because I became so focused on changing my life. Oh, I wrapped it up in a pretty parcel, convincing myself that I was helping others by changing Hardy’s and making it a better place to work for everyone and saving their jobs in the process. But if I’m honest, it wasn’t exactly an entirely selfless act. After all, I was doing what I’ve always dreamed of: being on the shop floor, being creative, making a difference. And in doing so I neglected my family. And all because of a man.
The wind whistles in my ears as I trudge further up the hill. It seems to be calling me. ‘Ev-ie Ev-ie,’ it moans as if reminding me who I am again. Not Carly and not Sarah. Poor Mum, if only she’d realized just what she was worth before she married Dad. Perhaps then she could have had her own identity and a happy marriage. As it is she’s spent the last thirty-five-odd years fading into obscurity behind the childrearing, cooking, baking, crafting and homemaking.
‘Ev-ie Ev-iee . . .’
Suddenly I realize that it isn’t the wind calling my name, but a figure standing at the top of the hill, waving at me. I squint and quicken my pace, breathless with exertion and cold as I reach the top, unable to believe that the person I most need to see is right here. I bend over to catch my breath, then stand up.
‘Sam!’ I exclaim, taking in his watering eyes and wind-ruffled hair. ‘Fancy seeing you here again.’
‘I thought you’d never hear me,’ Sam smiles. ‘You looked completely lost in thought.’
‘I was,’ I reply gazing down at the twinkling lights of London across the horizon. ‘It’s been a crazy day.’ I plunge my frostbitten fingers deep into my duffel coat and bite my bottom lip, then begin to talk, the words falling out of my mouth. ‘I thought my sister had taken an overdose because her husband was cheating on her.’ Sam’s jaw drops in alarm and I hurriedly add, ‘It’s OK, she hadn’t and he wasn’t.’ I take another deep breath. ‘But then we found out my dad has been cheating on my mum. God knows how long for.’
Sam doesn’t say anything. He just puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. I turn and nestle into the warmth of his body, thankful for his support. He feels so steady, safe, reliable, like nothing bad could ever happen when I’m around him. I look up and see him staring down at me with a worried expression.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he murmurs softly.
‘Do you know what? I don’t think I do,’ I say, wiping away a stray tear. ‘I actually want to forget all about it.’ I look up at him and a crazy, reckless thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘Have you got any idea how?’ I tilt my lips up towards his. I don’t know what has come over me, but suddenly all I want is to feel the warmth of Sam’s mouth on mine and for him to take me away from the last few hours of my life. I know he has the power to do that, I can feel it. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed it before.
But he turns his face away and I am overcome with embarrassment. I’m an idiot. I’ve turned him down once already, I still haven’t sorted out everything with Joel and I’ve just told him about my messed-up family. Ella’s probably following behind him and will appear over the hill at any second.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, and pull away.
‘
Don’t be,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead like a parent would their child. ‘Listen, are you free tonight?’ he asks, rubbing my arms to warm me up. ‘There’s one last makeover we need to do. Meet me at Hardy’s at nine. And dress in your best!’ He steps away from me and looks awkwardly over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you later, yeah?’ And he walks away, pausing to wave and smile at me before disappearing over the top of the hill like he was never here at all.
The once-sleepy store looms proudly out of the darkness as I approach just before 9 p.m. I was worried about coming tonight but Delilah insisted I go. I left her and Will working everything through with Mum, and Delilah said she owed me lots of nights out for all the help I’ve given her over the last two years. It doesn’t make me feel any better for abandoning her for the past few weeks, but Delilah told me that she’s not my responsibility, and nor are her kids. She practically pushed me out of the door.
I stand for a moment and look at my charge, because that’s what Hardy’s has become to me. It seems to be standing taller somehow, like it has woken up from a deep sleep and is ready to face the world. Long red curtains have been pulled across the store windows ready for the big reveal tomorrow. They make Hardy’s look like she is dressed up for a Christmas party in a gorgeously glamorous old-fashioned gown. After seeing the final Christmas makeover this morning Rupert has even had the foresight himself to put some make-up on the old girl. When I left the store earlier today Jan Baptysta and his laid-off cleaners were working flat out, painting the big window frames on the ground floor a modern Farrow and Ball green hue to enhance the old, traditional sandstone brick above it. Rupert has even commissioned a new sign to be made by the oldest signmakers in London so that it reads ‘Hardy’s’ once again. Now the black iron letters shine proudly against the pale green background and underneath, in smaller black letters, is painted the words Est. 1910. The sandstone bricks have been cleaned too, and as I gaze upon her now I acknowledge that Hardy’s looks how I feel: fully made-up and ready for her big moment.
I smooth my hands over my dress, feeling inexplicably nervous. Sam said to dress up, but I’m not sure I should have chosen this, the 1950s sage-green chiffon dress from The Wardrobe. God, how long ago it seems now since I tried it on in front of my sister. I can hardly believe I’m wearing it for real. I just hope I haven’t gone too far. I don’t know where to meet Sam or what we’re doing, I just have to hope that he won’t think I look crazy. But I wanted to make the effort. I pat my chignon awkwardly and pull a few more tendrils of hair down around my face to create a more relaxed look. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if Sam has forgotten all about me the staff entrance swings open and a grinning Felix, dressed in a full rig of black tie and dinner jacket, grins and then bows at me before ushering me in.
‘Felix!’ I exclaim, pretending to be surprised but a bit disappointed that he’s here. Sam will have assumed that seeing all my friends will cheer me up, which ordinarily, it would. But tonight? I can’t help but feel a little sad – and foolish. When I was getting ready, part of me hoped it would be just me and Sam. And not just because I’m not really in the right state of mind for a big group get-together.
‘Evie, you look bleedin’ gorgeous!’ Felix says, before correcting himself.
‘Ah-hem,’ he clears his throat and stands to attention. ‘What I mean is, ma’am – your table awaits!’ He bows as I walk through the door. I have to cover my mouth to stop myself from giggling. He looks so unlike Felix in this get-up. His stubble has been shaved, his messy hair slicked down with a side parting and his toned-down, tasteful attire is most out of character. He winks at me before proffering his arm. ‘M’lady?’ he says with a small smile.
‘Why thank you, sir,’ I reply, curtsying and taking his arm.
We walk down the corridor past the staff board and I fleetingly glance at the passport picture of me that had my name, Eve Taylor, angrily scrawled in black ink over the top. I think back to that day when I so wanted the staff at Hardy’s just to see me and wonder why I didn’t realize that so many already did; the ones who are most important to me, anyway. I squeeze Felix’s arm and he grins at me, before tugging at his bow tie.
‘Bloody thing,’ he says, clearly forgetting his ‘posh’ voice. ‘Don’t know why I wear ’em. Maisie always said they made me look all trussed up like a turkey.’
‘Here,’ I say, turning Felix round to face me and pulling at his tie to undo it so it hangs around his neck. I open his top button and then pull the tie so it lies evenly against his white shirt. ‘That looks very suave; artfully dishevelled I think you’d call it,’ I say. ‘Much more you.’
Felix grins gratefully and we walk into the store. All the store’s main lights are off, and just the magical glow of the gigantic Christmas tree by the grand central staircase guides us through the ground floor. We slowly descend the staircase. I can’t run my hand down the banister as I usually would because we twined them with holly and ivy during the makeover. At the corner of each stair, different sized red church candles have been lit and they flicker warmly, helping to guide us down to the basement where yet more candles lead us to Lily’s tearoom.
‘What’s going on?’ I whisper to Felix as we walk slowly down our candlelit path. ‘Are we having a Christmas party?’
‘Kind of,’ he says, leading me into the doorway.
I gasp as I look around me. Lily’s tearoom has been transformed into an old-fashioned, festive dream. The little room is full of fragrant tealights flickering gaily in vintage tea cups that have scented the air with pomegranate and spices. All the tables have been pushed into the corners of the room, apart from a single table for two, which has been placed in a hand-crafted and painted sleigh in the centre of the room. A canopy of fairy lights is draped from the ceiling above so in the darkness of the room the table/ sleigh appears to be swooping through the stars in the night sky. Against the back wall, half a dozen small fir trees have been placed and covered with white fake snow, giving a magical Narnia effect. I can only imagine that these are Jan’s doing. The table inside the sleigh is covered in a dark red table cloth, with Lily’s mismatched vintage crockery in reds and greens set upon it. There is a centrepiece of candles on a vintage cake stand with gold-leafed pears, cranberries and a scattering of holly and chestnuts around them. Rat Pack Christmas music is playing softly in the background.
Felix leads me over to the table that is laid for two and helps me to step inside the sleigh. I smile shyly and feel my heart soar as Sam stands up and bows at me before helping me off with my jacket and gesturing for me to sit down. A big, soft cashmere rug has been placed on my seat and Felix drapes it gently over my knees to keep me warm. We discovered when we did the all-night Christmas makeover, Hardy’s can get pretty chilly at night. Once I’m settled I glance up and look at Sam. He is wearing a dinner jacket and his hair is slicked back so he looks just like a movie star from one of Lily’s photographs.
Felix pours from a bottle of champagne into two crystal glasses and then heads off to the counter, where Lily and Iris stand waving manically at him, dressed all in black, with white pinnies on.
‘Hold your horses, Lil,’ I hear him say to her. ‘Starters can wait. Just give ’em a chance to have a chat first. Come on . . .’ And they all scuttle off, muttering to each other.
I shake my head as I look around me and then back at a smiling, bashful Sam.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done all this!’ I say in awed delight. ‘It’s just beautiful.’
‘Well,’ he says, averting his eyes and playing with his cutlery, ‘I thought you needed cheering up and Hardy’s seemed the best place to do it. You’re not the only one with a talent for makeovers, you know,’ he adds with a laugh.
‘So I can see!’ I smile and stare at him, rather than the room because I want to take in properly his handsome, groomed appearance. Gone is the dishevelled delivery boy, with his ruffled face and puppy-fat cheeks and penchant for unironed clothes, and in his place is,
well, a man. A cool, suave, proper grown-up-looking man with cheekbones illuminated by the shadow of burnt-umber stubble and dark, slick hair. He looks gorgeous. I can’t work out if he’s always looked like this and I’ve just never looked at him properly or if he’s done something drastically different. Whatever it is, I like it.
‘You look very handsome,’ I say shyly as Dean Martin croons softly in the background.
‘And you . . .’ he shakes his head as he gazes at me, ‘ . . . you look truly divine, Evie.’
I blush and look away.
‘Look—’ we say in unison.
‘You first,’ Sam begins.
‘No, you first, I insist.’
He clears his throat behind his fist and looks at me nervously. I clasp my hands together, which are sweating most unattractively under the table. He clears his throat again. ‘I just wanted to say first of all that, well, actually I’ve wanted to do this . . . you know, go on a date, for a very, very long time. Since I met you, if I’m being totally honest. But it never seemed . . . well, let’s just say there always seems to be others standing in our way.’ I look up at him and see the regret flicker over his face in the candlelight. Ella, I think. ‘And then when Joel came along . . .’ he continues, ‘. . . well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know things are complicated right now and it’s still not the right time. I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from tonight, I just wanted to have a nice meal with my favourite girl and enjoy your company properly. As friends. So let’s just be normal and chat like we always do – no weirdness, OK? And no expectations. Just being here with you is enough for me. He lifts his glass and smiles at me tenderly. ‘To what might have been.’
