Trouble is, I’m crap at sewing.
I take a sip of coffee but it tastes of nothing. Just like the plates of food that Mads has forced me to eat. It’s like all the colours and all the pleasures have bled away. I’ve lost the two people I love the most within moments of one another and my world is a dark and grey place without them.
It’s six days on from Jewell’s party and I’m still reeling with shock. Everything’s a bit hazy and events have taken on a rather dreamlike quality. From the magical moments out in the garden with Ollie to James’s threats and Gabriel’s stupid proposal, everything seems unreal.
Except that James’s threats are totally real. They keep popping up on my phone like evil mushrooms. He’s convinced that Jewell’s left me everything, and unless I pay quickly he’s going straight to the press. Gabriel may not be my favourite person on the planet but I’m not inclined to wreck his career just yet. Some of that karma stuff that my parents are always on about has rubbed off on me by osmosis, which is a bit scary. When I start cooking lentil casseroles I’ll know I’m in trouble.
I delve deep into the pocket of my patchwork coat and pluck out a tissue. It’s all screwed up and in danger of disintegrating at any minute. A bit like me, in fact.
I dab my eyes and remind myself that Jewell wouldn’t approve of tears. She mopped enough of mine up over the years, that’s for sure, and I wish she was here now because I really need to talk to her. Ollie’s vanished and there’s no way of contacting him. I texted him until my finger was numb before I remembered that Nina has his mobile. He’s somewhere far, far away, all alone and thinking that I chose money and success over his love for me. I can’t bear it. Every time I go to bed and close my eyes, Jewell’s party plays over and over again in my mind’s eye like some hideous movie. I see myself running out into the street, minutes too late, where there’s only a patch of oil and the faint smell of exhaust to prove Ollie’s camper van was ever there. I feel again the tarmac under my knees and wake with tears running down my face. At this rate I’ll have to buy shares in Kleenex.
Nobody knows where Ollie has gone, but I should imagine that it will be as far away from me as possible.
To the world I’m still Gabriel’s girlfriend, but as soon as I’ve figured out what to do about James, I’ll be sorting that one out. Actually, Gabriel has undergone something of a personality transformation these last few days. I guess he’s blaming himself. He hasn’t given any interviews and even cancelled his appearance on Jonathan Ross. He’s spent a lot of time closeted with Seb too, so something must be up…
Frankie, bless him, has stuck by what he said to Gabriel. No more lies and no more pretending. He’s ignoring Gabriel’s calls, of which there are about ten an hour, and immersing himself in writing mournful songs.
At least I assume they’re mournful. Listening to them certainly makes me miserable.
He’s desperately unhappy and has spent the past six days in Maddy’s spare bedroom, only coming out to shower or make a drink. All his camp inflections and bitchy comments have gone and instead he drifts around the cottage like a tear-stained shadow of his former self. He hasn’t nicked my make-up for days. He must really love Gabriel.
I can’t indulge my own broken heart when there’s a funeral to sort out and Frankie to look after. Besides, poor Mads doesn’t have an infinite amount of sympathy and Earl Grey, so I save my tears for late at night when everyone else is tucked up in bed. Then I can think about Ollie while the tears roll down my cheeks and on to the pillow. The sea licks the sand and whispers to the rocks and eventually lulls me into sleep, where I dream restless, uneasy dreams. I can’t even turn to my writing for comfort because bloody Seb nicked my manuscript and I haven’t the heart to write anything new.
I’m kind of off romance anyway, if I’m honest.
Once the guests left Jewell’s party, Guy gathered her poor little body into his arms and carried her gently up to her bedroom. Telephone calls were made, the doctor visited and then an ambulance. The mechanics of death swung neatly into operation while I sat shivering in a Lloyd Loom chair, holding a brandy in one hand and Jewell’s cooling fingers, the skin papery thin and embroidered with blue veins, in the other.
In the peace of Jewell’s room, all pretences were dropped. Guy smoked out of the window, Gabriel and Frankie huddled close together, their earlier row forgotten, and my parents skinned up. The other guests drifted home and from downstairs there was only the chink of plates being collected and scraped as the caterers packed away.
In the gloom of the bedroom a tasselled lamp soothed the bedside a little. The dogs came and lay outside the door, heads drooping sadly on their paws and eyes big with sorrow. Richard Lomax talked to undertakers and murmured prayers, which made me smile in spite of myself. Jewell would have adored to have prayers uttered for her by Ozzy Osbourne.
‘This is my fault,’ Gabriel said, his face white with shock. ‘I upset her. I get so carried away, so obsessed…’
I said nothing, because at that moment I blamed Gabriel too.
‘It’s not your fault,’ soothed Frankie. ‘Don’t blame yourself.’
‘But it is.’ Gabriel’s periwinkle eyes sparkled with tears. ‘All these lies, all the pretending. I’m to blame.’
‘I wonder what Jewell was going to say?’ mused Mads, who was curled up at my feet. ‘She was desperate to make an announcement.’
I shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll never know now.’
Guy stood at the window. His shoulders were tense and his knuckles glowed chalky white through the flesh as he gripped the windowsill. He’d chain-smoked since Jewell’s collapse, lighting one pungent roll-up from another. With a sigh he stubbed out his cigarette and flicked the butt over the ledge. Sparks fantailed into the darkness.
‘I can tell you what she was going to say,’ he said slowly. ‘She’d told me already.’
I’d known that over the last few months Jewell and Guy had become friends. She’d enjoyed going out to sea on Dancing Girl and had adored drinking with Guy and his crew in the Mermaid, and knowing how special Jewell was, I hadn’t found it odd that the abrasive Guy had been able to talk to her. Jewell always said age was just a label. She saw the person first; anything else was irrelevant.
‘She had a problem with her artery, the artery in her neck.’ Guy prodded his own with a chunky forefinger. ‘It was blocked.’
‘Carotid artery,’ said Richard, who even at a time like this couldn’t help but be a know-it-all.
‘That’s right.’ Guy nodded. ‘It was all furred up with stuff, blocking the oxygen to her brain. The doctors said they could operate but it was risky. It could have worked or it could have left her unconscious. Jewell spent some time in a clinic having tests but she decided against the operation in the end. She wanted to really enjoy the time she had left. Make the most of every second, was how she put it.’
My hand flew to my mouth. ‘I thought she was at Champneys!’
‘She could have died at any time,’ Guy told us. ‘There was no way she could have known when. It could have been months, it could have been years. But what she really wanted was to enjoy the time she did have.’ His eyes grew misty. ‘We talked a lot about it at sea. Being out there has a way of getting to you. It puts everything into context.’
‘Is that what she was going to tell us?’ I asked.
Guy spread his hands. ‘Maybe not in so many words. But she spent a lot of time writing letters and planning her funeral. She wanted you to do it,’ he said to Richard, ‘in your church overlooking the sea. She wasn’t afraid to die either. In fact, she was pretty peaceful about it all.’
We all looked at the small figure on the bed. Jewell looked like she was having a lovely snooze after slightly too much sherry.
‘She wanted her ashes taken out to sea.’ Guy’s voice broke. ‘She made me promise that I’d do that for her. And I did promise; I promised that everything would be done just as she wanted.’
Sitting on the terrace, warming my fi
ngers on the mug, I think that Guy has been as good as his word. Jewell must have spent a lot of time thinking about how she wanted the funeral to be, and not one detail has been overlooked. The flowers are simple, the music is unusual to say the least and the coffin is a cardboard one from Totnes, covered in the most amazing paintings of Jewell’s pets. The dogs bounce around the sides, cats curl up on the lid, Jo-Jo, Auntie’s evil parrot, has pride of place in the centre with her wings outspread, and Cuddles the python winds his way around the pictures. It’s stunning and just what she wanted.
‘Katy!’ Mads sticks her curly head through the kitchen window. ‘You have got to come in here now. Gabriel’s on the telly.’
I tighten my grip on the mug.
‘I know,’ I say bitterly. ‘He can’t make the funeral because he had to go on This Morning. It’s nice that he’s got his priorities right.’
‘Seriously,’ urges Mads. ‘You have to come and watch this. He’s behaving really strangely.’
Feeling resentful, since Gabriel’s far from my number one favourite person at the moment, I follow Mads into the lounge, where sure enough Gabriel is chatting to Holly and Phil on the TV.
‘Arse,’ I mutter, watching him flick the blonde curls over his shoulders while Holly flutters her eyelashes.
Mads digs an elbow into my ribs. ‘Listen!’
‘So, Gabriel,’ Phil leans forward conspiratorially, ‘you’ve been hinting ever since you arrived at the studio that you have something really important to tell us, and we’re just bursting to know what it is, aren’t we, Holly?’
‘Ooh yes!’ giggles Holly. ‘Although I think we can guess, can’t we? It’s to do with your love life, isn’t it?’
‘See!’ says Mads. ‘He’s been dropping huge hints about being in love with somebody special ever since he parked that sexy bum on the sofa.’
Personally I find Gabriel’s bum as sexy as Johnny Vegas naked.
Told you I’d gone off him.
‘That’s not unusual.’ I’m grinding my teeth so hard I’m amazed they don’t splinter. I swear that if he pulls any more stunts like he did at the party I’ll save James a job and tell Angela Andrews the truth myself.
‘You’re getting engaged, aren’t you?’ says Phil, raising a silver eyebrow. ‘We’ve heard rumours that you proposed to your girlfriend…’
‘Katy,’ supplies Holly helpfully as Phil struggles to remember my name.
‘Yes, Katy,’ continues Phil smoothly, ‘at the weekend.’
Gabriel licks his lips. There’s a nervous tic in his cheek, and his left foot, elegantly balanced on his right knee, is wagging with more enthusiasm than Lassie’s tail.
He looks really scared.
He ought to be, if he’s going to tell more lies about me. ‘Come on!’ laughs Holly, leaning over and stopping the twitching foot with a slender hand. ‘There’s romance in the air, isn’t there?’
Gabriel inhales deeply.
‘There is romance,’ he says slowly. ‘But not with Katy. There’s never been anything romantic between Katy and me. She’s just a good friend, that’s all.’
‘See!’ says Mads. ‘I told you!’
Holly and Phil are looking bemused. Their researchers must be quaking in their boots.
‘I’m in love with someone else,’ Gabriel tells them. ‘I have been for ages. Something happened last weekend, something that has really made me realise what’s important in life. And it isn’t money, or fame, or even success. All that stuff is just a smokescreen. What really matters are the people you love. And in this case the one very special person that I’m totally and utterly head over heels in love with.’
Holly and Phil are positively drooling as they sense an exclusive coming their way. They’re wondering what soap star or pop princess he’s seeing now. I’m sitting right on the edge of the sofa and realise that I’m holding my breath.
‘I absolutely agree!’ Phil gives Gabriel a chummy grin, which Gabriel doesn’t return because he’s too busy chewing the inside of his cheek. ‘Who is the lucky girl?’
‘It’s not a girl.’ Gabriel looks directly at the camera so that his blue eyes, brimming with sincerity and emotion, are beamed at adoring housewives the length and breadth of Britain. ‘He’s Frankie Burrows, the lead singer of the Screaming Queens. I love you, Frankie. I’m really sorry I’ve been such an idiot. Please forgive me.’
Holly and Phil are doing amazed goldfish expressions, as presumably are all their viewers with the exception of me and Mads.
‘I’m gay,’ Gabriel tells Great Britain, just in case there’s any doubt. ‘And I always have been. If this means my acting career is finished, then so be it. But I love Frankie and I want everyone to know. I’m not ashamed. I’m proud.’
Mads and I clutch each other in amazement.
‘He’s come out!’ she squeaks. ‘Oh! My! God! He’s come out on national television and told everyone that he loves Frankie!’
I can hardly believe it myself. Gabriel must really love Frankie to have done that.
On screen Holly and Phil are professional enough to recover swiftly and are busy asking Gabriel loads of questions. Mads flies upstairs to fetch Frankie — no more Victorian heroine-style decline for him — and I heave a massive sigh of relief. Somehow I don’t think James will be pestering me again. Hearing the shrieks of amazement and joy from upstairs I can’t help but smile.
At least one of us has had a happy ending.
As funerals go, Auntie Jewell’s was bound to be a one-off. For one thing nobody is wearing black — bright colours are as obligatory for her in death as they were in life — and for another, the entire congregation is breathless after doing the Time Warp for the third time. The constant stream of expletives from Jo-Jo seems totally at odds with the peace of Richard’s small church with its beautiful vaulted ceiling and glowing stained-glass windows.
‘Please be seated,’ pants Richard, mopping his shiny brow with a massive hankie.
We all obey as best we can, but the balloons and streamers that Auntie insisted upon tie themselves in knots around our ankles. I’m also really concerned that nobody except me has noticed that Cuddles, Auntie’s beloved python, seems to have absented himself from his tank. I’ve never shared Jewell’s conviction that dear little Cuddles is misunderstood. I’m of the school of thought that he actually enjoys scaring the shit out of people by entwining himself tightly around unsuspecting necks. It’s never looked like the snake version of affection to me. I sweep my hand cautiously across the pew just in case, but thankfully Cuddles is off terrorising someone else.
Everyone in the church is here courtesy of small invitations written in lilac ink and on green paper. And a pretty eclectic mix it is too. Old lovers, television personalities and friends rub shoulders with window-cleaners, family and local shopkeepers. Even the pets are here.
I gaze across the nave and wish so much that I was able to sit with Ollie. But, of course, that’s impossible. Ollie is long gone now. I may never see him again. Just thinking that is like slicing a blade through my heart.
Frankie pats my shoulder. Richard is rambling on about how Auntie was the pillar of the local community while Jo-Jo shouts ‘Bollocks!’ at surprisingly appropriate times. All I can think about is how much I’m going to miss Jewell.
While Richard drones on, I look up at the beautiful stained-glass window. It’s weird, but just at the point when I really think that I’m in danger of breaking down, a ray of sunshine breaks through the gloom and warms my cheeks like kisses. Rainbow patterns skip over the worn flagstones and dust motes whirl and dance in the streaming light. The rosy hues tenderly blush the coffin.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve lost Ollie, I’d almost think Jewell was trying to tell me not to worry.
But it’s hard not to worry when the man you love is miles away, convinced that you’ve chosen a vain and wealthy actor over him. I’d do anything to be snuggled up with Ol in his camper van right now, feeling his soft breath on my cheek a
nd his strong, lean fingers stroking my body. We’d heat soup on a small stove, listen to the waves and make love under the stars…
I give myself a mental shake, or maybe not as mental as I think, because several members of the congregation look at me in alarm. I must be really shallow to be worrying about my love life at a time like this. But the last thing Jewell did for me was to ensure that Ollie and I spent some time alone together. She knew. I know she did.
She knew that I just don’t work without Ollie.
‘Are you coming?’ Mads asks, once the committal is over. She nods her head in the direction of the pub. ‘It should be a good party.’
Since Jewell has left the contents of her very considerable wine cellar to the good citizens of Tregowan, I don’t doubt it for a minute.
‘Give me a moment. I just need to get my head together first.’
Mads hugs me. ‘Take your time, babes. We’ll be waiting for you.’
Shoving my hands into the sleeves of my heavy coat, I wander slowly along the harbour, past the fish boxes stacked like children’s building blocks and towards the sea. My nose wrinkles at the smell of fish and I pick my way carefully across the coils of rope and taut moorings that litter the quay, a solid arm of granite that stretches out into the sea. From the Mermaid I can hear the murmur of conversation as Jewell’s wake gathers momentum. Guy, sprawled in the window seat, waves frantically at me and mouths something as he points towards the beach.
‘I’ll be along in a minute!’ I call, turning away from his frenzied beckoning. I need a minute or two, a space to gather myself together, some mental elbow room before I go into the pub and listen to all the stories about Jewell, and the speculation about who’s been left what in her will.
I don’t want to know what Jewell has left me because that makes it all real. Listening to people dividing up her possessions, like scavengers picking over a carcass, means she really is dead rather than just popped to St-Tropez or New York for a spot of shopping. Knowing my luck I’ve probably been left the python. Fate doesn’t so much smile on as French-kiss some people, but it has a nasty habit of flicking V signs at me.
Katy Carter Wants a Hero Page 35
