Among a Thousand Stars
Page 26
‘Isobel Rushworth was a philanthropist, working tirelessly as a volunteer for her favourite charities right up until her death. She was a good neighbour, friend and partner and to me she was the best mother a child, a boy and a man could ever ask for. My mother taught me everything in life that is important, how to swim, read, ride a bike, how to play, laugh and have fun. Without my mother I would be nothing and her loss is the hardest thing I have ever had to bear.’ Tom swallowed hard, shuffling the papers on the stand in front of him, as he forced himself to regain his composure. ‘I have been and will always be thankful, every day, that I am Isobel Rushworth’s son and I will love her whole-heartedly for the rest of my life.’
Returning to his seat, Tom took Ashleigh’s hand, wondering for the hundredth time how he would have got through it without her.
****
There was hardly a dry eye in the church by the time the service ended, but there was an added heaviness in Ashleigh’s heart as they filed out of the church. She was a terrible person, selfish and self-centred for the way she was feeling about Tom’s words, the undeniable outpouring of love for his mother. After all, who could be jealous of a dead woman?
Only Ashleigh, Tom, his Auntie Maureen and her family attended the private burial. The vicar’s words at the graveside brought forth a fresh crop of tears.
The rest of the congregation had made their way to the Imperial Hotel on the seafront at Hythe, where Tom had booked the wake.
By the time Isobel’s immediate family joined them, following the burial, the rest of the mourners appeared to have made good use of the bar and were regaling each other with tales about Isobel and laughing at shared memories of the woman whose life they had come together to celebrate.
‘So nice to see you again, Tommy Boy!’ An elderly man, who could have made a good living as a Colonel Sanders’ lookalike, slapped Tom heartily on the back. ‘Your mother was so proud of you, you know.’
‘Thank you Fred, it’s good of you to come all the way back here for the funeral.’ Tom shook Colonel Sanders’ hand. ‘Ashleigh, this is Fred, Mum’s best friend Doreen’s husband, they retired down to Cornwall ten years ago.’ Following Tom’s introduction, Fred wrapped Ashleigh into a warm embrace, like they were long lost relatives on one of those shows that reunite families.
‘My word, so you’re the famous Ashleigh.’ Fred drew back to look at her. ‘Isobel telephoned Doreen on Christmas night to say how thrilled she was that Tom had finally found himself a lovely girl and my goodness she didn’t exaggerate.’ There was a twinkle in his eye, suggesting he’d been an out and out flirt in his day and hadn’t entirely lost the knack. ‘Might I need to buy a new hat?’
‘I think a fascinator might be more your thing Fred.’ Tom gave him a stiff smile ‘Although the question of Mum’s capacity for exaggeration is open for debate.’
‘Shame. Still living in sin can be awfully good fun, eh?’ Fred nudged Ashleigh enthusiastically, sloshing his drink on her in the process.
‘We don’t live together, never have and probably never will.’ She spoke before Tom could jump in and give his own forthright response. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you, Fred, but I must go and walk Bertie. He was so good at the church and we’ve had to leave him in the car, so I’ve promised him a walk.’ Leaning forward to kiss Fred on the cheek, she didn’t look back and just kept walking.
****
It was freezing on the stretch of beach that ran along the coastline from outside of the hotel towards Sandgate. The one benefit of the inclement weather was that there were no other dog walkers to spoil their splendid isolation or to fall victim unwittingly to Bertie’s shower of grit and spray as he greeted every stranger like an old friend. The wind whipped at her hair and her eyes streamed with a mixture of emotion and reaction to the weather.
Ashleigh must have walked at least a mile in the direction of home; the sharpness of the wind and the physical pain, as the cold made her ears and throat ache, a welcome distraction from the pain of knowing that no matter how much she didn’t want to, for her own sanity, she had to break the promise she’d made to Isobel. The fresh air woke her up and she was suddenly aware of the truth, the fog of delusion that had shrouded her during her isolation with Tom blown away.
She couldn’t deny it any more, not even to herself. She wanted ‘forever’ and it was something that Tom would never be able to give her. It might mean making the hardest decision of her life, but it was what she needed to do, even though her heart was suddenly heavier than a beach full of stones.
Completely inappropriately dressed, in her smartest black dress, she turned back towards Hythe, finally accepting that she had to stop running from the truth. She had to explain things to Tom and, if Isobel were listening, up there in the ether somewhere, then perhaps she would understand and be able to forgive Ashleigh too.
Could she go through with it, today of all days? In truth, she had no choice. She couldn’t go back into the hotel and risk hearing one more comment that might send her over the edge. She loved Tom so much that it hurt and she was shattered, exhausted from pretending. Guilt at ending it on the day of Isobel’s funeral tore at her insides, but it would be far worse for Tom if she went back inside the hotel with him and ended up making a scene. His heart had been broken by Isobel’s death and her leaving was almost nothing in comparison. He might even be relieved. She was drowning, though, and she had no choice but to save herself, however terrible it might make her feel.
Ashleigh and Bertie were within a couple of hundred feet of the hotel when she saw him, staring towards the headland and then scanning back along the beach until he spotted them walking towards him.
‘Thank God, I was getting worried. I thought something might have happened to you.’ As Tom spoke she shivered. She hadn’t stopped to retrieve her outdoor coat from the hotel’s cloakroom before grabbing Bertie and had walked away as fast as she could, desperate to get out before she lost control. ‘Put this on, you must be freezing.’ He draped his coat over her shoulders. The sudden warmth against her body, and the faint hint of his familiar aftershave on the collar of the coat, almost made it feel like he had his arms around her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes… No, I’m not hurt or anything if that’s what you mean. Well, not physically anyway, but there’s something I need to say before I change my mind.’ Ashleigh’s words were falling over each other as she struggled to get them out. She’d been rehearsing what she had to say all the way along the beach and back and she needed to say it while it was still clear in her head. ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, especially at a time like this, but if I don’t do it now I might never do it. I think we both know deep down that we ought to call it a day, we don’t want the same things out of this and I don’t want to become the sort of person who is desperately clinging on to something in the hope that it might one day turn out to be more than it is.’
‘Is this because of what Fred said?’ Tom had that exasperated, we’ve-been-through-all-this-a-hundred-times-before look on his face. ‘Were you expecting me to tell him we’d asked the vicar to book us a date for the wedding, at the same time as arranging the funeral, on a two for one deal?’ His sarcasm was almost as biting as the wind.
‘Of course not. That’s not what I mean at all.’ The perfect speech she’d practised was all going a bit array. ‘It’s just I realised today, what I’ve known all along really, that you are capable of loving someone. Only that someone isn’t me.’
‘I’ve been honest with you about my feelings from day one.’ The exasperated expression was dissipating, replaced by something else, sympathy even. ‘But you are the person I feel closest to right now and who I want to be with. I just can’t promise it will always be that way or when either of us might want out. It’s not just that I don’t love you, I don’t believe it exists in a romantic sense, that’s all.’ That’s all! It was like he was just expressing a preference for red grapes rathe
r than green ones, so matter of fact, so decisive.
‘I know you’ve always been honest and I can never regret the time we’ve spent together.’ Ashleigh silently congratulated herself on her composure; elements of the well-rehearsed speech were starting to filter back into her consciousness. ‘But I want to be honest with you too. Someone who loved another person as much as you loved your mother will always be capable of love again, romantic or otherwise, and one day someone will come along who knocks you off your feet and throws away all your preconceptions about love. But I know now that someone won’t be me.’ She put her hand up to stop him saying anything; she had to get this out. ‘And I need to move on for my sake. Try as I might to buy into your theory, I can’t deny it to myself or to you any longer. I do love you. And, as much as that hurts right now, I’m glad that I’ve admitted that to both of us so that I can start to move on. I don’t want to be some sad person looking out for signs that you might feel the same and treading on eggshells around you or when people ask questions about our relationship.’ She moved towards him and brushed her lips against his one last time, letting his coat fall off her shoulders. ‘Take care of yourself and Bertie. I’ll miss you both.’ Thrusting Bertie’s lead into his hand she kicked off her shoes, picked them up and turned around, running along the sea wall, thankful once more that there was virtually no one around to witness this mad woman jogging towards Sandgate in her stockinged feet.
‘Ashleigh, stop, let’s talk about th…’ Tom called after her, but his words were lost on the wind, mingling with Bertie’s howls. The dog’s distress at losing his own true love for the second time in a matter of weeks was obvious, but Ashleigh kept running.
****
Watching her leave, it was as though Tom’s skin had been peeled back and his insides exposed. Emotion gripped his throat making it difficult to swallow, but he couldn’t be sure what he was feeling. Maybe it was anger, or shock at the fact she’d left him when he’d needed her support, but he didn’t have the right to be angry. He was glad she’d been honest; it was the only thing they’d ever promised each other. The timing wasn’t ideal, but it was the right thing for Ashleigh to do. He couldn’t expect everyone to be like him, turn off their feelings if they started to get out of hand. The rest of the world didn’t seem to realise that love was an illusion, even when they’d tried as hard to see it for what it was as she had. And she’d really tried. If he was honest with himself, it was obvious she was struggling with it almost from the beginning. His mother’s death had affected him in a way he never dreamt possible and Ashleigh leaving had just heightened that. At any other time it would have felt different. He didn’t try to convince himself that he wouldn’t have been bothered, he could admit he liked her enough to care, he’d been hurt the first time they split up, but this unbearable feeling of loss was just tied up with his mother, it meant far less on its own.
Bertie was still whining when Tom reached the car, having had to drag the dog behind him and away from the beach. He wouldn’t go back to the wake, he couldn’t face talking to anyone, couldn’t speak – not even to comfort Bertie. The dog would get over it, they both would. Life went on, whether you wanted it to or not.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The days after saying goodbye to Tom following the funeral were the worst that Ashleigh had ever experienced, even more terrible than when her father had died. It was an awful comparison to make, but the guilt made it all so much worse. She’d seen films where people were sick with shock or at bad news, but she’d never believed it could happen in real life.
She’d left Tom when he needed her, and Bertie too, all because she was too selfish to put her own feelings to one side. She’d had no control when her father died, but she’d chosen this and the guilt tore at her from the inside out.
Almost as soon as she’d got through the front door, she’d run to the toilet and thrown up, over and over again.
****
‘What on earth’s happened, darling?’ Ashleigh scraped open her eyes, her mother looming over her. Carol had obviously let herself into the flat and if there’d been an ounce of energy left in Ashleigh’s body she’d have jumped out of her skin. As it was she lay, like a lump of rock, on the sofa in her front room, where she’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours.
‘Why has something got to be wrong?’ The effort of speaking scratched her throat. Was it too early for a drink?
‘Because you’re sleeping at two o’clock in the afternoon.’ Carol sat on the edge of the sofa, forcing Ashleigh to turn on her side. ‘And because I saw the dream catcher I bought you hanging up at the window. You hate all my new age stuff, you’ve told me often enough.’
Ashleigh squinted, the light burning her eyes, which were desperate to close again. Had she really hung that thing up in the hope it could live up to its promise and filter out all the bad thoughts? Slowly she focused on the window. There it was, in its lopsided position, looped over the window opener.
‘I’d forgotten I did that.’ She shifted into a different position. ‘But I hardly think it calls for an intervention.’
‘Darling, when you start buying into my theories and taking my advice, trust me, I know it’s time to panic.’ Carol smoothed back her hair and Ashleigh realised, to her surprise, that she wanted her to stay.
‘I’ve been having a bit of a rough time and I was willing to give anything a shot last night, just to get some sleep.’ Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d seen Tom standing there, watching her leave him. The wind had been blowing straight off the sea for half the night, too, howling like Bertie and not letting her sleep, even when she’d buried her head under four cushions.
‘Is it Tom?’ Her mother squeezed her hand. It was quite unnerving her being like this, almost like a normal mum, and all she could do was nod. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’
Ashleigh wasn’t sure she could. How could she explain something she could barely rationalise? ‘He doesn’t love me.’ The words escaped all by themselves in the end and hot tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.
‘Well, then he’s not worth crying over.’ Carol, who was usually so laid back that nothing bothered her, had gone red in the face. ‘You deserve so much more than that.’
If Ashleigh hadn’t been so acutely aware of the pain in her head and her chest, she would have sworn she was dreaming. Her mum hadn’t said anything like that to her in… as long as she could remember. ‘But I love him.’ She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, but it was like holding back the tide. ‘It hurts, Mum, so much.’ She was half-sobbing and sucking in huge gulps of air.
‘Pain is the body’s way of telling you something’s wrong. Maybe, in this case, it’s Tom that’s wrong.’ Carol moved so that she was lying next to Ashleigh, wrapping her arms around her daughter. ‘He might see sense and realise how special you are but, if he doesn’t, that will be his loss. But you deserve to be loved, you know that, don’t you?’
Ashleigh nodded and let herself relax in her mother’s arms for the first time in years, Carol’s yak-hair jumper scratching her nose. It was a weird mixture of comfort and terror… when her mother started to make sense, she was right, it was definitely time to worry.
****
Stevie and Zac had sent flowers to the funeral, separately of course. They’d wanted to pay their respects for Tom, but had stayed away from the funeral itself at his request that it shouldn’t be turned into a media circus. After the funeral, Stevie spent two days intermittingly calling Ashleigh on her home and mobile phones. She didn’t answer, couldn’t bring herself to admit what she’d done to Tom, even to Stevie. She texted, though, to say she was fine and that he absolutely wasn’t to come over, but of course he did. She’d heard the key turning in the lock, the spare key she’d given him when she first moved in. She couldn’t move to get up and greet him; she was a sodden, tear stained lump on the sofa and it was all she was good for.
‘Yeah, you look it.’ Stevie sat on the end of the sofa and stroked her leg. ‘Come on, honey, tell me what’s up.’
Sympathy was quite the worst thing Ashleigh could have been given and she dissolved into noisy sobs, relaying the whole sorry tale. Her misery was such that one thing just melted into another and in the end she was crying about the fact that she would never do what she wanted with her career and that she might as well work in the make-over photo studio where she really belonged.
At least Ashleigh had the luxury of time to think about what it was she actually wanted to do. Zac, who had been delighted with the album shots had paid her enough money to cover her mortgage and the rest of her bills for a good six months. She told Stevie that there was no way she was accepting any work from Glitz, she couldn’t even bear to see a copy of the magazine while she was passing the newsagent’s window. That had been enough excuse to keep her holed up in the flat since the funeral. It was giving her far too much time to think and Stevie told her he wasn’t going to risk leaving her there. Throwing some of her clothes into a suitcase, he bundled her into one of Zac’s many cars and drove her back to the manor house, dismissing her protestations. Standing in the hallway of Zac’s gilded and glitzy house, she was exhausted by it all.
‘I feel like an alien in another world.’ Her shoulders dropped as she spoke. ‘Like grey, lumpy porridge trying to look at home in a bowl of exotic fruit. I don’t know why you want me here.’