Chapter 7 #2
‘How are you getting on with those almonds?’ Dorothea’s strident voice cut across what Araminta was saying, and we both jumped.
‘One, two, three, four, five,’ we counted loudly in unison, while Dorothea narrowed her eyes at us and moved on to bully one of the others about her tissue paper crumpling technique.
‘Go on,’ I said, once she wasn’t looking. ‘What about the others?’
‘Angela and Greg are amazing and will look after you like a daughter,’ she continued.
‘And Marilise is marvellous, all diamonds and furs, even if she’s only going to the garden centre.
I’m sorry she’s not so well these days,’ she said, her face clouding over.
‘But I’m glad she’ll have someone as nice as you to look after her. ’
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her. Angela said she has lots of stories.’
Araminta brightened.
‘Oh, she does! She’s a European princess, you know, from some teeny country on an island somewhere in the Black Sea where they abolished their royal family decades ago.
She’s got lots of glamorous stories about palace life before she had to move here, and plenty more from then. I’m sure you’ll love her.’
I saw Dorothea advancing again and quickly snatched up a little chiffon bag and dropped in some almonds.
‘What about Nick? You said you were old friends?’
‘We are. There are plenty of pictures of us capering around the grounds of Lyonscroft when we were little, having a terrific time. Until that horrible father of his sent him off to board, that is, then I only saw him in the school breaks, if he was allowed to come home.’
‘Allowed by the school?’ I was confused, not understanding what the rules of boarding school might be.
‘No, by his father. He never liked Nick much, or Victoria, his sister, for that matter.’ She shrugged. ‘Just wanted an heir, I think, and when that job was done, he pretty much washed his hands of the lot of them.’
‘How sad.’
She nodded.
‘He’s nothing like his father, thankfully, but he also doesn’t want anything to do with the house, which scandalises this lot.
’ She jerked her head to indicate the other women in the room.
‘They can’t think of anything nicer than inheriting a smart country pile and a London pied à terre, regardless of how much – or how little – your parents loved you.
Poor Nick’s a very eligible bachelor round these parts. ’
‘Nothing like that between you and him, then,’ I asked, the prosecco and Araminta’s openness making me nosier than I would usually be with a complete stranger.
She snorted.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Everyone’s been trying to push us together for years, but there isn’t that vibe between us, and there never will be.
Anyway’ – she lowered her voice – ‘I’m having a terrific time playing the field.
They don’t approve, because they think I should be looking for a husband, so don’t tell them, will you? ’
I held up my little finger, and she crooked it with her own.
‘Pinky promise,’ I said. ‘As long as you tell me more another time.’
‘Will do,’ she agreed, and hastily stuffed a few more bags, as my mother approached.
‘Thank you for your work tonight, girls,’ she said, picking up the box of completed bags and looking around for more. ‘Is that it? Oh well, maybe you can finish them off tomorrow, Laura.’
I looked around the room: most people had left while Araminta and I were talking, so I gathered myself.
‘Actually, Mum, I’m only staying over tonight. I’ve got to head to a new job tomorrow.’
‘What!’ she shrieked, and I pressed myself back in my chair, steeled for the inevitable fallout.
‘What is it?’ demanded Steph, marching over. ‘Is that all you two have done of the almonds? You can finish them tomorrow, Laura.’
‘She won’t be doing that!’ hissed my mother, fanning herself with a pattern for a satin ring pillow. ‘She won’t be here.’
‘Won’t be here!’ parroted my sister, accepting an emergency glass of prosecco from Dorothea, who was enjoying every second. ‘Of course she’ll be here, what do you mean?’
‘I won’t, I’m afraid,’ I cut in, knowing that this one could run and run. ‘I’ve accepted a nursing job. I’ll be nearby, though, about nine miles away, so I’ll be able to do all the wedding stuff.’
‘But what about me?’ wailed Steph, snatching the pattern from Mum and handing it to Dorothea, who flapped it around the bride-to-be’s rapidly reddening face. ‘What about supporting me at the most special time in my life?’
I briefly thought of reminding her about how little she had supported me, ever, but squashed the words down.
‘You’ll have Dorothea for most of that,’ I said calmly. ‘As your chief bridesmaid. And I’ll be here for the hen and the wedding itself, of course. They said it was fine for me to take the whole day.’
‘And who are “they”?’ demanded my mother. ‘These employers who want to take you away from your family at such a special time of year and such a special occasion?’
It seemed unfair that they, rather than I, seemed to be getting the blame, but I wasn’t going to argue.
‘They’re called the Princes,’ I said. ‘They live at Lyonscroft.’
‘Not Princess Marie-Elise Colombo della Rovere?’ gasped Dorothea, turning the makeshift fan on herself.
‘That’s the one,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Although I’ve been told to call her Marilise.’
‘Did you have anything to do with this?’ she said, turning on Araminta, who was making a paper aeroplane out of a page torn from a bridal magazine.
‘How could I have?’ she protested, launching the plane, which promptly nosedived into a bowl of dried rose petals. ‘I only met Laura tonight.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ snarled Dorothea before returning her attentions to Steph, who was pretending she was about to faint. ‘Come on, darling, you’ve had an exhausting evening. I’ll help you to bed and then I must get home to Giles.’
She shot another venomous look at Araminta who, seemingly oblivious to her ire, was picking up empty prosecco bottles to check for dregs, before Dorothea steered Steph out of the room.
‘I’d better go as well,’ said Araminta, giving up on the final empty bottle. ‘Shall we swap numbers?’
We did so, then I waved her off in a taxi before returning reluctantly inside. As I entered the dining room, my mother, slumped in a chair, looked up at me.
‘You speak to her, Charles.’
My poor father, dragged away from his book, looked at me sympathetically.
‘What’s all this about, then, Lor?’ he said, absentmindedly eating a handful of sugared almonds. There wouldn’t be any left for the guests at this rate.
‘Nothing much,’ I said, and started to tidy up the table. ‘I’ve got a nursing job over Christmas like I always do, that’s all.’
Dad looked helplessly at Mum, who tutted.
‘But this Christmas isn’t just Christmas, is it? It’s Steph’s wedding; she thought you were going to be here with her every step of the way. And so you should be. We all know that it’s a difficult time of year for you, but…’ Her voice began to rise. ‘You’re being very selfish.’
There it was. Out loud. What my mother and sister truly thought: that grieving for my husband, finding events such as weddings and Christmas difficult to handle, was selfish.
The truth was that they branded anyone who didn’t put them at the centre of everything, or who threatened to move the spotlight for even a moment, as selfish.
Steph had even intimated that it was some failing on my part that Paulo had died when he did: you’re a nurse.
Couldn’t you at least have got him through Christmas so that it wasn’t spoiled?
I have been branded as selfish repeatedly throughout my life, which has shaped it.
I went into nursing, one of the most selfless careers there is, to prove something, but now I was older I was beginning to realise that what I needed to be was more selfish, rather than less, for my own protection.
‘I’m sorry that’s how you feel,’ I replied. ‘But I did find something close to home, so I’ll still be able to help.’
My father came over and put an arm around me.
‘It’s such a shame that Christmas is tough for you now. You loved it so much when you were a little girl.’
My eyes filled with tears and I relaxed a little, to lean against his reassuring sturdiness.
‘You did,’ said Mum, her voice softer. ‘You were transfixed by the presents under the tree, but you didn’t want to guess what they were, so you would never touch them, just stare, and then when it came to opening them, you’d do it so, so carefully.
’ She chuckled. ‘Steph couldn’t wait to rip the paper off to get at what was inside, but you’d peel the tape slowly in the hope of preserving the paper, and enjoy unwrapping gifts almost as much as finding out what they were. ’
I nodded.
‘I know.’ My voice broke, and Dad gave me an extra squeeze. ‘I’m sorry about never being here, but I’m still trying to cope.’
‘We all miss Paulo,’ said Dad, wiping his own eyes.
‘We do,’ said Mum. ‘But you’re such a wonderful woman, Laura, we want to see you happy. When will it be time to let him go and move on with your life? It’s been three years, nearly.’
It had, but whilst other people saw three long years, they had been to me like the blink of an eye, and every time I found that I was enjoying something – particularly Christmas – the guilt at not being able to help Paulo threatened to overwhelm me and I turned to work as a salve.
‘I’m happy for Steph, really I am,’ I said. ‘But I’m also fine with my life as it is.’
‘Fear can make moving on as difficult as grief can,’ said my father. ‘But only you can know at what point being fine with your life isn’t enough and find the courage to face it.’
I shrugged. Mostly I felt numb, and that worked for me.
‘I have to leave early in the morning,’ I said. ‘I’ll try not to wake anyone up.’
I had gone upstairs to my bedroom, where the sight of my bags on the bed, brought up unobtrusively by my kind father, threatened to push me into tears.
Now, in the beautiful bedroom at Lyonscroft, exhausted from all the events of the past twenty-four hours, which had been crowned by Steph’s texts, I pulled up my knees and dropped my face against them, silent tears soaking into the duvet.
I might have stayed this way until I fell asleep, had a weight not suddenly landed on the bed and the same comforting muzzle as earlier pushed its way into my hand.
‘Hello, Steve,’ I muttered, pulling him to me. ‘I bet you wouldn’t stand for any of this. Maybe you could be ring bearer in a frilly collar and take the attention from me.’
The door, which Steve had pushed to gain access, opened wider and Nick’s face appeared. I gave a little yelp and scrubbed at my teary eyes. Nick flushed red and beckoned awkwardly to his dog, trying not to come any further into the room.
‘Sorry about him,’ he said. ‘Come here, Steve.’
The dog’s response to this was to collapse next to me with a loud sigh and shut his eyes.
Nick edged a little further around the door.
‘Steve!’ he hissed but was magnificently ignored.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, hearing my hoarse voice and wishing he would just go. ‘I don’t mind if he stays.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I rubbed a hand over my no doubt blotchy face.
‘I’m fine, just tired – it’s been a long day. It’s okay if he stays, if you don’t mind.’
He nodded.
‘Of course. He may be stubborn and wilful and get stuck in bushes every three days, but I do know…’ He hesitated. ‘I do know how helpful he can be. Good night, then.’
He left the room abruptly and, putting my phone to one side, the messages unanswered, I switched off the light, burrowed my fingers gratefully into Steve’s soft fur, and went to sleep.