Chapter 11
I join Ella and the girls at Connie’s house that evening, for an informal pre-wedding gathering – a “hen night without strippers”, as she described it. She’s staying at Connie’s for the night and has invited people around to spend a few hours with her.
Connie’s house is tucked away on a quiet street behind the green, and as Rose and I approach, we hear music coming from the open window, punctuated by screeches of laughter.
My daughter pauses, and stares at me in the moonlight. She has fully recovered from her hangover, after spending all of the morning in bed, and all of the afternoon with Archie the gardener. He gave her a tour of his greenhouse, and showed her the wildflower meadows, and let her tag along on some of his maintenance jobs. He even enrolled her to help put the finishing touches to Ella’s bridal flowers, which she’s been raving about ever since.
Rose is a thoughtful young woman, not often given to bouts of giddiness, but when she finally came back to Kittiwake she was absolutely overflowing with excitement about it all. That kind of innocent and genuine enthusiasm that you don’t often see in teenagers, and which definitely lifts a mother’s heart.
She’d been so full of fervour, in fact, that I’d made her a sandwich, waited until she was eating it, then made the most of the distracted moment to explain who Josh was and what had happened.
“Ha!” she’d splurted, once she’d finished chewing. “That is so lame, Mum – it’s like something a character in one of those Korean romcoms would do!”
“Yeah. Well. What can I say? I had a moment of madness. It even happens to old people, you know?”
She’s been mocking me ever since, but only in a very gentle and also thoroughly deserved way. I choose to see it as a bonding exercise.
Now, as we stand outside Connie’s cottage, she says: “I really like it here, Mum. It’s so beautiful, and it’s fun, and I just don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I have the last few days. You seem different too, with your friends around you… more relaxed. Being here together, with these people – it’s nice, isn’t it? I’ll be sad when we leave.”
I grin at her, and reply: “I know what you mean, babe. I’m glad you’re enjoying it – and we’ve got ages yet! I have the rest of my fortnight off work, Jake says we can use the cottage as long as we like, and you’re a feckless, work-shy layabout with no commitments.”
She thinks about this for a moment, then says: “I was considering being offended at that description, as I do actually have a Saturday job, but I quite like the idea of being a feckless work-shy layabout. It sounds cool. I might get it printed up on a T-shirt for next time I see Dad – it’d drive him mental!”
It would, she’s right. She seems to enjoy pushing his buttons in a way that I was never brave enough to do – probably because she was never the target of his abuse. She was only six when we left, and he hadn’t really had time to formulate a life plan for her. She was cute and clever and looked adorable on the awful family Christmas cards he used to make us pose for, and therefore she served her purpose. I am probably being unfair – Robert is many things, most of them bad in my personal experience, but in his own way he loves his children. Wants the best for them. It’s just that his definition of “the best” and Rose’s seem to exist on different planes.
When she was younger and used to visit him, I always stayed at my mum’s for the whole time, so I’d be nearby in London if she needed me. I got her a mobile way before she really needed one, just so she could easily stay in contact with me. I was always nervous, always on high alert, looking for any signs that she was upset – any signs that she was being mistreated. I never saw any, and I don’t with Lyssa’s children either; he saves it all up for his womenfolk, it seems.
But as Rose has grown, developed, changed, become a young woman with a mind of her own, she has become more and more reluctant to visit. Very simply put, she really doesn’t like her dad at all – which is a conclusion she’s come to all on her own, as I’ve been extremely careful over the years not to poison her mind against him. She’s clearly a better judge of character than I ever was, and if not for her half-siblings, I don’t think she’d go at all. Except maybe to show off her new T-shirt, who knows?
She knocks on the door, and when there is no answer, simply shrugs and tries the handle. It is, of course, unlocked, and we make our way inside.
The house is large, messy, and chaotic with clutter of every kind. Connie doesn’t seem to have made a dent on the contents with her Spring Greening, and I smile as we pass her singing fish, back in pride of place on the hallway wall.
The large living room is awash with women. Connie herself is arranging plates of cakes and sandwiches on the dining table, helped by her daughter, Sophie. I remember when I see her that she and her twin brother are studying for their A-levels, which will be starting soon, and have a flash of sympathy for them. Rose heads in her direction without so much as a farewell – it seems I am no longer of interest.
Cally is here, sitting on the floor surrounded by small girls – Lilly and Meg, Archie’s children, and Zara and Kiara, who belong to Priya. They range in age from four to eight, and all of them are perched on cushions and bean bags, the other three looking on in awe as Cally creates super-complicated plaits in Kiara’s hair. In the middle of them all, in a careful “sit” position, is Ella’s dog, Larry, his head on one side, apparently as fascinated as the kids. I have never seen tiny people – and dogs – quite so enthralled before, and decide that Cally must be some kind of magician.
She notices us when we arrive, and gestures up with her eyes as she says: “See, Lilly, Meg – there’s an example of a grown-up with hair the same as yours. And doesn’t it look gorgeous?”
My hair is in a plain ponytail over my shoulder, and I touch it self-consciously as all their eyes turn to me. I see Lilly and Meg stare at me, assessing, and then Lilly finally announcing: “Umm… yes?” in a tone that suggests she’s not at all convinced. I feel their pain – growing up as a ginger isn’t easy.
“Red-heads rock!” I say, making a V for Victory salute with my fingers that I hope they don’t try and replicate – way too easy for that to go wrong.
Katie is lounging on the sofa examining a CD case. She holds it up, and shouts: “Lucy, look –Now That’s What I Call Music 44! From 1999! Brilliant!”
Just as she speaks, Britney Spears comes on singing …Baby One More Time, and I am forced to agree with her – totally brilliant. I bop my way over to the other side of the table, where Priya is sitting with Ella, her right hand laid flat on the surface.
I pull up a chair and look on in fascination as Priya paints a design on the back of our friend’s hand. At the centre of it is a star, surrounded by smaller stars, all connected by swirling lines and curling shapes, trailing along her fingers, getting smaller and smaller as they reach her nails.
It is both intricate and simple at the same time, the lines of brown henna paste looping and whirling over her hand in a flurry, everything clear but everything connected. It looks like it has grown rather than been created – a lacework of stars spreading across her skin – and I am spellbound by it.
Priya is using a cone-shaped device that looks a little like a pen, but is full of henna, concentrating as she completes the final trail of tiny stars looping down towards her wrist, circling it like a bracelet.
As she leans back to inspect it, I say: “Wow! How did you do that? It’s amazing!”
“My cousin Sunita taught me,” she replies, preparing to work on the other hand. “She does it professionally, and travels all over the UK and Europe doing this. Traditionally the bride would have a big mehndi party the night before the wedding, and this would be part of it – along with lots of food and dancing and music.”
“I remember it from your wedding,” Ella says, grinning. “Except I think it ended up with us doing tequila shooters, which probably isn’t that traditional.”
“Well, I’ve always been progressive that way,” Priya says, smiling as she works.
I have a momentary rush of regret as they talk, because I didn’t go to Priya’s wedding. I was still with Robert, and by that stage he had managed to cut me off from my friends entirely. I never got an invitation through the post, and I know now that he probably intercepted it – and I also know now that Priya might have suspected that, and tried to contact me on the phone. She left messages, and I heard them, but I still didn’t go. The thought of asking Robert about it was too difficult, because he’d made it very clear that he didn’t like my friends. He wouldn’t want to go, and he wouldn’t be happy with me going there, or anywhere, alone.
Now, of course, I die a little inside when I look back at things like that – at a time when I thought I needed his permission. It’s hard for anyone who hasn’t been through it to understand how gradually and subtly it all happens, how you barely notice until it’s too late. How every doubt you dare to express is turned against you, how you’re made to feel that ultimately, you’re the one being unreasonable – that disagreeing is just another example of your many flaws.
I realise that I have drifted off into self-recrimination and shake myself out of it as soon as I notice. Every time that happens, he wins again, I know. Every time that happens, it shows me that he still has power, and I hate that.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “Will it… dry off?”
“I hope so!” Ella exclaims. “Or my wedding dress is going to be a disaster!”
“Yes, it dries up, and then you wash the henna off and the stain is left behind. It varies according to your skin tone and how long you leave it though. My mum’s the one who insisted I had it done, to be honest – she reckons it’s supposed to be very calming for the bride-to-be, forcing them to sit still and relax the night before, instead of running around fretting.”
“I think your mum’s a wise bird,” Ella replies. “Unlike me – I’ve been a very unwise headless chicken all day. My parents arrived, which was fine – they were tired after flying in from Portugal, so they had dinner and went straight to bed. And Jake’s dad turned up, too, which wasn’t as easy – he’s currently getting drunk at the inn while Josh and Jake try not to punch him.”
“Josh mentioned that earlier,” I say, frowning. “What’s the deal?”
Priya stops what she’s doing and looks up, her huge brown eyes suddenly focused on me.
“It went well, then, I assume? Your chat?”
“What chat?” asks Ella.
“The chat where I explained to Josh that I’m a knob-head, and he forgave me. Or at least I think he did. We went for a walk, up to the coastal path, and he said he wasn’t looking forward to his dad coming.”
Ella nods, and a small smile plays on her lips. I can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh, and if she wasn’t in the middle of having a delicate procedure done, I might have given her a playful shove.
“Right. That sounds nice, a walk with Josh… you’d better be careful, Lucy. This place is lethal for single women. Just look at me and Cally. She only came here on holiday, you know!”
She sounds way too interested in my walk with Josh, so I don’t tell her that it also ended up with me spending the rest of the day with Josh. Once we’d re-introduced ourselves, we’d carried on walking, both of us apparently reluctant to leave the otherworldly beauty of the path along the cliffs. We ended up in a small town called West Bay, eating ice cream on the beach and eventually having lunch in a seafood shack on the walk home. It was not the way I had expected the day to go, and it was fun – so much fun that I don’t even want to mention it to her in case she gets the wrong idea.
“You and Cally both seem very happy, and I’m delighted for you,” I reply firmly, “but I’m very much not in the market for a man, thank you. I’m not ready for a relationship.”
“What about sex though?” she answers, her eyes sparkling. “You can’t say you haven’t considered it – Josh looks like Jake’s brother, which means he is pretty much irresistible!”
“Speak for yourself, you tart – I’m made of sterner stuff.”
Or maybe, I admit silently to myself, I’m simply made of more cowardly stuff. I’m scared of falling in love. I’m scared of losing control. I’m scared of ever giving anyone that level of power over me ever again.
Something in my tone must give Ella the correct impression that I don’t want to discuss Josh’s charms, considerable as they are, any further, and instead she tells us about his dad. The main bone of contention seems to be the way he treated their mum, who they both adored. She was Italian, and moved over here after meeting their father while he was working in Rome. They fell in love, and after a whirlwind romance, she found herself living in a foreign country, before long with two little boys to look after – and a husband who had zero understanding of how hard that was.
“I’ve met him once,” Ella explains, “and I have to say, he’s not easy. He’s one of those men who thinks every word that comes out of his mouth should be treated with reverence, you know? He’s in his mid-seventies, went to some minor public school, worked in law… basically he’s pretty much a vision of self-entitlement. He thinks he’s absolutely marvellous, and expects everyone else to agree with everything he says, no matter how ridiculous. He expected the same from their mum, and she put up with it for a long time – but then when the boys were in their twenties and seemed set, she ran off, back to Italy. Didn’t even tell their dad she was going, because she knew he’d either convince her she was an idiot, or not give a shit – neither of which she was in the mood for.”
“Good for her!” Priya says, pausing to pick up a new cone of henna. “I hope she’s living the dolce vita in her twilight years!”
“Well, sadly not – she died a while back. They were both devastated, Josh and Jake. Jake’s marriage ended at around the same time, and I think it’s one of the reasons he ended up moving here – total change of life. But, because this is supposed to be a fun night, I should add that she was in Italy for over a decade, and she had a blast – she took up salsa dancing, worked as a tour guide, got a new boyfriend, learned how to ride a motorbike, all kinds of crazy stuff! So before the sad ending, there was a very happy middle too.”
“Excellent,” I say, “we should all be more… erm, what was her name?”
“Caterina.”
“We should all be more Caterina!”
As I say this, Connie appears with a pitcher and some glasses on a tray. She places them next to us, saying: “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but that sounded like the kind of moment where you should be making a toast… so here’s a jug of virgin Pina Coladas to help you out. Just don’t tell Katie there’s no alcohol in it, all right?”
“Katie’s given up drinking,” Priya says, laying down her henna cone and pouring us all a glass.
“Are you sure?” asks Connie, narrowing her eyes in disbelief as she watches Katie doing some insane revved up dance moves behind the sofa, very roughly in time to Tragedy by Steps. Just as I remember from our younger days, she is absolutely one hundred per cent dancing like nobody is watching. Maybe we should all be a bit more Katie as well as a bit more Caterina.
“Yeah,” Ella says, laughing. “That’s just Katie, with or without the booze.”
Connie pauses, looks impressed, and carries on hostessing. We chat about the big day, about the reception, about the honeymoon, about the dress, about the vows and the ring and the huge marquee that is now gracing the village green. Ella spews out all her stress and nerves, we sit and listen, and Priya continues to work. It is, as her mother knew all along, quite cathartic.
Eventually, Priya puts both of Ella’s hands together to inspect them and announces: “There. All done. Starshine Mehndi just for you.”
Ella lifts her own hands and gazes at them, staring at the complex strands of spirals, the interlinked stars, the sheer gorgeousness of the whole design.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, sighing. “And I love it, Priya. And you promise me it’s definitely not weird? I’m not… I don’t know, culturally appropriating or anything?”
Priya smiles, and replies: “I promise. It’s just a gift, for my sister. The sister I chose.”
It is strangely moving, that simple statement, and I feel tears swim into my eyes. I’m about to tell myself off when I notice that Ella and Priya are reacting in exactly the same way. Soppy cows.
“Hey, Katie!” I shout, feeling her absence. She looks up from her dancing, and I yell: “Love you!”
She gives us all a thumbs up sign, mouths “Me too!”, and goes back to grooving.
I might have missed Priya’s big day, but I am so delighted to be right here, right now, for Ella’s.