Chapter 4
4
A chill seemed to have settled on the house, accentuating the stillness. From downstairs came the sound of the television in the living room while, from outside, the hum of late-night traffic as it rolled along the street. There was something about a place without other people around, particularly at night time. Not so much the silence, more the absence of noise. She’d never before realised how audible the almost imperceptible movements of another person were, even of the air as they breathed. She moved from hall to kitchen and fixed herself a drink before heading to the table and flicking up the lid to her laptop. She couldn’t reply to her emails, but she could still read them. Besides, it was too quiet to sleep.
At 2a.m., she dragged herself towards the stairs and her bedroom, eyelids drooping, and muscles slow with fatigue. The slower she moved, she discovered, the more her thoughts drifted. But there was nothing she could do about that. Eighteen months, that was the thing that kept coming back to her. Eighteen months. That wasn’t a fling. That wasn’t some accidental lapse of judgement after one-too-many drinks. Eighteen months was an affair. How many times had he lied to her, to go to that other woman? How many times had he been in their bed messaging her, while Fiona was busy answering emails on her phone? She paused on the stairs. How many times had Fiona had sex with him since he’d started cheating on her? The thought made her gag, so much so that she had to sprint back down to the toilet. He was an idiot. A selfish idiot, she told herself as she wiped her mouth. Well, he’d be back grovelling in no time. And she wasn’t going to make it easy for him when he did.
Dappled, grey light filtered through the curtains and merged with the dull glow of the television. With the fog of sleep not yet lifted, she reached across the bed, only to find her hand touch something hard and cold. She jerked awake, heart racing, and then realised where she was. She hated falling asleep on the sofa, if for no other reason than the discomfort it left her with for the rest of the day. Groaning, she swiped her fingers across her phone. 6.14a.m. She groaned again and flopped back over. There would be no point going to bed now. She wouldn’t sleep. The best thing she could do, she decided, would be to get up, get showered, and get on with the day. After all, it was Monday, the official start of her weeklong break from work and she needed to get her life organised, before Stephen came to his senses and returned.
The realisation that it was Monday brought with it the thought that it had been three days since he’d walked out of their house, with two full suitcases, containing everything from underwear to work clothes, plus his favourite 1970s Kiss T-shirt that she’d refused to let him wear but he’d refused to throw out. She knew he had taken that, and a whole range of other things, because she’d gone through all his drawers. She also knew that he’d left plenty behind, like the penknife his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday and the novelty mug with the tie handle that Joseph had given him nearly a decade ago. That was how she was certain he would return.
A babble of voices from the television pulled her thoughts away from Stephen to the morning news programme, where the two presenters were discussing something in serious tones, not that it mattered. It wasn’t on for viewing. The line she’d spun Holly about watching some documentary had been a complete fabrication. She hadn’t watched so much as a single advert or weather forecast since she’d switched it on, on Saturday night. But now she couldn’t turn it off. She’d even switched on the one in Joseph’s room, too, to make the house seem less empty. She’d considered using the radio instead but, after a few hours, had changed her mind. Something about music didn’t work well, especially if it was a song that evoked memories. She and Stephen had never had a special song of their own. That wasn’t them at all. Even for their wedding reception, she’d chosen a first-dance song because the lyrics were appropriate for the occasion, rather than opting for anything personal. Twenty years later and she couldn’t even remember what it was. Yet twice within an hour of switching the radio on, music had come across the airwaves that had caused her stomach to tighten. Television was safer.
Stretching her arms out and bending from side to side, she contemplated what to tackle next. There was still plenty of sorting to do before she went back to work.
It had turned out that the Tran Tuan was a little overbearing for the hallway, but looked perfect above the mantelpiece in the dining room. That meant shifting the large mirror out, but she decided it could add a little extra light somewhere else. This, in turn, created the problem of what to do with the seascape Stephen had commissioned of the cove in Cornwall where he used to holiday as a child.
By eleven-fifteen, the paintings had been rearranged to her satisfaction and, with the constant heavy lifting and endless climbing up and down of stairs, she was finding herself in need of food. At any other time, she would have checked the fridge or the bread bin but, having had no one else in the house over the weekend, she hadn’t bothered to go shopping and knew the cupboards were bare. She picked up her phone and glanced at the screen. Eight missed calls, all from the same person. She chewed her lip. Holiday or no holiday, some clients couldn’t be ignored. And this was one of them.
Octavia Lovett-Rose’s wedding to hedge fund tycoon Charlie Rosenberg would be the society wedding of the year. And it had fallen into Fiona’s lap, without her even trying.
‘I want a different slant on things,’ the It-girl-slash-radio-star had told her at their first meeting. ‘Otherwise, all these events just end up looking the same, but bigger. Do you know what I mean? The same bouquets, only bigger; the same sort of cake, only bigger.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. But you do realise I mainly organise corporate events now, don’t you?’
‘I do. I do. But Uncle Dom speaks so highly of you. And you did do weddings once, didn’t you? I thought I found some of your things online…’
After a week of back and forth emails, and even a bunch of flowers from Dominic Tan, Fiona was officially back into wedding planning, or at least this one. And so far, so good. Although, judging from the myriad calls she’d missed, that might not be the case any more. Picking up her bag, she headed out of the door for one of London’s newest and hippest bars. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about food shopping.
‘Fiona, I’m so sorry.’ Octavia rose from the leather sofa as she approached. ‘I rang your office eventually and your girl there said you were on holiday. I’d completely forgotten. I didn’t mean for you to come in specially to see me.’
‘It’s not a problem. I was at home. If anything, you’ve given me an excuse to stop spring cleaning.’
‘In September? I’m not sure that counts as a holiday.’
Chuckling politely, Fiona leaned in for the standard greeting.
Octavia was a triple-kiss person, she had discovered. Three were needed before you could sit down and get on with business. It was something she had to do with all her new clients, learn which of them were one, two, or three kissers and which were simple hand-shakers, or none of the above. Generally, she let them take the lead.
Light bounced off Octavia’s engagement ring as they separated into their seats. It had been in all the magazines. The size, the cut, the colour – the cost . Without thinking, she glanced at the three rings on her own finger before turning her attention back to her client.
‘You sounded worried,’ she said. ‘How can I help?’
Octavia waved a hand at the waiter who arrived promptly with menus.
‘I’m being ridiculous, I know I am. I just need you to reassure me that I’m not going crazy.’
‘Well I can’t do that, but I can definitely help with the wedding.’
Octavia chortled. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, I was so happy with everything, and then I got talking to some friends and now, well, I just don’t know.’
Fiona eyed the menu. There was no way she could order yet without seeming insensitive. It would have to be business first, food later. She nodded slowly and leaned across the table.
‘Just tell me what’s up and I’ll see if I can put your mind at ease. Remember, we still have months. We can change things. Unless it’s the venue?’ she added hesitantly. ‘You’re still okay with the venue, aren’t you?’
‘The venue is about the only thing I’m certain of.’ Octavia sighed with a watery smile.
‘Well that’s the only one that really matters,’ she reassured her, heaving a massive internal sigh of relief that she didn’t have to deal with that catastrophe. ‘And remember: you pay me to do the worrying, so you don’t have to. So, shoot. What seems to be the problem?’
Octavia’s eyelids fluttered as she started the list.
‘First off,’ she began, ‘it’s the centrepieces.’
Fifty minutes and three pages of notes later, Fiona had managed to put Octavia’s mind at rest about everything from the colour trim on the bridesmaid dresses, to the number of courses the wedding breakfast needed to include, to whether the favours should be edible or not. She’d not yet managed to order any food from the waiter, who was looking less and less impressed by the second, but they were reaching the end now. She was certain of it.
‘The other thing is the children’s room…’ Octavia came to her final issue.
Knowing it was probably going to need at least one more page, Fiona turned the leaf in her notebook.
‘Do you still want to go with the clown and the magician? I can try to talk the hotel round about the miniature zoo. They were pretty adamant it was a no but, given that you now have the magazine photo shoot, they may be a little more helpful…’
‘The clown and magician are perfect,’ Octavia assured her. ‘But it’s the decoration. I realised we hadn’t even thought about that. And I know the wedding is not really for the children, but I want them to have a nice time, you understand?’
‘I understand completely. Happy children mean happy parents.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought.’ She took a breath. ‘So, I was thinking that maybe we’d opt for some kind of rainbow balloon arch. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I’m following.’ She wrote the words rainbow balloon arch on her pad. ‘That actually sounds great.’
‘I thought it would brighten the whole room up and the magician and the clown could do their acts under it.’
Fiona looked up from her notebook with a smile. ‘When you come up with ideas like this, it leaves me wondering why you need me at all!’
‘You know I need you.’ Octavia grinned back. ‘Anyway. You think that would work? Balloons? I’m worried they might look tacky.’
‘Why?’
‘Well they do sometimes, don’t they? I mean, I know it’s for the children, but I don’t want it to lower the tone of everything else.’
‘It won’t.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m positive. Balloons can look brilliant. And all children adore them. In fact, balloons were the very best part of my son’s sixth birthday party which, obviously, I planned myself. And, not blowing my own trumpet or anything’ – her eyes lit up at the memory – ‘it was amazing.’
She let her mind wander back more than a decade, to their old living room. The house they’d lived in then was substantially smaller than the one they now owned, but it had felt like a palace. And, compared to the poky little flats they’d shared at the beginning of their marriage, it had been. Initially, the party was only going to include a few children for Joseph and some of their old friends, like Holly. But then they had started to write the invitations, and more and more people Fiona simply had to ask had appeared on the list. And soon, all of Joseph’s class were coming, too. Omnivents was just getting started and she was on the lookout for any new clients she could get. She knew that her son’s birthday party was a marketing opportunity too good to miss.
‘It was jungle themed,’ she recalled, as the memory played in her mind. ‘Well before all these specialised parties had become popular. And it took the whole of the night before to get it ready and turn our living room into that jungle. God, we had the works, including an animal-noises soundtrack playing in the background, green streamers hanging from the ceiling like vines, and cuddly snakes and monkeys. And the food! I can’t take all the credit for that, but still. Anyway, to get to my point, we had balloons. Some incredible ones. And everyone loved them.’
‘They did?’
‘Of course they did. Who doesn’t? They’re fun. Children adore them. Think about it, honestly; when have you ever seen a child whose day wasn’t made happier by a bright, colourful balloon?’
‘You mean, apart from when it bursts?’
‘Okay, yes,’ she conceded. ‘But apart from that. You haven’t. They love them. And, like you said, happy children mean happy parents and happy parents mean a wonderful wedding.’
Octavia’s eyes lifted ever so slightly in a smile. She had sold it, Fiona could tell, although her thoughts were still distracted by the memory of a wonderful day she had almost forgotten.
‘You know, we had one particular balloon – people thought it was a parrot, but it was actually a parakeet.’ She’d purchased it from her favourite little party shop on Cook Avenue. The same, sweet, old lady had run the place for years and, while her prices were quite high, she often stocked unique decorations that really made party settings pop. As far as Fiona knew, it was still there. ‘I can’t remember why I only bought one, now. I seem to recall it was the tail end of a limited-edition run, or something like that. Anyway, it was beautiful. Honestly, you could have forgotten everything else I did, because Joseph was obsessed with that balloon. Even after the party.’
‘How sweet.’
‘It’s funny, I haven’t thought about it in such a long time. You know, he wouldn’t let me get rid of it? Not for weeks, even after it had gone flat.’ She recalled her and Stephen’s laughter, as six-year-old Joseph had run around trailing the deflated balloon behind him. He’d even scribbled his name on the back with a marker pen. Eventually, though, he had seemed to tire of it and they had slipped it into the bin while he was sleeping. It had taken more than a week for him to stop asking about it.
‘Okay.’ Octavia had visibly relaxed. ‘So balloons it is. And you definitely don’t think four-foot centrepieces are too high?’
‘I definitely don’t.’
Next came chatter about dress fittings, fitness regimes and whether Fiona had ever considered using Botox. Then, thankfully, they ordered food.
‘Charlie and I have decided to give 10 per cent of the money from the Hello! exclusive to charity,’ Octavia announced, once their salads had arrived and she was chewing on something green. ‘We feel like we should. You know, we’ve been so lucky in our lives.’
‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ Fiona enthused, looking at her own plate and wishing they’d had something as dull as a plate of chips or a burger on the menu. ‘Which one are you considering?’
‘Oh, we’re not sure. Charlie’s thinking something for dogs or cats, you know. But I think maybe we need to look a little bigger. Like the environment. Definitely something animal related.’
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘And Uncle Dom tells me you’re helping him launch his new coaching platform next year.’ Octavia changed the conversation effortlessly. It was no wonder the public had taken to her so easily. She had an earnestness about her when she listened, Fiona had noticed. As if every word she heard was important, no matter how much drivel was spoken.
‘Well, hopefully. He’s still got to hear my latest proposal.’
‘Which he’ll go for straight away. You know he will. He loves everything you do.’
Fiona smiled and tried to look modest, despite the fact they both knew it was true.
As the conversation slowed and the plates were cleared away, Fiona asked for the bill.
‘I’ll let you get on,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘I know how busy you are.’
‘Okay then.’ Octavia started the kissing regimen again. ‘And thank you so much for coming in on your holiday. I promise I’ll try not to pester you too much if I have any more mini meltdowns.’
‘Pester away,’ Fiona assured her. ‘Only, let me have the meltdowns, okay? Like I said, that’s what you pay me for.’
With a final hug goodbye, she headed back outside, in search of the first fast food outlet she could find.