Chapter Remy #2
‘Well, I can pick you up, but it means Midge will have to take the van and put the two kids in the front and I’ll have to take Soph with me in the car, which leaves two spaces for you and Dad.
Or’ – she lifted her tone to show her next suggestion was her preference, knowing Midge would find the whole arrangement a right faff when it really didn’t need to be – ‘you and Dad can drive or get Ashleigh to pick you up on the way through, and then we can all go in one car and go straight there. Plus, that would mean Midge doesn’t have to park the van in that tiny car park, and of course, Ashleigh’s car has plenty of space, but it’s up to you.
’ She paused and waited for her mother’s decision, hoping she had done enough to persuade her on the best logistics to make the day work.
‘Smashing, so you can pick Dad and me up. That sounds great. What time? We want to get there a bit early, before your sister arrives.’
‘To get the fanfaring trumpeters in place . . .’ Remy whispered through gritted teeth.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing, Mum.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Yep, I’ll pick you up. About one?’
‘One on the dot. We’ll be ready! And we must make sure Bertie brushes his hair.’
‘God, yes, we absolutely must!’
Her mother’s silence meant she had heard and understood her sarcasm.
Remy stood with the phone in her hand, wondering how such a short interaction could leave her feeling so frazzled. And that was before her working day had even started.
‘Anyway, got to rush. Mum, but see you tonight. It starts at seven.’
‘I know. I put a note on the fridge.’
‘Great.’ She ran towards the front steps.
‘Looking forward to it! I’m in a bit of a dither over what to wear to a fashion show!’
‘Youcanwearanythingyoulike.’ She took a sharp breath. ‘GottagoMum, seeyoulater!’
‘Always rushing . . .’ She heard her mother’s lament as she ended the call and pulled the pass on her neck until she could place it on the automated system and gain entry. The security guard smiled and waved.
Reaching her work station in the nick of time, she shoved her bag under the desk and placed the headset on her head, readying her computer and preparing for her first call.
Graham appeared from nowhere, as if magicked from the cheap carpet like a supervising genie.
‘The skin of your teeth, Remy Hughes, the skin of your teeth!’
‘No Tyler today?’ She looked over the courtesy board and realised that the place had a rare and welcome serenity. There was no shouting, no performance, no fake and deafening laugh . . . She hoped he wasn’t poorly, but my goodness, it felt like a treat!
The prospect of not leaving the place with her head confuzzled and the lingering memory of his roar filled with her joy. It was going to be a good day! Her headset beeped and she took the call with a certain jollity to her tone.
‘Good morning. Thank you for calling Castle Care. You are through to Remy. How can I help you today?’
The timer on her screen glowed green and, yet again, in this groundhog day of a job, her shift had begun.
Ashleigh
Ashleigh had taken her time in the shower; wearing the fatigue of a poor night’s sleep meant she was starting the day on the back foot.
Her mood and movements were both a little sluggish.
Wrapped now in a thick, white towel, she stared at her line-free face in the mirror.
It had certainly paid off, getting tweakments before the first sign of wrinkles, and at forty, she carried the waxy, smooth complexion she’d been blessed with since her twenties.
A fact that usually made her feel good, but not today.
Today, like last night, she was distracted, trying to mentally filter the hurt and understand how Guy could have taken such steps, could have engaged their accountant, and could be thinking of doing something that would change the whole fabric of their business, their friendship, and had done so behind her back.
As hurt as she was angry, she knew she’d have to wait before confronting him, as becoming a father top-trumped anything work related, even this.
There was also some small element of relief, the fact that she couldn’t call him immediately and therefore didn’t have to face it head on.
It gave her time to process it. How she was going to break it to Archie without him going crazy was also a concern.
It had never been an issue, her and her husband sharing a best friend, but this had the power to fracture their trust, even damage their future. She dressed and joined him downstairs.
‘Morning, darling.’ Archie smiled from the island, where he sipped orange juice and was, as ever, engrossed in his broadsheet.
‘Did you have a nice time last night with the German?’ she asked, only half interested in the answer, as she grabbed a slice of pumpernickel and spread it with organic peanut butter.
Her plans for a family dinner had again been foiled, as Archie had come in late, and Evie had filled up on cheese on toast.
‘I did, but’ – he stared at her breakfast, his expression one of mild disgust – ‘that looks . . . unappealing.’
‘It’s good for energy.’ She took a tentative bite, and found a smile, unwilling to confess that when she felt a little low like this, a little knocked off course, what she really craved for breakfast was a big bowl of Frosties, or a toasted tea cake, or toast with thick, thick butter and jam, or chocolate, just bloody chocolate, an eclair, a bar of Cadbury’s, she wouldn’t be fussy, and she’d wash the lot down with a cold Dr Pepper, the sugary kind.
‘Think I’d rather have no energy.’ He pulled a face.
‘So, big news.’ She wiped her mouth. ‘Ada has had the baby.’
‘What? No way! Oh, that’s great! Way to go, Papa Gigi!’ He folded the paper and threw it on to the countertop, giving her his full attention. ‘What did they get? Give me the details!’
‘Well, I don’t have too many, but mother and baby are well, and it’s a little boy and they’ve called him Ben.’
‘Ben?’ He looked about as confused as she felt. ‘Did you mean to say Ben?’
‘Yes, I did. I meant to say Ben. Honestly, Archie, I can’t even—’ She stared into the garden, looking for inspiration, or at least clarity. ‘It’s Ben, as in the name of their dog, the dog Ben and now the baby Ben.’ She shrugged.
‘Is it like a . . . a holding name until they figure out what they actually want to call him? Remember we called Evie Peanut for the first few days, while we chose a name?’
‘I do.’
She smiled, Peanut . . . it had felt nice, surreal, unpressured.
Visitors fussing over her as little Peanut slept in the bassinet, everyone pitching up at the Lindo Wing, bringing her fruit and flowers, as she lay in a post-birth, warm cocoon of low lighting.
And Archie, Archie looking at her in a way he hadn’t before, like she was a goddess, his beautiful goddess who had done this miraculous thing.
It struck her then, the before and after – from the time they had met until the moment they left the hospital, when everything had changed, when she had changed.
It had just happened, as if shutters had gone up and there were no instructions on how to lower them again.
And she might mentally be hammering on them until her fists bled, but it seemed no one could hear.
Archie hadn’t looked at her in that way for the longest time; she felt the bite of sorrow about her throat that made speaking and breathing a little tricky.
How she would love him to look at her like that again.
She coughed and swallowed the hard ball of sadness that she felt had no right to be there, not when she had so much.
But there it was, the belief that it shouldn’t really be hers, not any of it.
It’s done, Ash! No one will ever know, and that’s all that matters!
But I know . . . She ran her fingers over the sparkling granite work surface and smothered the thought.
‘No, not a holding name,’ she clarified. ‘Guy sounded adamant, even got a bit shirty when I questioned it. Ben, that’s his name. Baby Ben.’
‘Was he drunk?’
‘Baby Ben? No, I think he’s still only on milk.’ She laughed. ‘I do love you, Archie, I do. I really love you.’
It came out of nowhere, out of context, her need to say it almost overwhelming and her need to know he loved her in return, and that no matter what, they were solid, even greater.
‘Ash . . .’ He stood from the bar stool and came to hold her, wrapping her in his arms where she let her head rest on his chest, eyes closed, blocking out the hurt at the fact that Guy had let her down, upset her, was possibly trying to edge her out.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispered, and she inhaled the scent of him, his lemony fragrance, and the peppery smell of his skin.
‘I’m fine.’ She eased away and dropped the remainder of her breakfast into the bin, before running herself a glass of cold water. Archie retook his stool and picked up his paper.
‘We should do something, tonight, you, me and Evie, all three of us, what do you say?’
‘Yes, great. What were you thinking?’ She turned to face him.
‘Supper, all three of us eating together.’
Her gut rolled with hunger at no more than the thought of it. This was what she wanted: family time. It sounded perfect.
‘Brilliant! I was thinking similar. Let’s do that.’ It delighted her how in sync they were. She looked up as Marguerite came into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee machine. ‘Morning!’
‘Morning, Ashleigh. How was the lasagne?’
‘Oh, we didn’t, erm . . .’ She felt a little embarrassed, having asked her specifically to make it.
‘It looked lovely, but Archie got in late, I wasn’t really in the mood for food, and Evie was a little tired, so she had cheese on toast.’ She smiled, trying to disguise the desolation she had felt as she climbed between the sheets, the house quiet, Archie absent and no one with whom she could discuss the turmoil of her day.
‘Will you eat it tonight, or shall I freeze it?’