Chapter Remy #5
Evie lay on the rug with a book in her hands, and just the prospect of the three of them sitting down to supper was enough to lift Ashleigh’s spirits. The fact they had Marguerite’s fabulous food to tuck into, a bonus. She was hungry.
‘Was that a text from Guy? How’re they doing?’
She hadn’t spoken to Guy and felt decidedly awkward at the mention of him. ‘No, it was my mum, saying she has the spare room all set up if we want to stay with them after Dad’s birthday lunch tomorrow.’
‘It’ll be fun.’ He sipped his wine.
‘Yep.’ She handed him the bowl.
‘Smells delicious!’ Archie grabbed his fork, sleeves rolled up, ready for his supper.
‘There’s plenty more.’ She smiled with a pride she had no right to. This was, after all, not her handiwork. ‘Have some salad too.’ She pushed the wooden bowl full of fresh green leaves towards him. Trying not to be bossy but wanting him to eat something balanced.
‘Is there any garlic bread?’ Evie asked, as she took a seat and looked hopefully towards the oven.
‘Garlic bread? No! This is filling enough. Have you been listening to your dad, who likes to double down on carbs?’
Evie looked at Archie, who winked at her. It felt exclusionary, and Ashleigh’s cheeks flamed accordingly.
‘Marguerite always gives me garlic bread with lasagne.’
‘Well, Marguerite isn’t here.’ She placed the bowl in front of her daughter and served herself a small portion, knowing she would have to hit the pavement early in the morning to work it off.
Evie picked up her fork and sniffed it, before taking a minute bite of pasta. Ashleigh found it a little infuriating. This was not the action of someone who was happy to be eating as a family. It wasn’t what she had envisaged.
‘So is there any news on Ben Baby?’ Archie asked with gusto, designed, she knew, to create a tributary, diverting them from the slightly tense flow that they were in danger of getting carried away on.
‘Is that how we’re going to differentiate, Ben Baby and Ben Dog?’ She pulled a face at the absurdity of it.
‘I think so. It will be easier when we’re with them physically and we can point and say, this little chap!’
She shook her head, not knowing how it would be, to see their friends, to make small talk, still trying to come to terms with the sneakiness of Guy and Ada’s behaviour, and the disloyalty that had whacked her around the chops so hard she could almost feel the sting.
Adding to her discomfort was the fact it was now a secret she kept from Archie, feeling humiliated, embarrassed that Guy had done this, had kept her in the dark. Proof that their relationship had broken down.
She was also mindful that the men had been friends since their days at Clifton, and the thought of her putting a splinter in that was almost too much to contemplate.
She knew the pain of realising an old, reliable friend was slipping out of reach .
. . picturing Remy exchanging a wide-eyed look of irritation with Tony when Ashleigh had told them with much excitement about the boy she had met at uni whose name was Archie. It had hurt. It hurt still.
It was as unfathomable as it was upsetting, how quickly things had turned a little sour with Guy, and how she felt unable to even call the man who had been her great friend for the longest time. One of her pillars.
The sheaf of paperwork sat in her bag, unread, humming like a toxic thing that drew her thoughts in the early hours and at any other gap in her busy day.
Did he want her out completely? Was this what it was about? A stepping stone to replacing her with Ada? Ada, who had never worked in their industry. Ada, who had not worked much full stop. Remy had told her not to overthink it. If only it were that simple.
‘Ash!’ Archie shouted as he banged the flat of his palm on the counter. It was jarring.
‘What?’ She looked up.
‘Evie was telling you about her project. You were miles away!’
‘Evie!’ She wiped her fingers over her face. ‘I’m sorry my love. Daddy’s right, I was miles away! Please tell me about your project. Is it still the Romans?’
She smiled and took a mouthful of lasagne.
Archie was right, it was delicious, but when your stomach had shrunk with anxiety and sat somewhere beneath your throat, and your thoughts whirred and you felt sadness at a visceral level, making your bones feel brittle, as your friend’s betrayal was lodged like a stick in your heart, it was hard to enjoy anything.
Even Marguerite’s fabulous lasagne turned to ash on her tongue and threatened to choke her.
‘Romans was last term. We’re doing World War Two now.’ Her daughter spoke with reservation, clearly disappointed her mum did not know this.
‘World War Two! Wowsers! Well, you should speak to Grandad Dennis. His daddy, my grandad, fought in that war. His name was Charlie, and he was a porter in a field hospital in France, and he got a medal. I think he had great adventures, even though it was terrible.’
‘Yes,’ Archie boomed, ‘and my grandfather was in the cabinet office. He worked for Winston Churchill himself and was knighted to the Most Nobel Order of the Garter for his services to King and country.’ Her husband sat tall in his seat.
Ashleigh held her fork and stared at him, quite unable to voice how dismissed she felt, how he had nullified her grandad’s efforts. She didn’t want to bicker, not tonight, when she had been so looking forward to this supper.
‘A knight! Wow! Did he have a suit of armour and a horse?’ Evie was clearly quite taken with the idea.
Archie laughed loudly, so loudly.
‘Plenty of horses, yes. I remember their stables very well, but no suit of armour that I can recall.’
‘I expect he also knew to make garlic bread when serving lasagne, did he?’ Ashleigh fired the sarcasm across the table.
‘I doubt it. He had a cook.’ They locked eyes and the tension flared. ‘But he did know the value of a decent family dinner where kindness and conversation were allowed to flow. He knew it was the glue that bound.’
Kapow! His words landed like a punch.
‘Wow! He sounds marvellous!’ She gave a fake smile.
Evie stared at her.
‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ Her little girl’s voice was small and croaky.
Ashleigh put the fork down, knowing she couldn’t stomach even the smallest mouthful.
‘I’m sorry, Evie.’
‘That’s okay. I don’t really need garlic bread.’ Her child stared at her with big eyes that carried worry beyond her years.
Evie swallowed, and Ashleigh studied her.
Her little one looked as if her heart was beating very quickly and like she might feel a little sick.
Ashleigh understood how it could happen like this sometimes, when the world felt very big, and you felt very small and entirely uncertain of your place in it.
She pictured sitting at the kitchen table on exam day and wishing she could disappear.
The thought that she might have made Evie feel similar was gut-wrenching.
The very opposite of what she wanted to achieve with this dinner.
‘Can I . . . Can I take my supper and go and watch a cartoon?’ Evie almost whispered.
‘Course you can.’ Archie reached out and ruffled her hair. ‘Tell you what. I’ll pop our grub on trays and come and join you. We can watch and eat from our laps. How does that sound?’
Ashleigh watched as her daughter nodded and climbed down from the high stool. Her podgy bare feet made a sticking sound as they padded across the wooden floor as she made her way towards the refuge of the den and those infernal cartoons.
‘Sort it out, Ashleigh!’ Archie spoke firmly, as he reached for Evie’s bowl. ‘Whatever it is, please just get a handle on it!’
She sat at the table long after the two had left, could hear their laughter and the ping and boing of the cartoon soundtrack filtering back into the vast, handcrafted kitchen.
Making her way to the den, she put her hand on the door that was ajar, wanting so badly to jump in and sit with her husband and child, wanting them to invite her in, to budge up and make space on the sofa.
They were laughing, the two of them, laughing at those infernal cartoons, a team of two.
She stood for a few minutes, willing them to notice her, to smile at her, let her know all was forgiven, but they didn’t.
It reminded her of being at school, that feeling in her gut that she didn’t quite belong, that this was not her place.
At home too, as a teenager, while Remy and Tony danced in that tiny bedroom and she lay on her bed, listening to them, waiting for an invite that never came.
It felt easier to walk away, to go back to the solitude of the kitchen.
Lonely and alone, she wondered what Remy was doing, and was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow in a way she hadn’t for a while.
It would be good to get out of London, away from the house, where she felt the walls were closing in, away from the business that felt like it was slipping through her fingers, away from Archie, Guy, and the Bens.
Good to spend time with Evie in the car, and good to catch up with the other little dove.
So good.
Remy
Remy sat at the kitchen table, sipped her morning coffee, and mentally replayed images from Sophie’s fashion show.
She was barely able to contain her tears as pride rose up in her throat and spilled over.
It was amazing to her, the confidence of her daughter, who had set her own course and was running towards her future.
It was something Remy was unable to imagine, having never fully cut the ties of duty and penance that kept her close to her mum and dad.
Midge walked in with a fistful of dirty mugs, no doubt gathered from the far corners of the house, and usually only retrieved when the mug tree was bare.
‘All set?’
‘Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about Soph last night.’