Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Hughes 2012 Aged 50 #5
She smiled at the young man who had slotted in so well with the family, as if he had been there forever.
An architect, who was smart, patient, and adored Sophie in a way that, Ashleigh knew, had made putting her daughter’s hand in his on their wedding day far easier for Remy than it might have been.
Midge had remained stoic and calm as Riccardo had given his speech, pledging to always love and respect his new wife, and there’d not been a dry eye in the house.
Including Jamie and his girlfriend Daina, who had been part of the proceedings.
True to Riccardo’s word, he had encouraged Sophie to follow her fashion dreams and was keen to tell anyone who would listen about his wife’s incredible couture business, with a keen eye on sustainability, that she operated out of her flagship store and workspace in Spitalfields.
It had made her wonder about Evie’s wedding day, if and when it came, trying to imagine how it would be with her, Archie, and Leni all in attendance. That was the thing. Unlike her dad, who could simply not say his name to make Archie disappear, she was stuck with him, replacement wife and all.
Remy shimmied her way across the kitchen. ‘Happy birthday!’ she called, clearly high on life.
‘Yep, happy birthday!’ Ashleigh raised her glass.
‘Isn’t it great to see Tony? Can you believe he’s here?’ Her sister’s tone was one of pure delight.
‘It’s really great.’
‘What did you say it like that for?’ Remy’s face fell.
‘Like what?’ She was unaware of anything other than trying to sound joyful.
‘So flat! Like you’re fed up, or . . . or angry!’
‘Not everything has to be fun and roses, Rem! People are allowed to be a bit pissed off or a bit thoughtful!’ she snapped.
‘Yes, but not on their birthday, at their birthday party, on a lovely, special day!’
‘Jeez, that’s exactly what I’m talking about! It doesn’t have to be lovely and special!’ She decided to get some fresh air and made her way out into the back garden. Remy followed her.
‘What’s wrong, Ash? Where has this come from? You were fine earlier. Tell me.’ Her concern was touching.
‘Nothing. Ignore me. I’m just . . .’ She didn’t want to have to explain it all to Remy, who was clearly having a ball.
‘Just what?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ashleigh felt the full effect of her sipped wine on her fuzzled thoughts. ‘I’m just not in the mood for making out everything is great!’ There, she’d said it.
‘Do I do that, Ash? Try and make out everything is okay when it’s not, is that what you’re saying?’ Remy sounded hurt, and this in turn hurt Ashleigh; she could hear the slight slur of prosecco on her words.
‘Don’t overthink it. We all do it, don’t we? The small lies of communication that paint a picture. I mean, you and Midge are always, just . . . perfect!’
‘We are, yes! We are perfect! It’s not a front we put on. We are that happy, because we work at it, and I’m sorry if it bothers you! Jesus!’ Her sister shook her head.
‘Well, good for you. I want you to be happy! I want things to be wonderful. All I’m saying is that I can’t tell you how many times I say I’m okay when I’m not,’ she admitted.
‘You think that’s what I do?’ Remy stared at her. ‘You have no idea! I am happy! I am!’
‘All right! No need to shout at me!’
‘I’m not shouting!’ Remy shouted. ‘But you think it’s easy for me, trying every day to make it up to Mum and Dad?
Not being able to tell them that, actually’ – her voice wobbled – ‘I didn’t let them down, I didn’t rip up the raffle ticket to win at life that had been offered me!
I bloody won! I won the bloody raffle! I just gave you the prize.
And I don’t want your life, none of it! I want my life, my cosy life in my pretty cottage with my Midge.
That’s all I want. And I know you want me to come clean, which, ironically, might just cause the one thing that scares me, the one thing I want to avoid – putting a dent in my lovely, lovely life! ’
‘This is what I’m talking about!’ Ashleigh laughed. ‘Small lies and big lies, we all do it every day in so many ways. “How are you?” “Oh, I’m fine!” We smile, fix our hair and say, I’m fine! Even when our hearts are broken, or we’re keeping shit to ourselves, even when we’re lonely.’
‘Do you get lonely? Is this what this is about?’ Remy held her gaze.
‘A bit, but again, doesn’t everyone?’ She shrugged.
‘And it doesn’t feel like a lie though, does it, when we say those things?
It feels like self-preservation and a lot like consideration as you say it, to spare the feelings of the person who’s asking, knowing they can do very little to mend the situation anyway, and so why offload?
I’ve done it for years! Presented myself as this capable, smart, go-getting businesswoman, when the whole time I feel like it could be snatched from me at any moment because I don’t bloody deserve it! ’ She clicked her fingers.
‘You do deserve it. You deserve all good things, Ash!’
‘So you say.’ She took a beat, and they were quiet for a moment, both calming, as the night air cooled them.
‘I guess I don’t always tell Midge how I’m feeling, don’t want to worry him. Particularly if I’m concerned about Harps. I don’t see the point in both of us lying awake until the early hours. I prefer that he, at least, gets some sleep.’
It was heartrending to hear of her niece’s struggles and how it affected her twin.
‘I understand. I keep things in. There’s lots I don’t talk about.’ Aware now that she was really delving into the honesty pot, she was more than a little nervous about how to proceed.
‘Like what?’ Remy sat down hard on the step that ran along the back of the patio, and Ashleigh joined her.
‘Like . . .’ She slumped, aware her posture was slovenly. ‘I yell at random strangers in the car. I do it a lot. I’ve sworn at someone on the crossing who didn’t say thank you. I called them a fucking twat, just shouted it, randomly, at this bloke who ignored me when I stopped to let him cross.’
‘That’s not nice, but there are worse crimes. I think if you were sent to hell it’d be an interesting conversation, you standing there with warmongers and murderers, having to explain that you once swore at a man who didn’t thank you at a crossing.’
‘I’ve done it more than once. I can’t help it. I don’t plan it, it just comes burbling out . . . and then I cringe at myself, I feel so bad,’ she admitted.
‘So don’t do it. Stop yourself. Think before you speak! Isn’t that what they say?’ Remy offered the cliché, and Ashleigh smiled.
‘Yes, they do, and they make it sound so easy, but it’s not. I don’t know why I do it.’
‘Well, I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like you have latent anger that is waiting for an opportunity to show its face.’
‘Latent anger?’ Ashleigh laughed, partly at her sister’s earlier outburst. ‘There’s nothing latent about it – I’m angry!’
‘What are you angry about?’ Remy asked with barely disguised incredulity, as if trying to figure out what her sister, who had been given the prize, had to be angry about.
Was she not listening?
‘Where to start . . . The way Archie’s parents treated me, viewed me, as if I just wasn’t good enough. They never wanted to spend time with me.’
‘That was a long time ago, and actually, having met them, I think that’s a blessing.’
Ashleigh ignored her, not in the mood for her humour right now.
‘I’m angry with Archie too, angry that we built a life, and I imagined a future that was never going to be mine.
And Guy, our business – my business – all that work, all those dreams.’ She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.
‘I still feel very angry about how it was all taken away from me, even after all this time.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘I know!’ she fired, not wanting anyone to find her sad, especially not Remy.
‘And I’m angry at Evie for not picking me more often, for lying to me rather than just saying, “I don’t want to spend time with you, Mum!
” And I’m angry at myself for not . . . for not being the best mother on the planet. For not figuring it all out sooner.’
‘Well, no, because that award went to me. Have you spoken to Harper? I don’t know where I went wrong.’ Remy rubbed her face.
‘Rem, I see how you are with your kids. They love you, and you love them, you all get on so well, and it’s something I just can’t emulate, although God knows I’ve tried.
’ Her voice, she knew, carried the falter of imminent tears.
It was as her sister opened her mouth to comment that Ashleigh felt a surge of wine-fuelled confidence and the contents of that pot of honesty came pouring out, quicker than she could consider the consequences.
‘And I’m angry with you. I’ve always been angry with you, I think. ’
‘With me?’ Remy half laughed, as if trying to mask her surprise and embarrassment. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Ashleigh paused and drew her verbal dagger from its sheath. ‘I’m angry because I’m a fraud. You made me a fraud. Complicit in a crime I knew nothing about but a crime with my dabs all over it!’
‘For the love of God, Ash!’ Remy laughed – actually laughed!
‘What? You can’t deny it!’
‘I don’t deny it! But we were ten – ten! Babies! And as I always say to my kids, you can’t regret a decision you made if you made it in good faith at the time, and I did, I really did! I made the decision I thought was in your best interests, and that set wheels in motion and here we are!’
‘Yes, here we are, Remy. But you could have told the truth. Could have got me out of this.’
‘Got you out of it? What does that mean? My God, you look like you’re so mad at me right now!’ Her sister raised her voice.