Chapter 4
Noah
How can it be possible that she’s even more beautiful in the flesh? She’s on, I can tell; she’s putting on a performance just for me, but by God does it work. I’m embarrassed to note, while I’m actually doing it, that I look behind me briefly as if this is a set-up.
There is no way I just walked through Mum’s front door, thinking about Honor Chapman, and conjured her up out of Mum’s loo. I didn’t even know Mum knew her that well. If ever there was a reason I should have paid more attention when Mum talked about her friends, this is it.
In that split second, I decide to avoid the elephant in the room, which is the fact that, of course, I know who she is. She’ll be well aware of that fact, but I don’t want to embarrass her. She’s here at a friend’s house; I will not behave like some icky, star-struck fan. Even though I want to.
‘That’s me,’ I say instead. ‘Good to meet you, Honor. How’s it going upstairs?’
She leans in towards me, and widens her smile, and it’s all I can do to stand there and drink her in. Jackson James gets to come home to this every night. And instead he buggers off to the States and shags his co-star. What the hell is wrong with him?
‘It’s getting a little lively, I’ll be honest. Stacey’s here.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Do you know Stacey?’
‘Oh, yes. I know Stacey. She’s great fun.’
‘She is. And she’s particularly great fun this evening. She’s on fire.’
‘God. I’m a bit scared.’ I mock-grimace. ‘Maybe I won’t go up there.’
She laughs, and I fucking marvel. Melt. The press is so hard on Honor Chapman.
They’re always calling her fragile and high-maintenance.
And here she is, with her family’s faces splashed across the front of the tabloids, and she’s putting one step in front of another and smiling and making perfectly nice—heavenly, even—small-talk with a complete stranger.
I’d say there’s nothing fragile about that.
Not that she hasn’t had plenty of practice at putting on a brave face, being married to Jackson James.
‘Well, it’s kind of you to come,’ she says now. ‘Elaine mentioned she was dragging you over here to talk to me, and I’m so grateful.’
It’s only now that her gaze falters, and she reaches for the glass of wine that she must have left on the island when she went to the loo, and takes a sip.
‘It’s you who needs to talk to me?’ Good lord. This would have been useful information, Mum. ‘Your—your mother is sick?’
‘Yeah. We just found out this week. We got the whole bloody bombshell in one go. It’s cancer.
Boom.’ She gesticulates with her hands in the air.
‘Metastatic pancreatic cancer. Boom. Advanced. Terminal. Boom. There’s nothing they can do, apparently.
We didn’t even know she was that ill until quite recently—I mean, she’s been in pain, but we didn’t expect this.
And now it’s like she’s disappearing in front of our eyes; she’s losing weight so quickly it’s terrifying. ’
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Jesus Christ. I cannot bloody well believe she has to deal with this, on top of all the other crap she’s clearly navigating at the moment. ‘That is an enormous amount of information for you to process. Do you and your mum have any support?’
‘Well, my sister Ally is very involved, and she lives in London too, so… But we’re all still reeling, to be honest. And Mum’s lost so much strength so quickly.
She’s at Ally’s for now—in Wimbledon. And we have a nurse.
But her oncologist has said we should think about a hospice now because we’ll probably need one within the next few weeks. ’
She puts down her glass and drops her head, rubbing a hand over her eyes. And she doesn’t come back up. She stands, head bowed, shaking slightly. ‘God. Sorry.’ She’s crying.
‘Hey.’ I step closer to her, puts a tentative hand on her bare arm.
Make a very deliberate effort not to stroke it, for her skin is baby-soft.
‘You have zero reason to apologise. This is a huge burden for anyone. Please know you’re not alone.
I’m happy to help in any way I can, and there are plenty of professionals like me who can support your family as you go through this.
We will find a solution that represents the best fit for your mother and her priorities at this time, and one that also makes you and your sister feel supported. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ She lifts her head and looks at me.
Her eyes are enormous and green-gold and luminous with tears, and her adorable little mouth is quivering.
Being this close to her, I can see her makeup is immaculate, and that she probably doesn’t need any of it.
She’s utterly stunning. No wonder she made it onto the Sunrise sofa at such a young age.
No wonder she bagged one of the biggest action movie stars to come out of the UK.
She has star quality; I can see it. I can feel it.
The paps outside must be waiting for her—and I’d put money on that security guard being hers, too.
Her presence outside makes me feel better on Honor’s behalf.
She holds my gaze and lets out a shaky exhale. ‘Wow, you’re good at this.’
I laugh and try not to let the praise go to my head.
‘I do this every day. I know for people like you and your mum, especially right now, end-of-life care feels like some sort of nightmarish parallel universe. But I promise you, there are plenty of people out there who are well-versed in this and capable of supporting you throughout this journey.’
She nods, and there’s a jut of determination to her jaw. ‘Will you tell me about your hospice? What’s it called?’
‘Of course I will. It’s called the Good Vibes Hospice, and I know you won’t believe this, but it’s actually a lovely place, and we work very hard to make it feel as unlike a medical centre as possible, and I like to think it has a happy vibe to it. It’s not all misery and death.’
‘Were you raised in California, by any chance? Adopted as an adult by Elaine and Philippe?’
Her smile is dazzling. That, and the combination of the tears dancing in her eyes, is too much. It’s like sunshine shining through raindrops. I almost expect a rainbow. That’s the effect she has on me.
‘Hey.’ I keep my tone gentle. ‘I’m as much of a hippy as someone raised in West London can be. It’s a funny name—but the idea of calling it something like Serenity was ghastly. People are either put off or drawn in by the name. And it does what it says on the tin. Good vibes only.’
I grin at her and am relieved and gratified to find her returning my grin, and I grab a bottle of wine and another glass and steer her up the back steps to the garden, where we sit and talk for a good thirty minutes.
And once half an hour is up, I like to think that I’ve even slightly alleviated her fears of the unknown journey her family is facing, and at the very least, it’s half an hour where her philandering fuckwit of a husband hopefully hasn’t been at the forefront of her mind.
By the time I begrudgingly lead her back inside so she can join the other women and I can go pay my respects to them, we have a date.
She and her sister will drop by Good Vibes tomorrow morning for a recce.
Not the most obvious trappings of a good date, being that she’s married, way out of my league, worried sick about her mother, and bringing her sister along—but I’ll take it.