Chapter 44
Ivy
We can’t afford a proper moving company, so Bill and Jan have made it their mission to help us.
They’re as destroyed as we are that we’re having to vacate the flat.
I know they feel extremely guilty, but I also know that their mortgage on this building is scarily big, and the caff isn’t bringing in the necessary money.
They’ve had us on a rent freeze for a couple of years now, ever since Dawn got ill, and enough is enough.
I know they’ve wanted to do some renovations on the flat for a while now—they feel guilty about the state of the carpets and the stairs—but they just don’t have that kind of cash.
Not with what we’re paying them. They need tenants who can pay a proper rent that will subsidise the caff and, in my view, provide a little extra for them to tuck away for retirement.
I worry about them almost as much as they worry about us. They’re not getting any younger.
I bought loads of big packing boxes, and I’ve spent the last few weeks packing up the stuff we use less and getting rid of as much clutter as possible, but it’s still such a massive job that it’s completely daunting.
Jan’s also been saving all the cardboard boxes from their supplies deliveries for me.
There’s nothing for it but to put on my big-girl pants and finish the job.
At least the manual labour is so bloody exhausting that it kind of limits the amount of headspace I can devote to pining over Xavier.
Kind of.
But the flip side is that it makes an already depressing week even more depressing.
The twins’ school has broken up for Christmas, but they’re proving more of a hindrance than a help.
Shocker. They’re deep in their own pity party, having had an absolute ball with Flora over the weekend—she took them ice-skating at the Natural History Museum and also to Selfridges for dim sum, buying them each a beautiful keepsake bauble.
By the sounds of it, they spent the rest of the weekend giving her and each other glow-ups with her array of expensive skincare products.
While I’m glad they got spoilt this weekend, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
The difference between the de Veres’ London mansion and the place we’re moving to could not be more stark, and the guilt I’m feeling over not being able to provide a proper, paid-for home for them threatens to eat me whole.
They’re grieving everything that’s happened with their mum, and what they really need is some stability.
Losing the home they’ve known for years adds insult to fucking injury.
I haven’t even seen the place the council has allocated for us.
The current tenants have moved out and it’s getting cleaned (probably a loose term) this week.
All I know is what I’ve seen from the floor plan: it’s a two-bed shoebox on the twelfth floor of the infamous St Helen’s estate nearby.
Because of our circumstances, the council prioritised us, placing us in a home near to the girls’ school.
But that’s about the only reassurance, because St Helen’s is not the kind of place you walk through after dark, and it’s definitely not the kind of place you want to bring up teenage girls.
Gangs and drugs and knife crime are all part of the scene.
It makes me wonder if it wouldn’t have been better for me to swallow my dignity, go back to Alchemy, and earn enough funds to keep our home.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for Xav, I probably would have made the late nights work.
But I can still feel his hands, his mouth, on my skin whenever I close my eyes.
It’s far too soon to even contemplate letting any other man touch me.
I might be the biggest muppet of all time for thinking this, given that he’s getting married in under two weeks, but fucking someone else would feel like a betrayal of what we had.
Our time together was sacred. I want to honour that.
But fuck, this is a big price to pay.
I meet Flora for a quick farewell coffee in Maida Vale the day before the move. She’s been hanging around in London, and I’m hoping that this means she has some gossip for me.
Sure enough, she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat when I spot her at a corner table. She’s already got me a cappuccino, bless her. She stands and hugs me tight.
‘Spill it,’ I order her. ‘I could do with some good news.’
She beams and shimmies her shoulders. ‘I shagged him last week,’ she says in a stage whisper. ‘I’ve been dying to tell you.’
I gape at her. This is huge for Flora. ‘Oh my God. Well done, well done. How was it—are you okay about everything?’
Having got her brothers off her back, I feel responsible for Flora’s sex life. I’m not sure how many other people she can confide in, and having fought for her autonomy, I want to make sure she’s in good shape, physically and emotionally.
Her smile wavers a little. ‘It was good, thanks! He was really sweet. He took me out for a romantic dinner first and everything.’
I nod. ‘Good boy. And he checked in with you? Before, during, and after?’
‘Yeah. He was really gentlemanly. And he lit some candles—it was romantic.’
‘Excellent. So… you’re happy?’
Her nod is a little too violent. ‘Yes. Super happy.’
‘Good, good.’ I hesitate. I don’t know how far to push this, but I also don’t want to leave her with any doubts. ‘Sex can be a bit weird, the first few times. Like, it can be sore, and kind of intimidating, so there isn’t much room for… pleasure, I suppose. For the girl, anyway.’
‘Um-hmm.’ She takes a panicked sip of her cappuccino and looks out of the window.
‘Okay, look, love. Tell me to fuck off if you want, but I’d like to make sure you’re really okay. Did he make you… come?’
I’ve said it quietly, but her eyes dart around the café in a panic. ‘No. Should he have?’
Oh, Jesus. What a loaded question. ‘Well, not necessarily, no. I mean, it would have been highly unlikely that you’d come through penetrative sex the first time.
Some women can’t come that way at all.’ She squeezes her eyes shut at the P-word.
I get it. This must be excruciating for her.
‘But he could have… warmed you up first.’
She stares at me blankly.
‘You know. Foreplay. He could have got you off with his fingers. Or gone down on you. Did he do any of that?’
‘A little? With his… hands? But I didn’t really feel anything.’
I consider this statement and lean forward.
‘Have you had an orgasm before, love?’
‘Yes, of course! But—by myself, you know?’
Thank fuck for that.
‘Good. So you know what you like. That’s really important. So then, next time, maybe you can… give him a bit of guidance as to what feels good. Remember, you don’t know each other’s bodies yet. These things can take time.’
She considers this. ‘I think he was hitting the right spot, I just—I didn’t feel anything. Like, it felt nice, but it didn’t make me want to… But I really like him. He’s so gorgeous. And his skin is so soft.’
She’s such a sweetie. ‘Of course you do. And I’m glad your first time was positive. You can definitely work on the other stuff.’
I have my doubts. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m not convinced she and Harry have enough of a spark. I really hope I’m wrong.
‘Anyway,’ she says with a wriggle, ‘can we talk about something else? How was Venice?’ Her face turns solemn. ‘And are you okay?’
‘No, I’m not even the slightest bit okay, and it was absolutely amazing, and I’ll never forget it. I can’t thank you enough for having the girls. We couldn’t have got away if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘I wish with my whole heart that you two could be together. I wish you could be my sister-in-law and not Selena.’
I smile sadly at her. ‘That was never, ever going to be the case, but I got more than I ever dreamt of with your brother, and I’ll never stop being grateful for that.’
‘Do you love him?’
I nod. ‘Hopelessly.’
She makes a sad moue with her mouth. ‘And he loves you.’ It’s not a question.
‘Yeah. Fat lot of good that does either of us.’
‘God.’ She collapses back in her seat. ‘My family is so fucked up. What the fuck is wrong with us? Why can’t Xav marry whoever he wants, like any normal bloke?’
‘Because he’s not a normal bloke,’ I tell her. ‘And, no matter how much I disagree with his fucked-up sense of duty, it’s one of the reasons I love him. He’s so noble. He’ll never let anyone down if he can help it.’
‘He’s let you down,’ she points out.
‘He never owed me anything,’ I counter. ‘He gave me every single piece of him that he could.’
He gave me his whole heart, and I’ll treasure it forever.
‘So it is what it is. He’ll marry Selena, and I’ll go lick my wounds, and that’s that.’
‘I wish you could keep working with me.’
‘I didn’t really do much, though.’
‘Yes, you did! I can now make spaghetti bolognaise, and homemade pasta sauce, and fajitas, and stir fry.’ She lists the dishes on her fingers.
‘I can boil, scramble, and poach eggs, which I’m finding very useful, and I can get myself around London on the Tube, which is life-changing.
I feel like this could actually be my home now, thanks to you.
And, the pièce de résistance: I had sex because you gave me the courage to.
’ She grins. ‘And my brother bankrolled it all, which feels positively poetic.’
I grin at her, and it’s genuine. I’m so fond of Flora. ‘You’re a fast learner.’
She leans over the table and takes my hand. ‘What are you up to this Christmas?’
From her question, I conclude that the girls, whom I’d threatened under pain of death, managed to keep silent over the weekend about tomorrow’s move. That’s one thing, at least. I can’t bear the thought of this final humiliation getting back to Xav.
I shrug. ‘Not much. A quiet one. We’ll go see Dawn, obviously. We’ll spend Christmas at home.’
Even if home is a tiny box on the twelfth floor of a notorious housing estate.
It doesn’t bear thinking about.
I shake off my dark mood. ‘But tell me all about your plans. Christmas at Belvedere must be incredible.’
Especially when her beautiful home is due to host the wedding of the century in under a fortnight.
Something tells me this move will take all day.
I’ve hired a white van, which Bill is driving.
He and Jan have roped in their nephew, Sean, and one of his mates.
They’ve taken a day off from the building sites to do the heavy lifting.
We load around half our stuff into the van before Jan accompanies me and the girls on the short walk to the estate.
I picked the keys up this morning from the housing association.
Before I went to Venice, I had an appointment at their offices to sign the tenancy agreement, but, because the turnaround time on this property is so tight, I haven’t seen it in the flesh yet.
I’m so glad Jan is with me. I feel so sick with nerves that I wasn’t able to get any breakfast down this morning.
I may have worried about security in the old flat, but this move feels like we’re intentionally putting ourselves in the eye of the storm.
A flat with three girls and no bloke in it?
We’ll be sitting fucking ducks.
The three tower blocks of the estate loom over us. We head in the direction of the Victoria block, Jan leading the way. She’s in mother hen mode, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
‘Isabel Duff from school lives here,’ Lily remarks, ‘and she said there’s always syringes lying on the grass.’
I shudder. ‘Don’t ever, ever touch any kind of syringe you find lying about. You hear me?’
‘It looks really skanky,’ Rose says, looking up. She’s aiming for scathing, but I hear the shakiness in her voice.
‘It’s just a bit old-fashioned,’ Jan says in her most cheerful voice. ‘The outside’s a bit drab, but the flat will be a blank canvas. Won’t it, Ivy, love?’
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘We can go to Homebase at the weekend and pick out some paint. It’ll be fun.
And we’ll put the tree back together later.
’ Drab is an understatement when describing the exterior of the tower blocks.
They’re all grey pebble dash, their balconies crammed full of washing lines and prams and broken plastic furniture.
There’s a fair amount of coloured Christmas lights, and a few people have inflatable reindeer and snowmen up.
It couldn’t feel less festive, even with all that shit.
The foyer smells of piss, bleach, and skunk in equal measure.
The lift takes an age to arrive, and it hits me just how long it’s going to take us to get all our crap upstairs in a million instalments.
The corridor on the twelfth floor smells of school dinners, and a TV blares from behind one door.
I hadn’t thought about the noise aspect—it’s not as though the Harrow Road is a sanctuary—but it occurs to me that the walls here are probably paper-thin.
There’s a massive bloke standing at the end of the corridor, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s covered in tattoos and could probably end you with his pinkie.
Everything about him is scary as fuck, especially the part where he stares at the twins like they’re his next meal.
If the price of keeping them safe from people like him by getting them the fuck out of here is going back to Alchemy, then it’s very likely that I need to swallow my pride, and rid myself of every last memory of Xav, and put that call into Gen urgently.
I find myself sucking in a huge breath as I put the key in the lock of flat 1223.
This door is the only thing standing between us and our new reality, and I wish I could put it off longer.
Of all the adjustments I’ve had to make—losing Dawn, losing Xav, losing our flat—the last should matter the least. It’s bricks and mortar, not flesh and blood.
But for some reason, probably because my resilience reserves are already at rock bottom, this move feels like a kick in the ribs from a feisty horse when you’re already lying sprawled in a pile of his shit.
I open the door, taking in the first sight of what’s to be our new home.
And my eyes fill with tears.