Chapter Fifty-Four
Everyone
‘Dearly beloved,’ says the funeral officiator, a petite woman in her forties with a yellow-blonde bob and large round glasses. ‘We are gathered here today to pay tribute to our late friend, aunt, godmother and colleague, Evelyn Mary Chambers.’
It’s twelve days later and Miranda is back in London, at a small Victorian church in Bloomsbury, for Evelyn’s memorial service. It’s the end of September now, and a coolness has set in across the country. The leaves are turning yellow and ochre on the trees, the evenings are becoming dark far too early, and the shops are filling up with winter coats and boots. September has been a pretty pivotal month this year, she thinks, as a matronly woman plays a sonorous chord on the church organ and the congregation rises to sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.
This hymn always reminds her of primary school, sitting cross-legged in the hall for morning assembly, keeping an eye out for her siblings in the younger classes. It feels all the sweeter to sing it now, knowing that she has her sister back again, a restoration that is most definitely a bright and beautiful thing. Imogen has a tough road ahead for a while, as she, Felix and a bunch of lawyers begin the process of unpicking their relationship, but Miranda is determined to be a key player in her sister’s support squad for as long as it takes. Their days on Kefalonia were healing: full of yoga, swimming, good food and long conversations into the night. Since they returned, other than going along to a few auditions for various plays (fingers crossed), Miranda’s been camped out at Imogen’s, keeping her company in the evenings. Whenever Imogen comes back from work, it’s to a tidy flat, a box-set suggestion and plenty of wine in the fridge. Miranda has even cooked for them on occasion; a vertigo-inducing new height of domesticity for a person whose evening meals have previously been largely restaurant dinners, takeaways or microwave ready meals. ‘Watch out, I’m getting used to this,’ Imogen warned the other evening when Miranda produced a steaming dish of macaroni cheese from the oven like a conjuror. ‘Imight not let you leave again.’
Gosh, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ is a long old song, Miranda thinks as they return to the chorus for the fourth time. She’s seated towards the back of the church, the scent of lilies and lit candles hanging in the air, and you can tell that many of the mourners are trained musicians because there are a lot of very good singers around her, some even singing harmony parts.
A big screen has been rigged up at the front, with a slideshow of pictures of Evelyn that changes every few seconds. It’s lovely to see the black and white images of her as a teenager with a great sheaf of dark hair tied back in a ponytail, her eyes mischievous. There she is on a bike with a university scarf around her neck; practising her cello, eyes closed, head tilted; at her graduation wearing a gown and mortarboard, a jubilant expression on her face. Now the pictures are proceeding through her career– professional photographs with an orchestra, some taken mid-performance, others during curtain calls. Evelyn is turning from a student into a young woman and on into middle age. Somebody has typed captions and added them to the images, and Miranda feels pride swelling inside for her talented friend, who played in so many cities and countries. Amsterdam. . . Vienna. . . Paris. . . Berlin. And of course, the Barbican, the last caption reads, showing a picture of her playing a solo on stage, bent over her cello as if completely at one with her instrument.
How wonderful it is to think of the many thousands of people who heard Evelyn play throughout her career, Miranda reflects as they reach the final line of the hymn and the organist thunders to a close. All the lives Evelyn touched with her music. She thinks back to the conversation they had on this subject– ‘Ibet loads of people have fallen in love, listening to you play,’ she’d told her. ‘Marriages proposed, babies conceived. . .’
Evelyn had seemed tickled by the idea, even if Miranda had been exaggerating for effect, but now, seeing so many photos of so many concerts, she can’t help thinking she’d hit on something true.
The music ends and everyone sits down in their pews once more. ‘We’re now going to hear a few words from Oliver Brewer, Evelyn’s godson,’ the officiator announces.
Ahh, the famous Godsend, Miranda thinks, peering with interest as a tall man in a good charcoal suit walks up to the front. The nerd himself. Except that when he turns at the lectern and she takes in his shock of dark brown hair and thick eyebrows, plus fantastic cheekbones, she has to admit that he’s actually pretty good-looking. Your star-crossed lover, Evelyn pipes up in her head, just as a ray of sunshine beams directly through one of the stained-glass windows to his left, casting him in perfect golden light. It’s enough to make Miranda think Evelyn’s backstage somewhere, pulling a few spiritual strings. Yes, all right, Isee him, she thinks in amusement. You were right: very nice. Happy?
The Godsend takes a moment to put on a pair of glasses, then gazes out at the congregation. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘Thank you all for coming today when I’m sure you’re still feeling as devastated as Iam. My godmother Evelyn– or Aunty Evil, as Icalled her; possibly the biggest misnomer ever– was truly one of a kind.’ His voice is deep and rich, the sort that could make a killing in voiceover gigs, thinks Miranda, imagining him seductively reading advertising copy for ice cream and having half the female population rushing immediately to stock up.
‘Evelyn took her godmotherly duties very seriously,’ he goes on. ‘Although “serious” is not really a word Iassociate with her, Ihave to say.’ A small laugh ripples around the church. ‘Ialways had the best fun with her. She took me ice-skating at Somerset House every Christmas, she talked my parents into letting me have a guinea pig, and frequently took me out for lunch or tea, kindly turning a blind eye when Iinevitably ordered chips, followed by a knickerbocker glory, and never ate any vegetables.’ Another laugh. ‘In fact, we both loved knickerbocker glories. She used to pretend she thought they were called “knickerknocker glories” when she ordered them and we’d always corpse in giggles together.’ He’s smiling out at them all but you can see how sad he is to have lost his beloved godmother, Miranda notices, warming to him a little more. Okay, so he’s not a total nerd, then.
‘Icould go on for hours listing memories about brilliant days out and treats and conversations Ihad with my glorious Aunty Evil,’ continues the Godsend, ‘but let me end by telling you about when Iwas being bullied at school in my teens, and feeling thoroughly miserable. Iwas in the middle of a French lesson when the school secretary came to the classroom and had a word with the teacher. Next thing Iknew, the teacher was giving me a sympathetic look and telling me to pack up my things and leave with the secretary. All very mysterious until we got out into the corridor and the secretary said, in hushed tones, she was sorry to tell me that my Uncle Robert was in hospital, and that my godmother was going to take me to visit him.’ A pause for comic effect. ‘As Idon’t actually have an Uncle Robert, Iwas a bit confused– until Iheard that Evie was involved, at which point Iknew she had just cooked something up to get me out of there.’ A big laugh now. ‘Sure enough, there she was in her old Mini, and she proceeded to whisk me off to Brighton for the day. One of the best skives of my life.’ Another laugh, everyone enjoying the story. ‘We played on the Penny Falls, mooched around the Lanes together, and she bought me my first pair of Dr. Martens– good times. Then Itold her about the latest bit of bullying,’ he goes on, the entire congregation hanging on his every word. ‘She was brilliant. Gave me a massive hug, bolstered me with a pep talk, and then the pair of us threw stones into the sea together, shouting. . . Well, Idon’t want to swear in church, but the ears of the boys who’d been giving me a hard time must really have been burning that day, put it like that.’ More laughter. The audience loves him, Miranda thinks.
‘She was there for me, that’s what I’m saying. As Iknow she was there for so many other people here today. What an incredible, big-hearted, hilarious person she was. Thank you, Aunty Evil, for the knickerknocker glories, Snowy the guinea pig, poor old fictitious Uncle Robert, and everything else. I’m really going to miss you.’
Oh my God, thinks Miranda as he smiles rather self-consciously at everyone, removes his glasses and heads back to his seat. He is. . . He is pretty bloody great, on a first impression. I’ve got to hand it to you, Evelyn, she concedes. Everything you said about him seems to stack up.
An older woman is next to speak, a friend of Evelyn’s who played first violin in the same London orchestra, and she gives a lovely speech about what a brilliant performer Evelyn was, as well as a dear, loyal friend. Miranda drifts off a little, distracted by thoughts of her own friendship with Bonnie, which she might just have resurrected. They had lunch together a week ago, and finally put Slap-gate to bed, before going on to the far more enjoyable business of slagging off Emma-Lou, the former Amberley Emergency publicist, as well as a proper gossip about the cast. ‘I’m sorry,’ Miranda said humbly once again as they eventually hugged goodbye. ‘I’ve really missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you too,’ Bonnie replied. ‘Sienna’s got your old dressing room now and Ican barely walk past the door without her pestering me with her thoughts on Uranus. Keep in touch, yeah?’
‘You bet,’ Miranda told her. She will, too. In the meantime, the newspapers seem to have lost interest in them both, thank goodness, and have moved on to a whole other scandal around a newsreader and his unusual peccadilloes. Maybe, just maybe, life can settle down again for a bit.
The funeral service– moving, uplifting and sincere– eventually comes to an end, and the church fills with the opening notes of some beautiful cello music that Miranda vaguely recognises. The members of the congregation wipe their eyes, some embracing each other as they start to make their way out into the autumn sunshine. Miranda stays seated for a minute longer, listening to the rise and fall of the cello, as people stream down the aisle. There’s afternoon tea being served at some hall or other in St Pancras, and everyone seems quite keen to get over there in order to tuck in. Miranda is planning to drop by too, if only so that she can nobble one of the nephews and find out where Evelyn’s ashes are to be scattered. This might sound a bit odd, she is planning to say, but Idid promise Evelyn something. . .
‘Hello,’ says a voice, and she looks up to see that the Godsend is standing in the pew in front of hers, so tall and broad that it takes a moment for her gaze to travel up to his face. ‘I’m Oliver,’ he goes on, and all Miranda can think of is Evelyn twinkling at her and telling her, I’ll send him your way when you’re ready . ‘You’re Miranda, aren’t you? Charles said you were with Evelyn at the end, and Ijust wanted to say thank you. That was so kind of you. We’re all so glad that she wasn’t alone.’
The lights overhead suddenly flicker in and out– faulty old wiring, perhaps? Or is that Evelyn meddling again? Whichever, the Godsend smells really good close up– peppery and masculine– and his skin is gorgeous. More pertinently, Miranda does actually
feel ready to venture into a relationship again before long, funnily enough. All this time alone, and with Imogen, has given her a good new perspective about what’s important.
She stands up, glad she is wearing her tailored black dress that cinches her in at all the right points. This feels like it might be a moment she will remember, as if life is about to make another of its switchback turns. She hopes so. She’s up for this one. ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Yes, that’s me. Good to meet you.’
They start walking out of the church together, out into the sunshine. ‘By the way,’ he says, clearing his throat, suddenly seeming bashful. ‘Did she ever pass on a message from me? About seeing you in a Pinter play once?’
Many miles away from Bloomsbury, Nelly is gazing out at a different horizon: one that is wide, blue and seemingly endless. She and Alexander have embarked on a long trip together across the Ionian Sea towards Italy, where they plan to tour around the southern coastline, take in the sights of Sicily, and then– well, they haven’t actually got as far as the ‘and then’, but she’d quite like to visit Sardinia or perhaps Sorrento or. . . ‘Wherever you want,’ Alexander keeps telling her. ‘We’re not in any hurry, are we?’
This is true. After so many years apart, they have come back together, found one another, and she feels as if she’s come home, to this great pure love of theirs, in a way that has surpassed her wildest hopes. Is it terrible of her to feel this way so soon? It’s not that the end of her marriage means nothing to her– it does, of course it does– but she has found herself swept up in the glory of being reunited with her first love, which turns out to be a miracle cure for sadness.
‘It feels like we’re in the most wonderful dream,’ she had said to him, the first time the two of them went out on his boat together, when she could feel herself on the edge of possibly falling in love with him all over again. ‘But we’ve got to be realistic, because this is going to come to an end, soon; we’ll have to pick up our lives again, won’t we?’
He had turned to her from where he stood at the wheel, steering them around the rocky coastline. ‘Why must it come to an end though, Nelly?’ was all he said. ‘Give me one good reason.’
She’d looked at him, thinking about pedestrian things such as the plants that would need watering back home, the supermarket delivery she had booked to arrive the day after her flight, the post that would be piling up unanswered. All the silt of an ordinary life that can anchor you in a place. ‘Because. . .’ she’d said, her brain flashing up her diary where she’d pencilled in dinner with her sons next week, lunch with Lorraine and Jim the weekend after, her brother’s sixty-fifth birthday party in October. The car needed its MOT, the utilities bills were due imminently, she’d had a text just yesterday about booking her flu jab sooner rather than later. ‘Because. . .’ she began again, then shook her head. ‘Ican’t.’
‘Iwant to stay in the dream,’ Alexander said. ‘Me and you. Together again. Why not?’
The wind had dropped at that moment, with perfect timing, and as they looked at one another she could feel the old Nelly in her once more, the Nelly who had walked impulsively away from the check-in desk at Corfu airport, who yearned for adventures and the great unknown. ‘Iwant that too,’ she heard herself say. ‘But—’
He did not allow the ‘But’ to proceed any further; he cut the boat’s engine and pulled her towards him, his lips finding hers. And truly, time must have somehow flattened in on itself, because it felt exactly the same as their first kiss so many years earlier, her body pressing against his, an urgency overtaking them both. ‘Stay with me, Nelly,’ he beseeched her huskily. ‘Ican’t bear to lose you again.’
Her sons, bless them, have been broadly supportive. Owen had some reservations– ‘You will be careful, won’t you, Mum? You’re probably a bit fragile right now, after everything, to be making any huge life decisions’– but Cameron only encouraged her to have fun, to change her flight and extend her stay, promising he’d take care of all the domestic tasks that needed attention. They’ve both been in regular contact with Frank, who is back in rehab, and Owen apparently helped him find the words for his recent public statement, full of contrition. The Panorama documentary came out, and it was predictably awful by all accounts, but Frank’s fulsome apology and admission of guilt have helped to lessen the storm. Cameron also persuaded him to make some sizeable charitable donations to women’s shelters and addiction counselling organisations, which have been favourably received. Their father’s misdeeds haven’t totally dominated the boys’ lives, though– Owen and his wife Polly are moving to a bigger house just outside Brighton, while Cameron and Nate are adopting a rescue puppy. They’re doing just fine in Nelly’s absence.
The women in her life have been far more enthusiastic about her decision to set sail with Alexander. WOW!!! Lorraine messaged, along with a boat emoji, sunshine emoji, dancing couple emoji and– Lorraine!– an aubergine emoji. Can’t BELIEVE you’re turning down a stay in our static for this mad adventure, mind, she’d added, along with a crying-laughing emoji. You’d better send me more postcards this time. And photos! And all the juicy details please!!!!!
Claudia gave her a hug when Nelly told her she was cancelling her flight home, and said this was the best news she’d heard all day. Even lovely Duska on reception had smiled and said she was very happy for her. Nelly has promised to give them a glowing review on some travel website they’re all obsessed with but, in the meantime, she left three envelopes with generous tips for Claudia, Duska and whichever cleaner had had to contend with the state Frank had left their suite in.
On her final night at the hotel, she had got chatting to a pair of sisters at the bar while waiting for Alexander to pick her up for dinner. It was the actress and her sister, and the actress– Miranda– actually squealed and ordered Nelly a glass of champagne when she told her she’d seen her in a play at the Almeida, might it have been The Seagull ? ‘You’ll never know how much this means to me!’ she had cried, looking absolutely beside herself. ‘Thank you! At last! Someone with a bit more culture than a yogurt!’
They had been such fun, the two of them, that when Alexander messaged with his apologies to say that he was running late Nelly had carried on chatting to them for quite a while. Towards the bottom of the champagne, she found herself confiding in them about her plans for travel, and they couldn’t have been more delighted for her.
‘I’m getting a divorce and Idespise all men right now, but even I’m a bit in love with Alexander from what you’ve told us,’ Imogen had declared. ‘Sometimes you have to accept what the universe is offering you– especially if it’s a gorgeous man with his own yacht.’
They’d all laughed, but the words have stuck with Nelly. The universe has given her so many things over the years– two wonderful sons, a mostly good marriage (until it wasn’t), loyal friends– and now, yes, a gorgeous man with his own yacht. A gorgeous man who she adores, moreover, who she never wants to say goodbye to again.
She picks up Alexander’s binoculars, peering through them to where she can just make out a lumpy shape on the horizon: Italy, presumably. What a thrill to arrive like this, by boat, as the mood takes them. ‘Land ahoy!’ she yells, feeling a sudden rush of exhilaration, and swings round to see Alexander smiling at her. Wherever it is they’re going to next, she just knows they’ll be happy there. She’s sure of it.
Meanwhile, back on Kefalonia, The Ionian Escape has moved onto its low-season footing and a slower pace has descended. As the flight schedules are scaled back, so are the seasonal hospitality contracts, as most of the young staff members return to education or their home countries. Konstantinos has taken some time out to travel around mainland Europe with friends. So far they have seen the sights– all right, the bars and nightclubs– of Berlin, Hamburg and Amsterdam, and Konstantinos has found that there is something about dancing beneath the strobing lights in a new European city, catching the eye of one snake-hipped young man or another, that makes him feel truly alive. There’s talk of them travelling to the Alps as the ski season starts, picking up some work there and enjoying the winter lifestyle while it lasts. Whenever he thinks about the village where he grew up, his father’s small-minded ideas for him– building work, staying in his place– he is glad to have freed himself from the constraints of that world in favour of his own path, his own way to live.
Other staff members are feeling upbeat as the pace of work slows: Duska’s baby has– praise be!– now started sleeping through the night, which is just as well, seeing as Duska woke up the other morning feeling bloated and hormonal. To her and her husband’s great joy, it seems a new member of the family is on their way, a sibling for Anna, due in fact on what would have been Duska’s grandmother’s birthday. It’s a good sign.
As for Claudia and Dimitris. . . having set out trying to take their new relationship slowly, they’ve had to accept that that’s just not possible. She’s always liked him but now that they’ve spent so much time together, she has found herself falling for him, deeply and helplessly. Their radiant happiness, moreover, is apparently obvious to everyone. ‘Wait. . . something’s different about you two,’ Lili had said, eyeing them suspiciously, when she came back from work on the day when everything had changed. The two of them were in the garden, both sitting under the shade of the canopy, and their body language must have given them away. That, or the stubble rash all over Claudia’s face, from when Dimitris had claimed he never wanted to stop kissing her. ‘What’s going on?’ Lili had asked, one hand on her hip.
Dimitris and Claudia had looked at one another, smiling. ‘We cleared up a mutual misunderstanding,’ he told his daughter. ‘We have both been kind of shy and stupid—’
‘Speak for yourself!’ Claudia interjected.
‘But now we. . .’ Another look from one to the other, a bashful smile between them. ‘But now we have said it– we like each other. And so we are. . . Well, Ihope we are. . . going to give this a try?’
Lili had thrown her hands up, groaning. ‘Papa, these are not romantic words,’ she laughed. ‘You might need to work on that a bit.’ But she was smiling nonetheless, her face open and warm to Claudia. ‘Iam happy for you both. You two are good together!’
It’s early days, but Claudia thinks Lili is right: they are good together. They’ve each chalked up a bad marriage in the past and so neither of them have delusions about what can go wrong, but she instinctively feels that the footings of this relationship are on far firmer ground than her previous marriage ever was. Dimitris is in a different league to Marcus; he is kind and funny and– who knew?– extremely sexy too. She feels safe with him. Safe, and happy, and excited about how the relationship might deepen further.
Barb, her mum, is already petitioning hard for them to take a holiday in Australia just as soon as Dimitris’ ankle is completely healed. ‘Or maybe your dad and Iwill have to take a little trip over there to see you,’ she’d said on a video call the other day.
‘Mum, why are you making that sound like it’s a threat?’ Claudia had laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t need to stage an intervention and rescue me from this one.’
Not least, she reflects afterwards, because she has learned how to rescue herself since then– and make a good life for herself too. The future, she thinks, is gleaming.