Chapter 35.
‘Hair of the dog,’ Ash’s sister Gabi says, passing me a glass brimming with prosecco.
Ash shakes his head. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’
‘Let’s just say it was something that would have been right up your street, back in the day.’
‘Then I definitely don’t want to know.’
‘Probably for the best.’
When we met at the front door, I liked Gabi instantly. She hugged me warmly, made full eye contact. I could see straight away that beneath her brisk demeanour, she was kind, affable. The similarity between her and Ash caught me off guard, which is ridiculous, given they’re twins: same dark blue eyes, playful smiles, rolling laughs. She’s dressed all in black, her hair cropped into a sleek dark bob that reminds me, unexpectedly, of Bev. I could just picture Gabi in a BMW, idling coolly by the kerb, waiting for her lover to get the hell out of his wife’s house. I know this should probably alarm me, but I never hated Bev. Bizarrely, the way I felt about her always came closer to private admiration.
We’re in the Heartwells’ family living room, in a large detached house just south of the city. Everything in here seems to want to swallow me up: I’m trying not to disappear into their enormous gold damask sofa, and the pile of the cream carpet beneath my feet is so deep, it’s practically quicksand. I am paranoid about spilling something, even though Ed and Juliet, Ash’s parents, are all beams and cordiality and welcoming smiles. I’ve been urged to help myself to nibbles several times since we got here. There are bowls of them everywhere – smoked almonds and garlic-stuffed olives, little cubes of Manchego cheese. Classical music is coasting smoothly from a stereo in the corner of the room. I can tell this is a big deal for them – a real occasion. And not just because it’s Juliet’s birthday.
As yet, I’ve seen no evidence of the disconnect between them all that Ash described before. But I know better than anyone that family tensions can run deep.
It’s obvious that the Heartwells have money – that they are what middle-class people would describe as being comfortable – but they’re not showy about it like Jamie’s parents were. I’d be willing to bet they’d be happier in a decent pub than at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I don’t think they own more than one house, nor do I imagine they have a wine fridge reserved especially for champagne.
‘Ash tells us you’re moving in together, Neve,’ Juliet says warmly, once we’ve all chinked glasses. She’s demurely dressed, in a lace-edged top and slim, pale trousers. Her manicure looks expensive. I bet she never loses her nails down the back of the sofa like my mum does.
‘Very happy for you both,’ Ed chimes in. I can tell he is kind, like Ash. A good man. The type of person who’d rush into a burning building without a second thought. He and Juliet are sitting across from us with beatific smiles on their faces, as if they can’t quite believe Ash is in the same room as them, let alone introducing them to his girlfriend.
‘Five months,’ says Gabi, shaking her head. ‘I’ve been with Toby longer than that and he still refuses to leave more than a toothbrush at my place.’
‘It’s nearly six, actually,’ Ash says, quietly. And though I don’t have a sibling, I still recognise that compulsion to become a teenager again – to score petty, paltry points – that kicks in whenever a family member happens to hit the right button.
‘That’s probably because your place is in need of – how can I put this? – a little TLC, darling,’ Ed says to Gabi, which makes everyone laugh, even her. It’s clearly a family in-joke. I always wondered what it would be like to have those. I bet my dad and Bev have them. Their own private language, shorthand for, I get you.
‘And because Toby’s – how can I put this? – a bit of a flake,’ Ash says.
Gabi ignores him, throwing a handful of almonds into her mouth, then turning her attention to me. ‘Well, here’s an idea, Neve. You should come round and feng shui my place. Maybe Toby would actually deign to move in, if you worked your magic on it.’
‘Neve’s job is nothing to do with feng shui,’ Ash says. Though he speaks calmly, the tone of his voice has darkened a little. He is slightly gruff with his family, I’ve noticed. Less upbeat than he is in private.
I appreciate the gesture, but he really doesn’t need to wade in on my behalf. I’m well-versed in correcting people who assume I spend my days looking at fabric swatches and overcharging clients for advice on curtains and carpets. It goes with the territory, but I generally find that when people try to put down what I do, it says more about them than it does about me. I smile sweetly at Gabi. I want her to like me, of course – she’s the twin of the man I love – but that doesn’t mean I can’t establish a gentle boundary. ‘If you want to feng shui, there are loads of great books about it,’ I say, as affably as I can. ‘It’s not really my specialism, to be honest.’
This isn’t quite true. If a client was interested in feng shui, I would make it my specialism, fast. But I think Gabi and I both know she has no intention of becoming my client any time soon.
She returns my smile. ‘So. Remind me how you two met.’
‘Well, we kind of knew of each other through work. But we actually met for the first time at an art gallery.’
‘Really? I thought my little brother was allergic to culture.’
‘They’re actually twins,’ Juliet says to me with a smile, reaching over with the prosecco to top us all up, ‘but Gabi’s eighteen minutes older.’
I can tell Juliet is a born peacekeeper, that she’s probably spent the past few days worrying about tonight going well. My heart flexes for what I know instinctively to be her innate kindness, her unconditional love.
‘Ash says you met Toby at Coachella?’ I say to Gabi.
‘Yes, but I’m starting to think that wasn’t such a bright idea. He is a flake, actually. Which I was too off my face to realise when we met, of course.’
Ed gets up to refill the nibbles. Juliet asks what I’m doing at work at the moment. I tell her about the city-centre bistro I’m refitting, and the Suffolk holiday lodges, and my latest project, interior specs for an exclusive development of new-build homes in South Norfolk.
‘And Ash is such a talented architect,’ I finish by saying. ‘You must be very proud.’
‘Oh yes,’ Juliet says. Then, with a laugh, ‘As far as we can make head or tail of what he does.’
‘We’re all medics in this family,’ Ed clarifies.
‘Oh, please no med chat today, Dad,’ Gabi says with a groan. ‘It’s my day off.’
I still can’t quite get my head around the idea of Gabi being a fully qualified doctor, mostly because she has the energy of a rebellious adolescent. She’s exactly how Ash described himself to be, before his accident. I can’t imagine her focusing for long enough to take a single exam, let alone monitor a patient’s vitals during an hours-long operation.
‘Probably a good thing, though, isn’t it?’ Juliet says to Ash. ‘That you never became one too. Four medics around one table might have been a little too much for anyone to handle.’
‘He’d never have lasted,’ Gabi chips in. ‘All doctors need a spark of madness, isn’t that right, Dad?’
‘Well, it definitely helps,’ Ed replies, with a smile.
‘You’re thinking of comedians, there, Gabi,’ Ash says, straight-faced. I can’t work out if he’s annoyed or being dry.
‘Whatever. It applies to doctors too.’ She beams at him, then turns to me. ‘My brother is the exact opposite of mad, you’ll be pleased to know, Neve. He no longer has a single spark of any such thing.’
For dinner, Ed and Juliet have served up a huge spread of Middle Eastern-themed food (I detect Ottolenghi). The dining table – which is huge, and Regency mahogany – is piled with bowls and plates bearing heaps of glistening vegetables, creamy hummus, couscous, roasted meat and glazed fish. There’s easily enough food here for twenty people. It all feels beautifully lavish and delightful and warm . So warm. An occasion like this at my mother’s house would never get beyond aperitifs, with some salted peanuts if her guests were lucky. I can’t remember the last time she put effort into anything.
‘So, Neve,’ Gabi says, as Ed spoons tabbouleh onto my plate, bookending the little mound he’s made with a chicken thigh and prawn skewer. ‘If you had to describe yourself using three words, what would they be?’
Ed chuckles. ‘She loves these questions.’
‘You do not have to answer that,’ Ash says, turning to me.
‘Come on,’ Gabi says. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Stop interrogating her,’ he says.
I put my hand over his, to let him know he doesn’t have to jump in to rescue me.
Gabi nods down at my hand, then looks back at Ash. ‘See? She doesn’t care.’ But before I can answer the question, she picks up her glass and says, ‘This guy used to be wild , you know.’
She is slightly tipsy now: I can tell from the slight glaze to her eyes, the insistency of her posture.
‘They were thick as thieves,’ Juliet says dreamily, clearly lost in nostalgia, completely missing the about-turn in her daughter’s tone.
‘I know,’ I say, gently.
‘Can we not,’ says Ash.
‘Mad, the stuff we got up to. God, remember Manchester? Creamfields? Glasto?’
‘Not really,’ he mutters. ‘I was off my face for most of it.’
Gabi looks at me again. ‘I’m genuinely surprised he never ended up in jail. He was arrested a few times. My mates used to call him Mr Breach Of The Peace. Except, they were your mates too, weren’t they, Ash? From back when you still gave a shit.’
He doesn’t reply.
‘Gabi,’ Juliet says gently. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
Gabi ignores her mother. ‘We used to be best mates. I could tell him anything.’
‘Gabs.’ Ash’s voice is soft and sad. ‘I just... grew up. That’s all it is.’
She looks at me again. ‘This is actually the first time we’ve got together in one room – the four of us – in an entire year.’
They live in the same city, yet it’s been a year since they’ve all had dinner together? I’m surprised by this. I’d no idea it had been so long.
‘Because of your shift patterns,’ Ash says. ‘And when you’re not working, you’re always out, or away, or not answering your phone.’
The room falls quiet. I’m pretty sure Ed and Juliet have never wished so hard for the doorbell to go, or the smoke alarm to sound.
Gabi stands up, grabs her wine glass and leaves the room without saying anything.
Next to me, Ash lets out a long breath. ‘Just going to go and see if she’s all right. You okay?’
‘Of course,’ I say, with a smile to let him know it’s fine.
‘Gosh, I’m sorry about that,’ Juliet says to me. We have retreated to the kitchen to clear up from dinner. Ed has disappeared into the garden to – as he says – ‘attend to the hanging baskets’, though I do wonder if that might in fact be code for ‘spark up a cigarette’.
The Heartwells’ kitchen is huge – almost the size of the entire ground floor of my house. The amount of cupboard space – and granite worktop – in here would be sufficient to service a mansion. I can tell it’s the kind of place where there’s always a stack of clean tea towels ready to go, as many as you need, rather than the same two on rotation.
The room is quiet except for the occasional splash of hot water, and the chink of glassware and crockery as Juliet sets things on the draining board. I wish I could hear what Ash is saying to Gabi. I bet he’s being his usual sweet and calming self.
Juliet passes me a crystal coupe. ‘It’s always been very difficult with them. Well, I say always . I mean, since Ash’s accident.’
I nod, taking extra care as I dry the glass, hot in my hand from the water. ‘I know. He said he knew he’d changed.’
Juliet exclaims softly, the kind of noise you make when you tweak a muscle. ‘That’s an understatement.’
‘Didn’t it make you happy, though?’ I ask, leaning forward as she passes me a ceramic bowl. ‘I mean, if he was such a wild child before.’
She shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t so much that he calmed down. It was more this sense of... detachment. I mean, he’d always been a very tactile child. Used to throw his arms around me and pepper me with kisses. And his dad. So loving, always. Even as a teenager. Even the night before his accident. But now... he’s very self-contained. Which just isn’t our Ash. You didn’t know him before, Neve. He was always so exuberant, so full of life. If Ash walked into a room, everybody knew about it. Just like his sister. They were this... extraordinary double-act, I suppose you could say. But since the accident... There’s that phrase: “being a shadow of your former self”...’ She looks across at me. ‘Does he ever talk to you about it – feeling different to how he was?’
I swallow, try to find the right words.
She pushes her dark hair back behind her ears, leans forward. ‘He does, doesn’t he?’
‘Juliet, I—’
‘You can talk to me, Neve. I promise I’m not trying to interfere in his life, I just want... to understand, I suppose. We were always so close, as a family. Growing up, Gabi and Ash were inseparable. And now there’s this distance between them... and it’s been very hard for us all to accept.’
I take a breath, on the verge of confiding, then change my mind. No. She’ll think I’m nuts. And it wouldn’t be fair on Ash.
She reaches out, puts a hand on mine. I realise she is shaking slightly. ‘Is it something we did? Please tell me, Neve.’
I glance behind us, towards the doorway. ‘I really shouldn’t be talking about this. Ash would be... Well, he wouldn’t be happy. Maybe we could all sit down and discuss it together.’
She shakes her head despairingly. ‘He always clams up in front of us.’
‘Juliet, I don’t—’
‘Please, Neve.’ There are tears of desperation in her eyes now.
I let out a long breath. ‘Okay.’
She waits.
‘There . . . There is something.’
‘Tell me. Is he ill?’ Her voice is pinched with fear.
It is when she says this that I know I have to at least try to help. To offer up something that might make sense to her. Some way of explaining why her son seemingly left their lives, never to return.
‘No,’ I say, quickly. ‘No. It’s nothing like that. He’s not ill.’
Her eyes glimmer briefly with relief. ‘But there is... something?’
I realise now that she’s not about to let this go. And why should she? She’s his mother. If I were her, I’d probably be doing exactly the same thing.
‘Okay.’ I exhale again. Here we go . ‘I read this thing about... when someone dies, another soul can... walk into their body.’
Juliet frowns. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know it sounds crazy... but I think that might have happened with Ash.’
A pause. ‘I don’t think you’re crazy, Neve. I just want to understand.’
And I believe her. So I tell her everything. About Jamie’s accident, just a street away from where Ash’s heart momentarily stopped beating. About the million ways in which her son resembles Jamie. About how it all adds up, given everything the Heartwells say about Ash’s personality change, and his disconnection from family, friends, old memories. I suggest it might be because none of those things actually belong to him. Because he might, in fact, be Jamie.
I don’t know if Juliet would have been able to tease it out of me at all, were I not at least half a bottle of prosecco down. Maybe the alcohol spurred me to confide in her, but it is my sane and temperate mind doing the talking now. The words are out there – there is no going back – so all I can do is try my best to get her to understand.
But just as I near the end of explaining my theory, I look up to see Ash standing behind us, in the doorway to the kitchen.
I didn’t hear him come downstairs. I have no idea how long he’s been standing there.
He is staring at me, his gaze hardened to flint. ‘Oh, Jesus. You actually think I’m him. You really believe everything you just said. Don’t you?’
But he doesn’t wait for me to reply, just turns and walks away. In horror, heart pounding, I drop the tea towel and leave Juliet in the kitchen, following Ash into the hallway. ‘Ash, wait...’
He turns to face me. The space suddenly feels too small. It is scented with furniture polish and the faint smell of cut flowers from a vase on a tiny sideboard. One wall is covered in framed photographs of Ash and his sister. I glance sorrowfully at the sweetness of him in his school uniform, aged maybe ten or eleven, side by side with Gabi, whose hair is in bunches. Both their faces are already sparky and defiant, plucky with determination.
I move my gaze back to him. His eyes are hot with hurt. For a moment, we just stare at each other, my betrayal smouldering between us. And I know that what I say or do next will determine whether or not we burn.
‘Be honest with me.’ His voice sounds off-key with anguish and shock. ‘Do you actually believe I’m... Jamie?’
‘Ash,’ I plead, ‘if you just—’
‘I think you’d better leave.’ His jaw is locked firm. He is clearly devastated.
I stand numbly in front of him, wishing I could take back every word of the last twenty minutes. Because though I’d been planning to talk to him, this is not how I wanted to have that conversation.
‘I’m calling you a cab. You can wait here. I’ll get your stuff.’
‘Ash, you’re being—’
‘What?’ His cheeks are wet now with tears, his voice contorted. ‘What am I being?’
I don’t even know what I’d been going to say. Ridiculous? Unfair? Irrational? Because he is, of course, being none of those things. He is never any of those things.
He seems to gather himself. Then, so there can be no confusion: ‘It’s over, Neve.’ His voice is cool and newly calm, unruffled as the air the morning after a storm.