Chapter 26
The next morning, Juliet woke early. She packed up a couple of bags and then went to find her father, who was preparing breakfast.
‘Morning, Dad.’
‘Ah, good morning. Thank you so much for yesterday, what a wonderful day it was. I feel that your mother’s spirit can now be quite free, and so can ours.’
‘Mmm. It was a good day. And Dad…’
Her father looked up from the pomegranate he was bashing and smiled at her.
‘Yes? Oh, what are those bags? Are you and Léo going somewhere?’
‘Just me, Dad. I’m going back to London, for a while at least. I’ll still send the money I promised. And – will you look after Ava?’ Her voice was threatening to break; she would miss the friendly little dog more than she could express.
‘Of course I will. But darling, why this sudden up and leaving?’
‘Do you mind if I don’t go into it now? I just need to go, think about some stuff.’
Rousseau nodded.
‘I understand, even if I haven’t got the faintest idea what’s going on. Will you have some breakfast first?’
‘No, I just want to go. I’ll catch one of the early trains.’
‘Well, at least let me give you a lift to the station. No, I insist. It’s a cold breakfast and ready anyway. Anyone who wants it will doubtless find it, they always do. Come on, my darling, you look like you’re itching to dash off.’
Feeling intensely grateful for her father’s unquestioning support, Juliet waved him off and went to wait for the train, feeling only tired as she climbed on board for the journey to London. She pulled out her phone and sent a businesslike – she hoped – message to Toby, letting him know she had decided to come back to the capital and asking if he could put her in touch with his contacts. As she typed, she could almost feel her fingers resistant to forming the words; it felt wrong to be approaching him, but what else could she do now that she had made the leap to come back to London? One thing she did know: she wasn’t going back to him. That was one opportunity she definitely didn’t want to take up. But maybe they could reach a place of some civility; after all, they had known one another for several years. She arrived at the flat just before ten o’clock, put in the correct combination on the key safe and pushed open the door to find it immaculately tidy, far tidier than it had ever been when she lived there. It was musty, though, and she threw open the windows to let in some fresh autumn air. The next thing she did was to open up her laptop, take a deep breath and turn to the only thing that ever gave her comfort: work. Not knowing now what would happen with the cookery book, she decided to focus on her own project, the children’s book she had been contracted to write. She had done some of the preliminary work, but looking through it agitated her. It was to be a funny and charming story about fairies in the forest at Feywood, complete with her signature line drawings, softened for a younger audience, but every sketch reminded her of home – was it still home? – and of Léo. As a double-decker bus thundered past under her window, she pictured the dappled sunlight coming through the trees, the morning dew on the lawn, Léo’s arms around her…
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she muttered, and grabbed her phone. There were plenty of people who would claim to be delighted to see her back in London, and she would start with Dex, who was always up for a party. She checked the time: ten thirty. Hopefully, he would be awake. The phone didn’t go straight to voicemail, which was a start.
‘Hello?’
‘Dex, hi, it’s Juliet.’
‘Darling. It’s been years, how are you?’
‘I am fine – and back in London.’
‘How long for?’
Good question.
‘Forever.’
‘We must celebrate! Look, your timing’s bloody impeccable, as ever. It’s Loulou’s thirty-first tonight, she’s devastated to be so comprehensively out of her twenties, so it’s bound to be the most terrific car crash. It’s at a new place called Nostrum just off Park Lane, do say you’ll come.’
‘Loulou won’t mind me turning up, will she?’
‘Loulou will be blotto by seven thirty and she won’t mind anyway. Just make sure you bring her a present that makes her feel young.’
Juliet laughed.
‘I’ll do my best. All right, thanks Dex, I’ll see you there later.’
‘Mwah mwah, see you later, so glad you’re back, it’s been boring without you.’
Juliet felt better for the conversation, not to mention the invitation. Maybe a return to London life was just what she needed. Pushing aside an unbidden image of sitting in the untidy kitchen at Feywood, socked feet up on a chair while she gossiped with Martha over a cup of tea, she picked up her phone again.
‘Santos Hair, Jenna speaking?’
‘Jenna, it’s Juliet Carlisle. Is there the tiniest chance I could be squeezed in today? I know it’s horribly lastminute.com, but I’d be so grateful.’
As she walked down the street on her way to the hairdresser, she passed a small cemetery she had never noticed before. She had a few minutes, so slipped through the crooked iron gate and ventured between the gravestones. Most were illegible, faded and worn by time, and many had collapsed altogether, but on one or two she could make out names and dates – beloved William, 1812-1873; Hetty, wife of James, taken by our Lord in 1902. As Juliet reached for her phone, she thought she would take some preliminary photos before coming back with her proper camera: the ivy creeping over every surface was irresistible and the pathos of the crumbling stone cried out to be captured. Then she remembered with a jolt that she had left her camera at Feywood, determined to take back with her only the things she would need to further her career. The cemetery pictures wouldn’t have been of much commercial interest, it was true, but oh! How she would have loved to capture the atmosphere in that place. She squared her shoulders. Too bad. She had moved back in order to move forward, so she had better get on with it.
The bar she was going to that night, Nostrum, was – according to its website – ‘the place you’ve been waiting for. Why drown your sorrows, when we can make them float away on a sea of the best cocktails and longest wine list London has to offer?’ When she skimmed the drinks menu, she certainly hoped it was worth it. Had she really forgotten in such a short time how expensive the city was? Another memory popped up, and she smacked it down like a whack-a-mole. Thinking about swigging cheapish wine with her sisters in the village pub wasn’t going to help. No, she would raid her savings and enjoy herself tonight, even if cocktails were – gulp – seventeen quid a pop. As the Tube drew into Green Park station, she felt an uncharacteristic jerk of nerves. After all, she hadn’t seen the London crowd for what felt like an age, and none of them, herself included, had bothered much with keeping in touch. At least she knew she looked good, even if she was horribly uncomfortable in the tight-fitting grey dress and high heels. She kept touching her hair, which hadn’t gone for so long without a cut in years. It felt smooth, blunt, familiar, but she also kind of missed the wispy tendrils that had started to drift out of it, softening her look. As she strode through the door of the bar, held open for her by a uniformed doorman, she almost turned on her heel and strode right out again, but a voice shrieked ‘Juliet!’ and was joined by another, and another and she was surrounded by familiar faces, all of which looked delighted to see her back in town. Somebody pushed a drink into her hand – ‘it’s called a Devil May Care, fearfully strong, but we’re all guzzling them to help Loulou forget how ancient she is’ – and she, in turn, thrust her gift at the birthday girl.
‘Oh, Jools, I adore it,’ she trilled, showing everyone the white leather lipstick case. ‘So chic, so very you and also so very me. You are clever! Come on, let’s have another drink to celebrate.’
Juliet was mildly surprised to see that she had nearly finished her cocktail.
‘Good idea. Or shall we do shots this time?’
‘So good to have you back!’ screamed Loulou. ‘You haven’t changed a jot. We all knew you’d be bored silly in the country, or is the place simply littered with gruff but handsome gamekeepers to keep you occupied?’
Images of first Will and then Léo flitted through Juliet’s mind.
‘Oh God, no!’ she replied, before downing the tequila she had been handed. ‘It’s all ancient vicars and Labradors. But I intend to make up for lost time.’
A cheer went up and someone handed her another Devil May Care.
‘You are what you drink!’ she yelled, toasting the group who all whooped and followed suit.
The evening continued on repeat as everyone drank and gossiped until Juliet glanced at her watch and realised it was nearly one in the morning.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ she slurred to Dex, who was leaning on her shoulder, nearly asleep.
‘Mmm, home,’ he agreed amiably, and snuggled down further.
‘Come on.’ She hoisted him up. ‘Wake up, I think you’d better go home too.’
He awoke suddenly and grinned at her.
‘Home, Jools, no way. I’ve had my little power nap – thanks for propping me up, by the way – and I’m ready to go on now. Hey, Loulou!’ Juliet followed his gaze to where the birthday girl sat, cross-eyed with alcohol and tiredness. ‘Time to move on? Glisten should be open now, and Nathan can get us in.’
Loulou raised her glass, spilling half the contents over the girl sitting next to her, who didn’t notice.
‘Yeah, Glisten, love it, less go,’ she croaked.
Juliet didn’t know what Glisten was, but she knew one thing categorically: she didn’t want to go there. The cocktails had left a sour taste in her mouth, her stomach was heaving, and the room appeared to be jolting about in front of her eyes. The people who had seemed so witty and fascinating only an hour ago now looked as booze-sodden and dissipated as she imagined she did. Designer clothes were rumpled, make-up smeared and hair beginning to escape from its bondage of clips, ties, gel and spray. All she wanted to do was go home. As this thought came, so with it appeared an image of her cosy little flat at Feywood, the windows open to the summer night air. Home. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she snatched a little mirror from her handbag to dab at them with a napkin. None of these people would notice if she cried them a river, but she couldn’t bear the idea of looking pitiful all the same. When she had composed herself, she stood up shakily.
‘I’m heading home,’ she announced. ‘Loulou, are you sure you don’t want to get a cab with me? You’re on my way.’
‘I don’t wanna get cab!’ shouted Loulou, flailing her hands about furiously. ‘Whaddo I wanna get cab for? You not get cab either, Jools, have more drinkies! Come dancing at Glisten! And find lovely, lovely man to take home, hooray!’
The group echoed her cheer and Juliet smiled.
‘Enjoy yourself, guys, I’m done, I’m afraid. Happy birthday!’
She had swiftly exited enough events to have become an expert at it, and she was up and weaving her way to the door before anyone could protest further. The night air was cold, but it felt refreshing, and Juliet decided to walk a little way before trying to get a cab. She had to try and stop everything swirling around her head and her body before she dared get into a moving vehicle, and it was about fifteen minutes later that she felt confident of keeping the contents of her stomach where they were. Her taxi app informed her coldly that there was nothing available for another thirty-five minutes, so she gritted her teeth and hailed a black cab. At the rate she was spending money, having been back in London for less than twenty-four hours, she could replace Feywood’s roof within a fortnight, but there was no way she was getting a night bus or the Tube: she just needed to be home.
Fifteen grateful minutes later, she opened the front door and kicked off her punishing shoes, stripping off her dress as she walked through to the kitchen to put the kettle on for a large cup of tea and a bowl of pasta. She hadn’t felt hungry until now – she supposed that all the drinks had kept her blood sugar going – but she was starving. As the pasta cooked, she stepped into the shower and washed the evening away, then pulled on the soft pyjamas she was pathetically grateful she had brought with her, one of the few ‘new Juliet’ items that had made the cut. She sank onto the sofa and turned on the TV, scrolling through the channels until she found something anodyne enough to give her some background comfort while she ate and her mind roamed over the events of the evening. It had been fun, in some ways, but utterly exhausting holding her own amongst all the bitchy repartee. She knew she had redeemed herself, burst back into flames as the Juliet they had all known, but there was no satisfaction in it. They had probably forgotten she had even been there once they moved on to the club, their affections shallow and existing only in the moment. Tears rolled rapidly down her cheeks, and she had to stop eating as the sobs rose in her throat. What had she done, cutting herself off from everyone at Feywood? Maybe they would never trust her again, and she would be out in the world alone, left with the likes of Dex and Loulou. Would that be so bad? Maybe she could find a way to live in London that was more substantial; it must be possible, thousands of people did it after all. She had to know. She would throw herself into work, avoid drinking buckets of cocktails again and speak to Toby about the flat and job. What she mustn’t do was simply return to the life she had walked away from previously, just because it was familiar. She couldn’t let her old friends define her any more than her family. Thus resolved, the tears subsided, and she started eating again, only wobbling when she thought of dear, sweet Ava, her silky ears probably now being stroked by Léo’s workworn hands…This was hopeless. She switched off the TV. The only thing to do now was to go to bed, pray the hangover wouldn’t be too bad and make tomorrow her own.