Chapter One #2
But there’s no point saying that to my parents.
They’d never get it. How could they? They have no concept of how amazing Josh and I were as a couple, how we fit together perfectly.
They don’t understand how he obviously made a panicked, rushed, boy-type decision, based on some nonexistent reason probably, and how if I could just talk to him, I’m sure I could straighten everything out and we’d be together again.
Sometimes I feel streets ahead of my parents, just like Einstein must have done when his friends kept saying, “The universe is straight, Albert, take it from us,” and inside he was secretly thinking, “I know it’s curved. I’ll show you one day.”
Mum and Dad are surreptitiously mouthing at each other again. I should put them out of their misery.
“Anyway, you mustn’t worry about me,” I say hastily.
“Because I have moved on. I mean, OK, maybe I haven’t moved on totally,” I amend as I see their dubious expressions, “but I’ve accepted that Josh doesn’t want to talk.
I’ve realized that it just wasn’t meant to be.
I’ve learned a lot about myself, and…I’m in a good place. Really.”
My smile is pasted on my face. I feel like I’m chanting the mantra of some wacky cult. I should be wearing robes and banging a tambourine.
Hare hare…I’ve moved on…hare hare…I’m in a good place….
Dad and Mum exchange looks. I have no idea whether they believe me, but at least I’ve given us all a way out of this sticky conversation.
“That’s the spirit!” Dad says, looking relieved. “Well done, Lara, I knew you’d get there. And you’ve got the business with Natalie to focus on, which is obviously going tremendously well….”
My smile becomes even more cultlike.
“Absolutely!”
Hare hare…my business is going well…hare hare…it’s not a disaster at all….
“I’m so glad you’ve come through this.” Mum comes over and kisses the top of my head. “Now, we’d better get going. Find yourself some black shoes, chop chop!”
With a resentful sigh I get to my feet and drag myself into my bedroom. It’s a beautiful sunshiny day. And I get to spend it at a hideous family occasion involving a dead 105-year-old person. Sometimes life really sucks.
—
As we pull up in the drab little car park of the Potters Bar Funeral Center, I notice a small crowd of people outside a side door. Then I see the glint of a TV camera and a fluffy microphone bobbing above people’s heads.
“What’s going on?” I peer out the car window. “Something to do with Uncle Bill?”
“Probably.” Dad nods.
“I think someone’s doing a documentary about him,” Mum puts in. “Trudy mentioned it. For his book.”
This is what happens when one of your relations is a celebrity. You get used to TV cameras being around. And people saying, when you introduce yourself, “Lington? Any relation to Lingtons Coffee, ha ha?” and them being gobsmacked when you say, “Yes.”
My uncle Bill is the Bill Lington, who started Lingtons Coffee from nothing at the age of twenty-six and built it up into a worldwide empire of coffee shops.
His face is printed on every single coffee cup, which makes him more famous than the Beatles or something.
You’d recognize him if you saw him. And right now he’s even more high profile than usual because his autobiography, Two Little Coins, came out last month and is a bestseller.
Apparently Pierce Brosnan might play him in the movie.
Of course, I’ve read it from cover to cover.
It’s all about how he was down to his last twenty pence and bought a coffee and it tasted so terrible it gave him the idea to run coffee shops.
So he opened one and started a chain, and now he pretty much owns the world.
His nickname is “The Alchemist,” and according to some article last year, the entire business world would like to know the secrets of his success.
That’s why he started his Two Little Coins seminars.
I secretly went to one a few months ago.
Just in case I could get some tips on running a brand-new business.
There were two hundred people there, all lapping up every word, and at the end we had to hold two coins up in the air and say, “This is my beginning.” It was totally cheesy and embarrassing, but everyone around me seemed really inspired.
Personally speaking, I was listening hard all the way through and I still don’t know how he did it.
I mean, he was twenty-six when he made his first million. Twenty-six! He just started a business and became an instant success. Whereas I started a business six months ago and all I’ve become is an instant head case.
“Maybe you and Natalie will write a book about your business one day!” says Mum, as though she can read my mind.
“Global domination is just around the corner,” chimes in Dad heartily.
“Look, a squirrel!” I point hastily out the window. My parents have been so supportive of my business, I can’t tell them the truth. So I just change the subject whenever they mention it.
To be strictly accurate, you could say Mum wasn’t instantly supportive.
In fact, you could say that when I first announced I was giving up my marketing job and taking out all my savings to start a headhunting company, having never been a headhunter in my life or knowing anything about it, she went into total meltdown.
But she calmed down when I explained I was going into partnership with my best friend, Natalie.
And that Natalie was a top executive headhunter and would be fronting the business at first while I did the admin and marketing and learned the skills of headhunting myself.
And that we already had several contracts lined up and would pay off the bank loan in no time.
It all sounded like such a brilliant plan.
It was a brilliant plan. Until a month ago, when Natalie went on holiday, fell in love with a Goan beach bum, and texted me a week later to say she didn’t know exactly when she’d be coming back, but the details of everything were in the computer and I’d be fine and the surf was fabulous out here, I should really visit, big kisses, Natalie xxxxx.
I am never going into business with Natalie again. Ever.
“Now, is this off?” Mum is jabbing uncertainly at her mobile phone. “I can’t have it ringing during the service.”
“Let’s have a look.” Dad pulls in to a parking space, turns off the engine, and takes it. “You want to put it on silent mode.”
“No!” says Mum in alarm. “I want it off! The silent mode may malfunction!”
“Here we are, then.” Dad presses the side button. “All off.” He hands it back to Mum, who eyes it anxiously.
“But what if it somehow turns itself back on while it’s in my bag?” She looks pleadingly at both of us. “That happened to Mary at the boat club, you know. The thing just came alive in her handbag and rang, while she was doing jury duty. They said she must have bumped it, or touched it somehow….”
Her voice is rising and becoming breathless. This is where my sister, Tonya, would lose patience and snap, “Don’t be so stupid, Mum, of course your phone won’t turn itself on!”
“Mum.” I take it gently from her. “How about we leave it in the car?”
“Yes.” She relaxes a little. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll put it in the glove compartment.”
I glance at Dad, who gives me a tiny smile. Poor Mum. All this ridiculous stuff going on in her head. She really needs to get things in proportion.
—
As we approach the funeral center, I hear Uncle Bill’s distinctive drawl carrying on the air, and sure enough, as we make our way through the little crowd, there he is, with his leather jacket and permatan and springy hair.
Everyone knows Uncle Bill is obsessed about his hair.
It’s thick and luxuriant and jet black, and if any newspaper ever suggests that he dyes it, he threatens to sue them.
“Family’s the most important thing,” he’s saying to an interviewer in jeans.
“Family is the rock we all stand on. If I have to interrupt my schedule for a funeral, then so be it.” I can see the admiration pass through the crowd.
One girl, who’s holding a Lingtons takeaway cup, is clearly beside herself and keeps whispering to her friend, “It’s really him! ”
“If we could leave it there for now…” One of Uncle Bill’s assistants approaches the cameraman. “Bill has to go into the funeral home. Thanks, guys. Just a few autographs…” he adds to the crowd.
We wait patiently at the side until everyone has got Uncle Bill to scribble on their coffee cups and funeral programs with a Sharpie, while the camera films them. Then, at last, they melt away and Uncle Bill heads over our way.
“Hi, Michael. Good to see you.” He shakes Dad’s hand, then immediately turns back to an assistant. “Have you got Steve on the line yet?”
“Here.” The assistant hastily hands Uncle Bill a phone.
“Hello, Bill!” Dad is always unfailingly polite to Uncle Bill. “It’s been a while. How are you doing? Congratulations on your book.”
“Thank you for the signed copy!” puts in Mum brightly.
Bill nods briefly at all of us, then says straight into the phone, “Steve, I got your email.” Mum and Dad exchange glances. Obviously that’s the end of our big family catch-up.
“Let’s find out where we’re supposed to be going,” murmurs Mum to Dad. “Lara, are you coming?”
“Actually, I’ll stay out here for a moment,” I say on impulse. “See you inside!”
I wait until my parents have disappeared, then edge closer to Uncle Bill. I’ve suddenly hatched a demon plan. At his seminar, Uncle Bill said the key to success for any entrepreneur was grabbing every opportunity. Well, I’m an entrepreneur, aren’t I? And this is an opportunity, isn’t it?
When he seems to have finished his conversation, I say hesitantly, “Hi, Uncle Bill. Could I talk to you for a moment?”
“Wait.” He lifts a hand and puts his BlackBerry to his ear. “Hi, Paulo. What’s up?”
His eyes swivel to me and he beckons, which I guess is my cue to speak.