Chapter Fifteen #2
‘It’s nice to meet you, Monica. Thank you for agreeing to do that. I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced your family?’
‘Oh, not at all. My son, Michael, is at university now, he’s twenty. He can manage on his own for a few weeks. It was Mr Northby who got him his position at university anyway, so I owe him one. Anyway, should we get to work, Ms Parker?’
‘It’s Abbey, Monica. Just Abbey is fine.’
‘He said you’d say that,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve rescheduled all your meetings for today except for the executive meeting, which I’ve moved back an hour to give you time to prepare. You ready?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and my voice was firm and confident.
***
I left at half past six that night, exhausted but exhilarated.
There was naturally more than a little interest amongst my fellow employees in my promotion, but having worked with most of them for a long time, they accepted it with grace.
If they talked about me or my relationship with the Northbys, they did so behind my back.
Having planned the schedule with Nick last week, I was as prepared for the meetings as he would have been and I spent the day writing notes for myself on delivering the key messages, in a tone that reflected me and not him.
There was, thankfully, not much spare time for reflection on just how much I missed him. Bathroom breaks and a very sentimental pot of tea were all I afforded myself.
I missed him as if someone had cut off my arm, though. Weird, then, that in gifting me this role, I also felt incredibly loved and valued. But somehow that made it all the more heart-wrenching.
I made a quick call to Ella in the lift to let her know I would be late, but there was dinner for her to reheat in the fridge. She was planning on eating while watching a video of a lung transplant, which was being live-streamed on YouTube. I told her that was gross, but she seemed happy.
Of course, one of the perks of the top job was Keith, the driver, and the car. It was a privilege that overwhelmed me, but it was extremely convenient tonight because it meant I could head straight to Iris before heading home.
Dinner was being cleared from the resident’s rooms and the slightly unpleasant smell of overcooked vegetables and purees filled the hall.
Iris was lying on her bed with her headphones in.
The flush in her cheeks, the slight shake of her head and knowing smile told me she was listening to something racy.
She looked thinner than she had even yesterday; she was wearing the shirt she had on the last time I took her to the café, and it was swimming on her. She was paler than yesterday as well, fading into the white shirt.
Her eyes opened, her eyebrows raised, and her smile lit up when she saw me. ‘Abigail.’
‘Hi, Gran.’
‘You just missed your boy.’
‘My boy?’
‘Yes, Abbey,’ she said, frustration creeping into her voice. ‘Nicholas. You know, English, rich, lovely bum.’
‘Nick was here?’
‘He brought me lunch and then spent the day here. I think he was anxious today and I think he is lonely, poor man. Doing it all by himself. He doesn’t have any older people in his family, your boy.’
‘He’s not my boy, Gran.’ I tried, unsuccessfully, not to let the heartbreak come through in my voice. ‘He doesn’t want me like that.’
Iris looked at me, shaking her head. ‘Abigail, if you genuinely believe that you are a fool. The problem with men is that they don’t cope with their emotions as effectively as we women do.
He is simmering along, though. He’ll get there, eventually.
You trying to force the issue will not help, dear. I would recommend patience.’
‘I just can’t be with him if he is not all in, Gran. It’s too much. My feelings for him. They’re not like anything I’ve ever felt before. I feel like I’ll implode. I can’t do casual with him. I’m way too in love.’
‘Abigail. I might have had seven husbands, but some of them meant significantly more to me than others. What you are experiencing is rare, darling, but it is real. Cavendish women aren’t fee …’ She paused and then it seemed like she changed tack. ‘Don’t be afraid to feel it.’
‘I don’t want to feel it if he isn’t. I don’t want that. It exposes me far too much. What if I don’t recover from him?’
‘Dearest, that’s exactly the same argument he is using to not be with you. Isn’t it?’
My grandmother is a sorceress.
‘Abigail, your face reads like an open book. I can assure you, child, I am no master of the dark arts. I’ve just lived. Please make certain you do as well.’
‘I love you, Gran. So much.’
‘I love you too, child. Now it’s late and I have a saucy book to listen to. Off you go, Abbey. Everything will work out, darling girl.’
I kissed her cheek softly, scared of harming the horrid bruise or her bird-like frailness. ‘Gran, are you sure you should be listening to steamy books with your heart playing up?’
‘Dearest, if I die listening to a sex scene, it would almost be my perfect death. So, what’s not to be happy about?’
I chuckled at that. ‘Bye, Gran. Love you.’
‘Love you too, my girl. I’ll leave them all to you, darling. My saucy books. You might need them until your Englishman is ready.’
Nick
My alarm had gone off at four. I looked at the time. I had to get to the airport.
One day. One miserable, bloody day. I was supposed to stay two more weeks, to make sure Ollie was all right. To make sure Abbey was all right. Simply, I could not be in the same city as her and not see her. So I was running from her, running from us.
I had realised, at about ten on that first Monday without her, that I was a miserable old bastard. It was as empty as I’d felt since before the holiday. No, since I met Abbey on the holiday.
I’d been an anxious fucker on the phone with Monica, checking in on Abbey.
Make sure she eats. Don’t let any of those execs disrespect her in that first meeting.
Make sure she remembered to implement the things we’d discussed with that arrogant fucker, Jack Fife, from Friday.
Don’t leave her alone in a room with him.
Ever. Monica had called me at eleven and told me to back the fuck off.
So I’d headed to Iris. I debated whether hanging out with her grandmother was an indirect violation of Abbey’s rules.
But I, the great fucking Nick Northby – master of control – had no willpower.
I would be as close to her as I could get.
I picked up sandwiches from Iris’s favourite café and brought them to her, sitting next to her bed.
‘Nicholas Northby.’
‘I brought you a gift.’
‘And here I thought your brother was the flirty one. Well, let’s see it. I’m genuinely hoping for diamonds.’
‘Sadly, it’s only a sandwich.’
She opened up the cloche on her tray and looked at it with distaste. ‘Sold,’ she said, holding out her hand.
I moved the foul-smelling tray outside and then opened up the salad, avocado and cheese sandwich, laying a napkin across her lap.
It was actually enormous, I realised. I was confident I would finish mine easily and Abbey could one-hundred-per-cent finish it, but Iris currently weighed as much as my left boot, so I cut it into quarters for her.
She bit into her sandwich and, though the bite was tiny, she moaned a little, which reminded me of Abbey and brought a smile to my face. Then I remembered I may never hear that sound again, and it fell off my face as I almost cried into my lunch.
‘Nicholas, you are not normally so easy to read.’ She wiped non-existent crumbs from her mouth. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
I finished chewing the mouthful I had, and it went down in a lump. ‘I’ve let Abbey take over until Ollie is well.’
‘Abigail has always been exceedingly competent at whatever she did. Swimming lessons, school, boys through her teenage years.’ I snorted a laugh at that. ‘She will do the job you want her to do.’
‘I hope she will do the job she wants to do,’ I said quietly.
‘Why are you denying you are in love with my granddaughter, Nick? Or are we to have untruths between us?’
‘I care for her,’ was all I could manage. ‘Very much.’
She looked at me thoughtfully and I was certain she was going to call me out on my absolute bullshit, but she seemed to see something, and she held back.
‘Tell me about your wife, Nick. Tell me about your life.’
And so I did. I told her about my whole fucking life.
The police coming to the door to tell us that Mum and Dad were in the accident.
Ev’s heartbroken cries and terrified screams as they took her away from me.
Oliver’s stoicism in comparison. The lovely people who fostered me and how I was a little prick to them – sullen and silent.
How I left them the day I turned eighteen and took possession of my inheritance.
The first judge, a guy in his fifties, who told me I was too young to have custody of my teenage siblings.
Oliver setting up this credit-card-fraud scheme with his schoolmates and how much money I’d had to pay to cover it up.
The second judge, an old-timer, who ruled that if I was old enough to own a multi-million dollar company and vote, I was old enough to be the head of my family.
Kids went to war at that age back in his day.
I went to tell her about the day I got married, the light that poured in through the church’s stained-glass windows, but that wasn’t the story that came out.
Instead, I told her about the funeral. Details that I did not think about anymore.
The flowers – blue hyacinths. The rain. Summer, crying through the whole thing so that the nanny had taken her, and how I had watched her crawl around the grass amongst the gravestones getting mud all over the little white outfit she was wearing instead of watching my wife’s coffin lowered into the ground.
How I delivered an economical speech during the funeral service that made it sound as if I only knew Bec in passing.
How my brother and sister had made polite con-versation, while I sat mutely in the corner of the room at the wake.
Strangely, as I was talking, what kept playing over and over in my mind were Bec’s insults, as the tumour ate her brain and anger filled her soul.
You fucking cunt.
I hate you, Nick. I wish we had never met.
That child you wanted to kill in my womb that looks just like you. I wish you had killed her.
I left that shit out for Iris, but somehow, I felt she knew.
She asked me questions here and there, but mostly she listened.
I asked her about Harry.
‘He was … unexpected. He would sing all the time. His laugh sounded like the perfect song, and he gave the most spontaneous cuddles. He loved with his whole body. He was magic.’
‘That sounds like Abbey.’
‘The greatest love of my life was my second marriage, Nick.’
In the end, she was getting tired, and I stood to leave.
‘Come here, child.’
I went to her, as she held out her arms for a hug. I almost wept. It felt so good to be held.
‘Nick, dearest. You are a young man. Please remember that you did not die. You must live, dear child. Living does not mean working. Please remember that, Nick.’
I’m not ashamed to admit I shed a tear.
‘Iris, I’m leaving for London tomorrow. I can’t stay in Sydney and not be near her.’
She nodded. ‘Goodbye, dear boy.’
I kissed her cheek. ‘Iris, one more thing. I need you to stop calling Abbey feeble.’
Her stare was assessing, and she was silent, but then the shadow of a smile crossed her face and her intelligent eyes brightened. ‘Why?’
‘Because Abbey is the strongest person I know. She always confronts her fears. And she’s never afraid to be vulnerable.’
‘Goodbye, Nick.’
‘Bye, Iris.’
Tuesday morning, I kissed my sleeping daughter goodbye. She had argued with me, refusing to return. How dare I change the plans? Did I not know they were having a birthday party for Abbey on Saturday? I promised she could stay here with Ev for two more weeks, and then I wanted her home.
‘I think this could be our home, Dad. It feels more like home than home. Or is that just me?’
It wasn’t just her.
My flight boarded, and I left Sydney and Abbey on a grey, rainy day.
Abbey
My phone rang at four in the morning. Only five numbers could disturb my slumber: Ella’s, Kate’s, Peter’s, Grandma Iris’s, or her nursing home.
It was a nurse on the phone from Ashford House; she said her name, but I would never remember it.
She was calling to let me know that my grandmother, the wonderful, irreverent Iris Cavendish, had passed away overnight, peacefully in her sleep.