Chapter Fifteen
Come Sunday morning, I’m frantically vacuuming the flat and hiding pockets of clutter away in whatever cubbyhole I can stuff them into. I know Dad won’t mind if my place is a bit of a mess, but it’s the first time he’ll be visiting without doing some sort of DIY job for me, so today is special.
At random intervals, I skittishly bounce up from the sofa and peer out of the big living room window - even though Dad said he would be here at noon, and it’s not even eleven yet. I can’t help it, I’m just so excited to see him, it’s been over a month since he was here last, when we completed the finishing touches to the boutique.
Concluding I need to do something with my antsy energy, I mosey into the kitchen and decide on a whim to prepare a home-cooked meal for his arrival. Using the fresh produce Joanie gifted me, I start making a vegetable lasagne with a citrus salad on the side.
Lost in my culinary creation (and caterwauling along to Club Tropicana on the radio), I barely even notice the door knocking until I hear a unmistakable voice sing out, ‘Hell-o-o-o? Is anybody home?’
Dad!
Beaming from ear to ear, I drop the knife onto the chopping board and rush to the front door. I fling it open to reveal my father, clutching a box of my favourite cherry chocolates. Squealing, I throw my arms around Dad’s neck, and he cuddles me so tight, I’m afraid I might pop.
‘My baby girl,’ he holds me before him, his eyes welling with tears. ‘I’ve missed you!’
‘I’ve missed you too, Dad. Come in, come in! I made us lunch, it’s lasagne.’
‘Erm, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?’ He scratches his head in a comical fashion. ‘Since when do you cook anything more complicated than beans on toast?’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Since my friend Victor lent me a vegetarian cookbook.’
I bumped into him in his front garden once again, when I was visiting Lucy. Apparently, he’s on a plant-based diet for a month, after discovering the ‘magic of legumes and pulses’ - his words, not mine. I only had to express one iota of interest, and he was pootling off to his kitchen to grab the book for me. After witnessing his enthusiasm, I couldn’t not take it with me, and I can say without a doubt he’s the most eccentric person I’ve ever met. To be honest, that’s one of the things I admire most about Victor, his perpetual uniqueness and his willingness to try new things. He’ll give just about anything a go, even at his grand old age. It’s truly inspiring.
‘Victor?’ Hamming up the role of protective father, Dad waggles his bushy eyebrows in mock suspicion. ‘So this guy is just a friend, hm?’
Much to Dad’s surprise, I burst into uncontrollable laughter as my mind’s eye pictures what a romantic date with dear old Victor might look like.
A spot of gardening, perhaps? Followed by tea and biscuits while we indulge in whatever wacky hobby he’s got himself into lately. Last week, I think it was yoga, this week, who knows?
‘Yes, Dad, Victor is just a friend.’ I finally respond weakly, wiping a tear from my eye. ‘A friend who’s old enough to be my grandfather.’
As we enter the living room, Dad does a very bewildered double-take.
‘Wow. You’ve … really made this place your own, haven’t you?.’ He looks around, noting the mannequins dressed in gowns lining the walls like glamorous soldiers on guard. ‘You didn’t mention you had other guests around today?’
‘Ha, ha, ha.’ I roll my eyes at his silliness. ‘Well, there’s no room in the boutique’s back room for these, so I’ve had to bring them upstairs.’ I cross the room and smooth down a silky skirt. ‘This is for my friend Lucy, she’s going to a regency-themed ball.’
‘My friend Victor, my friend Lucy - my, this place really has changed you! You never used to talk much about friends before.’
That’s because I didn’t have any. Not real ones, anyway. Most of my past acquaintances were made at work, and while I’ve heard colleagues can become fierce friends for life, I’ve never had that experience. Then when I met Zoe I thought I’d finally found a mate, someone I could chat to not only about work but also everything else in my life, and what did she do? She used that information against me.
After that, I decided I didn’t need anyone else but my Dad. ‘Friends’ couldn’t be trusted, unless someone shared my blood, they weren’t getting anywhere near close to me. And yet, since settling into Lily Vale, my defences have begun to crumble, my shields have been inexplicably lowered. But what’s stranger still is that I’m no longer afraid to let them down - somehow, I can’t imagine Victor plotting my downfall, nor Lucy.
As for Kit … well, who knows what he’s thinking? The guy’s a total mystery. I’d written him off as a rude arse when we first met, but after seeing what a caring brother he is to Tanya well, now I’m not sure what to think. I’ve come to enjoy our banter back and forth at every encounter, and I’m getting used to that annoying crooked grin of his.
Still, I don’t admit all this to Dad. Instead, I swallow down my musings and bring a smile to my lips. ‘Shall we eat?’
There’s not so much a kitchen in the flat as there is a kitchenette, squirrelled away in a corner of the open plan living area, and I show Dad over to the round table I’ve dressed with a red and white checked cloth. I serve out a hefty portion of steaming lasagne and salad and encourage him to tuck straight in. The sounds of appreciation as he takes the first bite let me know I’ve done an okay job, and when I settle down opposite him with my own plate, it’s confirmed. He’s right, I’ve never been one for cooking, but I have to pat myself on the back, this is lovely - rich and cheesy with perfectly cooked veggies throughout, it’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten in this flat.
Dad seems to agree, as he swiftly polishes off his first helping and asks for a second.
‘I’m so proud of you, Lottie-Lou,’ he says through a forkful of salad. ‘For what you’ve done here.’
‘You’ve told me multiple times,’ I chuckle into my wine glass.
‘I know I have, but I really do mean it, each and every time I’ve said it.’ He rests his hand on my arm. ‘Leaving Paris was so difficult for you, given the circumstances, and I know it wasn’t ideal moving to the UK to live with me, but I just wanted you to know that the time we spent living together were some of the best days of my life. I missed so much of your childhood, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. If only I made more money, I could have moved out there to be with you.’
My throat closes around my words and I squeeze his hand tight. ‘Oh, Dad -’
‘No, no, let me finish.’ He takes a deep breath, his voice trembling. ‘What’s done is done, and I feel like we’re really making up for lost time now. I know you had big things going on in France, but I’m so happy you’re here. And what you’ve done with the shop - sorry, boutique , well, it’s incredible. You might have designed for that snooty old bag back in Paris, but now you’re designing for yourself.’ He gestures toward the gowns draped over the mannequins, each of them posed and poised like true runway models. ‘Never mind Hélène Laport, this is pure Lottie Bell. I’ve never been so proud of you, darling.
Choked up, I lace my fingers through his. I will always love France, it’s my homeland, the place I grew up, but England has my heart. It has my Dad.
Grinning with misty eyes, I lift my glass high into the air. ‘To England.’
Dad’s glass meets mine with a clink. ‘To England. For bringing us together once more.’
After lunch, Dad and I take a stroll around the village, and I point out all my new favourite haunts, from the deli across the road to The Cosy Little Tearoom.
‘You’re a real local now, aren’t you?’ Dad comments, his eyes twinkling with genuine joy.
I smile fondly as I look around. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘I was concerned you wouldn’t settle here, you know, after living in capital cities your entire life, but you seem to be doing ever so well.’
Chewing my lip thoughtfully, I cast my eyes skyward. ‘I mean … it’s not what I wanted for my life, or at least, it’s not what I had planned. But maybe … maybe it’s okay that my plan didn’t work out.’ My gaze darts back to Dad, and my lip curls in one corner. ‘Maybe I’m exactly where I need to be.’
He takes my hand in his and swings it as we walk along the cobblestones, like he did when I was a child. ‘You know something, I think you might be right.’
*
When the sky slowly transforms from brightest blue to soft indigo dotted with pale starlight, Dad and I share a bittersweet goodbye on my doorstep.
‘Come and visit again soon, okay?’ I plead as we embrace.
‘Of course! Gladeswood isn’t that far out, I’ll be popping in all the time now, you won’t be able to get rid of me!’
I hold him tighter, breathing in his comforting scent of firewood, cut grass and home. Running from Paris was excruciating, but at least my dad is now only a stone’s throw away, and my mother, with her eagle eyes primed to judge, is well across the ocean. Right now, I’ve never been so grateful for the hands of fate, though I’ve spent every day cursing them since Fashion Week. They brought me and my dad together again, and I count that as a pretty big blessing.
The flat is awfully quiet once he’s driven off in his old car, and I flop down upon the sofa, belly first.
‘Ouch!’
Something hard and pointy pokes into my side, making it difficult to get comfy. Grumbling, I fish the mystery item from between the couch cushions and unearth my slightly bent sketchbook.
With a listless, drawn-out sigh, I flick through the pages until I reach the latest design for Zoe’s wedding gown. She was right, it is missing something. My bridal designs used to be bold and cutting-edge, but now, I’m afraid to take risks, frightened to colour outside the lines for fear of ruining the picture.
I draw my focus around the room, at the six mannequins surrounding me, each donning a partially completed dress. Suddenly, Dad’s voice whispers into my ear, as if he were sitting right next to me.
This is pure Lottie Bell.
With fresh determination and vigour, I take up the pencil resting on the coffee table and put it to paper. I can do this.
What do I know about Zoe? Apart from the fact she’s a huge bitch, of course. I snigger to myself, imagining a hideous meringue wedding dress with a big ruffled dog’s collar at the neck.
Okay, Lottie - focus.
Well, she’s gutsy and creative and ambitious to the point of heartlessness. She knows what she wants and she’s going to get it, whether that’s moving up in her career or making sure her man does exactly what she wants. She needs a gown that reflects her power, her unrelenting attitude and outlook on life and love.
Inspired, I scribble and sketch and shade until my pencil is all but worn down to a nub.
Lifting the page to the light, my eyes widen, as does my smile.
I’ve done it.
The ideal dress for Zoe - pure white chiffon silk with a trumpet skirt and cathedral train, glittering floral embellishments along the bodice and feather-light lace trails along one arm, while the other side boasts a bold puff sleeve.
Kicking the air with giddy joy, I quickly pack the design away into my folder, ready to present at Zoe’s next appointment. I can’t wait to bring this new creation to life - once it’s been approved by the bride, of course. But I’m certain she’ll love it, it’s just so … her.
And weirdly, thanks to Zoe and her near-impossible-to-meet standards, perhaps I’m finally getting my mojo back.