Epilogue
THE FELIX MANSION
New Year’s Eve
The fake bay trees had gone. In fact, the whole frontage of the Felix home looked remarkably understated, if a large mansion in this area of London could, in any way, look understated.
Even still trimmed with Christmas decorations, it wasn’t an in-your-face show of wealth for the rest of the street to admire or, as was more likely, compete with.
‘Shall I ring the doorbell?’ Phoebe asked.
‘Just wait a second, Pheebs,’ Gabriella said, putting a hand on her niece’s arm. ‘Can you promise me that Grandmama really hasn’t invited half the neighbourhood and the bowls club tonight? That it’s really going to be just the four of us?’
Phoebe nodded. ‘Yes, I promise. And Grandmama has got picky bits from Marks and Spencer.’
Gabriella baulked at this information. Never before had there been a Felix event without outside catering that could have put in a tender for a royal wedding. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I swear,’ Phoebe said. ‘On Mr Darcy’s life.’
Mr Darcy was coming to the UK but it had been a bit of a process getting all the necessary documentation, jabs and treatments done before he could travel.
There wasn’t an exact date for his arrival yet and Gabriella knew that Phoebe was wondering whether it was ever really going to happen.
But, when Gabriella made a promise, she kept it.
In the meantime, the dog was staying with Sybille as Luca had a no pets clause at his apartment.
There were regular FaceTime updates featuring park walks, French movies and ice cream.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Press the bell but, I swear, if Milo answers the door and there’s a dull hum of drivel about Brexit flowing through from the drawing room I am getting an Uber straight to Burger King.’
‘OK,’ Phoebe said. She stepped up to the bell and pressed. ‘Oh, and Milo’s gone too by the way.’
‘What?’
‘Grandmama said that having a butler wasn’t de rigeur in these times of austerity.’
Gabriella was astounded. ‘She said what?’ And then she regrouped. ‘But he was here working on Christmas Day.’
‘Because Grandmama didn’t want to deprive him of the bonus she’d promised him and apparently he didn’t want to spend Christmas Day dinner with his mother-in-law.’
Gabriella hadn’t wanted to spend Christmas Day dinner here with her parents, but it had been surprisingly OK.
There had been turkey not goose. Crackers with stupid jokes not anagrams. And no artichoke dip with the cheese.
There had also been a FaceTime with Luca when time zones had allowed and that and a few coffee-flavoured Baileys had made the event a step up from bearable for the first time in a long time.
The front door opened and there was her mother, dressed up like a mince pie.
From the pastry-coloured rotund belly, silver tights to represent the metal tin you’d get in a shop-bought version, Gabriella guessed, white powder face make-up – icing sugar?
And a sprig of holly on her head. What the hell was going on?
‘Hello,’ Monica greeted.
‘Grandmama!’ Phoebe exclaimed. ‘Is that really you?’
‘Or do we have the wrong house?’ Gabriella asked. ‘Excuse me, do the Felixes live here anymore?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gabriella. Have you never seen anyone in fancy dress for New Year’s Eve before?’ Monica asked.
‘Well, yes,’ Gabriella answered. ‘I have seen many people in fancy dress at New Year’s Eve before at all the parties you told me not to go to, but I’ve never seen you in fancy dress before and—’
‘Hello, girls!’
‘Jesus Christ, who ordered Jim Carrey from Temu?’ Gabriella remarked as her father appeared alongside her mother spray-painted green like The Grinch.
‘Pop-Pop! You look amazing! But you didn’t say it was fancy dress and I love dressing up,’ Phoebe reminded.
‘Well,’ Monica said as she gave Phoebe an awkward hug. ‘We wanted it to be a surprise and there are outfits for you too. In the living room.’
‘Don’t you mean the drawing room, Grandmama?’
‘No, darling, tonight we are in the living room. Let Pop-Pop show you what there is.’
Phoebe high-fived her grandfather and they both went off into the house, leaving Gabriella with the mince pie…
‘Are you coming in?’ Monica asked. ‘Or do you have another party to go to? A funkier one where people get drunk on alcohol-infused energy drinks?’
‘Obviously this was meant to be the warm-up to that one but now you have the outfits and everything I think I might raincheck the other one.’
‘Really? If I had known me dressing as a mince pie would encourage you to stay longer I might have tried it years ago.’
Gabriella smiled. ‘We both know that’s not true.’
Monica smiled back. ‘Perhaps. But we’re not years ago now, we are about to enter a whole new year in a few hours. Maybe it can be a whole new era.’
‘The power of Big Ben’s chimes,’ Gabriella remarked.
‘Perhaps more like the power of family and forgiveness.’
Gabriella swallowed. She had had a couple of phone calls with her mum since the fashion show and everything that had transpired with Zero Fucks Given.
Things were tentatively progressing between them, in a way they hadn’t ever before.
There was two-way conversation and a lot more non-judgemental listening from both of them.
It was like their acceptance of their failures to properly process what had happened to Lulu was starting to heal the wounds, not just from the tragic circumstances of her death but from family life that should never have been allowed to degenerate amid the unique challenges of living with someone with depression.
‘Let me help, Gabriella,’ Monica breathed. ‘And I don’t mean that in any kind of wanting to control the narrative kind of way. Let me support you in trying to make a difference to people who are struggling like Lulu struggled. Properly this time. Fully. Without giving… fucks.’
Gabriella had never heard her mother say the F word ever before. She would never have thought the word would be endearing, but coming from her mother’s mouth, it kind of was.
‘You know that I want to get hands-on now. Did you read my interview for The Daily Telegraph they published on Christmas Day?’ Gabriella said.
‘I was completely honest in that. Before I did a lot of talking and suggesting and paving the way for implementing life strategies, but I never created anything real, anything people could really feel the benefit of.’
‘I read it, Gabriella and I realise that,’ Monica said.
‘My offer of support still stands. And I think that it’s the right time for the Lulu Foundation to think outside the arts box.
Not to withdraw vital funding for the ballet but to also think about the bigger picture.
Something with mental health charities. What do you think? ’
Gabriella let go of a heavy sigh she hadn’t realised was taking up space in her chest. ‘That would be amazing.’
Monica smiled then, her mince pie icing sugar face creasing in all the right ways. ‘That’s a plan then. But there is one more thing.’
And now her heart sank. Here it came. Because things with her parents were never given unconditionally.
‘Oh?’ She waited for her mother to carry on, say something obnoxious, as was usually the case with Monica Felix.
‘Hey.’
The word hadn’t come from her mother. The voice had come from behind her.
American. So familiar. Gabriella turned around and there was Luca, dressed in his long coat, standing on the street.
She was frozen, not at all from the chill in the air but from the absolute shock at seeing him here. In England. In London. Right here.
‘Gabriella,’ Monica said. ‘Where are your manners? Say hello to our guest while I warm up the M&S quiches.’
Her mother had barely made it inside the house before Gabriella flew to him, hitting his arms as hard as a bad touch down at Heathrow. She held him and squeezed, wanting to know that, without doubt, this was real.
‘Say something,’ he urged her. ‘Because I have forty-eight hours and I will owe some big favours when I get back.’
‘How did you—’
‘By plane. You get in, they give you a seat and snacks and—’
She smacked his arm with her hand.
‘Ow!’
‘Do you want a bottle of water aimed at your head?’
He grinned. ‘That’s my girl.’
‘So, I mean how…? Did you talk to my parents?’ She shuddered.
‘A couple of conversations were had, yeah. We kind of skirted over the fact my father is in prison about to be charged with multiple manslaughter.’
‘You must really like me.’
‘I must.’
She hugged him again, let herself be gathered up by the sheer masculinity of him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’
‘Good surprise?’ Luca asked her.
‘The best surprise.’
‘Well,’ Luca said. ‘Actually, I didn’t come alone.’
Right on cue there was a bark and from the Felix house, scurrying, rushing forward looking as groomed as she had ever seen him was Mr Darcy. Gabriella caught him at the gate, grabbed his collar and ruffled his fur.
‘Mr Darcy!’
She looked at Luca. ‘How did you make this happen?’
‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s some kind of Christmastime miracle.’
‘I mean, a dog, in my parents’ home, you’re talking the kind of miracle Jesus could only dream about.’
‘Gabriella!’ Phoebe yelled from the doorstep. ‘Mr Darcy is here. Pop-Pop was hiding him in the living room and… Luca!’
Luca waved a hand. ‘Hey, Phoebe.’
Mr Darcy tugged himself from Gabriella’s grip and rushed to Phoebe. ‘Gabriella, can I play ball with Mr Darcy until the food is ready?’
‘Yes, Phoebe. Sure.’
Just as quickly as she had arrived, Phoebe and Mr Darcy were gone again.
‘So,’ Gabriella said. ‘Forty-eight hours you say?’
‘Give or take,’ Luca answered.
‘And you want to spend it with Madam Mince Pie, The Grinch from Temu, Phoebe, Mr Darcy and me.’
‘I mean, I’m thinking I don’t have to spend the whole forty-eight hours with everyone on that list, right? I was kind of hoping that you’d show me a little house between a builders’ merchants and a cemetery.’
‘I can do that,’ Gabriella said, nodding. ‘I can definitely do that.’
And as Luca leaned forward to kiss her and the first fireworks of the celebrations were set off somewhere in the district, Gabriella realised that the best present of all was the presence of the people you cared about most. And the ones that couldn’t be there in person anymore would always be cherished, because the memories they’d gifted would never ever fade.