by Caragh Bell
‘Well, she’s getting married next year to an American guy called Luca. They had a baby together a few months ago.’
Aurora gasped in delight. ‘A baby? Wow, that’s amazing.’ The Irish girl’s image flashed through her mind. Pretty and slim with long brown hair and green eyes, Lydia had it all. She had been really kind and welcoming the few times Aurora had gone to Paris for the weekend, including the younger girl in their plans and chatting to her in her lilting voice. It didn’t seem that long ago that the three of them were sitting in a bar near République, drinking carafes of wine and laughing long into the night.
‘Oh, she’s a natural,’ Laura assured her. ‘We were all shocked, to tell the truth. The baby, Sienna, is sweet. I mean, I’m not one for small people, but she’s very cute.’
‘But what has this got to do with your new man?’ Aurora traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger.
Laura took a deep breath. ‘My new man, as you call him, happens to be Luca’s father. He’s called Christian.’
‘What?’ Aurora nearly knocked over her glass.
Laura drained her wine and faced her. ‘He’s a lawyer, a partner in fact, at a big firm in New York. He’s of French descent.’
‘Rich?’ asked Aurora innocently, remembering Laura’s criteria for the perfect man.
‘Well, yes. He’s not badly off,’ she admitted. ‘We met at Sienna’s christening.’
‘And?’
‘Well, we exchanged details and suddenly he turned up in London and then –’
‘You started bonking,’ finished Aurora with a giggle. ‘My favourite word.’
Laura laughed out loud. ‘Oh, yes, I remember you and your obsession with it. Well, we didn’t bonk, as you call it, right away. I played hard to get.’
‘Why?’ Aurora’s eyes were wide.
‘Well, I knew that he was off the market – I mean, Lydia’s likely to kill me for a start …’
‘She doesn’t know?’
Laura shook her head. ‘Gosh, no. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like it. He’s Sienna’s grandfather, for goodness’ sake.’
Aurora bit her lip, trying to process the news. ‘It’s all a bit crazy, Laura – how will this Luca guy feel about it?’
Laura looked uncomfortable. ‘He won’t be too thrilled, I will admit. However, he knows that his parents have been miserable for years. The divorce is almost finalised so at least we can make things public then.’ She tapped the table with her fingers. ‘Please keep it quiet for the moment though. We plan to tell Luca and Lydia the news after Christmas.’
‘The news? Are you getting married too?’
Laura’s face reddened. ‘Not at all,’ she answered, flustered. ‘You know that I’m not the marrying kind.’
‘Hmmm.’ Aurora didn’t look convinced. ‘So, do you have a photo of this Christian? Is he grey and wrinkled with a paunch?’
‘Hardly,’ Laura scoffed, activating the photo stream on her phone. She scrolled down until she found the picture she was looking for. ‘Et voilà, my boyfriend.’
Aurora took her iPhone and gasped. ‘Wow, he’s pretty fit for an old-timer!’ She gazed at the picture in fascination. A tall, tanned man stared back at her, with hair slightly greying at the temples and chiselled cheekbones. He looked really fit and he had a haughty, superior look. ‘Where was this photo taken?’
Laura smiled at the memory. ‘Oh, that was in Mauritius. He took me there a couple of months ago. We hired a five-star complex and had our own waiting staff. It was just bliss.’
‘Sounds amazing,’ said Aurora enviously. ‘I have to admit, Laura, he’s really something. How do you do it?’
‘It was so unexpected,’ she reminisced with a soft look. ‘He walked into a room and bam! I was hooked. I’d always laughed at that love-at-first-sight nonsense so I was pretty gobsmacked.’ She chuckled. ‘For the first time, I was like a little girl, tongue-tied and nervous. He held all the cards. He was the powerful one. It was just irresistible.’
‘So, how did you end up together?’ Aurora pressed on, enthralled.
‘Well, he messaged me a couple of times and I responded politely. I didn’t know what his game plan was, yeah? Then, he turned up at the office one Thursday afternoon out of the blue. He strode up to my desk, took my hand and we headed off to Cannes for the weekend.’
‘What did your boss say?’
‘She didn’t say a word. I found out later that he had cleared the whole thing via email.’ She sighed. ‘Taking control like that? It’s a real turn-on for me, I have to say.’
‘Was Cannes nice?’
‘Magical,’ she replied dreamily. ‘We stayed at the Eden-Roc in Antibes – it was just heavenly. We spoke French and drank champagne. So romantic.’
‘Romantic?’ Aurora shook her head. ‘What has happened to you? It’s extraordinary. I’ve never seen you like this.’
Laura blushed. ‘I get what you mean. It’s strange for me too.’ She looked Aurora in the eye. ‘I think I’m in love.’
‘Have I entered the Twilight Zone?’ Aurora mocked. ‘Oh, how I wish that Will were here! He’d have a field day.’ She regarded her stepsister in amusement. ‘Gloria will be fine about this. To be honest, she’ll probably be more worried about your personality transplant. Laura Dixon in love.’ She laughed melodiously. ‘I’ve seen it all now.’
Laura made a face. ‘It happens to the best of us, missy. This will be you someday, just wait and see.’
‘Maybe.’ Aurora frowned. Certainly not yet. ‘Another wine?’ she prompted, signalling to the waiter.
‘One more then,’ said Laura, checking her watch. ‘I’m to meet Chris at eight and he hates when I’m late.’
‘Where?’
‘Oh, The Ivy,’ she replied breezily. ‘Just for something small.’
Aurora giggled. ‘Oh, The Ivy, ‘she mimicked. ‘That old place.’
Laura shrugged. ‘What can I say? I enjoy life.’
Aurora turned restlessly and plumped up her pillow. Sleep was evading her despite the fact that she was exhausted.
Three glasses of wine later, she had arrived home to find Ophelia watching a dating programme on television. ‘You just have to watch this,’ her friend had insisted, gesturing for her to join her on the couch. Two hours later she had crawled into bed, vowing to fall asleep as quickly as possible. She still had a half-day shift at the florist’s in the morning, followed by an afternoon rehearsal with Justin. Then she would finally be on holidays. She planned to go home to Oxshott straight away but she hadn’t packed a thing. Her busy schedule afforded her little time to get organised. Closing her eyes, she made a mental list of things to throw into her suitcase. Maybe that would help her to fall asleep. She would need chilling-out clothes like her cosy pyjamas and woolly socks – it was Christmas after all. However, she would also need a few party dresses for Christmas Day and, of course, her birthday party on New Year’s Eve. She always celebrated it with her father. All through the years she had made it her business to be with him for the event. It made him feel close to Grace and she liked the tradition of it all.
William was due home the next day also. He had saved up his annual leave and Gloria had ordered him to leave his pager at the hospital. She had a speech ready for her second son where she outlined the importance of relaxation and socialising. He was an eligible man with his promising career and handsome features. He needed to let loose once in a while. Ophelia had a huge crush on him and had already organised drinks on Christmas Eve down the local pub. ‘Oh, let me sit next to him,’ she pleaded to Aurora. ‘If I get him drunk enough, he might just crack.’
In his last email, James had promised his mother that he would be home by Christmas Eve. It had been a short paragraph, explaining that he was bunking with the crew from Médecins Sans Frontières, helping them to administer much-needed vaccines to the children of Aleppo. Aurora could just imagine it: James making silly faces and calming a terrified child while a doctor inserted a needle. He was so good
with kids and he probably had nicknames for them all. She was happy for him; he was making a difference and was clearly suited to humanitarian work. It’s just that she missed him terribly. His absence left a hole in her heart that no one else could fill.
Frowning, she drowned out the sound of traffic outside by reciting lines from the play, willing her tired brain to shut down and sleep. She had a lot to do the next day. Marianne, her boss at the florist’s, was knee-deep in poinsettias and festive arrangements of pine and holly. Hundreds of people had ordered wreaths and, in the end, she had stopped taking orders.
Aurora had met Marianne at the market over a year ago. She had been selling flowers from a stall right next to the organic vegetables.
‘Oh, what beautiful flowers!’ Aurora had exclaimed, touching the velvety petals gently. ‘My father sent a bunch of roses to my mother to convince her to marry him.’
Marianne, enchanted by the pretty girl with the soft voice, had offered her three for five pounds. ‘You should put one in your hair,’ she suggested. ‘That’s what the Spanish girls do.’ Dressed in a multi-coloured poncho, her own dark curls were pinned up at one side with a bright pink carnation; gold bracelets jangled on her wrist as she moved. Slightly plump for her short frame, she tended to wear oversized clothes that flowed to the ground. Aurora guessed that she was of Mexican origin and was proved right later when Marianne informed her that her mother came from Cancun. What had started as a conversation about roses ended up with Aurora mentioning that she was looking for a part-time job and Marianne offering her a few hours at the shop while she manned the market stall.
Now, a year later, Aurora worked at the florist’s three days a week. She liked the interaction with customers and learning about the different blooms on offer. Marianne’s business was thriving now that the recession was waning. People were spending again. Houses that had ceased buying luxury items like bouquets for the mantelpiece were now slipping back into old habits. The economy was on the way up again and business was booming.
Justin had insisted that she come to the theatre in the afternoon for a couple of hours. He wasn’t happy with Act One and wanted to run through her lines. His new play, a Roaring Twenties version of the legend of King Arthur, set in Chicago, was dramatic and dark. It was called La Morte – its title an Italian take on Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. It was about a powerful mob boss called Joey Sloane and his much younger wife, Elise. Sticking to the traditional storyline, a young mobster called Jimmy Romano becomes his right-hand man and, in turn, falls in love with the beautiful wife. Aurora had been devouring DVDs of Chicago and The Sopranos, learning the accent and nuances of a gangster’s moll. Her long mane of hair had to be pinned up meticulously so that it would fit under a short wig that framed her face. Her flapper dress fell to below the knee and her cigarette holder had a Gauloise jammed into it. Long beads trailed down over her breast and dark gloves covered her white arms, just up to above the elbow. Her love interest, Jimmy, was played by a young actor called Paul Lewis, who was also a graduate of RADA. Tall, tanned and blond, he was already being called the new Jude Law. They had become firm friends and often went for drinks after rehearsal. They were a beautiful couple to see: Paul with his handsome looks and Aurora with her cloudy hair and beautiful face. However, nothing ever happened between them. Paul was gay and had been in a happy relationship for three years.
A siren began to wail in the distance, its sound getting nearer and nearer. Aurora groaned in frustration. She had a nine o’clock start. Why was she still awake? Inevitably, she thought of Laura and her bombshell. It was hard to tell how Gloria would take it. Christian was closer in age to her than to her daughter. Laura had never been conventional. Would Gloria overlook it and be happy for them? She just didn’t know.
Gloria had changed since her cancer diagnosis. Aurora remembered it like it was yesterday. She had come home from school with Ophelia in tow. They had been forced to participate in a school sports day and were complaining about how ‘naff’ the egg-and-spoon race was. She had been seventeen years old and the only child left at home. Laura was living in a flat near King’s College where she was studying law and William was in his final year of medicine. James was in New York, completing his Master’s in Moving Image.
However, when she and Ophelia walked into the kitchen that day, the whole family was seated around the kitchen table with grim expressions. Henry, ever the gentleman, got to his feet and politely asked Ophelia to go home.
Gloria had then related in a tight voice that she had found a small lump on her left breast a few weeks before. After a hurried biopsy, it had been discovered that it was malignant and she due to have a lumpectomy the next week. Laura started sobbing and a sombre William had pulled her into his arms. James had motioned for Aurora to join him at the table, where he hugged her close and clutched his mother’s hand simultaneously.
Henry was speechless, starkly reminded of Marcella’s diagnosis years before. He had aged that day. His face became even more lined and his cheerful exterior faded. Having gone through the deaths of two wives, he didn’t know if he could handle a third. He loved Gloria so much he couldn’t bear to think about it.
What had followed passed in a blur. Gloria had her surgery and recovered well. However, she had a round of chemotherapy and lost her hair in the process. With a stiff upper lip, she got on with it, pretending to the world that it didn’t bother her in the slightest.
But it did. Very much so. She cried and cried over her new appearance when she thought that no one was looking. Henry had a top-of-the-range wig made which was almost identical to her old hair. It scratched her scalp and she hated it. She projected a calm exterior even though inside she was screaming. The notion of death terrified her. She didn’t want to die and leave her kids. She still had lots to do: babysitting her future grandchildren, travelling around the world or maybe bungee-jumping off some bridge somewhere. She was not ready to die.
Her first husband’s death had been a shock. He had collapsed at the surgery after a massive coronary and lost consciousness. He had died two days later at the hospital, having never woken up. The suddenness of it all had been difficult to deal with; she had found it mindboggling to contemplate that her husband had mowed the lawn and taken out the bins the day before he died. When he left the house that morning with The Times under his arm and a cup of coffee in his hand, she could never have imagined that she would never see him again. His death had been unheralded and cruel. It had robbed them of him without mercy and it had taken years for the pain to fade. However, she was rapidly realising that a sudden death was far better than a long, drawn-out equivalent. It took superhuman effort for her to get up every day and the constant shadow of mortality loomed over her every move.
Now, almost six years later, she was in a better place. She had responded well to the treatment and her old hair had grown back. She was slightly thinner now, but she put that down to anxiety. She had resumed her duties at the flower club and was an active member of the bridge club. Henry had been a rock throughout the whole ordeal; she couldn’t have done it without his constant encouragement and support.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Good morning!’ said Marianne cheerfully, inserting a painted silver branch into a giant glass vase. The arrangement she was working on was Narnia-themed: white roses with silver baubles and pine branches surrounding it all. ‘You look tired, my love,’ she tutted. ‘Were you out late?’
Aurora shook her head and hung her coat on the rack by the back office. ‘It took me hours to fall asleep,’ she said, shrugging. ‘You know how sometimes your brain just won’t shut down?’
Marianne nodded. ‘Lavender helps. I’ll give you some dried leaves for your bedroom.’
Aurora checked the book. ‘Gosh, you have a lot of wreaths to be collected.’
‘I know,’ said Marianne, rolling her eyes to heaven. ‘I spent hours assembling them last night. I can’t wait to close the doors this afternoon and begin my holidays.’
&
nbsp; ‘I have rehearsal,’ said Aurora. ‘Justin is panicking as there are only a few weeks to opening night.’
‘So, when are you going home?’
‘Tomorrow. A quick shopping spree and then I’m off to Oxshott.’
Marianne regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Would your mother like a wreath? I have a spare one.’
‘Are you sure?’ Aurora beamed at her. The entrance to Gloria’s house was large with pillars, and the huge oak door would look very festive with one of Marianne’s arrangements. ‘And, by the way, you’re very welcome to pop down to my birthday party on New Year’s Eve.’
Marianne shook her head. ‘You’re an angel to invite me but I have a family do that night in Kilburn. Next year?’
The door of the shop pinged as a customer entered. It was an elderly lady in a fur-lined coat and large black shades.
‘I’m here to pick up my bouquet,’ she announced in her plummy accent.
Aurora smiled brightly. ‘Of course. May I have your name?’
Justin Debussy was an only child. He had been a latecomer to the family, born when his mother was thirty-eight and cherished because of it. His father, Richard Debussy, was a retired army general. A tall forbidding-looking man, he had devoted his life to Queen and Country. His wife, Caroline, was related to Her Majesty herself and Justin grew up immersed in the world of the British upper-class. His decision to write plays and subsequently direct them was frowned upon by his ageing father who deemed ‘show business’ a flighty career for a young man. His mother, however, supported him completely. Her own brother was the famous actor Albert Wells, known as Bertie to his friends. He had given Justin a leg up in the industry when he was a fledgling unknown playwright. He had encouraged his famous friends to attend his début play Georgia and, as a result, media coverage had been huge. Bertie himself had missed his nephew’s first two plays due to their short run and his busy schedule. ‘I read the reviews, my boy,’ he boomed down the telephone. ‘Bloody good!’ He had promised to attend the opening night of La Morte.