by Caragh Bell
‘Meeting Dumb and Dumber for lunch at the Ritz.’ William made a face. ‘Thank God they don’t ever call here.’
James nodded in agreement. ‘How did a man as nice as Henry produce such utter reprobates as sons?’ He entered the kitchen and switched on the kettle. Popping a teabag in a mug, he asked, ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Annual bridge lunch at the Savoy.’ William leaned closer to read a small piece on the new Fifty Shades of Grey movie. It was coming soon and anticipation was reaching fever pitch. All he heard about was Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele during coffee break at the hospital. It had taken over the world. Christian, huh, he thought. A sexy name, it seemed . . .
James appeared at the sliding door of the conservatory, mug of tea in hand. ‘Where’s Borealis?’
‘She’s upstairs in her room. Avoid her, Jiminy. I put on my Ed Sheeran playlist a while ago and she lost the plot, screaming at me to turn it down.’ He sat back and jabbed the paper with his finger. ‘The nurses at work are going wild for this film, James. It’s being released on Valentine’s Day.’
‘Which film?’
‘You know: that raunchy one with the billionaire businessman called Christian and sadism.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m glad to say that I’ve never heard of it.’ Taking a seat, he sipped his tea gingerly as it was hot. ‘Are you planning on going to see it?’
William scoffed. ‘Hardly. I have some standards, you know.’ He popped a mince pie into his mouth and chewed loudly. ‘Aurora’s planning to go,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘It’s Ophelia’s favourite book apparently. Can you imagine her watching sex swings and whips in action?’ He laughed loudly.
‘Aurora?’ said James sharply, nearly dropping his tea. ‘Surely not. It doesn’t sound like her thing.’
‘She thinks the actor who plays Grey is fit. Plus, it’s what one would call a phenomenon.’ He regarded his brother’s disapproving face shrewdly. ‘Jeez, Jiminy, she’s not nine years old any more.’
James said nothing. He just frowned and drummed his fingers on the table.
Aurora, alerted by the sound of deep voices, padded into the kitchen wearing her favourite cosy pyjamas and woollen socks. Her long hair was wound up into a messy bun and her eyes looked tired.
‘Borealis!’ exclaimed James, brightening. ‘We were just talking about you.’
She half-waved and switched on the coffee machine. She couldn’t face the world without coffee. Her tummy rumbled as she yanked open the bread bin and pulled out its contents. A half loaf of granary bread and some pitta breads were her only options. She shoved two slices of granary into the toaster with force.
William jabbed a finger in her direction and mouthed, ‘Like a bear.’
James was watching Aurora. It wasn’t like her to be sullen.
‘Borealis,’ he said, ‘what’s eating you?’
She ignored him and continued with making her breakfast. Opening the jar of Nutella, she noticed that it was almost gone. William! She slammed the jar onto the countertop in annoyance. The jar had been half full the day before. It was like living with a wolf.
James tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him and he smiled as he placed his hands on her shoulders. She was quite tall, measuring five foot seven. Her big brown eyes met his and they gazed at each other for a moment.
Suddenly he let go of her and, stepping back, said, ‘Wow, you look exhausted. Did you stay up late practising for our chess tournament later?’
‘Of course,’ she replied tonelessly. ‘Just in case you don’t let me win again.’
Turning away, she opened the fridge and took out a carton of juice. James didn’t need to know that her lack of sleep was caused by his revelation. She just couldn’t get her head around it.
‘Will, did you eat all the smoked salmon?’ she asked in annoyance, scanning the top shelf of the fridge. ‘I wanted some with my eggs.’
‘Oops!’ he apologised, putting his hand over his mouth. ‘I put some on toast earlier.’
She glared at him. First the Nutella, now the smoked salmon. He was a bona-fide pig. All he ever did was eat his own body weight in food. Now what would she do?
‘It was very nice,’ he added unhelpfully.
James calmly pushed Aurora to the side. ‘Let’s see what else is there,’ he suggested, rummaging around the fridge. ‘How about some tomatoes? Or some sliced pepper?’
She shook her head mutinously. ‘I wanted salmon.’
‘Well, get over it,’ said William with a laugh. ‘You’re behaving like a spoilt princess.’
James gave him a pointed look. ‘Well, she is a princess, Will. Have you forgotten?’ He nudged her playfully. ‘Come on, Borealis. Cheer up. It can’t be that bad.’
She stared at him for a moment. Here he was, defending her again. She knew that she was behaving abominably, yet he allowed it. William had it in a nutshell: James spoiled her rotten. Now, she was upset because he wouldn’t have time to lavish attention on her any more. He would be too busy with Claire and possibly his own children.
With a huge effort, she smiled. ‘Tomatoes sound wonderful,’ she said. ‘Thanks, James.’
He visibly relaxed and resumed his seat at the table, grabbing the newspaper that William had just discarded. There were the usual stories on the front page: the immigrant crisis and the American presidential race.
Aurora cracked two eggs into a bowl and whisked them briskly. She poured the mixture into a pan on the hob and stirred. Then she added chopped tomatoes and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
‘Ophelia texted earlier about drinks this evening,’ she announced. ‘She made a special request that you be there, Will.’
He made a face. ‘I don’t like redheads.’
Aurora wagged her finger at him. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts. I think that she’s really pretty.’ She tipped her omelette onto a white ceramic plate. ‘So, will you come? Laura can’t make it as she won’t be back from the city.’
‘Why not?’ he answered, shrugging. ‘It beats watching Strictly with Gloria.’
James cleared his throat purposely and tried to look affronted. ‘Am I invited?’ he asked. ‘Or am I too old?’
Aurora blushed. ‘Of course you are. I just didn’t think that it’d be your thing.’
‘As long as we have our chess competition when we get back.’
‘Nerds,’ mocked William, stealing a slice of Aurora’s toast.
Ophelia, tipsy after six vodkas, pressed up against William. ‘So, doctor,’ she purred, ‘I could do with a whole-body check-up.’ Her red curls were tied up to one side and novelty tinsel earrings hung from her lobes.
William pushed her away gently. ‘I work in Paeds,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
‘Ah, go on!’ She winked at him and blew a kiss.
James caught Aurora’s eye and they smiled. Ophelia was a hoot, especially when she’d had a few drinks.
The pub was packed with people young and old, drinking mulled wine and hot port. Christmas music played in the background and a fire burned merrily in the grate.
‘Oh, Aurora!’ Ophelia called over the din of the pub. ‘I found our old poetry anthology today! Remember Mr. Crowley and his penchant for Irish poets?’
Aurora nodded. ‘He was an amazing teacher. I really looked forward to his classes.’
‘Aurora had a crush on Mr. Crowley,’ said William in a silly voice. ‘No wonder you’re such a poetry buff.’
Aurora made a face. ‘Yeah, yeah, at least I have taste. Unlike you, William. We all knew that you succumbed to Mary Jane Andersen’s charms all those years ago.’
William held up his hands in protest. ‘Out of order, Aurora.’
‘Liar.’
‘You can never prove it.’
Ophelia put her hand on her heart. ‘All jokes aside, Mr. Crowley was pretty gorgeous. Remember that poem he taught us about the posh girl?’
Aurora put her head to one side. ‘Not really.’
‘Y
ou do! It was about a planter’s daughter or something. He explained how she was the daughter of the local gentry and everyone admired her. It was such a lovely poem.’
‘What’s a planter?’ queried William, sipping his beer.
‘An English person who got land when Ireland was colonised,’ said James. ‘They were the landlords.’
‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Aurora as a realisation dawned. ‘I do remember it. It was by Austin Clarke.’
‘I have to admit, it always reminded me of you, Aurora,’ said Ophelia, hiccupping slightly. ‘You know, the posh girl that everyone admired but never approached.’
Aurora blushed. ‘Don’t be daft, Lia.’
William nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, don’t be daft. We all know the reason Aurora didn’t score at school was because she was horrendously ugly.’
Aurora stuck out her tongue at her stepbrother and mouthed ‘Mary Jane Andersen’.
‘Who?’ he replied innocently.
‘I loved the line where the poet compares the girl to a Sunday,’ sighed Ophelia dreamily. ‘How wonderful!’
‘What a silly metaphor,’ scorned William, breaking the spell. ‘I mean, Sunday is the most depressing day. It signifies the end of the weekend and work the next day.’
‘On the contrary, Sunday was the highlight of the week for many,’ said James, sipping his pint. ‘It was a day when they would dress up and look their best. Clarke is saying that this girl was the high point.’
‘And it reminds you of Aurora?’ said William to Ophelia. ‘You’ve lost the plot, my girl.’
‘But look at her,’ crooned Ophelia, getting emotional. ‘She’s just so lovely.’ She put her hand on her heart. ‘Everyone at the theatre fancies her.’
James’ face was impassive; only a muscle flickered in his cheek.
Aurora blushed furiously. ‘Would you all stop right now! Let’s get another round and move on.’ She flicked her long hair to the side.
‘Hear, hear!’ agreed William. ‘Maybe some water for Lia this time.’
‘What?’ she protested.
‘Doctor’s orders,’ he smiled and she beamed at him.
‘Well, okay then,’ she preened. ‘Let’s all go to the hydration station. Anything for you, William.’
James took a deep sip of his beer and smiled. He suspected that Ophelia was right. Aurora’s beauty would stop you in your tracks. He could see how pubescent boys would be intimidated. She never seemed to mention boyfriends or dates and, idly, he wondered if she had any experience with men at all. Being away so much, he had missed huge chunks of her life. Maybe she was waiting for her Prince Charming to drive her away in his Barbie Ferrari, like in her favourite childhood game. He chuckled. She could be waiting a long time for that.
She always made him feel protective and even though he knew it was selfish, he didn’t want her throwing herself away on a no-hoper. Those actors she worked with were totally unsuitable, flitting from one relationship to the next. Thankfully there was no mention of any love interest at the theatre. That Justin Debussy was another problem. He had only met him once – after Aurora’s first performance in his début play Georgia. He could instantly tell that he had feelings for his stepsister. The way he looked at her and slung his arm possessively around her shoulders. His upper-class twang booming over everyone else, talking about how his ‘protégée’ was the next big thing. Aurora had smiled and dutifully talked to the press, telling them in her sweet voice how playing the main character, Clara-Mae, had been a dream come true. Justin, tipsy after a few glasses of champagne, had kissed her full on the lips as cameras flashed.
Oh how he wanted to kill him.
Only because he could tell that his mauling made her uncomfortable.
New Year’s Eve dawned. Aurora woke and stretched, snug under her soft duvet. For a moment she remembered her old bedroom in Cornwall: the damp walls and freezing floor. How she could never heat up, despite having two duvets and a fire blazing in the grate. Her new room was painted lilac and was the complete opposite. She had posters on the walls, framed pictures of her family and Maggie, a laptop and a flat-screen TV mounted in the corner. Even though she rarely came home any more, her bedroom was left untouched. Gloria insisted that all her children had a space to come back to if needed.
Swinging her legs over the side, she contemplated what to do for the day. Henry had planned his usual soirée, inviting Gordon and Helena, now both in their seventies, and anyone else Aurora would like to come along. He extended an invitation to George and Seb each year, but they never turned up. Still, he felt that it was his duty to be civil, despite feeling like a huge gulf had grown between them. He often relayed his guilt and frustration about this froideur to Gloria and she listened quietly. Not once did she bitch about them or try to turn him against them, despite having ample reason. Instead she encouraged him to bridge the gap and attempt some sort of rapprochement, always around Christmastime.
Ophelia was coming, as were a few friends from work. Marianne, her boss at the flower shop, couldn’t make it due to family commitments. William, who was nearing the end of his annual leave, said he would attend, to make her look ‘popular’. Laura, who had been in Cork since Boxing Day, was due to fly in that afternoon. Christian had gone back to New York and she planned to join him in a week. Aurora was dying to know how the big reveal went: telling Luca and Lydia about their relationship. All she had received were sporadic WhatsApp messages with anxious-looking emojis. ‘I’ll tell you when I see you…’ was the last update.
James had stayed with the family until Boxing Day. Claire had arrived in her Prius and picked him up, much to Gloria’s dismay. She had been hoping that he would stick around for the week. ‘I’ll be back for New Year,’ he promised, kissing his mother fondly. ‘We’ve got some friends to visit and I’ve got to get to know my new family.’
Aurora watched with a heavy heart as he waved and hopped into the car. She and Gloria looked at each other and they both knew that they had lost him. His loyalty would be to his fiancée from now on and they would have to accept it. However, he had promised to return for the party so at least they would all be together for that.
Grabbing a towel, Aurora headed towards the bathroom and closed the door. Unlike the unpredictable plumbing in her Notting Hill flat, her shower at home pumped out piping-hot water for as long as she liked. Aurora adored long hot showers so she stayed under the powerful jet for ages.
Henry was pinning some bunting to the wall when she arrived downstairs. His gold wedding ring glinted in the winter sun steaming through the window.
‘Morning, my darling,’ he greeted fondly. ‘Enjoy your last day of being twenty-two.’
‘I’m ancient,’ she sighed.
He smiled and pressed a pin forcibly into the architrave. ‘Now, do you like your décor?’
She stared at the coloured strands hanging from every available hook and picture. There was text printed on a pink sparkly background that read: Happy Birthday, Princess Aurora! Next to that were little pictures of the iconic Disney princess. Henry always got the same decorations from the party shop down the road. Aurora was pretty sure it was for a young child, but he got it nonetheless.
‘I adore it, Daddy,’ she enthused. ‘I just love it.’
‘Gloria’s in the kitchen, attempting to make you some drop scones.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s trying her best,’ he whispered loudly.
She giggled and joined her stepmother at the stove. An impressive pile of pancakes lay on a plate next to the hob and Gloria was whistling the new Beyoncé tune.
‘Morning, sweetheart,’ she said, offering her cheek for Aurora to kiss. ‘Take a seat. I’m almost ready.’
On the kitchen table was a gift, neatly wrapped and tied with ribbon, and a card with her name handwritten on the envelope. Judging by the shape of the parcel, she could tell that it was a book. That was the tradition: each year Henry would give her a priceless book from his collection.
‘Gifts already?’ she
said in surprise. ‘But it’s not my birthday yet.’
‘Henry and I wanted to give it to you before the madness descends.’
She was suddenly accosted by a strong feeling of déjà vu.
On her sixteenth birthday, Henry had given her a poetry anthology by Seamus Heaney. He and Gloria had presented it to her in the very same spot. To this day it was her favourite gift.
‘Seamus signed that book for me just before he died,’ Henry said wistfully. ‘He was an amazing chap – a great loss to the literary world.’
Aurora had opened the first page and there, in blue ink, lay an inscription saying:
To Aurora,
Etiam in morte, superest amor
(Even in death, love survives),
S.
She gasped in delight. ‘Oh, Daddy. This is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever received. I adored his poetry at school. Mr. Crowley taught us all about him.’
‘He was a gentleman and a scholar,’ agreed Henry, ‘a credit to academia and literature.’ He smiled sadly. ‘He knew Grace also, from her Dublin theatre days. When I showed him your picture, he couldn’t quite believe it.’
‘You showed him my picture?’ she echoed in disbelief.
‘Why, yes. We met at the launch of Arachne – do you remember my play from about seven years ago? He knew of the circumstances of your birth and he felt that this inscription would offer you solace.’
‘Oh, it does,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘It really does.’ Grace flashed through her mind: her ill-fated mother who had been denied the chance to hold her close.
‘Even in death, love survives,’ she murmured softly.
Gloria dropped the frying pan loudly into the sink, bringing her abruptly back to the present.
Aurora called for her father. ‘Daddy!Come here!I want to open my gift with you!’
Henry appeared and put his arm around Gloria’s waist.
‘On you go, my darling,’ he said to Aurora.
She removed the ribbon and tore open the paper. Inside was a book: a first edition of Salomé by Oscar Wilde. It was dusty and old with Salomé written in gold lettering on the front.