Escape to Honeysuckle Hall

by Rebecca Raisin

  ‘Tequila may not be the answer but it’s worth a shot.’ I giggle at my own sense of impeccable comic timing. ‘Get it, worth a shot. A shot of tequila!’

  ‘You’re really sozzled.’

  ‘I don’t want to taco about it.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Lettuce pray you’ve come here to apologise? To tell me you’ve made a mistake? You’re sorry. You won’t do it again?’ I squeeze one eye shut so I can hear him better.

  ‘Actually, I’m here for my clothing, especially my Armani suits, my collection of luxury watches …’

  My heart stops dead. Surely it can’t keep stopping suddenly like this. I don’t have access to the paddles! ‘What?’ Where’s his guilt-racked regret? His promises to make it up to me? His utter devastation at making such a massive error of judgement?

  ‘You’re here for your Armani suits? Your collection of luxury watches?’ How was I ever fooled by this shallow man? It beggars belief! Even the tequila doesn’t blur the edges of this light-bulb moment.

  What kind of man cares more about his clothing than the damage he’s done? ‘Yes, I’m here for those and you can send the rest of my things to CC’s house in Chelsea.’

  CC?! ‘So you’ve moved in together already?’

  ‘Yeah. It was the next logical step.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For us.’

  ‘And what about us?’

  ‘We’ve been drifting for a while. Surely you sensed that too? All’s well that ends well, eh? Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.’

  He cannot be for real. I must be in a food coma and dreaming. I shake myself and find I’m still here, gripping on to the dining table to help keep me upright. ‘I see. Sadly I needed some confetti for a client’s wedding, something sustainable, so I used the first thing that came to hand, which just so happened to be your Armani suits.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did!’ I laugh and take another shot of tequila. ‘And like you said, all’s well that ends well so it’s time for you to leave. These tacos aren’t going to eat themselves.’

  ‘I’m going to find my suits, or what’s left of them.’

  I shake my head. He can’t just march in here like this, not after what he’s done. ‘No, I’ll send you your things, Harry. It’s time for you to leave.’ I push him in the back towards the door.

  ‘Orly, wait.’

  ‘No! I’m not waiting for you ever again!’ With one final shove I push him over the threshold and slam the door with a satisfying bang.

  My hands quake as I fall onto the sofa, berating myself for being so blind! I take out my mobile phone and go to delete Harry from Facebook, and to unfollow Carly C for good measure too, but not before I stalk their pages and see they’ve already amassed plenty of support from the public. Well-wishers the world over post gushy messages to Carly C.

  Emma says: You’re such a role model, strong, empowering and inspirational! Your new album is the kind of anthem we need right now! And the new man is hotter than HOT!

  I scroll down her page and see hundreds of messages in the same ilk. Like Carly C is some kind of saviour and her ‘new man’ only adds to her appeal!

  I swipe them out of sight, as my heart silently shreds itself inside my body. I scream out to the ether: ‘I need a new life! A new beginning! A new direction!’

  I can’t be this person anymore. This pushover, this workaholic, this mundane half-version of myself. Notifications pop up on Facebook, probably ‘friends’ tagging me in more posts about the lovebirds. I don’t look, instead I flick down wondering what normal people are posting about, what normal people are doing with their lives tonight.

  An ad pops up for a real estate broker and I pause, suddenly stone-cold sober. It’s as though the universe heard my plea. In the thumbnail is a picture of a grand hall with a heading that says: Escape to Honeysuckle Hall, your new life awaits! Goose bumps break out over my skin – this is a sure-fire sign. I’ve been looking at properties for years and none of them have been quite right, but I know, I know, instinctively this is the one.

  I click on the link and read about the place:

  Honeysuckle Hall, situated in the picturesque town of Eden Hills, has had a rich and illustrious history and now needs a new owner to bring it back to its former glory. Whilst the grand hall has been vacant for years, it has been maintained and only needs some cosmetic work to make it shine once more. There’s also a gatekeeper’s cottage attached so if you’re more business-minded there’s the possibility of making the hall into accommodation or a venue for weddings. Wander the lush green grounds and delight in the sweet fruity aroma of honeysuckles that grow wild and free. Swim in the adjoining lake. A dream lifestyle is right here waiting for you. All you need to do is take the plunge!

  I click though the pictures, and after each one my pulse speeds up. This is it! This is the place! The price seems quite reasonable but I still wonder how I can make it happen … Before sense prevails and ruins my buzz, I type a message saying: I’ll take it! As long as I can move in as quickly as possible. I press send and fall back on the sofa with a belly laugh. I don’t make rash decisions, but this somehow feels right.

  Escape to Honeysuckle Hall, indeed!

  *

  My head throbs as I survey the mess of the previous evening. Crushed-up tacos litter the table and the sweet earthy agave smell of tequila hangs in the air. The memory of Harry’s visit surfaces. Did I really tell him I’d made confetti of his suits? I didn’t actually do that but I can’t deny tequila me is someone I aspire to be sometimes. Someone braver who speaks her mind.

  In the kitchen I flick on the kettle, throw back some paracetamol and find my phone to check my emails. I grin when I see an Etsy order I made for colourful sombreros. Bloody hell, Orly. Then there’s another email:

  Dear Orly,

  Thank you for your interest in Honeysuckle Hall. It’s a magnificent property and really only needs cosmetic work and someone to realise its full potential and make use of it accordingly. Motivated sellers mean we could close within about six weeks if that’s soon enough for you? If you’d like to take a tour first, let me know.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  All the best,

  Dinesh

  The previous night comes crashing back. Did I really say I’d buy a grand hall, sight unseen? I’ve lost my mind – I rage against the anaesthetic effects of tequila! Curse you, Taco Tuesdays and tequila! Look what you made me do! The head throb gets so loud it’s almost like a recrimination.

  I hold the kitchen bench for support and think things through. I’ll tell them it was a mistake. I’ll tell them heartbreak made me do it. I’ll tell them it was done under the influence of tequila. I’ll tell them I’m sorry. I’ll tell them …

  Yes.

  Why wouldn’t I trust tequila me? Tequila me is brave and bold and knows what she wants! I click open the email and scan the pictures and the description of the hall and know it’s the sort of property I’ve been searching for all these years!

  Hastily, I type a reply to the agent and then get ready for work.

  An hour later, I stand in front of the Excès office. I glance up at our elegant signage and I know I’ve made a decision that will change the course of my life – for the better.

  I can do this and I will do this and I’ll do it my way for a change. Instead of scurrying inside like some little mouse, I strut in like a supermodel, and feel full of confidence.

  Victoria sees me and gives me a forlorn look. ‘I saw the latest in the Daily Sun. I’m so sorry, Orly.’

  ‘Never mind all that,’ I say with a firm smile. ‘Can you call an urgent meeting with the other business partners?’

  She nods solemnly. ‘I’ll do it now.’

  While I wait, I get to work finishing off tasks and readying myself.

  Victoria pops her head in my office. ‘They’re ready for you now, but ah … Harry hasn’t made it in today.’

  ‘
He’s probably shopping for more Armani suits.’

  She shoots me a confused look. ‘It’s OK, perhaps you can take notes and email him a briefing of the meeting?’ I swipe on a coat of ruby-red lipstick and I channel darling, confident Maya with my shoulders back, head held high while I head to the boardroom.

  My other two partners, Angela and Dean, stare back at me. Their faces shine with a sort of empathy but I’m sure soon enough they’ll understand I don’t need anyone’s pity.

  ‘Thanks for joining me at such short notice,’ I say and proceed to outline my plan. I stop them when they try to interrupt. I stop them when they tell me they need me. I stop them when they argue that I’m an asset. I don’t say yes, not once. I say no after no after no and it feels good!

  Dean holds up a hand. ‘If this is about money, I’m sure Angela and I, and even Harry, can commit to giving you more of a share. We understand you do a lot of the heavy lifting while we … ah work on other projects.’ Translated: have long lunches that turn into weekends away.

  ‘It’s not about the money.’ I gear up to finish. ‘I’m no longer passionate about Excès. I see my future elsewhere. If we agree on a payout figure today, I can pursue my new dream … and I’d really like that to happen as soon as possible. I’m finished here, and I’ve done all I can to bolster the business but my time at Excès has come to an end.’

  Angela’s eyes light up. ‘What’s this new dream, Orly? We’d love to be involved. Of course, we don’t need to include Harry if you’d prefer not to. We know your work ethic is second to none and you’ll make a success of whatever you put your hand to.’ Her face is hopeful but I’m reminded of all the Friday nights I was left to do the reports, all the weekends I worked while she sunbathed on clients’ yachts, greedily procuring all the perks of the job while I crunched numbers and filed paperwork. Well, not anymore.

  The pushover, yes-person version of me is gone for good.

  ‘I’m going to run a wellness camp for people suffering burnout. People mending broken hearts. People who just need to find their way. People just like me.’

  If multi-millionaires can take weekends at private islands, surely the rest of us can take long weekends in the countryside when it comes to resetting the scales of work-life balance? The conversation Maya and I had back at Bai’s really highlighted the fact that us everyday people need time out too. I continue, ‘Thanks for your confidence in me Angela, but this time, it’s best if I work alone.’

  The duo sit in stunned silence. This sparkly new idea must seem like lightyears away from Excès, and that’s exactly what I’m aiming for. Eventually we agree on a buyout figure, pending Harry’s approval too, and an end date. I won’t leave them with a pile of problems – it’s not my style. They say their goodbyes and Angela says, ‘We’d be silent partners, Orly. Just investors. Think on it, won’t you?’

  ‘Thanks but no thanks.’ I know in my heart this new step has to be taken by myself.

  *

  With the buzz of liberation flowing through my veins, I phone Maya and tell her everything.

  ‘A wellness camp? Oh, Orly, I knew you’d reinvent yourself but I didn’t expect you to be this inspired, this quickly. It’s genius! So tell me more about the idea.’

  I fiddle with a pen as I think of how to explain the notion that came to me as soon as I saw the photos of the hall. ‘I found the most amazing hall in a little town called Eden Hills, Kent. So I’m thinking an adventure camp for adults. I see a high ropes course, kayaks, campfires, a wonderland for adults who want to switch off from high-pressure lives. Life starts outside your comfort zone, right?’

  ‘Right!’

  ‘I just hope I’m not having a mid-life crisis.’ Am I crazy to think grown people would entertain such an idea? Sing-alongs and card nights. Apple-picking and pie-making …

  ‘If you are then I want to have one just the same! Mid-life crisis might be the new black. How will you know until you try? But seriously—’ she sighs ‘—how the hell am I going to survive London without you? My BFF, my confidante, my plus-one when Preston is MIA. It’s going to be so strange without you. I can’t even imagine what Fridays will be like …’

  ‘At least you’ll still have Bai launch-hugging you. I’ll probably have to throw myself at a tree for some affection, while you parade around London with a new BFF, a shiner, happier version who’ll probably be vegan, love exercising and—’

  ‘Stop right there. No one can replace my BFF and especially not someone who won’t share half my pork dumplings. Where’s the fun in that?’

  ‘True. You do love a good dumpling.’

  ‘Dumplings are life!’ She laughs. ‘And even though I’m going to pine for you, I know you’re finally following your heart, so I’ll keep reminding myself of that and you probably should too when doubt comes a-knocking. Change is hard, but if you give it everything you’ve got I know you’ll make a success of it, just like always.’

  ‘Thanks, Maya. Please tell me you’re going to take time off and reset at the camp.’

  ‘You just try keeping me away.’

  I tell Maya all about the tequila, the tacos, Harry’s surprise visit and then the way the hall appeared as if by magic and even my befuddled brain recognised it as a sign.

  ‘Golly, Orly, all that happened in one night! I’m so happy you found a place. Send me the link so I can see what’s it like and feel wildly jealous. But truly, I’m so happy for you and all that your shiny new future holds.’

  ‘The possibilities are endless!’ For the first time in forever, butterflies flutter in a good way, and I know, no matter what, this is a risk worth taking. Our dream of a sprawling country property will still happen, but on my own, and that’s OK. Instead of pandering to celebrities, I’ll help regular people who are just as important, if not more so. I feel it in my gut that this is the right step for me but I know it won’t be easy – nothing worth it ever is.

  ‘I’ll pop around tonight, yeah? What do you fancy for dinner, as long as it’s Thai? I’ll grab it on the way?’

  I smile. ‘I guess … Thai then?’

  ‘I love how we’re always on the same wavelength. Thai it is. I’ve had a hankering for tom yum goong for weeks now. But now we’ve talked about dumplings, I’m torn. Might have to get both since we’re celebrating!’

  We say our goodbyes and I look forward to the night ahead with Maya.

  Chapter 6

  Six (very fast) weeks later, my life – my whole life – is packed into a removal van and the rest in Maya’s beat-up Toyota. She insists she’s not getting a new car until this one gives up in a screaming, belching heap, which seems imminent after a very slow drive with ‘Rita’ backfiring and hiccoughing as if warning the end is nigh. Poor delusional Maya puts it down to all the extra weight from my boxes. She’s attached to her little bomb of a car and won’t hear a bad word about ‘her’.

  But secretly, this is another reason Maya is one of my people. She doesn’t care about owning a fancy new BMW, she doesn’t feel the need to be showy, even though she can afford it. Instead, she saves her money, only splurging on good meals, holidays in the sun, and time spent connecting with her circle – all things I hold dear.

  ‘Is this the turn-off?’ Maya asks, her voice laced with doubt, pointing to an overgrown laneway with a rickety fence that looks like it’ll blow down in a strong wind.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’ There’s a rusted-out sign announcing: Mrs Cully-Jones’ Finishing School for Girls. ‘The hall has had a rich and illustrious history; privately owned by a noble family, and then a home for wayward children, before it was requisitioned in WWI, then becoming a prestigious finishing school for London’s elite to help their daughters acquire social graces in order to find suitable husbands.’

  ‘Thank God feminism arrived,’ Maya mutters.

  ‘Aww come on, it’s an important skill, being taught the socially acceptable way to eat a banana, don’t you think …?’ I tease. Finishing schools were a product of the tim
es, and I can’t help but feel awe at owning a place such as this (well, I might own the front door and the bank owns the rest, but hey, it’s a start).

  She laughs. ‘I can only imagine the teacher trying to keep a straight face with that lesson!’ The car rocks and rollicks down the bumpy lane until we come to the front of the property. It’s even more magnificent in the fading summer twilight.

  ‘Oh, Orly, it’s beautiful.’ The hall stands sombrely as if waiting these long, lonely years for another chance at life. In front of the hall is the little gatekeeper’s cottage that will be my home. It looks positively tiny in comparison and shrinks under the gaze of Honeysuckle Hall as if it is an afterthought, like an unwanted baby sister. I suppose once upon a time someone manned the front gate, which has long since gone. Goose bumps break out over my skin. There’s so much history here and I can’t wait to unearth it. I’d got the hall ‘for a steal’, the real estate agent reckoned. Surely there’d been interest in such a place? I presume upkeep of a property like this was enough to scare the savviest of buyers away.

  Maya pulls up and kills the engine. ‘It’s haunted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I say bravely. If it is, then I’ll be bloody hightailing it back to London. But I don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo. I mean, it’s going to sound haunted like these old halls do when wind whips through and windows rattle but I am already mentally prepared for that. Plus, I’ll be safely tucked away in the tiny cottage, not in the cavernous hall on my lonesome.

  The lawn is overgrown and prickly as we make our way to the front door of the gatekeeper’s cottage, carting stuff from the car. I had the most detailed survey possible done on the property before I purchased it and it was reported that most of the repairs are cosmetic, not structural, so I’m hoping that means it’s not a big ol’ money pit, and just needs some gentle coaxing back to life – more of a little nip and tuck than a fully-fledged renovation.

  The previous owners of the hall looked after it, and despite it being empty for half a century they still paid for it to be maintained up until the last few years, when I’m presuming the owner must’ve died and the executor let the upkeep lapse. All maintenance stopped and the hall went up for sale without anyone taking the plunge and putting an offer in until I came along.