“Was Matteus into silver too?”
“Nope.” Jess sucks her breath. “He was an extreme sports instructor. He took jobs around Central America, teaching zip-lining, rappelling, canyoning, and”—she pauses, feels the anxiety ripping through her—“skydiving.”
“Oh—”
“That day…he packed my parachute.”
Guy blinks, half-horrified, half-captivated.
“He packed your parachute? Your boyfriend packed your parachute, and it failed to open?” His voice is so loud and animated that other guests in the café turn to look. “Jeez! I mean…did the boy not like you or something? Was he trying to bump you off? Was he after your silver?”
Jess forces a laugh. “He’d packed a thousand parachutes before. He was fully qualified. The authorities investigated, said the issue was technical. No foul play, just a snagged string. One of those things.”
“But still, he’s got to be blamed for something?”
Jess hangs her head.
“It’s complicated. I don’t blame him for my accident, but…after…”
She shuts her eyes, exhales, feels the sting anew.
“At first he really cared for me. He was there every day at the hospital. My sister flew out and he helped her, too, made sure she had a decent hotel, assisted with the Spanish. There were issues with travel insurance and medical bills and what have you, but he helped out with all of that. And while I was trapped in that hospital bed, in shock and utterly immobile, he told me everything I needed to hear. We made plans, mapped out the rest of our lives. It was the thing that got me through, the thought of getting back to London with Matteus and making a life together.
“He made me feel like everything was going to be fine, better than fine…great. And then, just as I was coming around from my fourth surgery, completely out of the blue, he sent a text saying he was very sorry, but he just ‘couldn’t do it anymore.’ Said he was going fly-fishing in Guatemala or something. Although judging by his Instagram account, it was pretty clear he’d met someone else. I don’t know. We’ve lost touch.”
“Oh, Jess! Good lord! You need to improve your taste in men!”
“Noted. And I have. I mean, Tim is lovely. He’s nothing like Matteus. Total opposite.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Jess sits back, relieved to have shared the story. She has rarely felt comfortable talking about it, yet now that it’s out there, a wall has come down. It has also, she realizes, provided a cautioning of sorts: don’t mess me around; I’ve had more than my fill of it. In the following silence, she takes a mouthful of pecans, pastry, and cream.
“So where are you now?” asks Guy. “Where are you with your recovery?”
“My extreme sports days are numbered, but I’m good. I’ve been well looked after, staying with my sister and her family. And now I’m ready to get my independence back. In fact—”
She pauses, feels suddenly self-conscious about revealing the news that she and Tim are moving in together. A nearby phone alarm beeps, reminding her of time passing, time she hasn’t got. Aggie’s comment flits through her mind: They said days, weeks if we’re lucky.
“Anyway, about my necklace,” she urges, steering back to purpose.
Guy stretches, scratches his belly, releases a slow exhale.
“I assume,” she asserts, “that it has no real meaning to you, not in the way it does for me, so if we can make a deal right now—”
Guy winces.
“It would mean so much to me,” she persists. “And obviously it would mean the world to my grandmother.”
“I get that, Jess, but—”
“Please. At least, if you won’t sell it to me, maybe I could borrow it for a day? That’s all I ask. One day. Lend it to me for just one day.”
Guy shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Jess. If I could, I would, but—”
“But what?”
He shuts his eyes.
“It’s no longer mine to lend. It’s in the hands of my client now.”
“Your client?” Jess cringes at the word. “Who…who is this client?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Oh, please.”
“Stella Weston.”
“The supermodel?”
“Ex-supermodel turned influencer. She has a thing about butterflies. She’s planning to wear the necklace to the Capital Gala. She’s been negotiating with dress designers all week. That necklace is hopefully going to get her hashtag trending for days. Fashion cred, it’s what she lives for.”
Jess glowers, pained at the idea of her necklace—the potency of its Taylor past, the rhythm of its Taylor heart—now reduced to a mere fashion accessory for an Instagram post.
“But would it hurt to swap it for something else?” she pleads. “I mean, I could find her an equally lovely butterfly necklace, for free.”
“Ah, Jess, there’s no way she’ll pass it up now. She’s consulting with her media team as we speak. In fact, that was her phoning. I expect she wants me to take her to her favorite sushi place and feed her seaweed.”
“How romantic. Well, enjoy that, won’t you?”
“Jess, I’m not her boyfriend. I’m just—”
“Her bitch?”
“That’s not the word I use.”
“But you run around after her, do whatever she tells you?”
“We’re good friends.”
Jess huffs.
“It’s a red carpet event,” he says optimistically. “She’ll be in all the papers. Who knows? Your necklace might be the star—”
“So you concede it’s my necklace?”
“Ach. You got me.”
His phone buzzes again and his head drops. Suddenly he looks exhausted, as though being “good friends” with Stella Weston is more an effort than a joy. He checks the screen, shuts his eyes.
“She wants me now.”
“Oh, does she? Well, off you trot, then—”
“But it feels like we’ve only just sat down. I don’t want to rush off. I don’t want a time limit.”
Jess is unmoved.
“Time limits? I’ll tell you about time limits: how about my dying grandmother.” She throws her hands up in despair. “My god! I need to be with her, not squandering precious minutes with you staring at cake crumbs—”
“Yes, of course you do,” says Guy. “I’m sorry.”
Jess gets up to leave.
“Wait—” he says.
He grasps her hand. His touch makes her shiver.
“The gala is coming up. Once she’s worn the necklace, it’ll go in the closet, and after that she won’t look at it again. Won’t even miss it. If your grandma can hang on, once Stella’s had her moment, I’ll get it for you.”
“If she hangs on—”
“I’ll do what I can,” says Guy. “Don’t worry. I’m a pro at these sorts of shenanigans.”
“I bet you are,” says Jess, sweeping her raincoat as she walks away.
In the main vestibule, where the walls are lit, the ceilings are high, and naked marble torsos mingle with loud-shirted patrons, a sense of a dream comes over her—did this hour with Guy really just happen? As she shoves herself through the revolving doors, the street sounds assaulting her senses, a kernel of panic rises. No necklace for Nancy, and now she’s running late for Tim—his big night, their big night. She checks her watch, tugs her coat around her shoulders, and hobbles headlong through the rain to the Tube station.
***
Through the cozy light of the bar, she sees him. He is in the Baxter Academy huddle, the trestle table at the window—the same one as always. She can see in his face that he’s a little forlorn. And she knows, arriving an hour later than promised, that she has done this to him. She steels herself, smiles, and waves.
“Jess—
”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, diving to kiss him, breathless with guilt. “I–I just got…caught up.”
Tim makes room for her on the bench.
“Hey, everyone,” she says, extending a wave around the group.
They all smile, say hi, take a moment to ogle the scarab necklace, then return to their conversations. Luck in battle, she thinks. She might need it.
“I messaged you twice,” says Tim, mildly accusatory.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I was on the Tube.”
“The Tube? Why were you on the Tube?”
Jess hesitates, Guy with his sparkly eyes close in her thoughts. What to say? What not to say?
“I–I wanted to look at some sparkles,” she says, instinct ordering her to go easy with the truth, “so I went to Kensington, to the Victoria and Albert Museum, just to browse.”
Why ignite a prickly conversation on their big night?
She holds her breath, straightens her scarabs, knees twitching. Tim stares at her as though trying to read the thoughts in her head—only for a second, but it feels like a minute.
“You and your sparkles,” he says eventually. “You’re here now. That’s the main thing.”
He kisses her softly and everything shifts back into position, warmth and unity restored. Relieved, Jess steals a sip of his pint and snuggles into him.
“Have you told them?”
“About the promotion—yes, of course.”
“No, I mean, about us moving in together.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Ah, yes.” Jess looks at her lap. “Sorry again.”
“Oh, come on,” says Tim, jostling her. “Shall we?”
He clears his throat, tings his door key on his beer glass.
“People. We have an announcement.”
They stop immediately, look toward him.
“Don’t tell us,” crows Duff, “they’ve already demoted you!”
The quip is greeted with jeering and laughter. Tim beats it down with an affable grin.
“Watch yourself,” he jokes. “As of September I’m your line manager, remember? But no, this is personal. We just wanted to tell you all…Jess and I…we’re moving in together.”
“Oh wow!”
“Aw. You two are perfect for each other.”
“About bloody time!”
“This calls for another round,” says Duff. “You getting them, Tim?”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Tim, relishing the moment of being “the one,” as everyone jumps in with man-hugs, fist bumps, and handshakes.
Colette, one of the silver-chain-wearing math teachers, who tonight has branched out with ear studs in the shape of treble clefs, leans forward and kisses Jess on the cheek.
“Congratulations. I was hoping things would move on between you two. I’ve known Tim for years. He had a rough time with his ex, but…you make him happy.”
“Thanks,” says Jess. “He makes me happy too.”
“Good,” Colette says, nodding profusely, grin fixed, giving Jess the distinct feeling she’s being second-guessed.
Are the silver chains on to her? Do they know? About what exactly? About Jess meeting Guy again and allowing herself, for just an hour, to enjoy his company? Get a grip, she tells herself, chasing out the paranoia. No crime has been committed, apart from the half-truth she told Tim about where she’d been. But that was only to protect him, to avoid an unnecessary niggle on a nice occasion. Oh, who is she trying to kid? She tenses, makes her excuses, and escapes to the toilet.
The cubicles are quiet and Jess is grateful for the peace. She runs a tap to rinse her hands, despairing at her ability to throw the pieces up in the air, just when everything seemed like it was falling into place.
“Oh, Jessy,” she sighs, pulling her hands down her cheeks, dragging the flesh of her lips with them. “What are you doing?”
Disloyalty is not her style.
And Guy is not her type.
Guy van der Meer is one hundred percent definitely not her type.
Anymore.
She’s grown up, moved on.
Because any man can look good on the spot, say the right things, make a girl feel special. Hell, she’s fallen for it before. All those blue-eyed boyfriends who seemed too good to be true—they were! Matteus being a prime example. But kudos to Tim, who’ll soon be helping her box up her things, carrying her forward into a future that works. Happiness secured: new home, good jobs, nice life, start saving for a John Lewis kitchen extension with a built-in wine cooler and make damn good trifle.
But—she shudders—is this really what she wants?
The woman who once rowed five miles down a river in the Belizian rain forest in the hope of finding a fabled bejeweled cave. The woman who spent a year teaching art and English to children in a remote village in Cambodia. The woman who said “yes” to every extreme activity going, from caving to kitesurfing to the ill-fated skydiving. The woman who gave two years of her life to sixth-form college, only to give it up on a whim when she heard there were full-moon raves in Thailand that would change your life forever.
Is the conventional life really for her?
Oblivious to the comings and goings of a group of drunk women, one word plays over in her head: OUI. She thinks of Nancy with her cabin in the woods. Of Minnie, fleeing marriage when her yearning for creativity took hold. And Anna, the Hollywood dreamer with the exaggerated imagination. What would they do? In their own ways they were all risk takers, but were there happy endings for each of them? Were the risks worth it? And what, then, of Carmen, Jess’s own mother, who never had the chance to take risks, her story cut too short?
Suddenly she wishes she’d known her mother better, known all of them better. If she had, maybe she would know herself better. She ponders Nancy’s proclamation: We called it the True Love Necklace. The sweet but unlikely notion that the translucent wings and shimmering moonstone could fast-track the necklace’s owner to her soul mate—a Taylor talisman. Oh, if only! Jess throws her head back, stares at the strip lights on the ceiling. Cupid in a jewel, helping her make good choices in love. What a lot of heartache that would spare, especially when the people who are good for her and the people who thrill her seem to be very different creatures.
She shuts her eyes, breathes slow, and makes a silent pledge to find out all she can about the lives and loves of the women who made her, hoping that somehow their stories, their journeys, will lead her to clarity.
***
Early the next day, Jess goes to the care home. As she pushes the double doors, she is engulfed by the possibility that this might be one of the last times she makes this journey. She pads down the corridor through the disinfected air and enters Nancy’s room. Nancy is asleep, thinner than ever, barely making a mound in the sheets, the ridges of her skull clearly visible beneath her wispy hair. She looks as small as a child. How strange, thinks Jess, that at the end of our life we almost return to the beginning.
“Hi, Grandma,” she whispers.
Nancy opens her eyes, takes in the light but doesn’t speak, so Jess fills the silence with questions.
“Are you comfortable? Is there anything you need?”
Nancy just smiles and stares, as though the beige wall in front of her is a point of impelling interest. She is fading, thinks Jess, having always found her conversational. A nurse bustles in.
“Oh, hello,” she says. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking her charts.”
“She’s not talking,” says Jess. “Is it—?”
She doesn’t quite know what she means to ask.
“Her focus is coming and going,” says the nurse kindly. “Last night I got a very crisp commentary about life in Hollywood, of all things.”
Jess laughs. “Oh, that one. She claims she was born there, you see.”
“So she told me. She said something about a house, a fantastic house, that she had to leave—”
“Hmm,” says Jess ruefully. “To be honest, I don’t know much about her early life. I dearly wish I did, but she was always very secretive. There’s a family rumor that she and her mother lived in Hollywood, but I’m not sure how much of it is true.”
If only Nancy had told the stories while she still could! The comfort of knowing where you come from—your traits, your talents, your strengths, your weaknesses, your inherited genes, all helping you make sense of yourself, giving credence to your fleeting existence in time.
“Who knows?” says the nurse, placing a check mark on the clipboard hooked to the end of the bed. “Maybe you should watch that TV program—Who Do You Think You Are?—where the celebrities trace their ancestry. I love a bit of genealogy.”
As the nurse chats, Jess notices a tarnished Victorian locket peeping out from her collar. She smiles, wonders if a pair of nursing ancestors are tucked inside, always carried with her, making her feel just a little more connected to her past, to her history.
“I like your necklace,” she says.
“Thanks,” says the nurse. “Actually, you’ve just reminded me… Last night your grandma talked about a necklace. She kept repeating it. I got the impression it was really bothering her.”
“Ah yes,” says Jess, flooding with guilt. “Yes, that’s something I do know about. Thanks.”
“No problem. She’s a sweetheart,” says the nurse. “A really sweet lady.”
Ha, thinks Jess, if you only knew.
Chapter Nine
The North Welsh countryside is green upon green: low pastures, little rivers with stone humped bridges, a backdrop of heather-clad mountains, and the jagged outline of pine trees. As the taxi pulls up to the entrance of the Pel Tawr estate, Jess leans out, takes a gasp of air, and smiles. She has one night booked in a nearby guesthouse. Aggie couldn’t—wouldn’t—join her. Tim couldn’t get the time off work at the last minute. But maybe time alone is what she needs right now; time to think. She pays the taxi driver, and with a wince and wrench—all that time sitting on the train has stiffened her spine—she clambers out of the cab.
The pollution of London is well behind her. There is not a single traffic noise, just the bleat of sheep and the trickle of waterways. No wonder Nancy loved it here, Jess thinks, in her cabin in the glade, sun glinting on the dewy grass. It must have felt like heaven, to be peaceful among the birds and trees, which never once complained or told her how she should live.
The Lost and Found Necklace Page 10