by Nicola Gill
‘It’s an investment,’ Jess said. ‘Plus, there’s no point working so hard to get yourself in such great shape and then not buying clothes to show it off.’
Laura knew she wasn’t in ‘great shape’ but she was a whole lot fitter than she’d been six months ago. After her mother had died, she’d been gripped by a fear that she was going to suddenly drop dead herself (she’d had a similar fear about her mum or Jess dying when her dad had been killed. As if the Grim Reaper loved nothing more than a two-for-one deal) but she’d mostly managed to set aside that worry by channelling it into becoming a reluctant jogger.
‘The neckline looks really good with your new hairstyle too,’ Jess said.
Laura’s hand fluttered towards her hair. Jess had talked her into going to some fancy salon in Soho and, even though the hairdresser gave Laura a deal because she was StyleMaven’s sister, it was still eye-waveringly expensive. ‘Ahh, yes, that’s another small fortune you cost me.’
‘Stop moaning,’ Jess said.
‘I’m allowed to,’ Laura said, ‘what with me being a poor student.’
Jess gave her a mock-punch in the ribs. The truth was, Laura was loving studying to be a psychotherapist. Which wasn’t to say it wasn’t exhausting, particularly given the fact she was still doing lots of freelance journalism as well, but she found it absolutely fascinating. Jess had been true to her word about helping out wherever she could, and she told everyone and anyone that her sister was training to be a therapist.
‘Anyway, the haircut was worth being poor for,’ Jess said, darting into duty-free and spritzing herself with perfume. ‘I bet even Mum would say it looks great.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Laura said, and they both started laughing.
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
‘Bye, darling. I love you.’ Jess ended her call and Laura made a vomiting motion with her fingers. ‘Oh, you can talk!’ Jess said, laughing.
‘Yes,’ Laura said, ‘but you and Ben have been together for over twenty years. You shouldn’t be able to utter his name without spitting venom by now. The mere sight of the man should irritate you. Those are the rules.’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘It’s good to get to the gate early, don’t you think? That way you can be sure of getting a seat while you wait and you don’t have any of that last-minute panic.’
Laura sighed and gestured to the almost empty seating around them. ‘I think we can safely say that last-minute panic isn’t an issue travelling with you.’ She got her book out of her bag and Jess took out her iPad. ‘Tell me you’re not working,’ Laura said, glancing over at Jess’ screen.
‘Just replying to a few DMs.’
‘Of course. Mustn’t keep our loyal audience waiting. Any horrible messages?’
‘Not today.’ Jess winked. ‘I guess you can’t post when you’re sitting right next to me.’
‘Not funny,’ Laura said. She looked out of the window at their plane. Hard to believe it was taking them to Las Vegas. And hard to believe what they were going to do when they were there.
After that terrible day in their mum’s flat, she and Jess had gone three months without speaking, although Jess had made several attempts, and not a day went by when Laura didn’t question herself about whether the huge lump of anger she was carrying around with her was actually being directed at the wrong person. She kept away from Jess though, even when Billy repeatedly moaned about how much he missed his cousins.
Then one morning Laura opened her front door to a courier who delivered a brightly wrapped rectangular package. Laura opened it up to find a dark green leather photograph album. She turned the first page and saw a picture of the man she had always thought of as her father. He was grey-faced but grinning as he held a tiny newborn bundle in his arms that Laura knew to be her. On the next page was a photograph of her and her dad in which she was about six months old and he was blowing bubbles for her in the bath. Then there was a photo of him holding her by both hands as she took teetering steps, a photo of them on her first day at ‘big school’, her dad’s eyes shining with pride, a photo of the two of them grinning as she held up her third-prize trophy from the one and only running race she had ever been placed in.
The heavily made-up stewardess behind the desk tapped the microphone and started inviting people to the gate.
By the time she’d got to the end of the photo album, Laura’s face had been streaming with tears. She took out a small white envelope and opened it.
Being a dad isn’t about biology, it’s about love, and Dad loved you so very, very much. The proof is right here in this album.
Look at the first picture of Dad holding you in the hospital just after you were born, look at his eyes and the pride and adoration that’s shining out of them and tell me that you’re not already his.
Look at the picture of Dad getting you out of your cot. Do you remember how he always talked, making it sound as if it was a wonderful thing, about how he did all your night feeds and it took you ages to sleep through?
Look at the picture of you, Dad and that toy monkey you used to love so much. Dad once drove seventy miles in the dark and the rain to go back to Auntie Sheila’s house and get that monkey because you couldn’t sleep without it.
There are photos of Dad teaching you to ride a bike, playing with your doll’s house like it’s fascinating to him, reading you a story (he will have been doing all the voices).
And don’t forget all the everyday moments that might not have made the photo album but do make a dad. The cuddles when you weren’t well, the kisses to grazed knees, the testing and retesting on spellings and times tables. Dad earned the right for you to call him that because he was the one who cried as he watched you play Shepherd Number Three in the school nativity play, the person who, patiently and gently, helped you learn long division, the person who made lame jokes to try to make you smile when you were fed up. I read a newspaper article recently where they interviewed some kids in care, and something one little boy said really jumped out at me: ‘It’s not who borned you that matters but who looks after you.’
Dad was – and is – proud of you and you will always be his little girl. (And, sadly for me, his favourite!)
Laura had called her sister straightaway.
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
Jess was sleeping but Laura was damned if she was going to miss a second of flying to Vegas. She could still scarcely believe they were actually doing this.
As she sipped her wine, she found herself thinking back to the day she and Jess had hatched the idea of this whole crazy trip. They had been talking about how neither of them had ever been to Vegas and, although Laura had said she was quite happy to never go, as she’d said the words she’d known she was lying to herself. Because tacky though Vegas was, it was also somewhere she felt she needed to see, even if it was just to prove to herself it was awful.
‘Mum always said she regretted not going there,’ Jess said. ‘And that she never got to see the Grand Canyon.’
‘Let’s take her,’ Laura said. Which is how they finally decided what they were going to do with their mother’s ashes. Or cremains, as the undertaker insisted on calling them, even though Laura hated the word and thought it sounded like the name of a fancy pastry. Ooh, those cremains are to die for.
‘More wine, madam?’ the stewardess purred. Madam decided it would be rude not to and held out her glass.
She reclined her seat a little and gazed out of the window, her birth father suddenly popping into her head as if she’d seen his face right there in the clouds. She had found Arthur Robert Keele on Facebook one evening after one too many glasses of pinot grigio (her, not him, although judging by his profile, Arthur appreciated a glass of wine or seven). Arthur had a big, red, friendly face; he looked kind, although Laura had read enough about people finding birth parents to know it was important not to idolize them.
Laura’s head had spun with all the new information. Her father lived in Devon, just a few hours away fr
om her. He loved the beach, especially in winter. His wife – a plump-faced woman with a huge smile – was called Soraya and was a retired art school teacher. Laura had two half-brothers, one of whom looked spookily like her.
Jess adjusted her eye mask but, annoyingly to Laura – who was desperate to have someone to share the excitement with because they were going to Vegas! – stayed asleep. ‘I’m just going to have a little doze,’ she had announced, as soon as she had doused the tray tables with anti-bac hand wash and wiped them down.
After finding Arthur online, Laura had shut her laptop without messaging him and she had yet to make any form of contact. She wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with all his emotions as well as her own just yet. ‘Will you ever contact him?’ Jon had asked her. Laura had said she probably would, but that she wasn’t ready yet.
She looked out at the clouds and, despite herself, felt her eyelids starting to grow heavy.
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Of course the airline had lost their suitcases.
‘My mother’s ashes are in one of those cases,’ Jess said.
The woman behind the desk tried to keep the smile pasted on her glossy fuchsia lips. ‘Let me see what I can do, honey.’ She picked up her desk phone and started hammering at the keypad with the side of her thumb (presumably protecting her talon-like fuchsia nails from impact). ‘Hi, it’s Jeannie. We’ve got a bit of a situation here …’
Laura stood there feeling wilted and crumpled, regretting the four glasses of wine on the plane.
‘I hope they manage to track down Mum,’ Jess said.
Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘She always was a bit of a liability at airports.’
Jess laughed. ‘True. Do you remember when we lost her in Majorca?’
‘Yeah, she was being chatted up by the guy in duty-free.’ Laura couldn’t believe they had gambling machines in McCarran airport. Or that dead-eyed people were sitting feeding coins into them with a look of grim determination when they were just a short cab journey away from some of the world’s biggest and best casinos. Welcome to Vegas!
Laura’s phone pinged with a message from Marcus. Landed safely? Love you xx
Yes, Laura messaged back. She didn’t mention the lost bags because, like her sister, he was a bit of a worrywart. Love you too. xx
Even though they’d only been seeing each other for four months, her relationship with Marcus felt easier and more established than it had any right to be. Recently, they’d even introduced each other to their respective children (Marcus had a daughter six months younger than Billy). The weird thing was, Laura hadn’t even been that keen to go out with Marcus at first. She was fresh from her ill-feted attempt at making a go of things with Jon (who was now dating Beyoncé – although sadly, just the lookalike) and she didn’t want to get into another relationship, but Marcus had been quietly and persuasively insistent and made it clear he wasn’t going to be shaken off easily. On their third date, he’d told her he loved her and Laura hadn’t known whether to be thrilled – because damn, the guy was hot, smart and funny – or horrified by how fast things were moving.
‘Is this weird – what we’re doing?’ Jess said.
Laura laughed. ‘No. Everybody flies to Vegas for a weekend with their dead mother and then takes a helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon where they land and scatter her ashes.’
Jess laughed. ‘To be fair, I’ve heard weirder. Some people have their loved ones’ ashes shot into the air on a firework or in a helium balloon, some people scatter them on their favourite team’s football pitch. And I told you about Hank Jax, didn’t I?’
‘He snorted some of his dad’s ashes?’
Jess made a face. ‘That’s right. I mean, no thank you. No offence to Mum, of course.’
Laura giggled. ‘I think Mum would be fine with us not wanting to snort her.’
‘We must remember not to stand upwind,’ Jess said. She had watched endless YouTube videos about how to scatter ashes (yes, such things existed) and this was a key piece of advice. Also, to take baby wipes with you so you didn’t have to disrespectfully wipe the last of your loved one on your jeans (not that leaving them on a baby wipe seemed much better to Laura).
Jeannie was off the phone and was furnishing them with an update. The suitcases had been tracked down to Seattle. Laura hoped some poor bugger hadn’t opened the grey suitcase thinking it was theirs and been greeted by a large bag of human remains.
Jeannie said the airline was so sorry and they would have the suitcases at the hotel by tomorrow morning at the latest. Where were they staying? Oh, The Venetian, they were in for a treat! They were to be sure to take a gondola ride. And they should definitely eat at Tao. T-A-O. The shrimp tempura was just too good. And the crispy pork bao buns – she was getting hungry even thinking about them!
Laura left Jess to talk to Jeannie about making a claim for basic toiletries and underwear (even though Laura knew Jess had packed both in her hand luggage).
They had decided not to make the scattering of the ashes a formal thing. There weren’t going to be any readings or music or poems and there would only be Jess and Laura there (the helicopter pilot keeping a pre-arranged discreet distance at this point). Both Jess and Laura would share a favourite memory of their mum. Laura had been somewhat surprised to find that she didn’t struggle in the least to find something to say, even though up until fairly recently, and certainly in the immediate aftermath of finding her birth certificate, she’d had very few nice things to say about her mother at all.
Jess and Jeannie said goodbyes to each other that were so warm Laura was half expecting to be invited to Jeannie’s for Sunday lunch. ‘Are you ready?’ Jess said, turning to Laura.
‘I’m ready.’
Acknowledgements
My first thank you goes to my extraordinary agent Tanera Simons. Not a day goes by, Tanera, that I don’t think how lucky I am to have you in my corner.
The same goes for you Katie Loughnane. Not only do you have the appropriate levels of enthusiasm for leopard-print, but you’re a brilliant and insightful editor. You’re also a total pleasure to work with – even when you suggest I cut 20,000 words.
My third shout-out goes to the wonderful Sabah Khan, head of publicity. You are unrivalled at what you do, the best champion any author could wish for and a total force of nature.
Thank you to everyone at Darley Anderson, with special mention to Mary Darby, Kristina Egan and Georgia Fuller.
Thank you to the peerless team at Avon. I am grateful to each and every one of you, especially Ellie Pilcher, Sanjana Cunniah, Caroline Bovey, Holly Macdonald, Beth Wickington, Rebecca Fortuin and Phoebe Morgan.
Thank you to all the fantastic book bloggers and book sellers out there. The energy and enthusiasm you bring is humbling. I am especially grateful to Hazel Broadfoot and the team at Village Books in Dulwich.
I am also indebted to Vicky Grut whose writing workshops I attended. People who say you can’t teach writing haven’t met Vicky.
Gemma Champ, Caroline Garnar and Steve Clinton, thank you for reading We Are Family when it was in no fit state to be read. Your encouragement and advice were invaluable. You are brilliant writers and brilliant friends – a combination I rather took advantage of.
Hedy-Anne Freedman, you have been in my life since our school days and not only can you make me cry with laughter, but you are a font of wisdom on everything from grief to trainer socks.
Debra Davies, thank you for being a brilliant mate and for being so incredibly supportive about my writing. God help anyone who knows you and doesn’t buy my books!
Honourable mentions also to this lovely lot: Sally Bargman, Brian Davies, Sara Nair, Krish Nair, Phil Lewis, Frani Heyns, John O’Sullivan, Nicky Peters, Sue Arkell, Ruth Mc Carthy, Carol Deacon, Alex Judge, Katia Hadidian and Angeli Milburn.
And so, appropriately enough in a book called We Are Family, to my family. Mum, thank you for believing I could do this even when I didn’t. I still don’t know
why literary agents weren’t more impressed when I said my mother thought I wrote well. Patrick Crichton-Stuart, thanks for being the best brother anyone could ask for and for reading my books even though they contain scant reference to Alex Ferguson! Sophie Crichton-Stuart, my lovely sister, thanks to listening to me bang on about this forever. Big hugs to the rest of the crew too: Kit Crichton-Stuart, Harry Crichton-Stuart, Freddie Crichton-Stuart, Toby Green, Lex Green, Jenny Crichton-Stuart, Jo Dangerfield and Uncle Bill.
To my dad, to whom this book is dedicated. I wish you were around to see this.
To my husband, Stuart, who I fell in love with when I was ‘just a baby’ and I have grown up with. Thank you for being with me every step of the way. I promise one day I will learn to work track changes on my own.
To my sons, Charlie and Max. I know I don’t mention it much but I love you so, so much and I am ridiculously proud of you.
Finally, a huge thank-you to all the readers who buy, review and recommend my books – and especially anyone who takes the time to contact me personally. Those messages bring me a huge amount of joy.
If you enjoyed We Are Family, you’ll love The Neighbours …
Click here to buy now.
About the Author
Nicola Gill lives in London with her husband and two sons. At the age of five, when all of the other little girls wanted to be ballet dancers, she decided she wanted to be an author. Her ballet teacher was very relieved.
By the same author:
The Neighbours
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada