To the best wife a man could ever wish for, happy birthday. Hope the dress fits, can’t wait to tear it off you later. A car will pick you up at 6.45. I’ll see you there. Love you, baby. Olly xoxo
She smiled, reading his looped letters. It was easy to forget how romantic he could be when stalemates and arguments got in the way, but he was clearly trying to make it up to her. She took a sip of champagne and sat back on the sofa, looking at the Dior box. She shook her head as she thought about Smith. What had she been thinking? Guilt weighed down on her as she thought back to their near-kiss at the Sketch launch. She couldn’t let anything like that happen again. She had too much to lose and nothing to gain.
At 7.28, Effie stepped out of the black Mercedes CLS and smoothed down her dress. She smiled her thanks to the driver as he closed the door behind her, and looked up at the restaurant. Oliver stood by the door, leaning against the wall. He looked sharp in a tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt, and a smile was curling at his lips as she walked towards him.
‘Christ, you look good.’ He dropped a kiss on her lips and stepped back to look at her again.
She gave a playful twirl and laughed. ‘This is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. Thank you.’
He hooked a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. ‘A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman. Happy birthday, baby.’
Effie grinned as he took her hand and she saw the cufflinks she’d bought him for Valentine’s Day. His wearing them meant more to her than the dinner they were about to eat. She looked up at the town house exterior of the restaurant. It looked like every other building around it, and had Oliver not sent her a car to drop her off, chances were she’d have walked right past it. She’d wanted to eat here ever since she’d first seen Michel Roux Jnr on MasterChef, but she’d expected something grander. As Oliver had told her, luxury didn’t have to be ostentatious.
‘This is amazing – it’s so comfy,’ Effie said, looking around at the cosy interior of the restaurant after they’d been led to their table. Far from being modern and soulless as she might have expected, it reminded her of a Victorian parlour room with its stuffed cushion seating and circular tables. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Like I said, you deserve it. It’s your first birthday as my wife; I had to make it special.’
Oliver grinned and looked down into his menu. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d stood her up on Valentine’s Day and slapped her. But then, she had to remind herself that it had been an accident. She couldn’t fault the effort he’d put into her birthday so far, and if this was a taste of future ones to come, she was more than ready for it.
When the waiter appeared with their first course, he set the plates on the table with a flourish. ‘For your first course, madam, marinated Var salmon accompanied by a lemon and vodka jelly. For sir, a lobster mousse with Aquitaine caviar and champagne butter sauce.’
He tipped his head and quietly slipped away, leaving Effie staring at her plate. It looked so beautiful, she wanted to take a photograph. Maybe she’d better not. She had a feeling Oliver would think it crass.
‘Do you want to try some caviar?’ Oliver asked, and Effie shook her head.
‘Fish eggs? No thanks.’
‘Come on,’ he said, holding his fork out. ‘It’s really nice.’
Effie looked at the tiny spheres and stopped herself from pulling a face. How many times in her life had she ever been offered caviar? She leaned forward, and he fed her a tiny mouthful. Her nose wrinkled as she chewed.
Oliver laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste.’
She grimaced as she swallowed and washed the taste away with a glug of wine. ‘I’ve never understood that concept. Why force yourself to like something over time? Vodka jelly on the other hand . . .’
‘I’ve already got you into mussels. Caviar won’t be far behind.’ He grinned and Effie shook her head with a playful smile.
‘Unlikely.’ She looked around again. ‘Do you think we’ll get to see Michel Roux Jnr? I’ve heard he sometimes comes round to speak to the diners.’
‘I don’t know. Surely this is good enough?’
Oliver pouted and Effie quickly shook her head, putting her hand on his. ‘It’s more than enough.’
She didn’t want him to think her ungrateful, and, really, she had nothing to complain about. She watched Oliver as he ate, noting the dark shadows under his eyes.
‘You look tired,’ she said as he pushed his plate away and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.
‘It’s been a long day. This case is slipping into all shades of grey areas.’ He rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.
‘The fraud one?’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘Is he innocent?’
‘It’s not as black and white as that,’ Oliver replied. ‘Only a judge can decide whether he’s innocent or not.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I wouldn’t represent him if I thought he was guilty.’ He leaned back in his chair as the waiter collected their plates.
Effie nodded. ‘That’s fair enough.’
It must be a nightmare having to defend people labelled as criminals all the time, and she admired Oliver for sticking to his morals.
‘It’s a complex case, though. I could do with a few days away.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘I was thinking that we could go to see Mummy. What do you think?’
‘In Corsica?’
Oliver nodded. She’d been aching to go ever since he’d told her his mum had moved out there four years ago. She’d seen pictures of her old brick villa, surrounded by lemon trees, with a panoramic view of azure sea.
‘When?’
‘In the next month or so. It’d be nice to go before this all kicks off properly.’
‘Will it be hot? It’ll be nice to see your mum again.’
Even if she’s not my biggest fan.
She cringed, remembering the faux pas she’d made at the wedding. Next time round, she’d be on the charm offensive and Celeste Barton-Cole would have no choice but to love her. Any talk of Oliver’s dad would be completely off limits.
‘Yes, it should be. I’d like to go for longer, but it’s looking unlikely I’ll be able to take more time off this side of summer.’
‘See? Imagine if we’d started trying for a baby, and I’d got pregnant before the summer. It could have been ages before we’d got a proper holiday.’ She grinned, trying to make light of the topic that had caused the whole Valentine’s Day fiasco.
‘I suppose,’ he mumbled.
‘Thank you. For giving me a bit of time.’
Oliver shrugged as if it was nothing, but she knew better.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I never even thought about having children before you came along. You’ve completely turned my life around, Effie, and it’s fine if you want to wait, because I plan on keeping you forever.’
Effie smiled and drank her wine. For some inexplicable reason, a sense of unease was spreading through her body. Forever felt like an awfully long time.
14.
Happy birthday, Sweetpea.’
‘Thanks, but it was yesterday,’ Effie replied without hiding the disappointment in her voice. Apparently her mum found it easy to forget the day she’d given birth to her only child.
‘No, not quite – there was always a dispute about that. The doctor noted your time of birth as eleven fifty-eight, but you took your sweet time in making your presence known. I go with the time you finally screamed your arrival in the world. You should celebrate it over two days – I would.’
Of course she would. Penny always went against authority, and seeing as Effie had never heard this story before, it was obvious she was simply trying to cover up the fact that she’d clean forgotten.
‘What did you do? Did you go out with your friends?’
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‘No, Olly took me for dinner at Le Gavroche. You know, Michel Roux Jnr’s place?’
‘Gosh. How very civilised.’
Effie sighed. The word civilised was just as bad as conventional where Penny was concerned. She must be the only mum in the world who’d rather her daughter go out and get completely wasted instead of having a plush, luxury dinner for her birthday.
‘You should have come out here. You’d have been able to go out clubbing down in Bora Bora, and then you could have relaxed up here afterwards,’ Penny said as Effie flicked on the kettle.
‘You’re in Ibiza?’
‘Of course, Sweetpea. I always come here in the winter; you know that. It’s so beautiful.’
Effie knew her mum spent her winters in Spain, but not in Ibiza. She was sure she’d never mentioned it before because Ibiza had always been a firm bucket list destination. Maybe she should have gone. She pictured her mum looking out onto the hills of northern Ibiza with a cup of coffee, strong and black, the way she always used to take it in the mornings. She’d probably already done a round of yoga and meditation to start her off for the day.
She shook her head. As idyllic as it sounded, the reality would’ve been very different. She knew the kinds of places where her mum stayed – alternative communities where everything was shared, with a heavy emphasis on natural living. Staying there with Effie’s friends, who liked the emphasis to be more on boozy nights out, would never have gone down well, and besides, she would’ve missed out on Le Gavroche. She had Corsica to look forward to instead.
‘How’s Oliver?’
‘Fine,’ Effie replied, surprised that her mum had asked after him. She was hardly his biggest fan after all. ‘He’s a bit stressed with work, but he’s okay.’
‘And how’s the lovely Lou? It’s a shame I couldn’t get to see her.’
‘She’s alright. She’s kind of going through a rough patch with Mickey, but it’ll blow over.’
‘She’s such a lovely girl.’ Penny sighed wistfully. ‘I remember the way you two would lock yourselves in your room all afternoon and make the biggest fuss whenever I tried to join in with you.’
Well, duh. Effie shook her head and began making a cup of tea. What did her mum expect? It was beyond embarrassing when she’d try to include herself in their girly chats about makeup and boy-bands. She used to groan and scowl whenever her mum would barge into her bedroom with mugs of hot chocolate and home-made cookies before plopping herself on the floor with them.
‘Yeah. Well.’ Effie shrugged.
‘You watch. When you have children, you’ll do the same thing. It all goes by so quickly. Before I knew it, you’d gone from being my little baby who toddled around naked all day long to being a surly teenager. And now it’s your birthday. Twenty-six and married.’
Penny sniffed. Jesus, was she crying? Effie pulled a face. What was with her? She’d suddenly shifted from being absent to sending Christmas presents and crying down the phone.
‘Are you menopausal or something?’
‘Why must you always do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘That. Deflect away whenever I say something nice. I’ll never understand how I’ve created a daughter who’s so out of touch with her feelings.’ Penny sighed. ‘You’re so resistant. I’m just trying to wish you a happy birthday, that’s all. You’re my daughter, and I love you.’
Unexpected tears stung Effie’s eyes. She loves me. She remembered the walks they used to take around the fields in Dorset where they’d holiday during half-term. The barley would scrape against her legs as Penny would chase after her before scooping her up and showering her with kisses.
‘Thanks,’ Effie mumbled.
‘You should try and come out, really. The whole gang. There’s more than enough space.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
Maybe she could. It would be nice to escape for the weekend, just her and Lou. They could leave the boys at home, and Lou could take time out from whatever was going on between her and Mickey.
‘Flights are cheap at this time of year.’
‘I’m a bit skint at the minute.’
‘You’re still working, aren’t you? Is it that mortgage of yours? It is expensive.’
‘It’s not that. I’m waiting for my new bank card to arrive, and it’s taking ages. Some kind of mix-up with the bank.’
Penny laughed. ‘You can go into a branch and take money out, you know.’
Effie tutted. ‘Of course I do. It’s fine – I’ll just wait. Olly opened us up a joint account, but until my card arrives, he has to transfer money into my old account. Maybe I’ll look at flights after.’
‘So he has a bank card and you don’t?’
‘I’m still using my old account. It’s fine.’
Her mum was silent on the other end of the phone for a few seconds.
‘But your wages are paid into that account, aren’t they?’
‘No . . . I switched it over,’ Effie replied.
So, you have to ask him for money?’ Penny asked.
‘It’s not like that. It’s my salary – I’ve earned it.’
‘But you still have to ask him?’
‘Well, yeah, technically, as he has to transfer it to my old account, but only until my debit card arrives.’
‘Right.’
Effie frowned. ‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. I’m just not sure I approve, that’s all. Nobody should ever have control over your finances but you.’
‘He doesn’t control anything, it’s just a workaround.’
‘I still don’t like it.’
‘Mum, don’t.’ Effie sighed. They’d been having a nice conversation for once. Why did she have to ruin it? ‘It’s not like I have to go begging.’
‘Whatever you say, Sweetpea. But if you ever need money, you know you only have to ask me and it’s yours.’
‘Mum, you live on a commune, and you don’t work.’
‘I live in a house, in a community, and I do work. I do my reiki and massage – you know all this. I’m really not sure where you’ve got this idea of me being a layabout, wasted hippy from.’
‘Nope, me neither,’ Effie replied sarcastically.
Was she kidding? This was the woman who used to smoke a spliff with her coffee first thing in the morning and spent most of her time protesting about something or other. Wasn’t that what hippies did?
‘Honestly, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you came here. We’ve got a beautiful creek and an organic vegetable plot and . . .’ Effie tuned out. She knew what alternative communities were like.
Before they’d finally settled properly in London, they’d lived on one for a while. That had been the place with no doors, where people would wander around freely as if it were the most normal thing in the world. It was little wonder she hadn’t developed a complex about privacy, given how little of it they’d had. What kind of mum would bring her daughter up in that kind of environment? Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to visit. She didn’t want to be exposed to all that again.
‘What do you think?’ Penny asked, and Effie tuned back in. She had no idea what she’d been talking about, but she sounded excited.
‘Yeah. Yeah, sure,’ Effie muttered.
It didn’t matter what her mum had said. She might have called to wish her a happy, albeit late, birthday, and she might have told Effie she loved her, but it made no difference. Effie couldn’t forgive her mum for letting her suffer, for putting the good of the community before her own daughter, for leaving her behind. Ibiza was well and truly off the cards.
‘Bad day?’ Oliver asked later that evening. He dropped his gym bag on the floor and stood behind Effie, wrapping his arms around her waist.
‘No. Why?’
‘Because you only ever make soup when you’ve had a bad day or
you’re not feeling well.’
She looked down into the pea and mint soup she was stirring on the hob. ‘Do I?’
‘You do.’ He kissed the side of her head. ‘So, which one is it? You don’t feel hot, so you can’t be sick.’
‘Mum called.’
‘Ah. Did you have an argument?’
‘Not really. She called to wish me a happy birthday.’
‘Okay,’ Oliver said slowly as he let go of her. ‘And this was wrong because?’
Effie shrugged. ‘Because it’s just what she does. She comes along when I’m really happy and kills it.’
Oliver leaned against the worktop. ‘What did she say?’
‘Just the usual. I’m not living my life the right way, I’m not taking control enough, yada, yada, yada.’
Or, more accurately, you’re controlling everything for me.
‘Parents.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Just ignore her. She’s miles away. It’s not like you have to see her every day.’
Effie nodded. He was right, but it was too late. She couldn’t just pretend the conversation with her mum hadn’t happened. What if she were right? Effie couldn’t remember ever talking about the joint bank account, but he’d insisted they had and that she’d gone along with it. She might not have to go begging for money, but she did have to ask him to transfer it over to her when she needed it. The freedom to spend what she earned had been removed, but, as she’d told her mum, it was only temporary. She went back to stirring the soup and told herself that whoever said that mums always knew best clearly didn’t have a clue.
Love You Better Page 14