Always With Love

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Well, I’m not sure how a Victoria sponge cake will sit within all that grandeur.’

  ‘Who cares? I’m going to love it!’ he exclaims as a waiter comes over with our lunch – two buckets of crispy fried calamari and chips. A complete over-indulgence on our behalf, but we are on holiday, and it is still Christmas … so we keep telling ourselves, anyway.

  ‘Your mum is so excited about it,’ I say, munching on a hot, salty chip, as an image of matriarch Julie carrying around a mammoth ‘to-do’ list in a notepad flickers across my memory from earlier.

  She’s a lady on a mission.

  Ever since Richard spilled the beans (we’d probably still be kept in the dark if it wasn’t for him), she’s been ticking off every minute detail from her list and barking out orders to get the things that aren’t done sorted.

  The poor staff.

  ‘She loves a party,’ Billy grins, shoving food into his mouth before wiping his hands on a blue cotton napkin.

  ‘Perhaps we should’ve stayed and helped?’ I say.

  ‘And done what? We’d have got in the way,’ Billy shrugs, clearly thankful not to be a part of the whirlwind his mum is creating. ‘Besides, you’re doing your bit tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re helping, too,’ I frown.

  ‘Of course,’ he smiles, reaching over and placing a reassuring hand on my calf.

  Having met Dee, I know that she’s every bit as lovely as Billy described her. The curvaceous and pint-sized Filipino lady is extremely friendly, hardworking and bubbly. So far I’ve not heard her complain once about the millions of extra chores being passed over to her. If anything, she seems to thrive on the chaos that Julie brings her way.

  I’m looking forward to showing her a few recipes, knowing that’ll she’ll pick them up with ease, but I’d still like Billy to be there with me in the kitchen that I don’t know – even if it’s just to pass me baking trays or to find the baking powder and butter.

  ‘Are you having fun?’ Billy asks over the top of his glasses. ‘Do you like LA?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sun, the food and meeting your family,’ I say, sticking a ring of calamari into my mouth.

  ‘They can be overpowering.’

  ‘They’re great,’ I say, although tempted to completely agree with him.

  ‘That too,’ he smirks.

  ‘Do you think they’d ever move back?’

  ‘To England?’ he asks with surprise, even though it’s a topic he must have thought about before, having spent the last few years apart. ‘Maybe kicking and screaming,’ he laughs.

  ‘They certainly seem nicely settled,’ I agree with a nod, picking up a lemon chunk and squeezing it over the top of my lunch.

  ‘I think Mum’s the one who’d find moving back most difficult. It’s not even that she’s settled here, but her life is so hugely different.’

  ‘The staff?’

  ‘No!’ Billy laughs. ‘Well, in part. She’s just got no stress. No responsibility. Sometimes I’m not sure if what I did for them is a blessing or not. Fancy placing someone on a permanent vacation. I think I’d go mad.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ asks a young girl in an orange bikini, flanked by a younger boy who could possibly be her sibling. Her eyes widen when Billy looks up at her, clearly nervous now she’s dragged his attention away from his lunch. ‘Sorry to interrupt your food, but can we grab a quick selfie with you?’

  ‘Sure,’ Billy smiles happily, wiping his hands on the napkin and jumping off his sunbed as though it’s not an inconvenience at all, even though we’re halfway through a conversation and eating our lunch.

  The two youngsters are gone within seconds, but their coming over seems to have sparked the interest of other sunbathers who’d previously been unaware of Billy’s presence amongst them. They are now peering across at us over their phones, or through their dark sunglasses as though trying to be inconspicuous. Maybe they’re deciding whether it’s actually him, making judgements on what he looks like in the flesh or wondering whether to come over.

  A few do. All pleasant and lovely people, of course, but our cosy day for two on the beach quickly turns into Billy being surrounded by a dozen or so other sunbathers. I still find it completely odd, unable to marry together the public perception of Billy with the man I love. Back home, Billy can walk through Rosefont Hill with ease, but over here he’s watched like an animal in a zoo. What an odd way to live. Not that he seems to mind. Despite his protests, it’s clear that part of Billy enjoys the attention. Not in a big-headed way, of course, he simply exudes a humble warmth that draws people to him and makes him instantly likeable. And that’s what makes him wonderful.

  He doesn’t really complain about this side of fame. He takes it all with a pinch of salt. I, on the other hand, am the one who finds it all alarmingly scary.

  We quickly finish our lunch and decide to head to the privacy of his home.

  8

  ‘Now, I can make a bed in ten seconds flat, I can polish silver so hard you’ll be able to see your reflection in it for weeks – but one thing I cannot do is make those pesky English cakes,’ Dee declares in her thick accent while grinning widely and welcoming me into the kitchen.

  It’s the morning of New Year’s Eve and before the chaos reaches its peak, Dee, Billy and I have gathered to whip up some treats for the party, while teaching Dee how to make a few home comforts for the Buskin family in the process.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Dee. It’s easy. Even Billy can do it,’ I say, nodding in his direction as he climbs up on to a bar stool and sits at the kitchen counter.

  ‘Him?’ Dee shrieks, letting out a howl of laughter at the thought of it.

  ‘Hidden talents, Dee,’ he grins, looking pretty impressed with himself.

  ‘I’d say,’ she nods, wiping a rogue tear from her eye. Clearly the thought of Billy baking is too much for her, a fact I can’t help feeling some pride in. It’s nice to know he’s picked up the surprising skill because of meeting me.

  ‘I got all the ingredients you said we’d need,’ Dee says, motioning over to the kitchen side where flour, sugar, fruit and all sorts of colourings and flavourings have been piled.

  ‘Looks perfect,’ I say, walking over and inspecting the products in American packaging I don’t recognize.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so scared of baking,’ says Billy, shaking his head at her.

  ‘I’m not scared now I know you can do it,’ she retorts with a grin, looking back at me expectantly, letting me know she’s ready.

  ‘We’ll start with Billy’s favourite,’ I say, pulling out a few packets of different ingredients and moving them over to where they’re waiting.

  ‘Lemon drizzle,’ Billy says, licking his lips as he nudges a glass bowl and a set of electric scales in my direction.

  We bake for hours – churning out a bakewell tart, Victoria sponge, Eccles cakes, custard tarts, a rich fruit cake, marbled mint and chocolate cake and two dozen classic Chelsea buns. We even make up a batch of Molly’s signature scones, which will be nicely displayed with a variety of English jams and clotted creams that have been flown in especially for the occasion – highly excessive for my liking, but no one else seems to think so.

  It’s a mammoth baking session, with me talking Dee through all the tiny but significant methods that could have led to her previous baking disasters. For instance, the importance of lining a tin, pre-baking your pastry when cooking tarts (no soggy bottoms here) and the necessity of finely cutting fruit into smaller pieces to encourage even distribution throughout a sponge.

  I’m in my element. For the first time since being here I feel as though I have a purpose and that I know what I’m talking about. I don’t feel lost or nervous. If anything, I revel at being the one in charge. I love it. Although it does make me miss my little spot behind the counter in the shop more than ever …

  ‘You know the hardest part?’ Dee asks, while checking on the scones in the oven for the m
illionth time and eyeing up the finished treats on the side.

  ‘What?’ I ask, drying up a washed baking tin (I wasn’t going to leave her with all the mess too).

  ‘Not being able to eat them. Not for my own greed, I assure you, but just to check they’re ready and taste good.’

  ‘You’ll just have to make sure you try it all later,’ I tell her.

  ‘I’ll be a bit too busy to eat cake,’ Dee tuts, glancing again at the oven.

  ‘You’re off tonight, surely?’ asks Billy.

  ‘Oh,’ Dee says, waving her hands about as though it’s no problem. ‘I’m not officially on duty, but you never can trust these people they have in. Agency staff,’ she says with horror. ‘I like to have an eye on them and keep them on their toes.’

  ‘Well, just as long as you get some time to celebrate too,’ Billy frowns, clearly unhappy with the idea of Dee not being able to let her hair down for the night.

  ‘I will, Billy,’ she winks, highlighting the fact that the relationship they share is more than the removed one usually seen between staff and employer. It’s far friendlier, and makes me warm towards her even more.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ asks Hayley, floating into the kitchen with her nose curled up in disgust.

  ‘Nothing for you, that’s for sure,’ smirks Billy as Dee breaks away from us to put away some of the used ingredients.

  ‘There is going to be food for me and Jenny too though, right?’ Hayley fires back, her hand finding its way to her hip in a fierce attitude.

  ‘Have I ever left you to starve before?’ asks Dee, with saintly patience.

  Before I can interrupt and say that we’ve actually made them a couple of everything-free cakes, Hayley shoots Dee a damning look before turning on her heels and walking out the door.

  ‘Whoa,’ Billy whispers, echoing my thoughts. ‘What’s her problem?’

  ‘She’s hungry,’ Dee replies flatly, clearly used to being spoken to like that.

  I’m nervous as I get ready for the allegedly small and intimate gathering (that’s actually going to be a gigantic party containing nearly everyone Billy and the Buskins know in LA).

  I decide to go for a simple dress and heels combo, all items that I brought along with me from home. Lauren did offer to take me out for a bit of a shop on Rodeo Drive to see if I fancied buying anything new, but as none of the people here (aside from Billy) have seen me in the burnt orange knee-length dress that I have with me, I decided there wasn’t much point in splashing out unnecessarily. I certainly didn’t fancy having a Pretty Woman moment while being laughed out of some fancy designer shop. That said, knowing that all the other women in the household have purchased something new has left me slightly worried that my outfit might not be up to scratch. Still, there’s not much I can do about that now – and, besides, I’m still scrubbed up compared to my normal appearance. There’s not a speck of flour on me anywhere, a clear improvement.

  ‘Oh, I love you in that,’ Billy says, coming out of the bathroom amidst a waft of his aftershave – a gorgeously musky and woody aroma that never fails to linger on my clothes and body long after he’s left a room.

  ‘Is it right for tonight?’ I ask, feeling insecure about my choice as I run my hands over my hips and back up my stomach.

  ‘It’s perfect. Just like you,’ he grins, taking my hands and leaning down to give me a kiss.

  ‘Smooth talker,’ I laugh, enjoying his praise and getting to have him all to myself for a moment.

  The kids weren’t lying when they said Julie doesn’t know the meaning of a small gathering. The huge main lounge area is already rammed when Billy and I walk in ten minutes later. An arrival that doesn’t go unnoticed thanks to Julie shouting out, ‘Here he is,’ as soon as she spots us.

  The room stops momentarily and everyone looks across, all eyes on us as we venture towards a waitress with a tray of champagne flutes and help ourselves. Billy turns and raises his glass to the crowd before taking a gulp. In response, they continue to natter and mingle, merrier now they know the promised VIP guest has arrived.

  ‘It would be really helpful if you could explain the butterflies in my stomach,’ Billy mutters in my ear, while smiling and nodding at someone who’s caught his eye across the room.

  ‘Welcome to my world,’ I grin back, taking hold of his hand and firmly squeezing it. It’s unusual for me to be the most composed but, bizarrely, knowing Billy is nervous makes me feel more confident. I even feel my spine straighten a touch in response.

  ‘I don’t know how you cope,’ Billy grunts.

  ‘Sometimes I don’t … but a simple panic attack should get you out of the situation,’ I joke, knowing my words will make him smile.

  They do.

  He grins into his glass before taking another swig. ‘Knew it was all an act.’

  ‘You’re just out of practice,’ I remind him.

  ‘I miss Rosefont,’ he whispers, causing me to beam proudly over the fact that my little village has captured his heart so much.

  I put my arm through his and clutch hold of it.

  ‘Billy!’ says a guy about our age, holding his arms out wide, scooping towards him for an embrace. His hair has been entirely shaved from his head, although the majority of his face is extremely hairy with a thick dark beard covering it.

  Billy looks at him for a second before reacting, as though he isn’t able to place him straight away. ‘Johnny Trew! Dude, it’s been ages,’ he booms in the guy’s direction, the wide cheeky grin on his face telling me he’s clearly pleased to see him.

  ‘Tell me about it, man,’ Johnny says in a thick Kiwi accent, wrapping his arms around Billy’s shoulders for a hug before turning to me with a little nod, wink and mischievous grin – an expression that I’ve seen Billy wear a million times.

  ‘What’s this?’ Billy laughs, grabbing hold of his beard and giving it a little tug.

  ‘For a movie I’m shooting. Pretty far out, hey?’ he says, his fingers running along it to check it’s smoothed down, or perhaps it’s a new habit he’s picked up to accompany the facial hair.

  ‘I’d say,’ Billy says, shaking his head at the thick wiry mass. ‘You look bonkers.’

  ‘My poor wife and kids had to sit through Christmas dinner with me looking like this.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t scar them too much,’ Billy chuckles, placing an arm around my waist. ‘This is Sophie. Sophie, this is Johnny – the craziest and most ridiculously talented actor in Hollywood.’

  ‘Only ’cause you ain’t on the scene right now, mate,’ he smiles, shrugging off the compliment before reaching over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Pleasure to meet you and nice to see I’m not the only settled heart-throb around,’ he jokes.

  ‘With kids, without kids – you’ll always be my pin-up,’ chuckles Billy, before turning to me. ‘We shot a little independent film together years ago. I don’t think it’s one you’d have seen. Not really your sort of thing. It’s about a gang of FBI agents gone AWOL. Lots of swearing and guns.’

  ‘Nice,’ I laugh, knowing it’s certainly not the sort of film me and Mum would have sat on the sofa and watched together as we munched on a takeaway on a cosy Friday night in.

  ‘You’ve not made her watch that one yet, then?’ Johnny asks Billy, looking confused at his omission. ‘I always used to whip out the back catalogue on a first date. Worked a total charm with the females every time,’ he says, unable to contain his laughter.

  ‘No wonder you bagged Cherise,’ nods Billy with a grin, tucking into a mini canapé that he’s just grabbed from a beautifully designed golden tray carried by one of the waiters. The room smells delicious.

  ‘Exactly!’ Johnny laughs. ‘One glimpse of me in a cop’s outfit and that was it. Done deal. Think it helped that I took my kit off in it too. I had great abs back then. Remember, mate?’

  ‘I still dream about them,’ jokes Billy.

  ‘I take it you didn’t actually show her your back catalogue, then?’ I as
k, deadpan, as though I’m in need of clarification.

  ‘Of course not!’ Johnny says, looking at me as though I’ve lost the plot.

  I grin back and enjoy watching him figure out I was only playing.

  ‘Ah, you Brits and your humour!’ he laughs, wiping tears from his eyes.

  ‘She got you there,’ Billy smiles, winking at me.

  I feel oddly triumphant at cracking a joke and making one of Billy’s friends laugh. It instantly makes me feel cool and with it, a feeling I’m not at all used to. I’m much more accustomed to being on the outside and not having the foggiest what or who anyone’s talking about.

  ‘So what’s the scoop, big man?’ Johnny asks, clamping a hand on Billy’s shoulder whilst looking around the room like he’s an undercover investigator. He raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Billy smirks, patting him on the back.

  ‘What’s new? What are you doing back here?’ Johnny asks quietly, almost conspiratorially.

  ‘It’s Christmas.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re here, there’s a party …’ he says, his voice trailing off.

  ‘Yeah?’ Billy replies, raising an eyebrow at his friend and encouraging him to finish his sentence.

  ‘I figured you were going to announce you’re ready to hit the scene again, you know?’ Johnny says, looking confused as he glances around the room. ‘I’m only here to see first-hand whether I’m going to be out of work next year or not. The Mrs sent me along especially – I’m to be home with a full report within the hour.’

  ‘It’s only been a few months!’ Billy laughs. ‘I’m enjoying the quiet life for now.’

  ‘For now … I like that,’ he smiles, nodding at the pair of us while looking a little relieved. ‘Well, Cherise will be pleased,’ he winks. ‘Shame I’m heading back up to Canada in a couple of days, otherwise it would’ve been great to catch up properly.’

  ‘I know, I’ve not seen the kids in so long …’ Billy comments, looking genuinely gutted that he’s missing them.

  ‘Mate, they’ve grown so much since you saw them in London!’