*
Our meal was delivered at six. A mix of salads, which sounded boring but was, as Mum had promised, a taste sensation. Even Rose, with all her dietary requirements, ate every bit.
‘Hmm, pomegranate,’ said Fleur, ‘mango, avocado, smoked bacon; all my favourites.’
I scrutinized her and Rose’s faces for signs of grief at missing Mum as I had after the massage. Fleur seemed fine and Rose’s expression gave nothing away, apart from looking a bit tired.
‘So what do we think so far?’ I asked as I watched my sisters relish each mouthful of the dessert, and tried not to think that Rose had turned down my cake but was now happily spooning in the chocolate mousse.
‘About what?’ Fleur asked.
‘Mum’s recipes for happiness.’
Fleur licked her spoon. ‘This part is pretty good. Dunno. At this moment in time, all is good. What about you?’
I’d never been happier in my life, but that was mainly due to Daniel. ‘Unexpected,’ I said. ‘Changeable. Sometimes I feel happy in the middle of a stressful time, then, like just before, I feel sad at a time when everything is wonderful. I had a wave of missing Mum. What do you think of it all, Rose?’
Rose hesitated a few moments. ‘I don’t think happiness can be manufactured. I know Mum meant well, apart from the colonic, and I can see what she was trying to do, but happiness is a state of mind, don’t you think? It’s not necessarily going to happen because you take a walk in a nice location or have a massage. If you’re worried about something, then those events will be marred.’
‘Are you worried about something?’ I asked.
Rose shrugged. ‘No. No more than normal. Happy, sad. Good days, bad days. That’s life, isn’t it? You get on with it. I reckon that overthinking can be an indulgence. I have other things going on in my life. How many people have time out to think about the secret of happiness in the way Mum’s asking us to? Don’t you think it’s indulgent? Like, me, me me. How am I? Am I happy?’
‘But that’s what marvellous,’ I said. ‘She has given us something extraordinary, and the times and means to do it. What a legacy.’
Rose was looking at me as if trying to understand what I was saying. Clearly, she didn’t feel the same.
‘And it’s been good reconnecting with you two,’ said Fleur. ‘I’m liking our time together.’
‘But have we reconnected? Really?’ said Rose. ‘I don’t think I truly know about your lives, or you mine.’
‘OK. So tell us about yours,’ said Fleur.
Rose had appeared to be on the verge of saying something, but clammed up. ‘Nothing to tell.’
Fleur sighed. ‘I’m sure there is. Tell us about your days, your work.’
‘Same ol’, same ol’,’ said Rose.
‘So what’s that then? What’s same ol’, same ol’ for you?’ I asked.
Rose’s back had stiffened. ‘Too boring. Don’t want to talk about it.’
Clearly it was not a day for the cactus to flower.
Fleur turned to me. ‘OK, you Dee. You’ve told us a bit about your work. How’s your love life? Any decent men turned up down your way since Christmas?’
I prayed that I wouldn’t blush. ‘Nope,’ I replied. It was the truth. Daniel lived in London.
‘Do you care? Would you like to be in a relationship?’ Fleur persisted.
‘I … I guess, if the right one came along.’
‘Daniel,’ said Fleur. ‘Mr Do-Good, talk to the dying, help them find their peace.’
‘Oh leave him, Fleur,’ I said. ‘I think he was sincere.’
‘Presumptuous, I thought,’ said Rose. ‘Who do he and his swami think they are? The angels of death?’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that at all. I think what he said sounded good.’ I didn’t like hearing Rose and Fleur criticizing Daniel, but didn’t want to defend him too much in case they guessed what was going on. I was right not to tell them about him and me, I thought. They’re so judgemental and would have got stuck right in with their opinions.
‘You would think that. That’s why I thought you’d go for him. You always liked the “let’s save the world” types.’ She started to sing in a girlie voice, ‘Dee’s got a cru-ush, Dee’s got a cru-ush.’
‘Shut up Fleur,’ said Rose. ‘You might like to discuss every aspect of your life, but you have to learn to respect when other people don’t want to.’ That’s strong coming from you Miss Opinionated, I thought, but I was glad she’d said it.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Fleur. ‘I was—’
‘You were sticking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted. We’re all adults now, not teenagers sharing secrets,’ Rose continued. ‘Just because we’re sisters, doesn’t mean we have to share every sordid detail of our lives. Let us have our privacy.’
Fleur looked hurt and I was shocked. Rose’s tone had been harsh.
‘Hey, less of the sordid, and she was only asking—’ I started.
‘Neither of you has changed,’ said Fleur as she pushed her chair back and got up. ‘I thought you might have, that you, Rose, might have mellowed, but trying to get through to you is like trying to get through a brick wall. And, Dee, I was only teasing and trying to find out a bit about Daniel for you. For you!’
She went to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I looked over at Rose. She shrugged a shoulder and went back to her mousse.
Saturday 13 February, 7 p.m.
We set off to see a contemporary ballet company at Sadler’s Wells.
‘It looks so beautiful,’ I said as we drove through the snow-covered streets up towards Islington. I felt relaxed from the treatments and cosseted and cosy in the warm taxi, while outside the white-covered buildings and trees of North London looked like a magic land.
Fleur, however, still had the hump with Rose and me and was acting like a petulant teenager, giving monosyllabic replies to whatever we said to her. I half expected her to say, ‘Whatever,’ or, ‘It’s not fair. I wish I’d never been born. No one understands me.’ I wasn’t going to let her spoil the treat. I hadn’t been to a ballet in years and was looking forward to it.
Daniel had booked fabulous seats in the royal circle upstairs, and I felt a rush of anticipation when the lights went down and the audience became silent. A spotlight on the stage and three dancers in white appeared, flowing like liquid into each other. The first ten minutes were wonderful to watch, but my eyelids were heavy, heavy. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I tried pinching myself but I felt as if I’d been drugged. It was so warm and comfortable in the theatre, plus the fact that I hadn’t got much sleep last night at Daniel’s that, try as I might, I couldn’t stay awake.
I woke up for the interval and I went and bought a glass of wine for Fleur and me and a glass of water for Rose. Mistake. The alcohol only made me sleepier. I didn’t remember any of the second half, apart from when I glanced briefly at Rose and Fleur who both had their eyes closed.
ZZzzzzz.
The lights went up. It was over. The audience was applauding. A second call. Rose, Fleur and I joined in with enthusiasm.
When we got up to leave, the woman who was sitting behind us gave us a filthy look. ‘Such a waste,’ she said loudly to her husband.
‘On the contrary,’ said Fleur. ‘I had a marvellous snooze – so relaxing.’
‘Me too,’ said the husband with a lascivious grin at Fleur. ‘Often do at the theatre.’
He got a whack from his wife on the way up the stairs.
*
In the taxi going back to Fleur’s, she was still sulking despite her ‘marvellous snooze’. She hardly said a word; nor did Rose, who appeared preoccupied. We have another day together tomorrow, I thought. I don’t want it to be like this. I hated when we weren’t speaking when we lived at home, and searched my mind as to what I could do or say to make it better.
As we got out of the taxi and headed for the apartment door, a song from our childhood popped into my head. It was ‘Sisters’ b
y Irving Berlin and Fleur had changed the lyrics. I began to sing her version: ‘Sisters, sisters, They’re like very annoying blisters …’
‘Shut up Dee,’ said Fleur. ‘Move on. I have.’
Yeah right, I thought as the porter let us in. I followed her to the lift but I was too tired to pursue it any more. Tomorrow, I told myself. I’ll make it right tomorrow.
19
Dee
Sunday 14 February, 9 a.m.
So much for Fleur’s comment yesterday about liking our time together and how we’d reconnected, I thought as I ate a bowl of granola that had been laid out for me in the perfect kitchen. Rose had breakfast in her room and Fleur was still giving us the silent treatment. I remembered when we were younger, she could sulk for days after an argument. Mum said she was like a slow burning casserole when she was pissed off about anything. No point in trying to talk her round, and I wasn’t going to let her spoil things. I had a makeover session to look forward to and money to spend. It had been years since I could afford a new outfit. Most of my wardrobe was made up from charity shop finds, something that Anna and I excelled in, though Anna called hers vintage. ‘Sounds classier.’
Sunday 14 February, 11.30 a.m.
We took a taxi to the store where our sessions had been booked. I was whisked up to the first floor by a tall, dark stick insect who introduced herself as Kristin.
When we got to a private plush changing room area, she looked me up and down. ‘Are you looking for work clothes or casual?’
‘Casual.’
‘For summer or winter?’
‘Oh … summer, I think. I tend to wear big old jumpers and jeans in the winter.’
‘Evening or day wear?’
‘Day.’
‘And how would you describe your personal style?’
‘Er, comfortable, layered.’
Clearly the wrong answer, because her mouth shrank to resemble a cat’s bottom. She continued to assess me. I smiled. She didn’t return it. She ordered coffee for me, showed me to an area with a sofa, tables and magazines, then disappeared. Bliss. I didn’t care if Kristin didn’t approve of my style. I was in heaven.
Twenty minutes, Kristin was back laden with armfuls of clothes. She pointed at a cubicle. ‘Strip off and we’ll see what works.’
I had to hand it to her, she had my size down perfectly, and although a few things were too garish for my taste (a silk dress with huge red flowers and ferns), she had picked a few things that I liked. I looked at the labels: Sahara, Masai, Grizas, in lovely soft fabrics; they all had a quirkiness about them. I settled for a pale green knee-length tunic with three-quarter sleeves that was cut like a dream and a pair of white linen trousers to go under them. She finished the outfit off with a soft white cotton shawl to be worn pashmina style. ‘Layered and comfortable to wear but elegant,’ said Kristin.
I looked in the mirror. I looked Joanna Lumley elegant. ‘Job done, Kristin,’ I said.
Kristin was delighted and packaged up my new clothes in tissue. ‘Takes years off you,’ she said as I paid up. Cheeky sod.
Sunday 14 February, 1 p.m.
I was directed to the beauty salon where Paris, another tall stick insect, blonde this time, lectured me about the state of my skin. ‘You must must exfoliate, madam, and always moisturize your neck,’ then went on to recommend all sorts of products for ‘the older’ client. I’d worn the same make-up for the last fifteen years so it was good to get a professional opinion.
‘Two rules at your age, it’s either eyes or lips, not both, or you look like a drag queen. And less is more.’
‘Don’t hold back,’ I told her, but actually she made me look half decent with soft neutrals around the eyes and a pale rose lipstick.
‘Takes years off you,’ she said when she’d finished and put my products in a bag. Cheeky sod.
Sunday 14 February, 2.30 p.m.
The hairdressing session proved more of the same, with a lecture about the condition of my hair, the split ends and the colour.
‘Oh my God. Have you been doing it yourself? That all-over hair dye is so ageing. Makes you look hard. You need softer colours to make it look natural. Light and shade and I’m going to cut it to your shoulders,’ said Hattie, a red-headed stick insect.
Don’t any of these girls ever eat? I wondered as I listened to her advice, surrendered to her magic, and emerged two hours later minus three inches of hair, with soft highlights and lowlights and my hair a fabulous glossy honey brown.
‘I know,’ I said as I left. ‘I look years younger.’
‘You do,’ she replied. Cheeky sod.
Are they all taught to say that in here? I wondered as I looked at my reflection as I crossed the Ladieswear department, but I liked what I saw. Martha was right: a new outfit, good haircut and some new make-up can really boost a mood. I felt like a million dollars.
As I left the brightly lit salon, I saw Fleur come out of the room opposite. She looked the same as always. Beautiful. I was going to chase after her to see if she fancied a coffee but held back: best leave her to cool off, I thought as I crossed the floor and took the escalator down to the perfume department. Suddenly I was in ancient Egypt. As I sailed down through golden pillars carved with ancient figures, and into the dark underworld of the ground floor, I found myself transported to another world. On the roof above were representations of the Zodiac shown against a star-studded night sky, in front an enormous gold sculpture of a mummy. Temple after temple opened out before me as I reached the ground floor and took a deep breath as my senses were assaulted by a hundred aromas.
This could be a lovely girlie session, I thought as I searched for my sisters in the crowds, the only part of the day we could do together, but I couldn’t see either of them anywhere, and Mum hadn’t stipulated that we went around as a threesome. The wise old bird probably knew there would be days like this. Rose was never one for girlie outings, so would probably keep this part of the day short and sweet. This morning, she’d said she wouldn’t be getting a new scent. ‘Annick Goutal for me. Has been for years. I believe when you find a perfume that suits you, you should stick with it.’
I wandered around from counter to counter, trying samples here and there, Miller Harris, Jill Sanders, Sisley, Van Cleef & Arpels, Hermès but, in the end, I also settled for my old favourite, Mitsouko by Guerlain. Daniel had complimented me on it, so I spent my money on all the extras that went with it – soap, bath gel as well as cologne. When I’d paid for my purchases, I went to the counter selling Jean Patou. Mum had worn Joy for most of her life. I sprayed the tester and the air filled with her comforting scent. Jasmine and roses. For a moment, it felt like Mum was there, and my eyes filled with tears. The assistant behind the counter glanced over at me and I turned away to see that Rose had appeared at my side, as if by magic, maybe drawn by the familiar scent.
‘They say smell is our most powerful sense,’ she said as she inhaled the aroma. She put her arm around me. ‘It can bring back a person more fiercely than anything. God, I miss her.’
‘Me too. Remember how she used to spray Dad’s cologne into the air after he’d gone?’
Rose nodded. ‘I do. Evocative stuff.’
We stood for a brief tender, shared moment. No words were needed and, for the first time since Mum’s death, I felt some comfort from Rose being there beside me.
She looked at her watch and snapped out of the bubble we were in. ‘We’re done here, I think. It’s beginning to feel more Horrids than Harrods. Too many people for me.’ She looked me up and down. ‘You look good by the way. Nice, elegant.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So … Next time?’
‘Yes. Next time.’ She turned and was away, across the floor, then swallowed up by the crowd. ‘Keep in touch,’ I called after her.
I looked around for Fleur, if only to say goodbye, I didn’t want to leave on a sour note, but she was nowhere to be seen. I checked my phone and saw that there was a text from her. Won’t b bck 2night. Stay as
long as u like. Post keys thru letterbox when u leave.
As an expensively dressed lady pushed past me, I suddenly felt alone and out of place in the store. Mum’s perfume had brought up such an ache of loss and grief, I wanted to get out and away from the busy crowds browsing, bustling, buying.
I made my way outside into the cold air and called Daniel. ‘Fleur’s flat is empty for the night, can you meet me there?’
‘Give me an hour,’ he said. ‘You OK?’
‘I will be when I see you.’
*
The flat was dark when I got back to Fleur’s, so I let myself in, turned on all the lights and went to my room. I put on a shower cap to protect my freshly blow-dried hair, showered with my new scented soap then liberally sprayed perfume, behind my knees and ears. I put on the huge fluffy towelling robe that Fleur had left in the bathroom, got a glass of Sancerre from the fridge then lay back on the sofa. A feeling of emptiness threatened. It should have been a wonderful weekend, no expense spared. Mum had done her best to spoil us thoroughly but I felt hollow inside. I missed her more than ever and I was sad that Fleur had gone off in such a huff. I wondered if she lay here sometimes, in her million-pound immaculate apartment, like a bird in a gilded cage, and felt the same.
Daniel arrived around seven. Once I’d closed the front door, he took off his jacket and we fell on each other with a passion. I was so pleased to see him; one of the things I loved about being with him was that I didn’t have to ask if he wanted me, I knew he did.
The Kicking the Bucket List Page 17