by Carrie Adams
Epilogue
possibly ever after…
I only took Cora to Regent’s Park because of the elephant. I was afraid of ruining Cora’s day when we were told that the elephant had been sent elsewhere, but Cora was pleased. She didn’t think London was big enough for an elephant to live in. Instead, we walked up the hill to the playground. It was too cold to sit on the bench with the other parents, so I climbed the rope wall, walked the rickety bridge, squeezed my adult bottom down the child-sized slide and generally made an ass of myself. Cora tried to escape me by making some friends, as she tended to do wherever she went, but I followed them inside the Wendy house. There we spent a happy half-hour sitting on cold, damp sand making endless birthday cakes.
“That’s probably how the elephant felt,” said Cora.
“I sincerely hope I’m not the elephant in this little scenario.”
Cora and the two girls she’d befriended giggled.
“Cheeky monkey. Right,” I said, trying to stand, “this elephant needs a coffee. My bottom has gone all itchy from the wet sand.”
The girls giggled again. It was easy to make children laugh. You just had to say bottom a lot. Grown-ups aren’t supposed to do that. I started to wrench myself out of the corner of the Wendy house, but it seemed to have shrunk since I’d squeezed myself in.
“Pineapple-juice man,” said Cora, glancing out of the window.
“What?”
“It’s the pineapple-juice man.”
I glanced too. Oh my God. James Kent was walking towards the sandpit. I ducked, lost my balance and fell into a heap.
“Hide me, hide me,” I whispered desperately. “Get down.”
The girls immediately looked out of the window.
“Everyone, shh!” I whispered.
“Daddy!” yelled one of the girls.
Oh no, this could not be happening. James Kent was going to stick his head through a Wendy house and think that mad-psycho bitch had abducted his children. There was nowhere to hide, but I still tried.
“Hey, girls.”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
He was crouching outside the little house. I could see his feet, but he couldn’t see in. I might just make it.
“We’ve made cakes. This is Cora, can she come to our house to play?”
“Cora?”
Then again, I might not.
“Hello, pineapple-juice man.”
“Hello, Cora.”
“How do you know my daddy?”
“We went to a party together,” said Cora. “You got me pineapple juice.”
“Yes, I did. How are you?”
“Deaf in one ear.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that.”
“Actually, it’s quite useful. We live on a noisy street and now I sleep on my left side and I don’t hear the cars any more. But we’re moving soon to a bigger house with a garden.”
I was pressed against the wall.
“Godmummy T thinks I only pretend to be deaf when it suits me and that I can hear perfectly well whenever she’s whispering about grown-up things that I’m not allowed to hear.” There was an almighty pause. Cora looked at me, I pleaded with my eyes. “Don’t you, Godmummy T?”
I closed my eyes in shame. James Kent got on to his hands and knees and peered in. He saw me cowering in the corner. I’d never been so embarrassed in all my life.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hello,” he said tersely, then stood up. I stared at his feet. “Come on, girls, we ought to go.”
“No, no, no,” cried the three girls.
“Please can we stay a bit longer? Please?”
“Ten minutes,” said one of his daughters.
“Five,” said James, and walked away.
I owed it to myself to clamber out of the Wendy house and explain my behavior to him, but I really didn’t want to. However unfaithful he’d been, I didn’t want anyone walking around with such a hideously low opinion of me. I crawled out of the house, stretched myself back into human form and walked towards the bench he was sitting on.
“I owe you some money,” I said.
“Yes, you do.”
His tone slightly changed my consolatory mood. “I should have explained in person that I didn’t sleep with married men. I can write you a check. Joint account is it?”
“What?”
“Where is your wife?”
“My ex-wife is at home. Her home.”
“Ex?”
“You thought I was married?”
“You are.”
“I was. We separated four years ago.”
“Four years? Are you sure?”
That came out worse than intended. He stood up and thrust his hands deep in his pockets. “Don’t worry about the money. Frankly, I’ve tried to forget the whole sorry thing. Have a nice day.”
He couldn’t wait to get away from me. “Clearly I behaved badly. I’m sorry. I found out you were married and had two kids, I was…” Upset. Disappointed. Staggered because nothing in his behavior had hinted that he was that type and yet I didn’t even bother to offer him the courtesy of an explanation. “Whatever, I shouldn’t have behaved like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Well, you should have told me about your daughters. A fairly big detail to leave out, don’t you think?”
“You’d have run a mile. The mention of kids and you started to shudder.”
“That’s not true.”
“‘Kids, who’d have them,’ I think is what you said.”
“I wasn’t being serious. You got that one wrong.”
“Well, I wasn’t married, so I guess we’re even.”
“Let me pay you back,” I pleaded.
“Don’t worry about it,” said James, dismissively.
“Please?”
“No, it’s fine. Honestly.” He moved back towards the Wendy house. “Five minutes are up. Come on, kids, let’s go home.” They emerged, pink from the cold, and started to run rings around us.
“Lainy and Martha, right?” I said, trying desperately to end this on a happy note.
James nodded.
“Beautiful girls,” I said.
James wasn’t taken in by my pathetic attempts to suck up to him. “It’s all right, Tessa. I understand now. I’m glad I ran into you, the whole thing had slightly freaked me out, but now we can forget about it.”
“I thought you were married with kids. I’m sorry I didn’t just stay around and ask you.”
“Me too,” he said.
I felt the atmosphere soften.
“Can we have our raisins now?” asked one of James’s daughters. James brought the boxes out of his pocket.
“Can we share them with Cora?”
“Of course you can,” said James. He was too polite to say no.
“I saw you at the funeral,” I said.
“I was very sorry about your friend; you did her proud though, I thought.”
I brightened. Two months on and I still wasn’t sure about my ad-libbing at the funeral.
“Thank you.”
“Where are the twins, by the way?”
“With Neil’s parents this weekend.”
“How are you coping with them? Must be hard on your own.”
“Me? Oh no, they don’t live with me. They’re being adopted by Neil’s brother. Lovely family. He’s a builder, he’s building an incredible extension to their house, it’s like kiddy heaven there. I go up quite a bit. They’re crawling now.” I felt the familiar swell of pride when I thought about the twins, coupled with the familiar sting of tears when I thought about them without their mother—or rather, their mother without those little boys.
“I heard you were their guardian.”
I looked at James again. “You checking up on me?” I asked, an itsy-witsy, teeny-weeny bit flirtatiously.
“No,” he lied. He scuffed the ground with his shoe. “Though I did hear you’d got yourself a new job.”
I smiled. �
�So you have been checking up on me?”
Cora and James’s daughters had wolfed down the raisins and it was obvious to both James and me, though not to them, that they were cold and hungry.
“Come on, Cora, we’d better go. You need refueling.”
“Us too,” said James.
“Can we play again?” asked Cora.
There was a slightly awkward pause.
“Well, we’re here every other weekend,” said James.
Every other weekend. He really was divorced.
“Can we, Godmummy T? Can we come back?”
“Yeah,” chorused the girls. “Daddy never talks to anyone in the park normally, so we’re never allowed to stay and play.”
He grabbed his daughters playfully around their middles and tickled them until they screamed. “Oh yeah, you two have a terrible life, no fun.” They giggled again. “No toys, no treats.” They laughed through their half-hearted protests. “No trips to the playground.” Finally he put them down and held them to him, then he looked at me. “What do you think?”
“I’m sure we can, I’ll check with Billy.”
“Well, we’ll be here anyway, so if you can make it then…” What? What was he going to say? I suppose I’ll talk to you, if I have to…“Great,” he said.
“Great,” I repeated.
We all ambled towards the playground gate. I looked up at him once; he looked quickly away. We said goodbye.
“I am sorry,” I said again.
“Let’s forget it.”
I thought about myself sitting in the park, near a playground like this one, wearing a stolen dressing gown and knocking back the wine.
“You must have thought I was an absolute nutter,” I said.
“Still do,” he said. But this time there was a faint smile on his lips.
We walked away in the opposite direction.
“He’s nice,” said Cora.
“You think?”
“For an old man.”
I ruffled Cora’s hair. She was getting to the age when that was beginning to really annoy her.
“Should we come back to play with them, then?” I asked her.
“Maybe,” said Cora. Maybe was right. Moments later my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I turned back to where James and his children had gone. Could it be…?
“Hello?”
“Is that Tessa King?”
Not James then. “Yes?”
“You probably don’t remember me, my name’s Sebastian.”
“Sebastian?”
“We met at Samira’s curry night.”
You’ve got to be kidding. We did a little more than meet. “I remember.” I think I started blushing.
“I know it’s been a while”—nearly six months and you didn’t call me once—“but, well, here’s the thing, I’ve been invited to this amazing party in a derelict castle in Wales.”
I watched James help his daughters on to their bikes then turned away. “That’s nice for you,” I said coolly.
“It’s organized by this mad friend of mine with unlimited funds who’s decided no one throws proper parties any more.”
“I agree with him.”
“He’s hired professional cocktail makers, tequila girls, there’ll be fireworks and a great band. The setting is incredible.”
And Sebastian wanted to take me? I was mildly interested but not naive. “What’s the catch?”
“Not a catch as such, but there is a criteria I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Go on…”
“I’m not on loud speaker or anything am I?”
I laughed, nervously. “No.”
“Well,” he hesitated.
I may as well admit it. I was curious.
“You have to bring along a one-night stand.”
Cora was busy picking a weed. “Kinky,” I said, quietly.
“Obviously there were many options…”
“Obviously…” I said, smiling despite myself.
“But it had to be a great shag and no nutters, which kind of narrowed down the list to, well,” he paused, “you. What do you think?”
I turned 180 degrees to look back down the hill. James Kent was looking our way. I took a few steps backwards, watching him watching me. What did I think? What do I think? I think that life has to be lived and while maybe meeting James Kent again in two weeks’ time was an appealing thought, I wasn’t going to idle in neutral waiting, dreaming up scenes that would never happen. I’d done too much of that. In the meantime, a night in a derelict castle in Wales sounded like an adventure. A little bit daring. Helen would have approved. All my friends would. Except maybe Ben. But I wasn’t his unofficial mistress any more and how I lived my life no longer fell under his jurisdiction. I was as young today as I’d ever be, I was healthy as far as I knew and blissfully unattached. Those three things were worth celebrating.
“I think it sounds fun, morally dubious, but fun.”
“Is that a yes?”
I raised an arm and waved at James. He waved back. This time with a broader smile across his face.
“It’s a maybe,” I said.
“Fair enough. The party is in three weeks. And Tessa, I’d rather not take anyone else.”
Three weeks. A lot could happen in three weeks. I might be longing for a wild night in Wales. I glanced at the swings. Then, again…
“Sebastian, can I let you know?”
“Sure, whenever you can.”
I replaced the phone in my bag and turned away, humming quietly to myself. There was nothing wrong with hedging my bets, was there? After all, anything is possible. That’s the beauty of life. Cora returned to my side.
“Godmummy T?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“What does kinky mean?”
Ah…For a moment I panicked. I didn’t know the answer. But then it came to me. “I don’t know, darling,” I said, taking Cora’s hand. “Let’s ask your mummy when we get home.”
acknowledgments
If this book is about anything, it is about the fact that no one knows what lies around the corner. I had written four crime novels and was struggling to find a good idea for the fifth. Then I met a girl called Catherine Gosling at a hen night and everything changed. She said she had an idea for a book about a woman, like her, with far too many godchildren, but no children of her own. We had a booze-fueled, over-excited conversation about it between stripping, playing with sex toys and drinking far too much. I have had those kinds of evenings before (with less stripping); I meet a lot of people who have an idea for a book, and in the cold light of day wake up and realize that it was all a bad idea. Not in this case. The idea stuck and soon characters were beginning to form in my head. So, to Catherine Gosling, my fellow hen and much-loved godmother, I salute you. The birth of The Godmother is thanks to you.
Second thanks, then, must go to Felicity Gillespie for getting married. Because without her taking that mighty leap of faith, I wouldn’t have found myself stripping in the first place. She also proved herself a great editor yet again. I’m sorry I’ve been so hopelessly occupied recently.
Third, but really first, I personally owe a vast amount to Eugenie Furniss at the William Morris Agency for getting the best out of me, guiding me and introducing me to certain people who shall remain nameless. All I had to say was, “You know that expression, three times the bridesmaid, never the bride? Well, this is three times the godmother, never the—” That was it. She clicked her fingers, ordered another glass of white wine, and took it from there. I wrote it but she knew who’d publish it best of all. And so to Harrie Evans and her team at Headline. What can I say but thank you, thank you, thank you. I know how hard publishing is, but you make it look easy and far too much fun. And then to Dorian Karchmar in the New York office who took this book to a whole new level, thanks to you and everyone at HarperCollins USA.
This has been both the toughest and easiest book to write. Tough because of things conspiring to stop me f
rom writing but easy because it was like a protracted conversation with any one of my girlfriends. So to them and my sisters, I raise a glass. Thank you all, you know who you are. To David Bolton and Electra May for keeping me upright. To Anne Lewthwaite Haribin for keeping me sane. To Carmen Gloria, Vivi, Taffy, Andrea, Mickey, Amelia and Katie for giving me extra hours when I needed them most.
My love and thanks to Adam for his years of support. I know you think all my books should be dedicated to you; what I hope you know is that, deep down, they are. I love you.
About the Author
CARRIE ADAMS can't remember her twenties but sorted herself out in her thirties. This is her first novel.
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Credits
Jacket design by Mary Schuck
Jacket photograph © Paul Taylor/Getty Images
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE GODMOTHER. Copyright © 2007 by Carrie Adams. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JULY 2007 ISBN: 9780061871504
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