by Lucy Dillon
Rory glanced quickly at Michelle. ‘If there is a problem with Tavish you can call. But my mobile. Not hers.’
Four days in Paris passed too quickly for Michelle. She and Rory walked through empty starlit streets late at night, holding hands and saying nothing while the church clocks chimed the hour; they ate croissants and drank hot coffee during the day, gobbling up the intricate old churches and the frosted gardens, and behaving more like goofy teenagers on a school trip than thirty-somethings on a first weekend away together.
It was awkward sometimes. Rory seemed determined to pass on every shred of knowledge he had about Parisian architecture whether Michelle wanted to hear it or not, and she couldn’t quite undo so many years of physical self-consciousness overnight. But he was patient, and she was determined to step outside the defences she’d built up, and so they inched their way past the scratchy moments. The occasional silences that fell in between the croissants and kisses were comfortable, like the softest cashmere blanket, and she felt safe but adventurous in a way she’d always dreamed grown-up life would be.
She wasn’t sure, not having references beyond the works of Jilly Cooper, but Michelle thought she might be falling in love. And from the way Rory looked at her, with the quiet adoration and semi-bewilderment she’d read about, she wondered if he was too.
New Year’s Eve was a bright but chilly day, with a whisper of snow in the pale sky. A perfect morning, in other words, for walking a dog. Or, if you were two friends who used to go dog-walking together all the time, two dogs.
Michelle stood on the McQueens’ front doorstep with Tavish next to her in his Christmas tartan coat, rehearsing what she was going to say when Anna opened the door.
‘No arguments, we’re going for a coffee.’ A bit bullying? She might be busy getting the house ready for the girls coming back.
‘I’ve got you a present from Paris!’ True. But excuse-y.
‘Hey! Has your phone been off?’ Also true. But a bit pointed.
Michelle frowned. Why did she feel so nervous? Why was she even thinking of excuses – surely she didn’t need one?
The door opened and she was surprised to see Phil standing there. He was in his dressing gown, his hair unwashed and flattened, and for a moment Michelle wondered if she’d interrupted a romantic lie-in, but the beaten expression on his face said otherwise. Phil looked as if he had a hangover that extended to every part of his body.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, then stopped. ‘Phil, are you all right? You look terrible. Sorry.’
‘If you’ve come to see Anna, she’s not here.’ He ran a hand over his stubbly chin.
‘Oh. Is she at her parents’?’
‘No.’ He hesitated, then admitted, ‘She’s in the flat above the shop.’
‘What? Owen’s flat?’
He nodded.
‘Since when?’ Michelle couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed, but then neither she nor Rory had been spending much time there in the last few days.
‘Since the day we took the girls to the airport. Since before Christmas.’
Michelle stared at Phil’s Weetabix-encrusted dressing gown and felt an awful dread. ‘I think I’d better come in,’ she said, stepping over the threshold.
Michelle made a pot of tea – as Anna would have done – and listened with a sinking heart as Phil spilled out the depressing details of their Christmas.
Perfunctory meal, no conversation, film in silence, then Anna clingfilming the leftovers and going back to the flat.
‘She says it’s for the best,’ said Phil, staring at his tea. ‘She says it’s not about the girls, it’s about me and her. She doesn’t want to let them down, but she can’t see a future with me.’
‘And did you try to stop her?’
‘I couldn’t. She’d made up her mind.’
Michelle smacked the table so Phil had to look up. ‘You don’t deserve her, you know that? Of course you could have stopped her. If she didn’t want to be stopped she’d have moved back to her parents’! Why haven’t you been round there on your knees begging her to come back?’
Phil’s sullenness cracked and he looked desperate. ‘Because I don’t know what to say! I already feel like I’ve asked too much of her – first the girls, now Becca’s baby . . . maybe she doesn’t deserve all this. I can’t give her the one thing she wants to make this worthwhile so yes, maybe she should find someone else.’
‘Do you honestly believe that?’ Michelle stared at him in horror.
‘Yes.’ He sank his head into his hands. ‘No. Of course I don’t. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Look at me. Even the dog wants to move in with Anna.’
Michelle took his tea away, just as he reached for it. ‘Phil. This is a personal question, I know, but what’s stopping you having a baby with Anna? You were happy to have one once. What’s changed?’
He said nothing for a few moments, then spoke without raising his head. ‘I’m not a great dad. I had Becca far too young, and Sarah was just as clueless as me, so we were both making it up as we went along. And then when our marriage fell apart we had Lily to stick it back together – that’s how crap we were as parents – and then Sarah divorced me, and between us we ruined the girls’ lives.’
‘Well, that’s not true. People make mistakes,’ said Michelle. ‘It’s not what you’ve done, it’s how you go about fixing it. And presumably you’ve learned a bit on the job?’
‘But would it be what Anna’s imagined?’ Phil looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. ‘She had an idyllic childhood – only child, happy parents. She’s been planning this baby since we met, but some of the worst moments of my life were when Becca and Chloe were little.’
‘How much of that was down to parenting and how much was down to being married to someone you didn’t want to be with?’
‘How can I take that risk? I don’t think I can do it again, and watch her be disappointed. With parenthood. With me. I love her. I wish I’d met her twenty years ago.’
Michelle said nothing, stirring her tea. She wasn’t sure Phil’s milk was very fresh, but she tried not to think about it.
‘Well?’ said Phil. ‘Is that a good enough reason?’
‘No,’ said Michelle. ‘It’s not. She loves you. She wants your baby, not just any old baby. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?’
‘But what do I say? I don’t want to lose her,’ Phil looked close to tears. ‘I don’t want the girls to lose her. They adore her.’
‘Then you’ve got to get round there and get her back. Today.’
‘I can’t,’ said Phil. ‘I’ve got to collect them all from the airport at three.’
‘Then that gives you six hours to come up with some better reasons. She’s worth fighting for.’
‘And are you going to help?’ Phil regained some of his usual spirit. ‘You haven’t exactly been there for her over the past few months, either.’
‘OK,’ said Michelle. ‘Us.’
Anna sat in the cramped upstairs flat, wrapped in one of the new cashmere dressing gowns Michelle was selling by the armful, and tried to find some comfort in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Even Charlie Bucket was letting her down, the little prig. His obsession with the rules was annoying her now, not filling her with hope. What sort of child was let loose next to a river of actual chocolate, and thought about hygiene?
Following the rules was no guarantee of anything, she thought, taking another slug of wine. He should have dived in, along with Augustus. At least Augustus found out what it was like to drink from the river of chocolate.
She tossed Charlie and the Chocolate Factory onto the pile of discarded reading matter next to her.
It had all let her down. There were no happy endings in real life, no miraculous recoveries, no convenient arrivals of legacies or aunts from abroad. She’d been stupid to think that there would be.
Anna concentrated on her anger because it distracted her from the real sadness; all the books reminded her of Lily, an
d Chloe, and Becca, and the dreams she’d had only twelve months ago. How had things changed so fast? And why hadn’t Phil come round?
She jumped when the intercom buzzed, and was going to ignore it when it crackled into life.
‘Anna. It’s me. Michelle. I know you’re up there.’
Anna pushed herself up and shuffled over to the door. ‘I’m busy.’
‘No, you’re not. Come down.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s someone here who wants to see you.’
Her heart thumped. Phil. Maybe he felt as if he needed a bodyguard. Still, it was better than nothing.
Anna pulled on her coat and scarf and went down the stairs, trying to compose a dignified opening gambit in her head. But when she opened the door, there was only Michelle there, with Pongo in a new red coat and Tavish in his tartan winter number. Michelle was holding two paper cups of coffee, the way they used to in the days when they’d walk Pongo before work.
There was no sign of Phil, though. She tried not to let her disappointment show.
Michelle offered her Pongo’s lead. ‘Pongo asked me if you’d come for a walk with us. He was going to leave you a message on your step,’ she added, ‘along with some biscuits, but I told him I couldn’t wait that long.’
Anna forced out a smile that Michelle seemed pleased with, and they set off down the high street towards the municipal gardens. Pongo seemed thrilled to be out – she was willing to bet Phil hadn’t been walking him anywhere near enough while she’d been away – but he was making an effort not to pull, and she felt a sudden burst of affection for him.
Michelle didn’t bother with any niceties. ‘I’ve got a business proposition for you,’ she said. ‘I need a manager for my new shop.’
So this was it. The bookshop was closing. Anna took a deep breath, knowing this was probably the end of their friendship.
‘I don’t want to manage it if it isn’t a bookshop,’ she said. ‘Sorry. It wouldn’t be the same.’
‘What if it was a bookshop and something else?’
Anna glanced sideways and Michelle carried on. ‘What if it was a bookshop downstairs and a bedshop upstairs?’ She made a signage gesture with her hand. ‘Upstairs to Bed.’
‘But you don’t have the upstairs.’
‘I can, if I want. The new landlord is happy to let it to me.’
Anna gave up her pretence of not being interested. ‘And who’s that?’
‘Rory. Mr Quentin left it to him in his will, on the condition that he let Tavish live there too.’
‘Really?’ That was so typical of Mr Quentin, she thought. Eccentric, but kind. ‘And who owns the shop?’
‘You’ll love this. The rescue kennels who took Tavish in. So they’re happy for me to stay too, but it’s only fair that I make enough money to pay the rent. So, my plan is to put my blankets and bedlinens and rag rugs upstairs. And if you’re as good at selling them as you are flogging paperbacks, it might just keep the books side of things going downstairs.’
Anna bit her tongue. She didn’t want Michelle to see how excited she was. Not yet.
‘Oh, come on!’ said Michelle. ‘I’m totally excited about this. Please say you are.’ When Anna didn’t reply, she added, ‘Because if I can’t have you managing it, then I won’t do it.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I would. It’s your shop as much as mine. It wouldn’t work the same without you.’
Michelle stopped walking and slipped Tavish’s lead over one wrist, so her hands were free to catch hold of Anna’s. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been as good a friend to you as you’ve been to me. I never thought anyone could care about me as much as you have, and if I didn’t tell you things, it was only because I was scared I’d spoil whatever lovely version of me you seemed to see.’
‘Don’t.’ Anna’s own eyes were filling up at the anxiety in Michelle’s face. She looked so young, not her normal, polished, confident self. Anna realised Michelle wasn’t wearing any make-up.
‘No, really. I’ve never had a proper friend. Isn’t that sad? I only realised what I’d missed out on when I met you. When you came and shared your cake with me, and left me that note on my step – it was like I’d come home, even though I’d never been here in my life. I’ve missed you so much these last few months. I’ve . . .’ She gulped. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you. Not here. But soon. I want to tell you all sorts of stuff.’
Anna looked at her for a second, through a wobbly mist of tears, then dropped her coffee on the ground and hugged Michelle tight.
‘Stop it!’ she said, crying into her hair. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. I wanted to call but I didn’t know what to say.’
‘Me neither,’ said Michelle. ‘Just sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I am.’
‘No, I am.’
‘Do you want to row about this? Because you cannot be sorrier than me.’
Anna half laughed, half cried, and she and Michelle hugged each other while Pongo and Tavish waited patiently beside them.
‘You should go home,’ said Michelle, as the sun set and the red and green lights around the bandstand began to gleam against the slate sky.
‘I don’t want to.’ Anna’s heart broke to hear herself say it. ‘It doesn’t feel like home.’
‘I meant go back to the flat,’ said Michelle. ‘Isn’t that home now?’
Anna turned her head in surprise. ‘You’re not going to give me some pep talk about going back and working things out with Phil?’
Michelle shrugged. ‘If you want my opinion, you’ve done enough talking. It’s about time he did something.’
‘He won’t.’ Anna pulled Pongo back from a smelly litter bin. ‘I’ve tried.’
They walked back up the high street more cheerfully than they’d walked down it, pointing out sales to each other and making lists for the new year, but when they got to Home Sweet Home, Michelle reached into her bag and pulled out a flat present, gorgeously wrapped as usual.
‘For you,’ she said with a smile. ‘Don’t bother to save the paper, please. Get it unwrapped.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s a book.’ Anna pulled away the ribbon and turned the book over. It was an old hardback copy of Madeline, in French.
‘It’s lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘I love Madeline.’
‘She reminded me of you,’ said Michelle. ‘She’s brave and she cares about people. And dogs love her. I bought it in Paris. Rory translated for me.’
‘That’s the nicest present anyone’s ever given me,’ said Anna, touched that Michelle had been thinking of her on her romantic break, and also that she’d gone into a bookshop.
‘Want to come in?’ she asked.
‘I can’t.’ A look of pure happiness lit up Michelle’s face. ‘Rory’s been to pick up my dog, from my mum’s. The big handover – I didn’t trust Harvey not to get funny about it, so I said I’d send my solicitor. I’ve got to get the house ready, haven’t I, Tavish? For your new friend.’
‘Dog bags for two, is it?’ said Anna ironically.
Michelle shook her head. ‘No dog bags. Just a much more powerful hoover. There are limits. It’s like you said, if you make people keep their shoes on, they won’t get hairs on their socks.’
Anna was privately amazed at the turnaround. Michelle seemed looser. Happier than she’d been before. Her hair wasn’t quite so straightened, and she was wearing jeans. Jeans!
She looked down at Pongo, scratching at the door. ‘Is it OK if he stays for supper with me?’ she asked. ‘Now I suppose you’re my landlady? I’ll hoover . . .’
‘No worries. He can’t be messier than Owen.’ Michelle gave her one last hug, then strode off. When she was halfway down the street, and she thought Anna wasn’t looking, she picked Tavish up and tucked him under her arm, so he didn’t have to keep up with her.
Anna smiled and put the key in the lock.
Pongo ran up the stairs ahead of her and started barking even before he re
ached the top.
Anna could hear movement, then she heard a voice say, ‘Shhh! Shhh!’
Another voice, very familiar, said, ‘Oh my God, it’s so typical of that stupid dog to ruin everything!’
Then another voice said, ‘Shhh, Pongo, pretend like you’re in the van and the baddies are coming, shhh!’
Then another, male, voice said, ‘Ssssshhhhhhhh!’
Her chest fluttered and she pushed on upstairs, determined not to think anything until she got there.
When she opened the door to the flat, it was dark. And then someone flicked a switch and the room was lit up with hundreds of tiny lights, pearl-sized glow-worms around the mirror and the walls. Anna could smell pine and realised that there was a Christmas tree in the corner of the flat, decorated rather haphazardly with crimson glass baubles. She could see presents under the tree, and tinsel all over the furniture, and in the soft glow of the candles burning on the shelves were Becca, Lily, Chloe, Owen and Phil.
And Pongo – now happily licking Lily’s hand as she tried to keep him quiet.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Becca. ‘It wasn’t Christmas without you.’
‘Becca!’ Chloe looked furious. ‘I was going to do my song.’
‘Let her do her song,’ said Phil. ‘Let’s get it out of the way.’
Chloe glared at him, then coughed, and closed her eyes in the approved talent show style, holding out her right hand as if she was pinching an invisible balloon.
‘Anna McQueen,’ she began, to the tune of ‘Silent Night’. ‘Anna McQuueeeeen, You are there when my sisters are mean, You’re the one who cooks meals that I’ll eat, You care that I’m allergic to dairy and wheat . . .’
‘So you say,’ muttered Becca, as Chloe gave the line some extra soul diva vibrato and joggled the invisible balloon up and down.
‘You’re not my mother, that’s true-ooo . . .’ Chloe tried to hold the note, but it dropped off with a wobble she couldn’t help. She opened one eye and finished, ‘But we love you ’cos you are you.’
Anna’s eyes filled up.
‘Don’t let her do another verse,’ said Phil. ‘We’ll all go deaf.’