And then she sees it. Jude can tell by the way Gertie’s spine stiffens and she stops, gazing straight ahead. Slowly, Gertie steps around the chaise longue upholstered in pink silk, past a bookshelf carved in oak, ignoring the trinkets in glass, silver and gold that adorn its shelves, and settles upon something sitting on the floor. Jude doesn’t see what it is until Gertie turns around to face her, clutching the silver bird to her chest. It’s one of the most beautiful things Jude has ever seen and, strangely, she can’t recall ever having bought it or bringing it into Gatsby’s. But surely she’d have remembered something as beautiful as this? It’s a life-sized hummingbird carved in silver and, sticking from its tail are three feathers; one dark green, one royal blue and one blood-red. They shimmer and glint in the light.
There’s a knock on the door and both Jude and Gertie turn, startled.
‘Hold on a sec,’ Jude says as she hurries over to the door, twists the key and opens it a crack. A woman with a frantic look in her eye shoves her head inside. She is, Jude observes, a Christmas shopper.
‘Aren’t you open?’ she demands. ‘Why is the door locked? I need to buy something for my daughter.’
Jude feels a surge of frustration rise up. She bites it down. ‘Then, you’ll just have to find it in one of the other two hundred and fifty-six shops open now, because we’re closed.’
‘But you can’t be,’ the woman wails. ‘I need that desk in the window. I’ll pay cash – oh, come on! It’s already nine o’clock, you can’t seriously be closed!’
‘I’m afraid we are. Come back in an hour. I’m sure the desk will still be here then,’ Jude says, gently elbowing the door closed and shoving the disgruntled shopper back out onto the snowy streets. Locking the door, Jude hurries back to her niece.
‘Sorry about that. Bloody crazy Christmas shoppers,’ Jude says, then puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t use words like that.’
But Gertie isn’t listening. She’s still gazing at her bird, mesmerised.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Gertie whispers. ‘I’m going to call her Aurora.’
‘Lovely name,’ Jude says. ‘I’m glad she found you.’
Gertie smiles. ‘And she’ll give me my wish, right?’
Jude nods, praying that Gertie doesn’t want anything impossible, something beyond the relatively limited means of the little shop. Then her stomach drops, as Jude realises what her new niece must have wished for – since there is only one thing she will want right now. As Jude watches Gertie stroking the little bird’s feathers, she imagines she can actually hear the cracks across her heart as it breaks for this beautiful little girl.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘But I don’t want to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
‘That’s not a reason.’
‘Because she’s a stranger.’
‘She’s not a stranger,’ Mathieu reasons. ‘She came for dinner last week.’
‘So,’ Hugo retorts. ‘I don’t even know her name.’
‘You do know her name.’ He turns onto Trumpington Street, pulling Hugo along with him. ‘This way.’
‘I don’t, I forgot.’
Mathieu takes a deep breath and, silently, counts to five. ‘It’s Viola.’
‘That’s a stupid name.’
‘It is not.’
‘Is.’
‘It is—’ Mathieu stops. ‘Mon Dieu, listen to me. I’m turning into an eleven-year-old.’
He reaches for Hugo’s hand, but Hugo folds his arms across his chest. Mathieu stops walking and rests his hand on Hugo’s shoulder. ‘Look, my darling boy, I know she’s still sort of a stranger to you. But that’s why we’re going to dinner, so you can get to know her better. And then she won’t be a stranger any more, OK?’
‘I don’t want to know her better,’ Hugo snaps. ‘So, I shouldn’t have to go.’
Mathieu feels a rush of frustration and tightens his grip. ‘Well,’ he says, through gritted teeth. ‘I do. And since I can’t leave you at home alone, you’re coming with me. D’accord?’
Hugo fixes his eyes to the pavement and kicks his foot against the stone. ‘It’s so unfair. You’re so unfair.’
‘I know, I know, life’s so awful, and I’m such a bad father, dragging you out for a delicious home-cooked meal by a real live chef,’ Mathieu says. ‘Now, come on.’
Mathieu begins striding along the pavement while Hugo remains where he is, arms still folded tight. Mathieu keeps walking. Then he stops and turns.
‘Come on.’
Hugo doesn’t move.
‘Come on!’
Still, Hugo doesn’t move.
‘Merde,’ Mathieu says, under his breath. He marches back towards his son. ‘Stop playing silly games. Let’s go.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ Hugo says. ‘Just go without me.’
Mathieu grits his teeth. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t go without you. I wish I could, but you’re coming with me.’
Hugo looks up then and gazes at his father, his brown eyes filling with tears.
Instantly, Mathieu wishes he could take back what he said. ‘Oh, shit,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry, Hughie, I didn’t mean it. I-I’m—’
‘You did,’ Hugo says. ‘You said it.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Mathieu says again. ‘Sometimes adults say stupid things they don’t mean when they’re upset. I was just frustrated. I didn’t want us to be late, that’s all, and I …’
‘But why does it matter if we’re late?’ Hugo wipes his eyes. ‘Why is it such a stupid big deal?’
Mathieu takes a deep breath. ‘It’s not such a big deal. It’s just – Viola is my friend and I don’t want to be rude to my friends. If she’s made the effort to cook for us, the least we can do is make the effort to be on time. Don’t you think?’
Hugo shrugs. ‘I guess.’
‘Thank you, my beautiful boy. And, since you’re doing this nice thing for me and my friend,’ Mathieu says, ‘tomorrow, after school, we can go shopping and you can buy something, OK?’
Hugo grins. ‘What’s the spend limit?’
Mathieu laughs, deeply relieved. ‘Right down to business, eh?’
Hugo half-nods, half-shrugs. ‘I need to know what I’m working with.’
‘Alright, then,’ Mathieu says. ‘Twenty pounds. How about that?’
‘Thirty.’
Mathieu raises his eyebrows. ‘This isn’t a negotiation,’ he says. ‘OK, twenty-five.’
Hugo reaches out his hand. ‘Deal.’
Mathieu shakes his son’s hand with a smile. ‘Deal.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘It was a disaster.’
Mathieu reaches for her hand across the table. ‘I wouldn’t say “disaster” exactly, it was just …’
‘What?’ Viola asks. ‘A total catastrophe? An absolute utter cataclysmic tragedy.’
Mathieu smiles. ‘Well, that might be exaggerating the case just a touch.’
‘He ate nothing,’ Viola says. ‘And he didn’t say a single word to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mathieu says. ‘He’s a fussy eater, I should have warned you.’
‘He didn’t touch the olive bread,’ Viola says. ‘You said he loved olive bread.’
‘Well, yes, that’s true but—’
‘He hates me.’
‘He doesn’t hate you,’ Mathieu says. ‘It’s just …’
‘What?’
‘Well, you’re the first woman I’ve …’ Mathieu starts again. ‘The first woman I’ve introduced him to, since his mother died, so …’
‘Oh.’
‘And you were the one who suggested taking it slow,’ Mathieu says. ‘Maybe we’ve just not been taking it slowly enough.’
Viola sighs. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m just so bloody clueless when it comes to this sort of thing. I’m so used to being able to control everything in my life and, this – this whole thing, it just feels so far out of my contr
ol.’
‘I know, it’s awful, isn’t it?’ Mathieu says. ‘Parenthood is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And it’s one of the only things you don’t need to pass even the most basic of tests for. The government should make all prospective parents take a PhD in sleepless nights, teething, bullying, good boundaries, and that’s the relatively easy stuff. God knows what I’m going to do when he reaches those terrible teenage years. I’m dreading it.’
‘I don’t need a test to tell me I’d be a dreadful parent,’ Viola says. ‘Which is why …’
‘What?’
Viola shakes her head. ‘Nothing.’
Mathieu looks at her. ‘Tell me, please.’
Viola glances at her hands, hesitating. ‘I was going to say, that’s why I won’t be having children, but then …’
‘What?’
‘Well, I don’t want to sound, I don’t mean to be …’
Mathieu laughs. ‘Stop qualifying yourself and spit it out.’
‘Well, I mean, Hugo,’ she says. ‘He’s a child.’
‘True.’
‘And, well, I’d like, maybe, if everything between us …’
Mathieu smiles. ‘I love you.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘Well, shall we go home?’ Jude asks. It’s half past six and, except three Christmas shoppers, no genuine customers have come into Gatsby’s all day.
Gertie shakes her head.
‘Oh, well, I, um …’
Gertie looks up, contrite, hopeful. ‘Can’t we stay here tonight?’
‘Really? Again? I don’t—’
‘Please,’ Gertie begs. ‘Please.’
‘Well,’ Jude surrenders. ‘I suppose so.’
Gertie grins and, climbing onto the chaise longue, she kicks her legs out in front of her. ‘Thank you, Aunt Jude. I love it here.’
Jude nods. They can dispense with such formalities as showers and teeth cleaning for tonight. She doesn’t want anything to encroach upon this moment – almost approaching happiness – since, goodness knows when, or if, they might get another one.
They’re woken early the next morning by a frantic knocking on the door. Jude sits up with a start, then groans. Every inch of her aches: from her sore, stiff ankles to the stabbing pain in her neck. She glances over at her niece, still gently snoring on the chaise longue. True to her word, Gertie somehow managed to pass the night without falling off onto the floor and, even more incredibly, the silver hummingbird hasn’t succumbed to the forces of gravity either.
The knocking begins again. Twisting her aching neck, Jude glances back at the grandfather clock to see it’s nearly nine o’clock.
‘Oh, crap.’ Since she’s still fully dressed, though already feeling the absence of any cleansing, Jude gets up and goes to answer the door.
The man is inside Gatsby’s before Jude’s even opened her mouth to invite him in. Jude turns to check on her niece, but Gertie is already awake, sitting bolt upright, looking none the worse for wear. Jude can’t even bare to think how she might look.
‘Bloody hell,’ he says, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re already open.’
Jude is simultaneously pleased to note that he’s a genuine customer and distressed at her own dishevelled appearance. She self-consciously fingers her own matted hair. This man is undeniably handsome, probably too distracted to notice Jude’s lack of grooming, but still she’s embarrassed. If only their first customer of the day had been a vagrant octogenarian, next to whom she might look vaguely presentable. Unfortunately, he’s a handsome forty-something with blue eyes and a rather sublime soft Irish accent.
‘What can we help you with?’ Gertie asks.
Jude glances down to see her niece standing beside her, looking up at the stranger, addressing him in a manner that is both courteous and caring. Jude again wonders how on earth this rather incredible child can sometimes instantaneously transform into an adult.
The man runs his hands through his hair again. ‘I need something for my daughter – she’s about your age,’ he says, directly addressing Gertie and ignoring Jude. ‘Her mother left us last night.’ At this, he lets out something of an anguished squeal. ‘Can you believe that? Just before Christmas. Apparently, she’s in love. Apparently, I’ve not been giving her what she needs for years now. So why didn’t she tell me that years ago?! When I could have bloody well done something about it!’
Jude and Gertie shake their heads sympathetically.
‘Ella is devastated, won’t stop crying. And my sister – she’s with my sister right now – she told me about this place; something special, she said, I could get El something special to help her through. Is that true? Is this the place?’
Jude is about to say that, regrettably, he can’t choose something for someone else, that he can only really select something for himself, when Gertie steps forward and reaches for the man’s hand, slipping her fingers through his. He looks down at her, startled.
‘Yes, it is,’ she says. ‘And I think – I know what your daughter will love right now.’
‘O … kay,’ he says, allowing her to lead him across the shop and then up the winding stairs.
Jude listens to two sets of footsteps – one light and barefoot, one heavy and booted – cross the floor above her head. They stop at what Jude believes is most likely the wardrobe. She creeps over to the stairs and cocks her head to listen. Gertie’s bright voice drifts down.
‘When I was sad once, my mum made me a dress from one of her dresses – the one I loved most – and I wore it every day until it got so many holes I couldn’t any more. It made me feel good every time I put it on, and when Mum wasn’t with me I felt like she was.’
Jude’s heart contracts.
‘Ah, OK,’ the man says, sounding rather dubious. ‘Let’s take a look.’
Sounds of rustling and ruffling follow.
‘This,’ Gertie says, finally. ‘She will love this, I promise.’
‘Really?’ He asks. ‘I’m not sure El likes purple.’
‘Trust me,’ Gertie says. ‘She will.’
There’s a long pause.
‘OK, then, I’ll trust you.’
Jude darts away from the bottom step and hurries back over to the counter, pulling out an old antiques magazine from a box under the till and quickly flicking through it. She doesn’t look up until the customer is standing before her.
‘Did you find something?’
‘The girl did,’ he says, nodding at Gertie who stands a few feet away, trying to conceal her evident pride. ‘I’m not sure. But she told me to trust her.’
‘Well, it looks lovely to me,’ Jude says.
As she takes the purple scarf from him their fingers touch. Jude holds her breath, her skin stinging with longing. ‘I – I’m sure she will love it.’
The stranger’s eyes fill with tears. He blinks them back. ‘I hope so,’ he says. ‘I really hope so, because I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now.’
‘I wish I had a dad like that,’ Gertie says with a small sigh.
‘Yes,’ Jude joins her. ‘Me too.’
They’re sitting together on the chaise longue, the silver hummingbird between them on the silk.
‘So, why don’t you have a husband?’
Jude takes a deep breath. She might have known this question was coming. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you ever had one?’
‘No.’ I’ve barely ever had a boyfriend, Jude is about to add, then decides against it. The fewer questions about her love life, or lack thereof, the better.
‘Mum never had one, either.’
‘Oh?’
Gertie shrugs. ‘She said she didn’t need one. She said we were fine on our own.’ Gertie strokes Aurora’s tail feathers. ‘But I don’t think she was telling the truth, not always. I think she was lonely sometimes, especially at night.’
Jude sighs, louder and longer than she’d intended.
; Gertie nods, sagely. ‘You should get some professional help.’
‘What?’ Jude frowns. ‘Like a therapist?’
Gertie laughs. ‘No, I was thinking of a woman Mum was friends with.’
‘Oh?’ For one shocked moment, Jude thinks her niece might be about to propose she visit a prostitute. ‘Who?’
‘She did … I’m not sure, something like … messages,’ Gertie says.
Jude frowns. ‘Messages?’
Gertie nods.
‘Oh.’ Jude laughs. ‘Do you mean massages?’
‘Yeah, right.’
Jude glances down at the hummingbird, at Gertie’s fingers between the feathers, wishing that she could take hold of her niece’s hand.
‘You’re very wise for your age, aren’t you?’
Gertie shrugs.
‘Well, you’re certainly wiser than I am.’
Gertie strokes the bird’s beak. ‘Will you ever speak to Granddad again?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Jude says. ‘I don’t really think that’s a good idea.’
Gertie considers this. ‘I hope we get another customer today.’
‘Me too,’ Jude says.
So, they sit on the chaise longue and wait. They wait until the sun sets into darkness and soft light from the street lamps spills in through the shop windows, but no one else comes.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Night.’
Henri glances up at Viola. ‘You’re clocking off early.’
‘Hardly.’
‘It’s half past midnight,’ he says.
‘Exactly,’ Viola says. ‘And I’ve not seen my … boyfriend for nearly a week.’
‘Oh,’ Henri says. ‘I see.’
‘You see what?’
The Patron Saint of Lost Souls Page 12