Ruined Plans
Chapter 1
“My brother’s an arsehole.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, tapping the glass containing my dirty martini against my best friend’s.
Juliette and I met at university. We were both studying law and started off in the same halls. We clicked instantly. Looking back on it now, I think it may have been because we were both doing something that wasn’t our choice. I’d never voiced the fact that I didn’t want to be a lawyer, and neither had she, but I think we both knew.
“I feel totally responsible for all this. I pushed the two of you together.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “It’s not your fault he can’t keep his dick to himself, and it’s also not your fault that we haven’t really been working for a while,” I add, because I’m not sure I can really blame him for what he did, knowing what our marriage has been like.
“When was the last time you two…” she trails off, choosing to use hand gestures instead of words.
“No idea.”
“NO IDE—”
“Mummy, can I have some juice?” Sophia shouts, interrupting Juliette’s shock.
Unlike me, since graduating with a first, Juliette’s never worked a day in law. Actually, she’s never worked a day full stop, but that’s beside the point. She met Hugo during our second year and, not long after graduation, discovered she was pregnant. She’s been a stay at home mum since. They now have three terrors who run her ragged most days and are polite little angels when their dad appears after long hours crunching numbers. It’s pretty amusing to watch.
“Sorry, what were we saying…Oh yeah. You can’t remember the last time?”
“No. I told you things weren’t great.”
“I know, but there’s not great and then really not great.”
I just shrug at her. What does it matter now, anyway? The damage is done and I get to start over.
“Do you really have to leave?”
“I do.”
Juliette’s face drops. I’m gutted to leave her. We’ve practically lived in each other’s pockets since university. Shit, we’ve been sisters for the past three years, but I can’t stay for her. It’s time I did something for myself for once.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll be back to visit, and you can come out to me. The kids will love it with the beach and the countryside. You might actually wear them out for once,” I say with a laugh.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Only on the phone briefly to tell him I was leaving. He begged for me to stay, told me he was sorry, that we could work it out, but it’s too late. He needs to face up to the fact that his cheating was the final nail in a practically sealed coffin already. We were never going to work, and him begging is just embarrassing, really.”
Juliette gives me a sad face but doesn’t say anything. I think she knows what I’m saying is true. She must have been able to see that we weren’t working together.
I’ve just finished my drink when my phone rings, alerting me the taxi’s outside.
“Time to go,” I announce, getting up from Juliette’s sofa.
“You really have to?” she asks again.
“Yes. I’ll ring you when I’m there to let you know I’m safe.”
“Okay,” she says as she pulls me into a tight hug. “KIDS, come and say goodbye to Aunt Addy,” she hollers in my ear.
* * *
Once my luggage is in the boot of the taxi, I settle myself in the back seat and wave at Juliette and the kids as the driver pulls away. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes at the thought of leaving them and focus on where I’m going.
I’m going home.
I’m going back to Ireland.
I was twelve when Mum moved us after falling in love with Michael. I didn’t appreciate how much I loved Ireland until I was dropped in the middle of the crazy city that was London. Michael had everything Mum was looking for: money and the promise of a good life. I’ve no idea who my dad is. Mum got pregnant after a night out and nine months later, there I was. I never went without as a kid, but things weren’t easy and Mum was always on the lookout for a shortcut. She decided at some point the best way out was to find a man—a man who had a good job and a load of money. I’ve no idea where she met Michael; we’ve never had the kind of relationship where we talk about that kind of stuff. We get on fine but we’re very different. She always wants more, no matter how good her life is, whereas I don’t crave all the drama and fuss she does. Although I haven’t had it for a long time, I think a simple life is exactly what I need.
I want to spend time in a place I can call home. I want to read a book, watch a film, have an afternoon nap just because I can. I want to walk on the beach in the rain and sit in a cafe and enjoy a coffee with a pastry without feeling guilty about my carb intake. Mostly though, I want to have time to bake. I want to make cakes, biscuits, quiches, anything…and I want to have people eat them and enjoy them.
I get settled on to the plane and pull out the new diary I bought in the airport. I destroyed the last one in the wood burner that was in the flat. In the five years we’d lived there, we’d never once started a fire. It was one of the things I felt I should at least do once before leaving, so I used my diary full of my work notes to start it. It was a freeing feeling, sitting there watching my old life go up in flames.
I’d done as I said when I left work that day. I never returned. I emailed in my notice the second I got home, followed by another to get the divorce in motion.
I open the diary and flick through the pages until I find the end of February. Pulling the pen from the elastic on the side, I pop the top and get ready to write.
The Plan…
1. Find somewhere to live
2. Look for business opportunities
3. Focus on me
It’s the 29th February. The perfect day to find myself a little bit of Irish luck.
* * *
I press the doorbell down and look around the familiar street. Aunt Addy lives in what I remember as her parents’ house. They both died last year and she decided to move into their small two bed bungalow, which was just a few streets down from where I’d grown up.
From the moment I landed, I felt like I was home. Then, the second I got a whiff of Irish air, I knew I’d made the right decision coming here. Gone was the grimy London smell, and in its place was a freshness I can’t even begin to describe. To me it’s the smell of the future; the smell of endless possibilities and a new life.
“Addison!” Aunt Addy squeals when she opens the door. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I wanted it to be surprise,” I say as I look at her. Yes, she’s a little older than when I last saw her, but other than that, she looks exactly as I remember. Her ash blonde hair is straight and to her shoulders with a cute little fringe. She’s wearing the same jeans and shirt combo that I’m sure are the only items of clothing she owns, and as always, she has a couple of strands of thread hanging from her hair, some fabric thrown over her shoulder, and a row of pins across the front of her shirt.
“Well, I’m surprised,” she says with a joyful laugh. “Come here.” Aunt Addy opens her arms wide and pulls me to her. She holds me for the longest time and I’m more than happy to be in her welcoming arms.
“Come in, come in. I’ve not long boiled the kettle.”
I drop my bags in her small hallway before following her down to the kitchen. She deposits the fabric over the back of one of the dining room chairs before walking over to the kettle.
“Tea?”
“Yes please. White, one sugar,” I say, just in case she needs reminding. It’s been years since we’ve spent any actual time together.
“Exactly the same as your mum; I remember, sweetheart.”
I sit and watch as she makes the tea and arranges some biscuits on a plate. Aunt Addy’s my godmother. Her and Mum grew up together and were
inseparable throughout their childhood and early adult years—until Mum left, really. When Mum found out she was having a daughter, she said she didn’t even consider a different name for me. I’ve always loved spending time with her. Unlike my mum, who’s a little highly strung, Aunt Addy’s very down to earth. Nothing’s ever too big a problem or too much effort. She takes everything at the right pace and I’m pretty sure she’s never made a rash decision in her entire life.
While my mum dropped out of college to have me, Aunt Addy trained as a seamstress. She’s made all sorts of incredible outfits over the years. When I married Edward, I told him that she was going to make my dress. When Aunt Addy’s daughter Kayleigh and I were little, she used to allow us to play with her fabric and we’d dress ourselves up as brides. I remember her telling us that when the day came, she’d be honoured to make our gowns. I think I was nine and Kayleigh seven at the time. Edward didn’t have much of an opinion about anything to do with our wedding, and even less when it came to my dress; I think he just shrugged at me and continued with whatever he was doing.
I didn’t think anything of it until I got a phone call from his mother a few weeks later telling me how I couldn’t possibly not wear a designer gown. I argued the best I could but I wasn’t stupid enough to really believe I had any sort of voice when it actually came to my own wedding plans. They were funding the event so they got the final say.
After all, the main point of the wedding seemed to be showing off just how much money they had. There didn’t seem to be a lot of focus on the fact that Edward and I were vowing to be together for better or for worse. I laugh to myself as I think about the worst, and the image of him and Jennifer together pops into my head again.
“Are you okay?” Aunt Addy asks when she turns around to see the smile on my face.
“Yes, I’m good. Glad to be here,” I add, because now I’m here with her and in her house, there isn’t anywhere else in the world I’d rather be.
“Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable,” she says, picking up the tray and walking into her living room. She has one small sofa and a chair all facing the French doors that look out over her small yet perfect garden. She places the tray on the coffee table and moves toward the chair, so I take the sofa.
We remain silent as Aunt Addy pours the tea and hands one over to me. Her smile’s warm and kind—exactly as I remember. I think I feel more at home with her than my own mother.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, sweetheart, but what brings you here? It looks like you’re staying a while,” she says, nodding towards my bags in the hallway.
“I’ve left,” I state, and watch Aunt Addy’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh?”
“It’s been coming a long time,” I say sadly. “I haven’t been happy for…years, if I’m honest. You know as well as I do that I was kind of forced into that life.” Aunt Addy nods in agreement. She’s the only one who really knows how I felt after leaving with Mum so she could be with Michael. She knew at heart I was a small-town girl with little interest in living in a city, let alone one as big as London. She also knew my passion in life wasn’t—and was never going to be—law.
Not that Mum or Michael cared.
He had the high-flying law career and the money to do whatever was going to make my mum happy. Unfortunately, that included me following in his footsteps because they believed that would also make me happy. Mum never really understood how money and flashy things weren’t high up on my priority list. She tried for years to turn me into a miniature version of herself but it was never going to happen.
“I know, sweetheart, but I thought you were too stubborn to ever leave,” Aunt Addy admits. I pull my legs up under me as I think about what she’s just said. It’s totally true and it makes me wonder how long I would have stuck at it if it wasn’t for discovering Edward’s wayward dick. “So what happened?”
“Edward was sleeping with my PA,” I admit quietly.
“Shit.” I lift one side of my mouth up in an attempt at a smile. “When?”
“I found out on Valentine’s Day, but I’ve no idea really how long it’s been going on. I’ve only had brief interaction with him since, and that was to tell him anything he wants to say he can say to the solicitor.”
“Ouch,” Aunt Addy says with a laugh. “You go girl!”
“I don’t see the point in dragging it out. It was the final nail in the coffin for our marriage.”
“I’m so sorry, Addison.”
I lower my teacup and look into Aunt Addy’s blue eyes. Seeing them full of water brings a lump to my throat. I’ve missed her so fucking much and I hate that it’s taken something like this get me here. The lump grows to the size of a football and the second my bottom lip starts to quiver, she’s off her chair and pulling me into a hug.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she whispers in my ear as I allow myself to cry for the first time since Valentine’s day.
* * *
“So what now?” Aunt Addy asks once the tears have subsided and we’ve had another cup of tea.
I think back to the short list I wrote in my diary on the plane. “I’m going to do something for me for a change. What I should have done years ago.”
Aunt Addy lifts her teacup and encourages me to clink mine against it. “To your new start.” I follow her and lift my cup. “We should probably be doing this with something stronger,” she says, looking down at her tea sadly.
“This is perfect.”
* * *
“I was just going to make soup for my dinner. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“That’s good with me,” I say, thinking about how something so warming and homely is exactly what I need.
“I haven’t got any bread though.”
“Have you got flour? Yeast?”
“I think so, sweetheart.”
“Awesome. Then I’ll make some.”
Twenty minutes later and it’s like we’ve gone back in time. Aunt Addy’s stood to my left chopping up a leek while I knead the bread dough. The only difference from my memory of cooking with her is that I no longer need a stool to be able to reach the worktop, we’ve both got glasses of wine, and the apron I’m wearing now fits and doesn’t need to be folded up around my middle so I don’t trip over it. It’s 1950’s style and I’ve loved it for as long as I can remember. The main fabric of the apron is green and white floral, but it’s trimmed with black and has a green flower on the waistband. It’s looking a little worn these days but no less beautiful. It screams Aunt Addy. It’s how I remember her best: in the kitchen, wearing this apron and covered in flour.
“I haven’t much in so I’m not sure what we can rustle up for pudding,” she announces as she pours the stock into the soup.
“This will be fine,” I say, thinking that the bread alone is going to bloat me out after basically being carb free for years to fit the image everyone expected of me in London. Naturally, I’m a size 10, but it was very obvious to me very fast that my lifestyle and diet were going to have to change when I started dating Edward. Every woman he was surrounded by were stick insects, and he often commented on my thighs. I did what I needed to do to fit the person I was trying to be. I dropped carbs and took up Pilates. I hated it but it had the desired effect. Gone are the hips and thighs, replaced by…well…not a lot. The only thing I somehow managed to keep is my boobs. The size of them has hardly changed, even though I’ve dropped two dress sizes—something that pleased Edward immensely.
I look down at my thick knitted jumper and dark blue skinny jeans and smile. It wasn’t very often that I got to wear comfortable, casual clothes like this. I was expected to be in Gucci dresses, sharp fitted suits, and high heels with everything. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for dressing up, but just not all the fucking time. When I packed up what I wanted to bring, I mostly avoided my main wardrobe and instead raided the one in our spare bedroom that housed all my favourite but hardly ever worn clothes.
“Ohhh, look what I’ve
found,” Aunt Addy says as she leans into the back of the larder cupboard, dragging me from my thoughts. I can’t help but smile when she emerges with a can of pineapple slices. “Are you in the mood for a pineapple upside down cake?” she asks with a knowing wink. Aunt Addy’s well aware it’s my all-time favourite, and there’s no chance of me turning it down.
* * *
“I swear I’m going to be explode,” I complain, holding onto my stomach.
“You needed a good meal inside you, sweetheart. What have you been eating over there? There’s hardly anything of you.”
“Vegetables,” I mutter in disgust. “Where’s a good place to get a room for the night?” I would love to stay here but I know Aunt Addy doesn’t have much space, so I don’t want to presume she’ll take me in.
“Don’t be silly, girl. You’ll stay here. I can’t offer anything fancy, but the sofa pulls out to a bed that’s pretty comfortable. Sinead and I have sleepovers on it,” she says with a smile, referring to her granddaughter.
“Are you sure? I really don’t want to get in the way.”
“Of course. Here,” she says, topping up my wine glass again. “We’ve got so much more to talk about.”
An hour later and we’ve cleaned up the kitchen—which I have to admit was a bit of a novelty because, embarrassingly, I can’t actually remember the last time I washed up or did any actual cleaning—and we are sat back in the living room with our pyjamas on, wine glasses in hand.
Aunt Addy gave me a quick tour of the place and I realised why she hasn’t got a guest bedroom. The master bedroom is fitted out as a workshop for her. There’s a huge cutting table in the middle the room, more sewing machines than I’d know what to do with, and fabric, cotton and embellishment stuff everywhere you look. I think it’s about two buttons away from being a haberdashery shop. In comparison to her huge workroom, her bedroom is the box room with a single bed and only a small walkway of space with all the furniture she’s managed to shoehorn into it.
Never Forget Us Page 13