Promise Me: A heartbreaking and unputdownable page-turner

by Jade Beer

  This is why I need a mum. Someone who would sit quietly and listen to all this madness, then cuddle me and love me just the same. All I’ve got is a pile of letters – well, one unread letter left, to be precise. I open it today, even though the words on the front couldn’t be further from my own feelings. When you’re feeling brave, it says. Urgh! Hardly. Why didn’t she ever write one called When you’ve been a dick or When you’ve made a massive arse of yourself? The handwriting is barely legible, shaky, maybe she had to write it over several days. And even now, twelve years on, I can see the page is watermarked with her tears. It’s crumpled and creased. Did she screw it up? Write the whole thing through all that pain and then debate whether or not to keep it? I’m glad she did, even though I can feel the sorrow in every one of her words.

  * * *

  Sweet Jenny, I think this is the last letter I will ever write to you. I so wish I could take all the love I feel for you and find a way to let it flow from my pen straight to your heart, to keep you warm when I’m gone. I want you to feel it. To know how much I loved you, will always love you. I look at you sometimes and the easy, uncomplicated way you approach life and I wonder if you have any concept of how big my love is. Perhaps when you have your own children you will get some sense of how the worst thing about any of this is letting go of you. Nothing else matters to me. I feel so damn cheated, Jenny. Not for all the special moments I will miss, but for all the times you’ll never be able to pick up the phone to me. Angry that it will be someone else’s advice that you’re forced to seek. Find a friend, Jenny. Someone older and wiser who will always have your best interests at heart. You are so easy to love, someone else will be honoured to do that. All of this will be easier for you when I’m gone. There will be less disappointment.

  I wanted to pull you onto the bed with me today and whisper a thousand I love yous in your ear, but I just couldn’t risk you sensing how very close the end might be. I wanted to give you just a few precious more minutes not worrying about me. I see the way the concern clouds your face every time you sit with me, not realising just how much comfort you bring. Just feeling the softness of your hand in mine has lifted me to a beautiful pain-free place. Thank you, Jenny. You’ve given me a memory full of wonderful pictures of you. Every time I close my eyes, there you are. I will never be lonely.

  Keep an eye on Lulu for me, will you? She’s clever and sensible but she’s never been good with her own company – and she lacks your boundless capacity to love. Watch over her for me, please. Be the sister she needs. And always remember I would take all that life has thrown at me, a hundred times over, to have you as my daughter. You are the one thing I will never regret. Being your mummy is the greatest honour of my life. Now live your life, Jenny. Live it honestly and people will love you just as much as I do.

  Your devoted mum x

  * * *

  I don’t know exactly how long I sit on the edge of my bed, holding the letter, sobbing, but it’s hours, and by the end of it I feel like I have nothing left to give. I just sit there picturing my sixteen-year-old self like it was yesterday. The pretty blue and white striped Breton dress I was wearing the day Mum finally let go and how I didn’t brush my hair for three weeks afterwards because I just couldn’t see the point of looking pretty. Why bother brushing my hair when everything else about me said keep away? Dad didn’t even notice.

  Then I start to think about some of the other women I know. Helen and her ungrateful daughter, Betsy. Lulu and the sacrifices she’s made for her career. Lucy and the husband she only mildly tolerates. Jean and her childless home. Everyone is handling life without the need to try on big wedding dresses or buy honeymoon lingerie that will never be worn.

  The thought of Jean reminds me that she knows there isn’t going to be a wedding. What I don’t know is whether she’s told anyone else – although I screamed it so loudly at her at the time, I suspect everyone in the department knows it. Not one person texted or called afterwards. All those women who were happy to sit downing cocktails with me a few days before don’t want to know me now, and it’s making me think I can never go back. How can I face them all? I’ll be a pariah. Maybe some of them, now that the circle of trust has been broken, will refuse to work with me.

  It’s 5.15 p.m. and I need to get going. The drinks start at 6.30 and I don’t want to be late for Helen. I cast a quick eye over myself in the full-length mirror in the hallway and realise, too late, that there’s a nasty brown stain on the jumpsuit around the left boob. I pause, debating whether to sniff it, knowing there is no other option to change into. Then I retreat to my room and grab a brooch I inexplicably bought years ago in a car boot sale for three quid and have never worn. A giant ladybird with shiny glass stones clustered in red and black, it covers the stain perfectly. I look ridiculous, but I’m off – looking a berk is the least of my worries right now.

  I have no idea what I’m going to say to Helen about the lack of Will, my fiancé. The only sensible option is to come clean. It’s what Mum would have wanted, but perhaps surprisingly, it’s what I want too. I haven’t got the energy to keep up with the story-telling anymore, I don’t want to be that person. My only hope is that there will be some shred of understanding from Helen, that she’ll hear me out and not just ask the hotel security to escort me to the door.

  * * *

  The Hamilton Penthouse looks like an extension of The White Gallery – like it was designed and decorated with Helen herself in mind. Everything is white, or a shade of, and as I step onto the bright marbIe floor, I am hit by the sweet smell of an impressive floral display that sits on a high silver table in the entrance hall. About thirty crystal vases of all shapes and sizes are filled with the purest white flowers, broken only by an occasional branch or stem sprayed silver. It is all impossibly elegant, and I feel my hand move upwards and over the brooch. I was, at least, wise enough to ditch the duffle coat in the cloakroom off the lobby. Bloody hell! Just as I’m wondering how many drinks I’ll need before I stop caring how weird I look, a waiter wearing white gloves places a perfectly chilled flute of champagne in my hand. I’m already thinking purple velour’s not half as rank as it sounds.

  So far, I don’t recognise anyone, but I’m happy to wander. To my right is a small dining room with one central circular table, framed by heavy silk drapes and mirrored walls. It is covered in a crease-free white tablecloth that sweeps the floor and enough Christmas canapés to feed a hundred guests, despite there being less than thirty that I’ve seen so far. Tapered white candles flicker delicately in glass candelabras, sending the softest light bouncing around the room. Further into the penthouse, there is a larger drawing room dominated by a white Christmas tree. Its branches look heavy with snow and are filled with hundreds of tiny glass domes, strings of expensive-looking oversized pearls, life-like feathered doves and cascading silver stars. Across the room there is a log fire burning and it’s here that Nick introduces himself to me.

  ‘You must be Jenny?’

  ‘Nick?’

  He confirms it with a nod, then plants a kiss on both my cheeks.

  Once again, I have to admire Helen’s taste. Nick is super-handsome in a black tux with a small white rose attached to his left lapel. This is a major effort for Christmas Eve drinks and definitely beats the microwave meal and crap telly that was my planned evening.

  ‘Helen will be over the moon that you made it. Did you come alone, no Will?’

  Helen has obviously briefed him but I’m not ready to get into all that just yet. Perhaps after another glass or two of fizz.

  ‘I’m afraid not, but thank you so much for having me. This place is incredible! Do you always do something so glamorous on Christmas Eve?’ I’m glancing around, taking in how impeccably smart everyone looks. All the men, perhaps work associates and close friends of Nick’s, are wearing lounge suits and are dotted around the room in clusters of three or four, easing into the party and excitedly chatting about their plans for tomorrow. The women must have looked this pla
ce up in advance because all of them are blending seamlessly with the muted décor, wearing a uniform of soft greys, caramels and rose golds. No one else is in purple velour. All the glittering Quality Street colours of Christmas have been left outside in the mad bustle around Trafalgar Square.

  Nick chuckles. ‘Not always, no, but this year feels extra special.’ His smile is so warm, I can see how Helen would be completely seduced by it.

  ‘I haven’t seen Helen. Is she here yet?’ I was relying on her to introduce me to a few people and I’m starting to feel a bit panicked at the prospect of Nick leaving me.

  He nods skywards. ‘She’s upstairs in the bedroom, just putting the finishing touches to her outfit, I think. She won’t be long. We’re just waiting for a few stragglers, then I’ll make a toast. Don’t miss it! Ah, can I introduce you to Betsy, Helen’s daughter?’

  Betsy is suddenly beside us and not at all what I imagined. She lacks all the warmth of Helen and, to be honest, looks a bit bloody miserable, like she’s only going to smile when she thinks she must.

  ‘Hi, Betsy, Helen has told me so much about you. I’m Jenny, one of her, er, clients.’ I hold my hand out and study her face for any sign that Helen may have discussed me with her, but she looks entirely disinterested. Her handshake is weak, and her eyes are away over my shoulder and back towards the door. I wonder who she might be missing. There are none of Helen’s exquisite manners here.

  ‘Nice to meet you…’ She clearly fails to remember my name.

  Nick excuses himself to chat to the one woman – other than me – who looks out of place here. She’s in the corner near the Christmas tree and looks vaguely corporate in a black trouser suit. She’s glancing at her watch and conferring with Nick on something, perhaps the timing of his toast.

  As I’m starting to think I may have to stand here all night with Betsy – in silence – another woman bounds over to join us.

  ‘Betsy! Get that down you.’

  If I’m not mistaken, this ball of energy thrusting some fizz at Betsy appears to be wearing a bridesmaid’s dress. It’s lilac, full-length, and while it lacks the potency of the bright purple I’m wearing, it is at least different to all the other women. Thank goodness, a comrade – I hope.

  ‘Nat, you came! Brilliant!’ That seems to have snapped Betsy out of her melancholy at least. Then she turns to the man at Nat’s left shoulder. ‘And hi, Ethan. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to get nearly as smashed as the last time I saw you. You’re safe.’

  The three of them are busy embracing each other, forgetting I’m here too, and so it’s left to Ethan to include me.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m American, so excuse the total lack of manners. Ethan. Fantastic to meet you…?’

  ‘Jenny, hello.’ He has hold of me by both shoulders and hugs me so tightly, he is in danger of impaling himself on the ladybird.

  ‘Jenny. Where’s the food? Have you sniffed it out yet? I’m starving!’

  I direct Ethan back to the dining room and Betsy follows him, leaving Nat and me to chat.

  ‘So, how do you know Helen? Or are you a friend of Nick’s?’ Nat is guzzling her own fizz so fast, splashes of it are spilling onto the bodice of her dress and fanning out, making it look much worse. She notices, but just raises her eyebrows like this is totally normal behaviour.

  ‘I’m a client of Helen’s. Well, I was.’

  ‘Oh cool, when did you get married? And what did you wear?’ Her interest in me is raised.

  ‘I chose the Hayley Paige embroidered ballgown, but I’m not married. The, um, the wedding’s off, actually.’ Surely she will move on and not question me any further on it?

  ‘Oh, right. What did you say your name was? Jenny?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jenny Archer?’

  Where is this going? ‘Yes. How did you—?’

  ‘I’m Natalie Butler. Nat. I’m the new boutique manager at Helen’s London White Gallery. I was looking at your order the other day and wondering what was happening there. I just haven’t had a chance to talk to Helen about it.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ What are the chances? Of all the people to get chatting to tonight, it has to be Nat. I can’t think of a single other thing to say so I just let my mouth dip and my eyes find the floor between us.

  ‘Listen, don’t worry about it. Whatever’s wrong, I’m sure we can work it out.’ Her hand lands on my shoulder and there is something in the confident, understanding way she looks at me that makes me feel like unloading everything to her.

  ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, really. I haven’t exactly been that honest with a lot of people and, well, it’s catching up with me. The last thing I want to do is upset Helen, I’m just not sure she’ll understand when she finds out what’s been going on with me. I was going to try to chat to her tonight.’

  Her face opens up into the warmest smile that reminds me of Helen, far more so than Betsy does.

  ‘Jenny, you don’t know this about me yet, but I am somewhat of an expert when it comes to talking my way out of things. Trust me, whatever it is, we’ll get you out of it. In fact, I’m having drinks at the boutique next week. It’s a bit of a relaunch to mark me taking over. Why don’t you pop along, and we can chat properly then, if you like?’

  ‘Really?’ Yes! Maybe this is it? The moment I’ve been waiting for. I can come clean to Nat and come up with a plan to break all this to Helen in a way that won’t make her think any less of me.

  ‘Of course!’

  Before I have a chance to thank her we are rejoined by Betsy and Ethan and I notice the room has got a little more crowded while we’ve been chatting. Nick is still with the woman in the black suit and suddenly he’s tapping the side of his glass with a knife. The room silences and no one looks quite sure why, until he says, ‘Come and join me, Helen.’

  In one fluid movement, we all turn back towards the hallway. Helen is standing there, holding a bunch of snow white roses, tied with a thick cream ribbon. Her hair is neatly tucked in under a beautiful ivory teardrop hat, with a delicate face veil that stops just short of her rose-coloured lips. She stands perfectly still for a moment, letting everyone in the room register the surprise. Then there is the most wonderful collective gasp as we all start to make eye contact, sure now of what we’re seeing. The only movement Helen makes is to let her gaze travel across to Betsy. The two of them look at each other and I see a tear run down Betsy’s face as she slowly nods her head, allowing herself the first genuine smile of the night. Only once Helen sees it does she start to walk towards Nick, as we all part, forming the natural aisle of which she is so deserving.

  I can’t help it, I start to cry. Nat does, too. And I can see Nick isn’t far off either. We’ve all been completely duped. We all believed we were simply here to nibble a mince pie or two before it was time to race home for some last-minute present wrapping. As Helen reaches Nick, he places a tender kiss on her lips and holds her in his arms, making their audience wait while he enjoys the anticipation of what is about to happen. Then, in front of the twinkling Christmas tree and a room fizzing with emotion, they exchange their wedding vows: Nick promising to devote the rest of his life to protecting her heart and keeping her safe; Helen thanking him for filling her life with a joy she never thought possible. It is the most magical, meaningful thing I will ever witness.

  Just as Nick is delivering his first married kiss, I see something change in Betsy’s face as she does an audible intake of breath. It’s loud enough to send even Nick and Helen’s eyes back towards the entrance, where I can see another man has quietly joined our party. He’s older than Betsy, greying slightly. My heart lurches a little at the thought that something might be about to upset this perfect evening, until I see Nick mouth the words ‘I invited Dylan’ to Helen and I relax again. I watch as Dylan picks his way through the crowd to Betsy, who looks like a different woman to the sullen one who greeted me earlier. There is a joy in her face now, like she just unwrapped the best Christmas present imaginable.

&n
bsp; I spend the next forty minutes trying to get close enough to Helen to congratulate her, but I’m constantly beaten to it by other guests and all we’ve managed so far is a wave across the room. Then Nick announces there is one more surprise.

  We all head up a wide marble staircase to a terrace on the top floor of the penthouse, where there are wrap-around views of the city skyline. It’s surprisingly mild outside tonight and none of us needs the cosy cashmere wraps Helen and Nick have thoughtfully provided. More champagne is served and then, without warning, the sky explodes above us into a colourful firework display that has everyone squealing with delight. I’m still trying to locate Helen; the evening is drawing to its conclusion and I must speak to her before it’s all over.

  Then I feel an arm slide across my shoulders. Helen pulls me in to her and I allow the comforting familiarity of her powdery floral perfume to envelope me completely. I can see Nick is looking across the sea of heads for her and she nods at him, letting him know she’s needed here with me for now.

  ‘I’m so happy for you, Helen. You deserve all this, and it’s wonderful being part of it with you.’ I can hear the blurred edges of my words rolling into each other and feel my legs buckling slightly beneath me.

  ‘I’m not sure it would have been the same without you, Jenny.’ She plants the softest lingering kiss on my forehead and I feel nothing but total gratitude for this incredible woman.

  ‘Even though there’s no Will tonight?’ I wasn’t going to go there but more than anything, I want this evening to be genuine, for both of us.