He sat back in his Aeron chair. Usually at this point he would have celebrated by going to the pub and not coming back for days. He smiled. That was one reason why he liked living in Highgate: it was only a couple of miles from fashionable, happening London, but it was just far enough out. It was quieter, older, more serene. Not like the ‘Twin Hills of Temptation’, Primrose Hill and Notting Hill, where there was always someone asking him down the pub or to a party, which was where his troubles usually began.
He reached for his coat, locked his studio and headed out towards Waterlow Park; it was a lovely afternoon for a walk – cold but crisp. He thought about Grace Ashford and smiled. The documentary score had given him a renewed sense of purpose and a reason for getting out of bed in the morning. A reason to think about the future and not dwell on the past. But it was their renewed friendship which had really saved him from sliding backwards. After he left Second Chances, he’d declined Grace’s offer to stay at Toddington – there was something about Julian that aggravated him – but he had seen her at least one a week: trips to the movies, a walk around the Heath, or for brunch to discuss the documentary. He’d put any romantic thoughts to one side – jumping into another messy relationship was the last thing he needed right now – but their platonic mini-dates had really brought him back to life and he would always be in her debt for that.
He walked past the tennis courts, breathing in the air and enjoying the squeals of a group of children trying to climb a tree. At Second Chances they’d called this ‘the Technicolor Rush’, the pure pleasure of seeing the world again through clear eyes, enjoying simple things like birds and flowers for what they were. Alex knew he wasn’t completely free from that little devil on his shoulder whispering about how nice a pint would be right now, but he was learning to ignore it. It was easier when you were surrounded by grass and trees and . . . God, I’m turning into a hippy, he smiled to himself.
He paid his three pounds and walked into Highgate Cemetery. This was one of his favourite places in London; he loved the poetic bleakness of the place. Around the edges, the graveyard was pretty and well-kept – fresh flowers in front of polished headstones, tourists posing in front of the Karl Marx memorial – but if you ventured into the middle, where the tottering headstones were overgrown and choked with ivy, it was somehow more beautiful and serene. A place for the dead, it was one of the few places Alex felt at peace. He sat on a weatherworn bench and smiled as a young mother pushed a toddler by in his buggy. He waved at the little boy, who giggled, hiding behind his stuffed rabbit. For a second Alex thought of Melissa and their plans to start a family. He’d heard from Ted that Christopher Hayes had gone back to Jennifer, but that part of his life seemed so distant and strange, as if his marriage had been part of a bio-pic movie about someone else.
It was starting to get dark, so Alex put on his iPod headphones and began to walk back up towards the gates. He had come so far in such a short space of time and he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t gone on that bender in Soho, if he hadn’t gone to Second Chances. Would I still be lying on the sofa at my old house? He would never have had the strength to say no to Miles’ offer of the residency at his Vegas hotel, that was for sure. Part of him still felt bad about letting Miles down, but he did not want to be bound to him any longer. He’d paid that debt.
He pushed his hands into his pockets, lost in the music he was listening to – the funk-groove soundtrack to an obscure blaxploitation movie. He didn’t hear the running footsteps behind him, didn’t know anything of the attack until he felt the blow on the back of the head. The ground swung up to meet him, the gravel digging into his ear. He tried to cover his head, to roll into a ball as he was repeatedly kicked in the face, back, legs, only vaguely aware that his headphones and wallet were being torn from him. And then all he could hear was a baby crying: ‘Mama! Mama!’
63
February 2010
Toddington Hall had never looked more magnificent. In the decades before Julian had bought the mansion, it had changed hands a number of times – one wing had been used as a conference centre, then briefly turned into an old people’s home – but it had been neglected and allowed to peel and crack. Now it had been fully restored, it made perfect sense to reintroduce Toddington to polite society with a modern version of a debutante ball. Hurricane lights twinkled like fireflies, hanging from the long row of lime trees that flanked the drive; a marquee on the rear lawn seated three hundred for dinner around a koi carp pool, while the ceiling of the ballroom was covered in black velvet pierced by thousands of fairy lights to give the impression of dancing under the stars. It had taken all Grace’s powers of persuasion to convince Julian to throw an eighteenth birthday party for the twins. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t keen to have hundreds of drunken teenagers marauding through his lovingly rejuvenated stately home, especially considering the priceless art in the gallery wing. But once Grace had pointed out that Joe and Liv’s friends were the sons and daughters of the super-rich, people they could subsequently invite to parties, screenings and gallery openings, he decided it was to be a no-expenses-spared event. A funk band, a DJ from Pascha and musical fireworks were arranged, with accommodation laid on for all the guests in a series of local hotels and B&Bs. It was going to be a night to remember.
‘Come on, Livvy,’ called Grace.‘Looks like your guests are starting to arrive.’ Sitting on the window seat of her daughter’s bedroom, she peered out of the long windows and could just make out the headlights of a coach bringing the first lot of arrivals. The door to the en suite bathroom opened and Olivia stepped out.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, doing a dainty pirouette.
In five-inch heels and an ivory minidress, her hair tied up in a top-knot, she looked both sexy and elegant and far more mature than her years.
‘You look like a goddess,’ said Grace with maternal pride. Mother and daughter had gone through some difficult times after Grace had found the contraceptive pills in Olivia’s bag. They had rowed constantly over boys, drinking, clothes and money. Olivia had defied Grace, sworn at her, stayed out all night. In the end, however, they had got over the worst. Olivia was less truculent and rebellious, Grace less protective and controlling. It had been a long journey for both of them, and Grace realised she had needed to grow up a little too. Six months ago she had celebrated her fortieth birthday, and yet she still wasn’t ready to accept that she had a daughter who was beautiful enough to grace the cover of any fashion magazine in the world.
‘Wait. How about something in your hair?’ she said, picking up a black velvet box she had left on the side.
‘What is it?’ said Olivia.
‘Just something your grandmother gave to me when I moved to Parador.’
Olivia opened the box and took out a beautiful silver and diamond hairclip. ‘Gosh, Mum, it’s lovely.’
‘It’s been in the Hernandez family for three generations – now you make it four.’
Isabella had given it to her that second Christmas, as a belated ‘welcome to the family’ gesture. Grace had been touched nevertheless, and as she clipped it into Olivia’s hair, she felt a warm sense of having completed a circle.
The party filled up quickly as two coaches ferried in guests from Danehurst, the local tennis club Joseph belonged to, as well as private homes in London and Oxfordshire. After much debate, an alcohol bar had been provided along with catering by the Admirable Crichton, who had been responsible for the Posh and Becks nuptials.
‘Are you sure this is an eighteenth party?’ said Sarah as the guests filed in. ‘It looks like a particularly decadent night at Studio 54.’ The presence of Sarah, Grace and Connie as unofficial chaperones was the one concession the twins had been forced to agree to for their party, although Grace was not looking forward to an evening acting like some prison guard, separating horny teenagers. Besides which, Sarah was right, none of the guests looked like teenagers. The girls, especially, seemed impossibly glamorous and sophisticated.
‘
Now you’re not going to get in the way, are you, Mum?’ said Olivia. ‘You must remember what it was like to be eighteen.’
‘She doesn’t, but I do,’ said Sarah. ‘So no funny business, OK?’
Connie walked in holding a silver envelope and handed it to Olivia. ‘Special message for Mr Joseph and Ms Olivia Hernandez,’ she said.
‘Joe!’ shouted Olivia. Her brother ran over as she tore open the envelope. He was wearing a midnight-blue dinner suit and had his father’s dark eyes and thick, floppy hair. Sometimes Grace would look up and catch sight of him and think she was back in Australia.
‘What’s it say?’ said Joe eagerly, peering over his sister’s shoulder.
‘“Sorry I can’t be there, but hopefully these might make up for it. Uncle Miles.”’
Olivia looked at her mother, but Grace shrugged. She had no idea what this was about. Her daughter turned to Connie.
‘What is it? What’s Uncle Miles got us?’
Raising her eyebrows, Connie pointed towards the front door. Squealing, Olivia ran outside, closely followed by Joe and the rest of the party. Two gleaming silver sports cars were parked outside.
‘Ohmygod! Ohmygod!’ said Olivia, dancing on the spot. Joseph had already opened the door of the first one and all his friends were crowding around, clapping him on the back.
Grace went over to Julian. He was smiling, but she saw that he looked put out. He didn’t like to be upstaged.
‘They can’t even drive,’ he said, walking back inside.
Olivia was squealing again. ‘Look, there’s platinum Globe Club membership in the glove compartment!’
Frantic discussions began between her and her friends about when they could first head off to London, before someone had the more extravagant plan of flying out to New York to sample the Globe Club there.
Olivia ran over to show her mother. ‘Why don’t we see more of Uncle Miles, Mum? He’s so cool.’
Grace flashed her mother a look, and Connie gave her a small smile. ‘He’s a very busy man, Liv. He’s out of the country most of the time.’
‘Can I go to New York in the summer?’ Olivia said. ‘It’d be so brilliant.’
Grace was about to say ‘no, you’re too young to travel alone’ when she remembered her own disappearing act when she was not much older than her daughter.
‘We’ll see, honey,’ she said. To her surprise, Olivia grabbed her, giving her a hug.
‘You’re so cool sometimes, Mum,’ she said.
The next two hours passed by in a blur for Grace. As the guests got progressively more drunk and frisky – one couple were found completely naked in the gun room – the adults discreetly patrolled the party making sure behaviour wasn’t getting too out of hand, and that the security in the roped-off parts of the manor, such as the indoor pool and the gallery, hadn’t been breached. For all his pre-party worrying, Julian didn’t seem all that concerned with what was going on; in fact he seemed to be enjoying himself holding court in the kitchen, surrounded by adoring girls bombarding him with questions about art and the celebrities he knew. By ten thirty Grace felt fit to drop and went to the bar for a fortifying glass of red wine.
‘With two hundred teenagers to watch over, I thought I might find you at the booze supply,’ said an amused voice behind her.
‘Alex!’ she cried, turning to hug him. ‘You’re here!’
‘I’ve been here a while actually,’ said Alex. ‘Sarah had me collared in the conservatory.’
For once, Grace didn’t feel jealous, possibly because she and Alex had spent so much time together over the past six months while he’d worked on the score for her documentary. After he left the clinic, he had declined her offer to stay at Toddington, but he had seen her at least once a week: trips to the West End, walks around the village, or brunch to discuss the documentary. She’d come to look forward to their time together, all the ‘coupley’ things she should have been doing with Julian, who never seemed to have the time. And it had been wonderful to see Alex slowly come back to life. Despite the recent mugging, Alex still seemed remarkably upbeat; the old twinkle was returning to his eyes, especially when he’d played her the music. It was amazing: dramatic, romantic, moving. Everything she had hoped for – for both of them.
She got Alex a tonic water from the bar, then led him to the library, where she could rest her aching feet and they could hear themselves above the thumping bass of the funk band.
‘You know Joseph asked me to do an acoustic session in the stables later on?’ Alex said.
‘You’re not going to, are you?’
‘I said I’d have a jam with a few of the lads if they were interested. But get up on stage? Not a chance. They’re going to want to see Lady Gaga or JLS. A bunch of eighteen-year-olds aren’t going to be interested in some old fella with a guitar.’
‘Even one who’s sold a hundred million records?’
‘Especially one who’s sold a hundred million records. I think I’m officially Mum and Dad’s music now.’
They stared into the library fire, listening to the muffled sound of the DJ.
‘So what did Sarah collar you about, then?’
‘Oh, the state of the music industry, how the old songs are better than all this new-fangled rubbish. Your average party conversation.’
Part of Grace felt that Alex and Sarah were the answer to each other’s problems. He needed someone strong and dependable, while Sarah was looking for a decent DNA donor before her biological clock ran out of steam, but she felt an out-of-character flush of relief that he did not seem remotely interested in Sarah.
She cupped her hands around her wine glass. ‘I can’t believe my kids are eighteen. They’ll be off to university this year.’
‘Does this make you officially an empty-nester?’
‘It makes me old.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Alex. ‘Plenty of women are just having their first child at your age. Maybe it’s time you settled down.’
‘Well, Julian does propose to me sporadically. I might have to take him up on his next offer just so I don’t feel like some crabby old spinster.’
‘You should,’ he said, staring into the fire. ‘It’s good to have someone to look out for you. What’s been stopping you all these years?’
Grace shrugged. ‘I’ve done it once before, remember?’
‘Still holding a torch for El Presidente?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I saw a lot of Gabe making the movie in Palumbo. He’s moved on, he’s happy. He’s got a wife who’s good for him.’
‘I thought that about Melissa, and look where that got me.’ He took a sip of his tonic water. ‘I see Miles sent elaborate gifts.’
She grunted. ‘Like two eighteen-year-olds need sports cars and club membership.’
‘Miles always was good at buying his way into people’s affections. It’s when you’ve got to pay him back that it becomes a problem.’
Out in the courtyard, Olivia was enjoying a Gauloise cigarette. She liked the French brands; they made her look cool. Not that she needed any help in that department. Over Christmas she’d been shopping in Topshop and was spotted by scouts from both Storm and Models One. Olivia knew what she wanted to do when school was finally over. Her brother might have a place at Cambridge, but what guarantee was that of getting on in the world? Good looks and contacts, that was what mattered, and she was determined to work her advantages to the max.
She looked up as she heard the door open: Julian, wearing a dinner suit with a white T-shirt underneath and box-fresh plimsolls. She didn’t bother to hide the cigarette; she was eighteen now and he wasn’t her father, was he?
‘Enjoying your birthday, Liv?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, it’s been cool,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘The car is fantastic but I don’t think Mum approves. Then again, she doesn’t approve of anything these days, does she?’
Olivia was pleased that Julian didn’t stick up for Grace. Although she had disliked him as a child, as the years
had passed she had come to view him as an ally. Years ago, after her mum had found her pills, she had heard her and Julian arguing about it. ‘Treat her like a grown-up, Grace!’ he’d said. ‘If she wants to have sex, she’ll have it whether she’s on the pill or not.’ Well, he was right there.
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