Of course it’s not Henrietta. She’s too busy researching French properties to be a thief.
I hope you’re right. Yikes, sound of breaking window outside. Better go. C x
Charlie might have gone offline again, but he had planted a seed. Could it be Henrietta?
Could it?
Of course it couldn’t, I told myself. Just because she was planning to leave her husband and set up house with Lucas and didn’t have any money of her own but urgently needed lots of it and had plenty of access to those houses … It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t be her.
I returned to my emails, scrolling down through the inbox. Amid the spam, there was one from my mother. She’d written twice since I’d told her I was in London, cheerful emails thanking me for letting her know where I was, telling me a couple of stories from her filming days, an update on Walter’s plans for his new garden. I expected more of the same this time.
My breath caught as I read it.
Darling Ella,
You are always in our thoughts, I hope you know that, but especially so this month. It is barely possible that Felix has been gone from us for almost twenty months. I thought you might like to know we are having a mass said for his anniversary. I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t converted, I promise, but it gives me great peace.
Love from Walter and from me, darling.
Mum xxx
I wrote back immediately.
Dear Mum and Walter,
Thank you very much. That means a lot.
E xxx
I blinked back sudden tears. As I sat there, another email came in from the MerryMakers address. An answer from her already? It was barely seven a.m. in Australia. I clicked it open. It wasn’t from her personally, but from her production team. A link to an interview Mum had done on one of the main TV channels. I read the accompanying note, working my way through the exclamation marks that littered any message from the MerryMakers team. They were especially excited this time. An interview like this was a big step, I knew. There wasn’t usually much crossover between cable TV stars and what people thought of as ‘real’ network television.
I opened the link and pressed play. The clip began. The tanned host began his introduction, calling her ‘Australia’s wackiest mum’, ‘the kooky cook’, ‘the madcap, mischievous mistress of the mixing bowl and masterchef of mirth, Merry of MerryMakers herself!’
Mum appeared at the top of some flimsy-looking stairs and practically ran down. How she managed it in high shoes and a short skirt, I didn’t know. Her hair was styled into bouncy blonde curls. She was wearing her usual bright colours. She sat down and waved enthusiastically at the camera. The interview began.
At first I thought there was something wrong with the connection. I stopped it, started again. I put it in wide screen, then back to small. I wasn’t mistaken. Something was definitely different about her. It wasn’t what she was saying. She was being as funny as ever. She sang as well as ever too, bursting into a chorus of ‘Food, Glorious Food’ mid-interview. She crossed the studio and did a demonstration at a mini kitchen set-up. Her cooking was as chaotic as ever. What was different was her face, I realised. Mum had had Botox. A lot of Botox.
I was shocked. Why on earth would she have done that? Everyone knew she was in her fifties. She’d never hidden her age. It was part of her appeal. I was sad and disappointed all at once. I started to write her an email, not editing myself, telling the truth.
Mum, please tell me I’m imagining it? Botox?? I’ve just seen you on that chat show and you were brilliant but your forehead didn’t move once. You were beautiful the way you were. That’s why everyone loves you, because you are yourself. You won’t seem like my mum if you don’t look like my mum. I really wish you hadn’t done it.
I couldn’t send it, of course. I was thirty-four years old, not fourteen. If she wanted to have full-scale plastic surgery, then that was her choice, whether I liked it or not. I pressed delete. I looked again. I’d pressed send. I tried to stop it but I was too late. My email was on its way to Australia.
I hurriedly wrote another one. Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to send that.
I checked a minute later. No answer yet. I pressed refresh. Still no answer.
I rang her instead. It was the first time I’d rung her in over a year. She answered immediately.
‘Ella! Darling, what time is it there? How are you? Is everything all right?’
‘Mum, I’m fine. I’m sorry to worry you. I’m ringing about my email. I shouldn’t have sent it —’
‘The one saying thank you? I just got it. Thank you, darling. I’m so glad you didn’t mind me having the mass said for Felix. I wasn’t sure if it was my place —’
‘Your place?’
‘You know, whether it should be me who has the mass said —’
‘But Felix was your grandson. Of course you can have a mass said for him.’
‘Are you sure? I just didn’t know if I should have checked with you beforehand.’ Before I had a chance to answer, she spoke again. ‘Oh, another email from you. You have been busy. Isn’t the world amazing, I’m talking to you on the phone and getting emails from you on my laptop, all at once.’ There was a moment’s silence as she read it and then I heard her laughing. ‘Is this the one you shouldn’t have sent? Your email about the Botox?’
‘Mum, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I —’
She laughed again. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Ella. Everyone has told me off about that. Walter is horrified. I’ll let it ooze out or wear off or whatever it does. And I won’t do it again, I promise. It’s hideous. I look the same no matter how I feel. What was I thinking? But don’t you worry about me and my silly Botox. How are you, darling? How is London?’
‘It’s still very cold. It snowed last week. Just a few flakes, but —’
‘I know! Jess was so excited to see it. She rang especially to say —’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Mum?’
‘I’d better go, darling. I’m late for the studio. Thanks so much for ringing. It’s wonderful to hear your voice.’
‘Mum, please wait. Did you say Jess —’
She’d hung up. When I rang again she didn’t answer. I didn’t leave a message. I didn’t call again. Instead, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I went onto Facebook.
I’d banned myself from looking at it. Now, despite a voice telling me not to, I keyed in Jess’s name. I knew there wouldn’t be any privacy measures in place.
Her page appeared. She had updated it in the past week. There were dozens of photographs with dozens of exclamation-mark-laden captions. Jess in front of Buckingham Palace. Jess beside a black taxi. Jess in front of the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, a red phone box. Jess in the West End, pointing up at the billboards of different theatres.
Jess was in London. And by the look of the photos, she was having the time of her life.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Dear Felix,
Next week is the twenty-month anniversary of your death. We all hoped it would be significant in some way, help us in some way, I think, but I can’t imagine a day when I am not devastated that you died. A day when I won’t wish time and again that I’d made a different decision that afternoon. That I had somehow been able to stop it happening. I have relived that day over and over so many times, wishing I could change the ending. I still wish it.
But I’ve also made a decision. I will always be sad when I think about you but I am going to try to remember something happy too. Every time I feel sad I want to have a good memory ready to try and cancel it out. I am going to make myself remember all the beautiful things that happened while you were in our lives, not just the sad way you left us. Because there are so many wonderful memories, Felix. I don’t know how you did it, but from the moment you arrived, you filled all our lives with happiness, just by being you.
Here are just two of my favourite memories for now:
The way you looked the day you were born
. Felix, you had so much hair. Even the nurses remarked on it. I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but you looked like a monkey.
One day when you were about four months old I was trying to put your nappy on. You didn’t want me to do it. Every time I tried, you struggled. I left you alone, then tried again. No, you still struggled and squirmed and kept trying to sit up. I wasn’t cross, just tired, but I said, a bit sharply, ‘Fine, Felix. Don’t wear one.’ And you got upset. It was as if you understood what I’d said. Your bottom lip quivered and you looked up at me as if you were sorry to cause trouble, and then, the funniest thing of all, you lay down flat again and stretched out your legs, stiff as can be, as if to say, ‘Go on, then. If you’re going to get so worked up about it, put the bloody nappy on.’ I know you were probably just stretching but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much. I still didn’t get the nappy on you in time, by the way. You got it all over me. My own fault.
I miss you so much, Felix. It’s still so hard.
Chapter Thirty
From: Charlie Baum
To: Ella O’Hanlon
Subject: Meredith
Yes, I saw it. Not so much MerryMakers as Merry-Can’t-Make-a-Muscle-Move-in-Her-Forehead. Glad to hear she’s laughing about it. Not that we’d be able to tell if we were looking at her. How long does it take for that stuff to wear off??
From: Charlie Baum
To: Ella O’Hanlon
Subject: On a different subject
E, I know the anniversary is coming up soon. I just want you to know we are all thinking of you. Stay strong and brave and know how much we all love you and how much we all loved Felix too. C xx
From: Charlie Baum
To: Walter Baum
Subject: Jess
Just got your message. No, I agree, that’s not like her. Will call you first thing your morning. Don’t worry yet. Maybe she’s just lost her phone. C
Chapter Thirty-one
Dear Diary,
Hi, it’s Jess.
I am so scared. I’ve made a huge mistake. I’m in trouble.
I should never have come here. I’m not good enough. I was a big fish in a small pond in Australia and I’m a tiny fish in a huge, huge pond here but that’s not what I mean about being in trouble. It’s just a part of it.
I’ve moved out of the hotel and into Ben’s flat. It’s in Baron’s Court, about eight Tube stops from Covent Garden. It’s above a laundromat, so it smells good, like washing powder, but it’s so small, just two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen and a pretty small living room. He said it belongs to his aunt and she rents it to him cheaply, that he’s actually really lucky, a place like this would normally cost a fortune. But between us, it’s really ordinary and really crowded. Zach has been staying here too, so his stuff was in the spare bedroom but Ben said that he’ll get Zach to move out into the living room on the sofa, and I can have the bedroom. I don’t know what Zach will have to say about that. He wasn’t there today. He was out leaving his CV at all the agents again, Ben said.
I went to another two auditions today. I won’t even tell you how I got on. Yes, I will. They were terrible. I knew within seconds that they didn’t want me. I was too upset and I couldn’t seem to get the beat and I was out of tune and they wouldn’t give me a second chance. Only one person was kind and explained to me they have to go on first impressions at the audition, because if you don’t get it right under pressure then, how can they have faith that you’ll get it right on the night?
After the second audition (worse than the first), I gave myself a good talking-to. I pretended I was talking about everything with my counsellor and she was urging me on. Usually I try to imagine Mum and Dad urging me on and telling me not to worry, that everything will get better, that the day will come when everything won’t feel as bad as it does now, but I couldn’t think about them because I’m not talking to them at the moment. I’m trying to stand on my own two feet. I imagined the counsellor asking me how I was and what was worrying me the most at the moment. And my answer to her was ‘Money’. My lack of it. And my imaginary counsellor said, ‘What about trying to get a job?’
So after the auditions I went into every restaurant and cafe near Ben’s flat but there were no jobs going. I even went into a temp agency but I didn’t have any qualifications. I can type but not as fast as I need to be able to, and they said there’s not that much work going anyway.
I’ve only got sixty pounds left. When I counted it, I nearly decided to throw my pride out of the window and ring Mum and Dad and beg them to send me money, but something stopped me. I realised I am still really actually mad at them. Then I thought, I’ll just go home and stay with some friends in Melbourne, not go back to Mum and Dad’s, not until I calm down and also not until they apologise. So I rang the airline and I had to hold for so long I was worried my phone battery would go flat and then the woman who eventually answered said it would cost me one hundred pounds to change my ticket!! That’s outrageous, even if I did have it. Which I don’t. So I can’t go back home yet. Anyway, I could just imagine the people in the TV studio laughing at me, ‘Oh, Jess, you’re back. We only just tidied up after your farewell party.’ And as for everyone at the dance classes, I just know how it would be. ‘Wow, Jess, welcome back. Your West End career went so well! How long did it last, a week?’
What can I do?????? I’ll go for a walk. That might make me feel better. I’ll pretend I have some money and go window-shopping for clothes.
It’s three hours later. I’m in a cafe not far from Oxford Street trying to make a cup of tea last for as long as I can but the waitress is starting to give me death glares AND she’s Australian. I thought she’d be nicer. Maybe she’s from New Zealand. I’ve only been here for an hour and there are plenty of empty tables around me now so I don’t know what her problem is. I am still really worried and scared. I wish I knew someone here apart from Ben. I know Ella is here in London. I know she’s here at her Uncle Lucas’s house. But I have to put that out of my mind.
Ben said he won’t be home until later. I don’t want to be at his flat on my own with Zach, so I said I’d meet him back there at nine p.m. That only leaves five more hours to kill. I’d go to the cinema except that would use up money that I don’t have to spare.
I’ll go for another walk instead. It’s really cold. What I thought was a heavy coat in Melbourne isn’t really heavy enough in London. Hopefully walking will warm me up.
It’s an hour later. I’m in a cafe in Paddington now. I didn’t mean to come here, I really didn’t. But I was walking and I got so cold and a bus went past and I just got on and it was only afterwards that I realised where it was going. I don’t even know where Ella’s uncle lives. I never had the address. And I can’t ask Mum for it. And what would I do if I had it anyway?
Charlie might know it.
But he won’t give it to me. Ella would have told him not to.
But I can ask him anyway. He might.
No, he won’t.
The cafe I’m in is near a big road called Baywatch Road or something like that. I didn’t realise Paddington was near Hyde Park or maybe it’s Kensington Gardens. I can’t work out where one finishes and the other starts. The houses are nice around here. Big, and all painted white. I saw a blue plaque on one of them saying that the man who wrote Peter Pan used to live there. I looked him up in my online guidebook, and it turns out there are hundreds of those blue plaques around the whole city about all the famous people who lived here and there. If the weather was warmer, I would walk around and see some of them, except what’s the point? It’s not like you get to go inside the houses.
London is so huge. I wish again I knew someone here who could show me around, even for a few days.
Now the waiter HERE is starting to give me death glares too. What is it with people who run cafes in London?? It’s not as if anyone has come in and wants to sit exactly where I’m sitting. I’ll go to Paddington Station instead. There are lots of cafes there.
I’m at t
he station now. I walked up a long street on the way here, past loads of those big white houses, and I could see into a few of them because people’s lights were on in their living rooms and I could see they were watching TV and reading and starting to make their dinner, all these happy people with their safe lovely houses, and I couldn’t help it. I started to cry as I was walking along.
I’m having a really terrible day. I’ve still got two hours to fill until Ben finishes work and I’m hungry so I bought a banana but I’m so worried about spending any more in case what I have has to last me for another week. I called into every cafe, hotel and restaurant I passed on the walk here too but none of them had any job vacancies either. I even called into two hairdressers to ask if they needed anyone to sweep up the hair, or to be hair models, but they all said no. I’m not sure how much longer I can last on my money.
I still can’t believe Mum and Dad didn’t tell me about the show. Is that really why Mum had the Botox? Because she was feeling threatened by me?
It’s now eight o’clock. I’m still in Paddington Station, in a cafe in a sort of shopping area. Only half an hour to go before I can start making my way to Ben’s flat. I found a Tube ticket in my bag and thank God I realised I’d bought a monthly pass when I got here, so at least I can use that without breaking into my last pounds. I’ll catch the Tube to Ben’s. I’ll have to change lines but I think I’ve worked out how to do it. There are birds everywhere here, even though the station is under a roof. It’s kind of disgusting actually. What else is disgusting is how much food people leave. If I was really, really starving, that’s what I’d do. I’d come to this cafe and wait until I saw someone get up and leave half a sandwich or most of their cake behind and I’d get it before the birds got to it, or the waitresses.
I just saw a waitress chase a homeless guy away who was trying to do exactly that.
I just realised I’m like him. I don’t have a home either.
The House of Memories Page 24