‘Cora,’ I began. She held up her hand to stop me.
‘I’ve had a happy life, Amy,’ she said. ‘I love my Ginny, and Natasha and her brood. I’ve been successful with the school.’
‘It’s a great school,’ I said.
Cora smiled.
‘It’s ours, you know?’ she said. ‘My friend Audrey and I started it, back in the fifties.’
‘No. Way,’ I said, impressed. I’d assumed she’d just been one of several teachers.
Cora nodded.
‘I’m very proud of what we did there,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a wonderful career. And I had Audrey, and other friends who became my family. But I can’t deny that I sometimes felt lonely. I think I missed opportunities to build a life with someone because I was afraid to trust my instincts.’
I stared at her. What was she trying to say?
‘I had a few men friends over the years,’ she carried on. ‘One in particular, I think, could have been rather good for me. But I turned him down and he married someone else.’
I felt awful. How could I tell her about Donnie now, knowing she was horribly aware that she’d avoided relationships because he’d jilted her?
She patted my knee.
‘I think perhaps I gave you some misguided advice,’ she said, oblivious that my stricken face was due to guilt and not dismay at her story.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said, meaning Matty, Patrick, my career – and whether to tell her the truth about Donnie.
Cora stood up and held out her hand.
‘Why don’t you show me your foxtrot?’ she said.
I looked down at myself.
‘I’m wearing my pyjamas,’ I said, with a small smile. ‘And my slippers.’
‘So?’
‘We’ve barely started working on this one,’ I warned her. ‘We just did little pieces last week when Patrick wanted to give me a break from our tango.’
‘So show me the bits you know.’
I started to mark out the steps and Cora watched silently. Then, as I grew more confident, she began giving me tips.
‘Your shoulders are up round your ears,’ she said. ‘Relax.’
‘I feel silly,’ I said.
We were giggling over my slippered feet when Matty arrived home. He threw his bag on the sofa next to where Cora was perching and glared at her.
‘Hi, babe,’ he said, kissing my neck and wrapping his arms round my waist from behind. He smelled of stale beer and his eyes were wide and staring. I wondered if he’d taken something – he certainly wasn’t a stranger to cocaine.
‘Good time last night?’
‘Say hello to Cora,’ I said like a disapproving teacher. ‘And no, not really.’
Matty mumbled hello to Cora.
‘Get rid of her,’ he hissed in my ear. ‘I’m so hot for you. Let’s go back to bed.’
He tugged at the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and I slapped his hand away.
‘Matty,’ I said, embarrassed at his antics. ‘Behave.’
Cora looked awkward and I felt myself blushing as Matty’s hand snaked up my pyjama top and I wriggled away.
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Sorry, Cora.’
‘I’ll be off,’ she said.
‘Yeah, off you go, Grandma,’ said Matty. ‘We’ve got things to do.’
That did it. I pulled his arms off me and turned round to face him.
‘How dare you speak to Cora like that!’ I said. I wasn’t shouting but I was close. ‘How dare you even look at Cora like that?’
‘Oh, babe,’ Matty whined. ‘I just wanted some alone time with you.’
‘Well, I’m busy,’ I said. ‘So alone time is going to have to wait.’
‘You’re only dancing,’ he whined. ‘Dancing isn’t busy. You can make time for Matty.’
Cora was still standing behind me, like a sentry, at the patio doors. I thought of her, missing her chances at happiness and I realised I didn’t want to look back on my life when I was her age and think that I’d made some huge mistakes – and I certainly didn’t want to be shackled to a loser, drugged-up DJ who couldn’t even be polite to an elderly lady who deserved his respect.
‘I can’t make time for Matty,’ I said, picking up his bag and shoving it at him. ‘Not now, not later, not ever.’
He gaped at me.
‘We’re over,’ I hissed.
‘Babe …’
‘Get out.’
Matty reached for me and I batted his hand away.
‘Get out.’
Realising I wasn’t joking, he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and made for the front door.
‘I’ll call you later,’ he said.
‘I won’t answer.’
‘Then you’ll be making a big mistake,’ he said, his handsome face twisted with anger.
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ I said. I felt strangely calm and more in control than I’d felt for weeks. Months, even. ‘I think I’ve just avoided making the biggest mistake of my life.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Cora, bless her heart, stayed with me as I cried for what seemed like the whole afternoon. But as the evening approached she told me she had tickets for the theatre with a friend.
‘Go,’ I said, sniffing loudly. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’
‘I’m busy tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘But I’ll call in after lunch.’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘I’ll call Phil if I need a shoulder to cry on.’
But I didn’t. I lay on the sofa sobbing, then I dragged myself to bed and sobbed some more.
On Monday morning I dragged myself back to the sofa and watched Jeremy Kyle shouting at people while I ignored the relentless ringing of my phone. I didn’t want to switch it off in case Patrick phoned, so instead I cancelled two calls from Matty – he wasn’t trying that hard to get hold of me – a handful of calls from showbiz journalists, and approximately four hundred from Babs, who’d clearly heard the news. From Matty’s agent, I assumed.
At lunchtime, while I was watching Neighbours and playing with a bowl of cereal, she rang again.
‘Amy Lavender,’ she told my voicemail in her most strident tone. A tone that would – and had – made grown men weep. ‘This is unacceptable. I deserve an explanation. And I’m coming to get one. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
There was a muffled conversation with someone in the background.
‘Clapham?’ she said, sounding alarmed. There was more muffled chat, then: ‘An hour. I’ll be there in an hour.’
I cancelled the call listlessly. She won’t come, I thought in despair. She’ll probably think better of it and instead she’ll just fire me, and that will be that. No job, no agent, no boyfriend – back to square bloody one.
So I was fairly surprised when – almost exactly an hour later – my doorbell rang. Thankfully I had forced myself to have a shower and get dressed earlier, so I wasn’t wearing the same pyjamas I’d been wearing for twenty-four hours any more, but I knew I looked far, far removed from the sparkling celeb Babs expected me to be.
I slouched through the hall to the front door and opened it.
‘Babs,’ I said gruffly.
‘Guess again.’
It was Patrick. He was wrapped up in a winter jacket – the temperature had suddenly dropped – and had a black beanie hat on his head. His expression suggested he wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing him.
Surprised that he wasn’t Babs and caught unawares, I jumped sideways and stubbed my toe violently on the skirting board.
‘Ow, ow, ow,’ I said, hopping and trying to rub it better.
‘You need some ice on that,’ said Patrick. He stepped into the hall, took my arm and guided me towards the kitchen.
‘Just so you know,’ I said, through gritted teeth, ‘I’m very angry with you, and if I could walk I wouldn’t have let you in the flat. In my head, I’m slamming the door in your face.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Patrick, the tiniest glimmer of a smile on his face. �
��I’m angry with you, too.’
He helped me onto the sofa and went to the kitchen area.
‘Do you have ice?’ he said.
‘No idea,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve never opened the freezer.’
Patrick rolled his eyes and wrenched it open.
‘You do,’ he said, pulling out a frosty ice cube tray. ‘And a very old bag of peas.’
‘Nice,’ I said.
Patrick knocked the ice into a tea towel and wrapped it up, then he handed it to me and I held it on my toe.
‘Why are you here?’ I said rudely. I wasn’t ready to see him yet – I wasn’t prepared.
Patrick pulled off his hat, then he wandered over to the patio doors and looked out at the garden, which was looking a bit bleak now all the leaves had dropped off the trees.
‘I came to apologise,’ he said, not looking at me.
I wasn’t expecting that.
‘Pardon?’ I said, wondering if I’d misheard.
This time Patrick looked at me.
‘I came to say sorry,’ he said. ‘So, you know … sorry.’
I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
‘For …’
‘For questioning your life choices, and for saying you’re shallow and throwing your life away.’
I winced inwardly at hearing the words again but I still wanted to make the apology count.
‘For being smug and sanctimonious,’ I said.
‘That too,’ Patrick said.
There was a pause.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ I said. ‘I flew off the handle because you were right.’
‘Really?’ said Patrick. ‘What do you mean, I was right?’
I nodded. The ice was beginning to melt and drip down my foot. I watched it for a second, then I looked up at Patrick again.
‘I’ve been so messed up,’ I said. ‘Because it’s turned out that what I thought I wanted wasn’t what I wanted at all.’
Patrick shrugged his jacket off, then sat down on the floor and looked at me.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘When I got the part in Turpin Road, and then I met Matty, my life went down a certain path,’ I said slowly. ‘It was really fun, you know? The photo shoots, and the parties, and the money.’
Patrick nodded.
‘But somewhere in among all of that, I forgot that the thing I loved most of all was acting.’
I took the tea towel off my foot and examined my toe so I didn’t have to look at Patrick.
‘I threw Matty out,’ I said gruffly. ‘He’s not what I wanted, either.’
Patrick flushed and I gabbled on.
‘Not for you,’ I said. ‘I didn’t dump him for you. I’m not like Kayleigh – I don’t go around kissing men with girlfriends. I’m sorry if I messed things up with you and Sarah-Lou.’
‘I finished things with her, actually,’ Patrick said, still looking a bit embarrassed.
‘Really?’ I was quite pleased, but I didn’t want him to see it. ‘Was she too twee?’
Patrick flushed again.
‘The opposite,’ he said. ‘Did you read 50 Shades of Grey?’
I made a face.
‘Some of it.’
‘Well, she’s living it,’ Patrick said. ‘She’s got a room in her flat, just for – you know – sex games.’
‘What?’ I was astonished. ‘Sweet little Sarah-Lou?’
‘She doesn’t look so sweet when she’s coming at you with a whip, let me tell you,’ Patrick said.
I tried to smile, but I was uncomfortable talking about him playing sex games with some other woman.
‘I have never made so many excuses, or left an apartment so fast,’ Patrick said, watching me intently. ‘I think she was a bit cross that we never sealed the deal.’
That was a relief.
‘So we’re both single,’ Patrick said.
‘We are,’ I said, sadly. ‘But I don’t think this is the right time for us.’
Patrick nodded – I liked that I never had to explain myself to him.
‘I mean, I like you, but this is bigger than all that. I think I just need some time by myself to get my head straight. To get Amy Lavender back on track.’
‘Makes sense,’ Patrick said.
‘Those other things – the parties and the paparazzi and the launches – they’re all fun but they’re not important,’ I said. ‘What’s important is doing something I love every day. And I had that at Turpin Road and I threw it away because of all the other stuff. And I’m not going to let that happen again.’
‘You don’t have to stop going to parties,’ Patrick said. ‘You love parties.’
‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘I do. But I want to be an actress, not a celebrity. And, yes, I want people to like me, and I want to look good, and I like photo shoots. But surely, if I put my mind to it, and I’m clever about it all, I can have those things and achieve my goals.’
‘Which are?’
I shrugged.
‘BAFTAs? Emmys? An Oscar? Who knows?’
Patrick gave me a broad smile.
‘I have absolutely no doubt you’ll do it,’ he said. ‘No doubt at all.’
‘Well, first I need bloody Babs to get me some proper auditions,’ I said. ‘Instead of sponsorship deals for breakfast cereal and sexy calendars.’
‘I bet Cora can help,’ said Patrick. ‘She used to work for an agent, right? And the kids at school must all have agents. I bet she’s got loads of contacts.’
‘Now that’s an idea,’ I said. A thought struck me.
‘The school’s hers, you know,’ I said. ‘She’s the principal. She and her friend Audrey set it up.’
‘I know,’ Patrick said.
‘You do?’ I was surprised. ‘How do you know?’
‘Her name’s on the sign outside,’ he said, rolling his eyes.
I giggled.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘She’s fabulous, isn’t she? Maybe I will ask her for some help.’
‘You should definitely ask her,’ Patrick said. ‘I know she thinks you’re not fulfilling your potential.’
‘She does?’ I said, surprised. ‘Have you been discussing me?’
‘Nooooo,’ said Patrick. ‘Never. Well, a little bit. Just every now and then.’
‘Babs has been my agent for ever,’ I said. ‘She’s the only agent I’ve ever had. I’m frightened about what would happen to me if I didn’t have her.’
‘Maybe it’s time for a change,’ Patrick pointed out. ‘Find someone who can get you the auditions you want.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask Cora what she thinks.’
‘Speaking of Cora,’ said Patrick, fidgeting in his seat and pulling some folded paper out of his jeans pocket. ‘She’s the other reason I came …’
‘Ohmygod,’ I breathed. ‘Have you found his family? Donnie’s family. Do you know where they are?’
Patrick unfolded the paper, which was covered in his scribbled writing.
‘I have,’ he said. ‘I’ve found them.’
Chapter Forty-Six
‘Ohmygod,’ I squealed again. ‘Tell me everything. Who have you found?’
Patrick smoothed out the paper and squinted at it.
‘My writing is terrible,’ he said.
‘Patrick,’ I warned. ‘Tell me.’
He threw me an exasperated glance.
‘Right, so Donnie was the eldest of three kids,’ he said. ‘He had a sister who was in her late teens at the end of the war – Lois – and a younger brother who was twelve in 1945.’
‘And?’ I said.
‘Lois died a few years ago,’ Patrick said. ‘But Walter’s still alive. He’s in his eighties now and he also had two kids – a son and a daughter, who are both sixty-something.’
‘And?’ I said again. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘I do,’ said Patrick, making his smug face. ‘Well, I know where the son is. His name is Charlie and I emailed him as soon as I’d tracked hi
m down.’
‘Did he reply?’ I was so impatient to know what was going on that Patrick’s sloooooow telling of the story was driving me mad.
‘I told him I’d stumbled upon some information about his Uncle Donald from the time he spent in London during the war and asked if I could ring him to chat about it,’ Patrick said. ‘And he emailed me his number.’
‘Ohmygod,’ I said. ‘Where is he? America? What time is it there? Can we call him now?’
Patrick grinned at me and pulled out his phone.
‘He’s in New York,’ he said. ‘It’s about ten in the morning there and, yes, we can call him now.’
I was shaking as he dialled the number and introduced himself when Charlie answered.
‘Speakerphone,’ I hissed at him. ‘Put him on speakerphone.’
‘Mr Jackson, my friend is here and she’d like to join in the conversation, would that be okay?’ Patrick said. I was impressed by how polite he was. Cora would be, too, I thought.
With Charlie on loudspeaker, Patrick and I explained how we were friends with Cora and she’d known his uncle during the war.
‘Oh, my,’ Charlie said. ‘That would be Uncle Donnie’s mysterious wife.’
‘You know about her?’ I said, surprised.
‘Sure I do,’ said Charlie. ‘She was something of a legend in our family. Uncle Donnie wrote to my grandma telling her all about this woman he’d met, and how he was going to marry her. And he even wrote to my dad – he was just a kid during the war – but he wrote to him telling him how wonderful this woman was. He sent photos, I think.’
‘They never got married,’ I said, my voice catching in my throat. ‘Donnie was killed the day before their wedding.’
‘Well, now isn’t that just too sad,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll bet she was devastated.’
‘She didn’t know,’ Patrick said. ‘She didn’t know he’d died. She thought he’d gone AWOL – that he’d jilted her.’
There was silence on the other end of the line.
‘Jeez,’ said Charlie after a minute. ‘That’s rough. And it explains a lot. I know my grandma tried to find her. She was cut up when Uncle Donnie died, obviously, and my dad said she wanted to find someone who’d loved him as much as she had.’
‘Cora changed her name,’ I said.
‘To Jackson?’ Charlie said in surprise. ‘I believe Grandma looked for her under that name.’
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