by Lucy Dillon
She tried to make her voice cheery. ‘It’ll all work out for the best. That’s what people keep telling me. You can choose between “What’s meant for you won’t go past you” and “If it doesn’t happen, it wasn’t meant to be.” There’s a self-help platitude for every occasion.’
‘Cheers.’ He balled up his muffin bag and binned it. ‘How’s getting rid of all your stuff going? Flat empty yet?’
‘More or less. I’m supposed to be meeting my friend in . . .’ she checked her watch ‘. . . about half an hour so she can talk me through selling my clothes on eBay. I’ve been photographing them, actually – it’s like seeing my own history in clothes form.’
‘Really?’ Nick seemed interested. ‘You should make that into a little project.’
‘I like the idea of a project,’ said Gina. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you were saying, appreciating moments, and I’ve started taking one or two photos. Nothing amazing, just moments that made me think, Yes, this is nice.’
‘Show me?’
Gina hesitated, then got out her phone with the pictures she’d taken on it.
Buzz’s long nose laid gently along his narrow paws, his eyes closed and nearly invisible.
The fern-heart shape in the froth of the morning coffee from the deli on her way to work.
The sky over the park.
The sky over the park with clouds.
The sky over the park with a rainbow.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘so there are lots of the park. That’s the thing about walking the dog. You start noticing the sky a lot more.’
Nick laughed. ‘Everyone takes too many sky photos. What are you doing with these?’
‘Nothing. Just taking them. Getting them out when I feel stressed.’
‘You need to see them all together to get the full effect. The this-is-Gina’s-happy-place effect. Print them out. But don’t crop them or change the colours or anything. Keep them as exact moments.’
‘Is this a photography class?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’ Nick grinned, and Gina was glad she’d bumped into him. She never seemed to have a boring conversation with Nick. Every time they spoke, something new occurred to her.
‘It’s working out better than the hundred things,’ she admitted. ‘That’s stalled a bit. I thought it would be very profound . . . you know,’ she put on a faux-pretentious voice, ‘seeing my personality summed up in objects, but it’s a bit depressing how boring the things I’m keeping are. I’m starting to think I’m just not a very interesting person.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. Far from it.’
Gina cut him a sideways look, and caught Nick looking at her with a perceptive glint in his eyes, a half-smile on his lips. What was he seeing that she wasn’t? she wondered, with a shiver.
She was saved from having to answer by the sound of Naomi’s voice. She hadn’t even noticed her approaching.
‘Hiya! I thought we saw you up here!’
Willow was in the buggy, wearing the bright-red coat Gina had given her for Christmas and a pair of gleaming black patent leather shoes. When she saw Gina she reached out her arms and laughed. ‘Gina!’ Then her eye dropped. ‘Doggy!’
Buzz slunk under the seat and Gina felt the lead go tight.
‘Is Willow OK with dogs?’ she asked. ‘I think he’ll be fine, but let’s keep them well apart.’
‘She’s too good with dogs, believe me. Nanny Carole’s got a doggy, hasn’t she?’ Naomi leaned over the buggy.
‘Rotty,’ confirmed Willow, solemnly.
‘He’s a Rottweiler. Don’t say anything. Hello! I’m Naomi!’ She offered her gloved hand to Nick.
‘Nick,’ he said. ‘Rowntree.’
‘Nick’s a client of mine. He’s the new owner of the Magistrate’s House in Langley,’ she said, gesturing between them awkwardly. ‘Nick, this is Naomi Hewson, my best friend.’
‘And dental-practice manager at the Orchards,’ Naomi added. ‘If you’re looking for top-quality dental care. But I can see you floss already!’
Nick stood up and shook her hand, and Gina could tell Naomi was impressed from the smile that curled the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t dissimilar to the toothy one Willow was directing at Buzz.
‘The Magistrate’s House, wow!’ Naomi said. ‘Gina loves that house, don’t you?’
‘Do you?’ Nick glanced over. ‘What have you been saying about my house, eh? It’s all coming out this morning.’
‘Nothing! What I think Naomi means is that my ex and I had a look around it last time it was on the market.’ Gina glared at Naomi but Naomi was beaming at Nick.
‘Is she being too modest, as usual?’ she asked. ‘Gina is the only person I know who can keep plumbers on schedule. And she’s a brilliant interior decorator. She did our house and it looks as if we had someone up from London to do it. Amazing.’
Gina mouthed, ‘Shut up!’ at Naomi but to her horror, Naomi had gone into the hard-sell mode she recognised from the brief period in which she’d been single before Stuart, and Naomi had felt it her duty to talk her up to her single male friends.
Her blood ran cold. She had no idea what Naomi would say next, and there was no way she could shoehorn Amanda into the conversation without it being very obvious now.
Nick’s face was deadpan. ‘I haven’t got as far as hiring an interior designer but I’ll definitely bear that in mind. If she’s as good with her swatches as she is with her spreadsheets, then she can do the whole house.’
Gina coughed. ‘No, it’s not—’
‘Anyway!’ He winked at Willow. ‘I can see you three ladies have a date, so I’ll leave you to it. Have a lovely walk.’
To Gina’s surprise, but not Naomi’s, Nick leaned over, touched her arm and aimed a friendly air kiss that nearly landed on her cheek. ‘’Bye, Naomi!’ he said, blew a kiss to Willow, who blew one back, then strolled down the hill in the direction of the gates.
When he’d more or less gone, Naomi let out a long, whistling breath and sank down on the nearby bench. ‘Excu-hoo-hoo-hoose me,’ she hooted. ‘I thought I was coming here to deliver a weekly pep talk about your divorce and I find you in the park with some gorgeous bloke. What’s that about?’
‘He’s not some gorgeous bloke,’ said Gina, sitting down next to her. ‘He’s a client. And up to this point, I’d managed to hide the fact that I wanted to live in his house, thank you very much.’
‘Oh, come on. He doesn’t care. He’s flattered that the only tasteful person in this place liked it but couldn’t afford to buy it. And I didn’t know you did Saturday appointments.’ Naomi jiggled her well-shaped eyebrows. ‘You’re a long way from Langley St Michael too. Or did he bring his binoculars?’
‘I bumped into him. He bought me a coffee while I was waiting for you.’ Gina put her head in her hands. What had that expression on Nick’s face meant as he’d left? Was he wondering if that was the reason she was taking an interest in the house, because she’d wanted it?
‘Well, I’ve said it from the beginning. There are worse ways to take your mind off a break-up than—’ Naomi started.
‘No.’ Gina sat up, determined to nip this in the bud. ‘Look, I know you’re joking but no. It’s not like that. He’s married. We were just talking about his and his wife’s plans to start a family, actually.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. He’s an interesting guy. He’s a photographer.’
‘Don’t tell me.’ Naomi’s eyes were twinkling, though her expression was serious. ‘He wants you to pose for him?’
‘I already have. Just my hands!’ she added. ‘I happened to be there. He needed a woman’s hand. Don’t.’ She raised a warning finger.
‘How have I missed all this?’ howled Naomi. ‘Why have you been droning on to me about how you can flog off your twenty boring black dresses and missed out the bit about having your body parts photographed by a proper creative type who looks like some kind of stubbly-jawed model?’
Gina
glanced down at Willow who was staring happily at Buzz. Buzz was staring at Gina’s legs. ‘There’s nothing to miss,’ she repeated. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen him outside his house.’
‘Well, you could do a lot worse.’
Their eyes turned towards the bottom of the hill where, in the distance, Nick was holding the gate open for someone with a buggy (of course), his other hand deep in his jacket pocket.
‘Did you hear the he’s married part?’ Gina balled up the bag that her muffin had come in. In a way she was glad Nick was married: it meant they could maybe be friends, without any awkward overtones creeping in. He knew she knew about Amanda. Her divorce was now out there. They knew where they stood. She needed new friends.
‘The best ones always are,’ sighed Naomi. ‘It’s just the crap ones that get thrown back in. Speaking of which, did Stuart come and get his stuff last night? You didn’t call.’
‘I wanted to tell you in person. Bryony’s pregnant,’ said Gina. It came out surprisingly easily now. Nick’s reaction had removed some of the pain, as had letting the thought breathe, instead of stuffing it away and ignoring it, as she would usually have done.
‘What?’ Naomi was getting something out of the bag for Willow but she spun round, mouthing the swearword she’d have used had Willow not been there. ‘She’s . . . Seriously?’
‘Seriously. I wanted to see your face,’ said Gina, wryly. ‘Plus, I thought you might be able to fill in some more details.’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ said Naomi at once. ‘Nothing! I’d have told you.’
‘I didn’t mean now,’ Gina replied mildly. ‘I meant, maybe you could find out. From Jason?’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ll try. But Jason takes a weird line on repeating stuff he hears at football. I’ve tried to ask him things before, but he gets all changing-room brotherhood on me.’
‘Actually, forget that, I don’t know if I want to know,’ said Gina. ‘I don’t have to, do I?’ She probed the new sensation like a loose tooth, concerned that she might just nudge it out, and the desire to know every miserable detail of Bryony’s baby would flood in, followed by humiliation and regret and guilt – the mighty triumvirate that roamed around her subconscious. I don’t have to give this space in my head, she thought. Just like I don’t have to give space in my flat to unreadable books or jeans that don’t fit.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Naomi. ‘Is it delayed shock?’
Gina shook herself. Not shock, just the dull disappointment that would hurt then fade, like a bruise. She made her attention turn to the first green shoots on the cherry tree that arched over the entrance to the park. Maybe she could photograph it every day when she came in with Buzz and Rachel. Like time lapse.
‘Gina!’ said Willow. ‘Out, please. Doggy.’
From the other side of her leg, Buzz eyed the buggy with wariness, his grey nose twitching cautiously at the beam of love Willow was directing at him.
‘Let’s be very careful,’ said Gina, to both Willow and Naomi. ‘He’s a shy doggy.’
‘Gently,’ agreed Willow. It was a word Naomi used a lot.
And they set off walking, very slowly and very carefully, around the park. Willow in the middle, with Gina and Naomi holding her mittened hands, the buggy and Buzz on the outside.
At the top of the hill, Gina lifted her phone over her head, and took a wonky but happy photo of them all.
Chapter Sixteen
ITEM: my wigs
Annabella: long blonde human hair wig
Sophisticated and well-groomed, Annabella enjoys lunchtime cocktails, the races, hedge-fund divorcees, and tossing her head from side to side while laughing enchantingly
Robin: dark brown curly crop
Robin is bubbly but thoughtful, the sort of girl who organises office birthday cakes, ideal for parties when you want to look like yourself but with shorter hair
Matron of Honour: a pale apricot bob
The perfect colour to match your matron-of-honour gown for your best friend’s wedding, if it’s a sort of apricot colour
Longhampton, 1st July 2008
‘I don’t think any of these are going to be me,’ Gina whispers to Naomi.
‘Not even this one?’ Naomi holds up a very Eighties wig, the sort of cut Janet would have called ‘perky’. Or ‘jazzy’.
‘Definitely not that one.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m having chemo, not going into news-reading.’
Naomi made this appointment for her the day Gina got her chemotherapy dates. Her first session is next week; the first of six courses, spaced at three-weekly intervals, to give her body time to recover from the chemicals that’ll be dripped into her veins while she sits and watches one of the many boxsets that she’s stockpiled on the advice of the patient support group. Stuart’s marked the appointments on her calendar, with ‘The End’ in red. Gina can’t think that far ahead. She’s thinking in terms of 24 and The West Wing.
Naomi’s taken charge of the cosmetic cheerleading side of the next few months. She took Gina to get the pixie-cut she’s sporting now, so the hair loss won’t feel so bad, and she’s been boosting her with compliments ever since.
‘I think you should go for a short wig anyway,’ says Naomi, encouragingly. ‘That crop suits you. Makes your eyes look huge.’
Gina’s not sure. She feels very exposed. The back of her neck feels cold, and it turns out her ears are a weird shape, without the mass of dark curls around them. Her mother looked as if she was going to burst into tears when she saw it, and that was straight out of Naomi’s expensive salon.
‘I prefer the long ones,’ she says, reaching for a model that looks exactly like her old hair, which she misses already. Tumbling dark brown curls, like Gina Lollobrigida.
‘That is a very popular style,’ agrees the assistant, who has appeared at Naomi’s side. ‘Very feminine.’
Dawn, their assistant in this fancy-dress session, has clearly done this before. She’s sensitive to Gina’s nerves, which, coupled with Naomi’s cheerful honesty, means the hour passes quickly but not without a few laughs.
Gina sets aside a shorter version of her own hair, and a long straight dark wig for variation. She doesn’t want to look at reds or blondes: she wants to look like herself. Herself with no hair loss.
But Dawn persists, showing her lighter browns, shorter cuts until Gina’s curiosity is piqued.
‘Have you never thought about being blonde?’ Dawn asks, handing Gina an angular blonde bob. ‘We get a lot of ladies with dark hair wanting a wig to wear for a change.’
‘Go on,’ Naomi encourages her. ‘You’ve got pale skin. It’d work.’
Gina lets Dawn pull the wig over her hair, tugging it down around her ears until it fits. She tweaks and flicks the hair until it’s natural, then lets Gina see in the mirror.
I look like Kit, Gina thinks, in shock. That halo of blonde hair, my eyes, my mouth – our kids would have looked like this.
Naomi and Dawn are making approving noises but Gina’s properly spooked. She can’t think about Kit right now. There are days when she never thinks of him, but since her diagnosis, she’s been spending more time in hospitals and it’s impossible then not to wonder where he is and what he’s doing.
She pulls the wig off, and is almost relieved to see her spiky black hair beneath, like a newborn chick. ‘Maybe something auburn?’ she suggests, seeing Dawn’s red face. She doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. ‘I’ve often wondered what I’d look like ginger.’
The red hair is more of a success, and slowly Gina starts to engage with the effect the different hairstyles have on her, the way she smiles and looks at herself. Her eyes do seem enormous in her pale face, now all the focus is on them and not her hair. She’s never studied herself so closely before. It’s strange, noticing how large your nose is, how uneven your eyes are.
‘Fringes are good,’ Dawn tells her, ‘because you might lose some eyelashes and eyebrow hair . . .’
&nbs
p; ‘We’ll be looking into false lashes,’ Naomi butts in. ‘I’ve got that covered.’
‘And you can opt for human-hair wigs or synthetic . . .’
Gina’s not sure she likes the idea of having someone else’s hair on her head. Her own body is feeling less and less like hers as it is.
When Gina’s lined up ten wigs on stands in front of her, Dawn leaves to deal with another customer while she chooses. ‘Take your time,’ she says kindly. ‘You’ve got to love it, if you’re going to wear it every day.’
‘Thanks,’ says Naomi. When Dawn’s gone, she turns to Gina with a theatrical sigh. ‘You know what’s really unfair?’
‘More unfair than cancer?’ Gina demands. She can only be dark with Naomi. Their humour is outrageously dark now.
‘More unfair than that. You look stunning in all those. If you get the blonde one, can I borrow it?’
Gina runs a hand over her crop. Her head’s tingling. That’s the trouble with reading up on the Internet about symptoms: you start getting them even before the treatment.
She wants to say, ‘I don’t need a wig, I’m just going to let my hair go,’ but it’s easy to say that, while it’s still there, however short. Her hair’s always been the most beautiful thing about her, and it’s already gone. Gina doesn’t miss it as much as she’d thought she would. In a really odd way, it was a silver lining to be forced into cutting it all off. It does suit her. And she’d never have had the nerve otherwise.
I’m finding out some really strange stuff about myself, thinks Gina, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t recognise the woman staring back, but that’s not all bad. This woman is already surprising her with what she can bear, what she can do.
Naomi appears behind her, wraps her arms around Gina’s shoulders and hugs her. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Gina manages a smile.