by Mandy Baggot
‘To work?’ Hannah queried. ‘I thought you said you were going to Sugar High.’
Shit. First rule of lying, remember your lies. ‘Yes, on my way.’
‘I’ll have a Christmas muffin, no, cancel that, I’ll have a slice of carrot cake.’ Hannah’s cheeks began to flush. ‘Raj is coming to the wine and cheese night and I want to wear something fitted.’
Isla studied her sister. Eyes now shining bright, bossing her job, looking forward to a night with a guy she really liked, waiting for Christmas and that longed-for kiss in Notting Hill. Perhaps this situation wasn’t hopeless. Maybe corporate might winning wasn’t the definite outcome. Perhaps it was time she took back control – of her projects, the Christmas party and the destiny of her home. She was, by nature, one of life’s survivors … just like her sister. It was time she started fighting back a little.
‘I think this year we’ll go Australian with the cheese.’ She smiled at Hannah. ‘Didn’t Mr Edwards bring one called Holy Goat last year?’
‘He did,’ Hannah said, clapping her hands to her cheeks. ‘Do you think it might be too soon, to remind Mrs Edwards?’
‘Not Australian then … how about Mexican?’
‘Perfect,’ Hannah said.
Isla smiled. She really didn’t care what nationality the cheese was as long as it wasn’t American. ‘Okay,’ she said, heading toward the door. ‘I’ll be back with carrot cake.’
‘So, is Chase coming to the wine and cheese night?’
Isla stopped in her tracks, turning back to Hannah, determined to show no reaction. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘He’s got work to do and … he’s got the girls so …’
‘They could come too,’ Hannah said. ‘They would love it. Geeta and Iqbal are bringing onion bhajis and chickpea dhal and you know Mrs Edwards always makes that spicy chutney to go with the cheese …’
‘I should go,’ Isla said, checking her watch.
‘Ask him,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s so hot and you’re so … single.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Maybe … not at a work thing, you could relax, have some Mexican cheese and a few glasses of Shiraz and who knows?’ Hannah laughed. ‘Plus it’s almost Christmas and Notting Hill isn’t going to be bulldozed. Life’s good right now.’
Isla swallowed and gave a requisite nod. The only real truth in her sister’s statement was the fact that nothing was stopping Christmas arriving.
‘We’ll see,’ she answered like she had when Hannah was fifteen. ‘Now let me get you some carrot cake.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Hannah said. ‘Get me a Christmas muffin. I can always put my day bag on my lap if my top feels too snug.’
‘Okay, one Christmas muffin coming up.’
Isla stepped out of the shop on to Portobello Road and took an agitated breath of snowy air, hoping, for all her lies, the Christmas angels weren’t going to drop one of their golden trumpets right on her head.
Fifty-Three
Westminster Bridge
‘Is this where all the politicians live, Daddy?’
Maddie’s voice drew Chase back from his thoughts about the conversation he had had an hour ago with Breekers New York. What he had been told had forced him from the office looking for some breathing space.
‘No one lives here, dummy,’ Brooke snapped.
‘But it’s called the Houses of Parliament,’ Maddie pointed out.
Chase stopped walking, coming to a complete halt on the snow-coated bridge and took in the site in front of them. Gothic architecture skimmed the side of the Thames, the ornate towers and slender, wafer-like façade holding Britain’s parliament so striking, even against the cloud-filled sky. It was a true icon of this city. And at the back of his mind another thought came quickly. So was Notting Hill. He had seen it first-hand.
‘Dur!’ Brooke said. ‘It doesn’t mean it’s their homes.’
‘Hey,’ Chase said, re-joining the moment. ‘Don’t speak to your sister that way.’
‘Come on,’ Brooke exclaimed. ‘She thought Theresa May had a bed in there. It’s funny.’
Chase put an arm around Maddie’s shoulder and directed her to look across at the building. He pointed. ‘So, if the Prime Minister goes to sleep in there, look at the size of her alarm clock.’
Maddie sniggered. ‘It’s called Big Ben.’
‘I know,’ Chase answered. ‘But did you know that Big Ben is not the name of the actual clock?’
‘It’s not?’ Maddie queried.
He shook his head. ‘No. Big Ben is the name of the bell.’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brooke look at him as if interested in this fact. He wished he had more … where was Isla when he needed her London knowledge? Mad as hell and cursing him every which way she knew he didn’t doubt.
‘The London Eye needs a better name,’ Brooke announced, her gaze moving across the water from where they had just walked.
‘Ooo, can we think of one?’ Maddie asked, jumping up and down. ‘When was the London Eye made, Daddy?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘I bet Isla would know. Can we call her and ask?’ Maddie suggested.
He shook his head and snapped a reply. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ This came from Brooke.
‘Because she’s real busy and …’
‘Pissed at you for something,’ Brooke broke in.
‘Brooke!’
‘Well, she is, isn’t she?’ Brooke said. ‘That’s why you wanted the room when we made coffee earlier.’
‘We saw her leave the office, Daddy,’ Maddie admitted. ‘And it looked like she’d been crying.’
He blew out a breath, his insides reacting to his younger daughter’s words. He had hurt her. He had made her cry. What sort of a person was he? And why did he care so much?
‘Why was she crying, Daddy?’ Maddie asked.
‘Because …’ He didn’t really know what to say. This wasn’t something his daughters should get caught up in. There was nothing to be caught up in. But he’d kissed a frog. He swallowed. He was here to do a job for a few weeks and then they’d all be back in America. He’d conduct everything via Skype and email. The London team would give him progress reports. He’d be back in his penthouse and Isla and Hannah would be … finding somewhere new to live. That’s just how things were. How they had to be. They had known each other a few days. Surely that was no way near long enough to make an impact. Although his gut seemed to be telling him otherwise.
He sunk down on to his haunches so his face was level with Maddie’s. ‘Sometimes business is hard, Pumpkin. Sometimes, Daddy has to make decisions that aren’t liked by everyone.’
‘What decision made Isla cry?’ Maddie asked, batting her eyelashes.
‘Yeah,’ Brooke commented. ‘I think I wanna hear the answer to that one.’
‘It’s not something for you to worry about,’ Chase said, reaching out to stroke Maddie’s hair.
‘Are you gonna fix it, Daddy? So she’s not sad any more?’
‘I’m not sure that I can,’ he admitted.
‘But that isn’t what you say in your videos,’ Maddie reminded him harshly. ‘You tell people that nothing’s broken, just temporarily timed-out.’
God, his youngest daughter remembered some of his mantras. How had that happened? And why did that make him slightly fearful? He still believed, didn’t he? In what had saved him? The new path that had been a rescue in so many ways … Until Colt had come back into their lives. It hadn’t felt like a temporary time-out then. He had definitely been broken.
He quickly nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘So, you can make Isla happy again,’ Maddie announced like she was decreeing it. ‘And she can come out with us and we can see more of London.’ She gasped. ‘I want to go see 10 Downing Street and St Paul’s Cathedral.’
‘It sounds like we have a lot of sightseeing to do,’ Chase said, slipping his hand into hers.
‘What about what I wanna do?’
Brooke queried.
‘I haven’t had any luck finding tickets to see Skin ’n’ Bone Man.’
‘It’s Rag ‘n’ Bone Man!’ Brooke exclaimed in horror.
‘Sorry,’ Chase said. ‘But I’ll work on it and, I promise, I’ll find us something really cool to do together.’ He nudged Brooke’s arm. ‘How about it?’
‘Whatever,’ Brooke replied with disinterest.
‘Daddy!’ Maddie remarked. ‘Can we call the London Eye the I-Circle.’
‘The what?’ Brooke spluttered. ‘That’s so lame.’
‘Circle, you know, like a wheel and it sounds a bit like icicle, doesn’t it?’ Maddie shivered. ‘And it is real cold in London.’
‘It is,’ Chase replied, squeezing her hand. ‘Say, how about we get hot chocolate.’
Maddie whooped and Brooke didn’t scowl at the suggestion. The truth was he needed a few more minutes away from the office to get his head around the fact that Breekers had employed people to scope out the proposed sites, just like Isla had accused him of, and they hadn’t told him until an hour ago … and only when he’d asked the question. What did that say about their faith in him? This hotel plan was his baby. The company hadn’t even thought of going in that direction until he had suggested it.
‘Bye, I-Circle,’ Maddie called, waving a hand.
‘Totally lame,’ Brooke repeated.
Fifty-Four
Beaumont Square, Notting Hill
Isla just had to keep calm and carry on. That’s what Londoners did in a crisis and that’s exactly what Isla was going to do now. The Beaumont Square Christmas Wine and Cheese evening was one of Hannah’s highlights of the year and Isla was going to make sure it was a night to remember. Wearing a little black dress with boots to stave off the cold, Isla prepared their smorgasbord of delights in the kitchen.
‘Load me up!’ Hannah held out her arms. ‘I can carry the tray of cheeses and I slipped the very last bottle of Nan’s sloe-gin into my bag when you weren’t looking. It was a bit of a stretch but I managed.’
Their nan. Her bench in Larkspur Gardens she had taken Chase to. She couldn’t tell Hannah about that. What a terrible error of judgement. Why had she shared something so close to her with him? ‘Han, that bottle was right at the back of the worktop.’
Hannah waved her away. ‘Load me up,’ she repeated. ‘I’m actually Hank Marvin. I hope we don’t have to wait until Martin Ayres has given a speech like we did last year.’
‘He does love a speech,’ Isla said with a grin.
‘And do you remember the year he sang “Twelve Days of Christmas” with all religious connotations.’
‘Seven sacraments, wasn’t it?’
‘Three wise men, two testaments and a …’
‘Baby Jesus laying in the hay,’ the women completed together, falling into a fit of laughter.
‘Cheeses,’ Isla said, passing Hannah the wooden board she had carefully clingfilm wrapped.
‘Cheeses.’ Hannah took hold of the board.
‘Pickled onions. Can you fit those somewhere on Ronnie?’ She held the jar out. ‘If not I can put them in my bag.’
‘Pass them over,’ Hannah said, putting the board on her lap. ‘The one advantage of having a wheelchair is its ability to suck up stuff like a well-packed Easyjet case.’ She shoved the pickles down the side of her chair.
‘Goats cheese and beetroot crisps,’ Isla continued, passing them to Hannah.
‘Brilliant!’
‘And I have cranberry and caramelised onion too.’
‘I do love a festive crisp. I’m bringing festive crisps to the Life Start party.’
‘So, is Raj meeting you in the square?’ Isla asked, putting the bag for life over her arm and facing her sister.
‘Oh, you know, it’s quite casual.’ Hannah sounded anything but and now she was shifting a little in her wheelchair, fingers moving from the cheeseboard to pull down the hot pink top she was wearing. It was long-sleeved with a small embellishment of two glittery cherries on the left breast pocket. Isla had helped her sister put on the fitted skirt, tights and boots she was wearing but the upper wear was definitely new. Possibly another Claudia TK Maxx outing purchase.
‘I love your top,’ Isla said.
‘Do you?’ Hannah asked. ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’
‘Han, this is the Beaumont Square Christmas Wine and Cheese Night?’ Isla said. ‘How could it possibly be too much? Mrs Edwards usually comes in something that looks like it belongs in a ballroom in the 1930s.’
‘I don’t look like that, do I?’ Hannah asked with a gasp.
‘No! Of course not. You look … lovely.’ Isla could feel emotion welling up and it wasn’t just because her sister was making an effort for a boy and seemed to be getting more and more independent every day. It was all this stuff with Breekers’ foray into the world of hotels, the plan that spelled disaster … and Chase. Months and months of not finding anyone remotely attractive whether she was really actively looking or not, and now, within days of meeting someone hot and interesting, he had turned into a fiend.
‘So, did you ask the gorgeous Chase to come tonight?’ Hannah asked, as if reading Isla’s mind.
She shook her head. ‘He has something on, I think.’
‘You think? Or you didn’t ask?’ Hannah queried.
She swallowed. ‘I didn’t ask.’
‘But why not?’ Hannah said, a frown on her face. ‘I told you he’s off my radar. I told you you’ve been desperately dateless for too long. I also told you I think he likes you. What’s the problem?’
Where did she start? There were more reasons for that than uses for an umbrella. ‘Well, because he’s my boss and …’ She looked at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time? We’d better get into the square before we miss the complimentary Baileys.’ Isla made for the door, bag swinging from one hand, the other clasped around a bottle of Shiraz.
‘That was the worst attempt at changing the subject ever,’ Hannah moaned. ‘And it won’t stop me asking. I might have decided he’s not right for my Christmas kiss in Notting Hill but he’s so fit … fitter than anyone else around here … even the window cleaner we used to stare at.’ She wheeled herself behind Isla. ‘And he seems nice too. And a gentleman. He topped up glasses at dinner, he wiped Maddie’s mouth when she got lasagne sauce all over it, he …’
Isla had heard enough. ‘He lives in New York, he’s freshly divorced and his ex-wife is living with his brother.’ She hadn’t meant to say the last bit. She wished she could retract it. Despite Chase being the Demon Demolisher she had sensed it had taken a lot for him to tell her that and it maybe wasn’t common knowledge.
‘Whoa! Really!’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘That’s Jerry Springer stuff!’
‘So, you see, it’s best to leave the wine and cheese to us.’ Isla smiled. ‘Besides you know I don’t want anyone to get between me and a slab of Holy Goat.’
‘I’m totally with you on that,’ Hannah agreed.
Fifty-Five
With the snow having eased up that afternoon and the members of the Beaumont Square Committee creating their usual display of patio heater and chiminea-warmed pergolas, Isla thought that the square looked as beautiful as it always did at this time of year.
There was already a gathering around trestle tables filled with treats, residents dressed in finery underneath their coats and hats. It was a tradition. You dressed for a cocktail party on the inside and the Arctic on the outside.
‘Mrs Webley is hogging the free Baileys section,’ Hannah muttered. ‘No change there.’
‘Come on,’ Isla said, taking hold of her sister’s wheelchair and bumping her up the kerb before swinging into the garden. ‘Let’s muscle in for our free glasses.’
Christmas had definitely arrived in Beaumont Square. The colourful lights intertwined around the metal railings, the fibreglass Nativity scene set around the biggest fir tree – Baby Jesus’s left eye still notably absent – more lights and metallic strings
of bunting circa Woolworths 1980. It was odd, maybe a little dated, but also charming and it never failed to make Isla feel warm inside.
Leafless trees were hung with strings of rainbow-coloured, teardrop-shaped lights and a small amplifier sat on the pathway playing Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. The choice of music catered for the average age of the residents of the surrounding houses. That was another almost unique thing about Beaumont Square: this was a place where people stayed. It hadn’t been bought up by young professionals looking for a slice of trendy Kensington. For most it was a forever home. The retro music had provided Isla with the inspiration for the theme of this year’s Breekers’ Christmas party and, as she looked at the cinnamon biscuits, cheese and chive roulade and indistinguishable things marinating in old jam jars, she knew, no matter what happened with this monster village, she owed it to her colleagues to put on a good party for all their hard work this year. And nothing was going to stop that. Perhaps it might even be the last thing she ever did there. She swallowed. She couldn’t think that.
‘Good evening, Mrs Webley,’ Hannah greeted their neighbour. Isla smiled to herself as she watched her sister position Ronnie as close to the sixty-something vice-chair of the committee as she could without running over her rather jazzy-looking tangerine-coloured ECCOs. The woman’s brunette hair had been hairsprayed to within an inch of its life and she was wearing her trademark fluorescent pink lipstick.
‘Good evening, Hannah,’ Mrs Webley shouted. She then lowered her voice. ‘Good evening, Isla.’ Why she thought Hannah being in a wheelchair meant she was deaf too no one had really worked out.
‘A good turn-out already,’ Hannah remarked, then sniffed the freezing air. ‘Is that Mr Webley’s prize-winning sausages I can smell?’
‘Well I never!’ Mrs Webley exclaimed, blustering with pride. ‘You really are coming along in leaps and bounds. Yes! There are some pork, venison and nutmeg on the griddle along with a new chicken and artichoke he’s been trialling at autumn food fairs.’ The whole sentence was bellowed like she was standing with a megaphone in Hyde Park’s Speakers’ Corner.