Fairytale of New York

by Miranda Dickinson

  I was working on one of the larger garlands for the entrance to the orangery when Marnie came into the workroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘So what’s happening?’

  I looked up from my work. ‘About what?’

  Marnie folded her arms and adopted a serious stance, which with her babylike features only served to make her look like a five year-old about to scold a teddy. ‘About you and Ed. Something’s different with you guys.’

  I looked back down to the garland, trying to avert her stare. ‘We’re fine, honey. You’re imagining things.’

  Marnie was not going to be placated so easily. She squared up for a fight. ‘I am not imagining this, Rosie. You’ve been keeping each other at arm’s length. I’m not blind, you know—or as dumb as you think I am.’

  ‘Oh, Marnie, I don’t think you’re dumb.’

  ‘Well, you both act like I am. Anyway, that’s beside the point. What happened in The Hamptons? Was it because of your ex?’

  ‘No, it was nothing to do with him.’

  ‘Then what? Come on, Rosie, you know I can tell something’s up here. I asked Ed about it and he said I’d have to ask you.’

  Nice deflection, Steinmann. ‘Ed and I are fine. I think perhaps the fact that we’re doing David’s wedding is playing on his mind a little. He’s very protective of me and it means he sometimes gets angry on my behalf. But I’ve already told him he doesn’t need to be concerned. I’m fine, honestly.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Just promise me you guys will work things out? It’s weird working here at the moment.’

  I watched her leave and tried to ignore the growing sense of frustration within me. The truth was I had no idea what was wrong with Ed. I’d gone over and over it in my mind since Friday and I still couldn’t work out what had happened between us on the drive home. The barrier was unavoidably real; the problem was how to determine what it was and then find a way to break it down.

  Nate called me that afternoon and asked if he could visit Kowalski’s. ‘I’ve a hankering for Old F decaf—and I think the couch misses me too.’

  When I went to find Ed to tell him, he was nowhere to be found. He’d obviously decided to make himself scarce, leading me to conclude that Nate had probably talked with him about visiting me before he called. It bugged me beyond words that Ed and Nate now confided in each other. It’s crazy, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling as if I’d been written out of the friendship. Not that I would have wanted to sit in a bar drinking bourbon with them and discussing the Mets season, of course. It would just have been nice to have been included in whatever they were talking about.

  Nate arrived at three o’clock and the little bell swinging happily upon his entrance into Kowalski’s might just as well have been a triumphant fanfare for the way my heart skipped when I saw him. In the two months since we’d last met, he had changed considerably—surprisingly so, in fact. Not only was his hair longer but his countenance seemed altered—subdued, maybe. The lop-sided grin and cheeky sense of humour remained, however, and within a few minutes we were laughing like we always had done.

  ‘So, how was your time as a national media target?’ Nate smiled as I handed him his coffee.

  ‘Um, interesting. Let’s just say I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. Mind you, Kowalski’s seemed to benefit from it all—our orders are up this year.’

  ‘Ah, not all bad news then, hey?’

  ‘I think we made the best of a bad situation, yes. So, how was Christmas?’

  Nate groaned and slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘You wouldn’t believe how dire the whole thing was, Rosie! First we had to endure the ridiculously elaborate show that is a Sutton family Christmas. You would have died. I thought I’d stepped onto the set of Dynasty by mistake. I swear even the Christmas tree had shoulder pads. The entrance lobby looked like an explosion in a sequin factory. Every available surface was stuffed with gaudy baubles and enough greenery to start a forest fire, and as for the food—well, it made Celia’s parties look like a picnic in Central Park!’

  ‘Sounds delightful.’

  ‘Mimi even had choristers “singing in” the turkey.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Seriously—there were three choirboys standing in the dining room entrance, singing “O Holy Night” as the waiters brought the turkey in.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘And then Caitlin had to endure the true horror of an Amie family New Year. Most of my brothers riotously drunk, my mother and father pretending they weren’t having an argument and my two grandmothers shouting merrily in conversation—even though each is as deaf as the other and had no idea what the other one was saying. Complete nightmare from start to finish. How about you?’

  ‘Me? Well, I had a quiet one, for a change. Although I did receive a mystery delivery on Christmas morning.’

  His expression remained steady, even though I was looking hard for any flicker of acknowledgement. ‘Really?’

  I told him about the floral basket and the intriguing note—and still he displayed no outward signs of recognition. If anything, his eyes looked a little sad. ‘It’s a cool gesture. It must’ve made your day.’

  ‘It did, I guess.’ Confused by his reaction, I changed the subject. ‘And the wedding preparations? How are they going?’

  He gazed out of the window. ‘Good, all good. Although I half wonder if Caitlin might have planned a better guy to turn up in my place on the day. It seems I’m surplus to requirements when it comes to planning. That’s fine by me: I’ll just sit back and watch the Mimi-Caitlin juggernaut steamroller through town.’

  ‘But you’re happy about it?’

  His eyes met mine blankly. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Then, forgive me, I don’t understand…’

  ‘Why I said what I did before the big announcement? I have no idea, Rosie. Sometimes it’s like I completely know what I want and then…I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never feel totally happy with the situation. Maybe I’ll always be one of those guys who complain incessantly about their wives, yet stay in long marriages with them. It’s just easier not to fight stuff, you know?’

  ‘So, everything you said was…?’

  He placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, gentle circles as he spoke. ‘True, Rosie. At the time. No, still true now. I won’t have Caitlin or anybody dictate who I spend time with—that hasn’t changed.’

  ‘But your feelings for Caitlin have?’ I mentally kicked myself for asking; it was supposed to be an internal question. Nate’s expression changed, his eyes meeting mine.

  ‘I don’t know what I want, Rosie. But I want you in my life.’

  ‘You’re planning your wedding…’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But I can’t help thinking there could be another way.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  He leaned towards me, his voice an urgent whisper. ‘I don’t know, OK. I just need you in my life.’

  ‘Nate, I already am. We’re friends, remember?’

  He placed a hand on my knee. ‘As a friend, then. Only a friend—if you want?’

  This was too much for my brain to handle. Irritated, I stood up and was about to answer when the little silver bell above the shop door jingled loudly as a thick-set man in a long grey overcoat rushed into the store.

  ‘Rosie Duncan?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  He shook my hand hurriedly. ‘John Meenaghan. I’m a neighbour of Eli Lukich—the old Russian guy who comes in here?’

  ‘Yes, I know Eli. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I really didn’t know who else to contact, Ms Duncan. It was only because he had your card on his refrigerator door that I’m here.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  John took a deep breath and placed a sheepskin-gloved hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this. We found Mr Lukich in his apartment this morning—with his wife.’

  Panic gripped my heart. �
��Is he…? Are they…?’

  The tears in his eyes confirmed my worst fears. ‘Alyona died some time ago, we think. The stench in his apartment was overwhelming. The police think he refused to believe she was dead. She was lying on their bed with her head on a pillow, dressed in a white lace gown and surrounded by bunches of dried yellow roses. The officer who discovered them believes Eli just gave up trying to live. There was no food in the apartment and the electricity had been cut off. I’m so sorry, Ms Duncan.’

  The thought of Eli’s silent, deathly vigil at the bedside of the woman he loved so passionately was too awful to comprehend.

  ‘So when he was visiting Kowalski’s to collect his yellow roses his wife was already dead?’ Nate asked, appearing at my side and placing a steadying arm at my back.

  John nodded. ‘There’s a simple memorial planned for them at St Agatha’s cemetery tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Can you come?’

  ‘Absolutely. Can I do anything?’

  ‘Could you provide a couple of wreaths? I’m willing to cover the cost.’

  I shook my head. ‘No need. It will be my gift to them.’

  When John left, I sank slowly into the couch and buried my head in my hands, sobbing. Nate sat by me, his arm tentatively draped around my shoulders as if he was scared to intrude on my grief. The awful reality of the Lukichs’ lives and deaths seemed so unfair, in a world where people treated love as a commodity, using it and discarding it seemingly at will. Eli’s world had ended when Alyona died; his only remaining purpose a hopeless vigil maintained in her honour. The yellow roses I gave him each month were his only connection to the woman he had endured so much for. And yet I had no idea that, after the stories and laughter and mock bartering which accompanied each of his visits to Kowalski’s, he returned to the stark reality of what little life he still possessed. I remembered what I had said to Nate, months before, about Eli Lukich being the epitome of what a man in love should be; now, in the light of his death, he had proven my theory, taking his life-long devotion to its ultimate conclusion.

  Ed, Marnie and Nate joined me at St Agatha’s the next morning for Eli and Alyona’s funeral. John had organised a whip-round in his apartment block and one of his neighbours arranged for their cousin—an undertaker—to provide caskets. Ten people huddled together in the little cemetery church as the minister recounted the sparse details of the Lukichs’ lives—a short eulogy that did their epic life struggle no justice whatsoever. Following the brief service, I was grateful of Ed’s arm around my shoulders as we slowly processed to the freshly dug grave and watched the caskets being lowered together, two wreaths of white and yellow roses and lilies adorning the coffins. Then, one by one, each mourner stepped forward to say goodbye and drop a single yellow rose into the grave. Ed and Marnie hugged me before retreating respectfully.

  As people walked away from the graveside, I noticed Nate wiping tears from his eyes.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I want what they had, Rosie.’

  ‘I don’t know if that kind of love is possible today, Nate.’

  ‘What if I want it to be?’

  Looking deep into his eyes, I squeezed his hand. ‘Sometimes wanting isn’t enough. You need to find something that will make you happy enough not to care about anything else.’

  He shook his head. ‘What if I’ve already found it and it’s not mine?’

  I couldn’t answer him. Slowly, he bent his head and kissed my cheek, the warmth of his face making my skin tingle. Then he turned and strode away down the hill to where Marnie and Ed were waiting.

  Heart pounding, I turned back to face the grave. ‘Eli Lukich, you look after that beautiful wife of yours,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll never forget you.’

  Work on the Lithgow wedding had to continue after the funeral, despite the fact that none of us was in any mood to work. Jocelyn and Jack held the fort out front whilst Marnie, Ed and I worked on the large displays. When Marnie left the workroom to fetch coffee, Ed appeared at my side.

  ‘Rosie, I’m an idiot.’

  ‘So tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘I got mad when we drove back from seeing David—over nothing. Going to the funeral today put everything into perspective. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine, hon. I just want us to be us, you know?’

  ‘Yeah. Me too. And hey, it looks like old Nateyboy is back on the scene?’

  I pulled a face. ‘Hmm, well you could say that, although I don’t think I’ll ever work him out.’

  ‘Whoever said guys are simple, huh?’ he smirked. ‘I think he likes you.’

  ‘You’ve said this before and you’re still wrong. I think he’s confused. And engaged. And planning his wedding.’

  ‘And battling his feelings for you.’

  ‘Not this again, Ed…’

  ‘No—hear me out, Rosie. I think he likes you and—and I think the feeling’s mutual.’

  I could feel a traitorous blush creeping over my cheeks and looked away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  His voice was low and feather-soft. ‘I think I do.’

  I turned to face him and, the moment my eyes met the steely-blue Steinmann stare, I felt my heart rate quicken. ‘I don’t know what I feel,’ I answered, with more truth than I’d intended. ‘There’s so much—stuff—whizzing about in my head and I honestly can’t make sense of any of it. I’ve kept my emotions under lock and key for so long that it’s like I’ve forgotten how to use them. Be warned—this is an inevitable side effect of the melting process. It’s scary and it’s perplexing and it’s something so out of your control that you just get swept along with it all.’

  ‘Is it David?’

  ‘No—well, yes partly. I spent so long being happy to cast him as the dastardly villain that it doesn’t compute now I’ve made peace with him. But it’s more than that: it’s everything—David, Nate—’ I broke off as I realised what should have come next: and you… Struggling to grasp the reins of this runaway steed, I changed tack and forced a laugh. ‘But I’ll be fine. Honestly. Once this wedding is done and we can just go back to being “the Kowalski’s family” it’ll all be clearer, I’m sure of it.’

  A welcome smile assumed centre stage on Ed’s face. ‘Come here, Duncan,’ he grinned, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. I hugged him back, thankful for the sense of reassurance I found there.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The day before David’s wedding, Ed and I packed the delivery van and drove up to The Hamptons. I was keen to get as many of the larger pieces as possible in place by evening and had taken the unusual step of closing the store for the day, so that my whole team could pitch in.

  As weddings go, the Lithgow nuptials were some of the most lavish we had ever been asked to provide for. Compared to the last time George and Phoebe had organised a wedding for their only son, this was an epic event in every sense of the word. What the Lithgows were saving on venue costs they were more than making up for in every other detail: caterers from a top Manhattan restaurant, ten white peacocks to roam the lawns, an entire service team brought in from George’s favourite hotel in Boston and a twenty-piece orchestra were just a few of the wildly expensive elements of the day. In terms of the floral displays, David and Rachel wanted lilies, peonies and gardenias lining the route for the guests and bridal party—from the footpaths leading up to the house, through each room towards the orangery itself, where the largest, most detailed displays would be. This meant long garlands made of the theme flowers with length upon length of dark green and white ivy, intertwined with tiny white fairy lights for the footpaths, countless table pieces, four arches to surround the doorways leading to the orangery and eight huge feature displays around the area where the guests would sit for the ceremony. It was a lot of work—even with five pairs of hands.

  When we arrived at the house, it was already a hive of activity. Ed and I left Marnie and the grads with the van as we dodged delivery men, security staff and
members of the wedding planning team on our way to the front door.

  As we passed through rooms jammed with workers, Ed let out a whistle. ‘This is crazy! I can’t believe anyone would want this much stuff at their wedding. Whatever happened to the notion of a wedding being about two people in love?’

  I gave him a playful nudge as we ducked under a drooping banner being hung by two ladies on step ladders at either side of the door. ‘You old romantic, you.’

  ‘No, I mean it. The whole wedding industry is built on people being persuaded to pay ridiculous sums of money for things they don’t need.’

  ‘What, like we do?’

  Ed stopped to let a delivery guy—who was pushing an enormous stack of chairs on a trolley—go in front of us. ‘Shame on you, Rosie! What we do is to respond to our customers’ needs, not sell them unnecessary rubbish. And may I remind you that you can never have too many flowers at a wedding?’

  ‘I think this wedding may disprove the theory,’ I grinned, despite my stomach flipping at the prospect of the task ahead. I checked my watch. ‘Right, we need to find David or Rachel to OK the schedule as soon as we can. We have a lot to do and I’d like to be able to let the team get away by six this evening. What time are we booked in at the hotel?’

  Ed checked his clipboard. ‘Any time from five thirty. Dinner’s at eight, if we want it.’

  ‘And they’re cool with us working on the bridal party flowers?’

  He nodded. ‘I spoke to the manager yesterday. He’s cleared their second dining room for us and is providing a coffee machine too.’

  ‘Nice. I definitely think we’ll need the coffee.’

  ‘Did someone say coffee?’ smiled David, appearing from the orangery, notebook in hand. ‘I’m sending out for Starbucks. How many in your team?’

  ‘Five, including Rosie and me,’ Ed replied, shaking David’s hand.