by Jill Mansell
How long had her phone been buzzing before she’d woken up?
Urgh, it was still dark. Who would even be calling at this time? Crawling back to consciousness, Clemency opened her eyes a millimetre further and saw from the alarm clock that it was 3.30 in the morning.
Three thirty. Have a heart.
The buzzing stopped and she groaned with relief, because her phone was somewhere on the floor over on the other side of the bedroom. Out of reach, anyway. Her eyes closed again and she began to drift back to sleep …
Something plastic-sounding hit the outside of her bedroom window and clattered to the pavement. Clemency let out a yelp and stumbled out of bed, locating and scooping up her phone along the way.
Seven missed calls. Oh God.
She opened the window and peered out.
‘At last,’ said Ronan, gazing up at her. He was holding an empty plastic water bottle, which had presumably been his window-knocker of choice. ‘Open the door.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Even in her befuddled state, though, Clemency knew.
Patiently Ronan repeated, ‘Just open the door.’
The messages on her phone were all from him too, saying much the same thing. Clemency made her way downstairs, unlocked the door and headed back up to the flat with Ronan right behind her.
In her living room, he turned her to face him. ‘You know who my mother is, don’t you.’
It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed and shook her head. ‘No.’
‘I can’t begin to work out how you know, but you do.’ Ronan continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Do I know her?’
Oh God. ‘No.’
His dark-lashed eyes were fixed unwaveringly on hers.
‘Is my biological mother one of Josephine’s sisters?’
What? Where had that come from? Clemency said, ‘No!’
‘Is my biological mother Dee from the café?’
‘No.’
‘Is it Meryl from the newsagent’s?’
‘No.’
‘Is it Marina Stafford?’
‘No,’ said Clemency.
‘Is it Marina Stafford?’
Oh God. ‘No.’
Silence. She could hear her own heartbeat, her own ragged breaths. It was like being up on some huge stage in front of a rapt audience, being interrogated by Derren Brown.
At 3.30 in the morning and with a hangover.
‘OK,’ Ronan said at last. He glanced over at the coffee table, where the contents of her make-up bag were scattered. Clemency watched as he reached for her Topshop navy eye pencil and wrote something on the palm of his hand.
Then he held his hand out to her. On it were the words: IS IT MARINA?
Clemency looked at them and couldn’t speak. Nor could she bring herself to look away. Beneath the hem of the oversized T-shirt she wore as a nightie, her knees were twitching with anxiety, and the urge to jump out of the window was scarily strong.
‘It’s OK, I get it,’ said Ronan. ‘You aren’t allowed to say.’
She closed her eyes for a moment. This was unbearable.
‘So you aren’t able to say yes,’ he continued slowly. ‘But you haven’t said no, either. Which you would have done if I hadn’t been right.’
‘I can’t tell you,’ Clemency whispered. ‘I promised.’
‘I know. I know you did. It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. Because I have the answer now. I can tell you who my biological mother is.’
Clemency said faintly, ‘Can you?’
‘Yes, I can. It’s Marina.’ As he said it, she heard his voice break with emotion. The next moment she flung her arms around him and hugged him hard.
Oh Lord, I’m going to be in so much trouble.
When they finally disentangled themselves, Ronan held her at arm’s length and said with a fond smile, ‘God, this is amazing. No wonder you wanted me to know.’
Chapter 25
Back in London on Friday for a slew of business meetings, Sam had deliberately arranged a ninety-minute break between appointments. Following a brief but productive lunch with an overseas investor, he jumped into a black cab and came up to the northern edge of Hampstead Heath.
It was busy with tourists, but they were irrelevant. Kenwood House, originally built in the seventeenth century and beautifully restored inside and out, was a magnet for visitors who had seen the stunning building featured in various TV shows and movies. And you could see why it was so popular. Now, gleaming creamy-white in the sunshine, it resembled a vast and elegant wedding cake. In addition, the gardens were well cared for, the views across the parkland sweeping and impressive.
Were you actually allowed to scatter a loved one’s ashes in the grounds? Sam still didn’t know the answer; some questions, he’d felt, were better left unasked. A couple of weeks after the funeral service, he’d gone ahead and scattered Lisa’s ashes here anyway. Discreetly, of course.
What the hell. He hadn’t been arrested.
If there were any upsides to knowing you probably didn’t have long to live, it was that you could let people know what you wanted to happen when the prophecy was fulfilled.
The week after their small but perfect wedding, they’d come up to the heath for a walk. It had been Lisa’s idea, simply because she loved the place so much. As they’d made their way along the paths, through the woodland and around the edge of the lake, she’d stopped every now and again to take photos.
‘OK, I give in,’ Sam had said at last, watching as she took a careful photograph of the trunk and exposed roots of a centuries-old oak tree. ‘What are you doing?’
Lisa had straightened up, sliding her arm around his waist and hooking her thumb through the belt loop on his jeans. ‘When I die, this is where I want my ashes scattered.’
Sam remembered that moment so well. Her words had hit him in the chest like a medicine ball. ‘You’re not going to die.’
But she’d tilted her head and given him that look of hers, the one that said they both knew different.
‘Sam, we’re all going to die. And the chances are that it’ll happen to me before it happens to you. So I’m just helping you out here, letting you know what I’d like you to do with my ashes. If it makes you feel better, you can tell me where you’d want me to scatter yours. Just in case you beat me to it.’
‘OK, I’ll have a think. But you need to choose exactly where you want them to go. Down here, by the lake?’ He gestured to the glittering expanse of water before them. ‘Further up the hill? Or in front of the house?’
‘All of the above. I don’t want them in just one place.’ Lisa smiled her mischievous smile and gave his waist a squeeze. ‘I’d rather have a little bit here, a little bit there. Then you can come back whenever you want, do the walk and think of me all the way round. Deal?’
At the time, Sam had told himself they could still have years left together, maybe even decades, before that happened. Because you never knew, did you? People had been known to make miraculous recoveries.
Aloud, because Lisa had clearly made up her mind, he’d said, ‘Deal,’ and kissed her on the mouth.
Years later, lost in thought, it took a while for Sam to realise that his name was being called. Looking up, he saw a figure striding down the hill towards him.
‘Sam! Oh how marvellous, it is you. Well this is wonderful. Come here, what a surprise!’
Alice was in her seventies, tall and rangy, super-intelligent and fiercely independent. How extraordinary to see her again. Sam submitted to her warm, bony embrace and said, ‘I’m surprised too. I thought you were living in Barbados.’
He knew exactly how long it was since they’d last seen each other. When he and Lisa had moved into their tiny flat in Peckham, Alice had occupied the ground-floor apartment directly beneath them. The garden had been hers but she’d insisted on sharing it with them, had invited them along to her frequent parties and generally been the best neighbour anyone had the right to expect. They had done favours for
each other, shared meals, talked for hours. For nine months they’d seen each other almost every day, until Alice’s sister, living in Barbados and newly divorced, had invited Alice to move over there and keep her company in her vast beachfront house. Alice had agreed, with the proviso that she would spend her days volunteering in a school, because otherwise she’d be living a life of pointless privilege.
And that had been it in a nutshell; she’d sold off her possessions and moved out of the flat two weeks later.
Three days after that, Lisa had been taken ill, suffering the first symptoms of her brain tumour.
Alice, who had never owned a computer or had an email address, knew nothing about what had happened from then on.
‘I still am living in Barbados!’ She was surveying him now, her eyes bright. ‘I didn’t expect to love it out there as much as I do. This is just a flying visit to see my nieces. Anyway, how are things with you? You’re looking so well!’
‘Thanks. You too.’ This was the bit he hated. The inevitable breaking of the news was surely only seconds away.
‘And where are you living now? I drove past the flat yesterday and saw an Asian couple carrying their shopping inside, so I knew you’d moved.’
Sam said, ‘Actually, I’m down in Cornwall now. St Carys, on the north coast.’
He saw Alice’s eyes flicker as she registered his use of I rather than we.
Here it comes.
‘Just you? Are you and Lisa not together any more? Oh that is sad …’
The temptation was there to leave it at that, to simply nod and agree that it was unfortunate, then to change the subject and leave Alice thinking things just hadn’t worked out.
It would be so much easier for them both.
But he couldn’t do that. Not to Alice, nor to Lisa.
‘Lisa had a brain tumour,’ Sam said carefully, and saw Alice’s expression change again to one of dismay. ‘It wasn’t the kind you can recover from. I’m afraid she died.’
‘Oh no. No. Not your beautiful girl.’ Appalled, Alice rested her hand on his arm and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh Sam.’
One of the nearby wooden benches at the water’s edge was unoccupied; they sat down together and he told Alice what had happened, how the illness had started and played out and eventually ended.
‘How cruel. How unfair,’ said Alice. ‘But you’ve coped. If you can get through that, you can get through anything.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ Sam nodded. ‘Doesn’t always feel like it, I have to say. But I’m still here.’
‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ Alice closed her eyes. ‘God, darling, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just said something so trite. Bloody awful clichés, don’t they make you want to spit?’ She sounded utterly disgusted with herself.
Sam smiled. ‘But we all use them. Don’t worry about it.’
For several seconds they sat together in peaceful silence. A young couple walking two terriers paused to let them off their leads, and the dogs launched themselves into the lake, chasing after a gaggle of ducks that promptly sailed off out of reach. The terriers turned away, as if pretending they’d had no interest in the ducks anyway, and began splashing around in the shallows instead.
Alice said, ‘It’s been how long now, since she died?’
‘Three years.’ He knew what was coming next.
‘And?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Are we still using clichés?’ he said wryly. ‘Life goes on.’
‘Is that your way of telling me to mind my own business? It’s OK, I won’t ask. Stopping now.’ Alice mimed zipping her mouth shut. ‘No more questions, Your Honour.’
‘Hey, it’s fine.’ He gave her a friendly nudge. ‘Of course we can talk about it. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m afraid we’re a long way from a happy ending.’
‘You’re not seeing anyone?’ Alice’s tone was sympathetic.
‘Oh I am. The trouble is, I’m not sure she’s the right one.’ In reality he was pretty certain she wasn’t. ‘And I know I should probably end the relationship, but it’s … complicated. She’s given up her apartment in London, and left her job here too. I didn’t ask her to move in with me, it just kind of happened. So if I tell her we’re over, it’s going to be pretty traumatic. Which is why I feel so guilty about doing it.’
‘Ah, tricky. I see where you’re coming from. And is this the first real relationship since Lisa?’
‘There were one or two brief … flings.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Nothing that meant anything.’
‘What’s this one’s name?’
‘Annabelle.’
‘And what’s she like?’
What was Annabelle like? Sam watched as the two terriers splashed their way out of the lake and started chasing each other, barking furiously as they raced to and fro across the grass. For all the world like a pair of bickering siblings …
‘She’s blonde, slim, beautiful. Stunning, in fact,’ he amended. ‘She’s elegant, intelligent, and good company. When we first met, I really liked her, and she liked me. I thought we could possibly make a go of things. OK,’ Sam shrugged, because Alice’s eyebrows had lifted, ‘I know it doesn’t sound that romantic, but I thought maybe the feelings would grow. It doesn’t always hit you like a thunderbolt.’
‘How’s the sex?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Am I being too impertinent? I was just wondering if you’re compatible in bed,’ said Alice. ‘Because it makes a difference, you know.’
Amused by her bluntness, Sam said, ‘I do know. And things are fine in that respect. Thanks for asking.’
‘Fine,’ Alice mused, considering the word. ‘Not magnificent, then. But not completely disastrous either. Sort of middling.’ She saw the look on his face and conceded, ‘OK, let’s say on the good side of middling.’
Somewhat belatedly, Sam remembered that Alice’s sister had once worked as a sex therapist, which must be where she got her eye-popping frankness from. Since he had no intention of discussing that side of things with her, he said, ‘Anyway, who knows, the thunderbolt might still come along. Maybe we just need a while longer to get used to each other.’
‘Maybe,’ Alice said. ‘What would you do if you met someone else and it happened? I mean instantly, like it did when you first saw Lisa?’
Sam’s abdominal muscles tightened at the memory of that flight back from Malaga. Without stopping to think, he said, ‘Actually, that has already happened. But it’s not someone I can get involved with.’
‘Oh?’ Alice looked interested. ‘Why not?’
A few yards away, the two terriers had been thrown a stick to retrieve and were now locked in battle. With each of them having grasped one end of the stick in their teeth, they were now growling and writhing as they fought for victory.
‘Because she’s Annabelle’s sister,’ Sam told Alice.
‘Ah.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Can you not swap?’
‘No. Not possible.’
The male owner of the two dogs waded into the fight, shouting ‘Drop! Drop it!’ Somehow he managed to free the stick from their clamped jaws. Laughing, he hurled it high into the air once more, and they all watched as it caught in the upper branches of a maple tree. The two terriers charged over to the tree and waited for the stick to fall, not realising it wasn’t going to happen.
‘See?’ The man’s girlfriend addressed the dogs like a weary schoolteacher. ‘This is what happens when you don’t play nicely. Now neither of you has the stick.’
‘I’ll find them another one,’ said her boyfriend.
Next to Sam, Alice was waiting patiently for him to continue. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Tell me about Annabelle’s sister. What’s she called?’
‘Clemency.’ You knew you were in deep trouble when even saying the name aloud made you feel like a child on Christmas morning. ‘They’re stepsisters.’
‘Do they get on well together?’
He nodded over at the terriers, now cannoning off each
other as they tore across the grass after a disappearing rabbit. ‘Kind of like those two.’
‘I see. And have you and Clemency slept together?’
Sam choked back laughter; there really was no stopping Alice. ‘No, we haven’t.’
‘That’s a shame. What do you think it would be like if you did?’
‘Oh, pretty average, I imagine.’ He shrugged. ‘You know, middling.’
‘Now you’re making fun of me.’ Alice’s tone was good-natured. ‘But sometimes being asked questions by an outsider can be helpful. Does Annabelle know how you feel about her stepsister?’
‘No.’
‘How about Clemency? Does she know?’
‘Kind of,’ said Sam. ‘Some of it. But not the full extent.’
‘And does she feel the same way about you?’
‘Kind of.’ What could he do but say it again? ‘We both know it’s there. But nothing’s happened. She’s seeing someone else too.’
‘What’s she like?’ Alice genuinely wanted to know. ‘Tell me everything. Would I like her?’
And in that split second, he was able to picture them so clearly, Clem and Alice perched side by side on the low stone wall in Alice’s old garden, gossiping together, making jokes and collapsing with laughter.
If only it could happen.
‘You’d love her to bits. You’d want her at all your parties,’ said Sam.
‘Oh my darling boy.’ Alice gave his arm a consoling squeeze. ‘If you could just see the look on your face now.’
Chapter 26
One of the things Marina loved most about her work was the way, when potential customers approached her, she could never predict what they might be about to say.
Last week, an elderly man had asked her to paint himself and his wife Maggie into one of her harbour scenes. But Maggie had died just after Christmas, he explained diffidently, so would Marina be able to do it with the aid of photos instead?