by Daisy Tate
They ducked under another scaffolding tower then walked inside the main church doors. ‘So this bit will be the entrance to numbers one and two. Our townhouse and number four will have entrances over by the garden.’
‘Graveyard, you mean.’
It had been deconsecrated, so technically not … ‘Yes. Where the graveyard was.’
‘Cool. I like thinking of all of those old souls looking after us.’ Izzy carefully picked her way through the piles of plywood and supplies. ‘I can’t believe how different it is.’ She brushed her fingers along everything she passed, as if she were trying to memorize all that she’d taken for granted. Even dry wall, from the looks of things.
‘It’s nice to hear someone sees a difference. All Monts and I can see is all the work that’s left to do.’ Freya tucked her fringe back behind her scarf. Monty was doing his best, but … it was slow going. And Cameron wasn’t the easiest of men to work for. If he’d told them they’d needed planning permission to change the back entrance before they’d knocked it down, Monty would’ve held fire. Now they were facing a fine on top of everything else.
Big breath in …
‘Oh my gosh! This is amazing. Fluffy!’ Izzy dived into their upgraded bedroom (Charlotte had donated her tent when a rather silly tickling session sounded a death knell for the old one) and sprawled herself the length of Freya’s airbed. It was covered with a Highland cowhide she and her brother had had tanned ‘just to see’. It had turned out brilliantly, was super warm (the church was not) and Freya already had orders from a bespoke furniture shop on the King’s Road for as many ottomans as she could make when they had more. It was shocking how much money people would pay for an ottoman. But she wasn’t arguing. Each little bit of debt she and Monty erased made more room in their marriage for getting back to normal. The new normal, anyway.
‘Do you miss the old tent?’ Izzy rolled back and forth on the airbed like a little girl.
‘Short answer? No.’ It had been fun, but there was only so much cosiness a girl could handle in the end. That, and some summer showers a couple of weeks back had made it crystal clear that the church roof needed redoing. Urgently.
‘Is Rocco coming down again?’ Izzy gave a naughty laugh. ‘Or should I be asking Charlotte?’
‘He’s definitely coming down, but I’m fairly certain he’s been told he’s staying in the guest room.’
Izzy made a sad clown face.
‘No. Nothing like that. I think with Oliver being such an ass, Charlotte just wants to take things slowly. She’s got to figure out how to be Charlotte on her own before she takes my big bear of a brother on.’
Freya was crossing everything that they’d get together, but she knew more than most that slow and steady was a wise course of action. ‘Anyway, I don’t think Rocco likes leaving Dad on his own, so … if he does start coming down more regularly, we might have to see about someone coming in to check up on him.’
Izzy’s brow furrowed protectively. She’d really taken to Lachlan over Christmas. ‘He’s not that bad, is he?’
‘No, not at all.’ He wasn’t. The problem was they weren’t really sure what he was. They hadn’t yet had an official prognosis because, in true Scottish male style, her father was refusing to go to the doctors. ‘I’m old!’ he’d crow if they questioned him about forgetting something from the past. ‘I miss your mother,’ he’d say if he’d had a wee nip or two.
‘Right!’ Freya clapped her hands together then swooped one of her arms towards the door. ‘We better get on. Monty’s making us all a curry tonight. Thai.’
They wandered round the rest of the building, Izzy oohing and aahing in all the right places. The bathroom that would have not one but two beautiful stained-glass windows. The kitchen that would be floodlit by a skylight over the apse. Freya pointed towards another scaffold-laced area. ‘Through there you can see the new stairs they’re putting in up to the spire. That’ll be Regan’s room when they’re finished.’
‘Oooops!’
Freya turned round just in time to see Izzy’s entire head of hair hanging from a bit of scaffolding.
She looked at Izzy, who was laughing despite having just been scalped. Or had she? Her head wasn’t bald. Her hair was short, though. Halle Berry pixie short. It looked cute actually. If not 100 per cent different from Big Hair Izzy.
‘Ummm …’ Freya pointed out the obvious. ‘You’re wearing a wig.’
‘Yup!’ Izzy detached it from the scaffolding and expertly whirled it back into place. ‘Been wearing one since I got back to the UK. This little beauty is one of three.’
‘But it …’
‘Looks like my hair?’ Izzy laughed again and fluffed up her curls. ‘It is my hair. I cut it before I started chemo in Hawaii. My mum’s hair had fallen out and she was furious. It was one of her last poems. “Fickle Follicles”.’
‘Seriously?’
‘No,’ Izzy laughed. ‘She was just worried all my memories of her were going to be of a bloated, balding, shell of a woman. She was wrong, of course, because beauty doesn’t work like that, but … Looney was so much younger than I was; I wanted her world to at least look normal. There is so little we are in charge of – not the weather, not the waves, not cancer. I wanted to be in charge of something. This was my something.’
For perhaps the first time ever, Freya thought she would do well to take a page out of Izzy’s book. It wasn’t being an airhead that kept her positive. It was her deep understanding of how life worked. Some things you could control. Some things you couldn’t. Freya had almost let her marriage fall apart over money. Something they could control. Badly. But step by step, they were improving.
‘It was clever.’ Freya reached out but didn’t touch Izzy’s wig. ‘Saving your hair.’
Izzy snorted. ‘It was vanity. Pure and simple.’ She took it off and stared at it. ‘It’s only supposed to last a few years, so I might have to go off the shelf soon.’ She shuddered at the thought.
‘I’ll give you mine if you want. There’s not a lot of it, but you’re welcome to it.’
Izzy beamed that beautiful, open smile of hers, then tucked her hand in the crook of Freya’s elbow. ‘I know you would, girlfriend. I know you would.’
‘Ack!’ Izzy howled in protest as they passed the photo round. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the Alicia Keys phase was so epically bad?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘You looked good no matter what you did.’
Izzy batted her lashes. ‘Flatterer.’
‘Don’t get used to it,’ Emily sniffed. ‘This is only because you’ve just got out of hospital.’
‘That was over two weeks ago.’
‘Well, then.’ Emily narrowed her eyes. ‘You look like shit.’
‘That’s more like it.’ Izzy planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. ‘I don’t like it when you’re nice. It’s creepy.’
They continued to shift through the photos, pointing out bad outfits, long-forgotten friends, T-shirts they’d long since consigned to the charity shops. They had had an awful lot of parties. It was a good thing the children had opted to watch a film in the other room. Some of the photos were not showing the ‘responsible adults’ in their lives in the best of lights.
‘Oh, my gosh. Emms … Izz …’ Freya held out a photo and they all crowded in to look. It was Emily pointing at a beaming Izzy. She was modelling one of Freya’s year-end projects – a party frock made entirely of bluebells. Her hair was absolutely enormous. Wild and free. Her eyes sparked with life. She looked utterly stunning. Emily was gazing at her as if she were Aphrodite herself.
Emily looked away, horrified at her transparency. Did everyone have a photo of Emily looking doe-eyed at Izzy? She was about to make a sarcastic comment, then noticed no one was poking fun. Quite the opposite in fact. Her friends were cooing, smiling, reaching out to the photo, as if touching it would transport them back to that moment.
And then it hit her.
They’d known all alon
g.
‘Why didn’t you guys ever say anything?’ They all turned to look at her. ‘You know, about the whole “Emily likes girls” thing.’
Charlotte crinkled her nose and gave Emily a funny little smile. ‘Because you’re Emily.’
‘What does that mean?’ She wasn’t offended. Old Emily would have been. This Emily was simply curious.
‘It means you don’t talk about things. You’re private.’ Charlotte closed the lid on the shoebox and put it to the side. ‘We all respect that.’
Freya laughed. ‘That. And we thought you’d punch us in the face if we did.’ She feinted right and left, dodging invisible blows. Charlotte, Freya and Izzy grinned at each other, did the zipped-lips gesture and threw away the keys. It was a well-practised move. Which kind of made Emily feel good.
‘Right! I’ve got a busy day of vending wares ahead of me. There’s an art show at the co-op tomorrow. I’ve got to stop the watercolourists from going to war with the oil painters. So touchy, these arty types.’ She gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Have a good trip back to London, Emms.’ Freya gave them all a quick wave then headed off to her scaffolding-clad home.
Izzy yawned and stretched. ‘I promised Looney we’d watch Gilmore Girls before bed. Poppy got her hooked.’ She blew them all kisses and headed into the lounge where a chorus of ‘We’re watching that! Mummy! Why is she dancing in front of the tele?’ made it clear Izzy was most definitely on the mend.
Charlotte and Emily picked up the handful of glasses and empty cake plates from the kitchen table.
‘She seems settled,’ Emily said.
‘Mmmm.’ Charlotte handed her a dishtowel. ‘I think the counsellor that Freya suggested has been a real help. Izzy sees her a couple of times a week before she goes into the yoga studio.’
‘She’s really training to become an instructor?’ Izzy had got a job as a receptionist a week earlier and had already decided that yoga was her path to serenity. Said it helped a lot of surfers keep their core balanced.
‘Not yet. I don’t think she’s strong enough. But she says working on the reception desk is “giving her the right vibes”. You know Izzy. Once she sets her mind to something she goes for it. Whether or not it makes sense.’
Yes. Emily nodded. True dat. And despite that, she had always loved her.
After everything had been tidied away to Charlotte’s satisfaction, Emily turned off the kitchen lights then headed towards the stairs with Charlotte. There was a box room with her name on it and she was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before heading back to London in the morning. Charlotte suddenly stopped and turned to her.
‘I’m sorry, Emms.’
‘For what?’
Charlotte looked down at her hands then met Emily’s gaze straight on. ‘I feel sad that you didn’t think you could tell us earlier. About being a lesbian.’
‘Don’t.’ Emily shook her head, the back of her throat tickling with unexpected emotion. ‘I’m the one who should be apologizing.’
‘What for?’
‘For taking this long to figure out I could.’
She slipped her arm round Charlotte’s waist as they began to make their way up the stairs. ‘Mostly? I’m just happy that you lot don’t care.’
‘That’s the whole point, silly,’ Charlotte tsked. ‘We do care. You’re our Emily.’
TO: NHS GREYSTONE HOSPITAL TRUST, HR
FROM: Dr Emily Cheung
RE: RE: RE: Ten Years of Unused Holiday
Dear Over-worked HR Department,
Apologies for any terseness in my previous emails. I did not mean to imply that I alone have earned a year’s holiday. Obviously everyone at the NHS deserves a year off. I was merely suggesting some leniency as regards the last-minute nature of my request for personal leave. (Which, if anyone in HR had bothered to accrue it, would total 52 weeks.)
If it suits the powers that be, I hereby request ONE WEEK immediately, TWO WEEKS in October (dates to be submitted when I figure out when the school holidays are) and a list of single dates (please see attached document) that will take us up until the Christmas Holidays which I would also like to take off. And the Chinese New Year. All of it.
There.
Is that acceptable?
Regards etc. etc.
Ms DOCTOR Emily Cheung, Sultan Orthopaedic Surgeon
Isabella Yeats
Hawkesbury Vicarage
Vicarage Mews
Hawkesbury Square
Bristol BS10
Dear Headmaster McClintock,
I am in shock. I had no idea there was such a thing as a surfing scholarship at Badminton. Obviously I am prejudiced, but I agree, Luna is very talented and very, very clever.
Would you mind if I asked how you received the videos of Luna surfing? (Ha ha, child protection laws and all that.)
The offer of a day scholarship is very kind, as is the offer of a bursary for occasional boarding. As we have only just moved to Bristol, I do feel a bit bad accepting the offer, so if there is another (genuinely) local student who is equally as deserving I understand.
I am guessing from the subtext of your kind letter you understand that Luna and I may have a complicated year ahead. Given the circumstances, we would be very grateful to accept your offer. Is there any chance you teach Danish?
Thanks again and I guess we need to figure out about uniforms. Do you know Charlotte Bunce? Would it be all right if I cc’d her in on things once we hit the email variety of communication? She’s a bit more organized than I am on that front.
All the best and many thanks,
Izzy
TO: Lady Venetia of Sittingstone
FROM: Freya Burns-West
RE: Sittingstone Glampsite Expansion
Dear Lady Venetia
(Is that right? I wasn’t entirely sure how to address you in print. Scots, eh? Rebellious to the end!)
Of course I remember you, and how very kind of Charlotte to recommend me to you regarding the soft furnishings for your new venture.
The eco-friendly cabins sound delightful. I’m sure Charlotte has conveyed my feelings to you about the hunt, so if you’re quite convinced your son is happy for a tree-hugging, animal rights-er to make some gorgeous woodland creature themed soft furnishings for you, I’d be delighted. I would be able to offer a discounted rate for bespoke cushions for each of the cabins. I am toying with the idea of swish ottomans with rare-breed cattle hides and sheep fleeces. Perhaps a Highland chaise longue? Would you be interested in seeing some mock-ups? I think you will find they fit in with the ‘rustic luxury’ you are aiming for.
Please find attached a variety of cushion designs to choose from. We will, of course, include miniatures of the Sittingstone crest and any other specific items you feel would lend that personalized touch you were hoping for. And yes. You are absolutely right. Tweaking the crest to draw the eye away from the sword plunging into the deer’s heart might be for the best. I will sketch out some ideas for your approval.
With kind regards,
Freya Burns-West
TO: [email protected]
FROM: Charlotte Bunce
RE: Decree Absolute
Dear Hazel,
Congratulations to you as well! Named Partner. That is something. And well deserved if your work on my settlement is anything to go by (and I can confirm that it is). The decree absolute arrived this morning. I can confirm that it was, indeed, a wonderful bit of post to receive (though I shall probably not frame it as Emily suggested). How freeing to know this chapter is now well and truly closed.
Thank you so much for agreeing to mentor Poppy one day when she is old enough to have a summer internship. I’m sure she’ll be a help to you and, of course, learn a great deal.
All the very best and many thanks for your hard work. I simply could not have done this without you.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Bunce
Chapter Thirty
‘CAKE!’
&nbs
p; Izzy held her hair back so she could tip her head forward and inhale Charlotte’s freshly baked creation. ‘Mmmmmm … lemon drizzle. Charlotte. You are an absolute wonder.’
‘Isn’t she just?’ Rocco carried the teapot across to the table looking just a little bit smug.
Izzy elbowed her in the ribs and murmured, ‘Looks like someone got a little action last night.’
Charlotte couldn’t hide her grin.
Izzy hip-bumped her. ‘You go girl. If anyone deserves a big ol’ farmer lover, I’m pretty sure it’s you.’
Imagine that. Charlotte Bunce had a lover.
They’d agreed to take things slowly, of course, and with Rocco in Scotland there was hardly the possibility of rushing into anything, but … my goodness last night had been delightful.
Freya slid a pile of mismatched plates onto the table. The china teacups that went with them would most likely be going back up the road with Rocco. He said he couldn’t keep enough of them in stock. Every farm shop in Fife wanted some of their limited edition butter cups. He’d even had a couple of calls from Edinburgh.
Emily lifted up the teapot. ‘Shall I be mother?’
They all laughed. Even Emily. An Emily who could take the mickey out of herself was something Charlotte had thought she’d never see.
Or an Emily who visited so regularly. Down every weekend. Longer when she could. She was also, Charlotte suspected, the secret source behind Luna’s scholarship. There wasn’t a school event you could keep her from.
Charlotte went to the utensil drawer for the cake slice but, when she’d turned around, Freya had already handed out forks and they were all digging in. Just like the old days.
‘Lotts.’ Izzy was in raptures. ‘Did you put in extra drizzle?’
Yes. She had.
‘Not on this end she didn’t,’ Freya pointed her fork at a corner of the cake Charlotte had directed her to earlier. ‘Mmm. Springy. It’s a perfect bake, Charlotte. You really should copyright your recipe. Can you even do that?’